Love Wilson With My Whole Ass Heart But When He Walked Out On House After The Elektroshock It Was Just

Eddie isn't sure what he's expecting when Buck meets him at the airport. Red-rimmed eyes, splotchy face, hunched shoulders probably. Not this. Distant eyes, blank face, straight-backed. He'd been braced to catch Buck as soon as he landed, had spent his whole flight locking every bit of his own grief away to be thought about at a later date, let the guilt pool in his chest instead.

I should've been there, I could've -

He'd been ready to catch Buck, but it's Eddie who falls into Buck's waiting arms. Eddie who tears up. Eddie who clutches at the back of Buck's shirt like a scared child. And it's Buck sweeping his hands up and down Eddie's back, holding him together, murmuring:

"It's okay. I've got you. It's not your fault."

Eddie doesn't cry in LAX. His grief is a private thing. Always has been. He locks it into his bedroom and lets it out behind closed doors. But Buck is the safest space he's ever had, so he lets himself break a little. Lets himself shake apart under Buck's hands until he can ground himself with a deep breath at the junction of Buck's neck and shoulder. Until he can stand on his own.

Buck looks at him, eyes searching, deepest of furrows between his brows, so devastatingly gentle. And Eddie kind of wants to fucking scream at him for being okay. He'd needed to take care of Buck. He'd needed to have something to do. But now Buck is looking at him like he can fix him, and Eddie wants him to. So badly. But Buck knows Eddie's grief is for South Bedford Street, not LAX, so all he does is lead Eddie out to the parking lot.

It's a silent drive. Buck tells him the details of the funeral. Clinical. Sparing. And Eddie watches Buck's knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. Listens to the creak of leather under an unyielding grip. And he sees it then. The countdown over Buck's head, ticking away steadily. He's grateful in a way.

They pull up to the house silently. The engine falls quiet. And they stare at the door. The door Bobby had appeared on the other side of just a few months ago for a goodbye dinner. At the house. The house Bobby made coffee in when Eddie couldn't stomach being alone. At the home. The home Bobby helped him build in every way.

Buck gets out of the car. Eddie follows. Buck unlocks the door. Eddie locks it behind them. Buck disappears into the kitchen. Eddie pauses.

Can't quite separate Bobby from kitchens in his mind. And it's not like Bobby ever cooked anything in Eddie's kitchen, but there's some stupid grief-crazed part of his brain that thinks he'll find Bobby at the stove for a last supper. A parting gift to Eddie. Because Bobby was always too good. Too generous. Too understanding. When it came to Eddie.

When he finally makes it in there, Buck is stood staring into the fridge. Vacant. Eddie joins him, presses their shoulders together as hard as he can without knocking Buck away, and looks at Buck's fingers curled loosely around two beer bottles. Eddie knows it's not the early hour staying his hand.

It feels wrong. To find comfort in alcohol at Bobby's expense.

Carefully, Eddie unpicks Buck's fingers from the bottles and watches as Buck's arm falls limp to his side with such weight it bounces off his hip. Swings once, twice, stops suddenly. Eddie grabs the water filter. Closes the fridge.

"Sit down," he whispers. Sure, steady.

Buck sits down.

Eddie grabs two glasses. Fills them with water. Leaves the filter on the side. Who cares? Who fucking cares? Takes the glasses over to the table in shaking hands. Spills only a little. Sits opposite Buck. Stares into his cup.

"I didn't say it back," Buck rasps eventually.

Eddie picks his head up with great effort. Ony manages it because he wants to see what hurt he's caused. Their missing medic. Absent in their hour of need.

"What?"

"B-he-he told me he loved me." Buck's eyes go wide. Horrified. Haunted. Hollow. "He t-told me he l-loved me, and I could-couldn't say it back be-because that would mean..." Buck chokes a sob into his hand. "I thought we'd fix it. I-I-I thought we'd find a way. We-we always do. I couldn't say it-it. I didn't want t-to let him go. And now, he's..." Buck's face crumples first. Then, the rest of his body follows, folding in on itself in the chair until he looks almost as small as Christopher had the first time he'd ever sat at this table. "He's d-gone, and he doesn't know I love him."

"He knows, Buck." Eddie's hand curls into a fist on the tabletop. Doesn't know what to do. For all he'd been ready to hold Buck together, he's not sure how. "He knows you love him, Buck. You told him every single day."

"But I never said the words!" he snaps. Pure rage. Pure guilt. He looks up at Eddie. Blue eyes wet and red and wild. The rage and the guilt seeps away, leaves only pure grief. "I never said the words."

He sobs then. Doesn't choke it down. Lets it out. Eddie reacts like it's instinct even though he's never done this before. Just somehow knows in his bones what to do when it comes to Buck.

He stands, rounds the table, slides a hand into Buck's hair, one on his shoulder, pulls Buck's face into his stomach and holds him there, holds him together. Buck's fingers tangle themselves in Eddie's belt loops. A lifeline. And Eddie holds him tight as he can.

"All the times you cooked for him. All the times he cooked for you. The two of you cooking together. You had your own language, Buck. He knows you love him."

And all Eddie hears is: you're gonna stand there with a hundred-something bodies on you and tell me I'm not fit for duty. Did Bobby know Eddie loved him too?

Squeezing his eyes shut tight, Eddie drops his cheek to the top of Buck's head. Stops holding Buck together and starts holding on. Buck's hands grasp at his hips, twist into the back of his shirt just like Eddie's had at the airport.

And all Eddie hears is: I just want to make sure you don't think you have to lose everything before you can allow yourself to feel anything.

*rereading a fic I’m working on*

Huh this is kinda cool! Im actually really invested?? Lets go!!

…

WHY DID THE AUTHOR STOP HERE I WANNA NOW WHAT HAPPENS

I love how intrigued Kamala looks, like you know she is considering the pros and cons😭😭

i just had a dream in which Kamala Harris teamed up with Deadpool and Wolverine and they took down Trump at the final elections

the selling of the truck (potentially) just breaks something in me. just a little bit. because eddie does not invest in himself hardly ever. so to see this truck that... okay the way he got it, not great... but this thing he earned and got for himself that he is now giving up to fit in a box that isn't right for him. for chris, eddie would give up anything and everything. but first, it was the job he loved, then the city and home he loved. and now he is going to be without the job that gave him purpose again, PLUS he is getting rid of that truck. it's like eddie is making himself smaller and smaller, cutting out pieces that don't fit, so he can be this thing for chris. because if Chris was traumatized and running from him, but happy and thriving with his parents.... well, maybe the issue is eddie. but if eddie can be something else... can figure out how to be exactly what chris needs, who cares if he is a shell of himself if it means chris is happy, healthy, and taken care of. perhaps this is the penance he must pay. it's like the well... he cut his own line for a kid, and now he is under 40 ft of mud. he has two choices... wait and potentially let himself die or fight like hell to get back to his family. he's still alive down there. he's screaming, pounding against the mud. he won't give up without a fight. but for those few uncertain moments, he still wonders if he will make it out alive.

HC/rant that maybe someone already said, but I'm procrastinating, so anyways.

You know what? Batman's build is kinda a plot hole, specially on that one comic that he is straight up a fuckin gorilla (and you could argue that gorillas are flexible, and you're right, but this is supposed to be a human).

It's impossible that he's buff as Superman.

Yeah, his training is super hard: LOTS of cardio, agility and resistance, and it does have heavy lifting here and there, yes. But almost all of his training is in various martial arts, box from Alfred, stealth, fencing and other ninja/assassin skills.

¿Have you ever seen the bodies of professionals in these sports?

The meatiest of them could be boxers, but they're more like fit than "I'm a walking house that it's about to rip this shirt just with my titties".

The only way to get this massive is by taking supplements, but that will be mostly for aesthetic, and someone as freaking paranoid as he is, will never cause muscles that beefy will only get in his way in everything all the fucking time and, contrary to popular believe, don't really give so much extra strength nor stamina.

Besides, a fit muscle body is easy to pass as "I'm a rich douch bag that really likes the gym/do sports" than a "I'm a walking fucking truck".

"¿But what about his genetics?" I'll give you that he's tall, and has good genes, but that body builder wet dream it's simply not natural.

"¿But how can Clark have that musculature then, if he barely works out?" He's not human. He's a freaking alien power up by the sun. For all we know, this is what a Kryptonian skinny nerd looks like. And we're not body shaming him.

"¿So we just say goodbye to Clark pretending to be Batman? ¿Is that what you want, you monster?" Naw, I just said that this is actually a new chance to better his cover, because Batman and Bruce Wayne don't even have the same body type ¿Who would believe such nonsense?

It's kinda stupid say is his own body, BUT, considering he is (allegedly) a normal human regularly fighting against metas and gods.

And his suit has been said to contain anti-impact technology with a bellows system and other things built in, plus the various technology he keeps in there. Could make sense that all the extra muscle is just his armor.

And Clark impersonating Batman is just using almost simple fabric against his Apollonian body and they have nearly the same silhouette.

This way, Dick taking the mantle and Bruce going as Nightwing and nobody noticing a thing is so much less weird. Because their physical appearance isn't that far off from each other.

But we have to say goodbye to Clark pretending to be Bruce, tough, sorry about that.

So Matt carries around the last bit of Foggy he has when he leaves the apartment?! Puts that damn thing in the pocket that lays right over his heart??!!

Bobby: Today I realised I'm old.

Athena: What happened?

Bobby: I fell in the hall and instead of laughing, Buck came running to see if I was ok.

Athena:

Bobby: I saw fear in his eyes.

(x)

I don’t know who allowed Capt. Tommy Vega certified BAMF and amazing precious on-in-a-kind person to be hurt but LOOK THE FUCK OUT IM COMING FOR YOU.

RICKY WHEN I CATCH YOU RICKY. RICKY WHEN I CATCH YOU. RICKY WHEN I CATCH YOU RICKY!!!!!

whatever fuck realism buck should make a deal with a crossroads demon to bring bobby back

Trying to figure out if my social anxiety is a result of my depression or if my depression is a result of my social anxiety