#but again I. totally believe she'd do it either way
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(random s5 finale musings) tbh I don't think Marinette chose to keep The Secrets™ from Adrien because Gabriel asked her to. I feel like Marinette keeping secrets like that is so consistent with her character; she hates giving people bad news, she hates rocking the boat, she hates upsetting people, she always chooses to keep any 'controversial' information to herself for as long as she can get away with (examples: bubbler scarf, telling Queen Bee she was benched, confessing to Adrien, warning Chat Noir about Scarabella or Rena Furtive, never told Chat Noir about Chat Blanc, etc) that I just totally believe she would've done it either way. She was even already having nightmares about Adrien hating her for finding out she defeated his father, so I feel like Gabriel's request was moreso giving her a go-ahead than it was a primary deciding factor, yknow?
#ml s5 spoilers#tbh half the time when thinking about it I forget that gabriel asked her to do it at all#because it just feels like such a Marinette™ thing to do to me lol#to be fair maybe I'm downplaying it? I do think Gabriel's plea struck some emotional chord with her too and helped push her that direction#but again I. totally believe she'd do it either way#and I do strongly believe that her decision is moreso ''I don't want to hurt Adrien'' than it is ''I want to honor Gabriel's final wish''#she loves to avoid verbal/emotional problems and hoooo boy idk a worse verbal/emotion problem than#telling your boyfriend that his entire life is a lie and that he's not entirely human and that he was abused and controlled and puppeteered#all his life and also that his father was a terrorist and that she saw his mom's corpse in the basement#I mean. I don't think I'd have the emotional maturity to break that to someone either and I'm not.... FOURTEEN.... LOL
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[ID: An eight page digital comic featuring Sam, Celia, and Alice from The Magnus Protocol on a gray background. The characters are all colored with a single color each. Sam is red, Celia is green, and Alice is pink. Sam is a fat Arab man with short curly dark hair, a mustache, and a small goatee, and he is wearing small black earrings, a cardigan, a turtleneck, trousers and loafers. Celia is a taller Korean woman with short dark hair and she is wearing rectangular glasses, piercings including an industrial piercing, an x-shaped earring, and snakebites, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a vest, trousers, and black wrist cuffs. Alice is an even taller white woman with long fluffy hair and crooked teeth, and she is wearing cat eye glasses, three pairs of earrings, snakebites, a flannel shirt, a hoodie tied around her waist, a patchwork skirt, bracelets, and a lanyard.
Sam and Celia are stood at a table covered in papers. Celia urgently turns to Sam.
Celia: Alice is coming! She can't catch us researching, we need a diversion, QUICK! How can we make her think we're not doing what we're doing?
Sam, shrugging really hard: UHHHH she thinks I have a crush on you??
Celia, sweating, turns back to where Alice is coming from, panicked, and turns back to Sam, shrugging and reaching for him.
Celia smiling a bit manically: Yeah, that'll work, sure!
Sam, with Celia's hands grabbing his cardigan: Wait whaAAAA-
He is pulled out of frame.
Alice walks in: Hey Sam, working hard or hardly woOOOAA
She leans on the doorframe as she holds a hand to her chest in shock.
The next panel is rendered with soft pink shadows and "shoujo sparkles" in the now pink background. Sam is sitting on the table holding onto Celia, whose face is buried in his neck as she wraps one arm around his back and the other holds up one of his legs under his knee. Neither of their faces are visible. The rest of the page fades back to gray from there.
Sam and Celia look over at Alice, hair ruffled, Sam is now blushing.
Sam: ALICE!!
He pushes Celia away and they look at each other for a moment, panicked.
Sam: It's- .... exactly what it looks like!
Celia: Aw, you've caught us!
He rests his hands on her shoulders and they both look in opposite directions as though embarrassed. Celia is also blushing lightly. There are red and green neon signs pointing to them reading "Totally Ham-Slammin'" and "GAY! (in an M/F way)" respectively.
Alice looks to be in shock with a vacant expression and a computer pop up over her forehead reading "Alice.exe has stopped responding". In the next panel she is fine again and back to smirking.
Alice: WOW SAM, didn't know you had it in you! Now I'm no snitch, so I didn't see anything, BUT- you lovebirds should cut it out before Gwen catches you.
Celia and Sam look at each other anxiously, cheeks pressed together as she speaks.
Alice: You KNOW she'd tell Lena.
Celia, pulling back and smoothing her hair out: Oh, for sure.
Sam: Th-Thanks, Alice.
Alice: Don't mention it! I'll give you crazy kids a minute to straighten up, TA-TA~
She waves as she leaves.
Sam and Celia listen to her steps fade before going "phew" and finally pulling away from each other, now holding hands at an arms distance.
Celia: You alright? That was kinda sudden....
Sam: It's fine! Just a bit caught off guard.
Celia: I can't believe she actually bought all of that!
Sam: Me either! Works for me, though.
Celia: Did you want to get down-
Sam, pulling away suddenly, blushing again: NO!
He crosses his legs and looks away sheepishly, scratching his head.
Sam: I wanna stay here another minute or so....
Celia, concerned: You sure you're alright?
Sam: Yeah! Just, er....
Celia looks at him, confused.
Sam, blushing increasingly harder: Ahem. (He folds his hands in his lap politely.) I am not immune to being thrown on a table.
Celia, smiling and politely stepping away: AH! .... Noted~
She walks away casually, still smiling.
Celia: I'll give you a minute to collect yourself.
Sam, head down in his lap, embarrassed: Thanks....
He looks up after she leaves.
Sam: Wait.
He straightens up, slightly panicked, face entirely red.
Sam: What do you mean by "NOTED"?!
end ID]
~~~~
i am SO glad this episode didn't entirely debunk the silly headcanon that birthed this comic. initially i wasn't convinced sam actually had a crush so i made this like "well if he didn't before, HE DOES NOW" so.... here's this silly comic thing <3 i just think they're neat <3
#fg's art#the magnus protocol#tmagp#samama khalid#celia ripley#alice dyer#do sam and celia have a shipname yet. idk.#also i am REALLY proud of the expressions in this one#also also if you see inconsistencies no you don't <3#also also also i hope the id is good!! still not used to doing comics and stuff but i hope it works!
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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
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love like you
pairing: mike schmidt x gn!reader
summary: mike helps you through a rough patch by reminding you of the many, many reasons he loves you
warnings: established relationship, angst, comfort, mentions of depression, anxiety & panic attacks, self-doubt, intrusive thoughts
word count: 2.1k
"Why do you love me?"
You ask the question so quietly, Mike almost misses it over the movie playing in the background. At first, he's not sure how to respond—or at the very least, where to begin.
You've never asked him that before, and he'd never given it much thought if he's being totally honest. He assumed you hadn't, either. It's just something he feels.
It's something he's always felt, gradually building since the day you led his sister back to him after she'd wandered off in the supermarket. He took one look at you, your kind eyes and patient smile, and asked you on a date without a second thought. That's what it's like to love you—instinctual.
He glances away from the TV and looks down at you curiously. Your head is nestled on his lap, eyes already locked on his and filled with apprehension he can't even begin to understand. There are a thousand and one reasons to love you; don't you realize that? He'd tell you every one if you asked.
He loves you because you're always there, through the late-night shifts and nightmares, helping him parent a child you shouldn't have to be responsible for at such a young age. You confiscate his controller every time he tries to smash it in a fit of rage, beating whatever boss he'd been fighting for hours like a champ. He thinks you're so fucking cool.
And you understand him like no one else ever has, so attentive and always willing to try. You kiss away his fears, strip him bare, unmask him. Allow him to seek shelter inside you, ride him to a mind-numbing release when his darkest thoughts threaten to consume him.
You hold him when he wants to give up, when the weight of the world is too much and persevering is too hard. The familiar, soothing tone of your voice reminds him to breathe, to tune out the little things and remember that there's still good to be found in life.
It's everything you do and everything you are. That's why he loves you.
But before he can say anything at all, your face screws up and your bottom lip begins to tremble. His chest immediately tightens.
"Woah, hey. It's okay," he murmurs, keeping you grounded in the present despite his rising panic. "You're okay."
You're prone to spiraling, but after years together, he knows the best way to mitigate it is to stay calm. Regardless of the raging storm in your head, you're safe with him, warm and dry at home on your couch.
He caresses your cheek, then trails up to scrub at the crinkle in your forehead. "What's going on up there?"
"Nothing. It's—really, it's nothing. I'm sorry, I don't know why I asked you that," you shake your head, averting your gaze elsewhere. But after a moment, your eyes snap back to his, and there's so much pain there, he can almost feel it.
"No, it's...it's everything. My brain won't shut up, and it's mean and loud, and I just—," you pause, clenching your jaw in frustration. "I just don't get it. Of everyone you could've been with, why me? I can't understand why you chose me."
The question feels like a slap in the face. Like he had so many choices and only picked you based on some predetermined criteria of what someone should want in a partner. He didn't just pull your name out of a bowl, either. You chose each other.
He wracks his brain to figure out what he could've said or done to make you believe otherwise, but then remembers this isn't about him. He tries again to explain all of the reasons he wanted to before, to tell you that the unrelenting thoughts ping-ponging in your head are wrong, but you continue on, unraveling before his eyes.
"I'm a shitty person. I'm selfish and useless, and all I do is make everyone around me unhappy. There's always a crisis, I'm always sad. And I always make everything about me," you tell him, getting angrier by the second. "Ugly, worthless, selfish, selfish. I’m a fucking burden. You know, I—I just keep waiting for you to figure it out and leave. To get sick of this...of me."
He listens helplessly as you tear yourself apart, the ache in his chest intensifying the worse your verbal barrage becomes. He knows he can't just reassure away your insecurities or magically heal your trauma, no matter how badly he wants to. But he also can't let this go on any longer.
"Stop," he says softly, cutting you off. Hearing the full extent of your criticism is agonizing, and if it's hurting him this much, he hates to think what you must be feeling. "None of that is true. I think...I hope, deep down, you know that."
The broken look you give him tells him you don't, or maybe that you can't, at least not right now. You open your mouth to retort, but he shakes his head and hauls you up into his arms. He holds you close as you start to tremble, guiding you to rest your cheek on his shoulder.
"There's nothing shitty about you, alright? You're the least selfish person I've ever met. Kinda wish you were so you'd stop prioritizing us over yourself all the time," he murmurs into your hair. "And you're fucking gorgeous. I don't want to hear you say any of that ever again."
He tilts his head to meet your eyes. "Got it?"
You shake your head, turning to hide your face in the crook of his neck. He sighs. He just can't fathom how you could possibly look at yourself and not see what he and Abby do. But then again, he might understand more than he'd like to admit.
Everything you've told him tonight feels jarringly familiar. The self-hatred, the unending criticism—he wallows in those thoughts all the time and knows better than anyone that they'll eat you alive if you bottle them up for too long.
He hates that you have to suffer through this just because brain chemistry is indiscriminately cruel. It's unfair. He, at the very least, deserves it.
Except, that's not actually true, is it? And if your roles were reversed, you'd remind him as many times as it takes for him to believe it. You'd tell him that he's perfect exactly the way he is. That he's a good parent, brother, and partner, and regardless of all of the shit life has thrown his way, he's still a good person that isn't defined by his lowest moments.
So, he'll do the same for you.
He shifts you on his lap so you're face-to-face, your legs bracketing his thighs, and cups your cheeks to keep your attention on him. He's not letting you hide anymore. He needs you to hear what he has to say and trust that he'd never lie to you.
"You're not worthless or useless or anything else your brain is telling you right now. Okay? You're perfect," he says quietly, stroking your cheek. "I've always thought you were perfect, from the moment I met you."
Doubt clouds your expression. "I don't believe you."
"Why would I lie to you?"
"B-because that's what you're supposed to say when you're trying to make someone feel better," you reply shakily.
Ouch. He hadn’t expected that answer. It stings that you'd think so little of him, especially after all this time. He feels like he’s grasping at straws now, but everything he wants to say is just a variation of how highly he sees you. It’s all equally true, but if you can’t accept that, then what else can he do?
"Then, tell me what you need to hear right now. Tell me how to help you through this, because I love you so fucking much, and I will do anything," he pleads, his frustration bleeding through despite how hard he tries to suppress it.
It’s starting to affect you. You’re shaking like a leaf, and he can tell you want to run away, but instead of letting you go, he wraps his arms around you as carefully as he can to keep you from leaving. He doesn't want to force you to face this. He just needs you to stop hurting yourself. Your face crumples, and he feels his own do the same.
"I don't know. Probably nothing," you tell him, voice cracking. "Look, we don't have to talk about it anymore. I'm sorry for bringing it up in the first place. Can we just go back to watching the movie? I’ll rewind it—“
But Mike doesn't want to let this go. Even if he should, even though you're asking—he's determined to make sure you go to bed tonight knowing how loved you are. His next words come out harsher than he wants them to, but he’s getting desperate. He’s only human.
"Fine. You want the truth? Being with you is hard. It's one of the hardest things I've ever done, and sometimes, it hurts like hell," he starts. Your expression morphs from sad to devastated, and he feels terrible for upsetting you, but he has to say this for both of your sakes.
"But that's what makes it worth it. I've never felt this way about anyone, probably never will again. Not because it's easy; because it's you. Sure, no one's perfect, but you're about as close as it gets. You're it for me.”
He truly believes that. Maybe you do, too. The tension in your body is beginning to bleed away, and you slowly sag against him, tucking yourself into his chest. He catches a glimpse of your face as you melt into him, and for the first time tonight, you look hopeful. Nuzzling into your hair, he continues.
"I can't imagine a life without you anymore. It's like you're part of me now, maybe even the best parts, and I fill in the gaps in between. We just…figured it out at some point. Together.” He’s starting to ramble, but he’s too invested to stop. Judging by the fact that you haven’t interrupted him or tried to intervene, it doesn’t seem like you want him to, either.
“Even the small shit other couples fight about. Like the dishes—you hate doing those because digging the silverware out of the sink grosses you out, so I do it. And you fold the laundry because I always burn myself taking the clothes out of the dryer. We talk shit out. We try."
He squeezes you a little tighter. “Maybe those seem like shitty reasons to love someone, but they’re real. Just as real as what I told you before," he says softly, pausing to kiss the top of your head. "You're beautiful. You're kind and passionate, and I’m just the lucky guy that gets to be with you. I’ll be here as long as you want me.”
When he finally finishes, he’s all but gasping for air. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and he’s breathing so heavily, he feels like he just ran a marathon. But it’s worth it to see the look on your face as you peer up at him, cautious but peaceful.
“How could I not want you?” you whisper, splaying your hand across his chest, just below his collarbone. You're feeling his heartbeat.
"I've been asking you that all damn night," he chuckles. Cradling your head in his palm, he swipes away a few stray tears that fall with the next flutter of your lashes. "So, did I answer your question or should I keep going? Because seriously, I can keep going—"
You snort, effectively cutting him off, then give him a wry smile. The relief he feels is palpable.
“You know, I really don’t deserve you," you murmur as you lean up to kiss the underside of his jaw. When your lips linger, he ducks down to press his against yours, kissing you deeply and pouring in everything left unsaid.
"Sure, you do," he says kindly, but with finality. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, you're both starting to look as tired as you feel. But more than that, he's grateful; to have you in his life and to be able to comfort you when you need it most. You taught him that. "And I think we both deserve some sleepytime tea and a really soft blanket...if Abby didn't already steal it off our bed."
Your face lights up, and it's as if he solved all of the world's problems with that one simple offering. It's the same look you give him when he tells you he loves you. The corners of your eyes crinkle as you say it back.
"I love you, too."
thanks for reading!
divider by @saradika-graphics
a/n: this was a homework assignment from my therapist 💀 oops
#mike schmidt x reader#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt angst#mike schmidt#fnaf fanfic#fnaf imagine#fnaf movie#josh hutcherson x reader#josh hutcherson fanfic#josh hutcherson#jhutch
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Total Drama Psycho Noah AU, what if Sierra (who knew everything about everybody) tried to warn Heather + Alejandro NOT to mess with Noah, cause he's a total psychopath (but they don't believe her) ... Sierra doesn't have to worry about Cody getting hurt, cause he's a sweet boy, and Noah only hurts people that attack him first... What if after Heather + Alejandro later learns the truth, Sierra simply tells the duo: "I told you so..." 😒
You're so right about Sierra being one of the few who's In The Know about p!Noah (without his express input), thanks to her superfan status.
Sierra throws a bit of a wrench into this whole AU, really. Because there'd need to be justification for her either not saying anything about Noah's true colours, or having the others not believe her claims about Noah despite it being abundantly clear that her knowledge on them is pretty infallible.
But.
Playing in to the whole 'obsessive superfan' thing, Sierra wouldn't want to jeopardise the ruse Noah's so carefully crafted if he were, say, one of her favourite characters.
Because Noah (every version of Noah) is a fairly private person, all things considered. She doesn't have a lot of information to go off of- not in comparison to the fountain of knowledge she has about the rest of the cast, at least- but she does know that he must be keeping his true colours a secret for a reason. Would you want to ruin someone's carefully laid web of deception when it's been one of the most entertaining aspects of the show thus far?
Or.
You could take it down another route, and have Sierra outright dislike Noah because he's A Danger to her beloved cast, but have this dislike become evident before she can warn the others; Sierra's pretty crazy herself, so the cast would dismiss her warnings are her trying to rally them against the person she so clearly hates instead of a genuine effort to keep them safe. After all, wouldn't it be in character for someone as evidently unstable as Sierra to lie and spread 'baseless rumours' about the person she clearly despises?
(That second option's fun, because it adds an aspect of dramatic irony for the audience both in-universe and IRL; they/we know that Sierra's right, so her struggle to be listened to would be almost Cassandra-esque.)
Either way, she'd make a point of staying as far away as possible from Noah. Because Sierra (like the rest of the in-universe audience) are working under the impression that Noah's a ticking time-bomb, a constant threat of incredible violence against the cast, since that's exactly what Noah painted himself as during his confessionals. (Speaking of confessionals, I do have a justification as to why the contestants eliminated before Noah are also unaware of his unhingedness, that I'll cover in it's own post.) That's not entirely true, of course; Noah's a psychopath with a grimdark sense of humour, sure, but he's not about to start randomly attacking people in bouts of spontaneous hysteria- but the audience, and therefore Sierra, don't have the comfort of that little tidbit of information.
It all circles back to Noah being a private person. He holds his cards close to his chest; in this case, the audience knows what he's capable of, but they don't know that a lot of his Baby Craves Violence act is just that- an act. A joke he's pulling on the viewing world, that he admittedly gets a little too into to. The perils of being dedicated to the bit. Not that he doesn't have the occasional urge to commit felonies and acts of brutality against others, but he's got enough self-control to redirect that energy into causing less destructive chaos (most of the time).
-
So when his true colours are eventually revealed? Sierra is so vindicated, she almost forgets the danger (she thinks) she's in. Almost.
(In the context of the second option;)
She's spent the majority of the season thus far warning the others against Noah, only to have her good intentions brushed aside time and time again (which, ouch! Imagine trying to help the people you idolise enough to literally stalk throw your concern for their safety back in your face) by their incredulity. Being proven to have been in the right the entire time would be a power trip and a half, because it'd validate her skills as the unofficial-official expert on all things Total Drama and she'd get to shove the consistent rebuffs back in the others' faces.
It's a shame she'd be so dead-set on disliking Noah on principle, because the two of them could be great friends. If Sierra had a stronger craving for chaos and disorder, she could form a Terror Trio with Noah and Izzy.
#in conclusion; sierra goes through her cassandra arc and comes out of it even more assured that her stalking is a Good Thing#i believe in women's wrongs. sierra should get worse.#total drama#td sierra#td noah#psycho!noah au#others' ideas#silly ideas#character analysis#⬅ somewhat?#replies
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as always, let me make one of my lists to respond to each part i marked in red.
1. "a groomer". i have proof of LO grooming someone. here and here in all of these flirty interactions ginger was a minor, 17 at her oldest and 15 at her youngest, while LO was a fully grown adult past her 20 who did absolutely nothing to put any kind of boundary. i don't care that ginger wouldn't call this grooming. i don't care what kind of relationship ginger has with LO now. letting a child to flirt with you, ask you that kind of suggestive question, to be aware about your sexual preferences and still interact openly with them, no caring about them being a minor, is grooming. there's not nuance to be had here. LO was the adult. it was her responsability to stop all of this and she didn't. that's why she's a groomer.
2. "a racefaker". i have proof of that too. LO's own words. the fact that she was never in close relationship with her grandpa nor ever bothered to reach out to her aunt, who is a respected and very still alive member of the Nation, an activist for indigenous issues. the fact that she'd disrespect her "heritage" as to claim that a cheap trinket literally created by a white colonizer was a "family heirloom" left by that grandpa, and still decided to use that while stripping for youtube, quite literally sexualizing this supposed "heritage" of her. i still have the screenshot of that one, LO. do you want me to share it again? the fact that she'll openly admit she never contacted anyone from that Nation and has no intention whatsoever to actually participate of that culture, no intentions of even being part of that community, making any claim of "wanting to reclaim my heritage" utterly meaningless.
3. LO is calling "murder" when Courtney defended herself from a pregnant woman that attacked her in a shelter and later misscarried, although neither LO or Courtney know for sure if the assault caused the misscarriage. Courtney was mentally unstable and was attacked. he defended himself. LO has said before that the only way to deal with bullies was to grab the heaviest object you could find and beat them with it. when you beat people with heavy stuff, they tend to get hurt. but now it's a bad thing to do just that, when she can use it against the sibling that is accusing her of molesting them for almost a decade since they were children.
oh, and i guess we're meant to also forget that LO also threatened a pregnant woman with a knife made by her. twice. on the same day.
"but those are all Courtney's word". exactly. the defending themselves from that woman is also Courtney's words. nobody would know about it if Courtney didn't say it. so... what? are we meant to take Courtney's word seriously only when it comes to bad things that they did years ago, that nobody can confirm, but conveniently put all of the doubt of the world whenever it comes to talk to the things LO did?
no, you don't get to do that. you don't get to play that card. either we believe Courtney's words or we don't. you don't get to pick and choose which parts were totally real and totally happened and which are lies just to get attention, especially when those "lies" just so happened to be the most convenient for you.
so let's imagine that Courtney did lie about you in order to get attention. why are you suddenly believing her about this? for all you know, she's lying about that too to get attention again.
4. "molestation". oh. oh. so now it's bad when a child touches another? so now that's evil? now that's molestation? when it was about LO touching Courtney it was all about "i was 7, no, 6, i mean 5, therefore you can't hold me accountable for that, you can't hold that against me as an adult, i was horrifically abused" and "even if i did that, i was a kid, even if i did, it was only because i was abused, even if..." when LO is the one touching Courtney as a child, we can't hold that against her because they were kids and "even if i did that", she was abused. we conveniently leave out the part in which LO continued to do that for years, almost an entire decade, everytime this comes up. you can't hold kid LO accountable for molesting and coercing her younger sibling because they were kids, because "even if i did that" LO was abused anyway. but Courtney touching a child when they were a child and stopping out of their own volition is molestation, something you do have to hold against the 30 year old person of today. even though Courtney also claims to have been horrifically abused by people who weren't even LO. no, coming from them, that's evil. when Courtney is the one doing it. just like you can't blame a 6 year old kid for anything wrong ever, but you absolutely can blame 6 year old Courtney for not stopping an adult predator from abusing kid LO, even though back them they didn't had the words, the power or the knowledge to do anything about what was happening to them.
again, you can't pick and choose which parts of Courtney's stories are true and which are lies when those "lies" conveniently are the parts that paint you in a bad light.
for the record, again, in case anyone was wondering. no, i'm not going to actually blame a 30+ year old adult for something they did as a kid barely older than a toddler. if you want me to do that, i don't know what to tell you.
your age doesn't even have two digits, some kids didn't even learned to speak at that age, so many can't go to the bathroom alone. if LO had only touched Courtney when they were that small and then stopped out of their own volition, my tone would be a lot different when speaking about this. kids do stupid things, they hurt each other all the time because they don't know what they're doing, and that's talking about children without any history of CSA. when you do add CSA, it gets even more complicated. but LO didn't stop. LO continued on until she was physically unabled to keep going. she continued on fully knowing what she was doing and tried to groom Courtney into "consenting" to it.
not happy enough with that, LO then continued to keep fantasizing about a kid version of her sister who would have consented. she continued on to romanticize incest, going so far as to actually defend it as a whole in videos. she continued on to groom a minor to later date her. she continued on to normalize sexualizing herself for her audience that she fully knows has minors. she continued on to put the minors on her audience at risk by not dennouncing predators who're quite literally targetting minors.
i bet you thought i forgot about that one, LO. i bet you thought that we'd all forgot about that time we spend days begging you to dennounce sparky and you did nothing, simply because sparky was feeding you the narrative that you wanted the most at the time. this happened this year alone, LO. this year, with you as a fully grown 31 year old woman.
that's where you can't blame abuse anymore. all of that was a choice that LO took and one she deserves to be called out for.
also... how interesting that when LO is the one being accused of molestation, that's only more evidence that she was abused so she's blameless in the whole situation. but when Courtney is the one doing it, that's no sign of any abuse she went through. that's not more reason to believe him when it comes to what Cameron did to it. no, it was evil. simply because. because Courtney "never suffered anything", right?
are people seriously not seeing how blatantly convenient this narrative is? do i really need to come out and point out the obvious double standard?
5. LO suddenly caring about hypocrisy, ngl, is just hilarious. the same woman who spent years telling people that she doesn't care if she's an hypocrite, as long she's right. the same woman who has insisted over and over again that accusations of being "hypocrites" mean nothing because that doesn't contradict what they actually said.
but now it does, when the "hypocrites" are accusing her of knowingly hurting and abusing people as a fully conscious older person.
futhermore, what hypocrisy even? none of us truly accused kid LO of being a monster of pure evil who was acting out of pure malice. that was never a thing. we accused the adult LO and teen LO of doing things that she knew were wrong and harmful to other people. we accused the adult LO of grooming, of lying, of abusing, of being a horrible person when by all means she should know better by now. i have lost count of how many times me and other people in this blog have said that LO didn't deserve to suffer the abuse she went through as a child, that we do feel for that kid that could have end up a lot better if only they were placed in a better home, if they received actual help.
we always felt for that little kid who was broken and hurt before they could even understand what was happening to them. both Courtney and LO. this is not saying that we're beyond fault or "virtuous" in any kind of way, because that's just basic normal human compassion. anyone should feel bad when hearing about children being abused because no children ever deserves that.
not condemming an abused child for acting in the same way many abused children do, when they don't have an actual idea of what they're doing, is not hypocresy. it's just sad and painful.
6. "there has never been an accusation against me that wasn't anything but hearsay". but when it's an archived video of you saying the things we accuse you of saying, it's AI. when it's an archives, it's still lies. when Patch literally has a bunch of receipts about you paying him for zoophilic artwork and his screenshots clearly show your discord username, that's still lies. when i can show screenshot of you stripping with that "family heirloom" for youtube and anyone can clearly see it's your face, that's still lies. when we have video evidence of you doing the thing we accuse you during streams (like emotionally abusing your wife), that doesn't matter.
the evidence is out there. our blogs are filled to the brim with it. end of story.
7. "i have never done a damn thing wrong my entire life"
there she goes again, overcompensating in her attempt to present herself better than she is.
it is overcompensating because everyone has done things wrong in their life. everyone. you're not a bad person for doing a thing wrong in your life, you're just a person learning to live in this world. but LO can't have that, she has to be the biggest victim in the room, the goodest one possible, and everyone can only be irredeemable monsters that only deserve death.
this is so nakedly telling, it's just funny.
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Hey zak!
Marius is a pansexual mess, how do you think the NXX is going to react when they realize he has a massive crush on Artem's frying pan?
jkjk fdhasjkfhdjaskf
Okay seriously: How do you think the NXX is going to react if they overhear Marius making a flirty comment about them?
For instance: Luke shows Marius a picture of Vyn and Marius makes a comment like "The worst thing about Vyn is how hot he is, it drives me insane."
Not knowing that Vyn was outside the room and heard that.
well first off, i want it known that everybody in the nxx actually probably has a crush on artem's frying pan, and FOR GOOD REASON. artem's kitchen utensils, tools, and appliances are of the Highest Quality and also theyre SEXY. actually, marius has a crush on the pan (artem looks really good flambe-ing stuff), luke has crush on the knives (he loves a good weapon....uh he meant kitchen apparatus, totally), mc has a crush on the pots (love is stored in the SOUP), and vyn has a crush on the stand mixer (NOT on artem, he would like to make that clear) (marius, luke, and mc dont believe him, they think this is vyn being a tsundere about how he secretly wants to hate-kiss artem into oblivion)
......sorry, what was this ask response about again? OH RIGHT
the nxx team's reactions to overhearing marius making flirty comments about them
i wont delve too much into mc because we already know how she'd react given we see it in-game whenever marius says flirty things right to her Face: she gets all blushy -> she gets unimpressed -> "MARIUS! VON!! HAGEN!!!"
and she is so cute for that. frankly, her overhearing comments like this instead of being told it outright (oftentimes with a teasing expression) would make her feel more flattered, because "oh, he really thinks im attractive? it's not just a tease to rile me up? O////O"
which brings me to
-
luke, who i think would have a reaction rather similar to mc's: he overhears -> he gets all blushy -> he mentally backpedals with "OH HES JUST TEASING, HE MUST JUST BE MESSING WITH ME, HAHA, OH MARIUS, YOU JOKER!!!"
but given that this is an Overheard Instance of Flirting, luke's logic would then say "but if hes messing with you, why is he telling someone else instead of You (the person he is allegedly messing with)", to which luke would internally reply with "i dont know!! but theres no way he actually thinks im cute because!! WHAT!!! i-im not cute, im just—not that i WISH he thought i was cute, it's just! yknow!!! //frantic and aimless gesticulating" and then
vyn, walking past where luke is in the nxx hallway: what on earth are you doing there just muttering to yourself and waving your hands around?
luke: NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS //pulls out a smoke bomb from nowhere, throws it on the ground, and runs away
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meanwhile, it takes artem a While to even realize that marius was being flirty in the comment he overheard. like im imagining it was something that, if you were an Ace (as in asexual) Attorney like artem is, the comment was either innocuous or metaphorical enough that it TOTALLY flies over artem's head
until days later when artem mentions it to someone else and it's like
mc: artem. oh my god. that means he thinks youre SEXY
artem: What.
mc: like, marius was making an Innuendo
artem, ears going a bit red: W h a t.
and then he just goes silent as his brain bluescreens VKJHSFSD
-
vyn is the one who would take it most in stride, and also affectionately use this against marius whenever the situation and ambiance permits. like, he'll overhear that exact line u mention in your ask and then vyn will just
stride into the room with a shit-eating grin on his face
vyn: do not let my looks distract you too much, i do need your mind working at some sort of standard of quality during our sessions
marius, mocking vyn immediately bc hes not one to back down from a bitch-off: ohhhhh look at me im vynnn i know im hot shittt~ get over yourself!!
vyn: i dont have to, seeing as you definitely are not getting over me any time soon :)
luke, watching with metaphorical popcorn: ooh, that was a good burn. sorry, man
marius: //screeches into his hands because even when vyn is being a bitch, hes STILL hot to marius. probably even HOTTER
ahh, the trials and tribulations of marius von hagen, in a team of comprised of people who are so infuriating (in different ways) but also so so pretty. VLAKJFSFA
#tears of themis#asks#roshie-writes#sorry for fixating on the literal pans but i cannot stress enough how artem's raw sex appeal goes up by 8232987698% when hes in the kitchen#tears of themis headcanons#marius von hagen#luke pearce#artem wing#vyn richter#tot rosa
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Velveteen
Phic phight for @bibliophilea !
It was rich, velveteen black, strewn with diamond dust and the distant, misty gauze of nebulae. The Earth and moon were both crescent-shaped far below, their curves and colors bright with reflected sunlight and the twinkle of cities. The silence up here was complete, a rarefied and encompassing peace. At the same time, the gentle fizz of ectoplasm exposed to vacuum prickled over her skin.
Dani could understand why Danny liked it.
The cold. The quiet. All fears made irrelevant by distance and enormity. Everything was so big. Everything was so small.
Danny flew up next to her, beaming, already back from his tour collecting the space junk from this particular segment of orbit. He created a bubble shield around The two of them and filled it with a haze of ectoplasm.
“Well? What do you think?” he asked. His voice sounded off. Ectoplasm wasn't air.
“It's cool,” said Dani.
“I know, right? Can you believe we're only, like, a hundred miles up? That's like driving to Chicago.”
Dani had been to Chicago before. She hadn't driven there. Or driven anywhere, actually. Flying was better, but boats were also good.
Flying straight up had also been a good deal less interesting than flying to Chicago.
“You'd think more stuff would be here if it's only as far away as Chicago is from Amity.”
Danny shrugged. “Up is hard. But not for us!” He did a little spin. “If it wasn't for the Anti-Ecto acts, we'd totally be shoo-ins for NASA. We'd save them so much money.”
“That could be fun,” said Dani, looking out past the shield, at the stars. “Working together.”
Danny gently nudged her shoulder. “You don't have to force yourself, you know. Sam and Tucker aren't clamoring to find a way up here.”
“Yeah, but I'm your sister.” And she was supposed to be him. She'd be lying if she said it didn't make her feel… less real.
As Jazz had told her ages ago, trauma didn't disappear overnight.
“Jazz isn't here, either. It's okay.”
For a second, Dani wondered if he had read her mind, bringing up Jazz like that, but then she put Danny's statement back in context.
“It is cool. Being out here.”
“It's okay if you don't like it.”
“I do like it.”
“Dani, I'm not going to love you less just because we don't have the same hobbies.”
Well. What was she supposed to say to that?
It was officially getting too serious and sappy around here.
Dani let out a very put-upon sigh. “It is nice. But it's so empty. And it took an hour to fly here.”
Danny's smile was soft, understanding. “A bit much, huh?” He settled back against the curve of the shield. “What would you like to do, if it wasn't for the Anti-Ecto acts?”
“I don't know,” said Dani, floating down to rest beside him. The shield and ectoplasm made the stars twinkle and blur again, but it was more comfortable to see them this way. “Marine biology, maybe. Or ocean wildlife rehabilitation. Those sound cool.”
“Huh. Maybe our next field trip could be to the bottom of the ocean.”
“Oh, yeah, that sounds cool. Not that this isn't, I mean–” She felt the tips of her ears flush with ectoplasm.
Danny started to laugh.
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I have a question about some of your Salem thoughts
If Salem is 110% certain that she can take down the Gods (assuming that's her goal since we don't actually know), why wouldn't she communicate her plan to Oz? Especially if she truly doesn't want anyone to die like you say. Oz would jump at the bit if Salem said "Hey I want to stop fighting" since that would mean their shadow war would stop. I really don't think Oz likes the Gods either, and even if he's afraid of them, if *Salem* is that confident she can stop them (she's far from an idiot), I'm sure he'd at least hear her out (which would tell Salem a LOT).
If she's that confident and truly doesn't want to fight, why wouldn't she tell Oz her new plan? And why would she kickstart her plan by attacking the kingdoms/Academies? Surely she could find a way to steal the Relics without flat out attacking them (like sending in double agents to take the Maiden powers)? Like... she would've known she'd get people killed, including children and innocent people. Even if she did damage control (which I think is just strategic, why bother going after people if she's focusing on the Relics? She's not gonna waste precious time and resources), she surely knew people would get caught in the crossfire.
Don't get me wrong, I like what you bring to the table!! Your posts are thought provoking and unique. But I can't see Salem being somehow secretly good. I don't think the show is setting her up that way, and I think she's a fantastic villain, so from my own perspective, doing that kind of twist would be a disservice to her character. I don't think she's inhuman or a complete and total monster who should go, but she's definitely not a good person especially if she can't communicate that she supposedly doesn't want people dead. She seems to be an "the ends justify the means" kind of person, and the show I think has stated that that isn't a good mindset i.e. Ironwood.
Sorry, I rambled and completely strayed from my point 😅 I don't mean to be mean if I come across that way. I hope my ask is interesting or thought provoking though :P
my position is that salem is right, not that she’s secretly good—that is an important distinction. i think she sees the gods clearly for what they are, thinks the divine ultimatum repulsive and unjust, wants remnant to be free, and believes that humanity is transcendent over their creators; she also, quite plainly, does not have any compunction about doing whatever it takes to achieve her ends and while i do think she is still fully capable of and driven by love, she is so TERRIFIED of being hurt again and so CERTAIN that no one could ever care for her that when she does care for someone else it comes out in very, very twisted and often cruel ways. she’s not good, she’s not nice, she’s just right.
equally the heroes are good but not right, because they have yet to really grapple with the premise of the divine mandate (that humanity as it exists right now does not deserve to exist) or their own role in upholding it (their immediate goal is survival, but when they envision the ending of this war they imagine salem driven back and the relics squirreled away again in hope of at best everlasting stalemate). the point of structuring the narrative this way is that neither side can get to the proverbial good ending alone; they need to work together, salem’s ends with the heroes’ means.
like. she’s evil. lol. that’s not in question and i think it goes without saying that she is doing evil things so i don’t feel the need to make a “but she’s still evil though” disclaimer every time i try to tease out what’s going on in her head. notice how my reaction to salem razing vale was OH GLINDA LAYS SIEGE TO THE EMERALD CITY, WE’RE REALLY IN IT NOW and not, like, shock or dismay that salem would do such a terrible thing. brgdfjs
(i DO think she has mostly been trying to avoid ozma and not reciprocating the shadow crusade against her prior to about fourteen years ago and that she isn’t about wanton destruction or killing for the sake of it; and in that sense i think she’s not as bad as the general fanon reading. but that comes with the territory of thinking she has actual reasons for doing what she does as opposed to being, like, a genocidal lunatic.)
anyway. to your questions. the short answer is she’s just as scared of oz as he is of her.
“but he’s the good one!”—think about this from her perspective for a minute. set aside your opinion of her and oz, presuppose for the moment that i’m correct on her motivations, and consider what everything ozma’s done in the last few thousand years looks like to her.
she knows that the gods were monsters. she witnessed them slaughtering the whole world and she saw how little it mattered to them after. she was alone for millions of years, and then hated and feared for thousands of years because she didn’t look human. all that suffering because the gods are punishing her for praying to them. yes?
then ozma returns to her, somehow. he doesn’t explain how or why—maybe he tells her he just doesn’t know—but that’s alright. what matters is that he’s here. he asks what happened to her, and she tells him the truth: the gods ended the world. cursed her. killed everyone. she was alone for so long. (maybe not the whole truth: there are things she’s afraid to say, because the gods did it all to punish her, and it’s her fault, and she’s so scared that he’d despise her if he knew everything. the only reason for her to fear ozma would reject her is if she blamed herself. you don’t hide things out of shame if you don’t feel ashamed of them.)
they learn each other again. fall in love all over again. things are finally okay. they fix up her house. they’re happy together. one day ozma tells her that he’s worried about how divided people are. she wants so badly to make him happy; she would move mountains for him. salem herself has no interest in ruling over people as a god—if she did, she wouldn’t have been living alone in a rotting shack in the middle of nowhere—all that enthusiasm is for him. to support what he wants.
they build a following, found a prosperous kingdom, start a family. four children! how long do you think they were married—ten years? twenty? and the whole time, the whole time, ozma was keeping these secrets from her. that the god of light, who’d condemned her to eternal suffering for praying to his brother, who’d shown utter indifference to the deaths of millions, had sent him back to redeem humanity FROM HER SINS, from what SALEM did. that the point of all this is cleansing humankind of her defiance and inviting THAT MONSTER to remnant to judge whether this world deserved to be subjugated under the brothers’ tyranny again or else be put to death.
imagine how she must have felt when ozma finally told her the truth, knowing that the first thing she told him was that the gods ended the last one. imagine the sickening realization that their whole marriage is built on a lie, because she would never, ever, ever have agreed to help him unite the world if she had known what he sought to unite them for, and ozma knew she never would. that he deceived her! manipulated her into serving the will of a god she knows to be a monster!
and even then—even to the very end—she loved him enough to try. she was willing to forgive all of that and figure out a way to move past it together, and the only thing she asked was that he walk away from his task of submitting this world to the judgment of THAT MONSTER. and he wouldn’t do it.
there’s a gap we don’t get to see, in between ozma backing away from her and salem catching him leaving with the girls, but we can infer that ozma walked out of that room and salem didn’t. imagine how she felt. ten years, twenty years, however long it was, and he was lying to her through it all, and he left her with hardly a moment’s hesitation when she refused to help him enact THAT MONSTER’S retribution against herself. because that is, ultimately, what this is all about; humanity is found guilty by association with her.
imagine how she felt. used. worthless. duped. like a fool for ever trusting him. did he ever love her at all, or was that a lie, too?
when she caught him in the hallway later that night, they both attack each other in the same instant. ozma remembers her attacking him first, but their volleys meet in perfect symmetry and right before salem throws her first bolt of magic, her eyes flicker down in surprise as she tracks the motion of his staff (which we see in the previous shot)—salem remembers him attacking her first.
because they were both so tense and scared and angry at each other that they snapped in exactly the same moment.
their battle is so intense they blow up the castle, and when the smoke clears, salem is a pile of ash. ash! he incinerated her! imagine how enraged you have to be to burn someone to ash. that level of fury, of absolute hatred of her, is literally burnt into her memory as the last thing he did to her before she managed to kill him, inextricably twisted around the guilt and unbearable grief she feels for her children.
he’s dedicated all but a handful of his lives since then to getting rid of her. finding a way to destroy her. (how far is he willing to go? what would happen if salem tried to move on, find community and solace somewhere far away from him? would he come after her? would he follow his god’s example and go after the people she cared about to punish her? is she willing to risk that he might?)
do you think salem understands why ozma did any of this? she doesn’t. she doesn’t get the luxury we do of jinn narrating his side of the story and showing us the anguish he felt, wanting so desperately to be with salem but eaten alive by terror of dooming the world for his happiness. she doesn’t know.
all she knows is how he treated her: the secrets, the deception, the manipulation, the immediate and absolute rejection when she told him no, the explosively violent anger at the end, then centuries upon centuries systematically erasing her from history and enforcing her exile whilst searching for the relics he needs to summon his god for the final judgment. which she knows will inevitably end in the annihilation of the whole world and yet more torture for her with no hope of reprieve, because if all of this was not enough to satisfy the god of light’s grudge against her for, again, just praying to his brother, nothing ever will.
salem feels about ozma now the way blake felt about adam. why did he lie to her, why did he use her, why does he keep coming back, why won’t he just LEAVE HER ALONE, hasn’t she suffered enough, hasn’t she been punished enough, when will it be enough—and intertwined with that, she is being EATEN ALIVE by the conviction that no one could ever truly care about her or feel for her or want to help her or think that she deserves help or even just see her as a person, because if ozma—ozma, the one who saved her from her father’s tower, who knew her and loved her before all of this happened—if ozma thought her so worthless that he would rather serve a god who ended the last world and promises to condemn this one too than suffer her to exist at all in this world, why the fuck would anyone else be any different?
thousands of years later, she still flies off the handle when anyone lies to her. (except cinder. but cinder is always the exception, to every rule.) there’s a reason she recruits the kind of people she does—desperate, broken, angry people starving for something she can promise to give them if they make themselves useful to her—and it’s because she does not believe that she can get anything better than strictly transactional relationships with people who have literally nothing and nowhere else to turn. and when she actually cares about someone? she fights herself tooth and claw over it because she desperately doesn’t want to open herself up to more heartbreak. look at how erratic and cruel she is with cinder.
it’s not rational. salem is smart and very, very tactically shrewd but she is making all of her plans and all of her choices from the assumption that she is and will always be alone in this, because she is unlovable, because she is worthless, because she is the reason this world is damned. and she’s terrified of ozma because to her everything he does suggests that his conviction and dedication to the god of light has never wavered. she cannot see his doubt. she cannot see his misery. she cannot see how much he misses her and desperately wants to make amends. all she can see is that he’s zealously guarding the relics and spreading his god’s word and training children to fight and die in the name of keeping her exiled.
why doesn’t ozma just go to her and tell her he wants to make amends? because he’s terrified she’ll never forgive him and terrified that he’ll damn the world to annihilation if he follows his heart. they’re the same. they’re exactly the same.
but this is also what makes it so possible—even easy—for salem to undergo a villain-to-hero arc, because the only thing that needs to happen is a spark of real hope. that someone, anyone, could really care about her. like. the things she says in her soliloquies about the transformative power of hope? “even the smallest spark of hope is enough to ignite change,” and “it’s true that a simple spark can ignite hope, breathe fire into the hearts of the weary…”—that’s her. one small reason to hope. that is all she needs to change.
she doesn’t want to be razing kingdoms to the ground or cutting a bloody path through children to get those relics. she is willing to do it because she truly, genuinely, from the depths of her soul believes that it’s the only way to free herself from the torture she’s been subjected to for millions of years. she’s driven to this by desperation. she won’t keep doing it if she’s given a reason to feel less desperate.
but she does need to be given a reason, first. she’s hemorrhaging. this is why the winnowing of her inner circle and the split between everyone else in vacuo versus salem + cinder + summer in vale is important; Those Two are the ones she cares about—technically we don’t know for sure regarding summer yet, but the level of trust she has for the lieutenant holding beacon is suggestive—and that being reciprocated is what ignites her hope.
#she IS a fantastic villain#but what makes her so compelling as a villain is all the contradiction and tension in her character#how deeply she loves vs her deep conviction of being unlovable. not wanting to hurt people vs believing it’s the only way to free herself.#everything she does is so intensely personal and so circumscribed by the fear of rejection#these opposing forces drive change because they are pushing and shoving against each other inside her mind and the moment of culmination#occurs when one triumphs over the other. and then she changes in what i expect will be a startlingly dramatic fashion#(that doubles as writing advice btw if you want to write dynamic character arcs put unreconcilable contradictions in your characters)
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To be fair, a country can have more than one head of state. Political systems aren't as consistent as we might think them to be and even absolute monarchies like Spain have a prime minister. Then you have things like elective monarchies and hereditary republics. From what I remember, the idea of an election isn't even really treated as that big of a deal... but that right there is the problem. The first and I think only time it actually gets brought up is when it's introduced for a single panel, and even then, it's only in relation to Persephone's trauma. No one really comments on it afterwards. Even in Apollo's own episode, he very briefly comments how he could do a lot as king—not president, but king! Ergo, overthrowing Zeus. So either the whole president thing was a dropped plot point or Rachel couldn't think of any other reason for Apollo to be on a giant poster.
Regarding Eros' comment, Apollo is the god of medicine and the literal god of doctors is his son. Even if Asclepius himself doesn't have a bad record, he'd have reason to be wary. It's why I don't blame Hebe for automatically believing Apollo that nothing can be done about the poison after he simply touches Zeus, given what one of his domains is.
And speaking of Hebe, again, to be fair, a lot of people don't notice their surroundings when they're grieving and her back was clearly turned anyway, so I don't think this should necessarily be a strike against her. I honestly didn't find anything off about Apollo gaslighting her either (I mean, besides the obvious; gaslighting is horrendous) and he'd also just threatened her, so I don't blame her for running away either. Plus, the episode just ends with her noticing the snow soon after, so it's not like we get her thoughts on this one way or another. I don't have fastpass, though, so does it show her actually believing she'd somehow poisoned Zeus in a future chapter, or...?
Hebe poisoning Zeus also wouldn't necessarily be outside the realm of possibility either if Apollo were to argue she did it for Hera's sake or something and then she just snapped. That said, it is still ridiculous she's the first deity he would frame, rather than someone alot more believable, like Ares. Didn't Zeus sleep with Aphrodite that one time? And we know how protective he is of Hera. Or hell, if he wanted to topple the current monarchy entirely, he could've just framed Hera herself! Maybe even Hades!
And if this were any other comic, I'd say Apollo returning to the scene of the crime and then calling the media is just him being a narcissist, because some narcissists can be really, really dumb. But the chances of it being framed that way are practically at the bottom of the Aegean Sea. Even a single panel of someone asking why Apollo called a journalist first is doubtful.
But yeah, not trying to slam you or anything and sorry if it comes off that way. I really like your analyses and I love Rekindled, I'm just trying to offer a few explanations here. I do agree with you overall, though! Rachel has alot of great ideas, but the executions of said ideas are just terrible.
Okay so, while I really appreciate the amount of effort you put into defending these points and I can totally get the points you're trying to make in many of them (and yes this is the part where I respond with my own points, as we do) I think the fact that you presented all of these "well to be fair" talking points is just highlighting and further proving LO's biggest problems in its writing, one that I've talked about before on here but I think bears repeating.
And that's the fact that we (the readers) have to make massive assumptions just to make the plot make sense.
Yes, to be fair, there are government systems that run with a dual-system of monarchy + diplomatic government, but there was never any implication of this being a thing in LO until all of a sudden Rachel dropped the "Apollo for President!" plotline in S3.
Yes, to be fair, Apollo is the god of medicine, but we've never seen him actually fulfill a single duty regarding that, Asclepius is far more qualified as an actual doctor than Apollo (*from what we've been shown), who we've only ever seen apply a bandaid to Persephone's hand five years ago.
Yes, to be fair, people in shock may not take in their surroundings fully, but it seems really silly to have Hebe positioned in front of a window that has a FULL VIEW of what's going on outside and still have her just freeze in time when she's offscreen so she doesn't see or hear anything that's going on just several feet away through a sheet of glass. Just get rid of the window and find another way to force Eros and Psyche into confrontation with Apollo.
Yes, to be fair, Hebe could have a motive, if she were written as someone with some vendetta against Zeus. But she wasn't. That version of Hebe does not exist and, as you said yourself, there are way more gods who would have reasonable motive to poison him. We've only ever seen her dote on him and love him unconditionally as her father, and we've even seen scenes of them in S1 where they have a functional father-daughter relationship (if anything I'd be more inclined to believe she'd have a vendetta against Hera for being an alcoholic mom during her childhood but I digress).
Through all of these "to be fair's" when do we actually stop and ask ourselves why we have to constantly have the benefit of the doubt and jump through all these logical hoops to make sense of the plot to begin with? Again, all this just lends to how poorly structured and written the comic is, and all of these 'to be fair''s you've presented cannot reasonably apply to LO because LO never wrote those things. They never showed Apollo being an actual god of medicine, they never showed Hebe having ill will towards her father, and they never showed Olympus running with a monarchy + presidential government system. So to fill in those blanks ourselves is to do the legwork for Rachel who's only managed to write half a plot. It's why it's so jarring for random plot points like this to happen because it's just like "wtf do you mean Apollo is running for president? He can just do that??" That's not something that should be established five years in, it makes it really hard to just give benefit of the doubt because if that was something that actually existed in this world, it should have been established ages ago when the foundation for the story was still being built. We're in the endgame now, this is NOT the time to be throwing in new random plot threads pulled out of thin air.
This is what I mean from my essay post earlier that Rachel constantly fails to provide context for things she's trying to say, while overexplaining things that are already being shown onscreen. It's completely imbalanced between what we have to know and what could have stayed on the cutting room floor, and it makes for a messy story where people have to make gracious assumptions and do all the thinking for a plot that was never fleshed out to begin with. Why should we as readers have to do all the thinking for Rachel's lack of storytelling ability, when she clearly couldn't be bothered to put any thought into the narrative or the worldbuilding or the characterizations to begin with? It's lazy low-effort writing.
#lore olympus critical#lo critical#anti lore olympus#ask me anything#anon ama#ama#anon ask me anything
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Wanderer x fem! reader. SFW. April Fool's Day Special. Soft Wanderer at end.
a/n: I didn't expect to write this cause I actually forgot today was April Fool's Day lol. But, this popped into my head and I thought, why not. Enjoy.
Today was April Fool's Day.
So, Wanderer decided to play an April Fool's Day joke on you.
It was a cruel joke.
One he roped a reluctant, hesitant and very scolding Nahida into helping him with. Wanderer had to make it believable and Nahida was the only one who could make that happen.
What he didn't expect was for your reaction.
Wanderer set the wheels in motion earlier that morning, kissing you goodbye and telling you that he was going to check Irminsul for Nahida, and that he wouldn't be back until way later.
You understood that Wanderer would be away for hours and went about your day. Until a very upset, somber Nahida turned up at your doorstep.
When you answered the door, dread filled you. You'd never seen Nahida look like this before. She looked crestfallen and sad, barely being able to look at you.
"Y/N...I'm sorry, but," Nahida trailed off, "something happened to Wanderer while he was checking on Irminsul for me. Monsters attacked and I..I couldn't save him. I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened."
In her head, Nahida was screaming an apology to you over and over again. She didn't approve of this prank. She'd only gone along with it because she wanted Wanderer to witness how you would react and let it sink in.
She could hardly stand to see how you looked right now. She could practically feel your whole heart shattering to pieces.
"Where is he? I need to see him? I need to see him, Nahida. Please.." You pleaded, tears burning in your eyes.
Nahida nodded and said she would take you to him. You followed her, barely being able to grasp where you were or where she was taking you.
Wanderer could hear you coming. He could practically feel your confusion. And he was so proud of himself for thinking up this prank that he didn't even see your tears at first.
"April Fool's Day! Did you really take this seriously?" Wanderer jested, coming out of hiding from a room in a hospital wing in Sumeru." His smirk was one for the ages.
"Wh-What is this? Nahida, this was all..all a joke?" You voice wobbled, a sob cracking through your voice.
"Y/N, I am so sorry..I didn't want to go along with this, but Wanderer needs to learn his lesson and I used you to do it. Please, forgive me," Nahida said, knowing she deserved it if you were angry with her.
She was angry at herself for doing this for Wanderer.
You brushed tears away.
Wanderer's eyes widened.
Wait?
You were crying.
....
You weren't supposed to cry.
"It's okay, Nahida. I'm not mad at you," You said, brushing away tears, a genuinely relieved smile on your face, but there was something else in your eyes too.
And that was anger.
Anger Wanderer now knew he deserved.
You walked over to Wanderer, your eyes red from crying and looked up at him.
Wanderer waited.
Your slap echoed.
"You! How could you?! How could you put me through that, you jerk?!" You said, new tears spilling from your eyes.
"Look, I..I didn't think you would..you know I am not human, right," Wanderer said. Please forgive this boy. He really was trying to say he was sorry. Reaching out, he stroked a hand through your hair before putting it on the back of your head.
He pulled you into his arms, resting your head on his chest, knowing you would hate it if he saw you crying and he sure was hell couldn't stand to see you cry, so he didn't want to see it either.
"I know you aren't human, but the possibility is always there, Wanderer. Isn't you who said not even the wind has complete and total freedom?" You said, punching him gently in the shoulder before wrapping your arms around him.
Wanderer rested his chin on top of your head before nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head.
"Losing you is the one thing I fear the most, Wanderer. My whole world fell apart. I could feel the motivation to live leaving my soul. The one person I love the most in this world, the one who has my heart had died. I really believed you had."
Ouch.
Ouch.
That one hurt. Wanderer really felt like an asshole. The biggest jerk in the world.
"Don't ever do that to me again, okay?" You finished, clinging to him.
"I won't. I shouldn't have done it in the first place. I was incredibly inconsiderate of your feelings." You know Wanderer was saying he was sorry. You could hear it in his voice.
Nahida was very satisfied with Wanderer's reaction.
He really has come a long way.
#genshin impact#fem!reader#genshin imagines#wanderer#wanderer x reader#wanderer x you#wanderer x y/n#soft wanderer
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I Almost Do
Florence Pugh x Fem!Reader
…and Broken Promises
—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—
I bet, this time of night you're still up. I bet, you're tired from a long hard week. I bet, you're sittin' in your chair by the window looking out at the city, and I bet, sometimes you wonder 'bout me.
—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—
Florence had just returned to her hotel after another successful week of shooting in Prague. There were mints laid out on her pillows, and a few complimentary pieces of hotel swag on the bed but she only swept it all onto the floor. Her body collapsed into the soft mattress, and she curled in on herself while staring at her phone.
The notification-less phone, one that used to ding all day long until she had to put it on do not disturb was now drier than ever before.
Tears soak the white sheets beneath her as she once again mourns the greatest loss of her life. Mistakes she herself made led her to moments like these where she was left without the warmth of the only person she'd called home.
———
———
—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—
I bet, you think I either moved on or hate you. 'Cause each time you reach out there's no reply. I bet it never ever occurred to you that I can't say "Hello" to you, and risk another goodbye.
—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—
"Please, Y/N, once you get this message call me back, I-I'm desperate.," Florence chewed on her lower lip as she left yet another voicemail. A heavy sigh left her lips as she pondered over the fact that you'd yet to block her, a tiny part of her believed there was a chance to fix this.
With a cigarette between her lips she felt the stress of this predicament melt away, you'd always pleaded with her to quit, and for the longest time she had. Funny, you made her a better person, and yet she wasn't ever enough. If it wasn't the smoking, it was her long hours, if it wasn't the hours it was her partying with friends, and she's sure the list goes on. Deep down she knew your feelings were valid, but she was too angry to rationalize them as such.
How following her dreams, and becoming an overnight sensation led her to losing you was beyond her. Five years of bliss down the drain as soon as she shot to stardom, the same one you encouraged and supported her to chase. Now though, without you it's just an empty accomplishment; if you'd only answer the damn phone you'd know she wants you more, she'd give up the stardom if it meant you were back in her life, and more over in her arms.
As she stomps on the cigarette and makes her way through the bustling streets of New York she prays to stumble upon you. Hope in her ever beating heart that you'll be at the cat cafe, or at the park you two used to frolic through. When she stumbles throughout Central Park though, to go cup in hand, her shoulders fall.
Where you are is a mystery to her ever since you turned your location off. Her heart aches with the prospect of you finding a new love, something fresh, and that will allow someone else to fill the hole in your heart she once did. It's infuriating the more she thinks about it, how you could consider such a thing when she is still so heartbroken over your absence.
Day in, and day out her heart continues to beat for you, even when you continue to give her nothing to show for the dangerous hope that she's desperately clinging to; she misses you.
Unbeknownst to the starlet, you miss her too.
However, after the last blow out you know that the distance is all that's keeping your heart from total ruin. Another movie that would "raise her star power" came around, and she refused to turn it down, even with your threats to leave. She walked right out the door, so you helped her by pushing her out of your life.
That day broke you in ways you'd never imagined possible, at least not coming from her, because she’d always promised to cherish your heart, and yet there she stood, breaking it into tiny pieces without even a glance back.
Florence never really was much for the bigger picture, she was always for what she could see right now, and so these opportunities knocking at her door were ones she couldn't fathom turning down in the thrill of the moment.
So as you sit here with your phone to your ear, cycling through this months set of voicemails you let the tears fall. A once blooming love is showcased in the memories on your phone that you can’t bare to delete, and her heartbroken voice flows through your ears and strikes at your fragile heart:
“Y/N, my darling girl, what happened? How did this break so tragically? I miss you so….”
“Y/N/N, this is getting ridiculous, talk to me!”
“Hey baby, I saw a cat while filming today, we shared lunch on the lot and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. It was uncanny, but the little feline had your eyes… I miss those eyes.”
“I love you, and I will never stop. I’m not giving up on you, even if you’ve done so with me. We’re soulmates Y/N/N, I’ll wait forever.”
You wipe away another set of tears, your heart aching for the love of your life’s affections, but you remain steadfast in your decision here, you cannot contact her. Because you’re absolutely certain that if you were to let her back in, she’d only ever break your heart further.
—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—
I just wanna tell you it takes everything in me, not to call you. And I wish I could run to you, and I hope you know that every time I don't I almost do.
—•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•~~~~~~•—
Florence continued to sulk as she traipsed around the city of New York, your once shared villa up the road now sits barren as you'd vacated it to go live god knows where, with whom she doesn't know either. Echos of your shared laughter hits her as she passes on by, her heart aches, and her knees nearly give out.
Especially when she realizes the sound wasn't imaginary, not at all, because just across the street you're sat with your phone to your ear. You're alone, which Florence internally beams about, but you're also in a melancholy state. Tears streaming down your cheeks lead her to wonder why you were laughing, then it dawns on her when a reminiscent glint shines in your eyes that you're watching super old videos.
"Y/N?," she calls out hesitantly, she honestly didn't want to break the moment, it'd been half a year since she'd last been this close to you, and when you jump to your feet, looking to her like a deer caught in the headlights she knew she should've been closer before speaking.
"For fucks sake.," she groans, taking off in a sprint as you'd just done seconds prior, you were never going to make any of this easy for her, of course not, it was as if you two were in your very own, incredibly frustrating rom-com.
"Y/N, please! We need to talk!," her plea seems to only make your legs move faster as you descend into the underground subway tunnel, the blonde groans at your decision, but she's far too stubborn to relent so she follows.
By the time she passes by the influx of people she's hobbling over the MetroPay machines to get to you faster, whatever fine comes her way would be affordable anyways, so like any main character would she breaks the laws for love.
Then in true antagonist fashion you evade her by mere seconds, the subway door slamming right in her face, she tries to pry them open, but when a security officer pulls her back she knows she failed her objective of getting you.
The both of your teary eyes meet though, she can see the fear that keeps you from her, it has your heart on lockdown, and she wants nothing more than to pull you close and quell the fears. To tell you that she's sorry, and she's ready to fix her mistakes, even if she's still a bit lost herself on what exactly she did to break this.
Then she see how your eyes fall to the ground suddenly as your hand grazes over your throat, a panicked fist hits the glass and she follows your gaze to find your locket was on the dirty cement. She drift's back up to see you running through the car's in desperation as the train had left the station, and she swiftly holds the jewelry up and sends you an apologetic smile.
You still had it, the heart necklace she got you for your first anniversary with the photo of you two on your first date together. It was a shot of you with a script in hand, in a silly get up to emulate that of the leading male love interest. Helping her run lines for a last minute audition even when you'd originally planned to take her to dinner. It's in this moment, when Flo's tear hits the millimeter long photo that it clicks.
Never once did your support for her waver, it was her lack of reciprocity that brought this relationship to ruin. Every new film came with expectations far too demanding for your heart to bare. Relationships were about give and take, but now she knows she'd stopped giving to you, and the realization is truly debilitating.
Six months of your silence and all it took was the memory of your start to give her clarity.
She collapsed to her knees, uncaring of the filth of the ground or the flashes and whispers that came with her very public breakdown. With the shakiest of hands she pulled her phone from her pocket, sending you a hopeful text, and all she could do now was pray for a miracle.
*6pm, Joes Pizza, I’ll be there—I hope you will show up. Y/N, my sweetest love, I’m so sorry.*
——
1,702 Words
Final Taylor fic
❤️ Kaitlyn 🤭
#florence pugh#florence pugh oneshot#florence pugh imagine#florence pugh angst#florence pugh pov#florence x y/n#florence x you#florence x fem!reader#florence x reader#florence pugh x you#florence pugh x y/n#florence pugh x reader#florence pugh x female reader
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Do you think Jonathan's week of silence has to do with his mental state like it did back in June? We know that Seward is silent because you cannot exactly carry your desktop computer to Bulgaria, and Mina is busy having to keep her mind in total secrecy to write updates about anything, but Jonathan is free to write, but doesn't.
...It now also occurs to me that Jonathan must be keeping his journal always on his person, for Mina-Dracula to not take it and read it. Just like in the Castle.
Yes and no. I mean, on the one hand, yeah he's definitely in a rough space right now and I think him refusing to write certain things definitely reflects that. He has to ensure there is a record of anything significant, but he can't bring himself to be the one to write it - I'm talking 11 October here. He made sure Jack wrote it down, which lets us know what happened, but we can only work off Jonathan's silence in not writing it himself (as well as his silence when asked to promise) to decide exactly how he feels about it. It's obvious he's upset but there's not the blatant "and I did not answer her" that we might've seen when reading his own account.* Since he's not alone like he was in the castle, he can afford to outsource the most agonizing events to others and know they will still be preserved. He didn't write Mina's account of the assault on 3 October either, or his own experience when he was kept asleep for that matter. Instead he left that to Jack's record and picked up with what they did afterwards.
But he has written since those moments, after all, when there was something to report. The week-long silence comes after those entries. I think this can still be compared pretty easily to his long silences in the castle... because, along with reflecting his despair, they also reflected long stretches where the situation didn't really change. Sure, it was just as awful. Jonathan and Dracula were still having storytime just about every night. Dracula was still doing his creepy touching. But I genuinely don't believe anything new happened, just stuff that was continuing established patterns. Since Jonathan wasn't getting any new information, he didn't feel the same need to put it in the record. Part of that was certainly that he would feel even more disheartened having to write "mentally & emotionally tormented again today. felt like a rat in a cage again today. chicken for dinner and the count took my arm to lead me in and I felt such intense revulsion I nearly yanked myself away but his grip was just on the edge of not painful and I know what his grip can become so I made myself smile at him instead. again." and so on, day after day. Part of it was certainly that he didn't have the hope/strength to write. Part of it was even likely him trying to preserve room in his likely limited diary space. But also... I think it's just that as soon as Jonathan writes for a purpose, he doesn't put in entries that don't further that purpose.
His purpose in the castle was to document what the fuck was going on with the Count, and also to record his own attempts at escape. When Dracula didn't display any new behaviors and Jonathan himself saw no new avenues to try and risk anything... we gets days and days of silence.
Right now... I think I said this in the tags of a post a few days ago. Jonathan's heart and head are entirely focused on Mina and Dracula right now. In opposing ways, obviously, love vs. hatred, desire to protect vs. desire to destroy, and so on and so forth. But he's focused on them. His purpose for writing is to record what is going on with the hunt for Dracula so that Mina can read it. He will also write about her condition, but I'd say that's almost a lesser priority because his decision on what to do if she turns is made so her continuing to slowly turn doesn't signify anything new for him in a sense. And of course, she'd know it through experience (and he would be there by her side throughout it) whereas the Dracula hunt stuff is what has been kept from her and thus will interest her to know once she can be told things again. But regardless, if Jonathan isn't writing then I think we can assume it is because, just like in the castle, the situation hasn't changed. Dracula is still on the ship. Mina is still sleeping a lot. The men have put their plan into place and currently nothing about it has changed, so there's no need for an update.
As soon as something changes, we'll start hearing from him again. Or at least, he will ensure we hear from someone; he will once again deputize Jack to write it for him if the changes are something he doesn't feel like he can bring himself to talk about.
*(Speaking of, this feels like it goes along with "She is calling to me." He will always answer her call - except that time. Except when she isn't asking him to join her but to kill her. Then he just sits silently.)
.
As for your thought about Jonathan always keeping his journal on him again.... OUCH, okay. I don't think that Mina has reached the point of being puppeteered in such a way, but they have certainly passed the point of 'if she sees/hears it even accidentally then he'll know too' so that would be reason enough. I also cannot make up my mind whether Jonathan would be the last person to consider such a thing, because he loves Mina so much and wants to deny that Dracula could so fully control her like that... or whether he would be the first person to think of it because he knows the Count so well. Either way, the comparison is fantastic angst.
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like ultimately speaking i don't even think that public discussions into the identity of shubble's ex are that necessary. at a certain point i think it's up to personal discretion, especially in terms of different platforms - for example, having a certain amount of discretion when it comes to spaces where it's more likely for shubble to see. that being said, at a certain point, it was obvious that the calls to Not Speculate, to Not Bring Up Him why are you saying his name he doesn't have to do with this i'm going to wait until shubble makes a statement if she wanted us to know then she'd say his name :) were doing a shit ton more harm than good?
like, shubble wasn't making an accusation. why people were flat out expecting her to say more in itself is beyond me. at the end of the day, people's willingness to continue supporting a content creator is a personal decision - shelby certainly wasn't trying to frame her stream as an allegation with proof. it was an ancedote about a personal experience with relevant details. along that same note, taking up pitchforks and banging on the door of the person in question is ??? again, the stream was hardly framed as an accusation & proof, and that was on purpose. whether or not one believes that he deserves a platform, with the great pains that shelby has taken in order to keep themselves from directly pointing at any specific person and making a direct accusation, brigading in their name in ways meant to directly attack the person in question feels...distasteful, literally for her sake.
like, any fan is capable and has the right to withdraw their support at any time, and giving other people reasons to withdraw their support isn't wrong either, as stating one's opinion is obviously perfectly fine. but uhhhh direct attacks without an explicit accusation being made are a bit of a different story.
but back to the first point, watching people in real time go Oh Don't Bring Up [Name] Sweaty :) was ???? like, it's impossible to go without acknowledging that if it wasn't him, that the amount of coincidences between her ex and the cc would be EXTREMELY high. "there's millions of ccs in england" and shubble was spending hours a day and in the apartment of every single one of them??? like be fucking fr??? this isn't even a case of it's a 50/50 between him and some other guy just based on the number of coincidences as described by shelby's one (1) stream alone, not to mention the corroborating evidence of things like the year's worth of content they produced with each other in recent years. and like, the literal album. which meant that even with the extremely likely possibility of him being the person, people were fucking tripping over themselves to scream NOT TO SPECULATE !!! DONT SAY IT'S [NAME] !!! to the point where when i clicked on the trending tab, tweets along those lines made up at least half if not more of the results. tweets she clearly saw, based on statements by her and her mods. like, look, even if the calls not to speculate came from a place of good intentions, they were all getting swallowed up by the noise of people explicitly telling other people Out Loud not to bring up the possibility of the man who was very likely the person she was talking about as being her ex - all while claiming to speak in her name #believevictims [words they continue to put in her mouth].
like, yeah, when you're going DONT TALK ABOUT HIM!!!!! this totally looks like you care about her and her story and not like a silencing tactic.
#abuse#not saying his name directly literally just out of personal preference#but you know it's so fascinating how even from the people who were claiming that the priority should have been to Support Shelby#most of what i saw from them was just screaming at people not to speculate?#like you can just not put your attention on the conversation revolving around the identity of her abuser and just#literally just make a tweet supporting her. like your continued focus on the conversation about speculation to the point#where both his and her names' on the trending tabs were literally just different sides of that argument over and over again#are self reports in their own right. lmao.
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My thoughts on the newest main story quests, some positive and some...slightly on the fence:
First of all, I like that Linda is shown to actually have a backbone and will snap back at people if they insult her. Maybe I'm remembering wrong, but for a while it seemed like she was just the token intelligent one of the group who never got into conflicts. So I really liked seeing her stand up for herself this time against the dark riders!
I like how the druids can send messages via runestones to each other in times of crisis. It's something I never would've thought of, and although the way the runestones just grow out of the ground could seem silly and nonsensical in a way for some, I personally really like it!
Also, the magnetising void! It was so cool! I wonder what past Soul Rider performed it with Concorde? I would say Elizabeth, but that just seems too obvious. I love that we got to see a more dangerous side to the magic of the Sun Circle, and I really hope that this is something they will continue with for the rest of the Circles. Maybe for the Moon Circle, Linda could be able to cast dangerous illusions to confuse the dark riders? Or send visions that can drive people mad? It's probably too 'evil' for the Soul Rider circles, but I think it would be cool to see the dark side of the Keepers' magical abilities.
Now, onto the bombing of Dark Core Headquarters. I find it really difficult to believe that DC was never actually drilling any oil. They couldn't have partnered with GED forever, could they've? How could they have made money otherwise? At some point in history they must have drilled for oil, and then stopped for some reason. Maybe to put all their money into the equipment to build the Hadal gate (which btw confirms that Garnoks prison is indeed super deep under the sea, and not in some untouched corner of Pandoria) Anyways, I really hope this is not SSEs attempt at portraying DC as somewhat redeemable with 'oh no they actually weren't polluting the island at all, they were doing nothing wrong!', nevermind the fact that they are working towards releasing Garnok, who has made it very clear by now in regards to his plans for the island.
Well whatever, moving on from that, Erissa! Finally! I was hoping she'd have some lines of dialogue, but I did love her cartwheel/flip coming out of the portal. It's nice to see that Mr Sands is back in action again after not being present in the story for damn, what 5, 6 years now?! I though he and the Dark Riders would've been a bit more annoyed about the oil rig's destruction, so I guess the Soul Riders have got their war crime charges dropped for now at least.
Now for the obligatory Darko mention. With every new release of the main story, I get increasingly more worried about what SSE is planning on doing with him now. He should've been in the ending of this quest, yet he wasn't, and there's been absolutely zero mentions of him ever since the saving Anne quests from other characters, even though he was probably a massive source of trauma for Anne if he was the one who guarded her prison cell, and she seemed to have a very deep hatred of him going off of her mentions of him at past seasonal events. I can't find my screenshot of her one at Midsummer but she said something along the lines of, "What do you think happened to Darko? He had better still be alive. I won't let him take away my chance for revenge." Yes I know, I remembered one line of dialogue at an event years ago, can you tell I'm obsessed yet? I want to say that they're planning something big with him and the Nightmare Institute, but I've got this horrible feeling that they'll either reveal he's dead( even though the soul riding missions are proof that he isn't) or they'll just totally write him out of the story from now on because they've got the new Dark Rider models now, so they can do more with them. I know most people hate him, but I think he has the potential to be a really interesting irredeemable mad scientist type character, so I really hope they haven't given up on him yet. I'm probably being really over dramatic right now XD, but he's been my no.1 character hyperfixation since 2018 so that's my excuse lol.
I really didn't think this would be so long but to summarise: Anne and Linda are badass, I want Avalon to deck someone across the face, and I want Darko to make his dramatic appearance again someday :''(
Well, goodnight! Please share your own opinions with me if you'd like, I'd love to know everyone else's thoughts!
#ssoblr#sso anne#sso linda#sso mr sands#sso avalon#sso darko#sso soul riders#sso dark riders#sso spoilers#sso
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about the cartoon Viv made separating types of criticism - I think it's a fair point that the tone of a critique can make a difference in how an artist receives it & it's totally fair to point out that giving someone rude feedback makes it a much more bitter pill to swallow. anyone who's had passive aggressive to outright aggressive responses on fanwork or fanart can tell how it can ruin your day.
but what's not fair is framing all criticism like that. And I think Viv definitely has a habit of grouping all criticism into the bad faith category, even if the poster is going out of their way to try and be fair or polite. When you're a big creator it's easy for that happen because you get overwhelmed by the volume of feedback, but I think when it does and a creator just ends up getting hostile to all criticisms then that's when it's time to step back.
Viv talks about how if she responds or doesn't, she'll be critized and can't win. but I think she has at least some responsibility for creating the expectation that she might respond if people tweet at her because she can't seem to stop herself from engaging.
the Hellaverse fandom is super parasocial and she's made it actively worse by liking tweets that defend her writing or paint her detractors as engaging in bad faith (not to mention she admitted to not watching Diregentlemen's video on her and kind of implied she was vaguing about them that one time, when if she'd bothered to watch their video instead of just seeing them tweet about the show or the vids they'd made she'd know they went out of their way to say they wanted to like the show and they had praised it in the past).
People get the impression she's defensive and can't take criticism because she's responded that way consistently - she won't log off and be a creator who holds the fanbase at more of a distance, as some other creators do, but she also won't accept any criticism at all and encourages her fans to do the work of filling in the show's gaps for her, then likes tweets attacking people who criticize her or calling them names. To me the reality of how she 'can't win' comes down to her behavior - she doesn't have the type of personality who can stand any critique, so she should disengage, but she's also too addicted to trying to control the narrative that she won't do the one thing that might help. And she seemingly won't hire someone to do PR on her behalf, either
how does she expect anyone viewing this from the outside of her diehard stans to think of her? it is unprofessional and she does come across as unable to take criticism and that's even before adding in the allegations that she trash-talks other creators and is so thin-skinned she wants her animators to work solely on her shows. and I suspect her approach hasn't changed much given she's said herself she had that reputation for a long time
Well said.
Let's face it, nobody likes criticism. Nobody likes when your work is the subject of takes you believe are completely asinine, but most people hoping to make a career of it learn pretty early on not to google their own names. Nothing good comes of it.
Viv likes to present herself as the world's saddest victim of the cruelest, dumbest criticism ever spoken, that she loves "helpful" criticism, but she's shown time and time again that it's all the same to her. She's cut people like Ken and Kyra out of her life altogether for criticizing her in the gentlest way possible; her world's continued to spiral because she just couldn't let "My name is Caine, I am your bitch" go. And just like you said, she has absolutely zero problem dishing it.
She's a shallow bully with a wet tissue paper ego. And people are starting to wake up to that fast.
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