#given that she STILL doesn’t have a last name & Eddie moved her right back out & is currently cheating on her… so…

[buddiesmutslut]

I have to be honest, I hate the “Eddie has so much sex with women, we don’t see him having any problems with it so he CAN’T be gay.”

Like, it took me YEARS to realize that the way I was feeling about sex wasn’t normal, that you weren’t supposed to feel empty & cold & a little gross after sex, when the high of an orgasm wears off. Even when I didn’t really want to have sex, I still did it, bc that’s what was expected of me & I thought it was normal. I had a whole “slut phase” on my late teens-early 20’s, & thought that the way I was feeling was normal. I didn’t stumble onto the word “demisexual” until I was like, 25 years old & had already decided that I was just broken, somehow.

Granted, I am a woman, so the experiences might not be exactly the same, and I obviously don’t know what direction they’ll go with Eddie’s sexuality, but I think for a lot of people that discover their queerness later in life, you don’t even realize that what you’re feeling is wrong or that there may be another way to feel until something happens & you can’t really ignore it anymore.

Idk, sexuality is really confusing & I feel like it’s going to be that much harder for Eddie, considering the way he grew up & his predilection to repression. He could be literally anything.

[medusapelagia]

Serenade

written for @corrodedcoffinfest (Prompt 17: This one's for you) and @astrangersummer (Week 12: Forgotten) Rating: Teen and Up Relationship: Steve/Eddie TW: none Words: 1000

(So... this entry for the Corroded Coffin Fest and the Steddie week got A LOT of attention and people asked me for a sequel So this can be read as a stand-alone or a sequel of Love at first sight.)

Steve can’t suffocate a whimper when the curtains of his room open unexpectedly and Robin turns toward him with a grin.

“Raise and shine, baby! We have another incredible shift at Target!”

“Fuck you, Robin. I’m sick, I can’t go to work.”

Robin lifts an eyebrow, and points at the glass of water and the Advil pills on Steve’s night table, “Not sick, babe, just in hangover, and given the fact you decided it was a good idea got wasted without me I think that spending your hangover with me dealing with customers is the right punishment.”

Muttering that he feels he’s been punished more than enough, Steve gulps down water and pills, grabs the wrinkled clothes he finds on his chair, and follows Robin into the kitchen, where a warm toast and a cup of coffee are already waiting for him.

“Still hate you, but you’re the best.”

“I know you do, dingus. Now, want to talk about last night?”

Steve tilts his head frowning in confusion, “What do you mean?”

Robin grabs her phone, opens WhatsApp, and plays an audio message in which a really drunk Steve stutters something about having found the man of his dreams.

“I’m going to marry him, Rob! Will you be my bestwoman?” Steve’s drunken voice says.

“So… who’s this mystery man?”

“Who? I have no idea who you are talking about.” Steve shrugs in confusion, “I was obviously drunk. I don’t remember a thing.”

Robin scrutinizes him for a long time before nodding to herself, “Ok, fine. But this is another reason why you’re not allowed to go out drinking without me!” She declares, pouring two glasses of orange juice for both of them.

“What about your date? Is Chrissy everything you were looking for?”

“She is not.” Steve sighs, ready to comfort her when Robin adds, “She’s way better! She is fun! And beautiful! And when she laughs she snorts so adorably… and we’re fucking late! Let’s go!” Robin says, grabbing Steve’s arm and pushing him out of the door while she keeps telling him about the amazing date she had the night before. 

When they get outside the crispy air makes Robin shiver, so she reaches into Steve’s jacket’s pocket to warm herself, but she retreats her hand with a gagging sound, “Didn’t your mom teach you to throw away used tissues?” she asks, making a disgusted face.

Steve frowns and puts his hand in his pocket, retrieving a crumpled napkin with some pen’s shaky signs. He opens the napkin to get a better look and finds a telephone number and a name: Eddie.

“Holy fucking shit! You did meet someone!” Robin grins, “Are you sure you don’t remember him?”

Shaking his head, red with embarrassment, Steve confirms he doesn’t remember anything.

“Ok. Only one thing to do.” Robin grabs Steve’s phone, “Call him.”

“What?! No! What if he’s a psycho? Or if I made a fool out of myself? It’s better to forget about it.”

“Ok.” Robin shrugs, turning her back to Steve who glares at her with suspicion, it's not like her to surrender so easily.

“What…? Robin! No!" He says trying to grab the phone, but she’s already dialing the number, “Robin what the fuck!”

“Hello?” A warm voice replies after a couple of rings.

“Oh… Hey… Eddie? I… I’m Steve.”

“Oh, Stevie.” Someone in the back makes a satiric comment while the man on the phone opens a door and moves somewhere quieter, “Are you feeling better? Did you drink a lot of water like I suggested?”

“I… yeah… I did… but…”

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

That word triggers something in Steve's mind, a blurred memory of a group of men wearing leather jackets and talking loudly.

“I… Look… I know this sounds bad but I don’t remember what happened last night and I wanted to apologize if I made a fool out of myself.”

“Oh. Ok. Not what I was expecting, but it’s fine.” The voice sounds disappointed and it makes Steve’s heart ache.

“I’m so sorry…”

“It’s fine. Listen I have to go, the guys and I have a little concert and we’re in the middle of the soundcheck.”

“Oh. Yeah. You signed a big contract, right?”

“So you do remember something.” The man points out, amused, “You know what? Why don’t you come to see us? Tonight, at the HideOut, I promise not to let you drink until we talk.”

“At the HideOut? Tonight?” Robin grabs Steve's arm and points at herself, “Can I bring a friend with me?”

“Sure. See you there.”

When Eddie closes the call and goes back to the stage, Jeff is grinning, “So, is he still in love with you?”

“Don’t think so. He doesn’t remember me.”

“Oh, this sucks.” Gareth says, stopping the cymbals, “So what are you going to do?”

“The only thing anyone in his right mind would do: serenade him in front of a crowd!” Eddie chuckles while he grabs his guitar and adds a new song to their track listing and Freak winks at him.

“Bold choice.”

“I’m not going to chicken out. He said he loved me, right?”

When the doors open it isn't hard for Eddie to spot Steve, who is wearing a bright yellow sweater and stands out like a sore thumb in an ocean of dark jeans and black t-shirts.

They play the single they have just recorded and the crowd explodes, but Eddie’s eyes are pinned on Steve when he announces “Stevie, this one's for you.”

Eddie moves around the stage, getting back to back with Freak while playing, but he gets closer to the audience, searching for Steve's eyes when he sings, “And, want to treasure the rest of your days here, and, give you pleasure in so many ways dear.”

Once the concert ends, Eddie asks to bring Steve backstage and when he sees him, he winks, "I think we're doing things the other way around, but... would you like to go on a date with me?"

[bookshelf-dust]

really know him

part i part ii part iii part iv

eddie munson x fem!reader

word count: 3,987

warnings: swearing, slight sexual innuendos, mentions of past trauma, reader has tough relationship with parents, fluff (let me know if i missed anything)

a/n: hi!! yeah, yeah, it’s been an entire month since you got the first part of this and i’m sorry, i swear!! but school has been kicking the shit out of me. anyways, i’m happy with this, and i think it’s given this story a good sort of push in the right direction. there is one line that is hopper’s dialogue that you might catch. i hope you like it!!! love you and happy reading <333

“You see things, and you understand. You’re a wallflower.”

————

Eddie’s mouth is full when Wayne speaks. The food hasn’t even cooled off enough for anyone normal to eat it, but Eddie doesn’t care. He’s so fucking hungry. He swears he feels like this—like he’s never eaten before—at least once a day. 

“How long you and Y/N been seein’ each other?” Wayne’s got his arms crossed on the tabletop, letting his dinner cool some while his nephew allows noodles and cheese to burn the shit out of the roof of his mouth. 

Eddie knows it’s just Hamburger Helper but it’s so fucking good. He swallows, and takes a sip of his drink before he responds. 

Eddie’s leg starts to bounce and Wayne gently kicks his calf to get him to quit and take a breather. It works, like it always does. 

“How do you know her name? And we aren’t seeing each other. We’re friends.” He shoves more noodles in his mouth and chews for a minute while he thinks. Wayne just watches him, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. 

“Well, acquaintances, I guess.”

Wayne snorts. “I don’t think you have acquaintances at twenty, Ed.”

Eddie rolls his eyes and stabs his fork into the center of his bowl. He wipes his hands and moves his hair from where it’s slipped over his shoulders. 

His hair is wet. 

Ever since Eddie was a kid, a little while after Wayne got him, he’s tried to take his shower while Wayne fixes dinner with the goal of being finished by the time the food is on the table. He did that very same thing today. 

He does it even when they get takeout and tries to shower in the time Wayne is gone. He does it in the time it takes his frozen pizza to cook when he has to eat alone because Hellfire runs past the time Wayne leaves for work. 

Selfishly, Wayne hopes Eddie keeps this up. It makes him happy to see that childlike attitude run rampant. 

“I know her name because she’s lived here since her parents had her. I know everybody in this godforsaken park.”

Eddie takes a sip of his Dr. Pepper, slurping it obnoxiously. “Pulling the old and wise thing, huh?”

Wayne reaches the slim distance across the tiny table and wacks Eddie on the head, though it’s absolutely void of malice. “Ow!” Eddie exclaims as if he’s been brutally beaten. 

“And we aren’t seeing each other. I haven’t talked to her since before she graduated, actually. I just saw her the other night and we’ve just been…” Eddie gestures with his hands, flailing for a word or anything to describe what’s happening between you and him. 

You’re not friends. Right? 

And you’re definitely not anything more, but it’s not like Eddie would mind that. Being more. He’s sort of always had a thing for you. He’s never told anyone that. 

Maybe it had been a little subdued, but seeing you the other night had it rushing back, a wave crashing over and toppling him. 

Eddie’s been kind of worried about you since, actually. You didn’t want to talk about why you were upset, and he respected that, but he still wanted to know. He really didn’t like seeing you that way, and he wants to fix it, but he can’t if you don’t let him in. 

“Hanging out,” Eddie finally finishes, dropping his hands. 

Wayne takes the last few bites of his dinner and looks at his nephew. It’s not hard for Wayne to see that his boy feels something for you. Not with the blush spreading across Eddie’s cheeks. 

It’s like when Eddie was young and he’d ride his bike through the trailer park, or to a friend's house and he’d come back flushed. He looks out of breath. But he’s feeling this way because of you. 

Wayne thinks that’s pretty damn special. He thinks there’s something in you that’s opening up a part of Eddie he’s never seen before. Like you’re cracking open his boyish soul.

“Hanging out?”

Eddie chugs the rest of his Dr. Pepper, pretending like he’s not being interrogated. He gets up and pulls another from the fridge, setting the other by the sink where he can rinse it out later. 

He spoons more food into his bowl. They’re definitely not going to have leftovers.

“Yes, Wayne.”

“Does it still count as hanging out if you haven’t even gone out?” 

“Jesus H. Christ, we’re friends okay?”

Wayne laughs. It’s one of Eddie’s favorite sounds in the world, but he’s never told his uncle that. 

Wayne stands, taking his dishes to the sink to wash. He rinses out Eddie’s can and tosses it in the recycling bin.

“Hey, I was gonna do that!” Eddie whines.

“No you weren’t, Ed. But anyways, your friend can come over anytime she likes.”

Eddie drops his forehead against the countertop, face burning. He’s supposed to be too old for this shit.

————

Your parents aren’t home. In fact, they’re gone for the weekend, which means you’re alone. It means that the trailer is quiet and you don’t have to lock yourself in your bedroom or storm outside and cry on a rickety picnic table. 

You’re taking advantage of the free couch when you hear the mailman outside. You hop up, knowing that if you don’t collect all of the mail you’ll hear about it. But this also gives you your chance to be nosy and see what kinds of things your parents are being sent. 

You hop down the steps, wishing you’d put on a jacket because it’s a lot chillier than you’d expected. You meander down the road a little ways to the row of mailboxes containing yours. 

You’re nose deep, retrieving the newspaper and a small stack of what you’re sure is mostly junk, when a car door slams and makes you jump. 

You use your elbow to close the mailbox door, and when you spin around you’re met with a cheesy grin and a mess of curls belonging to one Eddie Munson. 

“Jesus Christ,” you smile, “Hi, Eddie.”

He grins, spinning his key ring around his index finger. “Hey. How are we this afternoon, m’lady?”

“Okay. Just get done with school, buddy?”

“Oh fuck you,” Eddie laughs. It makes you grin and Eddie thinks he’s swooning. Like, big time. 

Your eyes crinkle and these sweet lines form around your mouth. You’re so pretty. So pretty, he thinks. 

“But yeah.” Eddie scratches his nose like he wants to say more but he needs a second before he goes for it. “Passed a quiz today and everything,” he finishes. 

He doesn’t usually talk about his academic-related endeavors with anyone, but he’s got this feeling that you’ll be supportive. You’ve never once looked at him like he was stupid, or didn’t deserve your time. 

One day towards the end of your first and only senior year, the both of you sat in the back of the class, your nose buried in a book, and Eddie had placed a finger against the page to get your attention. He’d said he wasn’t graduating, and you didn’t judge him. Maybe that’s why he’s always had this thing for you. Because you don’t think he’s this piece of shit freak.

Your grin gets bigger. It’s so much better than the sad way you looked at him the other night.

“Oh yeah? That’s so good! I’m proud of you, Eddie.”

Eddie blushes. You see it. He feels it. There’s no going around this and suddenly he’s afraid you’ll point it out. 

You don’t. You just tuck that little bit of information—that Eddie seems fond of praise—away for another time. 

A letter slips from your hand but Eddie is quick to catch it, before it even hits the ground. 

“Sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay.” He slides it in between two other pieces of mail from the stack tucked in the crook of your arm. 

The both of you stand there awkwardly then, you not knowing what to do next, Eddie realizing he didn’t really have a plan for what he was going to say when he came over here. 

You turn a little, like you’re going to walk back towards your home, and Eddie freaks out inside. He doesn’t want you to go. Again. Dammit. He’s totally done for. And even Wayne had seen it, hadn’t he? Fuck. 

You decide to go for it. “Do you wanna come inside for a while? I mean, of course you don’t have to, at all, but you know, if you wanted to…shit, I don’t know,” you falter. “I guess I just thought, since you’re here—”

“Sure. I mean, as long as you’re sure, but yeah,” he drags a hand over his face, lashes leaving shadows on the skin under his eyes, to hide the fact that he’s gone shy at your offer. “Yeah, I want to.”

The words hanging out flash through his mind and Eddie has the sudden urge to bang his head against a wall. 

You take that as your queue, walking towards and then up your porch steps. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say, pulling the screen door open. 

Eddie was not, in fact, following you, too off in his own world. He clambers up behind you, holding the door open above your head while you push your way inside. He pulls it shut after he steps up, watching you toss the mail on the counter and move around your home. 

There’s something interesting to him about watching you like this. Where you look calm. 

You flop down on the couch, patting the cushion beside you. Eddie follows your flop with an even more aggressive one, leather and chain making quite the noise as his weight settles into the sofa. 

Eddie notices how quiet it is, and he can’t stand that. His brain doesn’t allow quiet. 

“Your parents at work or something?” He inquires. 

You move so that your back is to the arm of the couch and you’re now facing the boy you’ve just let in, pulling your legs up underneath you. 

“They’re out for the weekend. Visiting in laws or something like that. I said I had too much homework to do so I could get out of it, which is true, I do have homework, I just didn’t want to go.”

Eddie shifts to mirror your position, lanky limbs splaying out a little less gracefully. He’s smiling at you again. It starts small, a slow grin spreading across his face. 

“What are you smiling for, dumbass?”

He tosses his head back and your gaze falls to his neck for just a second. Though a second long enough for you to think about what it would feel like against your fingers—

He looks back at you. “Didn’t you just say you were proud of me for making an academic achievement?”

“I did. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t still a dumbass.”

Eddie snorts. “Well, at least it’s not ‘freak.’”

You cross your arms, feeling a little angry about how people have treated him in the past. “You’re not a freak.”

He scratches at his chin and you notice it looks like he might not have shaved in a few days. “Maybe in some ways I am.” 

You run both hands over your face, trying to suppress the burning deep in your belly. “I bet so,” you mumble. You lower your hands just enough to look over them and Eddie quirks a brow at you. 

You start to laugh behind your fingers and it makes him do the same until you’re both sitting there giggling like children over an immature joke. 

“So you’re gonna be alone all weekend?” Eddie manages to ask through a breathy laugh. 

“Yeah,” you sigh. “It’s not the first time, Munson.”

Eddie is home alone all the time, but for some reason he doesn’t like the idea of you being alone like that. He wants you safe. Comfortable.

The words are tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Why don’t you spend the night with me?”

“Huh?”

“You know, so you don’t have to be alone and whatnot.” He gestures with his hands. He’s scrambling for even a fraction of proper brain function at this point. It’s evading him. 

“Eddie.”

“Come on. You literally have to walk across the road.”

You stare at him and he stares right back. Eddie studies the lines of your face, the color of your eyes, the way you’ve got a crease between your brows because of how hard you’re thinking this over. It looks like you’re contemplating a life or death situation. That situation is Eddie. Spending the night with Eddie Munson. 

“Are you sure about this? You literally watched me sob a few days ago and now you want me to just hang out in your house? I could be a murderer.”

Eddie spins the ring on his marriage finger around and around. “Are you? A murderer?” “Not last time I checked.” He laughs. “Then I don’t see the problem here.” “We barely know each other.” “How are we supposed to get to know each other if we don’t hang out? Isn’t that what sleepovers are for anyways?”

“That makes it sound like you’ve never had a sleepover before.” Eddie pulls his knee up and rests his chin on top of it, pale skin peeking out from the tears in his jeans. “Does being too stoned to drive home and passing out on your friends couch count? Or on his bedroom floor?”

That makes you laugh and the sight of your smile makes Eddie feel exponentially better. He’s starting to think it could heal any ailment. “There she is,” he says, swatting your calf with the back of his hand. It makes you burn and you think about when you actually held his hand. You want to do it again. 

You look around your living room, trying to avoid the big brown eyes you can feel boring into you. One look and you’ll give in–you just know it. 

“Okay. I’ll spend the night with you.”

“Ha! I knew you’d say that.” Eddie jumps up, clearly excited. He juts out a hand in your direction and you just look at it. “Come on,” he says, tilting his head to the side. 

You slip your hand into his and let him pull you up. “No more m’lady’s?” you ask. 

Eddie grins brilliantly. He looks boyish, like he’s just found some new bug he needs to show you. “I’ll give you as many m’lady’s as you want. Now come on and pack your shit. We’ve got bonding to do.”

————

“Is this really necessary?”

“Lift that corner, yeah! See? You got it.” Eddie watches you step around the mess that is his bedroom floor and help him heave his mattress up off the box spring. Once you’ve got it up, he starts to walk backwards and guide the both of you—sort of blindly—down the hall. “And yes, this is completely necessary.”

“If you say so,” you grunt, almost knocking a picture frame off the wall. 

“Let me live for fucks sake,” Eddie says. He’d already moved the coffee table out of the way, so you’re able to just drop the mattress on the floor in front of the couch. 

Eddie stands across from you, slightly out of breath which you find a little funny. “You can go put your pajamas on if you want,” he tells you. 

You grin. “Oh, can I?” 

The both of you had already eaten, Eddie having ordered a pizza because there was legitimately nothing to eat anywhere. His sleepover planning was admittedly very poor. But yeah, he wanted you to go put your pjs on so he could actually do something he’d come up with. 

“Yes. You can. Hurry it up m’lady, we have shit to watch.”

You give him a two finger salute. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Eddie waits for you to make it to his room and shut the door behind you before he gets to work. He changes the bottom sheet–the only sheet he uses because he finds top sheets obnoxious–on his mattress and shoves it in the washing machine to take care of later. He’ll probably forget and Wayne will berate him, but it’ll have been worth it. 

He opens the linen closet and pulls out a new sheet and some of the others that are in there. He pulls out the best blanket for you too, the really thick one that they don’t use all that often. Eddie looks at it for just a second before tossing it on the couch, remembering the day he came to Wayne’s. The day that this became his home too. Wayne had done something similar to this, actually. He’d let Eddie sleep with him. That night had been so hard and Eddie was just a kid.

Finally he gets back to work, sheet having been changed, dining chairs moved to either side of the mattress closest to the couch. 

Eddie puts one end of the sheet he’s using on the back of the sofa, stacking his D&D handbooks on top of it in hopes that it will hold. He steps back tentatively, hands up like he’s surrendering. “Stay,” he mutters, eyeing the books. 

He stretches the sides of the sheet over the backs of the chairs, using chip bag clips to keep it in place. The end result is a sort of canopy over his mattress. Eddie thinks it’s one hell of a fort, actually. He’s sat on the edge, looking through a stack of VHS tapes when you come out. 

Eddie looks up at you, doe eyes on full display. He looks so pretty, and even prettier when you realize what he’s made. You bring a hand up to your mouth, automatically sticking your nail just in between your lips to hide your growing smile. 

Eddie thinks you look gorgeous like this: pajamas too big for you, socked feet shuffling across the floor. You look comfortable. 

“Eddie.”

He stands. “You like it? I mean, it’s definitely unstable and we’re gonna have to be careful, but I think it’s kinda nice. I gotta get pillows, though.”

“I do like it,” you say, moving your hand from your face. You’re trying not to be nervous around him when he’s being so kind to you. So welcoming. “You didn’t have to do all of this just for me.”

Eddie crosses his arms. “You think I did this for you? I hate to break it to you, but I do this sort of thing all the time.” You giggle at him, seeing right through his antics. He likes that—that you don’t seem scared of him. That you don’t look at him like he’s mean. 

He grabs for your sleeve where you’re tugging at a loose thread on it, trying to get you to quit from fidgeting. He knows what that feels like. But he wants you to know that it’s just him. It’s just Eddie, and you’re more than safe with Eddie, contrary to what the rest of Hawkins might think. 

“I’m just kidding,” he tells you, eyes boring into yours. “I wanted to.”

You fight to keep eye contact with him. He really shouldn’t hold this kind of power, but he does.

“Thank you.”

“The pleasure was all mine, m’lady.” He bows, and you swat at his shoulder. He’s still snickering when he disappears into his room to change. 

————

You hadn’t meant to match pajama bottoms, but when Eddie had seen yours, he knew he should put his similar ones on. 

So now, here you sit, in your designated fort, and wearing matching plaid pants. Eddie has his arm around your shoulder, and you’ve tucked yourself into his side. Your hand keeps creeping along his stomach, and Eddie knows you're working up the courage to wrap your arm fully around his waist. 

When you’d felt the weight of him settle over your shoulders, your breath had hitched, but Eddie took it in stride. “It’s just me,” he’d said. And that had seemed to calm you down. 

Eddie had let you pick the movie, and you’d chosen Gremlins, which he was more than happy to watch with you. He thought watching something the both of you had already seen would not only ease some tension, but make it so that you could talk during the film if you wanted. 

On the screen, Gizmo propels himself upward on a snow shovel, and you giggle at his screams as he flies through the air. 

“Sorry,” you say to Eddie, chest shaking with laughter. He snorts at your hysterics. 

After you’ve finally hooked your arm around him fully, and the movie is coming to an end, Eddie decides to breach the topic that’s been bugging him since that night. 

“Any chance you might wanna talk about why you were so upset the other night?” He hopes he hasn’t overstepped, that he hasn’t pushed too far too quickly. 

You move your hand and he worries you’ll retract it completely, but you just sit up, still pressed next to him, just no longer clinging to him. You tuck your fingers under his knee where his leg is stretched out beside you. He welcomes the gesture. 

“I just had an argument with my parents, is all. Got upset, but you saw that.”

He turns to look at you, and you look back for a second before continuing to watch the movie. “Was it bad?”

“Just loads of yelling, on their part. They’re very good at hurting my feelings.” 

“I’m sorry,” Eddie says, and he means it. You look at him then, and you smile. It’s soft, but it tells him all he needs to know. You’re hurting, but you’re used to it. He hates that he understands. 

“It’s okay. It’s just that college is hard, and then I come home and I’m tired, and then they want to fuss at me for everything and nothing. Sometimes I feel like I’m some kind of black hole or something.”

Your fingers squeeze Eddie’s knee a little. He pulls your hand from his leg and intertwines your fingers with his. There’s a little part of you that warms, that screams, hand holding, hand holding! You’re glad he’s holding your hand. 

“They fucking suck for making you feel that way, you know.” That makes you grin, so Eddie keeps going. “You don’t deserve to feel that way. Not even a little bit. The entire time I’ve known you, even if we haven’t been more than acquaintances, you’ve been a sweetheart. You’ve been kind, and understanding.”

Your eyes water but you refuse to cry in front of him a second time. He’s just being so nice. 

“Thank you, Eddie.” You drop your forehead against his shoulder, and he kisses your hairline. You burn at the feeling of his lips, full and warm, against your skin. 

“You’re safe with me, you know. You can come over wherever you want. And we can watch Gremlins,” he finishes with a breathy laugh. 

“I really appreciate that.”

Eddie looks into your eyes. There’s something sweet behind them. He nods. 

“What do you wanna do when you’re done with school anyhow?” he asks, realizing a little too late that you’ve probably been asked that a hundred times, but how else is he supposed to figure out the answer. 

“I’d like to write,” you tell him.

“Like, books and shit?” He’s not teasing. He’s really asking. 

“That’d be nice, yeah.” It really would. The big unattainable dream.

“That’s very metal of you. Maybe I’ll get you to help me plot a campaign sometime. The stories can get a little tricky in this fucked up brain of mine,” Eddie says. 

“Really?” You look excited at the idea.

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” The smile on his face is brilliant. 

“Maybe I’ll even teach you how to play. If you want.”

“That’d be nice too, Eddie.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

tagging: @ajkamins @golddustwitches @copycatkillerfics @prestinalove @zaypay @clovermunson

[jadedlavendergemini]

A Name is a Name

In which you and Eddie have yet to find the right name for your daughter.

It’s an early, quiet morning in Hawkins. The Sun just barely peeking out between the forest trees of the trailer park. The television is turned on low for back ground noise as you rest on the couch, your newborn snoozing in your arms.

You had spent time with your little bundle of joy since four thirty this morning trying to get her to fall back to sleep, not wanting to wake Eddie who was as cozy as possible in your shared bed.

You look down at your baby girl. Her little tuff of hair was closer to your own waves, but her eyes, she definitely had Eddie’s eyes. Something you found yourself entranced by every-time she cooed and looked into your own.

You were brought out of your trance by the smell of coffee wafting nearby. You turn your head slightly and see your metal head boyfriend holding out the familiar Garfield mug to you.

“Morning, beautiful.” He says, as you shift to lay the sleeping infant against your chest with one hand and used the other to except the mug.

“Thank you,” you say, the smell of caffeine instantly keeping you awake.

He moves to sit next you, placing his arm around your shoulders. “You know, I told you to wake me up when she’s up. I hate you doing all work, sweetheart.”

“I don’t mind.” You reply, taking a sip from your mug. “The campaign ran longer than usual last night, I thought you could use the rest.”

“Sweetheart, you carried her for nine months and had to push her out. The least I can do help with her diapers and put her back to bed.” He says, placing his mug down. He gestures for you to hand her over.

You set your own mug down before gently lifting her into his arms. She moves and whines before settling back down against his chest, pacifier comforting her once more.

You could help but smile at the two, your heart melting instantly. Eddie noticed and grinned back.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You replied. “You two just look so sweet.”

“Well, she’s got most of your looks so no doubt she’ll be the most beautiful kid in Hawkins.”

“I’m sure she will, but only because she has your eyes.”

“The eyes you couldn’t resist.”

“Yep, your eyes were whole part of your seduction technique.”

Eddie just cracks a smile and gives you a wink, making you giggle.

“You know it’s been a little over a week now and this beautiful child still doesn’t have a name.” He reminds you.

You sigh, placing your hand to your temple. “I know, I know. I just haven’t heard one that fits her.”

“Well let’s go over the list.”

“Eddie, I am sorry but we are not naming our child Stevie. I don’t want Harrington to think we named her after him. And Rebecca just doesn’t sound it.”

“Okay, well how about Samantha? Or Josie?”

“Josie? Absolutely not. And Samantha? Nope.”

“Well she can’t be nameless forever, sweetheart.”

“I know but nothing fits.” You had struggled during the pregnancy to find a name and eventually given up. You were hoping once she arrived it was come instantly, but now it just seemed harder.

It falls quiet and your eyes wander to the television which was playing Grease. You watched as Sandy began singing ‘Hopelessly devoted to you’. You hummed the song quietly, it had always been your favorite song from the film.

As you hummed the song softly, you stopped abruptly and looked closer at the screen. Specifically at Sandy.

“Olivia,” you say.

Eddie looks to you. “Olivia?”

“Olivia Munson?” You try out loud.

He looks down at the snoozing baby and rubs her back softly. “Olivia Munson. That sounds perfect.”

You move to scoot closer to the pair and run a hand gently to rub her soft growing hair. “Little Olivia Munson.”

As if she heard the name her self, the baby lightly coos as she snuggles closer to her father. Eddie let’s out a chuckle.

“I think she approves.” He moves gently to place a kiss on your temple.

[palomahasenteredthechat]

https://www.tumblr.com/palomahasenteredthechat/759425823399919616/so-this-isnt-directly-a-dig-at-you-so-please

I think people are jumping to serious conclusions—quite literally—from an ass grab photo and you have to stop and take a step back to see how silly that is. Yes, this was clearly a concerted effort to announce their relationship and they looked cozy but that doesn’t equal serious. This is where there is a disconnect between the “it’s real” and “it’s PR” people. It’s not 100% either imo. It’s real on some level given they’re clearly hooking up, seeing each other, whatever you want to call it but what we saw this weekend was an undeniable PR push. There is a very real chance that it is casual (regardless of how long it has been going on) and they mutually decided to use it to their advantage to boost themselves for different reasons. Her because she has shows coming up and wants to clean her online image and also just be associated with a much better guy than her past boyfriends. Him because he wants to move on from the clean good boi Eddie reputation, or show he’s a hottie who has the ability to play Johnny storm, or just to actually get his name out there. For two years now he has had a deep level of fame with a small number of people. Just the last few days his face and name have been slapped all over every publication because of her and the internet is buzzing about him in a way we’ve never seen in two years. The reason many of us are sad about this PR stunt is not even so much because of her or the relationship but because we feel like the adorable guy we first watched in interviews would never stoop to setting up PR stunts but here we are. That guy is gone and the up-and-coming big Hollywood star has arrived.

All this to say, while your theory that they are actually serious is still plausible, the support for your theory is where it crumbles. People don’t coordinate pap walks and PR stunts to show they are serious, they do it for promotion reasons. And anyone who thinks that just because not all of it came straight from backgrid therefore it’s not PR needs to wake up. Everything got sent into deuxmoi to be released all together at once and was packaged nicely for a bomb to drop. These people call the paps on themselves WAY more than you think, especially in a city like London where it’s not common for them to just be lurking around. Hell, we just saw Joe set up pap photos of himself at lunch with Ebon. There is clearly something going on here, whether it’s coming from him, his team, paramount, CAA, marvel, or her/her team. And don’t forget, Paul and Pedro both had articles come out of their rumored dating lives right at the same time “coincidentally.”

I think if they did this to show they were serious, the articles would reflect that. Instead, they kept it at “rumored” to be “dating” and “seen getting cozy over the weekend” to give them space for an easier exit.

Thanks for this great context Nonny.

[figthefruitfaeth]

Mail, Murder, and Other Mysteries; from the Nancy Wheeler Files

finally started this

Chapter One: The Flyer and the Note (next chapter) (ao3 link) 

“Okay. One more time, just so I’ve got it down.”

The pile of blankets next to her groans, then, mumbles something unintelligible.

Nancy clicks her tongue, “Eddie. Come on.”

The pile shuffles around, before revealing Eddie, bangs sticking up, dark hair a frizzy halo around his annoyed little scrunchy face. He’s wearing a Metallica ’91 World Tour shirt that’s a size too big and bleached brown down the left side where he’d given himself a set of chunky red highlights. Nancy knows this because she’d gotten up to use the bathroom and, still half-asleep, nearly knocked out a very wet, pathetic Eddie trying to wipe down their now pink sink.

“Seriously, Wheeler?”

Nancy raises a brow, pointing at Eddie with her chopsticks. “I’m running on two hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and a box of overpriced chow mein. I’m gonna need it again.”

“God, as if living through it wasn’t torture enough. Now I’ve got Nancy—” 

“Don’t even—”

“—Drew on the case.”

She pushes him, and Eddie, still cocooned tight, goes down with a heavy thunk.

“You asked me to help, so I’m helping. Stop trying to distract me.”

He groans again, wrestling himself free from his pile and flopping back on the couch, head tilted up on the back, eyes closed.

“Fine, fine! If I must.”

Nancy can practically hear the gears in his mind turning, he’s a loud thinker. Really, she amends, a loud guy in general. In the early days, when they were still strangers to one another, she’d been certain a roommate from the classifieds section was the worst idea she’d had since cutting her own bangs. However, her fears of getting robbed blind had been assuaged by the fact that he didn’t have a quiet bone in his body, banging around in the kitchen at odd hours of the night, cursing when he inevitably made a ruckus. Thankfully, it worked out, seeing as she was usually awake at these odd hours with her own deadlines.

“Go on,” she starts, biting down on her smile with the last bit of egg roll.

“So, I’m at the mailbox, getting our mail, like a good roommate—”

Nancy digs in her box, humming her disbelief in her noodles.

“—when 3B comes over.”

3B, the apartment three doors down and cursed with a revolving set of tenants, never keeping anyone longer than two months the entire two years Nancy has lived in the building. That was, of course, until the latest pair. A guy and a girl, who’d moved in in a rush right after Thanksgiving and had been there for two months and two days. Nancy checks her watch. Two months and three days.

Nancy hasn’t met either of them, not like Eddie, who just about runs into one of them every other day. The perks of working from home. Though, she knows she’d go insane if she spent as much time inside as Eddie seems to.

“The Hair?”

Eddie’s latest crush. Nancy still hasn’t even caught a glimpse of him, but from Eddie’s descriptions, she knows he’s the kind of strait-laced jock she would’ve dated in high school. He’s also got the world’s greatest head of hair, which she also knows about because Eddie spent a good thirty minutes talking about it over a pile of pancakes at Denny’s. He’d been very high, and she had been very hungover, so the nickname has stuck.

Eddie rolls his eyes, “Yes. The Hair. I would’ve led with your girlfriend if it’d’ve been her.”

She’s only seen the girl in passing. Robin, her name tag read, so Nancy knows she works retail. She doesn’t know much else, other than that she’s still in school (the bookbag slung over one shoulder threatening to break at the seams), that she eats at the same takeout place (Dumpling Beast flyers taken in where the other doors still had them stuck on from July), and that she’s a few inches taller (enough where Nancy would have to look up at her if they were close, reach up to brush the tawny strays out of her lightly freckled face).

“Shut up,” she kicks at him again, but she’s too slow. Eddie ready and leaping out and then back on top of her, legs crushed under him. He cackles but moves before she can get too uncomfortable, burrowing into the couch cushions and taking the brunt of his weight off of her.

“So, to clarify, my 3B comes over. He says ‘hey’, I say ‘hi’ back, it’s whatever. I’m going through the mail, the usual, and I go to leave when he looks at me and asks who the band on my t-shirt is. Which, I could tell he was a total preppy Top 40 kind of guy, but he doesn’t even know who Metallica is?” He pulls at his shirt and Nancy responds with a quirked brow.

“I thought maybe he was giving me shit, but I don’t know. He seemed really…genuine? Whatever skip to the end and he says he’ll check them out or whatever, which, doubtful, but then, he says, ‘I like the shirt. It suits you.’ And winks. Which is just so—” Eddie makes a strangling motion.

“Is this the part where you died?”

“No. No that comes when I blacked out and called him ‘big boy’.”

“I’m sorry, ‘big boy’?” Nancy laughs, incredulous.

“Yeah, yeah I fucking know.”

“What did he—”

“I don’t know! I just—ran.”

“Oh, Eddie—”

Eddie groans, throwing his head against her side, dark hair fanning over her pale pinstripe pjs. She gives him a pat, careful not to pull at his curls.

Her eyes stray from his frail form to the living room. Cozy and unique is what the ad had described the apartment, but in Nancy’s now-lived experience, it is much closer to tight and cramped. There’s no distinction between the living room and the kitchen, no dining room either, just a seamless transition from the one counter next to the oven to the windows facing the back alley where the trash gets thrown out. Eddie had tried just throwing it out of the window his first week in the apartment, but overshot. By a lot. A week later a very pointed sign was posted in the lobby about the proper trash procedure for the building.

The living room is tiny. There’s not much more to it than the couch Nancy and her previous roommate had thrifted and the coffee table her parents bought her as a housewarming gift. Logically, she knew apartments in the city were small and the ones she could afford even smaller, but she still wasn’t prepared for the way it presses in on her. How the shade of summer turned to biting winters, or the way late night takeout clung to the walls, the smell of orange chicken and exhaustion unwilling to come out even with a bottle of Extra Strength Febreze. It doesn’t help that a third of the space is taken up by her board.

Or, The Board—proper pronoun bestowed by Eddie. It’s her double-sided, 48x60-inch whiteboard complete with a rolling stand, adjustable height, and a little cup for her expo markers. It’s the first thing she bought after cashing out her first real paycheck from the newspaper (that, and a $35 bottle of wine instead of the usual $10). It doesn’t fit in her room, and really, it shouldn’t fit in the living room either, but Nancy didn’t really need that TV anyway.

Currently, The Board is home to her latest case—Lenora Industries. They’re a shipping company responsible for the import and export of various items, mostly cheap home goods for big box stores and some higher quality items for Lenora’s more select clientele. While the average Joe wouldn’t be able to pick the company out from a lineup, they were singularly responsible for almost a third of the city’s incoming supply. They’ve had a few complaints over the years, the typical shady missteps any big corporation commits, but nothing life-changing.

Not until last October, when a secretary’s body was found washed up on the shore a stone’s throw from their shipping yard. A woefully incompetent police investigation concluded that the secretary, a Barbara Holland, had committed suicide and that had been that. Another woman swept away with the tide of industry.

Nancy knew there was a story there, and Hopper, her Chief Editor, had known it too. The proof of it lies on The Board, every inch covered in various confidential (and not strictly legally obtained) documents, notes scribbled on diner napkins, and newspaper clippings all drawn together in red string. It’s—a lot.

Nancy looks at The Board.

The Board looks back.

She clears her throat, “Well, he was clearly hitting on you, so you’re probably fine.”

Eddie pops up. “You say that, but you haven’t actually seen the guy. I wouldn’t say he’s one of us.”

“How much mail did he get?”

Eddie squints. “I don’t know, Wheeler, I don’t keep track of other people’s mail. That’s a federal crime and I don’t fuck with my boys in blue.”

She rolls her eyes, “You must’ve noticed something, right? Did he have a lot?”

“I mean,” he bites his lip, eyes searching his memory. “He had a flyer for that new gym on 3rd?”

“Right, exactly,” she shrugs. “He’s hitting on you.”

Eddie sputters, gears jamming in their haste to catch up with her.

“That…that doesn’t answer anything! Wheeler!”

“Okay! 3B, they’re new, been here two months,” and three days. “We haven’t seen anybody go over.” Not including the landlord. “You said he’s got an accent,” small town Midwest, “so they’re new to the city, too. Small townies in a big city moving in right around the holiday and nobody writes, nobody visits.”

“Yeah…”

It’s a familiar story, one they’ve heard through friends and bartenders, newspapers and old ladies in the check-out line. Nancy pushes past it.

“We get a lot of mail. I know this because I’ve witnessed you run late for multiple meetings checking our mail.”

“It’s not my fault I have adoring fans, Wheeler.”

“What’s he doing spending twenty minutes checking his one piece of mail?”

The gears are turning, but the engine must be running low on fuel because he just looks hopelessly up at her.

“He was waiting to talk to you.”

“I mean…so, he wants to talk to me, that doesn’t mean he’s gay.”

“‘It suits you’? That shirt has seen better days, we both know that.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know I had to wear a three-piece to get the mail.”

“That’s exactly my point. You didn’t and he still went out of his way to compliment you. I know you’re not stupid, I’m just wondering why you don’t want to see the signs.”

Eddie slams a pillow over his face. He says something else to the effect of kill me.

Another muffled moan. Nancy waits patiently, setting down her chow mein to pick over what’s left of the beef and broccoli. Eddie’s got a thing for freakouts, especially when he’s on a deadline. It’s like his whole body turns into a live wire, ready to spark at the slightest touch.

She checks her watch again. 3:02 am. God, it’s late. She should go to bed soon—she’s got work in just under five hours and a long day of incompetence and condescension to get through, but try as she might, sleep won’t come to her when she’s like this.

She looks back at The Board. Maybe the expression is different, but she’s a lot like Eddie in the way she can’t settle during an assignment. How her work becomes her obsession. If he’s a bolt of electricity, then she’s a gas leak, seeping into the pores of the apartment, a stray strike away from burning down herself and everyone she touches just to see the work done. Neither of them would pass a safety inspection.

“What about you?” Eddie says, nudging his head against her side.

She blinks. “What about me?”

“How come you haven’t introduced yourself to Rowan?”

There’s a certain glimmer in those dark eyes. Like the cat who’s caught the canary, it’s a look he only gets when’s up-to or on-to something. Maybe he can’t always see straight with his own problems, but he sure can put a pin in hers. She’s loud too, and Eddie hears it just the same.

“Robin. And you’re deflecting.”

“You’re deflecting my deflection, Wheeler. It doesn’t take a detective to know you like her and you haven’t done anything about it when we know for a fact that she likes you back.”

“Just cause she asked about me one time—”

“Three—”

“Doesn’t mean anything.”

“Now who’s kidding themselves?”

“It’s not the same.”

“Why?” Eddie stays on her, big eyes refusing to blink. To her right, The Board’s gaze is set on her as well. Under their weight she feels stuck. Pinned down. Nancy shifts.

It’s not the same because…Nancy chews on a fatty piece of beef. She doesn’t have a very good response. Or rather, she doesn’t have an easy answer. The honest one is too involved for Eddie to digest, and the short one is something he won’t swallow.

Because…The Board looms above her, papers stuck stiff, strings pulled taut across the body. Her most important, career-changing case pinned for her dissection. The reason she got out of bed, the reason she stayed out of bed well into the night, throwing away dinner dates and party invites for a chance to do something. Her chance dashed in November and passed onto someone older, lazier, male. Her last meaningful case currently stuck in bureaucratic, office politics bullshit.

“What Lord Shit-for-Brains say?”

Yesterday’s meeting flashes hot behind her eyes. Another attempt to reopen the case, to get back the resources and support that would’ve made the work of the last two months and four days, two weeks. She had looked a little desperate, and she felt it, but she couldn’t stop herself either.

“What he said last time,” Nancy straightens, smile biting. “That I’m a junior reporter, that it’s a threadbare case against a prominent, respectable company and that Hopper should have never given it to me in the first place. Oh, and of course, that I should be working on stories better suited for reporters like me.”

“Back to Kitten Watch?”

“Balloon festival at the retirement home on 8th, but close enough.”

“Balloon Festival?”

“Yeah. It’s what you give the interns. But here I am, having worked for this paper for two years getting bullshit fluff pieces because they ‘suit me’. Fucking bullshit.”

This wouldn’t be happening if Hopper hadn’t been forced into an early retirement. For better or worse, he hadn’t cared about how much sleep she lost, what rules she bent, or the ‘F’ on her birth certificate, he cared about the truth. If he was here, she’d still be working on a case worth her time and getting paid.

“He’s punishing me,” she stabs at her last piece of beef, but hits a slimy broccoli head instead. “Do you think anybody ever got a Pulitzer for page five articles? That hard-hitting truths are going to come from a balloon festival? No. No, he doesn’t like women and he especially doesn’t like them talking back, so he’d decided to tank my career. And he can do it. He can fucking—” her chopsticks slip, puncturing through the bottom of the carton. Sauce splashes onto the blanket and seeps into her pants.

Nancy breathes in. Then, out.

She is so calm, so cool and collected. She is not going to lose it. She is not. Going. To lose it.

“What’s his car look like again?” There’s a handful of takeout napkins in her face, and she takes them, mopping up what she can. The blanket will have to be washed, same with the pants, and she’s already behind on laundry.

“No,” Nancy shakes her head. “He’ll know it’s me, or—me adjacent.”

“Well, it’s always on the table, just give me the word when shit’s about to go down.”

“Uh-huh,” she mutters. These were her last pair of good pj pants, and she’s not off till Sunday, which, even if two of the building’s four washers weren’t broken, would be impossible to get in. Her sweatpants are still mostly clean, coffee stains don’t really count as dirty at this point—

“Vecna.”

Nancy looks at him, now fully sitting up, legs resting up on the edge of the table. He’s got his own carton, a noodle hanging precariously from his lips.

“What?”

“The word. For when shit goes down. Vecna!” He does a jazz hand.

“Isn’t that the name of the villain in your book?” She knows it is, other than The Hair it’s all he talks about. Keyword talking and not working, which is what he should be doing instead of hanging out with her. He says it’s part of the process, which, she doesn’t really see how procrastinating is going to help his word count, but she’d be lying if she said she didn’t like the company.

“Technically. Though I’m thinking of changing it.”

“Again?” It’s the third name in as many months for the titular bad guy. His agent is getting frustrated, which Nancy knows because she keeps leaving very threatening messages for him in their answering machine.

Eddie scarfs down something bright pink, “Once again, not my fault he’s got a lot going on. He won’t make up his mind, it’s really annoying.”

“What’d his parents name him?”

“That’s the thing, he can’t just go by his birth name.”

“Why not?”

“Cause he’s not just born. He’s engineered, he’s self-made, reborn and resurrected. I can’t just go with the name bestowed upon him because it’s not true to who he is.”

Nancy does not understand writers.

“Don’t even worry about it, Wheeler. You say Vecna, and I got my pocketknife out.”

She can’t argue with that.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“Anytime, Wheeler.”

They don’t say anything for a while, just the low cranking of the radiator and Eddie’s contemplative chewing to ease the silence of the freezing apartment. At some point, Eddie lays back down, hair fanning out over her lap as he drops a green bean in his mouth. Her hands find their way into his mane automatically and begin braiding. He sighs contently.

French braid. Barbara Holland left the office around 5 pm on Friday and went straight home. Her roommate said she left the building in a hurry around 7:30 pm. The coast guard found her body early Monday morning. Other than a small cut on her hand, there were no signs of bruising or physical violence. She still had her purse, complete with her wallet and keys. There was no note.

She didn’t have a lot of friends or a partner, but no list of enemies either. Her roommate described her as a homebody, and her finances were in order. No one at the office seemed particularly sad, but neither did they seem happy. One moment she was there, the next she wasn’t.

Dutch braid. Though her body wasn’t found till Monday, the coroner estimated her time of death to be somewhere in the ballpark of 4-6 hours prior. The phone call came in around 7:30 Friday. There are 48 hours of unaccounted time. That means Barbara Holland was alive for two days, and nobody knows where.

Fishtail. When Nancy visited her workplace the first time, her boss had been sweating despite the office temperature being a cool 64 in October. The second time, there had been a new guy, Barb’s desk had been scrubbed clean, and Nancy escorted out by company security. Calls she’d made a week earlier started getting dropped and Barb’s roommate disappeared. Then, Hopper retired and her case was sunk down the river.

Eddie hisses, jerking Nancy back to the moment.

“Sorry,” she yawns, teasing out the knot she’d tugged too hard on. Eddie pats her leg in forgiveness. He takes another bite of his food when she notices again how vivid the color is.

“What did you order?” Overpriced is one thing, but undercooked is another.

He tilts his head up at her, face upside down turning his confused frown into an eerie smile. “Wha—oh! These are gummies.” The box is held up closer and—yeah. Where there should be noodles and veggies fried in soy sauce is a pile of red and yellow licorice. There’s also a gummy shrimp, an egg, and a scattering of gummy bears a color only man can produce. She sighs.

If she can’t even tell gummies from chicken, she’s not figuring out how Lenora Industries killed Barbara Holland. Not tonight, anyway.

Nancy ties off his braid, then gets up, plucking what she hopes is a pineapple bear out of his carton before he can stop her.

“Thief!” He squawks.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she calls over her shoulder. “Also, it’s your turn to do the dishes.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Nancy climbs into bed. It takes her a long time to get settled, the apartment too cold and the bed too lumpy. It takes longer for her to fall asleep, her brain continuing to churn through the facts of the day. The flyer, the nametag, the absence of a note.

When she does finally manage to drift off, her dreams are consumed with the unseeing eyes of Barbara Holland.

[ladydorian05]

A Home for Broken Hearts ~ Chapter 3

Header by and co-written with @made-ofmemories

Hello, Darlings!!!

Here's the third chapter and the oficial beginning of the gallery!!

You'll see more Chrissy and Steve (we both believe that they could have been good friends) with some Steve and Eddie, oh yeah, should say it right now, this fic is kind of a slow burn :D

Just in case, about the notes they are leaving with the donations: The write the name of their ex The reason why they're no longer together The amount of time they were together, and the city they used to live in when they were together.

Enjoy! :3

Word count: 3,917

Masterpost

AO3

Chapter 3: First Donations

Steve is greeted by a very smiley Chrissy when he turns up to Hellfire early Monday morning. She’s holding up what looks to be a green letterman jacket.

“I wanted to be the first to donate something,” She tells him excitedly. 

They find a place for the jacket together. Chrissy knows this place better than him, so she does most of the work identifying spots where they could hang it where it’s not at risk of being damaged or moved by a construction worker. Steve just fusses over the placement of it, making sure it’s hanging right, that it’s visible. 

Her joy fades into melancholy once they’re done.

“Are you ok?” 

“Yeah, it’s just strange.” Her brow knits together, “I’ve been holding onto that thing since high school. Feels good to finally let it go.”

“Who was he?” Steve asks. The name inscribed onto the front of the jacket is Jason, given the fact it’s a letterman he’s assuming he was an athlete but that’s as far as Steve’s detective skills take him. 

“Jason?” Steve nods, “He was my highschool boyfriend. He was captain of the basketball team, I was head of the cheer squad. I think the only reason we ever got together was because everyone expected us to. We dated on and off for a year and a half. Long story short, he turned out to be an asshole. I don’t even know why I kept his jacket for this long.”

“Assholes are the worst,” Steve says, he should know, he used to be one. That stereotypical asshole jock, not dissimilar to what Chrissy just described. He’s glad he changed, glad he was finally able to see sense. 

“It wasn’t all bad though, if it wasn’t for Jason I never would have met Eddie.”

“Eddie seems like a good guy.”

“He is, he helped me break up with Jason, looked out for me when all my cheer friends turned on me. I don’t know what I would have done without him.”

“Are you two…” Steve trails off, regretting starting the sentence in the first place, but allowing his curiosity to get the better of him.

“We’re just friends. I’m not exactly his type.” She has a knowing smirk on her face and Steve pointedly looks away, not daring to make eye contact, “He had to work last night so he’s probably still sleeping right now. He’ll be back later though, which means we should probably get some work done before he shows up.”

“Would you mind if I…?” he trails off, taking his phone from his pocket. She looks at him in confusion until he mimics a camera.

"Take a picture? Not at all! It's for the social media you guys set up, right?"

"Yeah, Robin came up with the logo and all."

"That's great, please tag me when you post it, you can find me as Cunning_Chrissy on most social media."

"Will do, are you ready?"

"Yup." She moves to stand beside the jacket, he's about to take the photo when she asks him to wait, "I forgot to write something."

'Jason, left him for

Being a narrow-minded

asshole.

2 years, Indianapolis.'

 They get to work once the photo is uploaded. Steve is tasked with the heavy lifting. Chrissy is a lot stronger than she looks and turns her hand to just about anything, but her official role is interior designer and occasional painter decorator and Steve is more than happy to leave her to it and stay out of her way.

He knows he’ll need to get another job at some point, his savings will only take him so far, but for now it’s enough to have something to focus on that doesn’t involve moping around the apartment wearing sweatpants and feeling sorry for himself all day. The company is nice too, Robin works 8 hour shifts and the apartment always feels so empty without her.

True to Chrissy’s word Eddie does show up a few hours later. Steve almost wipes him out with the wooden plank he’s moving, intended for the foundations of the stage, he has it hoisted up onto his shoulder and admittedly isn’t paying enough attention to his surroundings when he turns on his heel. 

“Woah.” Eddie swerves out of the way, only just managing to save the tray of take-out coffee he’s carrying from spilling onto the floor, “Careful where you’re waving that thing.” 

“Shit, sorry,” Steve apologizes, setting down the plank before he can do some real damage. Eddie doesn’t actually sound pissed, there’s an easy smile on his face as he plucks one of the coffees from its little cardboard holder.

“Wasn’t sure what you drank, you struck me as a latte kinda guy, but I’ve got an americano here if you prefer?” 

“Latte is good,” Steve says, happy to accept the little paper cup that is handed to him. He’s never been fussy about coffee. Though he does draw the line at some of the sickly sweet concoctions Robin tries to get him to try that are more syrup than coffee. 

Eddie takes a seat on the floor opposite him and Steve copies the action. He lowers himself to the ground and tucks his knees up to his chest, his toes pointing towards Eddie’s.The coffee is good, he takes another long sip and lets out a contented sigh.

“Has Chrissy been showing you the ropes?” Eddie asks, an attempt at idle conversation. Steve doesn’t mind, Eddie is easy to talk to.

“Yeah, it’s been a busy morning.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be here,” Eddie apologizes between sips of his own coffee, “I had to work last night. They gave me the closing shift, again.”

Steve nods, he gets it and Chrissy had already explained to him not that he was owed an explanation at all, he and Chrissy had been managing just fine without him but Steve’s still glad to have him around.

“I was wondering,” Steve blurts out after a beat of silence, “How did you end up with this place?” 

“You mean how did a broke bartender afford all of this?” Eddie asks, one eyebrow cocked, with an accusatory glare aimed at Steve.

“No-I- I- not- I didn’t mean it like that,” Steve splutters and Eddie laughs.

“I’m just messing with you.” Eddie kicks out one of his feet which are tucked beneath him to nudge the side of Steve’s foot, “Wayne raised me, he's my uncle, best man I know. We never had much, but Wayne put aside whatever he could since I was a baby, before I even went to live with him. It was meant to be a college fund, when we realized college wasn’t going to happen he gave me the money anyway and told me to spend it on something important. Took me a while to figure out what to do with it, ended up buying this place a few years later.”

”So that’s how a broke bartender afforded this place,” Steve says as if he’s just made some great discovery. Eddie smiles into his coffee.

“Yeah, I also rent it out as gallery space to weirdos I pick up at work on occasion,” He jokes, “Doesn’t seem like a great earner so far though.”

“It will be, trust me. Just give it time,” Steve assures him, “Got our first donation today,” He nods towards the jacket he and Chrissy had hung earlier.

“Never thought I’d see that thing again, I can’t believe she kept it.” Eddie says, “She tell you about him?”

“Just that he was an asshole and that you helped her break up with him.” 

“Asshole is an understatement,” Eddie scoffs, “The guy had it out for me even before I started hanging out with Chrissy.” 

“Why you?”

Eddie shrugs and takes a sip of his coffee, “It may come as a surprise to you, but I wasn’t exactly popular in highschool,” He says sarcastically, “It was rough at first but by senior year most people just tried to ignore me. Bullies get tired real quick once you learn how to stand up for yourself. Jason never liked me though, I could tell. He was just waiting for an excuse to cause problems and I usually gave him one.”

That’s how it goes, you dare to wear the wrong clothes, get the wrong haircut, listen to the wrong music or have the wrong hobbies and suddenly you’re the outcast. He’s not proud to admit it, but had they met in highschool he probably would have been just another one of those judgemental assholes Eddie had to deal with. His ‘king Steve’ phase hadn’t been one of his finest moments. He’s glad that’s not him anymore, he can’t wrap his head around the concept of anyone disliking Eddie.

“Well, some good news, that asshole is the reason we just reached 200 followers,” Steve says, pulling his phone from his pocket and turning it so Eddie can see the screen. 

There’s only two posts so far, the one Robin had posted on Saturday announcing the creation of the gallery and featuring the logo she had eventually decided on and then the photo Steve had uploaded a few hours ago of Jason’s jacket with Heidi’s scrunchy visible in the background. 

“Damn! At Least he’s good for something.” It’s Chrissy, leaning over the stack of building materials Eddie is propped up against, he startles at the sound of her voice, twisting his neck to look at her.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Eddie asks, hand clenched over his chest. Chrissy rolls her eyes and ruffles his hair with the hand that isn’t holding her coffee cup.

“Stop being such a baby,” She chastises lightheartedly. 

Steve pushes himself to his feet, thrusting his coffee into Eddie’s hand with a mumbled “Hold this.” As much as he would love to stay and watch their admittedly very amusing bickering, someone has just wandered through the front door looking lost and holding a tophat.

“Hey,” Steve greets, the woman turns to him with a definite hint of confusion on her face but now accompanied by a friendly smile, “Are you here for the gallery?”

“Yeah.” She nods. 

“Well, you’re in the right place. I’m Steve.” He offers his hand for a quick handshake.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Emma.” She hesitates for a second before shaking his hand.

She’s probably mid 30’s if Steve had to guess, a little awkward, but he can’t blame her for that it’s not exactly a situation one finds themselves in everyday. He leads her over to the slowly growing collection of memorabilia and lets her decide where the tophat should go. He hands her a marker once they’ve found a spot for it.

She writes beside it:

‘Noah, said I was

a hindrance for his

broadway dreams.

3 years, Chicago’

“Thank you, I’m glad to be free of it. I really don’t know why I’ve been holding onto it for so long.” She says, looking lighter than she had just five minutes ago, “Maybe seeing the post on Instagram was the little push I needed to finally let go.”

“Glad to help.”

One picture of a smiling Emma standing beside her gallery donation for their social medias and a 5 dollar bill later and Steve is making his way back to Chrissy, Eddie and his now surely cold coffee. 

“Boom!” He says dropping down so he’s cross legged opposite Eddie and slamming the 5 dollar bill down between them with maybe a little more enthusiasm than it warrants, “First official donation!” 

Chrissy makes her way over and they share a highfive whilst Eddie shakes his head at them, a ghost of a smile threatening to break out across his features as he slips the money into his pocket.

"We might need a tip jar,” Chrissy comments.

“I think we have some empty paint buckets laying around.” Eddie offers.

“A paint bucket?” Steve makes a face, “I don’t know, sounds too crass.”

“Then, what would his majesty suggest?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes at the nickname, it’s a little too reminiscent of ‘king Steve’ for his liking. Though maybe he had deserved it just a little, it had come across blunter than he intended, maybe a little snobbish.

“I might have something back at the apartment. Robin and I got this big jar from the artisan’s market last year.”

“ Is it blown glass?” Chrissy asks.

“I don’t think so, it’s a normal jar, just big. It was filled with jam.” He remembers it well, apricot and lavender, they had spent months eating jam and peanut butter sandwiches for lunch. Robin insisted it was better than jelly, Steve couldn’t really tell the difference, but it had been quite pricey and he was determined to not waste a single drop of it, “I’m pretty sure she kept the jar. I’ll ask her and bring it around once it’s found.”

“In the meantime, come on,” Chrissy says, kicking Eddie’s thigh lightly with the side of her foot, “Coffee break’s over, let’s get back to work.”

Steve offers him a hand to help him stand up. He takes it, with a groan and two little hops Eddie’s up and standing much closer than Steve anticipated, their hands still clasped together when Eddie says, “Come on, big boy. Let’s work on that stage.”

‘Big boy’

The nickname echoes inside his head as he picks up the forgotten plank and mindlessly follows Eddie. He really needs to pull himself together, he just got dumped less than a week ago, he can’t do this so soon. This is just him making something small a big deal once again.

Just let it go Harrington, it’s just a nickname. He’d bulked up a little since he started going to the gym a few months ago, nothing crazy but even he had noticed he was looking quite… broad. Maybe it was about that, just a general observation. But then, wouldn’t that mean that Eddie has paid enough attention to his body to notice?

“Hey, Steve? I kinda need you to focus on the task at hand,” He comes back from his thoughts to Eddie waving a hand in front of his face, just like he had that first night at the bar, “I don’t think either of us want an accident involving a hammer and nails to happen.”

“No, yeah, you’re right. Sorry, I was just thinking about the last time I saw the jar.” Robin has told him time and time again how much he sucks at lying, but Eddie doesn’t really know him to realize that, so he hopes the little lie is believable enough.

“Don’t fret about it too much, we can figure something out if you guys can’t find it.” He’s holding a hammer and aligning the first nail, “Ha, we could get a blank piggy bank and paint it to the gallery’s theme.”

“A piggy bank covered with broken hearts? Pass, wouldn’t do that to a poor ceramic pig.”

“To the bar’s theme then! All red and black with paper mache little horns and all that.” He holds one hand up to his head making a little devil horn with his index finger for emphasis and sticking his tongue out.

“Jesus, that’s even worse!” Steve laughs, a full belly laugh.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Eddie agrees with a chuckle and a smile so wide it makes Steve’s cheeks hurt just looking at it.

Steve finds himself pleasantly tired as he’s driving home. They had spent most of the day working on the stage, laying down the wooden foundations and taking the opportunity to get to know each other better. They only call it a day when Eddie has to leave for his shift at the bar.

Chrissy is kind with a surprisingly wicked sense of humor that practically mirrors Eddie’s. And Eddie… Eddie is just something else. He’s all unbound energy, funny, clever… passionate. He missed this, making friends his own age. Sure he will always have Robin, but it’s nice meeting new people. The city can be a lonely place sometimes, nothing like the close-knit small town he grew up in.  

“No, that’ll be all. Okay, thank you,” Robin is speaking on the phone when he walks into the apartment. She hangs up before turning to greet him, “Hey, dingus.” 

“Hey, you ordered takeout?” He asks, gesturing to the phone in her hand.

“Yeah, Thai. Got you your usual.”

“Thanks.” He drops his keys onto the table by the door and kicks off his shoes before he makes his way further into the apartment and drops down onto the couch next to Robin. The tv is on, playing ads that neither of them are paying attention to.

“How was spending all day with Eddie?”

“I was with Chrissy most of the day. She donated something to the gallery, said she wanted to be the first.”

“Oh, I saw it! The letterman jacket, right?” 

“Yup, we got a public donation too. Eddie got there a few minutes before that with coffee. Did you know he bought the place with his college fund?” She shakes her head. He lets his head slump back against the couch cushion, thinking back over the conversation, “Maybe I should have invested in a business too,” He muses, talking as much to himself as he is Robin.

“Steve, with what money? You worked your ass off to cover community college and your teaching certificate and you won’t even touch the ‘this is the last you’ll see from us’ money even when we struggle to make rent.”

“And I never will.”

“See. Maybe you should save up and open your own bakery when you get tired of being surrounded by little munchkins all day. Your muffins and cakes are good.”

“We both know I’ll never get tired of teaching.”

“Yeah, I know, your mama bear instincts wouldn’t let you,” she teases.

“Ha.ha,” he says dryly, looking over to her with an unamused expression, "Maybe you’re onto something though, It’s not like I can find a school that’ll keep me around.”

“Hey, it’s okay, dingus. You’ll get there, you’ll see. You will land a school with your very own classroom and a hoard of munchkins and little assholes in the making to be guided by your caring teaching methods.”

“You make it sound so weird, Robs.” He screws up his face, she doesn’t seem phased.

“Well, whatever, you know what I mean.” She waves a hand between them then twists in her seat to face him, pulling her legs up onto the couch and wrapping her arms around her legs, knees tucked against her chest, “Now tell me more about your lovely day with Eddie.”

“What do you want me to say? I already told you everything.” 

“I don’t know, what’s he like?”

“He’s nice I guess, bit of a dork.” He’s smiling fondly, remembering the way Eddie had called him ‘his majesty’ earlier, the over the top bow when he had been climbing into the van the first night they met. 

“Uh-huh, how nice?” She’s got a meddling smirk on her face and Steve sighs. He knows that look.

“Robin, no.”

“Whatever do you mean?” She says, batting her eyelashes at him, all fake innocence and naivety. 

“I know that tone and no, no funny business.” He says sternly, “We’ve talked about this, it’s a bad idea.”

“No, I mentioned it and you shut me down.”

“I barely know the guy.”

“Oh please, you’ve exchanged more words with him than with some of your other ‘nice’ guys.”

“Low blow, Buckley.”

“Look, I’m not suggesting you go jump into another relationship or start proposing marriage,” She explains, “I’m just saying, maybe it’ll be good for you to get back out there after the whole Heidi thing.”

“It’s only been 3 days.” He frowns, he didn’t think he had been acting that pathetic over it all, but if anyone was going to see past the bravado and see how torn up about it he actually was, it was going to be Robin, “I just need some time and I don’t want to make things awkward with Eddie either.”

“Can I ask you something?” She’s going to ask anyway no matter what his response.

“Shoot.”

“Did you think it would last? Between you and Heidi I mean.”

“I- I don’t know.” He thinks he knows the answer deep down, but it’s difficult to admit it to himself and even harder to say out loud, “I guess not.”

“I always thought she was kind of a bitch, you know.”

“Wow, tell me what you really think, Robs.” He laughs, the serious mood broken as Robin snorts out a laugh of her own and lets herself flop forward against Steve, her head coming to settle on his shoulder as she calms herself down, “Can we please talk about something other than my love life now?”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll drop it.” Steve cranes his neck and gives her a look, “For now. Seriously though you must have done more than just drink coffee and talk all day, how’s the gallery look?”

He shakes his head at her in disbelief, but there’s a smile tugging the corners of his mouth upwards. Always so nosey. She really isn’t going to let this drop until he’s given her every last detail. 

“Well, considering the fact that the gallery consists of 4 items so far and that the bar is still a work in progress, it still looks like a construction site with some random stuff perched on a wall.”

“That's great. Maybe you can donate some more of your stuff, that whole feng shui thing of letting go of old stuff to get rid of negative energy or whatever.”

“Maybe. I’ll think about it.” Leaving behind that first trinket had felt good, but the thought of getting rid of more stuff makes him uneasy, “And since when are you into Feng shui?”

“Since I read an article about it last week.”

“Right.” It explains a lot, just the other day he’d poked his head into her room at the sound of furniture scraping against the floor and found her rearranging everything as much as she could in the tiny bedroom, ”Oh, do you remember that jam we got last year?”

“The apricot lavender one?” She asks, lifting her head from his shoulder briefly to look at him with a confused expression.

“That one, did we keep the jar?”

“Umm, I think so, we did try that whole ecological minimum waste lifestyle for a while. Why?”

“I just thought it could be used to keep the tips from the people that donate to the gallery.”

“That’s a good idea, I volunteer my art skills to make the jar look nice… when I find it.”

He hums a vague sound of agreement and settles into a more comfortable position, letting himself sink into the slightly lumpy couch cushions. Robin has the same idea, settling with her back against the arm  rest and her feet in Steve’s lap.

“What’re we watching anyway?” he asks, turning his attention to the tv for the first time since he walked in and saw the ads playing.

“The golden girls.”

“Again?!” 

“Shut up, you love Betty White,” Robin mumbles, her attention already lost to the episode he’s sure they’ve both seen at least 5 times. He doesn’t argue, but he does let out a heavy sigh, he can’t have her thinking she’s right all the time.

<Chapter 2 ~ Masterpost ~ Chapter 4>

[themaevethcometh]

I posted 8,710 times in 2022

That's 2,186 more posts than 2021!

60 posts created (1%)

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#!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

i think what bothers me most about stranger things season 4 volume 2 is all of the unfulfilled promises.

Let’s start with the deaths.  We were told that the end of this season would be carnage and that there would be a body count.  At one point “five confirmed deaths” was thrown out there.  First of all, I don’t think I can even list the five deaths.

Eddie, obviously

I assume they’re including Max since she was technically dead for a minute

Brenner? 

Jason?

Genuinely don’t know who this last one would be

I found none of these deaths satisfying.

1. Eddie - narratively, it didn’t make sense for him to choose to fight the bats.  I know that they wanted to give him a hero moment where he could be brave since he was upset about running when Chrissy was killed, but he didn’t have to do that!  He was meant to be the distraction, and running was still distracting, plus the instructions for him and Dustin were to get out of there when things became too dangerous.  There were other ways for him to be brave.  I didn’t see a reason for him to stand and fight there, especially when the demobats died shortly after anyway.  It felt useless, it felt wasted, and it felt like a death just for the sake of having a body count rather than furthering the story.  Adding on to the fact that his name will never be cleared and that Dustin/his uncle are the only two who seem to be mourning him (despite him having multiple friends in the D&D group and friendly allies with the rest of the Upside Down crew), this doesn’t feel like a meaningful or worthwhile death.

2. Max - I think this death had so much potential that they didn’t follow up on, and it was negated by the fact that El suddenly was able to bring her back to life????  It took me a second to realize that Max was actually dying since her injuries weren’t the full vecna-ed extent, but having her die as part of a sacrifice would’ve been super impactful on every other protagonist and would’ve actually felt like a loss.  If they were going to bring her back to life, it should cost something.  Right now she’s obviously not fully okay, given that El couldn’t psychically connect to her and she’s in a coma, but to suddenly give El the power to bring people back from the dead and show her being perfectly fine afterwards didn’t make sense to me.  It would’ve been extremely interesting to me if El did some sort of trading of her life for Max’s (especially considering the lyrics of Running Up That Hill and how significant that song was this season), and still had Max come back slightly off (and possibly with residual affects of El’s powers).  Obviously this would’ve unlocked a whole new can of worms, but to have the only multi-season protagonist death be immediately negated and undone felt cheap.

3. Brenner - could not care less about this man.  They tried to make his death huge and emotional and I simply did not care I was glad he died

4. Jason - once again, could not care about this guy, and his death was so sudden that I don’t think we were necessarily supposed to feel the impact of it.

We were promised carnage, we were promised a body count, and what we got was one death that was unnecessary to the narrative, one death that was immediately undone by a super powered girl who’s powers seem limitless for the fourth season in a row, and two deaths of antagonists that I felt nothing over.  If you’re going to advertise the deaths in a series, have the guts to follow through.  Would I have been upset if Steve died? yes.  Would it have been extremely impactful for the babysitter/hero to die? yes.  It would’ve had lasting effects on the narrative and actually meant something to the characters.  Would I have been upset if Dustin died? yes.  Would it have been interesting to see the impact and seriousness of a 14 year old dying? yes.  Would it have considerably raised the stakes and the sense of danger? also yes.  Would it have been interesting seeing how the mix of the kids and young adults proceeds forwards as a group since he was the main bridge between the kids and Steve? yes.  Would I have been upset if El died? yes.  Would it have raised the stakes for the show in a new and interesting way now that they don’t have their saving grace around? yes.  Would it have been fascinating to see how that would impact Will? Mike? Hopper? Max? yes.  Would I have been upset if Mike died? yes. Would killing the so-called heart of the group have a deep impact and spur them forward? yes.  Would this have lasting effects on El that likely would impact her powers in some way? yes.

There are so many ways that they could’ve made the deaths significant and important.  Instead, they refused to truly kill any of their main protagonists, greatly lowering the narrative stakes and leaving me feeling unfulfilled.  If someone’s death has a narrative reason and impacts the other characters/the plot, that is a worthwhile death, even if I’ll be sad and go read a bunch of fix-it fics.  None of these deaths fulfilled that.

Queerbaiting was another unfulfilled promise from volume 2.  I personally didn’t ship steddie and I didn’t think byler would be requited and canon this season, but it is an undeniable fact that they utilized both of those ships during the advertising of volume 2 only to make steve go after nancy again with big speeches that didn’t fix the context they were given in, kill off eddie, and have will’s gay pining be used to further mileven while mike remains oblivious to will’s feelings.  Will being gay isn’t in question anymore, I personally am not waiting on a verbal “i’m gay” from him and don’t think that’s part of the queerbaiting because anyone with a brain or a smidge of media comprehension can see it, but only using him to further the plot of the straight couple and then not letting him have a full confession to mike where he is heard and understood is queerbaiting after the emphasis that was put on this pairing.

There were a slew of other things that I felt went unfulfilled: the use of “Running Up that Hill” implying some sort of last minute sacrifice to save a loved one, Will’s not being able to take ownership of the painting and saying that El commissioned it, therefore not having Mike understand the grand emotional moment of it, the D&D game at the beginning having Dustin lose on an 11 and Erica (an outsider) managing to win with a 20, yet El was still the savior of the day ultimately despite the opening of the gates, literally everything about Will’s connection to the upside down and vecna not being touched on and him being reduced to the pining gay friend.  On top of that, the only person who devloped as a character was Eddie, and he died for it.  Jonathan is still lying to Nancy about college and they’re both still not communicating with each other.  Will is still pining for Mike in secret.  Mike is still hyper-focused on El and completely ignorant of what’s going on with his friends.  I suppose Lucas realized that jocks are bad, which is not a good takeaway and I’m still mad that none of his friends supported him when he wanted to get involved in another extracurricular activity, and that just puts him back to where he was at the end of season 3.  El still needs Mike and his love confession to spur her powers forward, rather than being able to rely on herself and not having to be anyone’s special superhero.  Steve is still hung up on romance and specifically Nancy, something I thought we left behind a while ago and which serves neither of their characters right now.  Dustin might feel a renewed responsibility for leading other kids with nonconformity, but that’s less of a development and more of a reaffirmation of who he already unwaveringly is.  We didn’t get to see Max at the end of the season because she’s in a coma, but would her realization that she deserves to live, wants to live, and isn’t responsible for Billy’s death still stick after vecna’s abuses?

I think the reason that these last two episodes felt like a letdown for me personally is that we were promised so much and given so little of it.  Don’t give us expectations if you’re not going to follow through.  That’s bad writing.

15 notes - Posted July 2, 2022

#4

yknow how every student has their sensei, the one who they’re closest to and who’s style they work best with despite how all students have trained under more than one person by now? i really, really, really want chozen to become tory’s

21 notes - Posted September 29, 2022

#3

barbie princess and the pauper stage adaptation WHEN

26 notes - Posted March 20, 2022

#2

no okay i’m sorry i’m still thinking about how in the season finale it would’ve been so simple to show ej getting the bare minimum kindness from anyone.  here are some examples that would’ve taken less than 10 seconds of screen time:

after ej tells everyone that he was acting to get channing off of their backs and that they’re going to still do the show their way, someone (literally anyone) says “good plan ej, thanks” instead of ricky’s passive-aggressive “you sure?”

after the show miss jen hugs ej and says “from one director to another, you did amazing. i’m proud of you”

ashlyn passes around a card backstage for the cast to sign and give to ej showing their appreciation for his work on the show. bonus points if she had big red bring a bouquet of flowers for him to add to the cast gift

i cannot stress enough that these are all very normal things for people to say/do after a show, yet we got to see none of it, even after watching ej be emotionally stomped on time and time again this season.  we got no catharsis for him and i will never understand why they couldn’t include one small moment for him

64 notes - Posted September 15, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Not to be a billy hargrove apologist because he did genuinely awful things in canon and it’s important to acknowledge that, but i do find it interesting how so many people absolutely hate him and think he deserved to die (“deserve” is a strange way to be looking at media in general but that’s a different essay) when there was so much evidence pointing to the fact that if he has been given kindness and support he could’ve changed for the better. Like. The guy genuinely has no one looking out for him. His mom abandoned him. His dad is abusive. Susan doesn’t do anything to stop the abuse (not blaming her, completely understandable why she wouldn’t/couldn’t) and Max didn’t make things better either with the way he was forced to watch out for her and punished when he couldn’t control her (again, not blaming Max here, that’s 100% not her fault). He has no safe environment and engages in a lot of self-destructive behaviors (driving recklessly, lashing out, trying to hook up with grown women as a high school student) but the second he was shown a little bit of kindness by El he gave up his life trying to protect her. He and Max were obviously in a better spot in season 3, implying that he had at least changed his behavior towards her in the narrative time between seasons. We don’t know what happened with lucas in that time (if anything) but I doubt Max would’ve lessened her hatred of billy if he was still racist to her boyfriend, and dacre said he wasn’t playing billy as racist so he obviously justified those lines and actions towards lucas in some other way, which opens a whole different (slightly problematic) can of worms but is something i’ve seen fic writers explore explanations for. There was so much potential for a redemption arc if he hadn’t been killed off and it’s been interesting to me how strongly some of the fandom recoils from that idea and how the duffers negated a lot of the shifts in characterization billy had in the previous season while writing season 4. Maybe i’m too much of a bleeding heart who wants to believe that no one is beyond forgiveness and everyone can be better if they want to be, but comparing how this fandom is so polarized when discussing billy compared to, for example, draco malfoy, who also was a child in a bad situation, who also was extremely prejudice against a group of innocent people, who at least had an extremely loving mother, and the majority of that fandom approves of the idea of a redemption arc for him but billy is so divisive.

98 notes - Posted July 18, 2022

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[tripleaxeldiaz]

nobody wants to hear you sing about tragedy

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Eddie’s fine. Really. He’s got a fresh scar on his right shoulder, a twin to his other one, and a couple more medical bills to pay off, but other than that, everything is good.

Why shouldn’t it be? Things could be worse — he could’ve lost his arm, could’ve been shot in the spine instead, could’ve not survived the trip to the hospital. But he did — he’s healed, he’s still breathing, and he’s ready to get back to work on Monday, to stop staring at the inside of his house and get back to the life he’d finally started to feel settled in. There’s a twinge in his chest every time he thinks about actually being back out in the field, but it’s just nerves, a small worry at getting back into the swing of things. He knows the team and how well they work together, so he’s sure one rope rescue with Buck is all it’ll take to feel normal again.

He’s fine. Or almost fine. Really, he is. He doesn’t let the tremble in his hands or the ice in his gut tell him otherwise.

~~~~~~~~~~

It doesn’t really register, the first time it happens. There’s a glint of light in his periphery, and for a second, his arms go numb. It’s just a second, though — he sees the flash again, sunlight shining off an axe Ravi is packing onto the truck, and he moves on, doesn’t think about it again.

The next time, the wind whips by his ear a little too fast after a call at the pier, and he turns around so quickly he cracks his neck, the thought of bulletbulletbullet ricocheting in his head. It gets him a concerned look from Bobby and reminds him that he never called that therapist his doctor mentioned at his last visit, but he elects to deal with it later and moves on.

Things keep happening, but they’re all small, insignificant — someone laughing too loudly at dinner, the feel of hot asphalt under his hands as he reaches under the ambulance for a runaway bandage roll, a phantom jolt of pain in his shoulder when someone accidentally jostles him running to the truck.

Tiny things, meaningless, not even worth remembering.

He’ll get used to them, eventually. He’s been healing, isolated from the real world for months now, it’s going to be a bit of a shock to his system and his senses.

He doesn’t call the therapist.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s happy. Genuinely happy, in an open, honest way that Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen. His laughs are still loud but they’re freer, unrestrained, and his smile is bright enough to light whatever room he’s in. It makes something sing in Eddie’s chest, especially when all that wattage gets directed at him. If he’s honest, the music’s been there for a while, it just took lying in his own blood, reaching toward the only thing that felt like safety, for him to finally put a name on the song that’s been playing.

Talk about shitty timing.

Because Buck’s with Taylor now, and as much as he still doesn’t care for her, she’s helping with Buck’s new attitude too. He sees the soft smiles that linger after a text from her, and he only gives himself a minute to wish it were for him instead before reminding himself how much of a miracle those smiles are at all.

If he had watched Buck get shot, been splattered with his blood, been soaked with it as he tried to stop it from leaking out of his chest, he’s not sure he would’ve had any kind of happiness to spare.

So he adds this feeling, this particularly green beast twisting in his chest, to the list of things that he’s just going to have to get used to, and moves on. Buck is still in his and Chris’ life, still at their house more than his own, still the center of both of their worlds, and that’s enough. 

It has to be.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Wow, Eddie, you look like shit.”

He glares at Chimney as best he can, but he’s too tired for it to hold any heat. “Good morning to you too, Chim.”

Hen sits next to him at the table where he’s nursing his second mug of coffee of the day, downing the first one before driving Chris to school. She presses the back of her hand to his forehead, and he tries not to melt into the touch too much.

“You don’t feel warm,” she says, “but you look like you’ve been hit by a truck.”

He shrugs, staring down at his coffee. “Just haven’t been sleeping well.”

That may be an understatement. Not sleeping well implies sleeping at all, which Eddie’s not sure he’s been able to do in the past few days. It was easy enough when he first got home, still on pain meds that made his eyelids constantly heavy. And when Chris crawled into his bed the night after his sling came off, quiet but sniffling and burrowing into his side, it was a relief to gather him up close, a hand stroking through his hair as they both drifted off, clinging to each other. It was good for both of them, necessary to remind them both that Eddie is still here, but Chris went to his own room on Monday night instead of Eddie’s, and Eddie refused to take that choice away from him. 

So he’s been alone, in a too dark room with a too big bed and a too loud brain that only shows him flashes of light and blood and fear whenever he does try to close his eyes.

Just another thing he has to get used to.

He sees Chim and Hen exchange a look and hopes to God they don’t press it. He’s beyond frayed, his state of exhaustion warring with his almost constant state of hypervigilance, and he’s not sure if he’d snap or cry or both if they try to ask him any more questions. Either way, that’s not how he wants them or anyone else to see him, especially not at work. At work, he’s Mr. Cool, always level headed, always in the game, always on top of it. Despite the jumpiness, despite the sense of dread that seems to be a permanent fixture under his skin, he’s been able to keep that attitude going, even getting lost in it sometimes, feeling like the Eddie of four months ago again. If that starts to unravel, who knows what other parts of him will fall apart with it?

Luckily, they seem to get the hint, a pat on the back and a squeeze on the shoulder as they leave the loft to restock the ambulance. But even once they’re gone and he’s alone in the quiet of the loft again, Eddie feels exposed. Fragile. Vulnerable. Teetering on the edge of an abyss he can’t afford to fall into. And he hates it, because this isn’t him. He’s the protector, the provider, the guy who’s survived getting shot twice now, and as much as he encourages Chris to be open and emotional, it still feels wrong to him, like something too close to failure. He knows, rationally, that talking about the mess in his head would probably help, but it would also feel like a loss. Like this one-sided war he’s been fighting was all for nothing.

He hears Buck before he sees him, his unmistakable bounding up the stairs echoing through the whole loft. Just that sound, just the knowledge that Buck is about to be in his vicinity, is enough to yank Eddie back from the edge. He’s not settled or calm or better, but he’s not worse. These days, that’s all he can really ask for.

Buck takes Hen’s vacant seat, stealing a sip of coffee and chattering about a traveling art exhibit he thinks they should take Chris to. Eddie feels the vice on his ribs loosen, letting Buck’s voice and enthusiasm wash over him, pushing him back to center. He doesn’t quite make it, not when Buck stops talking mid-sentence, brow furrowed and looking so intensely at Eddie he can probably see right through him

“You look tired,” Buck says. 

Tired isn’t a strong enough word. But he smirks half heartedly instead, willing a little bit of his confidence back to get the subject changed sooner. “And here I thought I looked good today.”

“No, you always—“ Buck clears his throat and shakes his head, “You just look like you could use a nap. Are you okay?”

And for the first time since he woke up in the hospital with a new hole in his body and extra demons in his head, Eddie doesn’t want to say he’s fine. In the face of earnest blue eyes and worry lines, he doesn’t want to lie, and that’s exactly what an I’m fine would be, no matter how much he’s been trying to ignore it. He doesn’t want to downplay and pretend that it’s nothing, because it’s Buck. Buck who has seen him lower than he’s ever let anyone see, who slept on his couch so he was never too far away from him or Chris, who knows when Eddie needs to be pulled or pushed or pressed or none of the above. 

He doesn’t want to just say he’s fine, because he’s not.

The courage to say so finally fills him, just in time for Buck’s phone to light up, Taylor’s name flashing across the screen on two messages. Buck doesn’t even glance at his phone before flipping it face down and pushing it to the side, but it’s too late — Eddie feels his walls going back up, any bravery leaving to make room for the reminder that Buck is in a good place and Eddie will do anything to keep him there. He’ll take another bullet, he’ll keep every emotion under lock and key, he’ll carve his own damn heart out of his chest if he has to. He cannot — will not — be the reason that smile that’s become so natural on Buck’s face dims by even a watt. 

The crease in between Buck’s brow has only gotten deeper the longer Eddie hasn’t answered, so he musters up the most genuine smile he can. “I’m okay, Buck. I promise.” The lie cuts through his throat like broken glass.

Buck squints at him, scooting forward until his knees are digging into Eddie’s thigh. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”

“Of course,” he says, another lie, more salt in the wounds he’s already given himself. Buck’s quiet for a few long moments, studying Eddie’s face, and Eddie prays that he doesn’t crack, that Buck doesn’t keep pressing. By some miracle, he doesn’t, just rests a hand on Eddie’s knee and squeezes before heading to the pantry for a snack.

The vice is back as soon as he’s out of sight, and Eddie’s list of things he has to learn to live with is starting to feel a little too long.

~~~~~~~~~~

Healing isn’t linear. It’s something he’s heard from every doctor he’s seen, every therapist he’s been assigned to, something he’s experienced first hand, physically and emotionally. So when he wakes up one morning feeling rested, energetic, and normal, he’s wary. He doesn’t want to focus on it, afraid he’ll scare this fragile feeling away, but he also wants to soak in it as much as he can. Wants to remember the easy laughs with the team and the night of board games with Chris and Buck when he’s inevitably surrounded by darkness again tomorrow.

He falls asleep and he doesn’t dream and he wakes up and feels...normal. Again. Same thing the morning after, and the morning after that. For a whole week, he doesn’t wake up with the taste of blood in his mouth or a soreness in his shoulder. He hears birds and sees the sun peaking in and feels something dangerously close to good. The wariness is still there, but every day it gets pushed a little farther back in his mind, making it a little easier to believe that while this feeling might not last, maybe it won’t be as dark when the clouds roll back in.

He’s wrong. 

The restlessness comes back with a vengeance — a thrumming in his blood that won’t let him sleep, that amplifies every sound to sharp snaps that remind him too much of the gunfire he’s been trying to forget, putting him constantly on edge again. There’s a heaviness too, making it hard to breathe, hard to move, even though staying in one place for too long feels like putting a target on his back for the monsters that have made a home in his head.

He tries to keep his cool, tries to keep the facade up, but it’s hard to keep your balance on a frayed tightrope.

Bobby notices the shift right away.

It doesn’t help that even the quiet thump of the oven closing makes Eddie flinch where he’s sitting at the kitchen counter. He had hoped that watching Bobby make breakfast would calm him, remind him of the countless hours he’s spent in Abuela’s kitchen doing the very same thing, but it doesn’t. He’s still jittery, worse than he can remember being, and everything just feels like too much. 

Bobby sets a to-go container down in front of him, and Eddie flinches (and curses himself) again. He looks up, confused, and is met with Bobby’s I’m about to tell you to do something and you are not allowed to say no look. Usually it’s Buck on the receiving end of that one.

He tries for a deflection. “Are we going somewhere, Cap?”

The look stays in place. “We are not. You are. There’s enough in there for you and Chris, take it home and don’t let me see you here for the next 48 hours.”

“There’s still three hours left of shift.”

Bobby pushes the container closer. “Go home, Diaz. Be with your kid. We’ll talk when you get back. And if you won’t talk to me, we’ll find someone you will talk to.”

Normally, he’d fight back. Raise his hackles, insist he doesn’t need any special treatment or intervention. But he feels like his insides have been scooped out and replaced with lead and cement and he’s tired. He barely has enough left in him to keep himself upright.

He slowly picks up the container and gets up to leave. Bobby calls his name as he gets to the top of the stairs.

“We’re here for you,” he says. “You’ve been through too much to be handling this on your own. Just let us know how we can help.”

I would if I could, but I don’t even know where to start. 

He just nods, hopes his face looks some degree of reassuring, and heads to the locker room.

~~~~~~~~~~

The way Chris’ face lights up when he sees Eddie waiting for him in the front office is enough to thaw the ice in his chest for a minute. He can hear the exact octave his mother’s voice would reach if she heard about him pulling Chris out of school for “no good reason”, but he also could not give less of a shit.

He feels a little bit more like a person with Chris in the backseat. That’s a good enough reason for him.

They set up camp in the park near their house, Bobby’s food and extra snacks Eddie picked up spread out between them, and Chris fills Eddie in on all the things he missed while he was working. He tries to focus on everything — Chris’ excitement about his upcoming science fair, the Sour Patch Watermelon sugar stuck to the tip of his nose, the way his hands move with his words. Eddie feels better, more settled, just getting to bask in the sun and in Chris like this, but he still feels heavy, like every move he makes has him fighting against gravity, threatening to pull him into the dirt. 

There’s a crack from the playground in front of them, and Eddie’s blood turns to ice. He’s halfway to standing before he sees it’s just some kids snapping sticks in half to build some kind of log cabin. He lets out a slow breath as he sits back down and wills his heartbeat back to normal.

Chris is staring at him, eyes intense and brow furrowed, very similar to someone else they know.

Shit.

As soon as he’s settled, Chris moves to sit in the criss-cross of his legs. He’s a little too on the lanky side for this anymore, but Eddie’s absolutely not going to complain. Chris twists until he’s looking Eddie in the eye. Eddie does his best not to look away.

Chris rests a hand on his cheek. “It’s okay if you’re feeling bad,” he says. “You can talk to me about it, if you want.”

The crack comes from Eddie’s own heart this time. His kid has been through so much in 10 short years, and it’s only made him wiser than he should be, compassionate and understanding and open, ready to be there for anyone without a second thought. He’s good in every sense of the word, and Eddie’s in awe of the fact that he, somehow, has something to do with that. And the last thing he wants to do is lie to his son, but he just...can’t. Talk about it. Not now. Not yet. Not in a way that will keep Chris this good.

He has no way of articulating all that, so he just wraps his arms around Chris’ middle and squeezes him close.

“I know, buddy. Thank you. I’ll be okay, and we’ll talk soon.”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not everything.

It seems to be enough for Chris, though. He nods and pats Eddie’s face before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a library book. “Well, I’m gonna read to you until you feel better, just like you do for me.”

It’s the first real smile Eddie’s cracked in months. He kisses the top of Chris’ head, settling his chin there as Chris leans back into his chest.

“Sounds like a good plan to me.”

They sit there for a while longer, Chris reads to him about Percy and Annabeth and Grover, and Eddie, inexplicably, feels a little bit lighter.

~~~~~~~~~~

Buck’s Jeep is parked outside when they get home, and Chris practically breaks down the door to greet him. It looks like he’s gone all out, too — Chinese food on the table, the promise of cookies and cream ice cream in the fridge, and a list of movies that Chris ecstatically agrees with as Buck lists them off. Chris hurries off to change and clean up for dinner, and Eddie moves to start opening plastic lids and cardboard containers. 

“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he says. He leaves out just having you with us is enough.

Buck waves him off. “Anything for you two.”

He could leave it at that, keep up the comfortable silence as they move around the kitchen in tandem, but there’s a nagging memory that he has to ask about or he’ll never stop thinking about it.

“Didn’t you have a date with Taylor tonight?”

Buck tenses ever so slightly, a container of dumplings shifting in his hand. “Cancelled,” he says with a shrug.

Eddie knows there’s more, but Chris comes back before he can ask, and it doesn’t feel like a conversation they can have in front of a 10 year old. So they eat, and fall into the familiar banter between the three of them, and for half an hour, Eddie can be present. He can forget the last six months and the weight still hanging off of him and live in this moment, with the two most important people in his life, and pretend that this is all there is. Just these two and their joy and warmth that wraps around him tight enough to make him feel alive again, if only for a little while.

Two bowls of ice cream and one and a half movies later, Chris is dead to the world. Buck carries him to bed and Eddie tries to ignore the new ache that’s sprung up of the course of the evening, the one that wants and pulls towards Buck like a magnet. The one that almost purrs when Buck settles back on the couch so close they’re touching from ankle to (good) shoulder, contentedness washing over the living room as they find a rerun of The Shawshank Redemption playing on cable. It’s not perfect, there’s still a roiling in his blood that won’t seem to leave him alone, but he feels better than he has in God knows when.

Buck shifts closer to Eddie, eyes glowing in the light of the TV, and Eddie never wants him to leave. “Thanks for coming tonight. I— Chris and I both really needed this, I think.”

“I told you, anything for you two. Always.”

He ignores the way his stomach flips and tries to focus on the movie. He gets about five minutes of peace before another thought comes back, still nagging him, mixing with his anxiety enough to actually force him to say something.

He aims for cool and casual. “So, you and Taylor...everything okay?”

Buck gives him a very long, almost challenging look before turning off the TV. Seems he missed that casual mark. “I should be asking you the same thing.” “Very funny.”

“I’m not trying to be. I’m really worried about you, Eds.”

“This isn’t my first time getting shot, I know how to handle it.” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as bitter as it does, but he can’t bring himself to care, either. He doesn’t have the energy to keep a filter up anymore.

“Eddie, I’m serious.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” he says sharply, and he’s surprised his teeth haven’t fallen out of his head yet with how hard he’s lying through them. He hates that he’s lying to Buck at all, but those smiles he’s gotten used to have been fewer and farther between recently, and he knows it’s his fault. He might feel like his own seams are coming apart, but he’ll be damned if he rips Buck open too, even if it means pushing him away from his mess. “You’ve got a life and a girlfriend to worry about, I’ll figure everything out on my own.” 

“I don’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend. We broke up.”

Eddie pauses, curses the faint hope that sparks in his chest. “Why?”

“Because I’ve been a little distracted by someone else for the past few months. It didn’t feel fair to her to keep it going.”

He gives him another long look, and Eddie might be a little dense when it comes to things like this, but that look breaks through loud and clear. This is it. This is real. This is everything he’s wanted for the past six months — and probably longer than that — but now that it’s happening, it doesn’t feel right. Buck was happy, free, finally settled into his own skin, and it’s all gone now because of Eddie and his stupid, broken everything. He knows he won’t be able to give Buck everything he needs, at least right now, but Buck needs to know that too. “Buck—”

“Nope,” he says with a firm shake of his head. “I know you’re gonna try and blame yourself for this somehow, but…don’t. It was bound to happen anyway. Because you’re right, I do have a life, but it’s you two. You and Chris. That’s all I need it to be. That’s all I want it to be. And I hate that it took so long for me to figure out, that it took you getting shot, but we’re here now.” His eyes shutter a bit as he looks down at his hands. “At least, I hope we are.”

And there it is. So simple, so easy, for Buck to admit this huge thing that Eddie thought he was dancing around on his own. The ease reminds Eddie, through his fog of sadness and anger and every other bleak feeling that’s been controlling him, that that’s what makes them work so well together. Honesty. Being able to show all their ugly, mismatched inside parts to each other and still find the beauty, the ways to help, the ways to hold each other together when they need it the most.

And Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever needed to be held together more than he does right now.

“Ask me,” he whispers, the sound seeming to echo around the room.

“Ask you what?”

“Ask me if I’m okay.”

Buck shuffles on the couch until they’re facing each other, takes both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Eddie,” he says softly, “are you okay?”

The world blurs as the tears he’s been fighting finally break free, but he feels strong. Brave. Like he can do anything now that Buck’s holding his hand.

“No,” he says, a crack in his voice but the conviction behind it still firm. “No, I’m not okay.”

The floodgates open, and he lets everything wash over him, all the things he’s been holding back, forcing away in the hopes that they’d just disappear one day. He’s floating and sinking and lost in the waves of it all, but strong arms wrap around him and pull him close, and there’s relief. Not a lot, not enough, but it’s there, for the first time since he woke up in the hospital. He feels safe here, with Buck wiping away his tears and pressing kisses along his hairline. He honestly forgot what safety felt like, was sure he’d never feel anything like it again. But he knew it that day he was bleeding out on the street, and he knows it now — it feels like Buck’s sweatshirt and smells like his aftershave and sounds like whispers of it’s okay and I’ve got you.

It all subsides, eventually, but Buck still holds him close, presses their foreheads together so there’s nothing else Eddie can focus on. His eyes are piercing, bright like Eddie only usually sees when Buck has a plan that refuses to be derailed.

“Let me help, Eddie,” he says, punctuated with a kiss on Eddie’s cheek. “I know you think you can do this yourself, but you don’t have to. I don’t want you to. Let me help you carry it.”

His voice left with the rush of everything, so all Eddie can do is nod before sinking back into Buck, into relief. Even that simple motion, the silent acknowledgement that he’s not alone anymore, is enough to let small seeds of hope sink into him and take root. They’re still weak, still unfamiliar, but they’re here, waiting to grow. 

And Eddie knows, with a certainty that he forgot he was capable of, that Buck will be here to help tend to them, no matter how long it takes for them to blossom.

~~~~~~~~~~

When Eddie wakes up the next morning, he still feels weighed down. There’s still an edge, an unease low in his gut, anxiety still crawling through his veins.

He’s not okay. But he looks over and sees Buck — breathing even, arm thrown over Eddie’s stomach, keeping him close — and the ever-present darkness fades from an angry black to melancholy grey. Not perfect, not even close, but better.

He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a while. But now, finally, he feels like he will be.

[libraryofloveletters]

Love To Loss

Eddie Diaz x Reader 

Warnings: mentions of childbirth, disagreements 

Category: Angst 

Word Count: 3k

Author’s Note:  this was a product of my insomnia so here we go, also yeah I don’t know why it ended so abruptly but yeah :) 

pt.2: Loss to Love 

--

Was love real ? 

Was it worth it ? 

All the pain and broken hearts and despair, was it all worth it if in the end, I got to come home to you ? 

No idea where you were going, where you’d end up or who you’d end up being but you never let that stop you. That’s how you could yourself outside the fire station. You weren't looking for a job, in fact you were looking for someone, someone you had lost so many years ago. The station was quiet, not sure if you were allowed to be in here when no one else was, you paced the empty station. 

The sound of a horn made you look up, there was a fire engine that was waiting to reverse in and you were in the way. The door opening and shutting, a man walked towards you. “Excuse me, you can’t be standing there” he says, pointing to the side of the station, you step out of the way, allowing the truck to reverse in. You watched as he instructed the driver, the back of his jacket read Nash. He wasn't who you were looking for but maybe he could help you. The fire engine began emptying, one by one they stepped out. 

“Can I help you ?” the same man returned to you. 

“Um, I think you can. What’s your name if you don’t mind me asking ?” 

“Bobby Nash, you are ?” he stuck his hand out

“Y/n “ you shook his hand. He had a fatherly aura to him, the type that made you feel safe and comfortable, like you didn’t have to worry about anything. Bobby smiled at you, “what can I help you with, y/n?” 

“I’m actually looking for a friend. I lost touch with him a while- actually more than a while, it's been years” 

“I’d love to help but what makes you think I can ?” 

“All I know is that he's a firefighter. I just thought on the off chance, maybe you’d be able to point me in the right direction” 

“Who’s your friend ?” Bobby asked

“Edmundo Diaz, he goes by Eddie” 

Bobby let out a laugh, your brows furrowed. Either there was good news and he knew him or there was bad news and Eddie had vanished or something horrible. You braced yourself for the answer. “Eddie’s one of ours. He's not in right now, his shift starts at..” Bobby glanced at the clock, “3, if you’d like to wait.” 

“Yeah, that’d be great” you smiled. The two of you headed up the stairs, he introduced you to the team. Buck, who was more than happy to show you around, Chim who was also welcoming and super funny and Hen, who you instantly liked and knew you’d get along with. “Can I get you something to drink ? A cup of coffee? Water ?” Bobby rounded the counter, “water is fine, thank you” you took a seat on one of the stools. 

“So y/n, how do you know Eddie ?” Buck leant forward, elbows on the counter and his attention on you. “We grew up together” you took a sip of the water. Buck’s head tilted slightly, almost like he didn’t believe you. His brows furrowed “c’mon, there has to be more to the story than just you growing up together” 

There was, but were you ready to open that back up ? To tell Eddie’s friends all about why you lost touch to begin with ? 

A dry chuckle left your throat, “sure you can handle the whole story ?” you smiled at him, he nodded eagerly. “Oh yeah, I'd love to know. Eddie isn't really one to talk about his past” 

Good to know somethings didn’t change. 

“Take a seat, you’re in for a story” you patted the chair beside you, Buck sat and once again, his attention back on you. You started from the beginning. 

El Paso, 2008. 

Hot summer days didn’t even begin to explain the type of weather you were having in Texas right now. The bedroom window was open and Eddie’s back was turned to you. He had been taking a nap when you arrived, the whole point of you coming over was to help him pack up his stuff. Laying beside him, your finger traced over his shoulder, moving down to his back. Tracing shapes and drawing your own little pictures against his skin. “Mhm, Shan- stop” he mumbled as he shifted in bed. 

Your heart sunk in your chest. 

“Not Shan” you teased, “just me” you sat up, your back resting against the headboard. Eddie’s eyes opened slightly, squinting from the sunlight in the room. “Oh hey” he rolled onto his side, his head now on your lap and his arm tossed over. You smiled at your best friend, if this was the last memory you have with him before he leaves, that's fine. 

You’d keep this day in your mind forever, but just the good parts. 

“Come on sleepyhead” your fingers running through his hair. He groaned, “5 more minutes” 

“You’ve been sleeping all day, mom says you gotta get up” Eddie flips onto his back, head still on your lap as he looks up at the ceiling. The room is quiet for a few moments, the only noise coming from outside through the open window. You break the silence first, “do you really have to go ?” you ask him as he gets up. “You know I do,” he sighs as he looks back at you before he pulls his bag out of the closet. 

“I don’t want you to leave” you begin taking some clothes from the closet, folding them and setting them on the bed. “And you think I want to leave ?” Eddie grumbles, you could hear the annoyance in his voice. 

The two of you have had this conversation countless times, honestly it was the only truthful conversation the two of you have had in the last few weeks. There was an unspoken level of love between the two of you, far more than just the typical loving your best friend goes. It was more than that but Eddie was with Shannon and he says he loves her, so who were you to go and admit your feelings now. To ruin what he had with her. It would break your heart to break his so you never said anything. Instead, you stayed quiet, telling him that you’d miss him when he left and helped him pack. The rest of the afternoon was quiet, neither of you speaking, quiet exchanges as you shifted around the room and passed things to each other. Eddie sits on edge of the bed, watching as you fold a shirt, his hand wrapping around your wrist. Humming, you go on folding until Eddie tugs on your hand, nodding towards the spot beside him. 

Sitting beside him, once again, the room is silent. So silence that you hear the thoughts in Eddie’s head. “Y/n, I-” his sentence is interrupted when Sophia knocks on his door, sticking her head in the room. “Ed, Shannon’s here to see you” she pulls the door in halfway before leaving the two of you in the room. Eddie looks at you, he opens his mouth to say something but you shake your head. “Go,” you breathe, “don’t keep her waiting” giving him a small smile. “Are you sure ?” he asks, his hand on your back. You hum, “I'll be out in a minute, I just have to call my parents” Eddie nods, leaving you in his room. You lay back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Letting out a sigh, all the possibilities running through your mind

What if you never get to see him again ? What if he comes home a different person ? What if he doesn’t come home at all ? You couldn't leave things unsaid, you couldn't let him leave without telling him out you really felt. 

Walking into the living room, Eddie sat on the recliner, Shannon on his lap. “Oh y/n” she smiled, “I didn’t know you were here” you gave her a small smile back. “Yeah, came over to help him pack” she turned back to Eddie, “why didn’t you call me? I would have came over” 

Seeing them together, you couldn't go tell him how you felt now. He was happy with Shannon, they were in love. 

El Paso, 2011. 

Over the last 3 years, Eddie had returned home a few times. Most of his visits home had been spent with family and Shannon, you’d see him for a few hours or if you happened to stop by his parents’ place for dinner. Within the last 3 years, Eddie had also proposed to Shannon, gotten married and had a baby on the way. 

Eddie called you earlier to let you know that Shannon had given birth and he now has a son, Christoper. You of course promised to come by and see him and the baby and you made good on your promise. 

“Hi, I'm here for uh Shannon” your fingers tapping against the nurses bay counter

“Last name hun ?” she handed you a visitor badge and a pen, “uh, Diaz, I think ? I’m not sure if she chang-” your sentence interrupted by your best friend calling for you. “Found them” you gave the nurse a smile before heading down the hall towards Eddie. 

“Y/n!” his arms stretched out, waiting for you to hug him. 

“Eddie! or should I say dad ?” you gave him a hug. 

God it felt good to be back in his arms. 

“Congratulations on the baby,” you smiled, “you're a baby yourself, I can't believe you have a kid” you teased, giving his face a little squeeze as the two of you walked in. Eddie’s arm was over your shoulder and your arm around his waist as the two of you entered the room, Shannon’s look was enough for Eddie to let go and take a step to the side. She gave you a smile, “nice of you to come by y/n” 

“Of course, hope you don’t mind” 

“Oh no, of course not! You’re Eddie’s best friend” 

The baby began crying, “he’s got a pair of lungs on him huh ?” you chuckled, Eddie smiled as he picked up Christoper. Fatherhood suited Eddie, from the way he picked up Chris to just the way he looked at him, he’d go to the ends of the earth and back for his son. “Do you want to hold him?” Eddie stepped towards you, Chris had settled now. “Um, yeah” taking a seat in the chair, Eddie handed Chris off to you. You smiled at the little boy in your arms, you couldn't believe that your best friend, the guy you grew up with, the guy who was barely not a kid himself, had a kid. 

“Hey lil man- oh you're so cute” you cooed as Chris yawned. Looking at Eddie who was now sat on the end of the bed, “The two of you have a beautiful little boy” 

El Paso, 2017. 

Eddie found himself on your doorstep with Christoper. Knocking on the door, you opened it. “Hey,” your brows furrowed, not that you minded the unexpected visit but you were confused. “Come in buddy” you helped Chris inside and Eddie followed the two of you inside. 

“Did you two have dinner? I could order a pizza or I could make something ?” 

“Can I have ice cream ?” Chris asked you, taking a seat on the couch. You glanced at Eddie who nodded. “Vanilla or chocolate bud ?” 

“Both!” his enthusiasm made you chuckle, “coming up kiddo” you smiled at Chris who was already flipping through the channels. Eddie followed you into the kitchen, the two of you on autopilot, your movements in sync, not a word being spoken. Most of your memories with Eddie have been the quiet ones, not a word between two of you, just moving around together. Eddie got the bowl of the cupboard as you got the ice cream. 

“What caused the visit ?” you asked, scooping the ice cream into the bowl. Eddie gave you a look, leaving you in the kitchen for a moment to give the ice cream to Christoper. You could hear the two of them talking, Chris telling his father how his favourite show was on tv and Eddie telling him try not to spill ice cream on himself and that he'd be in the kitchen. 

Eddie returned, heading straight to the fridge to get a beer. “I take it dinner didn’t go well ?” you ask, sitting on the counter. Eddie let out a chuckle, “well wasn't even in the house tonight” 

“What happened ?” taking the beer from him and taking a sip of it. 

“They think it's a bad idea to move across the country with a kid, that Chris needed stability and apparently- they’re the only stability he’s ever had.” Eddie groaned. You understood his frustration, you didn’t have a kid but you get what it's like to have parents who are trying to contradict your life choices. 

“And you're sure you want to do this ? Move to LA?” 

Eddie’s brows furrowed, he looked at you. “What do you mean? Are you siding with them ?” 

“No, of course not. I’m just asking if you're sure if you want to move” 

“Of course I am. I need to get out of here, Chris needs a change, somewhere that doesn’t constantly remind him of his mother.” he sighed 

“Eds, you know if you move you’ll be on your own. I don’t agree with your parents, you should be able to take Chris wherever you want but you won’t have the help you have here. You have your parents and me and Chris has his friends, are you sure you want to do this ?”

“Are you going to stop me ? Like you tried to stop me when I enlisted ?” he grumbled. If Chris wasn't in the house, you sure as hell would have cussed him for that. “How could you say that ? I didn’t try to stop you, I just didn’t want you to leave, which was the truth by the way.” you roll your eyes. 

“Listen, I just came here for you to say bye to Chris because we're leaving tomorrow” Eddie begins walking out of the kitchen, you grab his hand. “What ? That’s it? We're going to leave things like this ? You being mad for no reason ?” 

“You’re the one that doesn’t want me to move on” Eddie’s voice raised slightly

“Are you kidding me?! Did I try to stop you ?” your voice raises as well. Eddie pulls his hand from yours, Chris comes over and gives you a hug. “Bye y/n! see you soon!” he smiled at you, you looked down at the little boy, your arms wrapped around him. “See you soon kiddo” you lean down and kiss the top of his head.

You follow Eddie and Chris to the door, watching as Eddie helps Chris into the truck. Watching as he pulled out of the driveway and down the street. 

----

“And that was the last time I saw him.” you sigh, Buck’s mouth hung open. “Are you serious ? He didn’t call or write or even text ?” he asked you, you shook your head. “Nope, not a word since then. He changed his number and that was that” 

“Y/n?” the voice called, the voice you hadn’t heard in years. Glancing over your shoulder, there he was. 

Eddie Diaz, your best friend. 

He looked good, healthy. He hasn't changed besides for the shorter hair which he was pulling off rather well, it was a change from the fluffy hair he had the last time you saw him. 

“What are you doing here ? How’d you find me?” Eddie asked, he was shocked to see you and you couldn't blame him. You were shocked to see him and you came looking for him. 

“Uh- honestly I don’t know” you chuckled, “to which question ?” he looked over at you

“Both” you gave him a smile. 

“Yeah, okay. You need to go, I have a shift” Eddie tells you. “Eddie, we don’t have any calls right now. They can stay, I don’t have a problem with it” Bobby tells him, Eddie nods. “I get that Cap, but I have a problem with it” Eddie turns to you. “You need to go” he tells you again, you didn’t want to fight with him, especially in front of his team so you nodded. Turning back towards the team, you give them a smile, “it was nice to meet all of you” 

Heading down the stairs, the sound of footsteps behind you makes you stop, looking over your shoulder. Buck was behind you, “y/n wait!” 

“Everything okay ?” 

“Oh yeah, where are you staying ? I’ll talk to him, maybe he’ll change his mind” 

Buck was sweet, his efforts were appreciated. “Do you have a pen or a piece of paper?” Buck pulled a pen out of his pocket, he couldn't find a piece of paper so he stuck his hand out for you to write on instead, you chuckled. Writing down the address and your number, you hand the pen back to Buck. 

“That’s the address and my number. The number’s for Eddie or for you if he doesn’t want it” you smile at him, Buck’s cheeks got red. Poor guy was flustered which made you smile, at least your charms still worked on someone. “Seriously though, thank you Buck. It’s nice to know Eddie has people that care about him” Buck gives you a smile, watching as you watch out of the station. 

Buck wasn’t the only one who watched you walk out, Eddie did too, from the balcony. The topic of you and your visit was dropped. No one asked any question or said a word. The day went on as a normal shift. 

----

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @keenmarvellover​ @venusrosepetal​ @mikaelson-emma​ @beth-winchester21​ @averyhotchner​ @fernandaweasley2​

[sleuthomatic]

Harper paces (never a good thing, he’s learned, when it comes to judging her mood or mental state), as Nick explains how tape #11 was by chance intercepted by the BADTFL, en route to the county courthouse. How it went into the evidence lockup, with the erstwhile Winter’s End task force ordered not to touch it, or even look at it. Something about federal jurisdiction, double jeopardy…

And how BPD Detective Nick Valentine listened to it anyway, on October 22, 2077.

Got the name of Jennifer’s most likely killer. Got a whole lot of details about Corrigan and his friends. Got no further than that, since he was ordered to Cambridge for that hack job of a therapy session.

And that was it. Ava Harper, attorney, never heard the message before the bombs.

And then Nick recovered the tape in their BADTFL sweep two years ago, on their renewed hunt for Eddie Winter.

And now, Ava Harper, private detective, is glaring at him, her lips pressed together tightly.

“You should have told me.” Her voice sounds like she’s chipping it out of ice. “You should have. Why didn’t you tell me.”

Nick shakes his head. “If you’re asking me to explain, or, or to own up to this stupid move that old Nick made, I can’t — “

“No. First of all, you dedicated the better part of a century to old Nick’s unfinished business, so that’s rich, coming from you. And second of all…” Harper steps right up to him, as eye to eye as she can be given her stature. “I’m not talking about a dead cop. I’m talking about you. You’ve had that tape all this time…”

“I didn’t know it was that tape until a few weeks ago.”

“You should have told me about it then.” Harper punctuates it with a clap. Her voice is now on a gradual crescendo, and his sensors are picking up on a tremor from her. “Why didn’t you tell me then?!”

Nick shifts his weight, head tilted. “And for what, Ava? If you did know that Winter could have a bead on you, in your last days before the war, what good would that do you now? It was all moot once the bombs fell. What would it change now?”

“For one thing, it would change that I found out like this!”

“And what about your memories?”

“What about them?!”

“Your memories of the old days. The way you talk about it, the way you smile and sing about it, I know those memories are precious to you. And you think I’m going to desecrate those by telling you that you were in danger?”

“You don’t think maybe the bombs already did that, Nick?!”

Nick’s response dies in his processor, and his heart metaphorically sinks, with regret, with guilt, when tears begin to glimmer in her eyes.

“You don’t think everything I’ve seen and done since then — I was happy right before the war, and now I’ve seen what my happiness cost so many people, what kind of sick evil things were happening just out the corner of my eye, you don’t think that’s already ruined my old memories?!”

Harper jabs a finger at him. “Let’s get one thing goddamn straight, Nick Valentine, because I’m never saying this again. When it’s about my own affairs, you don’t get to decide what I should and shouldn’t know. And you don’t get to decide how I feel about my past. I would never dare do that with you and the old Nick.”

“Ava, on my honor that is not what this was,” Nick protests. “I wouldn’t dare either. But you’ve told me time and time again that you want to move forward, and this just pulled you back — ”

“Okay, detective, what do you think I’m moving forward from? Huh?! What do you think this is pulling me back to?”

“I — I suppose your old goals, your old fears and loves, your…”

“Old loves?!”

“No, that’s not — ”

“Nate?! You kept this from me because of Nate?”

In this rare moment, Nick doesn’t know what to say. “I — ”

“You think I’ve ever stopped worrying about Nate? Stopped caring about him?! I loved him! He was my best friend! Everything I am now is because he loved me and backed me up, and not a day goes by that I don’t still worry about him, even after watching him die.”

There’s no more ice, no frightening calm. Harper is shouting, tearful, hand over heart.

“What would I wanna move on from that for? For you?! After you said very plainly that you don’t — ”

A creak on the stairs, and Harper stops. Both detectives turn to see Shaun, hanging back in the hall, flinching, trying not to cry.

“Momma, what’s wrong?”

The tension visibly leaves Harper’s shoulders, and she wipes her eyes. “Hey, hon…I’m sorry if we scared you. Come on, go for a walk?”

The synth boy nods, and as he follows his mother out he throws one last confused, reproachful look at Nick.

Nick slumps at his desk.

That couldn’t have gone off worse.

[novelconcepts]

Hey novel!!!! you are the most talented author on this site. Your portrayals of jamie and Dani are so deep and relatable and expand two wonderful characters into even more.

I know you are crazy busy and swamped with requests, but would you consider writing a one-shot about the famous deleted scene when jamie wakes up when dani tries to leave and convinces her to stay? (Or doesn’t, however you’d want to write it!)

Just a thought, I totally understand if you don’t have the time or are not feeling it!

The dream is the last straw. 

There are moments in your life, Dani Clayton thinks--with a clarity that seems unfathomable for this late hour--you simply can’t turn away from. Or, more accurately, you could--but you wouldn’t be you anymore, turning back. You’d be something else. Something untenable. 

The dream is one such moment. The certainty of it is one such awful, harrowing moment. 

Jamie’s expression never changed. Never faltered. Never so much as twitched away from that quietly-expectant misery--and that trust, even as the hand closed around her throat. Even as she went under. The trust, more than anything, will haunt what time she has left.

Because Jamie does trust her. Always has. Always, Dani knows, will, even if it’s the worst thing for her. 

Jamie will trust in Dani Clayton until it kills her, unless Dani does something about it first.

And so, when she wakes with her hand inches from Jamie’s throat--when she wakes with the tips of her fingers brushing the slow, steady thrum of Jamie’s pulse--she makes the choice. The hard call. She makes it like a woman, a thousand years ago, made a choice to turn away from a bad marriage before it could land. The way a woman, a hundred years ago, made a choice to turn toward an uncertain future born of a dark lake. She makes it with the calculated, unshakeable certainty that, every so often, you have to make this kind of choice. Because it’s essential. Because you couldn’t live with the person you’d be if you didn’t.

She moves slowly, counting every breath that leaves Jamie’s parted lips. Jamie, who sleeps so comfortably in this bed. Jamie, whose nightmares soothed themselves in the wake of Dani’s hands on her skin over the years. Jamie, who carries more than enough scars of her own without bearing Dani’s burdens, too. 

She moves, sliding off of Jamie’s body, sliding off the mattress upon which they’ve had thirteen good years. Thirteen solid, loving, happy years. That isn’t nothing, she assures herself. That is so much more than the woman she’d been all those years ago, freshly freed and freshly haunted again in equal measure, had thought she deserved. 

Thirteen years in this bed. Reading, talking, kissing, sleeping. Thirteen years. It isn’t enough. Nothing will ever be enough. But it’s not nothing, and Dani tells herself--with the solid assurance of the dream--she can make do. Thirteen years of Jamie’s accent wrapped lovingly around her name. Thirteen years of Jamie’s hands seeking hers out across the dinner table. Thirteen years of petty arguments resolved with tearful apology, or with giggly kisses, or with the steadiness of Jamie’s eyes meeting hers. Jamie nodding. Gold rings holding firm against the dark. 

It’ll never be enough. And maybe Jamie won’t forgive her for this. But there are things a person can’t live with becoming--and even knowing how close she’s come tonight to brushing up against the shadows she’s been carrying for too long is...it’s...

Enough, she tells herself, knowing it’s a lie and a truth and a promise. 

She doesn’t pack. What does a dead woman toss into a carry-on? There will be no final costume change, no coiffed hair or carefully-applied makeup. She’s more or less given up on all of it, anyway, exhaustion draining her dry even on the rare occasion the mirror doesn’t leer in her direction. Jamie doesn’t seem to mind. Jamie doesn’t seem to mind any of it. 

I’ll feel everything for the both of us, she says, and she means it every single time. Means it the way Jamie can’t help. The way only Jamie has ever known how. It never, ever comes from a place of pretty words, with Jamie. Never comes from a should be this, a script without heart. Jamie can’t not say it. Jamie can’t not mean it.

Jamie can’t not trust her.

So Dani has to go.

Her hand is on the door, her head bent forward against the familiar wood. This door, through which Jamie walked so recently with that all-important piece of paper. This door, through which Dani walked so many years ago with a plant in her hands and a promise on her lips. This door. She’s stopped seeing it, hasn’t she? Juggling groceries, or mid-conversation, or pushing Jamie hard against it with a flare of passion. The door has become, like so many things, a standard piece of set dressing. Irrelevant, compared to the story. Forgettable, compared to the intricacies of the day. 

And now, this final time, her hand on the knob--now she thinks, I will remember. This door. This apartment. The walk, made so many thousands of times, from the bedroom to the bathroom to the kitchen. The couch, where Jamie often dozes over a book with her legs sprawled in Dani’s lap. The rug, picked out together the first year living together. The photos on the wall, the postcards on the fridge, so many tiny memorials to the people they’ve grown into together. 

I will remember, she thinks fiercely, all of it. 

Foolish, to stop. Foolish, to give in to this moment of such human weakness. Such human fear. If she could only keep walking in a single, unbroken line--like she would, like the path taken up those stairs and into that wing over and over again--she’d have been on the street by now. She’d have been calling a car by now. She’d--

“You’re not even going to leave me a note?”

She closes her eyes. Presses her face harder against the door. The memories, she thinks, have snagged her as she should have expected. As memories always do. Hadn’t it been memory, keeping her with Eddie longer than she should have stayed? Hadn’t it been memory, keeping her in contact with a mother who had long unplugged? Memory, in the end, is as much a gravity well as a blessing. A treasure like love is so dangerously good at being multiple things at once.

A thing like need. A thing like fear. 

A thing like I don’t want to go. 

Jamie doesn’t sound angry, exactly. Her voice is ragged with sleep, and with something so quietly broken, Dani can’t stand to look at it. That sound, that unfamiliar tension, has been creeping into Jamie’s voice more and more lately. A sob unuttered. An unfamiliar desperation. 

Jamie doesn’t do desperate. Jamie doesn’t do terror. Jamie is a solution with a grin, a pair of strong hands holding Dani steady when the world rocks around her without pause. Jamie is a foundation. A bedrock. A gloriously embedded series of roots, planted with hope, tended with care, turned from a pot into a home with time and effort and love. 

Jamie is waiting now. Quiet. Not angry, exactly--but not forgiving, either. Hurt, Dani thinks, recognizing at last that utterly unfamiliar note. She’s hurt. I’ve never hurt her before. 

She’s frustrated Jamie over the years, plenty of times. Upset her. Knocked up against exposed nerves she hadn’t known to look for. She’s made Jamie grumpy, even angry a few times--and Jamie’s done the same in return. Two people can’t share a single life without crossing boundaries from time to time. Without finding fragility under overturned stones. But it’s always been fixable. Always been so clear, where the repairs were needed to get them back on track again. They’d never gone to bed angry, not once in thirteen years, because you can’t promise tomorrow. You can’t promise a chance to make it right if you let it go too long. 

You can’t promise.

Dani can’t promise. 

“Not even going to answer?” That old Jamie grit, winding into the syllables, but the hand that brushes between her shoulder blades is soft. Jamie isn’t angry. Jamie is hurt. Jamie is scared. Jamie is half-asleep and so awake, and if Dani turns--if Dani looks now--

Tell her, some panicked part of her pipes up. Tell her what happened. What you almost did. What you’re going to become. 

She won’t care, the more rational part replies. Jamie trusts her. Jamie wants to carry it all for her. Jamie will carry her until it tears her open to do it, and then she’ll keep going. Jamie, even with blood staining the carpet and heart hanging out of her chest, would never know how to stop.

Jamie would drown, if Dani let her. If Dani were coward enough, selfish enough, to let the fear win. 

“Dani.” The way no one else has ever said her name, she thinks with eyes still scrunched shut. No one has ever formed those two syllables the way Jamie does. Like an oath. Like an I love you. Like an I’m listening. I’m here. I’m not going away. 

“Dani,” she says again. “Come back to bed. Please.”

It’s the please, Dani thinks as she turns at last, as she takes in the sight of this woman with whom she wants only to share her life, that does it. The please, a word that feels too much like begging to suit their thirteen years of equilibrium. Jamie, especially, doesn’t beg. Jamie listens. Jamie understands. Jamie fixes. Jamie doesn’t plead, or demand, or insist. 

Jamie, looking at her now with rumpled hair, in only a sleep shirt and a grim expression. Jamie, who’d sounded so shattered, saying those words. Come back to bed. Please. Like she knows already what Dani is doing. Like she knows already that there are things a person can’t come back from. 

Tell her no, the rational side thinks. Tell her no. Tell her you love her. Tell her there’s nothing that matters even half as much as that, not even this moment. Tell her goodbye.

I don’t, Dani thinks with helpless misery, already reaching out a hand, want to go. 

She’ll remember every step, later. Every step back to the bedroom. Every step with Jamie’s hand solid and soft in her own. The way Jamie walks with shoulders straight, with chin up, even as tired as she is. The way Jamie waits until she’s between the covers again before she’ll climb in, too. 

The way Jamie holds her as she sobs. As they both lose the composure they’ve spent too long clinging to. The way the mattress shakes beneath them, her face pressed to Jamie’s neck, the thrum of Jamie’s pulse ragged against her lips. 

She’ll remember it all, later. She needs to remember. Every step. Every kiss Jamie presses to her hair. Every stroke of Jamie’s hands down her back. She needs to remember it all. 

You’re not even going to leave me a note?

She will. She will do that much, she promises herself, as Jamie’s tears slowly wane. As Jamie’s breath slowly evens out. As Jamie, confident that she has--once again, as she has so many times before--fixed the problem, lets sleep wash the fear away. 

She’ll leave a note. She’ll try to get it all down, somehow. She’ll do her best.

But first. First, for a little while longer, she’ll stay. Jamie’s heartbeat is so familiar, a metronome of security beneath her head. Jamie’s breath is so familiar, a lullaby she’s been falling asleep to for almost fifteen years. Jamie, who makes a soft sound in her sleep and holds Dani all the closer, like she’s been doing for as long as anything has ever mattered. 

Jamie, who may never forgive her, but who will certainly have to understand. Someday. Somehow. Jamie has understood it all, even when she shouldn’t have. Even when there was no rhyme or reason to it. Jamie is good at listening. Jamie is good at piecing it all together. 

Jamie is so good. 

She’ll leave a note. She’ll do that much. But not yet. Not quite.

Dani Clayton, folded in the embrace of the woman who loves her most, does not want to go. 

[thisissirius]

buck deserves good things.

i hope you appreciate how hard it is to get into buck’s head instead of eddie’s ;_; they are so very very different

help

crush(ed) [ao3 link] buck. therapy. buck in therapy. buck/therapy. a little of buck/eddie but that is NOT the focus.

It’s not something Buck chooses to hide, but it becomes easier when he finds a private therapist who seems content to take him on. She doesn’t even bat an eye when he tells her he’ll change his times from week to week depending on shifts. She has no ties to the LAFD and tells Buck it’s up to him whether or not he informs his work place. 

I should, Buck thinks instantly. Then, breathing out slowly, he tells himself, no. 

This is something he wants to keep to himself, for as long as he can. 

It’s not until Buck sees Eddie that he almost caves. They promised each other they’d do better at communication after the lawsuit—and Buck can’t think about it without wincing—but this feels different. He doesn’t have to tell Eddie if he doesn’t want to, that’s the first thing Dr. Copeland tells him. 

“You don’t even know him,” Buck points out. 

“I don’t have to, Evan.” Buck likes the way she says his name. He doesn’t hear it often, not even from Maddie, and it makes him take everything she says seriously—people use his name when it’s important. “The choices here are all yours.”

Buck nods, knows his breathing sounds shaky, but doesn’t care. “Part of me wants to tell him. He’s my best friend. He’s—but I know he’s busy with Chris and he doesn’t need this.”

Dr. Copeland nods. “Do you see yourself as a burden?”

“No,” Buck says immediately. Then, “yes.”

__________________

Loneliness takes him by surprise. 

With Abby, he’s sure he’s found something real, something solid. He isn’t joking when he tells Bobby he thinks he might be a sex addict, but he’s also not telling the whole truth. When he’s having sex with someone, when someone’s with him, the loneliness feels further away. Buck wants to be loved. It’s something his parents told him again and again. It’s something he’s known about himself for a long, long time. 

If he confused affection with love then—that’s nobody’s fault but his own. 

“Is that how you really feel?”

Buck gives her a wry smile. “I wouldn’t have said it otherwise.”

Dr. Copeland inclined her head. “A fair point. Though sometimes we say things we think we feel.”

“I had sex with more people than I like to think about,” Buck says, wincing. “Why else would I do it?”

“Some people just like sex.” Dr. Copeland never looks anything but 100% engaged. Buck settles the tablet on the bed, rubs his hands over his knees. “Evan?”

“I don’t know that I do,” he says quickly. When he thinks she might get the wrong idea, he follows it up with, “I mean I do. Just not—enough to have it with that many people.”

Dr. Copeland doesn’t judge him and Buck feels like he can breathe.       

__________________ 

 Buck has a standing date with Maddie every Thursday. Even now, with the pandemic raging around them, they make sure to Zoom and watch something on Netflix. He’s got beer, her, a mug of something she assures him is only tea. “Can I ask you something?”

Maddie looks up, cradling the mug in her hands. “You wanna pause?”

Buck shakes his head. The sound of the movie drowns out whatever’s running through his head. “If I wanted to go to therapy, would you judge me?”

“No,” Maddie says without hesitation. “Why?”

The words get stuck in Buck’s throat. He shrugs to cover the struggle. 

“Buck, I love you. If you need therapy, I will support you.”

Buck clenches his hand around the beer bottle tightly. “The crush that Chim keeps teasing about—”

“You want me to stop him?” Maddie looks so concerned that the rush of warmth Buck feels in his stomach makes it easier to speak. 

“Maybe,” he allows. “It’s not what anyone thinks. Please don’t interrupt,” he asks, when she opens her mouth. “I need to say this. It’s not—she’s a therapist.”

There was silence on the other end of the screen. Maddie’s not angry when he looks, but he’s startled to see tears in her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, hand over her mouth. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“I’m sorry,” Buck stresses. “I just needed you to know.”

“And I’m proud of you,” Maddie finally manages to get out. She drops her hand, wiping at her eyes. “I’m happy you’re getting what you need, Buck. She is helping?”

Buck thinks of how wrecked he feels after a session, how he’ll surround himself with whoever’s in the apartment because he needs the noise. There’s also the sense of comfort that comes from someone hearing him and listening, giving him advice he actually thinks he can follow.

“Yeah,” he says, after a long pause. “She is.”

__________________

“I want to tell Eddie,” Buck says, looking Dr. Copeland in the eye. “But I’m worried about what he’ll say.”

Dr. Copeland took a moment to reply. “His response isn’t on you, Buck. We can only control what we do, how we react. It’s Eddie’s choice.”

“Doesn’t stop me worrying,” Buck pointed out. He thought of Eddie’s resistance to Frank, the barrier he puts between himself and therapy, while simultaneously embracing it on Chris’ behalf. “When it’s Chris, he’s all for it. Thinks it does Chris good. When it’s adult,” Buck adds. “If it’s me? I don’t know.”

“What’s the worst way he could react?”

“Tell me I’m weak,” Buck says, but even as he says it, he knows that’s not something Eddie will ever say. 

Dr. Copeland nodded. “Has he ever given you that impression?”

“No.” Buck bites at his bottom lip. “He’s told me the opposite.”

As if sparing him from talking about it more, Dr. Copeland leans a little further forward. “Your other workmates—Hen and Chim?—how do you think they’d react?”

Buck doesn’t know. “Chim’s been teasing me. Thinks every time I’m up here, I’m talking to a crush.” He flushes, tries not to look at Dr. Copeland. “Every time I try and tell him who I’m actually calling, something stops me. I know they don’t think it’s a bad thing. We’ve all had to have it at some point. The job is hard, you know?”

There’s silence from the other end of the screen and it makes Buck’s screen crawl. The silences always make him desperate to fill them, to throw words at her and hope she makes some sense of what he’s trying to say. 

“Hen?”

It’s hard not to smile. “She’s always been supportive. Always tried to be there for me. Even after I sued the department.”

“She didn’t hold it against you.”

“No,” Buck agrees. “Not like Bobby. Like Eddie.”

“Bobby,” Dr. Copeland says, ignoring Eddie, something Buck’s grateful for. “Your Captain?”

Buck nods, readjusting his position on the bed. “I keep thinking I should have told him. This is something the department should know.”

“Only if you want them to,” Dr. Copeland reminds him. “Sometimes we don’t feel safe enough to talk about our mental health, especially if it’s outside of mandated sessions.”

It doesn’t stop the guilt striking Buck at the worst times. 

__________________

“Can I speak to you?”

Bobby looks up from his desk, surprised. “Buck. Of course.”

Buck feels awkward. He’s only ever really in the office when he’s done something wrong. Taking the seat opposite Bobby, he looks up from under his eyelashes, still nervous. “What happens if someone has therapy that isn’t mandated?”

Staring at him, Bobby rests his elbows on the desk. He’s not a stupid man and Buck doesn’t doubt he already knows what Buck’s trying to say. “The department likes to know,” Bobby says easily, “but it’s not their right to know. You understand?”

“Yeah,” Buck breathes. His skin feels too tight, trapped in the four walls of the office. 

“Look at me,” Bobby says gently. Buck does, realises Bobby looks concerned and not angry. “You alright?”

Buck shakes his head. “No, I don’t think so. I think—I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t tied to the department.”

 Sliding his chair out from the desk, Bobby stood, coming round to stand next to Buck. He hesitates. “You don’t have to explain.”

“After the lawsuit,” Buck starts, tries to ignore the flow of emotions that cross Bobby’s face. “I wasn’t sure whether you’d hate me for—”

“Stop,” Bobby says quietly. He rests a hand on Buck’s arm and Buck starts, standing so quickly the chair skids away from him. Bobby takes his hand away. ”Sorry.”

Buck opens his mouth, closes it. He doesn’t know what his emotions are doing and tries to grasp a hold of one of them. “No I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m acting like this.”

“Buck.” Bobby reaches out again, and Buck steps into it, feeling awkward when Bobby doesn’t automatically hug him. Oh god. He moves to step away, but Bobby surprises him again, drags him into a hug, hand to the back of his neck. “It’s okay, kid.”

“It’s not,” Buck mutters, bites back the tears but takes the embrace as long as Bobby will let him have it. “But I’m trying to be.”

__________________

Buck’s leg won’t stop moving. He’s been staring at his phone for the last fifteen minutes, waiting for Dr. Copeland to reply. What if she can’t speak to him? Maybe he’ll have to get through this on his own and he’s not sure he knows how to do that without her guidance. 

Mom and dad are coming. 

Just like that. No warning. No asking if it’s okay. Just. We’re coming. 

Buck’s mad and afraid all at once. Maddie’s the same, but she’s got Chim. Buck’s just got this; his apartment, Albert downstairs watching TV, and Eddie on shift. Buck can’t just call. 

When the text comes through, Buck scrambles for his tablet, hands shaking as he answers the call. 

“You sounded panicked, Evan,” Dr. Copeland says. “Is everything okay.”

“My parents are coming,” Buck blurts out, wincing.

They haven’t talked about them yet; Buck knows she’s inferred some stuff, suspected others, but Buck’s never outright talked about them. “That scares you?”

“Yes,” Buck says, laughing nervously. “Angry. They never ask. Just told Maddie they’re coming. She’s pregnant so of course they wanna fix their mistakes and—”

He talks and talks. 

And talks. 

“I don’t want them to come.”

Dr. Copeland nods. “You don’t have to see them if you don’t want to.”

“I can’t leave Maddie alone,” Buck protests. “Maybe,” he starts, pauses. “Maybe it won’t be so bad.”

“You have support, Evan,” Dr. Copeland says, and it doesn’t feel like she’s patronising him. “You have friends, co-workers. Any of them would understand.”

Buck doesn’t think so. “They’re not bad parents,” he says. 

Dr. Copeland pauses for a moment. “There are different ways to be bad parents.”

__________________

Buck’s working out, pent up aggression flowing from fists to punch bag. 

“You wanna tell me what’s got you so worked up?”

It’s not that he’s avoiding Eddie. It’s just hard, sometimes, to know he’s holding something of himself back from Eddie. “My parents are coming.”

Eddie stays silent as he punches through some more of his emotions. “My parents tried to take Chris.”

Buck pauses, drops his arms. “What?”

Staring at the ground, frowning, Eddie looks as if he’s far away, probably wherever, or whenever, this happened. “Thought I was dragging him down with me.”

“That’s bullshit,” Buck says immediately, suddenly angry on Eddie’s behalf. Eddie looks up, surprised but pleased, trying to cover it. “It is, Eddie, you know that, right?” 

“I didn't,” Eddie admits. “Not for a long time.”

 Buck presses, “but you do now?” He doesn’t know why it’s important that Eddie knows it. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, with a certainty Buck doesn’t always expect from him. “Until I came here.”

“Good.” Buck doesn’t know what Eddie’s trying to get at. “Why tell me that now?”

“I’m a good father because I taught myself to be,” he says, and Buck doesn’t understand. “Sometimes our parents don’t do a good job. Sometimes we love our parents, or we don’t. But we don’t have to agree with everything they do, either.”

Buck works off the gloves. “Okay.”

Stepping into his space, Eddie wraps a hand around the back of Buck’s neck and squeezes. “You can tell them to fuck off.”

Buck laughs, grateful, and drops his head forehead, touching Eddie’s. Eddie closes his eyes and Buck does the same, revels in the touch. “I haven’t seen them in so long. I’m a disappointment.”

“Not to me,” Eddie says, voice full of emotion. 

“Thanks, Eddie,” Buck says. 

__________________

“I think I’m going to go to dinner,” Buck says. Dr. Copeland doesn’t say anything, so he nods, as if to make a point. “Maddie needs me.”

__________________

It’s a disaster. 

Buck knows, somewhere in the pit of his stomach, that it won’t go any other way.

“So,” Phillip says. Buck doesn’t know when he stopped referring to his parents as mom and dad. Sometimes he feels like he’s a separate entity, apart from all family. Except Maddie. Maddie’s the closest thing he’s ever had to a mother, a sister, a role model. Until she— “how’s working with Evan, Howard?”

“Fine,” Chim says, frowning. “He’s good at his job.”

“He should be,” Phillip says, raising his eyebrows. “We didn’t raise him to slack off.”

“You didn’t raise me at all,” Buck says, the words tripping off his tongue. He sits a little straighter, anger blossoming through his chest. 

“Don’t be disrespectful,” Margaret says, narrowing her eyes. “You will speak to your father properly.”

Buck’s courage seems to dissipate.

“Dad, Mom,” Maddie says, pleading. “Buck’s doing the best he can. He’s even going to therapy!”

Instantly, she knows she’s said something wrong, and Buck shifts in his heat, panic overriding the anger. 

“You’re in therapy?” Phillip’s tone drips with condescension. 

“The job can be hard,” Buck admits, unable to look anywhere else but at Phillip. “I just needed to talk to someone.”

Phillip looks disappointed. As if he’s ever looked anything but. “Weakness has always been your problem.”

“Hey,” Chim starts, stepping forward. 

“No,” Buck says, putting his glass on the table. “Say what you need to, Phillip. Why is therapy such a weak thing?”

“No Buckley—” 

“What would you know about it?” Buck snaps. “Do you know how long it’s taken to admit to anyone that I’m in therapy? Because of what you drilled into me! You’re gonna stand there and tell me there’s something wrong with it?”

“Yes,”  Phillip says, tone hard. “I thought we were done with this attitude.”

“Dad,” Maddie starts. 

“No,” Buck snarls. “Let him talk, Maddie. Can’t wait to see how I fucked up this time.”

“Evan!”

“It’s Buck,” Buck yells. Now he remembers why nobody calls him Evan. “Nothing I did was ever good enough!”

“And it never will be,” Phillip snaps in response. 

Buck draws himself up. “Maybe if you didn’t always leave—”

“Why would we stay?” Kartrina says, her words gentle, and they hit all the harder for it. 

Deflating, Buck doesn’t think he can breathe. It feels like a physical slap and he moves, walking fast away from his parents, away from a past he can’t work his way out of. 

__________________

“It was a disaster,” Buck says later.

Dr. Copeland nods, sympathetic but professional. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Buck does. 

__________________

“I called Eddie,” Maddie says, coming to sit next to him on the back steps. 

Buck wants to be mad about it, but now that the anger’s dissipated, he’s just  tired. Shaking. Shaking because he’s so tired. 

“I messed it up,” he says quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Maddie leans against him, wraps an arm around his shoulder and kisses his temple. “I should be apologising to you. I’m sorry I left.”

There’s a burning behind Buck’s eyes and he drops his head, clenching his hands into fists. “I always get left behind, Mads. Always.”

“I know,” Maddie whispers, and Buck loves her all the more that she doesn’t try to correct him.

When Eddie arrives, he looks pissed. He takes one look at Buck’s parents and the anger morphs into something else. A quiet fury. Buck worries that everything’s going to fall apart, but Eddie reins it in—and god, Buck loves him so much—and ignores them. His eyes land on Buck. The fury’s still there, simmering, but it fades behind concern as he crosses the distance between them, crouching down. “Buck.”

It’s just his name, but Buck sobs, emotionally wrung out.

“I’ve got you,” Eddie says, wrapping his arms around Buck. Buck falls, let’s himself give up on being anything but a mess. “I’ve got you,” Eddie says again, and Buck believes him.

“Evan,” Phillip says. “This is nothing to cry over.”

“Stop it,” Maddie protests. 

Buck ignores them, blinks at the expression on Eddie’s face. 

“Alright?” Eddie asks, voice dipped low. 

“Yeah,” Buck starts, but is cut off by his mother. 

“If this is what therapy has done—” 

“You wanna know something,” Eddie snaps, climbing to his feet. Buck’s chest is tight with worry, but Eddie stays close to Buck, between him and his parents. “You wanna know why Buck needs therapy? Where the hell have you been?”

Phillip frowns. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Your son,” Eddie snarls, “was almost killed. Twice. A fucking truck crushed his leg, something you couldn’t have avoided knowing about, and yet nothing. Not a word.”

Buck’s oddly fascinated with the way Eddie’s holding himself. Hands clenched, back straight, ever the soldier. But his tone? It goes soft. “Buck’s the best man I know. And no,” Eddie continues, giving Buck’s parents such a look of contempt, “that’s got nothing to do with you.”

There’s that familiar look on Phillip’s face: anger, disgust. “You don’t get to tell me—” 

“I’m a father,” Eddie says. “I have an eight year old son. Buck saved his life.”

“Yes,” Margaret says. “We heard.”

That sets Eddie off again and Buck knows he should step in, should take this out of Maddie’s house, but he can’t seem to make himself move. “You have a problem with Buck?”

“He hasn’t turned out—” 

“Finish that,” Eddie says, his voice a deadly tone. “Please.”

Phillip keeps quiet. 

“Buck’s a credit. Not to you, but to himself. He turned out like this on his own merit. Despite you. Despite being abandoned time and again. He’s strong, kind, compassionate, and I have no idea where he learned to be, because it certainly wasn’t from you!”

Buck’s heart is pounding, blood rushing in his ears. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know how.

“He deserves better,” Eddie says, “than anything you can give him now, because you’ve decided a grandchild gives you a second chance.”

Turning his back on Buck’s parents, and just the dismissiveness in that rears the old fear, but Buck tamps it down and Eddie gives Buck a look. “You wanna leave?”

“Buck—” Margaret starts.

Maddie nods her head. He gives her a tight smile.

“Yeah,” Buck says, taking the hand Eddie offers him and standing on wobbly legs.

“It’s alright,” Eddie mumbles. “You’ve got this.”

Buck does. He nods, sharing a long look with Eddie, and then swallows down everything to stand straight. “Sorry, Mads.”

“Don’t be,” Maddie says.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, Evan.” Phillip’s expression is tight.

“No,” Buck says, digging deep to find courage. Eddie’s hand squeezes his arm. “I’ll be with Eddie and Chris. I’ll call you. Maybe.”

“You can’t—” 

“He can,” Eddie says.

“He can,” Chim echoes.

“We will not—” 

“It’s alright,” Maddie says eventually. “They’ll be leaving after you.”

Margaret looks shocked. “Madeline—”

“It’s Maddie,” Maddie says. “Eddie’s right. You can’t make up for us,” she says, gesturing between her and Buck, “with my baby.”

  __________________

“How did that feel?”

Buck huffed, not sure how to answer. “Good? But also terrifying. It’s like closing that door completely. It means we’re cut off. Money, name, everything.”

Dr. Copeland hums. “Does that bother you?”

“No,” Buck says. “Some of the money they can’t touch. The name—it’s nice to have it, but I can always change it. I’m still me.”

“I’m proud of you for going,” Dr. Copeland says. “It took strength, Buck.”

“I, uh,” Buck starts, looking around the room, “told Eddie.”

“Oh?” The fact that he can’t detect anything from her tone is a credit. “How did that go?”

Buck sighs. “My mom actually said it, during the fight. I thought he’d hate me for it.”

“Evan—”

The name doesn’t hurt like it had when Phillip used it. “No, it’s okay. I know—I projected that onto him because I was worried. I didn’t want to lose him.”

Dr. Copeland waits. Then, “How do you feel now?”

Scared.

__________________

“I’m sorry,” Buck blurts out. 

Eddie frowns as he shuts off the truck. “Why?”

“Because I didn’t tell you,” Buck says. 

A pause. Eddie looks confused. “You did.”

“Not about my parents.” Buck’s quiet, looks at the house. Chris is inside with Eddie’s abuela. During the height of the pandemic, they’d been together, both vulnerable. When it was safe to go home, Eddie's taken him back to the house, but abuela and pepa both are both taking enough precautions to stay with him when Eddie’s at work. It’s worked for them so far and Buck hopes it stays that way; Chris deserves to be safe. “About therapy.”

When Eddie’s hand lands on his knee, Buck jumps. Before Eddie can take it away, he grasps it. Eddie gives him a soft smile when he looks up. “You don’t have to be sorry. If it’s something I needed to know, you’d have told me.”

Buck lets out a shaky breath, tips his back against the headrest. “I’m messed up.”

“Maybe,” Eddie allows. “Isn’t everyone, a little?”

“I keep getting left behind,” Buck admits, swallowing past the lump in his throat. “My parents. Maddie. Everyone at work. You,” he adds on last, because if he doesn’t get this out, he doesn’t know when he will. “Not now—after Bobby said I couldn’t come back to work. You left me.”

Eddie opens his mouth. It closes quickly and Eddie ducks his head, a flush rising on his cheeks. “I was a shitty best friend,” Eddie admits. 

“We both were,” Buck allows.

“You were crushed by a firetruck,” Eddie protests.

Buck raises his eyebrows. “Your wife died, Eddie. We didn’t talk to each other. I needed you but I didn’t ask.”

Eddie nods, turns his hand around so he can link their fingers together. Buck’s heart skips, doesn’t know what to make of it. Is this something they do now? The lines between them have always blurred, but he doesn't know— “I’ve never had a best friend before.”

“Neither have I.”

“I didn’t know how to ask for help,” Eddie continues, “because I’ve never had someone to ask.”

Buck’s throat is dry. “I make everyone think I’m okay, but inside I’m not. I hide how I’m really feeling.”

“I’m angry all the time,” Eddie admits. “Not so much anymore, but sometimes. It gets so much and I don’t know how to let it go.”

Buck nods, works through what he wants to say before he speaks. “Then maybe tell me when you are. I don’t know what I’ll do, but tell me.”

With a slow breath, Eddie agrees. “And if you need to tell someone how you really feel, text me or call, or I guess, talk to your therapist.”

Buck makes an assenting noise. 

“How do you feel now?” Eddie asks, and Buck realises he’s talking about his parents, the events after dinner. 

“Terrified,” Buck says quietly. “Just Maddie and I.”

“And Chim,” Eddie points out. “Bobby, Athena, Hen. Carla.”

Buck nods, the tension drawing out. “I guess.”

Eddie looks at him, expression saying a hundred different things. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Maybe not,” Buck concedes, “But sometimes I need to hear it.”

“You always have me,” Eddie says. His voice isn’t loud or hard. The words feel too big for the space. “I’m not leaving you, Buck, especially not now.”

Buck nods, closing his eyes. 

__________________

Buck sits back on the couch. “I feel—like I have something to look forward to.”

“I’m pleased.” Dr. Copeland gives him a smile. “How does it feel that everyone knows?”

“Good,” Buck says, thinking it through. “I still hesitate to talk about it, but when I do, they just—accept it. Accept me.”

Silence draws between them, but for once, Buck’s not scrambling for something to say. He feels lighter in places. There’s no magical fix, no cure for the fear and worry that still gnaws at him, sometimes. 

“Being honest isn’t always as scary as I thought it was.”

“No,” Dr. Copeland agrees. 

Buck looks up, to where Eddie and Chris are in the kitchen, the first time they’ve been able to in so long that Buck’s still surprised at the changes in Chris. “I think I could stand to be more honest.”

“And that,” Dr. Copeland says, “Is something we should talk about next session.”

“Not if I tell him first,” Buck says, with a grin. 

Dr. Copeland laughs. “I’ll see you next week, Evan.”

“Bye,” Buck says, waiting until she’s gone to put his tablet down. 

“Okay?” Eddie says, leaning against the door jamb. 

Buck smiles, pushing himself up off the couch. “Yeah. I think I am.”

“Good,” Eddie says, shoving Buck towards the kitchen. “I burnt shit, fix it.”

Buck laughs, dragging Eddie along with him, holding on like a lifeline.

Eddie takes a hold of his hand and doesn’t let go.

[plasticnightmaredoll]

I’m still working on the NSFW Alphabet for Enigma/Edward Nashton/Riddler-Before-He-Was-Riddler from “Arkham Origins,” and it’s going to take some time because of my work schedule being the PITA that it is...

However, I do have some snippets of an Arkham Knight!Riddler x female!Reader fic I’ve been working on here and there over the last few weeks. 

Now, these are not beta-read, so there may be some mistakes, and some things might change or be added or rearranged, etc. when I do get around to proof-reading the complete fic, but the basic idea of each snippet won’t change from here on to the finished product. 

The general concept behind this fic is what would it take for AK!Riddler to, well, get his shit together? We all know how he started out as a snack -- or more accurately, a damn MEAL:

then became a...well, a hot mess (still adorable, though):

Possibly having someone in his life who actually appreciates him and shows him some affection could get him to clean himself up? Because we all know this boy is most likely touch-starved and would probably cry if someone was actually sweet to him, and he’d probably do whatever he could to be as presentable as possible to keep them around -- anything to keep them from vanishing from his life and leaving him all alone and unwanted again.

Anyway, here are the three (non-beta’d!) snippets from the fic:

Snippet 1:

Initially, Edward told himself it was for his own good. He was Gotham’s one true genius so why shouldn’t he take better care of himself? Cloning was not possible, nor was there any way to transfer the human consciousness into a machine. All of this meant there was only ONE Edward Nigma, and he deserved to look and feel his absolute best. 

Besides, he thought it was yet another way to one-up anyone who opposed him. Yes, of course he could look just as put together as anyone else -- or better. He was superior in every possible way after all.

It had all started with a comment from Selina as she was leaving to take care of the job Edward had assigned to her.

“You know, Eddie,” she said, turning to look at him over her shoulder. “Ladies like men who don’t smell like a car repair shop.”

With that, she was gone and Edward was, at first, not even registering what she had said to him. But it did creep into his thoughts faster than he would have liked, and he analyzed every piece of it. Why would Selina say such a thing? Then again, most people said pointless -- or more accurately, stupid -- things. Normally, he would have disregarded and forgot about it as he went about his work, but it nagged at him like a mathematical equation without a proper solution.

Taking a break from working on some new Riddlerbots, Edward went to the bathroom to locate anything he had on hand to take care of the headache he was currently dealing with. He found a bottle of Aspirin in the medicine cabinet, but when he closed the door, he stared at his reflection for a moment (When was the last time he’d given himself a proper glance in a mirror?)

As Edward took the Aspirin, he remembered Y/N was coming to see him that day -- soon, actually. Perhaps a shower would be a good idea? She would probably appreciate it if he didn’t smell like a car repair shop. And he probably would feel better being clean. Could help him think a little more clearly.

As he showered, Edward told himself this was primarily for his benefit and he wasn’t trying to impress Y/N -- or anyone for that matter. Deep down, though, he knew this was part of something he didn’t quite understand, something dealing with Y/N, something he hadn’t experienced before. That part of him was too afraid at that time to come forth and propose an answer to this dilemma. This was unfamiliar territory, something that wasn’t logical or scientific but emotional and...no, that “strange” part of him needed to stay quiet if he wanted to keep his thoughts together.

This was nothing. Nothing was going on. Everything was normal. And no, Edward didn’t feel relieved when Y/N complimented him on his appearance upon arriving. Taking a shower and putting on nice, clean clothes had nothing to do with gaining her approval. He did it for himself, to give himself a “refresh” before getting back to work. He wasn’t aiming to please or impress anyone, remember? Not even Y/N.

Especially not Y/N.

Or so he thought.

Snippet 2:

Something was different when Edward put someone else before anything of his, namely his work. Had it been anyone else, he’d have tossed a bunch of insults and told them never to bother helping him again. 

However, with Y/N, it was completely different -- and he didn’t even realize it at first.

She was carrying a box of mechanical parts to bring to Edward to aid in constructing new robots, and he had warned her to be careful, to not overload the box or it would be too heavy for her. While carrying the box of gears, wires, and metal bits, she tripped over her own feet and fell forward. The box toppled over onto the floor, spilling the contents everywhere, and she collapsed on her left forearm and knee.

“I told you to be careful!” Edward growled as he rushed over.

“I’m sorry!” Y/N said, pushing herself up and looking at the mess. “I don’t think I broke anything--”

“Let me be the judge of that.”

Y/N fully expected Edward to examine the scattered parts to see if they had sustained any damage but he went right by them. Kneeling down beside her, he gently took her left arm and briefly studied the scratched skin. 

“I don’t think it’s broken,” Edward said as he carefully felt her forearm and elbow. “And your knee….”

“I think it’s ok,” Y/N said as she moved to sit. “It hurts, though.”

Edward placard his hands on Y/N’s left knee, feeling around and noting how she winced several times. 

“Not broken,” he said. “But most certainly will be sore and bruised for a while. Here…let’s get you up.”

Edward let Y/N put an arm around him to steady her as he helped her to stand. Of course, her left knee ached far too much for her to walk on her own, so he continued to guide her to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry about the stuff,” Y/N said, looking and sounding as guilty as she felt.

“Don’t worry about it,” Edward said absent-mindedly as he located some clean bandages and antiseptic cream. “Most of it probably won’t even be needed for what I’m doing now, and I can always acquire more. In fact...I have more in storage.”

Edward turned on the faucet and tested the water until it was comfortably warm, then he gingerly took Y/N’s left arm and began cleaning it with soap. It stung a little but she tolerated it, studying his highly focused expression and wondering if this was even happening? He truly wasn’t upset that she dropped the box of bits and pieces? She just couldn’t wrap her head around it, and doubted that anyone would believe her without proof.

Edward dried Y/N’s arm with a clean towel before tossing it in the trash. After applying some antiseptic cream to a strip of bandage, he proceeded to wrap it around her arm, covering the wound. 

“There…” Edward said, admiring his handiwork. “How does that feel?

“Good,” Y/N said.

“Now for your, uh, knee.” Edward swallowed, his cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “It...doesn’t appear to be bleeding so...I think we can just put, um, ice on it. Unless you think it needs to be looked at?”

“No, I think it’s fine. Ice is fine. Thank you.”

Edward nodded before clearing his throat and reaching out to Y/N.

“Come,” he said. “Let me help you to the couch.”

Snippet 3:

“Ok, who are you and what did you do with Eddie?” asked Selina as she looked Edward over incredulously.

It appeared that Edward finally got his shit together and was taking care of himself. Not only was he free of grime and grease, he was dressed in rather impressive attire: black dress shirt, green gloves, green trousers, and dark brown boots. Even his hair was cut and styled differently as it was shorter with subtle layering, the offset part causing bangs to fall over most of his forehead and just above his brows. 

Another noteworthy change was Edward’s weight. Instead of surviving on snacks and coffee, he must have been eating actual food again as he was no longer skin and bones. Actually, he looked a little bit...toned? Was he back to his old routine of perfectly planned, ultra-healthy, balanced meals coupled with a decent amount of exercise? Selina remembered he used to get up early in the and exercise almost right away most days of the week. It helped him “get focused” before even having coffee, he had said.

“What are you going on about?” Edward asked in an agitated tone. “Nevermind. It’s nonsense anyway.”

“Personality is still the same,” Selina muttered as she followed Edward to a workbench.

Once he was done explaining in excessive, almost condescending detail the particulars of the items she needed to steal for him, she decided to ask some questions.

“So, tell me, Eddie,” Selina began, turning to him. “What inspired you to finally start looking like a professional criminal mastermind as opposed to an overworked grease monkey?”

“Not that it’s any of your business,” Edward said, before clearing his throat and straightening, a smug smile on his face. “I came to the long overdue conclusion that, as Gotham’s one true genius and Batman’s superior, I should look after myself and be presentable. What’s on the outside should reflect what’s going on inside, so to speak. I mean, what a waste of a brilliant mind such as mine to live in a body akin to a starving, filthy rat scurrying about in the sewers?”

“So you are basically telling me you did this for yourself,” Selina said resisting the urge to roll her eyes at Edward’s narcissistic ramblings. “Are you sure you didn’t do this for any other reason?”

“Like what?” Edward asked, clearly puzzled by such a question.

“Hmm...well, let me ask this: Has Y/N seen your ‘transformed’ self?”

Selina noted how Edward’s blue eyes lit up upon hearing Y/N’s name, and suddenly, his obnoxious personality changed to a much more amiable one.

“She likes it,” Edward said with a bright smile. “Her compliments about my appearance go hand in hand with her compliments about my genius. It’s wonderful having someone around who actually appreciates my existence.”

“I take it that her approval means a lot to you then?”

“Of course! Considering she’s the only person who treats me with respect, I think she deserves the privilege of having me listen to, accept, and sometimes take her advice.”

Selina smirked as she had received the answer to her question.

“Well then, I must be going, Eddie,” she said as she turned to leave. “I’ll get you what you requested in no time.”

“Yes, please do,” Edward said sternly, going back to his arrogant tone. “My request should be of the utmost importance compared to whoever else you’re working with at the moment.”

“Yes, yes, Eddie, of course. Bye!”

[diazevan]

Evan Begins Again

With the help of his family, Buck learns to love himself, flaws and all - which starts with reclaiming his given name.

Read on AO3

Words: 4436

Warnings: Mentions of past Self-Hate, Brief Injury Detail (on a call)

It starts with Eddie, but these things usually do.

Buck wishes he could be like Eddie, somebody who can freely speak his mind without fearing the fall.

When Eddie has something to say, he makes Buck listen, even if it's not something he wants to hear.

Discovering that he would become Christopher's legal guardian if his best friend dies prematurely was unexpected, but Buck welcomes it. 

The lengths he is willing to go for Christopher are infinite; he loves that kid like his own.

Strangely, that part of the conversation isn't what stuck or what keeps him up at night.

Being told that he's not expendable with such certainty, after a lifetime of believing that's all he is, has put his mind in a spin.

Maddie's told him that before, so has Bobby, Athena, Hen, Chimney, Albert, Taylor - everybody he cares about has, at one point, has told him that he's worth fighting for.

That wasn't anything new, but it's the way Eddie went about saying it, "Because, Evan, you came in here the other day, and you said you thought it would have been better if it had been you who was shot. You act like you're expendable. But you're wrong."

Evan.

Buck hates when people use his given name - well, at least he thought he did.

Hate wouldn't explain the warmth that spread across his chest when Eddie spoke his name, with just the right amount of love, with an unmistakable tinge of sass.

Aside from Maddie, whenever anybody says his name, he recoils like he's been burnt. He remembers his childhood, being reprimanded by his parents for his reckless behavior or called out by his teachers.

Whenever 'Evan' is used in a sentence, it isn't usually followed by words of affirmation.

Even with Maddie, she's adapted to using 'Buck' when she's proud of him or telling him how much she loves him. Emotions are high whenever she says, 'Evan,' like when he learned about Daniel.

"Evan, please don't leave. Just talk to me."

He talks to Dr. Copeland, and it's almost too easy for her to identify the problem.

'Buck' is meant to be a nickname, but it's bigger than that; it's a shield, a smokescreen, an excuse to hide his true feelings.

He separates himself into two; Buck gets to live while Evan suffers the weight of his hardships.

He can't keep doing that.

He has to face this problem, learn to love every piece of himself, even if it hurts.

If he doesn't, it will kill him.

Because one day, and soon, he'll become tired of 'Buck.'

The same way he did with Evan, then he'll be well and truly lost.

Things need to change.

***

It's a slow day, nobody's said anything to jinx that, yet, but the night is still young.

Athena has a day off; she's popped over like most Wednesdays, having helped Bobby with dinner.

Maddie surprises them all, dropping by with an excitable Jee-Yun.

Eddie and Chimney carry the stroller up the stairs while she holds Jee-Yun on her hip.

Taking his niece into his arms, Buck asks his sister, "How are you?"

The light in her eyes is brighter than the last time he saw her, "I'm better."

Buck sports his lopsided grin, "Good."

Jee-Yun jumps from person to person, delighted to be surrounded by her favorite people.

They settle on the couches; Jee-Yun stops on Maddie's lab, hit by the tired stick.

Buck sits, sandwiched between Bobby and Athena.

Maddie relaxes into the recliner while Chim perches on the chair's arm as he converses with Hen.

Hen and Eddie share a couch but have claimed separate ends; she sits nearer Chimney, busy discussing kindergarten admissions, which Buck can't believe, Jee-Yun's barely one.

Eddie is at the other end, listening to one of Athena's work stories.

Buck knows he should be involved, but he's lost track of where they were.

Everybody's conversations reach their natural ends - Buck leans in.

"Hey," He croaks - that's odd, his throat is tight, and he didn't realize.

All eyes are on him.

He fumbles with his fingers, "Can I ask you all something?"

Chimney shuffles forward, "Of course."

"Is everything okay?" Hen asks, eyes tracing over him.

Buck dips his head, "Yeah."

Athena takes his hand, "It doesn't sound it."

He insists, "Everything's fine."

"So," Eddie speaks gently, "What's up?"

Buck wonders if Eddie will catch on and understand that everything is changing because he is the first person in years, to remind Evan that he is worthy of love.

He clears his throat, "I want you to call me 'Evan.'"

The request is met by silence and pinched expressions of confusion.

"I'm still Buck," He blurts, "That's my nickname, always gonna be, but I was hoping that we could, like, switch between the two?"

"Okay," Bobby is cautiously gentle, "We can do that."

"It might take some adjustment time," Hen adds, "But of course, we can."

A weight shifts, "Cool, thanks."

"So, what's with the change?" Chimney asks, "I thought you hated your name?"

"I thought I did," He nervously rubs the nape of his neck, and his leg begins to bounce.

"Hey," Maddie sits up, startled, "You don't have to explain-"

Buck shakes his head, "You guys need to hear this."

Bobby presses his hand to Buck's knee, attempting to ease him.

"Talking with Dr. Copeland, I realized that in becoming Buck, I was trying to forget everything that came before," Buck explains, "It should just be a nickname, but it's not - it's a coping mechanism."

He locks eyes with a tearful Maddie, but she smiles with a nod, urging him to go on.

It's once in a blue moon when Buck opens up about how he's feeling.

"I can pretend that every bad thing that happened to me as Evan never happened," He continues, "Shitty childhood, bad friends, and Daniel..."

Everybody shifts uncomfortably on that note, especially Maddie, who draws her daughter closer to her chest.

Buck lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "But it doesn't work like that."

"No, it doesn't," Maddie speaks, quiet, "Those things leave a scar, Evan."

Hen speaks up, "An open one."

"I've never hated my name," Evan's lower lip trembles, "I hated me."

He expects pity or concerned gasps, but instead, he's offered understanding nods and intense gazes filled with love.

"I separate 'Evan' and 'Buck,' but they're both me," He cries, "Like with Buck, I've grown, changed for the better, have the family I've always wanted," Tears spill down his cheeks, "But Evan is buried, and I need to find me, again."

Maddie asks, "Because you feel loved as Buck but forgotten as Evan?"

He nods, "Yeah."

"Evan," Hen cries, her eyes wet with tears, "We love you completely."

Athena's gentle fingers grasp Evan's chin, her mouth curls into a smile, as tears freely fall, "Without a single string attached."

Buck breaths, "You promise?"

"We promise," Bobby reassures fast.

With a strangled sob, Evan crumbles, his shoulders sagging.

Bobby dives, collecting him in his arms.

Athena combs her hand through his hair.

Everybody moves, crowding him, in a hug.

Eddie kneels, gripping onto Evan's knee with all his strength, wrapping his arm around Hen, crouched beside him.

Hen grips onto Buck's forearm, her stance protective.

Chimney stands behind, hands resting on Buck's trembling shoulders.

Maddie takes the space beside Hen, taking Evan's hand, while she balances a half-asleep, confused, Jee-Yun on her knee.

Eddie speaks - his tone strong, "You're going to be okay, Evan."

***

It takes a month for the change to stick without the aura of awkwardness.

It is easy to get tongue-tied - in the beginning, there were many 'Buc-vans' and 'Ev-uk's,' but, at least he knew, they were trying.

After a couple of false starts, interchanging between 'Evan' and 'Buck' is set to stay.

Evan is sure that he's never been happier.

He stops over for dinner at Bobby and Athena's on Thursday nights.

While they're washing up, he gathers his shoes, slipping them on; he tries to be quiet, considering May's already in bed.

It's nearing midnight; he doesn't want to overstay his welcome.

"I better head home," Buck whispers, "Early start tomorrow."

"We have a free bed, you know?" Athena asks, gathering empty glasses off the dinner table, "Since Harry's with Michael."

"I wouldn't wanna intrude," He bends to do his laces

"Buckaroo, we invited you, remember?" Athena tells him, "Your apartment is almost an hour away—time you could spend sleeping."

Buck stops what he is doing and sighs with a grin; he knows exactly where this is heading.

"We're heading into a twenty-four shift, Evan," Bobby speaks warmly, "We'd feel better if you stayed."

Buck slips off his shoes, "I'll stay."

Athena shoots a smile in Bobby's direction, "There should be some pajamas for you in the drawers, the second row down," She instructs, "Your toothbrush is in the medicine cabinet."

"Thank you," Evan skips up the stairs, "Goodnight."

***

The following morning, Buck is woken by his seasonal allergies.

He's survived a truck explosion, a pulmonary embolism, and a tsunami, but hayfever still sucks.

He snags an antihistamine from their medicine cabinet and creeps into the kitchen, careful not to make any noise.

May's left for work - there's a note on the table explaining that she'll be late home as she's checking out her new apartment with Michael.

Buck's downing his second glass of water when Athena steps out of her bedroom, "Buck?" She questions, "You're up early."

Evan rubs his eyes, "Allergies."

Athena rests a hand on his back as she opens the fridge door, "You need an antihistamine?" He asks, "May's a sufferer too, so we're stocked up."

"I took one," He smiles - uncertain, "Sorry, I didn't ask."

Athena fixes him with her parental glare as she tuts with a laugh, "Evan, you don't have to ask," She assures, "This is your home too."

Evan stares at her, mouth dropping open, "Thanks."

His mother's words ring in his head; You're under our roof, Evan, so you have to respect our rules.

Growing up, his parents never once referred to their house as his home.

Athena pats his arm, "Come on, you're helping me with breakfast."

"Of course," He claps his hands together, "Where do you need me?"

***

Being called 'Evan' again by those he trusts is second nature, almost like things have never been any different.

Buck struggles to see the floor as he heads into May's new apartment, box in his arms, "Hey, May," He calls, "This box isn't labeled."

She rolls her eyes, "It is, but Dad covered it with tape," She tries to peel the corners off, "Again."

Michael defends, "I'm cautious."

"And I'll be spending the next two weeks trying to cut free my possessions," May taunts; she taps the top of the box, "Bedroom."

Buck nods, "Gotcha."

She smiles, "Thanks, Ev."

Warmth spreads over Evan's chest, he smiles, hanging his head; well and truly caught up in the euphoria of acceptance.

His pseudo-sister was the first to try 'Ev.'

It works. Buck loves it.

"Buck, can you help me in the kitchen when you're done?" Athena calls, "I'm gonna your help with these latches."

"Sure!" He places the box on the floor and turns into the kitchen.

Chimney, who is in the middle of constructing a bookshelf with David, turns, "Oh no, brace yourself," He taunts, "Fire Marshall Buckley is back!"

Buck remains straight-faced, "Ha."

"Why do I need these, Mom?" May quizzes, "I'm not a kid."

"We have around ten thousand earthquakes a year," Evan explains; he grabs the latches, "Things get broken. This is an added safety," He points to the windows, "Especially this high up."

May narrows her eyes, "So, what I'm hearing is that this was your idea, not Mom's?"

Buck nods, "I suggested it."

Athena squeezes his shoulder, "I accepted the suggestion."

May bops her head, "Oh, I see."

"Buck's got an eye for safety," Bobby praises.

Eddie walks in with May's ironing board, "Which is saying something."

Buck glares, "You're so funny."

Michael walks over, "Thank you, Evan," He says, all actively ignoring Eddie and Chimney's mischievous laughter, "Earthquakes aren't a thing I considered."

"You're not gonna remember everything," Evan holds up the latches, "If you want, I could set some of these up at your place."

"That would be wonderful."

Athena sports a fond smile, "It's like having our own personal handyman."

Buck jokes, "Well, if that's the case, you can all pay me."

***

Buck lays on his front, across Maddie and Chimney's carpeted ground, his eyes fixed on his niece.

She's busy chomping down on one of her many toys, but she stares at him with her wide brown eyes, fixated on his face, much like he is on hers.

Sometimes, even thirteen months into her life, he can't believe that his sister, and one of his closest friends, came together to make a human being.

"How can somebody be this cute?"

Maddie steps over, "Oh my, God," She laughs fondly, "She's covered in drool."

"That's fine," Buck gathers a cloth, wiping it over Jee's face, "She's still adorable, aren't you?"

Jee-Yun throws her hands in the air, "Yeah!"

"Yeah," Evan repeats, bopping her nose.

"Should I be worried about you two?" Maddie asks, sitting on the couch, "You're gonna be partners in crime."

"Just wait until we join forces with Christopher," He scoops his niece onto his knee, "It will be over for all of you."

"What is it about you, Evan?" Maddie asks, "The way she looks at you - the way everybody looks at you, it's like-"

He asks, curious, "Like what?"

"I don't know," She tilts her head, "Like you're the key to the mysteries of the universe."

He barks a laugh, "Maybe, I am."

Maddie grabs her book from the coffee table, "Chim thinks you're a trained hypnotist."

"No comment."

Maddie throws her head back with a laugh.

Buck turns to Jee, "Where's my nose?"

She reaches up, grabbing his nose.

"That's right!" He praises, "You're a genius."

Jee-Yun blabbers, "Ev-an!"

Maddie sits bolt upright, "Did she just?"

Jee-Yun knows a couple of words - Ma, Dada, No, Yes, but she's hasn't ventured any further.

Jee-Yun swings her arms around, "Evan!"

Oh, and he melts, a delighted cry catching in his throat.

His teary eyes meet Maddie's.

Every time someone utters his given name, Evan is one step closer to the light.

With Jee-Yun's soft squeal, he's out - the darkness now, a distant memory.

"Yes," He holds her up, "That's me!"

***

By Halloween, Evan barely notices the change - it goes to show how fantastic his family is.

He fishes out the insides of a pumpkin, humming 'This is Halloween' under his breath.

Hen's amused look bores into him.

He shakes his hands, "This is fun."

"How?" She laughs, "I once had my hand inside a man's chest, and somehow, this is worse."

Buck reclines his head with a laugh; he grabs a cloth, drying his hands.

"Hey, Evan!" Chimney sings from downstairs, "I need you and your abnormal height!"

"Again?!" Buck hollers back, not dropping his grin, "Chim, this is borderline exploitation!"

Hen bows her head, chuckling.

Buck hears the ladder being pulled out.

Hen raises her eyebrows, "You better go, Buck, or we'll be taking him to the emergency room."

"Oh," Buck runs, "Stop it, Chim, I'm coming!"

***

Buck's definition of a perfect weekend is spending it with the Diaz Boys - teasing Eddie endlessly and sneaking treats with Christopher, even though they both know that Eddie sees what they're doing.

Evan was apprehensive when Eddie suggested they took a trip to the carnival - rollercoasters, and crowds - reminded him too much of the calm before the tsunami.

He agrees to go - 'exposure therapy,' Eddie calls it, and Buck knows he's right.

It's okay, and they have a ton of fun.

Buck wins one too many prizes for Christopher, which Eddie ends up carrying, along with Christopher's crutches, but he doesn't complain.

It's easy to understand why Christopher wants to hold Buck's hand - he remembers the day at the Pier, too.

Knowing that the ocean is an hour away helps because at least that's not a natural disaster that could stop them in their tracks.

Thanks to the pandemic restrictions, there are fewer people, which eases the pressure further.

Sunset was almost two hours ago, and Christopher keeps yawning in-between words.

Without a second thought, Buck kneels, holding out his hands, "Here we go, buddy."

Christopher shuffles forward, tucking his face against Evan's shoulder.

Buck gathers him, letting Christopher tangle his legs around his middle before getting up, "There we go, I've got you."

Eddie smiles fondly, "We should head back to the car."

"Yeah," Buck sings, patting Christopher's back, "Which way is it?"

Eddie points, "That way, I think," He darts his head around, "Hopefully."

Buck snorts a laugh, "We'll find it, eventually."

Christopher is ten, he usually doesn't like being carried around anymore, but he settles in Buck's grasp, content.

Buck fears the day that they won't be able to scoop him up - he knows that anxiety is doubled, in Eddie's case.

"You okay with him?" Eddie whispers.

"Of course," Buck grins, "I'm legal guardian material."

Eddie scoffs a laugh, shaking his head.

"He's getting taller recently," Buck comments, "It's insane."

"Usually what happens with kids, Buck," Eddie teases.

"Ha, ha," Buck replies, monotone.

"Dad, Buck...." Christopher shushes, "I'm sleeping," He mutters.

Eddie bits his lip to conceal a laugh, "Sorry, bud."

"We'll keep it down," Buck adds, tapping his back.

Christopher tightens his arms around Evan, his head lulling on his shoulder.

"You okay there, bud?" Buck asks.

"Yeah," Christopher breaths sleepily, "You're comfy."

"Well, thank you."

Christopher goes quiet, and for a moment, Buck thinks he's fallen asleep, but then he speaks, "Love you, Evan."

Evan's breath catches sharply; he tightens his grasp, "Love you too, kid."

His family, Buck can't quite believe his luck - they're perfect, in every sense of the word.

***

Unfortunately, not every use of his given name comes at a happy time, but that would be beside the point.

'Buck,' 'Evan,' and even 'Buckaroo,' - they need to be used, freely, no matter the time of the day or what is happening. It helps; it means that he can't associate any of them with a particular emotion or trauma.

Evan scouts the roof of a decrepit apartment complex - that is, according to dispatch, set for demolition, but they've received calls about somebody being trapped on the top floor.

Time hasn't been kind to the structure, narrowing their time for a search and rescue.

So, starting from the roof and working down seems like the best bet.

Buck steps towards the door, the foundation creaks, dangerously loud under his foot.

He grabs Hen's low-hanging wrist as the roof gives way below them.

He doesn't remember what happens next.

With the dangerous nature of their jobs - Evan's name and all the possible variations are often uttered in worry.

He blurts awake with desperate rapid breaths; every ache and pain catches up with his concussed mind, "Hen?"

Hen's panicked voice cautions, "Buck don't move!"

The light is low, but he can see, despite the abundance of dust particles.

His back rests against debris; he can tell by the throbbing pain in his biceps that he didn't land in the position he was in, more likely manhandled into place.

He doesn't want to consider the time that Hen spent alone, waiting for him to wake, "Hen," He repeats - desperate.

"I'm here."

He lifts his head, "Are you hurt?"

She crawls into view, hauling her gear along with her, "I'm fine," She promises.

He traces his eyes over her - she's got a couple of scratches, but nothing too worrying, "We both fell?" He asks, confused.

"Yeah," She seems guilty, "But I was lucky."

"Why?"

She presses her fingers to his pulse point, "I had a soft landing."

"Yeah?"

"You."

"Oh," He laughs at the absurdity, "I'm an excellent crash mat."

She glares, "That's not funny."

"It kind of is," He offers her his dopiest smile, "Glad I saved you."

"Thank you," She kisses his forehead, "Now, stay awake."

His eyelids are heavy, "What about the victim?"

"Dead," She sighs.

Buck changes the subject, "What's wrong with me?"

"Broken arm," She lists, "Some blunt force trauma, and—" Her throat cracks; she can't say it.

"And?"

"Ruptured spleen," She sniffles, "I think."

Buck mutters, small, "Oh, that's not good."

She grips his hand, "All you've gotta do is stay awake, okay?"

He tries, but his eyes are heavy.

"Evan," She grabs his chin, "Please don't close your eyes."

"Hen."

"You're not dying on me," She orders, "I won't let you."

He smiles, weak, "Okay."

"I'm right here," She vows, "I'm not going anywhere."

He praises, "You're gonna be a great doctor."

"I know," She tells him, "You don't need to tell me that now, though."

"I have to, just—"

"Zip it, Buckaroo," She snaps lovingly, "We're getting out of here, you hear me? You're gonna help plan my surprise party when I graduate, and then we're gonna get drunk together."

"I'd like that."

She presses their foreheads together, "Just stay awake."

"I will."

***

Buck knows he's far too comfortable in hospitals; he is familiar with the staff and can easily snag an extra pudding at mealtimes, thanks to an older nurse who first treated him following his emergency tracheotomy and had on every subsequent visit.

Still, despite the laughs he has, he can't wait to escape - back to normality.

He folds his LAFD hoodie when Eddie swings inside, hand grasping the doorframe, "You ready?"

Buck turns his head, "Did you grab my meds?" He asks.

Eddie holds up a clear bag, "Right here."

"Thanks."

Eddie steps inside to place the medication into Buck's backpack; he then takes over, zipping up the bag.

Evan hums a laugh, "I can do that, you know?"

"I know," Eddie prods Buck's shoulder, "But we wouldn't want you to throw your stitches."

Buck perches on the bed, "Hen would kill me."

"Hen would kill us," Eddie corrects, "Mainly me."

Evan snorts, "Why?"

"I'm in charge of keeping you in line, apparently," He chuckles.

Buck hangs his head as he laughs, rubbing at the nape of his neck.

Eddie's tone turns sincere, "Are you alright?"

Buck's okay - really. The pain medication is doing its job, and he barely feels the ache in his side - what's on his mind is more complicated than that.

Eddie grips his shoulder, "Buck?" He fixes him with a concerned glance, "What's going on?"

He shrugs, "It's complicated."

Eddie sits, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I almost died," Buck lets go of a breathless laugh, "Again."

Eddie holds a hand in front of his face, failing miserably to hide a grin.

Buck's eyes widen, "What's so funny?"

"Sorry," He moves his hand away, "Just déjà vu - but last time, this was the other way around."

"It was," Buck confirms - the conversation is falling in the direction he needs it to go, "When you told me about your attorney and Christopher, I was scared. I never thought that anybody would trust me as much as you do; Christopher is your life, your everything, and I'm just me."

"You're you," Eddie repeats, softly stern, "That's why I made the decision."

Buck's shoulders sag, "I know."

"You fight for what you believe in, Buck, and you've never once stopped fighting for him," Eddie starts, "You almost killed yourself trying to find him during the tsunami," He takes a breath, "Hen told me about the well collapse; how one of the only words they could get out of you was Christopher's name. Your concern for him became your priority, even when he wasn't in any danger. I knew, then, that it was you because if I had died that day, you would have been taken away from each other, and that wouldn't have been right."

Evan's world would fall apart without Eddie, so would Christopher's - at least together, they'd have somebody to cling onto.

"If I die on this job," Eddie continues, "I'll die knowing that you two have each other."

Tears glisten in Buck's eyes, "So, that's why you changed your will."

"Yeah."

Buck settles his hands on his rocking knees.

Eddie questions, "Is there something else?"

Evan nods deliberately, "When I get hurt, Maddie can get a little short with me."

"She's afraid of losing you."

"Of course," Buck fidgets, locking his fingers together, "Maddie's lost too much. She's already had to stand by, watch our brother die, and live with the fallout. The decisions my parents made when they had me."

Eddie hisses, "Buck—"

"I know, I am wanted," He assures, "By her, by you, by the team - but this isn't about that."

Eddie's expression relaxes, glad that he doesn't have to lecture Buck on his importance again.

"It's just," Buck sighs, "Maddie latches to those she loves, and she can't let go - I wouldn't want to put her in a place where that is her only option."

Eddie brow furrows, "I'm not following."

"I'm going to make an amendment to my living will," Buck concludes, the space between each breath grows shorter.

"What amendment?"

He lowers his head, "I'm going to give you power of attorney."

Eddie's face softens, "Oh."

"Maddie has it right now," Buck scratches at his cheek, "But I've spoken to her about changing it."

Eddie's eyes widen, "You have?"

Evan nods, "It was my parents before, but they don't know me, well enough, to make the right decisions, but you do - and I know that you'd be strong enough to make them."

"Evan," Eddie meets his gaze, "I can do that, for you," He vows, "And, I understand not wanting Maddie to make those decisions, but what about Bobby?"

"I thought of Bobby, but then I remember—"

Eddie realizes, "His kids." Bobby is one of the strongest men they know, but if he was ever faced with the decision to take Buck off life support, he'd crumble under the weight of it all.

"I know this is big and that these decisions would hurt you," Evan croaks, "But I have faith that you could make them."

"I could," He confirms, "Evan, if I die, you become my son's legal guardian, and I'm sure that wasn't easy for you to process because yes, I trust you, but in that scenario, I'm dead," He lifts his shoulders in a shrug, "If you could do that, I can do this."

Evan leans, gathering his friend in his arms, "Thank you," He whispers, gripping tight, "For everything."

[confetti-cupcake]

As promised, here’s an unedited sneak peek into Chapter 1 of my in-progress 9-1-1/Lone Star Survivor AU, Thirty-Nine Days, the video trailer of which can be found here. For anyone who doesn’t know, Survivor is a reality TV show where everyday people are stranded on a remote island. They’re divided into teams called “tribes” and have to work together to survive in the wilderness, compete in challenges and vote each other out. It requires a lot of strategy and duplicity, but it also bonds people in a pretty amazing way, and the winner gets awarded a million dollars. The fic bounces around to all the characters’ POVs at one point or another throughout the game, and this specific snippet is from Buck’s POV. Buddie is the fic’s main pairing, but Madney, Bathena, Tarlos and Judd/Grace are also featured. 

For context, this scene takes place at the start of Day 1 during the marooning. This is the opening challenge where the contestants run around on a boat, gathering supplies to help them survive, then get on their tribe’s raft and race the other tribe to shore or to another boat for a reward (in this case, a bag of rice). Here’s an example from the actual show, to get a sense of what it looks like. Hope you all enjoy, and feedback is always welcome!

“Get on the raft! Get on the raft! Come on!”

The first words Buck heard as he surfaced were ones of urgency. The last minute had been one of the most chaotic in his life — and that was saying a lot, considering the career he’d made out of running into burning buildings. 

He had stayed on the boat much longer than he had initially planned, having picked up a saw, a hammer, and a packet of nails, before turning back to retrieve an armful of watermelons. He had promptly tossed them each overboard as he found them, moving too fast to care if anyone down below was in the line of fire. It was a race after all, and one for food, at that. But as he glanced around the deck after launching the final melon into the water, it was clear most of his tribe had already abandoned ship. Not wanting to be left behind, he had thrown himself — some might say recklessly — over the starboard side of the ship. But he didn’t have time to think about his own safety, not with sustenance for his team on the line. And so he soon found himself splashing forcefully into the Fijian sea, completely submerged before coming up for air. 

Disoriented from the impact, Buck swam toward the first raft he saw, only to stop when he noticed the outfits of the castaways climbing aboard. Yellow tank tops, yellow flannels, a yellow hoodie. Yellow buffs around their necks and wrists and foreheads. He whirled around, desperate to find the right color over his competition cannonballing themselves overboard. Purple, purple… where are you, purple?

"Hey!"

“Over here!”

Buck lifted his head and peered to the right, struggling to tread water as the waves of the sea rolled toward him. A timber raft about eighty feet away on the other side of the ship floated in the water, and he could make out several figures standing up, waving their arms, flashes of purple fabric standing out against the horizon. Buck swam over, managing to dodge the battered fruit bobbing in the water. As he approached the raft, the figures came into focus.

A woman in a purple track suit with wide-rimmed glasses and big hoop earrings stood on the edge of the raft, and Buck reached out for her, hoping to get a lift aboard. She leaned down extending her hand, but toward another woman on their tribe, an entire water jug on the shoulder of her small frame as she struggled to stay afloat. He swam around her, reaching for the next person, a tall redhead, but she seemed more concerned with keeping the supplies balanced than lifting anybody up. 

Frustration setting in, he made a beeline to the tribe member next to her, desperate for any kind of help. The tribe member turned around, and Buck was suddenly face to face with a young guy, probably no more than a couple years older than Buck. 

The man locked eyes with him, and suddenly everything became hazy. The exhaustion was, of course, the most likely culprit. Time seemed to slow down, the havoc faded into the background and his teeming desperation melted away. His eyes were immediately drawn to the cursive tattoo inked around the man’s left forearm as he knelt down, reaching for Buck, and something about the action unleashed a ripple of familiarity and relief. His tribemate’s fingertips padded against the double ring tattoo similarly wrapped just above Buck’s elbow, and when he felt himself slipping, Buck felt no shame in holding on tighter. “I got you. I got you,” the man affirmed as he pulled Buck’s entire 6’2” frame up onto the raft.

“Thanks,” Buck said breathlessly when he was finally out of the water, crawling around the stack of supplies growing taller by the second. 

“Don’t sweat it.” The man ran a hand through his dark brown hair as he looked around the raft, eyes widening when they landed on the object he was searching for amongst the mess. “Here,” he said, pushing a paddle into his hands. “Get ready, I think we’re about to take off.” 

Buck nodded, but, either out of a weird sense of gratitude or the desire to experience this peace for just a bit longer, felt a sudden urge to prolong the interaction. “What’s your name?”

The man paused, eyebrows knit together, as if the question took him off guard. After a brief hesitation: “Eddie.”

“Buck.”

The look of intensity flickering in his soft brown eyes morphed briefly into an inquisitive expression before settling into a faint smile. His lips parted, as if to say something else, when another purple buff-wearer emerged from under the water. Eddie punched him on the shoulder lightly before turning around to pull the person out. Buck’s momentary bubble of repose had popped, leaving him at the mercy of his frenzied surroundings once again. 

Most notable was a physical-looking, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, who brushed by him on the way to the back of the raft. Buck immediately noticed the machete in hand, and the all-too-familiar LAFD shirt on his back. 

The man grabbed the rope holding the raft to the boat, turning back around to scan the structure. “How many do we have?” he called out.

Buck surveyed his tribemates, finding it difficult to track the absolute mayhem happening around him. He spotted a stocky blonde woman in front, sliding back in to grab a cooking pot that had begun to float away. One. Eddie —  two — who had probably served in the military if the shirt he was wearing was any indication, pulled another young woman dressed for a day at the office out of the water, making it a tighter squeeze aboard. Three. A bundle of firewood rolled off their pile of supplies back into the water, and a woman treading water nearby snatched it up. Four. Buck reached down to grab the bundle from her — wait, nope, that person was on the other tribe, judging by the yellow buff wrapped around her tight, curly hair. And… he had already lost count. It was too early for his brain to do math, he concluded.   

“We have nine by my count,” the woman with the hoop earrings piped up. The man grimaced and began scanning the water for their missing tribemate, prompting Buck and the others to do the same, until a shrill voice traveled over the chaos.   

“Wait for me, guys!” 

Buck whipped his head toward the barge, just in time to see a shorter, Korean man jump from the ship, bushel of coconuts in hand, resulting in a violent splash that rocked the raft.

“Get up here, man! Nice of you to finally join us!” firefighter number two yelled jokingly, still holding onto the rope. The way he naturally seemed to take charge combined with his jovial attitude reminded him of his fire captain back home, so he decided he’d call this guy “Cap” in his head until he learnt his name. 

Buck grabbed the floating coconuts before they could be pilfered and set them down on top of their stack of loot, while Eddie once again lifted up their man overboard. Before he knew it, Cap had already chopped through the rope and set sail toward the barge.

As Cap started a rhythmic “Row!” chant, which made him feel like he was less on Survivor and more on the college crew team, Buck glanced toward the yellow tribe’s raft in curiosity. They had just found their machete and were also on the verge of breaking away. He squinted at the women, who were slowly fading out of view, and thought back to the brief chat they had with Jeff before the marooning. He wracked his memory, suddenly unable to tell if his eyes were deceiving him. Was it her? Nah, couldn’t be…

A large hand suddenly clasped his shoulder. He turned around to see Cap wearing a stern expression, no doubt reserved for him. A look that was also not unlike his fire captain’s back home.

“Kid, I need you to row. You can look at the other tribe later. We can’t have them catching up.”

Buck narrowed his eyes, but submerged the oar into the water and rowed with all his might, keeping time with his tribemates. But as coordinated as they seemed, the yellow tribe was gaining… and gaining… and gaining, until they were suddenly within ten yards.

One glance at his own raft was enough to understand why. The precariously-stacked mountain of supplies in the center of the raft was slowly losing its integrity, with coconuts and fish traps and Buck’s watermelons — which were looking rough at this point — rolling off the top toward the ocean, forcing his tribemates on the other side to forgo their paddles to keep everything aboard. A collapse was imminent, and to make matters worse, the raft was beginning to stray off-course. 

The poor woman with shoulder-length blonde hair sitting in front of Eddie was taking the brunt of it, struggling to fend off the falling objects and row at the same time. Buck pitied her for more reasons than one. She had probably done something to piss off production, given she was thrown into the game wearing a power suit, instead of the more camping-appropriate attire the rest of them had been assigned to wear. She stuck out, but she was sure as hell making it work for her, and Buck had to scold himself to focus on the task at hand.

“We’re tilting guys, we’re tilting!” Cap called out to the tribe. “Let’s straighten out.” 

Everybody stopped paddling all at once. Buck wasn’t sure if it was due to the abrupt absence of movement or a current that had come out of nowhere, but their tower of supplies suddenly gave way with an ugly snap, sending the rest of the heavy crates tumbling down and knocking Power Suit Girl straight into the water.

It had never been clearer that the cast was rife with seasoned first responders, as not a moment was lost to panic. Like a well-oiled machine, half of the tribe leant over the water’s edge in an attempt to pull her back up, while the other half scrambled to salvage as many of the lost objects as they could. But as quickly as the rescue mission was set into motion, the raft’s pursuit of the barge came to a screeching halt. 

Another violent splash cut through the commotion, and Buck whipped his head in the direction of the Matagi raft. The woman wearing a hijab on the other tribe had jumped in, tearing through the water toward the barge, egged on by the cheers of her tribemates.

Buck didn’t take a second to think. He threw the paddle aside, staggered to his feet, and dove in. Head first.

Tagging my fellow Survivor fans: @ashavahishta @wolvesofinnistrad @loveyourownsmiilee @halsteadsass @browney3dgirl6 @phonotactless @no-moremusic @pennykent