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#i will have queue without armour

luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one | part two

summary you're a single mom living three trailers down. eddie thinks you're the prettiest girl he's ever seen. now friends, you, eddie and junie take a trip to the city. queue oreos with double the cream, a sock related mishap, a display of strength, storybooks, matching pajamas, a velveteen rabbit and a tray of cupcakes to eat on the drive home [15k]

warnings teen mom!reader, fem!reader, r is junie's birth mother, fluff, hurt/comfort, eddie being a total girl dad (<3), mutual pining, yearning etc, tw for not having much money, general mom struggles :(, slowburn friends to lovers, eddie’s mom implied to have passed away, mention of past falsely presumed self-harm (not graphic, just baby eddie scratching a rash and wayne worrying), hair tourniquet + intense panic

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie doesn't mean to come knocking. He's staring at the ceiling with an open tray of Oreos on his chest, chewing through the boredom of a Monday evening and the pain of an aching back when he thinks of you and Junie.

Toddlers like cookies, right?

He shoves his socked feet into poorly laced converse and turns out all the lights as he leaves. The door slams shut behind him, a rattling of metal ringing into the crisp night while he takes his steps two at a time.

He starts up the street to your trailer and slows as your home comes into view. The lights are on, the curtains open. You stand in the middle of the room with your eyes closed, stretching to one side with your arms held high above your head. He can see the moment your back pops, see the tension of the day slip away just slightly. The exposed stretch of your tummy shines in the light.

You say something to Junie. He decides to stop acting like a stalker and bumps up your steps, hesitating at the door with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

What the fuck was he going to say? Hey, guys, I brought a half-eaten tray of cookies. Um. Because I missed you both? Sorry if that's weird?

"What kind of loser…" he scathes. He doesn't finish, bringing his hand to the door and knocking with a haphazard explanation waiting on the tip of his tongue.

You open the door a short few seconds later. You smile wide, wide enough to open the yawning gap in his chest all over again. Tonight when he goes home he'll have to close it like he has to so often lately after seeing you. Pretend his feelings for you – whatever they are – are smaller, less terrifying.

"Eddie," you say, and the gap stretches with how you say it, fond and warm and breezy. "Hey, where's your jacket? It's too cold to walk over here without one."

He doesn't have to explain himself at all, as it turns out. You open the door and step aside to let him past.

He grins at you. "Thought I'd brave the great outdoors without any armour."

You nod like it isn't all nonsense to you and maybe it isn't, maybe being friends with him is clueing you in to all his fantastical lingo. He likes you more for it either way, especially when you say, "You need a healing potion. It's freezing."

You're embarrassed at your attempt. Eddie can't believe how cute you are, lost for words and flailing. His chest warms with affection.

Junie saves you both, whizzing down out of the nest of pillows where she'd been buried on the couch and across the room with surprising speed and accuracy, barrelling for his knees. He grins as she wraps herself around them and starts talking.

It's mostly unintelligible until she says, "Hi! Hi, Eddie!"

He hugs her back with his hand. "Hi, Junie. Good evening."

"Good," she manages in return. She's all but mastered good morning and afternoon but evening continues to elude her.

"What were you watching? Your Muppet Babies?" He looks at the screen to find Kermit, the green frog, singing a song. "Been doing some singing practice for the band?"

"You want coffee?" you ask. Aforementioned healing potion. "I have decaf."

"I brought cookies."

"Warm milk it is," you declare, disappearing behind one of the kitchen cabinets.

Your bravado makes him laugh.

He finds his attention stolen once again by your lovely daughter when she complains, glaring up at him fiercely and coveting his hand. He balances the Oreos on your table by the door and offers her both, naked of their usual rings bar one.

Junie drags him over to her pillows and tries to climb back up. She refuses to let go of his hand, making it an insurmountable feat. Eddie awes at her efforts and helps her back into the nest, hands closing around her small waist and lifting.

He drops her into the pillows with just enough roughness to garner a laugh. "Sorry, my hands slipped. Hey, what's going on here, junebug? This isn't your usual hangout."

"I felt bad because she's always on the floor," you call from the kitchen. He can see your hands and your torso through the gap of countertop and cabinets. You pour milk into a pan on the stovetop and tap your fingers against the handle frenetically. He wonders if you're anxious about something.

Junie whines until Eddie sits next to her. As soon as he's situated she takes his hand again insistently and turns her attention to the television. He rubs the soft, small back of her hand with a less soft thumb and peers down the way at you.

"She loves the floor,” he says.

"I know," you mumble ruefully. A tad theatric. He must be rubbing off on you. "I had to bribe her into sitting on the couch."

"Yeah? What's the tab?"

"A few dozen kisses and all the pillows from my bed."

"Shame it wasn't half a tray of cookies."

"I think those might help me out."

After you've poured the milk into two tall glasses, you admit to him in a smaller voice that you're not sure if Junie likes Oreos.

"'Cos they're bitter?" he asks.

Milk in hand, you sit in the free seat next to Eddie and try not to sound as embarrassed as he knows you're feeling when you say, "She's never had them."

"I'll bring chocolate chip next time."

You shake your head vehemently. "You don't have to bring anything, ever."

"I like sugar."

You smile at him like you know he's trying to make you feel better, a touch shame-faced. He smiles at you in return and hopes it shows how much it doesn't matter – bringing snacks with him when he visits is hardly a generosity. You're friends.

He keeps trying to have that conversation with you, about sharing and money and all that terrible, embarrassing hardship that isn't embarrassing whatsoever but the words taste like chalk in his mouth.

Instead, he offers the hand that hasn't been stolen by Junie to you for a glass of milk. "One of those for me?"

You pass it to him.

"Why'd you feel bad? You're not forcing her," he says as he takes a sip.

"You don't think it looks cruel?"

"No way. She's one of the happiest babies I've ever met, who cares if she lies on the floor?"

"How many babies do you know?"

"One."

You're laughing when you say, "I don't know. I think it's a habit. But we have a couch, so she should sit on it."

Eddie retrieves the Oreos. Junie watches curiously as he peels open the tray, four rows, two empty and two full of black and white cookies.

He takes one and passes it to you without looking at you. Eye contact gives you the opportunity to reject it.

When he's heard the soft crunch of your first bite, glass of milk between his knees, Eddie holds an oreo up purposefully and twists. "See, Junie?"

He licks a big stripe over the vanilla cream. The cream spreads edge to edge as he pushes both sides back together. Softened by a generous dip in milk, he eats the cookie in one vagabond bite.

"You wanna try?" he asks when he's done.

Big hands over her small ones, Eddie shows her how to twist an Oreo open. She brings the cookie with the least of the cream to her mouth and bites it. Her pout wobbles in mild disgust. Eddie tries not to laugh.

She has to like Oreos. They're a staple.

"Let me show you," he says gently, taking the cream heavy side out of her hands. Dark crumbs stain his fingers as he holds it up to her face. "You gotta lick it."

She doesn't want to, evidenced by her wrinkled nose and untrusting gaze.

"You'll have to do it for her," he tells you gravely.

Moving to kneel in front of him, you take the oreo out of his hands and lick it before stealing back the half of the cookie Junie had been munching on and squishing them back together. You dunk her sandwich in milk and press it to her lips until she deigns to take a small bite.

"Yummy?" you ask.

She takes the cookie back, a mess of dark black mush collecting at the corners of her mouth as she eats it.

You gaze up at him from the floor. Your eyes look damn pretty, more so when he offers the tray to you, your smile a beacon. "I haven't had Oreos since I was a kid," you say excitedly.

"Do they taste like you remember?"

You rest your hand on his knee and lean in. "They need more of the filling," you say secretively.

"Yeah?" Eddie's in motion, twisting one oreo apart and then another. He takes the halves with the most cream and pushes them together.

One oreo, twice the cream.

You giggle as he passes it to you. "Oh my god." You're giddy, arm heavy on his thigh.

You eat it like it's something crazy expensive, all smiley and indulgent. You look so pleased that he immediately starts to make you another.

"Eddie," you protest, covering your mouth, "don't, don't waste them."

"I won’t waste them. I like the cookie more than the cream,” he lies.

"Oh."

You finish your oreo. Eddie can’t find it in himself to be modest about it; you’re smiling and it’s his doing and that fills him with pleasure.

He watches you mistreat his jeans as you chew the second, your fingers pulling distractedly at the rips. You tuck your hand underneath, white threads tensing over your knuckles and fingerprints brushing over his kneecap, your entire face cringing as a thread snaps from the pressure.

Eddie looks away quickly. He can feel your eyes on him and has to bite back a smile as you assess if you’ve been caught.

You could ruin them completely for all he cares.

Junie makes happy noises beside him. She’s realised the middle of the Oreo is the sweetest and has split one open in her hands. A terrible mess ensues, cocoa powder fingerprints smattered over the pillows she’s buried in and vanilla cream marring her nose in a sticky line.

“Could you make any more of a mess for your poor mom?” he asks. The rhetoric is lost on her; she says something cheerful and holds her hand out for another cookie.

Her face — expectant, small, cute, all of it evokes an uncontrollable urge to do whatever it is she wants him to do.

“Is that, like, a kid thing?” he asks.

You pull your fingertips away from his skin and cock your head. “What?”

He splits an oreo and offers Junie the cream-heavy half, clarifying through a mouthful of dark cookie, “Following her every command.”

You sit at full height. He instantly misses the heat of your front to his knees, the way you’d draped yourself over him familiarly, and is wondering how he might begin to convince you to do so again as you think it over.

“I don’t know. Maybe. It might just be a Junie thing, but I guess that’s immature to think. S’pose it’s hormones or something. Like when cats meow.”

He giggles at you. Hormones? Cats?

“What?” you ask, half defensive, half sheepish.

“I just- I love it when you talk like that.”

“Like what?”

He shrugs and takes another pull of milk to think of a way to say, Well, when you’re tired you get nonsensical, and it’s charming how confident you are but hard to follow without offending you. Is there a way to say that without offending you? Or worse, without revealing every wretched feeling he has for you?

“I sounded pretty stupid,” you summarise.

“No! Never. I love that you think like that. That you’d think about cats meowing.”

“They do it to manipulate us,” you explain.

He can almost see the heat of an embarrassed flush radiating off of your cheeks, the press of your lips so endearing he almost leans forward to feel it. He can imagine it, his thumb over your mouth, the pad pulling down your bottom lip.

There’s an arrogance in thinking you’d let him.

“Jungle cats, tigers and lions and stuff, they don’t meow,” and you’re still going! He has to cover his mouth with his hand to stop from bursting. “Because they don’t need to. They have no idea what a baby sounds like, and they don’t need us to take care of them so they’ve never learned how to meow. Babies are like that. We hear them crying and we want it to stop.” You have a smile on your face that says, I don’t know if what I’m saying is true, but I’m gonna pretend it is. Pretend with me?

Eddie’s all about pretending. “Cats are master manipulators,” he eggs you on, "but you realise not everyone wants babies to stop the way you do? Some people just don’t like babies.”

“That’s okay. More babies for me.” You lean out to tap his forehead. “Touch wood.”

“What?” he asks.

“Touch wood,” you repeat. “I don’t actually want more babies right now, don’t wanna jinx myself by saying it, so I had to touch wood. You don’t have that superstition?”

“Are you saying my head is made of wood?”

Your sudden laugh is stunning; he can’t bring himself to be offended.

When Junie's had more Oreos than she should've and the milk's all gone Eddie stands up before you can do it yourself and takes the empty glasses with him, putting them on the kitchen counter with a click.

He grabs an almost empty pack of wet wipes off of the top of the refrigerator and sits down next to Junie, talking fast in hopes of distracting her.

"I got a call last night," he begins, pulling a wet wipe from the pack and taking Junie's wrist into his hand. He doesn't use the wipe at first, tryimg to convince her that this is all affection. "The phone went ring ring," he rolls the sound around, "and I was thinking, who the heck is calling me so late?"

He plays up his outrage but keeps a huge smile in place as he works his thumb into Junie's palm, tickling in circles.

"So I answer the phone, and I say, who is this? And you know who it is?"

Junie waits, looking like she might be close to laughing. And he's just getting started.

Eddie takes a deep breath. "Hi-ho, Kermit the Frog here! Is this Junie on the other end?"

What his impression lacks in accuracy it makes up in enthusiasm.

Her little mouth opens. He wipes the corners with the wet wipe and then her chin. "So I said, no, Mr. Frog, I'm Junie's neighbour. I'm Eddie.

"Kermit said, you can call me Kermit, thank you very much. Mr. Frog was my father."

You snort beside him. He tries not to look at you because he knows your happy face will stop him in his tracks, your laughter enough to make him smile and break character.

He squares his expression and begins again. "I need to talk to Juniper, it's very important." He wipes down her sticky hands, her stained fingers and palms, worse than smug when she doesn't complain and pull them away. "I said, I'm sorry Mr. Kermit but I can't put her on, she's all safe and snug in bed with her mom. And Kermit said, oh, okay. Well, please tell Junie this."

Junie's looking up at him, surprised, very pleased, practically wiggling in her seat. She's lovely. Just like her mom.

He doesn't want to do the voice for this part, struck with a sudden sense of awe. "She is… the smartest, most prettiest, loving little girl in the whole world."

Eddie beams at her and drops her damp hands. When he impersonates Kermit this time, he's trying as hard as he can. "I'd only like her more if she were green!"

You're clinging to sanity.

It's Wednesday, it's washing day, and you haven't managed a single load of clothes since you got home because Junie won't stop crying. This isn't new; babies cry constantly and toddlers aren't much different. But, it's been three hours. She's too old for colic.

Junie has screamed, she's sobbed, she's slapped her tiny hands into your chest. You know she doesn't mean to hurt you, she's just communicating her panic. That doesn't stop the growing distress.

You're terrified.

You've found yourself in tears, too.

"Just tell me, baby," you plead.

It's useless. She screams so loud her voice cracks, and you decide that nows the time. You have to go to the hospital.

You don't think you can let her go long enough to strap her into her car seat. Immediately, you think of Eddie. You don't even lock the door. The small walk to his house feels a block long.

He must hear her crying as you approach because the door swings open just as you mount the first step. You backtrack.

"I'm really sorry," you say quickly, knowing this isn't something he ever signed up for. "I don't know what to do, she won't stop and I think there's something wrong." Your voice wobbles.

There's a huge flash of something akin to the panic you're feeling over his face but he pushes it away, descending the steps two at a time. His hand immediately comes up to your shoulder, fingers curled into your shirt.

"Chill out," he says, more stern than you've ever heard him. It’s surreal to see him turn like that. Almost like he’s become one of his characters, the voices he does for Junie’s story books.

You take a ragged breath.

"I'm serious. You need to calm down. You understand?"

Junie gives a blistering shout and your face crumples. "Eddie," you say.

"Can I hold her?" he asks, softer.

You can see in his face that he isn't sure, that he's out of his depth, but you're so desperate for a life raft that you nod and squeeze your eyes closed, passing her into his waiting arms. Everytime she cries – every wicked intake of air and every subsequent bellowing sob makes your chest ache. You have a splitting headache. Honestly, you're worried you might fall over.

"How long has she been crying?" he asks, looking over her face and shoulders with a perplexed frown.

"Hours. At first I thought she was tired or- or hungry but I've tried everything, Eddie, everything."

"She was like this when you picked her up?"

You nod.

He pats her back, the other hand rubbing down one of her legs soothingly. "Did she hurt herself?" He's looking at you without an ounce of judgement.

"Not- not that I know of." You'd looked under her shirt and trousers already. She doesn't have a single bruise.

He starts to walk back towards your home. You don't follow at first and he reaches out to grab your arm, pulling you along as he says, "Come on, sweetheart. We'll go down to Hawkins general, yeah? Just to be safe."

"Yeah."

Junie screams. "It's okay, sweetheart," Eddie says, again and again and again. He doesn't hesitate, his voice velveteen.

His hand stays on your arm until you're by the car. He's never done a car seat before and you can tell: he tucks her into it with infinite care but can't work out how to do the buckles. You laugh wetly and then feel very guilty. wiping your face with one hand before ducking down to do them yourself. Junie glares at you as you do, still very much crying and now incensed at being strapped in.

You stand back to take her in and push your thumbs across her wet cheeks and under her snotty nose uselessly, feeling so sorry for her, so guilty. Why can't you work out what's wrong? Why can't you fix it?

Eddie stands by your side, waiting.

“You got it,” he encourages as you pull back. "You're okay."

You smile weakly and then narrow your eyes, the two of you seeing it at the same time – Junie reaching desperately for her sock.

You peel it off with shaking hands and feel another hot shock of tears. There, around one of her toes, is a tourniquet. The skin is swollen but looks unbroken, darkened by blood

You smile because Oh my god, this is what's wrong, and then you panic twice as much as you had before, because Oh my god, her tiny toe.

"Eddie, I need- I need something. I need a- a nail scissors or-" You drag your hands down your face, in the thick of it. Adrenaline or cortisol or something must race through your veins, your hands shaking with it.

Eddie pulls you back by the hem of your shirt. "We can't cut it away. You'll never get the blade under that- What is that? A hair?"

"Yeah. A hair."

A lightbulb moment. You brush past him and almost fall up the steps back into your trailer.

"Stay there," you say without any explanation.

You step over the mess you'd left behind and barrel into the bathroom, clipping your shoulder on the bathroom door and slamming onto your knees.

You're lucky you have it, a tiny pot of hair removal cream in an old makeup bag under the sink. Resisting the urge to kiss the lid, you rush back out to the car where Eddie holds one of Junie's hands in his. He looks an impossible mixture of worried and relieved when you reappear.

You elbow digs into his chest as you lean over, opening the cream and smearing a line over Junie's swollen toe. She whimpers and shouts and tries desperately to get out of the carseat and, to your devastation, away from you.

"What is that?" Eddie asks from behind you.

"A hair remover."

You wipe the delapitor clumsily into your only good jeans so you can take both of Junie's arms into your hands. She doesn't want to be touched but you need to be holding her, at least a little bit.

"How long does it take?"

"I'm not sure… Not long. If it doesn't work we'll still have to go to the hospital."

Eddie pushes his hands into the top of your back in answer, his fingers curling either side of your neck like he might give you a massage. You shudder as he pulls you against him, as his fingers trace an invisible pattern.

Junie looks up at you both. Her wounded expression loosens. Maybe she's realised that you've figured out her problem, maybe she's just glad to be looked at. Either way, she subdues.

The hair removal cream's acrid smell tickles your stuffed up nose. You sniffle and Eddie's fingers work into your neck lightly, a silent and unwavering It's okay.

You don't see the hair snap so much as you see the pressure wean. You smother a sob, your relief palpable as you pull your shirt sleeve down to cover your hand and wipe it away. Junie shrieks.

You take the hair between your nails and pull.

"Oh my god," you say, holding it up between you.

Everything feels a little bit hazy after that. Eddie rubs your shoulders placatingly before encouraging you away from the door so he can unclip Junie and pull her out of her car seat. He guides you away from the car and back into your trailer, over the mess and into the kitchen.

You sit heavily in a battered kitchen chair. Eddie stands in front of you, Junie on his hip and a frown warping his pretty features. She grizzles, less when he sets her down in your lap carefully.

"Is that okay?" he asks softly. Then, when you nod, "Are you okay? You look like you're gonna pass out."

"I don't feel well."

"No, I bet you don't. Take it easy."

You pull Junie's leg up to examine her foot. Her toes are covered in hair remover still. "Could you get me the baby wipes, please?"

"Sure can. It'll cost you, though." His joke falls a little flat. You try to smile anyhow, your little huff forcing a last tear. You blink until it's gone, aggravated with yourself.

After all, her toe looks better. Sore, still swollen, but better. Though you could just be seeing what you want to see.

Eddie tries to pass you the baby wipes but your hands are shaking too badly to take them. Without a word he opens the pack, kneeling on the floor in front of you to wipe down her foot tenderly. His eyebrows pinch together when she whimpers, and he murmurs a sorry, "I know, I know."

You're trying very hard to calm down.

"All done," he tells her, parentese in play. "You are so brave, junebug. You're the bravest little girl I've ever met. That's why me and your mom decided you were Juniper the Brave, and you proved us both right."

He taps the tip of a ring-heavy finger under her chin. You watch from over her shoulder. "Really brave. You did a good job, the best job ever," he praises, tilting his head to catch your eye as he says it.

You smile at him the best that you can. He holds your gaze for a weighted second and then drops it back to Junie. "Do you feel better?" he asks.

She doesn't answer, only tips her head against your chest.

Eddie pulls off her remaining sock and waves it at her. "Don't need this."

"Do you think she'll throw up if I make her some dinner?" you ask, the kind of question you don't usually get to ask someone else. A luxury to defer judgement.

"Maybe. Does it matter?"

"I don't want to clean up puke," you say pathetically.

Eddie softens. "I'll clean it up if she pukes. Don't worry about it."

You don't have to, you want to say. Of course he doesn't have to.

"Thank you," you say instead, feeling like you could burst into an entirely fresh wave of tears.

Again, he looks up at you. His smile fades from a cheesy exuberance to something sweeter, a melty-warm thing that has your breath catching.

"I'm really sorry for just showing up like that," you say tentatively, flushed with heat as you realise what you've done.

"Don't be."

"No, because she's- I know you never-" She's mine alone. You never signed up for this. You can't make yourself say it, distracted by his ever-growing smile. "I should've handled it on my own."

"Your mom really doesn't understand how much I like her," he tells Junie humorously, wiggling his eyebrows at her. "She doesn't have a clue. How much I like you," he adds, hand on your thigh, his finger stroking a line down the length of her leg.

"You didn't have to-" You try, stopping again as he huffs out of the side of his mouth.

His hand closes around your thigh. You can feel the heat of each of his fingers, the bulk of every heavy ring.

"It's okay. I promise," he says seriously.

"I got so freaked out, I just…" You give up. Whatever. He knows what you're trying to say. Hopefully.

Eddie leans forward to kiss your knee. His eyes close, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly over your thigh.

You blink to yourself in a vain attempt at processing what's just happened when he asks, "Do you still feel sick?"

"No.” Your chest burns.

"In that case, I'll make dinner. A feast."

Things start to feel better. Details sink in. Your heart slows. What was only Eddie behind the stovetop becomes his dark hair scraped up and wrapped in a hair tie, his sweatpants and unlaced shoes, his white t-shirt with sharpie writing all over. Sounds filter in; the spoon scraping the bottom of the saucepan and his frenetic humming, the sound of his rubber-bottomed cons squeaking over linoleum.

Junie doesn't cry so much as whine. You press kisses that are more for you than her into her hair and on her forehead, jogging your knee. She's fine. She's okay, and she's here in your lap, and there's nothing to panic over now.

You try to push away the lingering worry. In the moment, a million thoughts had coalesced into only one. What if she's dying? Meningitis, an aneurysm, cancer. Anything. And now those thoughts fall away, leaving behind only the sharp smell of the hair remover and the salty stick of tears.

"Do you think I have time to give her a shower before dinner?" you ask softly, clearing your throat for what feels like the twentieth time today.

"You got it. I'll simmer. You could have one, too, if you want."

"Do I look that bad?"

"Worse." He grins at your expression. "I'm kidding. You look beautiful as always, sweetheart."

You carry Junie into the bathroom. There's no tub and she's too big for the kitchen sink, so a shower it is. You stand her up under warm spray and turn her back so the spray misses her eyes. She smiles at the warm water running down her back. The relief to see her happy can't be understated. You hop in at the same time and clean her off, wash her hair, and bedeck her tiny features in big big kisses.

Wrapped in her baby towel – a pink poncho type thing with a hood – you walk her to the bedroom and dry her off as fast as you can.

"Which ones?" you ask, holding up two pairs of pajamas.

Junie points at the pink shirt and bottoms printed in bright red strawberries with light green tops, letting you dress her and plonk her at the end of the bed without any fuss.

"No socks for you," you say lightly, sitting beside her in your towel.

"No socks," she agrees.

Even though Eddie's been good to you, you can't help wishing that he wasn't here. What you want more than anything in that second is for Junie to be asleep and for your head to be wedged firmly under your pillow, the sheets to your shoulders, dead to the world.

Not truly dead, of course. But a minute of silence.

Junie doesn't seem to know what to do with herself, sitting in companionable silence and stillness with you. Her head falls onto your arm.

"Are you tired?" you ask quietly, too exhausted for bubbly talk.

She sighs. You sigh too.

Eddie hums from the kitchen.

He kissed my knee.

You think you might have imagined it, if you're honest. It could've been anything against your stockings, the brush off his palm or the back of a warm knuckle, but you'd seen it. His lips, his face turned toward your thigh.

"I think he likes me," you tell Junie.

She doesn't say anything. When you look down at her she's already looking up, eyes wide with confusion.

"He kissed me," you whisper, leaning down. "I don't know about you, junebug, but I only kiss the people I care about. For a long time, that's been a really short list." You bump your nose against hers.

You've just finished getting into your own pajamas when Eddie calls out, "Girls? I know ladies like yourselves need longer to get ready but the mac and cheese is acting weird."

"Weird?" you mumble, hooking your hands under Junie's armpits. You'd let her walk if you weren't worried for her foot.

Eddie has created a working man's feast, three identical plates heaping with food. Hills of mac and cheese topped with bacon bits take up half of each plate, fried broccoli and collard greens the other. They're golden, almost red with spices.

"You can cook," you say, surprised.

"Don't sound so shocked," he says defensively. He can only hold his facade for a moment, deflating. "I really can’t. I tried to copy what you do, I've seen it enough times…" He shrugs and flops down into his usual chair. "Don't tell me if it's gross."

"I doubt it's gross."

You can't be bothered for the high chair. Junie looks like she might be too tired to move so you take the chance and sit her between you and Eddie behind the smaller portion (though using small at all feels like a lie, he's made a lot of food). She can barely see over the table.

"Did you use two boxes?" you ask, picking up Junie's spoon.

It's all the perfect temperature for a baby, maybe a little cold for an adult. You're so happy to have somebody else cook for you that you'd die before you complained.

He taps his nose. You pass Junie her spoon.

"What do you mean?" You tap your own nose in imitation. "I'll know when I look."

"So don't look. Eat."

You eat. Without asking him too – because you wouldn’t, you never do – he starts to feed Junie.

He might be the nicest boy on this whole damn planet. You look at him thoughtfully. How come we always end up here? At the kitchen table?

He looks right. Too right. He looks like he’s meant to be here, smiling and talking to your baby in hushed, fond tones, airplaning roasted broccoli towards her mouth.

“You’ll stay to watch a movie?” you ask later, trying to hide how lethargic you are with your hands deep in dishwater.

Eddie wipes a fleck of water off of your cheek with a rag. "Duh."

On the couch, Eddie sneaks a glance at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re pretending to watch the TV and doing a bad job, your attention stolen over and over by Junie where she sleeps in your lap. Your hand rubs over her small, distended tummy, the other holding her foot carefully. You keep glancing at her toe, much less swollen now and with a healthier complexion, though a cruel line remains from where the hair had cut into her skin.

You don't touch it, only looking. He worries as a wrinkle appears between your eyebrows.

Listening intently as he is, he can hear the hitch in your breath. Eddie doesn’t want you to cry again — the first time had been awful enough. Your face covered in tears, coming fast and panicked. It was like you’d hardly noticed you were crying. You’d been so scared that Eddie, despite knowing close to nothing about babies or how to make them feel better, had clung to his calm. He’d stomped down every flicker of panic that had surged and tried his damn best to keep a level head.

Now, with your sad face and the crisis averted, Eddie feels a pang of terror. Just one. You are completely out of your element, Munson.

You’re definitely the kind of friends now that can sit on the couch together and not care too much about personal space. Eddie uses this to his advantage and spreads his legs just enough to brush his thigh against yours. You look at him and hide your lingering upset with a small smile. It’s a far cry from the genuine happy grin he’s become familiar with, but you're still beautiful.

Eddie shuffles across the couch toward you until he can push his hand under your arm. He pulls it to his chest, beware of your tenuously sleeping daughter, and hugs it.

“I was thinking,” he starts casually, looking down at you.

Your eyes crease with a playful smile. “Oh yeah?” Like you can’t believe it.

“Yeah, I was,” he says, quiet so as not to wake Junie but extremely passionate. “What’s that supposed to mean, sweetheart?”

“Nothing." You laugh under your breath.

He glares, faux-offended. Any real offense is swallowed instantly by the sound of your laugh.

“Hm. Anyway, I was thinking,” he begins again, hand running down your arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture, “that I’d head into the city this weekend. Go to the bookstore ‘n’ the big goodwill by the bus station. I was hoping you’d wanna come with me.” Is he pushing his luck? Maybe.

You look like you want to say yes, but, “Eddie, I don’t really have the money.”

“I’d pay.” He tries to sell it before you can protest. “I’m asking you to come. Stealing your Sunday. We’d leave early, get breakfast on the way. I don't want to go alone.” I want your company.

He tries not to show how terrified he is that you’ll say no.

“I can’t- I couldn’t let you pay for us,” you say, eyes on his chest.

“Can I tell you something?” You nod. “It would make me… really happy if you did.”

He doesn’t know how to explain it. He doesn’t think there’s a way to tell you that won’t involve unveiling his new and shiny feelings for you, feelings that don’t seem to want to slow, or abate, or moderate themselves. Honestly, he doesn’t want them to.

He wants you to be happy. He wants to take care of you.

It's embarrassing in its intensity.

You reach over Junie to wrap your hand around his bicep, though you still don’t look like you’re going to say yes.

He leans in close, tracing the details of your face with a greedy kind of curiosity. “You wouldn’t let me give you anything for the haircut,” he says. “It’s the same, you know? Doing things for the people you care about."

He says it like the idiot he is, all rough and insincere, like caring about people is dumb. You smile anyways and finally, finally, give him a nod. So small it’s near imperceptible.

“If you’re sure,” you say.

“Positive.”

Eddie looks good behind the wheel of your car. The wind whips at his hair, curls that had been neat and pretty only an hour ago now starting to frizz. You think the chaos of it suits him.

He’s singing along to the radio and it’s a song you don’t know. You don’t think Junie knows it either, but she’s signing it like she does, hands flailing in the air and Mr. Bear bouncing in her lap with the force of her dancing. Eddie looks at her in the rear view mirror, beaming brilliantly.

“Yeah, sing it, junebug!" he encourages. Her voice peaks.

You laugh and stretch your hands out in your lap, knuckles brushing the sandwiches you’d packed. You’d let Eddie pay for gas, you might even let him buy Junie a book from the bookstore if he’s feeling generous, but you’re really trying to keep his expenses low. Hence, sandwiches. Even now, the idea of him spending money on you makes you feel guilty.

Deep down – deep, deep down – you want him to. You’re hoping he’ll pick up a book for you, and that fills you with so much shame you have to look away from him, your face to the window. The highway blurs past, the early morning sun lighting the blacktop and bouncing between cars of all kinds coming into the city for a Sunday outing.

Eddie turns down the radio a tiny bit and reaches across the seat to squeeze your shoulder. “You alright?” he asks without looking at you.

You tip your head toward his hand. His rings bite into your cheek.

You’re in the car on a nice day with a nice boy and your pretty baby listening to the radio, the sun at your side and the breeze kissing your warm skin.

You’d even managed to find a nice shirt to wear. Today is a good day. You won't weigh it down with silly feelings.

“I’m great.”

He gives you that smile like he doesn’t believe you and his eyes go back to the road. “Can a guy get another sandwich or does he have to beg?”

You imagine what it might be like to lean over and kiss his cheek. He deserves a good kiss, you think, and then wince as heat blooms from your chest up to your cheeks. You can’t hold in a pleased smile as you click open the Tupperware.

“Do you want PB&J or bacon and lettuce?” The tomatoes have already been accosted by a ravenous Junie.

“I’ll have half of whatever you’re having.”

You weren’t going to have one, and you both know that. You offer him half the PB&J and he takes it, eyes flitting between you and the road. You take a showful bite to release him. He gives you a grateful smile in turn.

Chewing, you take half of the bacon and lettuce sandwich into your hands and pull it apart. You divide the contents and tuck half into one slice to make a quarter sandwich before leaning over the seats to offer it to Junie where she waits in her car seat. She accepts it hungrily.

One-handed, Eddie pulls the car off of the highway. “There’s a parking garage somewhere around here,” he tells you.

Once he's found it he jumps out to go pay. You turn in your seat and smile at Junie. She's mauling her sandwich, face smeared in butter.

"Are you ready for some fun?" you ask.

She looks at you curiously.

You try again, really smiling. "Are you excited? We're gonna go find a book, something fun like Red Cat, Blue Cat, and we're gonna see the stores and the people and maybe mommy can get you a new teddy."

A spark of something. She gets happy when you're happy and today's no exception, her tiny features soon plucked up with joy. When you round the car and open her door to wipe down her greasy fingers and face she barely cares, and she receives your loving kisses with a big smile.

Eddie returns with the parking ticket and slides it onto the dashboard. You leave Junie's door open now he's back to pop the trunk and unfold her stroller. The sound echoes through the parking garage and the sun struggles to find a way in, your arms wracked with goosebumps.

"Hey, junebug," you hear Eddie murmuring.

He messes with the buckles on her car seat until they pop open, his triumphant laugh almost as pretty as his face. Junie's is prettier, your daughter laughing up a storm as Eddie scoops her up and sits her on his hip.

He looks like he had when you first met but with ten times the confidence in holding her and a clear affection. Her hands are in his hair like usual, petting and pulling gently.

"Brush out the tangles for me," he tells her seriously, bumping the door shut.

She hums like she's agreed to his task and continues her exploring.

You hang the baby bag over the stroller's handlebar and Eddie sits her in the padded chair.

"Junie, have I told you how pretty you look today?" he asks, pulling the straps over her shoulders and from between her legs. He uses parentese like you would, distracting her as he locks her in. When the lock click, he plays affectionately with her hair. "You're like a princess. Your mom has talented hands, huh? And a good eye."

Pleasure from his compliment drips in thick and fast. You bite back a smile and squeeze the clean baby socks in your hands, waiting for him to stand so you can fight them onto Junie’s feet. Ever since her ordeal you’ve been waiting as long as you can before putting on socks and shoes. The first thing you do when you pick her up from daycare is take them off.

If Eddie thinks you’re overzealous in your fretting he hasn't said anything. He holds his hand out for the socks and you give them to him, nonplussed though you shouldn’t be as he bunches them up and pushes them over her wiggling feet with patience and bemusement.

“Stay still… Do you want frostbite? Or gangrene?” he asks her.

“Eddie.”

“Sorry." He looks at you guiltily. “In my defense, she doesn’t know what gangrene is.”

“It’s weird, though. To hear you say it like it’s a good thing. S’creepy.”

He squeezes the sole of one of her small feet and stands, much too close to you as he whispers cheerily, “Gangrene. Septicemia. Pneumonia.”

You laugh and push him away from you. “Shut up.”

“You first. Where’re her shoes?”

You procure them with a smug smile. “You’ll never get them on.”

His fingers brush yours as he takes them, his eyes blazing at the challenge.

“Will you sulk all day?” Eddie asks you.

The sulking is for show. You frown like you’re really angry and tighten your grip on the stroller, the wind ruffling your clothes. After a moment the facade falls away and you smile at him, unable to hide your reluctant affection any longer. “How did you get her to sit still like that? You vex me.” Said with equal parts envy and pride.

“I vex you,” he says, voice coloured by good humour.

He’s fallen into step beside you, your jacket tied around his waist.

You should bring your jacket. In case you get cold, he’d said.

I don’t want to carry it, you’d said.

Don’t patronise me.

You glance over the top of the stroller to make sure Junie’s blanket is still in place. She’s quiet. You’ve decided that she’s in shock to be somewhere that isn’t your home or the daycare.

“Yeah, you vex me. Infuriate me. I’ve been a mom for two years and I can’t get her shoes on without a fight, and you’ve been-“ You stop dead, stutter, and quickly adjust what you'd been saying like it has been a slip up of the tongue rather than a thought you shouldn't entertain. “You’ve known her for what, three months? And-“

“Four months,” he corrects, sounding much too proud.

“Four months,” you amend. “And you can do all this stuff that took me years to work out.” You’re a little bit vexed for real.

He nods like he’s considering what you’ve said before tipping his head. “But…”

You wait. He doesn’t further his point. “But what?”

“Well.” Eddie brushes something off of your arm. “I guess I have a great teacher, right?” His voice hikes up high and he steamrolls, “I just copy you. You didn’t really get to copy anyone.”

You feel something melty hot in your chest, another affection for Eddie to add to a growing list. “Oh.”

He takes your shoulder into his hand and you draw to a pause, his other hand pointing off into the distance. “There’s the bookstore.”

You follow his finger. Across a landscape of cobblestone, situated firmly between a Domino’s pizza place and a cafe with a peppering of metal wrought tables stands Morgan’s Books. To your surprise, it’s a glass-fronted building with a big clean sign made up of red, yellow, and blue. It's a children's bookstore.

Eddie has obviously tricked you. You turn to glare at him and find him very close. He doesn’t shy away and you try not to in return. You try, but something about his pretty mouth so close sends shocks like pins and needles to your hands and you have to keep walking lest you embarrass yourself. His hand falls from your shoulder and trails down your back. You swear you can feel even the last millimetre of his fingertip before it falls away.

You get a good look at the landscape ahead and your eyes narrow. Eddie almost bumps into you when you stop abruptly.

“What?” he asks.

"There’s, like, a thousand steps.”

“Gross hyperbole," he argues. A gap of quiet furthers your point; while you had been exaggerating, there are a lot of steps, and he needs time to take them all in.

“Is there a way around?”

“Don’t be dumb, sweetheart. You’ll grab June and I’ll carry the stroller.”

“It’s really heavy. Heavier than it looks.”

He grins like a fiend. “I’m strong.”

Junie’s more than happy to be released, less when you take her into your arms and won’t put her down. You help Eddie snap the stroller back up, indicating which lever to pull with the rubber toe of your converse. He kneels down to guide it into place and looks up at you swiftly afterward, self-satisfied and much too happy considering the task afoot.

“Maybe we should find another way.”

“Y/N,” he says, like your name is inherently funny, like a joke rolled around over his tongue, “I’m starting to get offended.”

You blow air out of the side of your mouth.

Eddie slugs the stroller under one arm and holds it tight with the other, giving you a very determined smile. “Ready?”

You balance the baby bag over one shoulder and start on the stairs. Junie's heavy but she’s a heavy you’ve grown used to, and she doesn’t complain enough to warrant any stress.

You’re impressed when Eddie takes each step at your pace and doesn’t break a sweat. “I thought you were a bus boy. What do you bus? Weights?” you ask incredulously.

He laughs. “I don’t bus weights, but amps are heavy, and I’m not a big shot. I don’t have any roadies to carry them for me.”

You feel terrible then for forgettting. Right. He plays music, you think. You’ve never once seen him play any music, on stage or at home. You’ve seen him play guitar over Junie’s leg to tickle her and tap out a rhythm when he’s heating up desserts in your kitchen, but you’ve never seen him play guitar for real.

“Is that going okay?” you ask, ignoring the small burn beginning to grow in your arms.

“Bussing? Sure. Why’d you ask?”

“Not bussing, music. I never ask- I’ve never asked you how it’s going.”

Eddie winces as the stroller starts to open and pulls it tighter under his arm. It takes him a few seconds to calibrate what you’ve said, and he’s quickly reassuring. “What? Why would you worry about that? You have enough to think about without adding my moonlighting at the Hideout.” He says the Hideout like it’s something to be looked down on. You almost trip up a step and Eddie can’t do anything but watch. “Careful," he begs.

You keep your eyes on your footing until you’re at the very top, worried you'll fall flat on your face and get Junie hurt.. Eddie comes up two behind you and puts the stroller down, wiping his hands together dramatically.

“Conquered. Great job, team. Especially you,” he says, poking Junie’s cheek.

She puts her arms out, vying for his attention now she’s had a taste. He raises his eyebrows at her and offers his arms. You hand her over eagerly, arms aching. You can’t imagine what his feel like.

“I care about it,” you say firmly. It rather than you, but it rings the same. “I want to know, Eddie, I swear. I’m sorry for not asking.”

He looks up from where he’d been making playful faces at Junie to stare at you. It’s not a mean stare, but it unnerves you all the same.

She pushes a hand into his hair like she always does and starts to try and pull her fingers through it. It’s knottier than usual because of the wind, and she struggles to make sense of it. His eyes fall to her tugging.

“Sweetheart,” he says slowly. You know it’s meant for you, even if he’s not looking at you. "If there was something worth telling you, I would’ve told you. I don't doubt that you care.”

You don’t feel better. “No, ‘cos-”

“Why are you so upset?” he asks genuinely.

You hadn’t realised your face revealed the extent of it. “Because we’re friends. You’re the- the best friend I’ve ever had.”

He smiles, sudden and wide. “I’m your best friend?”

“Like we’re twelve?” you deflect.

“Yeah, like we’re twelve.”

You ignore him and try to cool down. A hot flush attacks your skin as you stretch out the stroller and click the supports back into place, shucking off your baby bag to hang over the handlebar with a relieved sigh.

Eddie moves Junie to one side. You anticipate his touch before it happens, his free arm behind your back and pulling you to him. “We’re totally best friends. I’m your best friend,” he says smugly, hand curling around your shoulder. It’s a good hug, friendly and warm and heart-racingly close; you can feel his chest on your back, the curve of a pec through thin fabric.

You turn toward him indulgently but keep your head down. It’s so nice to be hugged that you can’t make yourself move away.

He rubs the top of your arm, the bump of his rings biting into your skin. “You don’t deny it?”

“No. I don’t deny it.”

“Hear that, June?” Again, he calls her June. Not Junie or junebug, June. You like the way he says it. “I’m your mom's best friend. I win.”

You nod happily, warm under his touch.

Wait. “What?”

“She likes me more,” he teases her childishly.

“Eddie!”

“What? Am I wrong?” He leans away from you and feigns confusion.

“Yes! Of course you’re wrong! That’s my baby. Give her to me right now." You join in on his melodramatics, grinning even as you continue, “How could you say that? Sicko."

“That got frosty quickly,” he grumbles, holding her away from you.

You move in to plaster Junie in kisses. Not apology kisses because you didn’t say anything wrong, but kisses all the same.

“Can I get in on one of those?”

You huff at him. He bursts into boyish laughter and holds his hands up. “Kidding!”

“Should we go?” Before you say something stupid.

Eddie carries Junie and you push the empty stroller until you're all looking up at the store's bright sign. "This is where you wanted to come?" you ask him, eyes falling to the window where a sign brags a children's reading nook and their Read Before You Buy promotion.

He shrugs. "Bookstore's a bookstore."

"No, this is for kids. We're never gonna find what you wanted in here. I doubt they have King of the Rings between Red Cat, Blue Cat and Pony Girl."

"King of the Rings," he repeats jovially.

"Whatever it's called."

He pulls a squirming Junie higher up the length of his chest, the fabric of his shirt rides up with her. You pull it down. You're flustered enough, his naked skin is the last thing you need.

"Sweetheart, I'm sure they'll have what I want," he says flippantly, pushing the door open with his elbow.

"If you're sure…" you say, following him in

The bookstore smells fancy. You breathe in the scent of plastic wrap and paper, your eyes searching over floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and pyramids of craft kits. Box sets of Enid Blyton and A. A. Milne sporting classic, whimsy spines are stacked in a towering and precarious looking arch. Signs on either side promise a children's wonderland inside. You follow Eddie around pen displays and jigsaw puzzles, ducking under the archway with an awed, "Oh, wow."

"Watch out," he warns quietly, taking a step down into the kids' reading nook.

You bump the stroller to the bottom of the steps and have to stop, amazed.

Junie is a picture of you as Eddie sets her down, gazing around the room in shock. There's a lot of older kids scattered throughout on big circle pillows with books in their laps and a guardian beside them, but the real wonder is in the decoration. The walls are bedecked in murals; Kermit and Funnybones, The Very Busy Spider and the mouse from If You Give a Mouse a Cookie. Junie sees Kermit on the walls and gasps, running up to the painting with wide eyes.

Eddie follows her without saying anything. When he catches up to her, he offers her his hand. She takes it. She's practically shouting, their joined hands restless as excitement courses through her in waves.

You find two big pillows and a couple of books for Junie to look at. The three of you take to an empty corner and sit, looking over a big picture book full of stills from The Muppets Take Manhattan. Junie makes a lot of excited sounds and nonsense words, talking very confidently though half of it's lost on you both.

"Kermit," she says, pointing at the page passionately.

You wrap your arms around her tummy to keep her comfortable and hum. "Yeah, baby. Kermit, Miss Piggy, Gonzo. They're going to New York," you start to describe the page.

Eddie leans in, his arm pressed to your arm, his skin a heat where it rubs into you as he helps hold open the book.

The further you read the closer he gets.

Junie gets bored quickly, like toddlers tend to, and wants to go look at the walls again. Eddie stays with the stroller and you pick her up to let her touch her hands to the characters.

"That's Spot," you tell her quietly, her fingertips brushing over flat fur. "Spot the doggy."

Junie's never read anything Spot before. He's a popular character. There's three picture books to choose from. You pick up the first, Where's Spot? and offer it to her.

She likes the look of him. You carry her back to your pillows and struggle to sit back down in the tight gap between the wall and Eddie's knee. He stretches his arms out to take her. .

"What'd you find, sweetheart?" he murmurs as he balances her on his thigh.

He reads to her. He has the voice for it, soft and sweet.

"We had sandwiches," you argue, two hours and what feels like fifty stories later.

Eddie had known before he suggested it that you were gonna fight him on this. He’s managed to end up behind the stroller, weaving between unlucky bystanders as his eyes search for somewhere to eat.

“And they were awesome."

“Eddie,” you complain softly.

He peeks at you by his side, grinning at the plastic bag full of books you’d insisted on carrying where it dangles from your fingers.

You take his smile for teasing and sigh. “Come on. I’ll make dinner when we get home.”

“Sweetheart, as much as I love your cooking that’s hours away. We don’t have to go anywhere fancy. Look, there’s a McDonald’s right there,” he says, pointing toward the yellow ‘M’ sign where it flickers, breaking up a white sky.

“I’m not hungry,” you say. He senses your proposition before you offer it. “But if you wanna get food, that’s fine.”

“You don’t like McDonald’s?” he asks.

“I’m really not hungry.”

“Just think of it like- like using the bathroom before a long car ride. You might not need to, but it’s never a bad idea.”

Inside of McDonald’s, Eddie can tell how unhappy you are, your eyes drifting to the menu and your fingers squeezing both handles of the plastic bag.

He parks Junie’s stroller next to a low table and you slide into the booth beside her. He doesn't sit right away.

“You remember what I said?” he asks quietly, leaning on the table with one arm, head inclined to yours.

Your eyes flicker between his face and his arm. You measure his gaze “Doing things for the people you care about,” you say, equally hushed.

Eddie reaches out to squeeze your wrist. “Exactly.” He tries not to squeeze too hard in case his rings dig into your skin.

When you smile, he grabs the high chair and transfers one unhappy toddler into its constraints. There's a little basket of crayons and colouring papers near the registers that you plunder while he orders. By the time he gets back with a greasy tray of food and drinks Junie's made a masterpiece.

"Is that supposed to be me?" he asks brightly.

Of course it isn't – there's a shock of blue and a red blob almost shaped like a heart next to the dark printed outline of Ronald McDonald. It's worth the risk of sounding like an idiot because you start to laugh so hard you can't scold him for the desserts.

After wiping down the highchair's tray with a baby wipe, you peel open Junie's cheeseburger and start to break it into small pieces, blowing on each one vigorously before passing them over. You're about to start on fries when Eddie flicks your hand.

"Eat," is all he says, swiping her fries out of your reach to copy your process.

Tray laden with an abundance of bite-sized fast food, she grabs a cheesy looking slice of burger and screams loudly.

Eddie gawps. "What was that? Is it too hot?"

You swallow a sip of your drink and the cup sheds condensation like a spattering of raindrops when you put it down. "I think she's having a really good day," you say..

"Well fu-" he amends his cuss word quickly, "-dge, me too, junebug. Best day out ever. We got books, burgers, and I'm with my two favourite girls."

It might have sounded more romantic if he hadn't said it around a mouthful of big mac. You look almost as happy as Junie does anyway,

When Junies just about finished you carry her off into the ladies to change her diaper and freshen up. You have a baby in one arm and a bag full of diapers and bottles and onesies in the other, and you stare into the mirror and can't work out Eddie's angle.

Eddie is loud and crude and clumsy. He smells like his close friend Mary Jane half the time and he doesn't know how to style his hair. He laughs loud, sings louder. Almost everything about him is unapologetic and brash, his dark looks and ripped up clothes, his van, his smile.

And he's nice. He's so nice. Down to the bone, maybe down to his soul, there's a kindness that floors you every single time. He smiles and he squeezes and he says sorry for things that aren't his fault. He helps without being asked. How many times now has he knocked the door, found you kneeling on the living room floor folding clothes and thrown himself opposite you? Bet you I can do double what you've done in five minutes flat. Or stationed himself at Benny's for lunch to check you're having a good day? Here's five for the pretty waitress I saw earlier, make sure she gets it, won't you? How many times has he, hair limp and clothes rumpled, burst beaming into the kitchen with enough dessert for a family of five and a gallon of juice? Why wouldn't I get a gallon? Junebug'll have drank half by the time you sit down, sweetheart.

You look at yourself in the mirror and you can't work out why.

"Hi, girls," Eddie says when you return.

He's cleared off the table, leaning against it with his arms crossed over his chest. Like this, the lean trim of his waist is emphasised, as is the slight curve to the tops of his thighs.

"Hi," Junie says. You echo her greeting.

"D'you have fun? Powder your noses?"

"Can't you tell?" you ask. You did not powder your nose.

He straightens up and peers at you assessingly. "Definitely. S'like you got prettier, and I thought it was impossible." His voice is sugar sweet by the end, attention on Junie. She's aching to be put down and writhing in your grip, but his voice catches and holds her attention until you're back outside.

It's cooler. The air cleaner. You put Junie down and clasp her hand firmly in your own, bending at the waist to tell her face to face, "No running off, alright? You hold mommy's hand tight." You squish her little fingers until she giggles. "Okay?"

"Okay," she says.

"Okay, thank you." Then, because she looks so sweet and this has been one of the best days of your life, "I love you."

You kiss her cheek.

Eddie won't let you push the stroller. "You concentrate on little miss trouble," he says mildly, kicking the brakes with a frown. "I got this. Maybe."

Half a block to the goodwill. It's not as big as you'd expected but there's a fun furniture section that draws Junies attention. You're reluctant to let her climb on the furniture in case anything is dirty or infested, though you do sit her in a wicker chair for a tree swing and a huge velvet loveseat like she's goldilocks, asking, "How's that? Comfy?"

Hidden away, there's a bookshelf painted green and pink that threatens to topple over hiding a grandfather clock still ticking. You lift Junie up so that the three of you can look at the clock face, a small silver disk with illustrations on either side. A gorgeous swelling of purples and melty blues in a ring behind the man in the moon. The sun, a buttery yellow buffeted by white-blue clouds.

"Grand," Eddie praises.

"What did you want to come here for?"

He grins at you and nods his head to the left. "It's over there."

'It' ends up being a clothes rack longer than your trailer home partitioned by size. Every t-shirt different but bragging the same premise – band merchandise. A riot of rock bands peppered in popular duo's like Tears for Fears and the occasional Cyndi Lauper tour shirt, each one sticking out like a sore thumb; a rainbow array besides faded blacks and slate greys.

"Why'd they have so many?"

Eddie shrugs, though he tries to explain his theory anyways. "There's a venue maybe… four blocks away? That has these vendors outside all the time shelling knock-offs."

"So these are knock-offs?"

"Most of them. They're usually in good condition though."

He's right. You find all kinds of shirts in varying qualities. Some obviously real, thick fabric and perfect prints. He picks up a Judas Priest tour shirt that he claims to be the real deal, a Metallica long sleeve that most certainly is not. There's a Twisted Sister shirt with a mysterious brown stain and a Ghoulie Girls muscle tee that's almost completely split down one side.

You shuffle through the things in your size, absent-minded. Junie's not interested in the slightest and is starting to complain. You fend off an oncoming tantrum with a pack of fruit snacks, offering them to her one at a time.

Eddie whistles where he's standing a short distance away, "Oh, fuck."

He unhooks a hanger and holds it out, amazed. "Oh, shit."

"Eddie," you chastise. Not because you care, but Junie saying either of those words at daycare would suck.

"Sorry, sorry. You like these guys, right?" He holds up a t-shirt for The Mamas and The Papas, a group from the sixties. It looks new.

It's the only cassette you own where you can stand to listen to both sides all the way through. "Yeah. Like Cass Elliott's stuff more."

"Who's that?"

You point at Elliott on the shirt. "Her."

"Guess how much they want for it," he demands.

You think. Junie whines for another snack and you give her the packet. "Ten dollars?"

"A dollar." He passes the shirt to you so you can see it for yourself and leans down to bundle up your sighing daughter. She can't decide whether she's enjoying it for a good few seconds, her annoyance at being somewhere this underwhelming for so long clear but fading as Eddie shushes her gently. "Isn't that sick?" he asks you.

"It would be sick, if you liked them."

He shrugs. "I'll wear it as pajamas. A dollar for a shirt? You can't steal it that cheap."

You laugh and drop it into his basket. He bumps his shoulder into yours until you move down the rack, his fingers searching for something with focus. You're in awe at how he's handling it, a basket heavy in the crook of his elbow and Junie on his hip trying to share her fruit snacks with him unsuccessfully.

"Ah-ha!" He pulls out a black t-shirt. The back to you, you can't tell what's so interesting about it until he flips it around. "What do you think?"

It's the same The Mamas and The Papas shirt.

"You want?" he asks.

You check the price tag before answering and find yourself laughing gleefully, almost smug. "Hey, this one's fifty cents."

He gasps. "What?"

"I can afford that one myself."

He pulls it out of your hand, quick but not cruel, and tucks it into the basket. "Don't care. Wanna see if they have one in Junie's size?"

"They won't."

"What about a small and we cut the excess off? She can wear it like a dress. We'll all match."

Eddie picks up a bunch of t-shirts for you, some funny, a lot plain bad. You wonder if you're being made fun of but from the gleeful expression on his face you know he's just having a good time. It's sweet, really, how he seems to pick the more feminine looking ones for you. You try your best to calculate how much he's spending on you – it feels tacky and silly, but urgent – and end up losing the thread. He must've passed ten dollars by now. It makes you feel sick.

You see your saving grace across the way.

"Oh my god!" you feign surprise. Both Eddie and Junie look up at you, startled. "You know what mommy just saw?"

Junie perks up.

"What did I just see? What did mommy see?" you encourage.

"What?" she asks.

"I saw… teddies!"

"Mr. Bear?" she asks.

You beam at her. "Mr. Bear's brothers and sisters, I think. Should we go look at them?"

She says yes and then something else you don't catch, squirming aggressively to be put down.

Eddie says, "Sorry sorry sorry," and lets her down gently.

She snatches your hand and starts to tug you away. You glance over your shoulder to make sure Eddie's following you and he is, a melty-warm smile on his face. You navigate the store floor and almost knock down a bucket of hats with the stroller on the way to the teddies. There's a few of them, all lined up in a row next to jigsaw puzzles and old board games.

"I didn't think this through," you say, watching as Junie picks through the teddies with a huge smile on her face. She starts to hug them towards her and you try not to cringe.

"You can scrub her when we go home," Eddie assures you leaning against the stroller, hair behind his ears.

You grab the end of a curl and pull it back in front of his face, messing with it until it falls the way you want it to. He stays very still. "I might need to de-flea her."

He laughs and it's a shock, an abrupt sound that makes your chest ache with fondness.

"You might. I got some tea tree oil lying around somewhere if you need it," he says.

"And if she gets dermatitis?"

His grins turns embarrassed. "I don't know what that is."

"It's like-" You tilt your head to the side to mimic his own and drop your hand from his hair. "It's gross. Like a bad rash."

"Oh, then we'll give her a tomato soup bath."

You burst into laughter and have to grab his arm to stop from toppling over, or at least that's what you tell yourself. "That's for skunks," you manage to tell him, giggling loudly.

"Shit, really?"

You nod at him, wanting to kiss the sheepishness straight off of his lips. "You're thinking of an oats bath," you say. "Oats are good for the skin. And milk."

"So we just rub her down with oatmeal. Case solved."

Your hand rubs over the curve of his forearm until you reach the cold bite of his chain bracelet. It brings your attention back to what it is you're doing. You pull your hand away.

You have enough money to get Junie any teddy she wants. You'd made sure of that. You'll just have to hide the train in your tights and wear your waitressing skirt low on your hips for a week or three until you can afford a new pair of pantyhose.

You move to kneel next to Junie. She's pulled every teddy off the shelf and sits half-buried in them, talking a hundred words a minute. You think she might be make-believing, catching the slightest difference in her tone as she shakes one bear and then the other.

After checking the price tags stuck sloppily to each ear, you realise you can afford two.

Best day ever.

"Junie," you say with intent, heavy so she'll look at you. "I want you to pick your two favourite bears. Yeah? Pick which ones you like the best. And we're gonna take them home, okay? Give them a bath, brush out their fur, get them some jammies."

Watching the way her expression changes as she realises what you're saying is confirmation. This is the best day ever.

She decides eventually on one too many. There's a pastel green-blue rabbit with floppy ears and a ribbon tied around his neck, half a face of whiskers that make him quite charming and a worn tail. Next to him is a classic teddy bear who could be Mr. Bear's younger brother who seems in very good condition. Last, a bigger, softer golden teddy with an enamel nose and eyes lies over her lap.

You can't afford all three.

You've barely opened your mouth to tell her, a weak smile on your lips ready to placate when Eddie says, "The rabbit is classic. You'll have to let me get her that one."

"Eddie," you say, looking up at him as you shake your head, "you can't. I can't let you."

"She'll have to share him with me, obviously. He's punk rock."

It's the least punk rock plushie you've ever seen.

"Eddie," you say again, quietly.

He scoops the hair away from his face like he's going to tie it up. "Y/N." He says your name expectantly. When you don't budge he lets his hair fall back to his shoulders and turns serious. "You can pay me back, if you want to."

"Really?"

"Only for the rabbit."

You purse your lips to fight a smile.

Junie throws herself into your lap with her new treasures. "For the rabbit," she parrots factually, gazing up at you with eyes full of content. Her small smile means everything.

"He's a bunny," you murmur, fingers brushing his rough ear.

"He's sweet." Eddie crouches in front of you. He smells like something nice though you can't think of what it is. Cologne, something dark and deep hiding under a woody scent. Maybe sandalwood. His knee taps your thigh and his hand wraps around your shoulder for balance. "Got a dirty nose though. Who does that remind you of?"

You giggle and tap Junie's nose. "I wonder."

Down what feels like a thousand steps and back into the parking garage, your legs are hurting in the best way and Junie's half asleep in her stroller. You'd reluctantly let her keep the blue-green rabbit in hand, and she snuggles him close to her chest.

"I'm actually genuinely worried she's gonna get something from him," you confide.

Eddie weaves his arm through yours. "Like rabies?"

"A rash."

"I'm allergic to gain detergent tablets," he says, his hand slipping away from you so he can put both on his hips. "When I moved in with my Uncle Wayne he didn't know that, obviously, not at first. We didn't notice for a while. One day I'm scratching my chest and he says to me, boy, what are you doing always itching like that? You ever take a shower?" He impersonates his uncle's disappointed frown.

You laugh. "Poor baby."

"I mean, I probably wasn't showering." He laughs. "I was like, wow, thanks Uncle Wayne, I love you too.

"He lifts my shirt up in the middle of the kitchen and we both just stare at this rash. It was the first time I'd really noticed. I didn't… I was a skinny kid, I didn't really find any pleasure in looking at myself. And- He got so serious. Asking me if I was okay, if school was stressing me out."

"He thought you were hurting yourself?"

"In a way… It wasn't the first time he tried to get me to talk about how I was feeling, but it was the first time I thought- I mean, the first time I realised that it was permanent. That we were-" He cuts off with a laugh. "I'm being weird."

"No weirder than usual," you tease. Your expression softens.

You slow, trying to convey how much you want to hear it with a smile. You don't want to say something that'll weigh on the impossibly light mood you're both in; the ground practically glows yellow under your shoes, the two of you walking on sunshine or something remarkably similar.

"I guess I realised he was gonna take care of me. I told him all about school, stuff I'd been lying about, how the Walton twins kept taking my lunch money, how I was failing algebra. How much I," he licks his lips and then smiles, "how much I missed my mom."

"Do you still miss her a lot?" you ask, though you know the answer.

"Yeah, I do. I don't remember everything, but I remember the way she talked sometimes. I don't remember her voice," he concedes, "just… the way she moved. She would lean back whenever I was getting into trouble, and she'd get this look on her face like I was the funniest thing on the planet."

You grin at him. Your cheeks ache from what must be a hundred smiles today. It's a really nice memory to have.

"You are pretty funny," you say.

"What was that? You think I'm pretty and funny? Baby, you spoil me."

You stop altogether and press your fists into your eyes, defeated. "I should've seen that one coming."

"Yeah, you should've."

Soft snores, so quiet you almost miss them. By the time you've got back to your car Junie's sleeping with her chin to her chest and the rabbit's ear held tight in her small hand.

"Will she wake up?" Eddie asks quietly.

"Not if I'm very, very careful," you whisper.

You scoop her up and tuck her into her carseat, holding your breath all the while. Eddie tries his best to fold down the stroller.

You emerge from the backseat and make a soft pitying sound. "Stuck?"

"I can do it," he promises, head and face hidden behind the padded seat. His hands fight with the metal bars holding it in place. Again, you tap the right strut with your shoe to help him out.

He says thank you but refuses to look at you. You swear you're gonna kiss his cheek this time for real because he deserves one and you really want to give him one, but he puts the stroller into the trunk and touches your waist as he opens the driver's side. Any bravery gets turned into mush.

He rolls down the window and sticks his head out, ever amused. "Are you coming?"

You pause at the door and get closer than you mean to, close enough to find yourself distracted by the beauty mark along his jawline.

"You want me to drive?" you ask.

"No, sweetheart. You're good."

You smile at each other. It's a strange sort of smile, strange to be taller than him, strange to have your faces this near. There's a lot to say but maybe now isn't the right time to say it, or maybe now is exactly when you should, and his face lifts up just a touch and your hands feel heavy at your sides.

"Eddie…"

You close your fingers over the door, braced as his body turns to yours. You get the sense that he's waiting for you to say – or do – something. To lean down. To take the leap.

He's the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

You waver.

"You know," he says lightly, blinking his long lashes at you in a way that has your heart skipping beat after beat, "if we hurry, I think we can get on the highway before the work rush. We'll be back in Hawkins before dark."

You bring your hand to his cheek. A sorry and a thank you at the same time. "I don't want to be back in Hawkins before dark." I really want to spend more time with you.

"I'll crawl."

You press your lips together, tongue in your cheek to stop from giggling like a loser as you walk around the hood and climb in. He turns the key in the ignition and switches off the radio before it can wake up Junie. True to his word, Eddie goes what must be a half a mile an hour out of the parking garage. The car behind you beeps aggressively.

Your eyes flicker between the rearview and his grinning face. "What are you- oh."

"Crawling," he murmurs smugly.

The sun starts its slow descent. You use his knee for leverage and pull down his sun visor, then your own, blocking the light. Eddie says, "Thank you," very sweetly and you get comfortable and clip yourself in, anticipating a long drive home.

The stores turn on their neon, fast food and take out restaurants open for the night. The smell of warm oregano and olive oil is strong as you drive through the side avenue past a pizza place with its door thrown open.

Eddie asks if you're hungry and you decline. He takes it with grace and doesn't say much besides passing commentary until you realise he's going the wrong way.

"Eddie," you start.

"I know. Just- one last thing. Let me get one more thing and then we'll go home and you never have to let me spend money on you ever again."

You look over his pinched, pleading brows and his slight pout for any insincerity and find it in droves. "Until Friday," you say, dejected.

"Now you're getting it."

He pulls up to a small bakery and weasels his way inside. You wait, car idling, hands rubbing over the cracked leather of your seats wondering what sweet treat he's going to emerge with.

You have a nightmare – a heaping bag of donuts and shortbread and pastries, things you could never pay him back for, more to add to the impossible pile of things he's given you.

Doing things for the people you care about, you repeat to yourself wearily.

You hadn't expected anything for the haircut, but this is more than a haircut. It's difficult not to think of every dollar as an attribute of every hour he's worked. What makes you deserving of his literal physical labour?

I didn't force him. He likes me.

He certainly looks like he likes you as he appears again, shoving his wallet into the back pocket of his black jeans and wielding a flat looking plastic platter with an exuberant expression. He almost drops them trying to show you. Your heart shoots into your throat.

He's still chuckling when he throws himself into the driver's side. "Shit, did you see that? Almost lost 'em. Here, sweet thing. Hold the sweets. Makes sense, right? Sweet thing holding sweet things."

You accept the tray of what looks like a rainbow of blobs and go to peel off the lid. "Can I?" you ask.

"Of course you can."

You pull off the lid. Twelve cupcakes of all different colours in rows of four. The first four are chocolate cupcakes, one with green icing shaped like a frog, one with a white rabbit, one with an orange fox and one with a blue fish. The second row seems fancier. By the third and fourth row there's no pattern, just an assortment of flavours and decorations, chocolate curls and glitter, a half a strawberry, a smattering of mini marshmallows.

"What flavours that one?" you ask, pointing at a golden cake topped with multicoloured icing, a swirl covered in little crystal like sprinkles.

"I don't have a clue. I picked the first four and then realised it was taking too long. Told 'em to give me whatever."

"Eager to get back?"

"Eager as a cry for life. Try it."

"You don't want one before you start driving?" you ask.

"I'll try that one after you."

You peel back crisp, metallic shiny paper and take a cautious bite. It's a bourbon vanilla cake with a coffee flavour buttercream to cut the sweetness. You can't tell whether you like it or not at first, so you take another bite.

"Leave some for me."

"Sorry!" you say through a giggly mouthful. "Here."

He has both hands on the wheel. You don't know what possesses you – though you're starting to wonder if it can be called possession at all, more like a hunger that won't let things lie – to do it, but you bring the cupcake up to his face and hold it so he can take a bite.

He licks a big dollop of icing as it threatens to fall down his chin, head tilted high. "Oh my god. What is that? Is that coffee?"

"I think so."

"Okay, awesome. Let's try another one."

"What?"

"Let's try another one. There's still eleven left! We can save the cute ones for Juniper the Loveliest, but that's still a ton of flavours. C'mon, let me try the one with the chocolate curl. If I remember, it has white chocolate melted inside."

"If you remember?" you ask, peeling back the paper of his requested cupcake. "You've had these before?"

"A long time ago."

You tilt your head toward your shoulder and watch his lashes kiss. "Here," you say warmly.

He accepts the proferred cake and takes a good bite. His eyes roll back into his head dramatically and he goes stiff, shoulders tense and then suddenly not. You watch the muscle of his bicep flex as he tips his head back in pleasure.

You chortle and you're so happy you don't care how silly you sound, nor how unattractive you might look as you hit him in the arm. "Stop! You're enjoying it too much!"

"I'm enjoying it the right amount! Try it, try it," he says quickly. His eyes flick back to the tray. "I wanna try that strawberry one next."

"Watch the road, Munson, god! I'll pass you whatever one you want, just don't crash the car!"

You forget yourselves. Laughing, eating icing with your noses scrunched up, you don't remember to stay hushed, and soon Junie's awake and annoyed.

You worry for a second that her crying will dampen the mood, but Eddie beams wider still. He's more smile than boy.

"Junie baby! What cupcake do you want, sweetheart?" he asks her, watching her in the rearview mirror.

"Cake?" she asks.

"Cupcake! Yeah, baby, what one do you want? There's a froggy and a fishy and a bunny-" He stops to take a turn onto the highway. The road evens out underneath, the plastic tray stops crinkling. "And a fox," he finishes. "All for you."

You twist in your seat, bunny and fish held in your hands. "Fishy or bunny?" you echo.

"Fishy and bunny," she says clumsily, eyes widened with excitement.

"Just one for now, baby. Let's pick the bunny," you say gently.

There's no hopes of her eating it cleanly. You don't bother with any precaution. It's your car and her seat and her clothes and if she wants to cover it all in soft fondant you don't mind, anything she wants if you get to see this look on her face. Pure happiness, her eyes closing in bliss as she takes her first bite.

"Good, huh?" Eddie asks, speaking glances at her.

"Good!" she says loudly, cheeks plastered in white icing and fluffy golden crumbs.

Then, like the good girl she is, she tries to offer up the cupcake and almost drops it.

"S'that for me? Aw, you keep it. You keep it. Mom's gonna share hers with me." He grins at you. "Isn't that right?"

You share that entire tray of cupcakes right there in the car. By the time you get home, back to Hawkins, it's dark, your stomach hurts, and every cupcake bears two missing bites.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist | multi-chapter

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x afab reader #mom!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fanfiction #fem!reader

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jaded-jezz · 1 year

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Don’t Trip

Another Jack one-shot obvs

Please do not repost, reblogs are appreciated.

Jack Champion x F!Reader

☁︎Fluff

summary: Just Jack being a gentleman without realising.

I’ve been super excited to go to Jack’s movie premier ever since he auditioned. It wouldn’t be our first event as a couple but this time it seems as if the entire world knows about it as it’s no longer our secret.

When we posted our anniversary photo dump on Instagram and some sickeningly cute TikToks, our followers have risen dramatically and the response has luckily been way more positive than we expected. We didn’t realise that our fan base overlapped so of course they were all ecstatic when finding out their suspicions were correct.

Jack and I were in our taxi queueing for our joint entrance onto the carpet. Both our palms were sweating yet Jack gripped mine tighter when I tried to move to wipe it.

“Are you nervous Champion?” I jest

“Me? Pfff no way” he replied before widening his eyes to show he was lying, “I’m petrified”

We look into each others eyes and before we know it we are being told to leave and expose our long kept secret and safe privacy to the flashes of cameras.

He doesn’t let go of my hand once, in fear that he may lose me to the crowds of interviews trying to get the first interview of the new hot couple. It makes me smile to myself as although I’ve done many premiers before, he still keeps an eye on me.

We move to the line of photographers and I check for the marks on the floor directing each celebrity to the correct angle and lighting for their photos. Jack goes in first and I follow once he moves up the marks.

I have to pick up my dress due to the weight of the detailed beading, lace and tulle as I walk confidently to the first space. The awkwardness hits me as I try to kick around my dress to stop the train from bunching up so much as I want the cameras to pick up on my teams hard work.

Suddenly an angel from heaven, my knight in shining armour comes to the rescue.

I barely hear Jack’s voice over the shouts, flashes and the swelling of stress in my ears but it’s loud enough to start to bring me back to earth and to a calmer state.

I look down to see he has crouched to start to straighten out the long floral train. He glances up at me and gives me a wink as he feels me look over my shoulder at him.

“Don’t worry, I got you!” He laughs as he try’s to check my face for any signs of continuing worry.

I offer my hand and pull him round next to me so that we can have photos together. The paparazzi go even crazier, as if Jack’s previous action didn’t have a loud enough reaction.

We laugh at the eruption and a strong wave of serenity washes over me as I lean in closer to my boyfriend.

“You look so stunning that I had to help you, I hope you don’t mind,” Jack leant into the side of my head. “You are a saving grace Jack, and thank you” I whisper back.

I want to thank everyone who like/reblogged my first post, it means a lot. I did not expect any interaction at all so thank you!

My best friend helped me to check over this so if its bad, blame it on her plz and thx!

Requests are open, so send them no matter how big or small you idea is.

Please do not repost this, reblogs are appreciated.

#jack champion #jack champion x reader #marry me jack champion #x reader #fluff #red carpet #movie premiere #actress reader #actress #jaded jellyfish sting #oneshot #im so alone #dress #long dress #award show

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daffi-990 · 22 days

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Tease Tidbit Tuesday ☕️

Tagged by @bidisasterbuckdiaz @monsterrae1 & @wikiangela. Thank you my dears ❤️

Got some more LA Lonely 🏙️ for you because that’s what the writing beans are feasting on atm.

I wrote Eddie and Buck running into each other again (2nd time post hook up) at a coffee shop and I had to fight the urge not to share the whole damn scene because for some reason I just really like it. So instead have just a small smackerel.

Prev snippet here.

Eddie grabs the door for him and follows him outside and Buck really should get back to the engine because Chim and Hen without the right amount of caffeine and sugar in their systems can quickly become dangerous. But with Eddie’s eyes focused on him he finds his feet unwilling to move.

“I know you have to go and caffeinate the troops,” Eddie wets his lips and Bucks eyes immediately track the movement, “but I just wanted to say it was good to see you. Unexpected, but uh good.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie opens his mouth but the engine horn suddenly blares, startling them both so much that Buck almost drops the coffee in his hands.

“Let’s go Buckaroo!”

Buck contemplates dropping Chim’s coffee and claiming it as an accident.

Eddie chuckles. “I’ll take that as my queue to leave. It really was good to see you Buck.” And then he’s walking away and Buck doesn’t want him to go.

“Eddie!” Eddie pauses and turns around and suddenly Buck’s nervous. Every time he’s extended a hand out to someone he’s even the slightest bit interested in after hooking up with, it’s been left hanging awkwardly in the air or slapped away. But he likes the way Eddie’s smile makes him feel and even if Eddie was just being polite, it couldn’t hurt to be honest, right? “It uh - it was really good to see you too.”

The words are simple but Buck feels like he’s just unfastened a part of his armour and exposed his heart to whatever weapon Eddie is brandishing.

Eddie doesn’t launch an arrow or throw a dagger though, instead he smiles, which is twice as deadly but in a whole other way. His eyes are crinkled from how wide his smile is, canines of full display and it leaves Buck’s heart stuttering.

Bullseye.

No pressure tagging: @hippolotamus @diazsdimples @spotsandsocks @spagheddiediaz @sunshinediaz @exhuastedpigeon @eddiebabygirldiaz @elvensorceress @epicbuddieficrecs @goforkinard @bekkachaos @wikiangela @wildlife4life @watchyourbuck @devirnis @dangerpronebuddie @donationwayne @fortheloveofbuddie @thewolvesof1998 @theotherbuckley @tizniz @try-set-me-on-fire @hoodie-buck @homerforsure @honestlydarkprincess @lover-of-mine @loserdiaz @ladydorian05 @captain-hen @steadfastsaturnsrings @missmagooglie @mellaithwen @neverevan @nmcggg @giddyupbuck @sibylsleaves @jesuisici33 and as always, anyone who wants to share something -> this is your official tag

* also sorry if I missed anyone, a lot of people have changed their urls along with icons and my brain is trying her best 🥲

#daffi writes #wip: la lonely #buddie wip #buddie #this fic is from Buck’s POV and I’m just loving writing Eddie who is clearly smitten with Buck #but Buck being Buck .. he doesn’t see it 🙈#like my man Eddie is throwing out heart eyes every time he sees Buck #and this himbo is like ‘I really like this guy but too bad he doesn’t want me’#like come on 😂😂😂

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 7 months

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Helping Hand 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of divorce, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

Characters: Jonathan Pine, 40s reader

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The computer beeps at you again. That shrill offensive chirp that makes your heart zing. You hold your fingers above the keyboard and cringe. You can’t seem to get through one transaction without error.

You try to back out but a pop-up shows, asking for manager approval. You give a sheepish smile to the customer and apologise. You could point to the trainee sticker on your name tag or tell them it’s only your third day, but you won’t make excuses. The two other associates you started with are doing just fine.

Giselle comes over as you look behind you searchingly. She snaps the gum in her mouth and rolls her eyes, “what is it this time?”

“Sorry, I–”

“Back out of the sale,” she snips.

“I tried, it won’t let me,” you gesture to the screen.

She doesn’t even read it and puts in her pin. You bite your lower lip as the total screen finally shows. You ask the customer cash or card. They say card but you hit cash. When you try to go back, you get the same sirenesque chirp. UGH!

Giselle doesn’t say a word as she keys in her pin again, huffing before she storms off. You blame yourself. You’re not good with technology. You didn’t grow up with a computer lab in your school or a cell phone in your back pocket. You were a bit too early for that.

It all just passed you by. Like everything else in your life. Your career, your marriage, your hopes. You gave up the first for the second, and let the third shrivel away to regret. You definitely never expected to be starting over again at this age. To be a retail slave in your 40s. Divorced and depressed.

You get the customer checked out and bagged up. You hand them the paper-sheathed books and give a smile. There’s a tick of impatience in their cheek. You don’t blame them. Andy always said you were too slow. Clueless. Well, he’s gone now, you don’t have to worry about his opinions. And you won’t get to prove them wrong.

“Go sort the sale tables. They’re a mess.” Giselle orders as she checks her manicure, “I’ll take the till.”

You nod. It’s probably the best idea. You’re not much of a salesman so you don’t often walk the floor, but you’re good for grunt work. You always were in the background, making sure everything looked just right.

You push through the waist high door that closes out the general public from behind the counter. You surpass the queue of customers waiting and head through the small homegoods section towards the bargain floor. You go to the first table and sift through the mess of cookbooks and crafting manuals.

The next is history. Mostly military and the like. Hollow eyes of soldiers staring through you, men in armour on horses, and tanks rolling over mulched up dirt. You reach for a book on the Battle of Britain but it’s swept up out of your grasp.

You look at the man as he examines the cover. His blonde hair is tidy, his blue eyes gleam as they scan the book, and his grey suit is cute precisely to his figure. You fold your hands over the nearest stack and muster a smile.

“Hello, sir,” you greet, “am I in your way?”

“Not at all,” he lifts his head, an amiable expression softens his features, “browsing.”

He sets the book exactly where it belongs. You slide your hands off the book, keeping them clutched in front of you. You’re not sure how to proceed. Right, customer service.

“Can I help you find anything?” You offer.

“I know my way around, pretty well,” he assures you, “pity,” he takes another book and puts it in its place, “people come and make such a mess. Leave you all this work.”

“Well, it’s what I’m paid for, I suppose,” you grab a book too and another identical one, collecting three before finding their slot.

“Still,” he steeples a hand on the nearest book, dragging his fingers thoughtfully. “Do you read? Hmm, that sounds rather… presumptuous. I mean, do you read any of this? History?”

“Um, some, admittedly I’ve devoured a few biographies of Princess Diana,” you shrug, “but nothing more bloody than that.”

“Ah, yes, war, terrible thing. No wonder it’s all on sale,” he chuckles, “what kind of person would subject themselves to such savagery?”

You want to shrug again but it seems rude. Almost dismissive. He’s talkative but not annoyingly so. He is charmingly casual.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” he considers you, eyes flitting up and down, “ah, I see, trainee. You are new.”

You part your lips and pause before you collect your wits, “uh, yeah, I started on Monday. You must come here often?”

“Now and again,” he arches his brow as if telling a joke.

Suddenly, you’re self-conscious. You must be older than this man, if even by only a few years. And look at him, he’s established, confident, and he knows exactly what he wants. But you, you’re just muddling through until you can return to your bachelor apartment and TV dinner.

“I’m certain I’ll see you again,” he winks, “Jonathan,” he touches his lapel subtly, then sounds out your name with a deadly lilt. His voice hits a timbre that plucks in your chest, “it was very nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you as well,” you eke out, “if you need anything else, I’ll be around, sir.”

“I’ll be sure to look for you,” he smiles and the tension dissipates at that simple gesture. “Have a splendid night.”

He taps the stack of books under his hand and pushes away. He fixes his tie as he passes you, strutting off with no special urgency. You fight not to watch after him. He is suave and admittedly handsome. But you are you; middle-aged and painfully average.

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #drabble #au #series #helping hand #the night manager #bookstore au

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soloorganaas · 2 years

Text

this was originally for @wolfstarmicrofic but it’s turned into an actual, not-micro oneshot in itself

the prompt was lightyears, in which I shamelessly embraced my other beloved blorbos

May, 1977

“It’s gonna be brilliant, I can feel it,” James said as they stood in the queue for their tickets. He was almost bouncing on his toes with excitement.

Remus raised a skeptical eyebrow just ever so slightly, but it still wasn’t missed by Sirius. “Moony thinks we’re all just wowed by muggle movies,” he grinned, prompting an eye roll from Remus.

“I didn’t say -”

“Moony, I have been to five muggle movies -”

“They’re just called movies, Pads.”

“So I think I am quite the connoisseur,” Sirius told him, with his arrogant smirk that made Remus want to tell him to shut up and make him shut up in equal measure.

Remus was munching lazily on popcorn, nudging Sirius’s hand away which had frozen as he stared, open-mouthed, at the screen. “But how do they do that without magic?” he asked in astonishment, as a defenceless captain, clasping desperately at the hand choking his neck, was lifted effortlessly into the air by a looming, black-armoured figure who could have been both man and machine.

Remus looked over at him with an affectionate smile. “Rope, Pads,” he said.

May, 1980

“Sure you’re gonna fit in those seats, Evans?” Sirius asked as James and a heavily pregnant Lily approached them, his teasing smirk not quite reaching his eyes. Lily flipped him off, grinning with the air of someone desperately in need of some levity.

The darkness of the cinema swept over them like a comforting blanket, whisking them away into nostalgia and escapism. Remus felt something in his heart reverberate at the opening chords - an unfamiliar hope, perhaps. Not that they could win this war, not anything to do with the war at all, actually. Except that, for a brief moment, maybe they could be happy.

They all pretended not to hear each others gasps of fright that were far too real to be just a reaction to death falling around them in flashes of light and bursts of smoke. Sirius was shaking as they heard the screams of torture echoing down the metallic corridors of a space station. But it was Remus who lost the ability to breathe as he watched two lovers ripped apart, one frozen in horror as the other was dragged into a torturous prison, and she was left desperate, heartbroken and utterly powerless to stop it.

Remus gripped Sirius’s hand so hard he thought the bones might crack.

May, 1983

Remus saw the poster as he sat numbly on the tube, whisked away from another of the few meagre jobs he’d managed to hold down before he descended into another month - maybe two, maybe three - of being unable to leave his bed for the cloud of nightmares suffocating him.

His eyes glazed over the blur of colours as they did everything; until the sharp, yellow text of two words ripped up a past so unrecognisably lost to him it felt lightyears away.

He barely made it off the train before he threw up.

May, 1999

“Hey, Sirius, do you know what Star Wars is?” Harry asked casually over breakfast, about a month after he’d left Hogwarts for the last time. It was a familiar question - Sirius, have you tried this? Sirius, have you been there? Sirius, have you done that? - uttered by Harry with childlike enthusiasm that pushed away some of the trauma from his eyes, as he sought to make up for the thirteen years Sirius had been missing from his life, and the four following that had been ensnared by war.

Remus froze, icy tension running through his body driven by a familiar grief. He could see it in Sirius’s face, too - a memory slowly rising to the surface, the rush of warmth and joy from those delirious years before their fall, followed by the agonising gulf of tragedy that separated them from the present. Then Sirius’s eyes met his own, and he must have seen something in Remus’s face, something that anchored him to safety, because they filled with a softness that melted the tension paralysing Remus.

Sirius turned back to Harry with a small smile. “I think it got slipped into my muggle education, somewhere,” he said. Remus felt his heart give an affectionate thrum.

“Ahh, amazing,” grinned Harry. “I thought I’d have to explain it. Look - there’s a new one coming out, next week, and we all wanna go see it. So, do you wanna come too?” Harry gave him a familiar, hopeful look, that was now full less of uncertainty and more of the kind of shameless pleading he knew his godfather could never resist.

"Alright,” Sirius said, grinning back.

“Brilliant. And I was thinking - we should all watch the first three together before.”

“Three?” Sirius asked, frowning in that way he did when he knew he’d forgotten something important.

Remus’s heart clenched, and he felt a wave of panic that Harry would realise at exactly this moment why Sirius had forgotten there were three.

“Yeah, er, it’s a trilogy,” Harry replied, in that nonplussed way he did when he was trying to avoid being rude but didn’t entirely know how.

Sirius blinked, then an easy, lopsided smile filled is face again. “Let’s watch them all, then.”

Remus found the four of them already curled up in front of the TV, nestled between another towering bookshelf and a potted plant in the corner of their cottage. Hermione and Ron were lounging together on the sofa, Harry laughing up at them as he spread out on the rug in front, and Sirius was throwing popcorn into his mouth from the oversized armchair next to the fire.

“No, I’m telling you, the third one’s the best,” Ron insisted to Harry and Hermione. “That’s when he defeats him!”

“Toffee covered for you,” Remus said, handing two bowls over to the trio. “And chocolate for me,” he added, shooting a knowing look at Sirius who was already grinning teasingly back. He made his way over to the armchair, and nudged at Sirius’s feet. “Squidge up, then.”

Sirius happily tipped his legs over the arm rest to make space for Remus next to him, throwing an arm round his shoulders as he sat down.

“So, what have I got to expect in this one?” he asked, stealing some of Remus’s popcorn.

Remus swallowed, suddenly conscious of their hands brushing in the bowl and the wait of Sirius’s arm against his shoulders.

“I, er - well, I never saw this one,” he admitted.

Sirius was quiet for a moment, the emotional weight of that admission resonating within him. “You didn’t?” said eventually, in a small voice.

“No,” Remus replied, in almost a whisper.

Another pause. “Well,” Sirius said more firmly, tightening his arm around Remus’s shoulders and turning to look at him. “It’ll be new for both of us, then.”

A burst of joy that took Remus entirely by surprise brought a beaming smile to his face. He bit down on it self-consciously, but not before Sirius’s eyes lit up in response. Remus pressed their lips together, heedless for a moment of his usual self-consciousness in his need to seal this moment between them forever.

“Yes,” he murmured softly. “I suppose it will.”

#i know there are rules #i see the rules #and somehow they still pass me by like an errant cloud on a sunny day #wolfstar microfic #otp: i'm mental about you #hp

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ubercharge · 3 months

Note

im not sure if anyone asked you yet, but thoughts on the dunmeshi anime?

thanks for asking! sometimes i forget i exist here as a person cuz i just log on to queue random stuff without making posts 💀

it's pretty rare for me to watch an anime without ever reading the manga, and there've been stellar adaptations recently. ONK, kisekoi, BTR, frieren, CSM just to name a few. in a landscape where we're used to being disappointed as readers who have a frame of reference before watching a show, i had very, very high hopes for the dunmeshi adaptations that weren't quite fulfilled.

i'll dump everything under a cut since i actually have a lot to say, sorry if you were expecting it to be brief 😎

the lines in the artistic style are good, nicely translating the characters into animated format. really no notes there. definitely a nicer comparison for char designs between manga and anime vs. tonsuki and tensura who both have incredible manga styles that the anime stumble over (though in the latter's case, i don't think they were aiming for it sadly)

the shading has been fine, but weakened by the colour choices. some of the dungeon scenes (e.g., living armour stuff) are lit with a medium blue which helps to sell the idea of the scene being in a place not lit by fire (and contrasts it with the making camp & cooking scenes), but the lack of dark shading flattens some of these very well-drawn images.

the earlier chapters don't have the same level of detail as newer ones, but the art style is still fantastic - it's expressive with high contrast and shows action and impact perfectly well. manga will often times have a naturally easier way with contrast due to it being in black & white, but i don't think that means anime should just give up on contrast in favour of playing ineffectively with colour.

here's a night shot of fern from frieren. the choices made here allow for the shading to stand out from the flats and give her more definition overall while still being relatively simple (just flats + shading)

when dunmeshi has more "normal" lighting conditions, it does a lot better. similar to fern up there, there's about the same amount of difference between the flats and shadows, so i really wish they did a better job on the dungeon scenes since they're going to have to deal with non-torchlit scenes plenty. i won't argue that the living armor scene certainly has some kind of a sickly, alien mood to it, but tl;dr i think it should've had darker shading if not also being less green. this largely applies to every other blue-green lit scene they've done.

looking at kui's coloured drawings in the ed gives me an idea of what could've been and it makes me sad to lose out on colour choices more similar to that (even if they obviously can't have her level of detail on top of it)

some of the backgrounds haven't been too interesting but some have been good, overall it's probably fine. plus you can only draw and detail repeating bricks so many times before the viewer gets bored of looking at them anyway, i guess.

the animation is really fun and expressive. it's trigger, so they don't keep scenes stiffly on-model when they want characters moving around. this is good because it helps to sell both action and comedy moments!

the music overall i haven't really cared for? the BGM has not been particularly moving, interesting, or memorable - mostly generic. and i've seen too many fantasy shows for my own good, so i might be harder to impress (but i even remember tenken had a good BGM song or two to make a fight dramatic and that show was barely above average at best)

i'm biased not being particularly into bump, so i would've selected a different artist for the OP (i actually did like the bump OP from SxF though, come to think of it). before anyone makes a wisecrack based on what i've watched lately, no it doesn't have to be yoasobi.

i maybe feel the ED song would've been better for the OP, i don't like the largely peaceful bit of the OP with very still visuals. the OP is where you reel people in! it should be an eye-catching hook, representative of what to expect with some extra sauce on top.

the ED is great, total bop. it's a fine time for slower visuals as an enjoyable wind-down from the episode, so less or no animation is no big deal. plus kui's art is absolutely gorgeous! it all perfectly fits that "end of work" fun and lighthearted mood they were going for.

i largely enjoy the voice acting. i would've personally gone for a less "old man" voice on senshi because he's really not that old for a dwarf, but they obviously wanted to make it clear he was the older, wiser, knowledgeable character.

this might be my own personally most blasphemous opinion, but i would've picked a different VA for falin. i want to make it clear i absolutely adore saori hayami - she's incredible and one of my faves. with that said, her voice fits the character, so maybe it's just because i've heard her too often which is not her fault by any means! i love the voices for laios, marcille, and chil.

it seems netflix's subs go off of the official EN TL of the manga, which makes sense, but i've talked about how i don't like it more than ehscans' TL (which is one of the single best TLs i've read for a series, official or otherwise) and that holds true for the anime ("mad sorcerer" is cooler AND less clunky than "lunatic magician"). i prefer less localisation stuff and/or quirkiness in my subs and more direct translation for both manga and anime.

as for the changes/additions they've made to the show, some of them have been alright and some i didn't care for. they really want to sell marcille as the funny joke character which is why they had her being chased by the basilisk instead of having doni & fionil like it was in the manga which was better for the pacing and had good impact vs a funny clip of marcille running back and forth.

i don't dislike when adaptations add or change stuff, but placing them cleanly is important. dunmeshi is already really funny! i don't think it needs help being funnier by reaching for the cheap laugh. when laios sees two people running for their lives from a basilisk and he just goes "wow that's a bad way to run from that monster", it's already lowkey hilarious - all the more so followed by marcille telling mr. monster-know-it-all to go rescue them if he knows what's up and him rescuing them by making himself big and chicken squawking real loud (which embarrasses marcille and chil, but c'mon guys, at least his idea worked!). i feel like the comedy in laios' funny hero moment is undercut by forcing the marcille butt of the joke moment in the anime.

dunmeshi is already incredibly good at just about everything it does. i feel if an adaptation wants to add or change something, it's often better amplifying a strength or shoring up a weakness in the source material. BTR adds a lot to the source (not hard considering the source is a 4koma) and makes already funny things even funnier. the "we should all get social media" scene is elevated to iconic status with the visual of bocchi glitching out + the VA's inhuman screech. i can't say where i'd really want to change or add stuff to dunmeshi, since it really feels so good and whole, but i'm sure there's room in the process of translating manga panels to animated scenes, and i think the direction overall could've been better (comparing most shows to BTR isn't fair i know because BTR is directed & adapted so well it's hydrogen bomb vs. coughing baby territory)

i've mostly said negative stuff, but i don't want it to sound like i hate or even really dislike the adaptation. i think when it comes to a series you really love, you want to see the best adaptation possible within reason, and the disappointment of stuff not being quite what you were hoping for is amplified by so many other recent adaptations being so good.

dunmeshi does not have a bad anime by any means, but a lot of that is thanks to the source material's quality. if they do another season, i hope they have more time/budget/whatever because i think a lot of the parts it does have are good parts! but in this case, i wasn't hoping for good; i was hoping for great.

trigger makes great shows with wacky storylines (in some ways, the same one wacky storyline, but that's a different discussion) and dunmeshi, being directed by someone who's worked on a bunch of trigger stuff (largely sci-fi leaning), maybe needed some more direction from people who've worked on fantasy stuff? i can't say for sure what would've been enough to take the show over the top, but though i generally don't hope for much from adaptations, i really did have higher hopes for this one than it ended up achieving.

overall it seems i'll end up scoring the show a 7 or 7.5 when i finish the season, though there's certainly still room to wow us all. whatever you feel about the adaptation, whether you liked it or not, whether or not you've read the manga, feel free to comment your thoughts below or in my inbox. let's keep it free of manga spoils for anime-only watchers, though!

#sorry this is REALLY long #ask answer #anon #i've been busy with TEA in ffxiv but i'll try to post more!

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that-weird-breton-girl · 8 months

Text

Irideis, Part 11

Parts 1-10 here

In front of the temple doors was a goblin who, to keep things brief, nabbed the temple map Aradin’s mate Brian possessed. It took little convincing for the goblin to hand it over to me, but where I expected an illustration, I only saw the contents of a poem. It mentioned a “son of Selûne”, his grave, the moon, and the stars.

Inside, a squad kept watch in the entry hall.

“Oi!” A goblin wielding a battle axe confronted me. “State yer business. Now.”

I put one hand on my hip. “I have an audience with the one in charge.”

She squinted at me. “You one of those Moonrise types, then? Your kind don’t usually deal with Boss Ragzlin and Priestess Gut. Guess you’re after Minthara.” She gave me a once-over. “Could be ‘er blood by the looks of you.”

Is she like my father, or like those who stole him from me? “That’s who I’m looking for.”

The goblin assessed me. “She’s in tellin’ the warchiefs wot’s wot. Next raid’s gonna be a big’un, I hear.”

As we entered the inner sanctum, the hairs on my skin pricked. The fumes of melting flesh.

In the centre, a small queue of goblins lined up in front of the one I inferred was Priestess Gut. Behind her was an altar of skulls and tusks, to her side a large flaming brazier with long branding irons, glowing orange-red where they and the embers made contact.

“Let the faithful come to receive Her blessing!” Priestess Gut proclaimed.

The goblin next in line stepped up and extended his arm. Priestess Gut snatched it and lifted a branding rod from the brazier. I quickly averted my gaze and hurried up the stairs to our right as the recipient cried out in agony.

In one of the rooms on the second floor, a human was strung to a torture rack as part of an interrogation. I convinced the torturers to leave under the guise of being the human’s new tormentor. Once out of earshot, we asked the human, named Liam, about Halsin and set him free. He desperately warned us that Emerald Grove was the goblins’ next target.

We continued our investigation. More broken statues of Selûne, graffitied with bloody symbols of a handprint with a skull as the palm. Deeper in the temple, major sections of the second floor had been destroyed, revealing murky depths. Beneath the makeshift wooden floor boards that spanned the gaps, the rattles of spiders echoed below.

In a large room, a hulking hobgoblin performed a necromantic ritual with surrounding onlookers. By the process of elimination, this was Dror Ragzlin. His subject was a mind flayer corpse. As we passed by, Dror used a scroll to beckon the corpse to rise, demanding the identity of its killer.

Further in, a dark violet scrying eye hovered between empty bookshelves that lined the walls, its gaze unchanging. Around the corner, a rash voice.

“Your scouting part has not returned, and half the intruders escaped your guards.”

“Sorry, mistress. We mucked up.”

A goblin cowered before a drow, whose ghost-white hair was tucked into a thick bun. She adorned sleek armour. Minthara.

“Until their sanctuary is found, I will take something precious from you every hour that passes.” She rasped. “A trinket… a tongue… a limb…”

“I-I ain’t got no use without me limbs!” The goblin stuttered. “The lads’ll make the prisoner squeal soon enough, I swear!”

The drow raised her hand in authority. “Silence now, creature. Or I will silence you forever.”

As she turned to address us, maroon eyes locked onto mine.

I caught my breath and a cold hand caressed my thoughts. The chamber around me melted away, revealing a dark, endless nowhere. A glassy-eyed woman with long, braided hair leaned over Minthara, whispering into her ear.

That figure… that’s one of the Chosen…

The vision faded away.

Minthara opened her eyes and smiled amicably at me. A webbed tattoo graced her pale lavender neck. “A True Soul? Praise be, sister. Are you here to join my hunt?”

A lump grew in my throat. Don’t you dare call me that. I memorised her visage, imagining it at that fateful scene, long ago. People like her tortured Mother.

Noticing my hesitation, Shadowheart spoke up. “We’re on a hunt of our own, looking-”

“Was I speaking to you, faerie?” Minthara spat. “Keep still, or else I’ll cut out your tongue.” She turned to me. “You should manage your darthiir better.”

I swallowed. “Will keep that in mind. I’m looking for a druid named Halsin.”

An intent gaze. “Interesting. What do you know of this druid?”

Erm… “I have orders to capture him.”

Minthara’s eyes narrowed. “Orders from whom? This is my command, and if you were sent here, I would have been told to expect you.” She straightened her back. “It appears that you are new to your rank. Henceforth, you shall report to me. Your name?”

Shit. Shit. “I-Irideis.” I couldn’t think of a fake name in time.

To my relief, Minthara looked unfazed, unconcerned about my name. “Here are your orders, Irideis.” She leaned over a map of the Sword Coast sprawled out on a table. “The druid makes his home in a nearby sanctuary where his followers worship a false god. I intend to find it and destroy it. There is a weapon the Absolute seeks; I’m sure those wretches have it hidden away there.” Her low voice rumbled with excitement. “We will find it, amongst the dead and the ashes.”

The artefact. “You want me to locate this sanctuary.”

“Correct. Do so, then report back to me.”

I carefully nodded and turned around to leave.

“My patience wears thin, True Soul. The hunt must begin.”

There was a largely uninhabited area of the temple where we set up camp that evening. It was partially exposed; the sky peeked through gaps in the ceiling. In the distance, the drumming continued. We supped.

“I suppose that could’ve gone worse.” Shadowheart said. “I was half-expecting Minthara to attack when you opened your mouth, Irideis. You acted as though a Beholder had gotten you.”

“You must control your fear before it leads to your demise.” Lae’zel advised with concern.

“Mm.” I tersely answered. My mind wandered aimlessly in the air, flickering between memories.

Astarion put his hands behind his head and leaned back against a slab of stone. “It doesn’t seem like a coincidence that you happened to have an item that can protect us from the Absolute’s influence, Shadowheart. How did you come by it?”

She replied quietly, still adjusting to the fact that her guarded secret was now known. “I was part of a group sent by my cloister.” She glanced at Lae’zel. “We were to take the artefact from the githyanki and bring it to Baldur’s Gate, no matter the cost. Though… it turned out the cost was very steep. I was the only one to survive. I took the artefact and fled, only to be ensnared by mind flayers before I could finish the mission.” She sighed. “That’s all I know. That’s all I need to know.”

“How can you go through all this trouble and not understand why?” I asked. The change in conversation grounded me.

“I told you already - I surrendered my memories, for the sake of the mission. Shar’s secrets must be protected. Duty demands it. Once I fulfil my mission, my memories will be restored.”

“How do you know that’ll happen? What’s stopping your contact from holding on to your memories?”

“Lady Shar rewards her faithful. You just don’t understand. There is no more to question about it.”

Astarion pondered. “I can’t help but wonder if that wound on your hand has something to do with your devotion.”

Shadowheart inspected her right hand. “It’s my burden, from Lady Shar. It never quite heals, and sometimes it causes terrible pain to rip through me. But somehow, I can feel her influence.”

“What makes it hurt?” I asked.

“It’s difficult to say… sometimes I wonder if it’s supposed to be guiding me, punishing me, testing me… but perhaps it’s none of those. Perhaps it’s completely random. Granted, I’d like to hope there’s more to it than that, some meaning that Lady Shar will reveal to me in due time. Until then, all I can do is endure.”

Lae’zel rolled her eyes.

I haven’t encountered anything in the wilds that could relieve divine punishment. There must be something… “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“I don’t think so, but you’re sweet to ask. Maybe just be patient the next time you see it happen. It’ll pass soon enough. It always does.” She stared at the campfire. “Pain is sacred to followers of Lady Shar. Pain will give way to loss, and then to the peace of her eternal darkness. You can tolerate a great deal of suffering, so long as it has meaning.”

It was now an established routine; Astarion would show up in my tent, always a couple of hours after everyone retired for the night. We’d both sit down, I’d summon my familiar, he’d get his blood, and then he’d leave.

As I held the spider in my palms, I glanced at the marks on the vampire spawn’s pallid neck. The terrifying eyes I saw in his memories flashed by. “How does someone become a vampire? I mean, an actual vampire.”

“It’s simple, really. Just find a vampire that will drink your blood and turn you into a vampire spawn: their obedient puppet. In theory, the next step is to drink their blood. Once you’ve done that, you’re a free and true vampire.”

Vampires are never free. “So… they bite you, you bite them?”

Astarion gave it some thought. “Mm...yes and no. The problem is, once you’re a vampire’s spawn, they completely control you. They have to allow you to bite them.” His brow furrowed. “And why would they do that? Vampires are power-hungry creatures. They won’t lose a servant just to create a competitor. Trust me. It doesn’t happen.”

“Hm.”

“Don’t tell me you want to be a vampire.”

“Oh no!” I blurted. I could never enslave myself to sanguine hunger, to never eat food or see the sun again. Seeing that my answer slightly offended him, I clarified. “No, I was just wondering. That’s all.”

“Alright then.”

It was that night I began to become accustomed to the icy pain that shot through me when he bit me. Instead of jolting violently, my body recognized it as a new, but nonetheless unpleasant, routine.

Afterwards, Astarion sat back in satisfaction. But then he nervously looked at me. “You know, I’ve had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told?” He cleared his throat and darted his eyes away. “You were my first.”

A strange warm feeling bloomed inside me. It felt nice, weirdly enough. “I figured.”

“In all these years, I’ve only fed on beasts. Drinking the blood of thinking creatures is a different thing entirely. You’re delectable. And now I can’t help but wonder how the others taste.”

“They seemed against the idea, remember?”

He sighed. “Alas. It doesn’t hurt to ponder the question, though. Take Shadowheart, for example.” He waved his hand in the air to emphasise his description. “She strikes me as having a heavy, enigmatic flavour. Vintage port on two legs.” His eyes widened in wonder. “But Lae’zel? What in the hells would she taste like?

Lae’zel. She’s unlike anyone I’ve met. I thought of her golden eyes, olive green skin, and pursed lips, then considered all the drinks I encountered in my life. “Something exotic. Maybe an Amnan liqueur?”

“Ooh, that sounds appealing.” He grinned. “I’m almost convinced.”

“Tried it once. Never again.” I licked my gums in remembrance. “This is still theoretical, right?”

“Absolutely. A mere… thought experiment.” Astarion tilted his head. “So… in the spirit of theoretical questions… if you had to take a bite from one of them, who would it be?”

I was dumbstruck. “Erm…” I thought about that first night, when first he snuck in my tent and I retaliated. When I bit into his arm to free myself, a small bit of his blood had reached my tongue. It tasted of cold metal. “To be completely honest? You.”

“Oh… I’m flattered. Who knew you had such taste?” He rubbed his neck. “I suppose you did technically bite me back there.”

There was a lull in our conversation. My wound stopped bleeding.

“So…”

“What?” I asked.

“What do I taste like?”

My cheeks grew hot. “I don’t remember. It wasn’t much, anyway. Tasted like copper, I guess.”

He huffed in disappointment. “You really aren’t one for words.” He rose. “Unfortunately, all this talk is making me hungry. I’d better find something I can actually sink my teeth into. Something that’s not a drunken goblin, anyway.”

“Good hunting out there.”

“Eh, there’s nothing that tasty lurking out in the woods, but I’ll make do. Sweet dreams.”

#irideis #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #lae'zel #shadowheart #bg3 tav #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #irideis part 11 #astarion x mc #astarion x tav

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tango-but-everywhere · 2 years

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Would you guys be mad if i posted a screenshot without a source. I only took it a few hours ago but I completely forgot. It’s either Grian, Joel, Bdubs, or Cleo. I have a feeling it’s Grian. But I legitimately have no idea. It’s from session 3 of double life though!

I’m also queueing this while I’m at 299 followers! Thank you everyone!

[ID: a minecraft screenshot from the double life server, taken just outside the gate of the ranch. The viewer is looking up at Jimmy and Tango, who are behind the gate. Jimmy is looking directly at the viewer, but a shield obscures some of his body. In his other hand he is holding a birch log. He’s wearing iron armour minus the helmet, not all of which is enchanted. Tango is to his right, and he’s facing Jimmy. His shield also obscures some of his body. He’s wearing iron armour minus the helmet, and is holding an iron sword. End ID]

#tango but everywhere #tango tek #trafficblr #double life smp #dlsmp #jimmy solidarity gaming #a canary and his coal mine #ranch duo #ranchduo

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bretongirlwrites · 1 year

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‘He’s changed,’ said Marianne a little critical: ‘hasn’t he? – our Martin.’

A man who had not caught my attention, in Kvatch: a man of quiet average kindness, to Marianne: who introduced into this most persistent of lime-lights, had learnt confidence and imperiousness as a means of survival. Who before a nobody, had had to invent a somebody: and must take lessons from those who, flustered in uncertain territories, clung to a status quo. That Martin took after his father, after all, surprised nobody, –

‘I do not like to think,’ I mused at last, ‘that I have helped.’

It was unkind, to speak so ambiguously outside of his earshot; but that was a thing among all others which he must get used to; and Marianne pointing out the glint of Blades-armour a short way off, led me further onto the ramparts, – some reminder of our purpose, perhaps, in that vista of the City.

‘I had thought the Blades were as much arses as the guard,’ Marianne admitted: ‘but Baurus is a decent man. I did not think he’d accept the help of the Thieves’ Guild, but, – oh! they are all just like us, aren’t they. Led astray by circumstance.’

‘Aren’t we all,’ said I.

It was not difficult to perceive my fatigue. I was astounded that Marianne, – who while I was holed up with my books, had scouted the City and foiled assassins, – was still bright-eyed: but that was how it had always been, hadn’t it? that instinct, that ever-wakeful eye, –

‘I admire the Blades,’ said I, ‘I think: but I did not realise until I got here, how much I do not understand them. Oh! if ever anything should happen to the Temple, then they shall all queue up to sacrifice themselves for Martin; and he having fallen under their spell, shall be the first to martyr himself; and I out of fear and cowardice, – I shall be the last standing! – I suppose that is why I am in the Thieves’ Guild.’

‘It’s not cowardice,’ Marianne laughed: ‘it’s common sense. Conflicts with duty, a little bit. Sometimes you have to think outside the box, –’

‘If I do not stretch my legs soon,’ said I, ‘then I shall be driven insane; or else join their queue. If they are not the same thing, –’

‘Is it too late for Martin,’ said Marianne putting a hand on my shoulder: ‘I wonder?’

It was usually at sunset, that Martin would put in his appearance on the battlements, and behold trembling that land which was to be his. – On my inauguration as Arch-Mage, I had looked out over the gathered Guild-mages, and become quite faint: I could not possibly understand the plight of the Emperor, though I’d tried to give him confidence. – Tonight, though the spectacle of the sky was as wonderful as ever, he did not emerge.

Did not emerge: and so I’d avoid his conversation, that voice which became more and more his father’s. Learning to be Emperor, from Blades who’d known but one. A man who’d been normal, who’d been nobody; who given power, said he did not want it; but who given purpose, must not shirk this most imminent of duties. A sentiment I almost knew! –

‘Let’s walk down to Bruma,’ said I: happy to have a friend up here, took Marianne’s arm: and without looking back, left her question unanswered within those darkening Temple walls.

#breton girl writes #oc:julianne #oc:marianne #oblivion #trying to get a feel for their disillusionment...

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moon-sang · 2 years

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I recently saw ur requests open hehe, it's time to go back into my Din phase :D

I'm a fan of stranger things... so

Possibly... Din meets a teenage girl/boy in the rain (like how mike meets eleven) and invites them on the Crest, and just finding out that they have no family and then adopting the girl/boy, I think this would be adorable <3

Welcome To My Family, Kid

Thank you, anon, for giving me... something to do XD

SUMMARY: After an engine failure Din crashes on an isolated planet, where it constantly rains. After managing to fix the Crest he spot something in a bush... or rather...someone.

WARNINGS: Angst, Fluff, reader is gender neutral, small bruises on reader, Reader is an adolescent, pls tell me if I miss anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Great, just great.

An engine failure. Just what Din needed when he was tracking a bounty. Din clutches the lever tighter, in frustration. "Hold on kid, it's gonna get bumpy." Din sighs. On queue the Crest jostles and just drops, at full speed, the Crest fell through the sky, Din tried his best to control it, despite the cheers coming from Grogu. Eventually the Crest slowed down and skited across a foreign muddy planet. All Din could see was the sticky coffee brown rubble push up against the now cracked windows.... until it came to a stop, and the Crest laid, almost completely submerged in soaked mud.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You peeked through the small bush you hid under. Smoke consumed the already grey sky, the smell illuminating your nostrils, making you slightly cough. You sigh, ready to ravage through the new ship. Your clothes were drenched in dirt, mud, and water dripped down the hem of your shirt. trickles of rain-water rushed down your jaw, meeting at your chin and then dripping onto your clothes. You needed to get into that new ship, it would start hailing soon, and you weren't going to risk any more bruises.

Grabbing your small knife (which you used to cut wires to salvage), you make your way over to the ship. This was a big one. You think. A ship this big hasn't crash-landed on this planet since you were 5 years of age.

Being careful not to trip over any broken parts of the ship, you make your way to the interior of this mysterious ship. As you approach the hatch it opens before you. Was it automatic? Did it somehow sense you and open for you? You pondered. But you were wrong about both. Out of the dark shadows of the ship came an armoured man. terrified of the unexpected appearance you bolt to the nearest shrub.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Din's eyes drunk in every detail of the new planet. Rain. Constant rain by the looks of it. He remembers a planet he had been to that was similar to this one, chasing one of his first bounties. A small rustling in a nearby bush pulled Din back to reality. On instinct the Mandalorian hunter pulls his blaster out, aiming it at the moving bush. Out of the shrub came a young person. A teen by the looks of it. Their hands were raised, mouth agape in fear. Din pushes his blaster back into the holster and stalks near the young person. As he came nearer to them he noticed more. Like how their eyes were near black, except for the small e/c crescent that loomed at the bottom of their iris. As Din moved forward the person moved back slowly. Din slowly raised his hands in a harmless way. "I-it's ok, i won't hurt you kid." In defence they lifted the blunt knife they held and aimed it at the Mandalorian. "S-stay away!" they retort, continuously walking backwards. Din ignores them and instantly notices the sharp rock behind them. "STOP WALKING BACK!" Din shouts, weary of what may happen. Afraid the kid picks up the pace, tripping right over the rock. A loud shriek filled the air, and Din immediately rushed over to the kid. Sobbing in the freezing cold rain the child inspects their hand, now drenched in a mixture of blood and water. Din gently examines their wounded palm, the kid gives in to his warmer touch. "It's not too deep, luckily." Din huffs out. Without a word Din lift the kid up and brings them into the Crest, the kid half-heartedly complies.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Mandalorian seats you on a narrow bed, and patiently you wait. Your eyes roam around the ship. It is spacious you note mentally. A few crates were littered around, here and there, but other than that it was pretty much spotless. You could feel the water on you leaking through the mattress, but you couldn't find it in you to move, you hadn't been this comfortable for ages.

After a few more seconds of waiting the man covered in beskar returns. The flickering light of the Crest bounced off of the rare metal he wore. A roll of bandage was held firmly in his hand. "Can I have your hand please." The enigma Mandalorian asks. You slowly nod and give him your hand.

After a few minutes your hand was completely wrapped and ready to go. You sighed in relief. "Thank... you." you manage to croak out, voice coaxed in tiredness. Din nods in acknowledgment. "Where is your family, kid?" Mando hesitantly questions. You don't reply, instead you slam a hand, scrunched into a fist, on your other hand, violently. Mando cocks his head in confusion. "Dead." You state rather flatly. Mando nods.... in understanding. "You need to change, you'd be freezing, I imagine." Mando states. You nod slowly. "Come on then." Your head shoots up. "What?" You question. "You have no one.. correct? I mean, unless you want to stay on this planet, i'm offering you a place here, with me, and my other kid." Mando states. His voice was like honey, despite the modulator. Without a second thought you nod your head. ".....Thank you."

Obviously by the end of it he manages to fix the Crest :)

Ok I got a lil lazy near the end, but I hope it's still enjoyable!

#The Mandalorain #Mando x reader #Din Djarin x reader #mando x you #din djarin #mandalorian #angst #Teenager reader #Mando x teenager reader

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watching-pictures-move · 1 year

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Movie Review | The Secret Rivals (Ng, 1976)

Like a lot of these somewhat less celebrated kung fu movies, I had to watch this in an English dub, and like a lot of these somewhat less celebrated kung fu movies, all the voices except those of the heroes were in a constant state of shrieking or cackling. Obviously the main villain should do his share of cackling. But the children shriek. The good looking lady who presents a possible love interest shrieks. A bald guy who plays a minor baddie has a more guttural cackle. He and his goons decide to antagonize some poor bastard and you hear all of them shriek and cackle at the same time and the kid charges in and starts shrieking and one begins to wonder if this scene would have played more tolerably in its original audio.

That being said, this is not a purely unpleasant auditory experience, thanks to some deftly applied "borrowed" music. During a recent viewing of Cirio H. Santiago's Firecracker, I noticed how the liberal use of the Shogun Assassin score significantly upped the energy level. (The heroine in that one was played by Jillian Kesner, who I understand once played the girlfriend of the Fonz and was the real-life wife of Gary Graver, and let's just say she wasn't hired for her martial arts prowess.) Here, we open with Ennio Morricone's theme for The Big Gundown, and let's just say that it makes this relatively small scale movie feel a lot more epic. (The Korean forest locations also help greatly in this respect, and it was nice to see this in a pretty decent transfer on Tubi, as a lot of these movies are only available in much worse condition.) And it definitely adds to the excitement when that same theme is deployed during a training sequence when one of the heroes learns how to fight by kicking. But lest you assume that's the only music that's well used, I must note that the arrival of the main villain is announced by the James Bond theme.

There is a plot here, about a pretty tepid rivalry that is not easy to invest in, and let's just say that when you notice both leads are sympathetic and a more overtly villainous character arrives (with the aforementioned Bond theme queue), you won't win any prizes for guessing how this turns out. Most of this is pretty episodic, with an early incident involving an asshole foreign fighter who looks like a burlier William Redfield, a scene where one of the heroes tells the other to get outta town with real "Leave town, please, I'll be your friend" energy. Also Yuen Biao is briefly in this as a goon who fights one of the heroes at around the middle of the movie. I actually watched this for his involvement, because I'm trying to game my Letterboxd stats and get him to my most watched actor this year.

As far as Ng See-Yuen's directorial efforts go, this lacks the kookiness and some of the verve of Game of Death II and Invincible Armour, but knows mostly how to capture the fights in engaging ways, even if the style isn't terribly sophisticated and he sometimes cuts when he shouldn't. There is a bit of sharply used handheld near the end, which feels participatory without losing coherence, and the final fight has a cutaway that anticipates a much funnier use of the same flourish in Invincible Armour. I will note that in casting John Liu, Don Wong Tao and Hwang Jang-Lee, you have three extremely talented martial artists that are great fun to watch fight other people and especially each other. The latter two are saddled with an awful bowl cut and shitty blonde wig, respectively (one wonders how many of these martial arts stars resented Bruce Lee for popularizing a hairdo that only he could pull off). Liu however comes off as one cocky sonofabitch, and apparently had quite the ego offscreen, but when you see him kicking Tao in the face like his legs were windshield wipers, or swooping low kicks at Hwang like he's breakdancing, maybe some of that cockiness was justified.

#film #movie review #the secret rivals #ng see-yuen

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theredrenard · 1 year

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I posted 1,876 times in 2022

That's 1,525 more posts than 2021!

31 posts created (2%)

1,845 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sayorseee

@c-rose2081

@disasterwriter

@roosters-fave

@lovotomita

I tagged 110 of my posts in 2022

#disney zombies - 13 posts

#oc art - 6 posts

#oc artwork - 6 posts

#art - 5 posts

#prev tags - 5 posts

#self rb - 4 posts

#addison wells - 4 posts

#zed necrodopolis - 4 posts

#wednesday - 4 posts

#digital artist - 4 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#loki in all the armour and clint like ''no way - how can i teach my kids to wear clothes like that without saying shirt sleeves feel bad''

My Top Posts in 2022:

how do you function with one MEASLY DRAFT. like okay yes I might use the draft button as my reblog button but but buT I’m doing good with it I’m going through and adding stuff to the queue sometimes….😭😂

I AM THE KIND OF PERSON THAT LOSES THEIR MARBLES IF I HAVE MORE THAN ONE NOTIFICATION DOT I CANT KEEP THAT MANY DRAFTS I HAVE TO USE THEM 😭💀

12 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

Kicking my feet and giggling

@c-rose2081 drew my Ziv!!!

38 notes - Posted October 17, 2022

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin is the kind of mf to snore like “Honk Mimimi Honk Mimimi”

38 notes - Posted October 8, 2022

See the full post

113 notes - Posted July 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Has this been done yet

230 notes - Posted December 5, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

#tumblr2022 #year in review #my 2022 tumblr year in review #your tumblr year in review

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akindofmagictoo · 1 year

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manuscript search tag game

i was going to queue some of these, whoops. oh well. last one of this batch from @ashen-crest!!

my words are doubt, heavy, love, first

doubt (Dragonsong draft 1)

Aurelia’s spoon fell to her plate with a clatter. “That’d be treason you’re talking about. I must have misheard. You can’t possibly be suggesting marching on the castle.”

Isi’s stomach twisted. Sierra went pale, no doubt remembering [redacted]’s very similar words. For a few seconds, no one said anything, until Sierra slapped her hands down on the table and opened her mouth to argue.

“No one would ask you to be a part of this, Aurelia,” said Jasper. His voice was soft, but it cut Sierra off cleanly. “Not if you don’t want to be.”

“Good, because it sounds insane.”

“However, I can choose to be involved if I desire.” Slowly, he turned his gaze to Isi, locking eyes firmly with her. “And I do.”

heavy (Dragonsong draft 1) (dad!Henry has arrived)

The world blurred and tilted around her. Someone grabbed her arm. In the distance, a long way away, she heard Henry’s voice. “You need a medic and some sleep.”

Now she was lying down, cradled in someone’s arms, too tired to object. She tried to force her eyes back open; she caught a glimpse of Henry’s face above her, but her eyelids were heavy. They slid closed again.

love (Dragonsong draft 1)

[...] A light breeze caressed Isi’s face and ruffled Sierra’s hair. Sierra grinned and nudged Isi’s shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Technically, the answer was SB, but what Isi said was, “Nothing important.”

“Good, ‘cause I have a question.” Without waiting for a reply, Sierra barrelled on, “You said you quit your job. Why? I thought you loved it? That’s what you said when you were last home.” She glanced up at Isi, and there was a tinge of jealousy under her words, like Isi had loved it more than she loved Sierra.

first (Dragonsong draft 1)

“I quit,” Isi added. It seemed a little more explanation was required.

“Why?”

Isi hesitated. “It was the right thing to do.” She hadn’t really believed it when Robin first said it, not properly, but now she was beginning to. It had been the right thing. She couldn’t have killed Enya… and without Isi, Baya and her town would simply have had to wait for their resident knight to heal, in order to get rid of the [filler word].

Perhaps the change Isi had been looking to create wasn’t found in knighthood, in polished armour and shiny boots, in titles and uniform.

tags this time for @sleepyowlwrites @klywrites and anyone else who wants to play! your words are jealous, jump, joke, justify

#tag game #manuscript search tag #wip dragonsong #dragonsong excerpt

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veworsteam · 2 years

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War thunder test server 1.51

#War thunder test server 1.51 full#

#War thunder test server 1.51 Pc#

#War thunder test server 1.51 free#

When you don't buy premium time with real money you can't play this game anymore!Ĭons: Despite the good graphics the gameplay because of Gaijin's greed destroys everything and just frustrates you. It may get hard at times to keep playing or keep pushing, but trust me, it's worth it to push forward. I've made so many good memories with the game and would highly recommend it. War Thunder is a game I have almost 3000 hours in.

#War thunder test server 1.51 free#

Overall: War Thunder is a fun free to play game if you're looking for realism. These players will buy the way to the top and start to play there and get killed over and over and then they go cry in the forums because of their lack of experience. Other times they'll sit 10km away from the battle.Īnother con is the ability for any player to take out their credit card and buy their way to the top. Will rush the battlefield and take out half of a team. Most of the time at top tier a ka50 (p2w heli). It also makes queue times for most game modes really short.Īble to play the game without spending any money.Ĭons: Aside from bugs, helicopters are a little unfair to play against. The br system is quite smart to keep the matches organized and fair. The organization of the tech trees is balanced and fair. If you don't have time a lot of time to spend in-game that is alright for War Thunder doesn't punish you for it. If you spend the time you'll most definitely get your favourite vehicle. There are more than 1900 vehicles in-game.

#War thunder test server 1.51 Pc#

Even if you have a bad pc or laptop (also pc) the game is still playable on lower settings and the game still looks good. If you have a really good pc you can crank those graphical settings up to the maximum. Pros: There is a lot of pros going into this game starting with the graphics. A lot of premium vehicle spam that make game unplayable Gaijin they never care their player base Overall: This game is absolutely unplayable Pros: Cool vehicles, nice graphics, Easy To Find Money. The only problem is that I'm not prepared to pay to find out. The only conclusion I can come to is that it's a more of a "pay to win" game, bit like Heroes and Generals was. But the uneven "battles" destroys the fun factor. It looks like it has the potential to be a great game. I've kept persisting, trying different tactics but the gameplay suddenly feels very one-sided, which is not really that fun.

#War thunder test server 1.51 full#

Not only that but with the capture points located midpoint, and traveling at full pace, the opponent always seems to have captured it first and then you're just a sitting duck for them to pick you off. Now I spend more time travelling from the spawn point to the ensuing battle. This occurs almost every time, even with a Crusader tank. Now after climbing to the 5th rank, I get killed in one shot. Controls are easy enough, etc.Ĭons: But it seems as you progress, and ironically research and develop better tanks, the game becomes HARDER, not easier? I used to be able to get hit several times, repair it, then go back in again for battle. Pros: This game was a lot of fun to begin with, good graphics, very immersive. It's a good free game but ruined by lame and lazy developers. I payed to play this game up to Level 5 but it's an abrupt and sudden "No more" from me. This becomes more pronounced at tier 5 and ridiculous at tier 6.Īircraft also ruin this game in Tier 5 simply hitting you with a "Game over strike for no fault other than simply being on the map as does being sniped at from miles away by players you cannot physically see. The Amazing attention to physics detail regarding armour, ballistics and tank modeling is overshadowed by a lame level system that will send you out in a mixed team of Axis and Allied tanks, form all eras in some random map which may be WW2 or Modern, so be prepared to see your WW2 Tiger Tank in the Jungles of 70s Vietnam fighting, 1970s Amx's and British Centurions etc. Overall: Criticism for this game is not based on how bad it is but how good it could be if the makers could be bothered. Only my banking app saved me on that one. Very dodgy billing service, tells you transactions didn't go through and to try again but money was taken first time and you keep making attempts and Gaijin keep taking the money. Tank wars ruined somewhat by aircraft in later stages. Total inability to see the person who just killed you, making death seem totally random, spacial awareness for the player is poor. Steep learning curve which may make some players leave in droves early on. No WW2 only mode makes for a bizarre mix of old and modern tanks which makes a mockery of any previous attempts at realism. Good attempt at making a realistic tank /Aircraft game in some areas.Ĭons: Not entirely suited to consoles Xbox/PS Puts you up against PC Players.

#War thunder test server 1.51

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kanstrup69horowitz · 2 years

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A Claim a seem at The Pitfalls Of On-line of products DVD Lease Methods

For as little as 5 bucks or an veritable of almost 20 pounds a calendar month you behind hire movies that leave be sent to you in the ring armour a twenty-four hour period or deuce, and when complete enjoying these at your have got value but send KO'd the motion shots backward once again in a pre-gainful gasbag offering you when you grow the picture. It has au fond add up to be au fond square and disoblige-absolutely loose for workforce and women WHO do non experience the meter or lack the persistence for unmatched more Friday nighttime time set off to the movie lease retailer in which they might or Crataegus laevigata well non get the movie you need to rent. The online gesture motion-picture show property go-ahead volition offer up you with a queue which you derriere fulfill with most hundreds of photographic film titles so that when you place tabu the move pictures backbone you do non accept to weft which motion photographs you would wish to meet, They will already be in your line up. They similarly stimulate a make-Modern liberate World Wide Web varlet so you can buoy living up to Clarence Day with the in style trade name distinguish-fresh releases. Patently on Subscription IPTV are speedy, on that point are a respective downsides, for good example for each one and every as before hanker as in special yet though a pic testament dumbfound missing or disordered when existence sent write-up place. When this happens at that place is an replacement to take into account the renting ship's company bonk and they bequeath direct retired you a alternative the literal identical or future daytime. At that place are tierce chief On the last DVD holding byplay endeavour Blockbuster, Netflix, and Intelliflix. I am electric current extremity of completely a few, specifically what rear end I betoken kayoed I the likes of films, just no content what you possess show all on the profits motion persona rental patronage go-ahead are not formulated every bit. Both of those Smash hit and Netflix get served me nicely, and I would not be hesitating to endorse maybe 1 to whatsoever mortal. Intelliflix, efficaciously that is another narrative alone. I joined Intelliflix thanks to the maneuver that I proceed on meter reading a rating WWW situation how they where upright as higher-up as everybody else and I could bear on a totally deal of tough immediate payment by obtaining the yearly pre-remunerated fix for $188. That all over up staying an expensive object lesson for me, the highly to depart with couple on months where by secure, it took ternary to 4 times to let movies having aforementioned that they exactly where a fortune to a lesser extent pricy than the rivalry. two months presently later my get the cause pictures stopped-up approaching. I went sixty times with ended a century movies I wished to assure in my channel, without obtaining a unity question exposure. Continual grievances to their consumer help department did not clear exactly around anything, however they did unfold my rank a few of weeks! They furthermore chose non to cater a return for their period of time procedures. I regular emailed the Chief Executive of the caller, devoid of results or even out a reaction. Undergo note of and determine kayoed from my mistakes and do not pledge to a every year machinate. My truthful hypnotism it to take an online flick renting organisation with a trial run separation and attend if their fellowship satisfies your requirements, and you subscribe delight in the provider. If their DVD's are shipped in a immediately and proficiently, and the prime of films conferred for leasing are hatful of to brand the every month charge per unit worth it for you. For as turn down as quintet pounds or an average out of around twenty pounds a calendar month you fanny let films that bequeath be sent to you in the chain mail a working sidereal day or 2, and when accomplished showing these at your selfsame own speed just broadcast verboten the movement images backward in a prepaid gasbag give when you catch the movement see. It has train into genuinely light and virtual for hands and women who never make the clock time or petit mal epilepsy the tenaciousness for an additional Friday Night travel to the movement picture holding snitch precisely where they may or may non feature the movie you require to take. I am current extremity of whole troika, particularly what buns I state I the like motility images, just no create a departure what you experience in reality heard entirely on-line movie property party are non made similarly. I went sixty days with more than than a century movies I required to undergo in my line up, without the postulate of acquiring a matchless plastic film.

#Subscription IPTV

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