#garfield in disguise

[thathalloweenyfeeling]

Garfield's Halloween Adventure (1985)

[an-adhd-infested-nerd]

I love you people who are unapologetically fans of niche, obscure or old things

To every artist, writer, or blogger out here making art, stories and posts about the books I loved in middle school, the shows I loved as a child, the random bands I like, obscure video games, old camp bad movies, and anything else niche, weird and obscure I love you. Wether you’re writing fanfiction, making art, headcannons, AUs, or just shitposting I’m kissing you lovingly on the forehead and listening to you intensely

[gaiaxygang]

sometimes i just mindlessly scroll the happy labubu family tag on twitter like howd i get HERE 🙁 <- horrendously attached to pit babe cast as a whole but especially these 5

[stardewey]

There's a thing where you can make anything text into the Batman logo even the outline of emojis

Here's the link

[pinkrelish]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶Eddie's month began with a rough start, but as the days passed, and your time together grew, his mood improved. He opened up to you, and you listened. Then things escalated. Slow dancing in the garage? Openly flirting while hanging Christmas decorations? This wasn't what he was supposed to be doing with his coworker who was leaving in a few months. And to make matters worse..

"I swear I didn't hang that," he promised while Adrie held both your hands, giggling under the mistletoe.✶

NSFW — slow burn, fluff, flirting, mutual pining, mild sexual tension, light angst, depictions of poverty, mention of blood, reader wears eddie's work jacket, 18+ overall for eventual smut, drug/alcohol mention/use

chapter: 6/20 [wc: 16k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 6: May I Have This Dance?

Eddie opened the cabinet above the coffee machine in the breakroom, and took out his mug to replace it with a themed one of Garfield attempting to coax Nermal under a sprig of mistletoe for a kiss. He stepped back, admired the change in seasons, and clung onto the giddy elation before the impending stress wove knots into his muscles.

He’d be getting a lot of use out of that mug in the coming days..

————

Eddie disguised his crisis well.

He knocked on your desk while keeping the glass door open with his foot, “Hey, can you make me another pot of coffee?”

It was a favor you were happy to oblige. Pausing from thumbing through the filing cabinet, you smiled at him over your shoulder. “Sure!”

And later, he came to you again–diverting the stress from entering his eyes by focusing on the kindness in yours.

“Do you mind if I eat alone today?” he asked, flopping his black notebook back and forth for you to frown at.

“Fine, but you owe me.” And of course, he made it up to you the next afternoon, eating his sandwich made with the scraggy ends of the loaf, and no side container of leftovers, and downing it with a mug of coffee.

Adding onto that, Eddie concealed his problems through other means. Blocking out his suffering, disallowing it from bothering others, but to you, it was no bother.

You leaned over your desk to look into the garage, and asked Mr. Moore when he was passing by on the way to his office, “Did Eddie leave somewhere?”

“Awh, he’s probably out on a smoke break,” he said, rubbing his knuckles along his grayed beard.

“Another one?”

“Yeah, guess so.” He shrugged, inadvertently confirming your fears. “Been takin’ alottavem the past couple’a days.”

You had an inkling of what was going on when you caught Eddie eating his lunch earlier. Alone, scribbling in his notebook for the third time that week, dipping a knife into an unbranded metal can labeled PEANUT BUTTER and slathering the Government supplied commodity on a plain saltine cracker.

Sustenance to live, and hardly at that. You weren’t about to let him hide his misery behind excuses meant to keep you ignorant.

After closing, when everyone went home but you and Eddie, he poured himself the last of the coffee to stave off his hunger, and you shot up from your desk.

“Hey! I’m going out for a sec. I’ll be right back, ‘kay?”

He backed his lips off the mug mid-sip in order to remind you to be safe because it was dark out, and you really should wear brighter colors for cars to see you, and to slow down before the sharp turns because there could ice on the road and you could get hurt, and, and–

“Bye!” You cut off his worrying by riding past the doors with your eyes on him, not where you were going, narrowly missing a street pole by centimeters.

~~~

Back in record time–beating the previous record by default because you’d never had this idea before–you hopped off your bike, loaded your hands with the two paper bags sitting in the handlebar basket, and ripped the stapled receipt off them. You finagled your way into the garage.

“Eddie!” you shouted his name as you entered. And louder again as you approached him from behind. Tempting as it was, you didn’t want to scare him, but part of you hated raising your voice, as well. It felt blasphemous to disturb the scene which captured your heart time and time again.

He was at the workbench in the back corner, sat on a stool with his heavy boots on footrests, knees angled out, bouncing his legs in a rhythm offset from one another–most likely parroting the drumbeat of the tinny music funneling from his headphones so loud he’d surely lose his hearing one day.

The smooth expanse of his shoulder shifted and flowed under his coveralls as he worked, hunched over a set of parts he was cleaning. He settled his forearms on the edge of the creaky wood and swirled an old toothbrush into a bowl of cleaning solution, and scrubbed at the hunk of metal in his hands, setting it aside on the stained towel when he was finished to let it dry. A diligent worker, through and through. Tendons in his tired hands straining to hold the next slippery piece as he circled the bristles over the grooves craggy with grease. Muscles in his jaw tensing from the way he clenched his teeth in between mouthing the lyrics to the music vibrating his brain.

Concentration bundled itself between his eyebrows and above his scrunched nose.

It was endearing to watch him work; watch the menial things he was good at for no other reason than to familiarize yourself with all assets of him.

But good things must come to an end, for you had a better one in store.

You caught him right as he was dropping into a reserved headbang on a chord progression you could hear wailing from where you stood. “Hey there, handsome.”

He panicked, and knocked the headphones around the back of his neck. “Shit, I didn’t hear you come in.” He paused the cassette player clipped to his pocket with a sharp click, and after fixating on your sly grin for a second longer, he dropped his gaze to the oil-soaked paper bag in your hand. “Food?”

“The burger place down the street messed up my order,” you replied in soft amusement. “Do you want the extra?”

He didn’t need convincing.

~~~

The sounds of your togetherness filled the open room–wheels rolling on concrete, crinkly wrappers in your hands, and the grateful noises of him devouring his dinner. Sitting parallel to one another on the creepers, you rolled back and forth, brushing shoulders with Eddie on each pass, stuffing your faces until your taste buds dulled with french fry oil, and sparked with blooms of tangy ketchup.

Wordlessly, he told you he was ready to talk by coming to a stop past the point of your shoulders touching, and resting his arms atop his wide-spread knees, holding the last bites of his burger in front of his face.

You twisted around to observe the width of his back rise with a deep breath.

“Child support is late again. Happens every December, but it’ll come a day or two before it’s officially considered late in January.” Deepening his voice, he put an edge of distaste when speaking about Adrie’s mom, “She has the money–her and her husband have good jobs–so it’s just to be petty and get back at me, or whatever. Like being tied to me years later should affect our kid when I don’t even speak to her.”

“Eddie..”

He shook his head to dismiss the pointless pity imbued in your tender whisper of his name. “Doesn’t matter. Money’s tight, but we get paid tomorrow, so that’ll help.. I figured you knew something was up when I stopped eating with you, but anywhere I can save helps. I want to make sure Adrie has a good Christmas this year.”

Realizing something, he raised his hand to ward off any criticism you were about to give him, having been trained to expect it from others since his daughter was an infant. “I want to make it clear.. Adrie always has food,” he stated slowly, and from a place of loathsome apprehension in his chest.

“It never crossed my mind she wouldn’t.” You pushed yourself backwards on the rolly board, and leaned into him, bicep to bicep, gazes met. “I know you’re a good dad” –He glanced away– “You are, Eddie, and I know how well you take care of Adrie, even when shit like this happens. And Christmas will always be special because of how much you love her, not because of what you buy her.”

“But I want her to keep up with her friends, and bond over whatever they’re into.”

“I know you do..”

Even to his detriment, through the sacrifices he made, he’d make sure his daughter had whatever she wanted.

You ran a purposeful knuckle along his tensed tricep. It didn’t earn his eye contact, but he did relax his hand, dropping it to peel down the rest of the wrapper and finish his burger while you spoke. “Maybe they’ll mess up my order again tomorrow, and we can eat lunch together.. And maybe Robin’s mom will make an extra casserole for dinner tonight, and I can leave it in the breakroom, if that’s okay?”

“I’d appreciate it.” No malicious pride. No toxic masculinity. No senseless denial. Eddie accepted your offer with gratitude, and packed his trash into the paper bag while you still ate, settling in with his arms hugged around his knees, ensuring some part of your bodies remained touching–in this case, it was your shoulders again.

The sweet, trusting pressure of yourselves melding into each other’s comfort.

Then, while the candidness was raw, it was your turn to point your attention elsewhere as you asked something you were shy to voice out loud, “Uhm, when we were at Adrie’s school, her teacher kept saying something about, like, you not carrying her, and babying her, or whatever.” You gestured vaguely as if you weren’t eavesdropping the entire time. “And I’d been meaning to ask if I’m–uh?–too affectionate with her? Like if it’s weird, or something I shouldn’t be doing? You’re the parent and I never really asked if it was okay before picking her up, and hugging her, and–”

He cut you off.

“No, no, no.” His assurance was delivered swift, and earnest. “How you are with Adrie is fine by me. More than fine. It’s–It’s–Seriously, it’s great having her look up to someone who isn’t me.”

“What about what her teacher said?”

“I don’t care,” he scoffed. “I know she means well, but it’s not like Adrie’s going to be a kid forever, and if I want to coddle her, who gives a shit. Now, her teacher is great, and I don’t want to diminish what my uncle, and people like Steve and Nancy have done for my family, but for most of Adrie’s life, it’s just been me and her, and even if she annoys the living fuck out of me sometimes, she’s all I have, and if I want to carry her around, I will.”

“You have me now, too.”

You heard yourself say it.

You heard yourself say it aloud, after he said his daughter was all he had, and now you had to follow it up with a tongue-tied spew of clarifications.

“Just, you know, it’s not only you, Adrie, your uncle, Steve and Nancy, and her teacher. You have me now, too, as your friend.. I mean, we are friends, aren’t we?”

Warmth spread through your body. From your ribs, outward, where he jabbed his elbow into your side. Thrumming where his weight pressed into you, sending his hip into yours. Pleasure–blooming–from his silly grin to your romantic heart, to your platonic fingers snagging the fabric of his coveralls around his thigh to stop him from shoving your board away. Yearning. Sprung from the grease dirtying your skin being the same as the black streak above his eyebrow where he wiped his bangs off his forehead.

“Yeah.. Yeah, I think after this, you’re my friend,” he agreed, accidentally kicking over the takeout bag in his teasing. “No qualifier of reluctancy, or addendums, or prefaces. We’re friends.”

Yeah, definitely friends.

Friends who could calculate the exact degree of the arc of the other’s smile through memory alone, having stared at their lips for longer than friends ought.

————

And you played the part of companion quite well, you thought, when Eddie cursed as he came in from the garage with his hand cradled to his chest.

He ducked into the bathroom, and before the door closed, he was pushing it open on his way to the breakroom sink. “Shit. Don’t we have a first aid kit?” he asked.

“Oh! I left it in the women’s restroom after I got a paper cut.” You pushed yourself away from your desk, and found it in the cabinetry, bringing it to him as he scrubbed Dawn soap over his left hand, from upper wrist to fingertips. “Is it bad?” you asked cautiously. Blood was.. fine. But anything needing stitches was more than your red zipper pouch could help with.

“I’m okay,” he grunted, voice deep with the resonance of an inconvenience, more so than true pain. “Just one of those shitty surface cuts that doesn’t stop bleeding.”

The moment Eddie’s hands were dripping with diluted red water instead of blackened motor oil droplets, you tore a paper towel from the roll, cupped his palm, and folded it over his pinky and outermost knuckles. You bent over to keep his hand over the sink, and accepted the sharp jut of his elbow tucked into the softness of your waist.

The scrapes were shallow, as he said. You pressed your thumbs over the superficial wounds until the white paper dotted bright crimson–same color as his cheeks��and he remained silent. He didn’t deny your doting. Didn’t disrupt the gesture, nor break the spell.

It was a nice moment. Until you opened an alcohol wipe and swabbed it over the afflicted area. His mouth twitched at the stinging liquid cooling on his skin. As it dried, you made brief eye contact and shied away from his suspicious squint, like you had a secret to tell him sealed behind your lips all morning.

“What’s that look for?”

While pulling out two beige bandages for his knuckles, you answered in feigned indifference, “Oh, nothing. Just.. y’know.. Mr. Moore promoted me to Office Administrator, and maybe it came with a little raise, and who knows, an extra sick day or two.”

“Nice!” He angled his hand so it was easier for you to wrap the Band-aid around to the side of his palm where there was a wet, angry cut. He was trembling from the rush of adrenaline, endorphins, and relief he didn’t get more injured from his strained muscles giving out while wielding a power tool without protective gloves on.

“So now I have the confusing job of being both the person who cleans the toilets, and also organizes payroll.” You drew your eyebrows in. “Whatever organizing payroll means.”

Eddie watched you turn over the pouch to shake out the slots where the more grown up, adult bandages usually resided, and came up empty. Instead, a metal tin with Sesame Street characters clattered on the countertop. You popped it open.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you said.

Cookie Monster and Big Bird were gingerly wrapped around his pinky, protecting him from further harm.

Bright, cheery colors in contrast to the grime nestled into the crevices of his skin, and the dark blue coveralls he wore today. Your delicate touch. And his rough calluses. Your soft, chapstick-slick lips. And his cold-weathered mouth lifted at the corner. Your obedient body turning with his. And his face drawing near. Your tender, weak grip on his injured hand. And his sneaky fingers reaching past you.

He took three extra Band-aids and put them in the pocket below his embroidered name patch.

Eyelashes fluttering at the sensation of your forearm resting against his stomach, you chided him in the faintest exhale, “That’s stealing from the company, you know. I could write you up.”

Pleading with you amidst a persuasive smile, he begged, “If Adrie sees I have a cool Band-aid, and she doesn’t get one too, she’ll be upset.”

“That’s not fair.” Not like you cared if he took things from work, but if the Band-aids were for Adrie, you’d give him the entire tin, and he knew it. “You play a mean game, Eddie, using my greatest weakness against me.”

He took another Bert and Ernie, and slipped them in with the others, patting his pocket flat.

In a defeated sigh, you crumbled under the smug display of his proud chest, gaze trained on the cursive lettering composing his name, the motor oil blackening his cuticles, and the grease stain on his coveralls from the french fry he dropped earlier.

“Who’s the pushover now?”

“Considering you’re robbing me of Sesame Street Band-aids to bribe your daughter out of a tantrum?” You looked him up and down, from his half-closed eyes to the ketchup stain. “Still you.”

He hummed a warm reply, and twitched his other hand closed, curling his fingers over yours for a split second. A movement stunted by the bandages. Likewise, you drummed your fingertips on the heel of his palm, and let go.

“Wear your gloves next time, idiot.”

“Yes, dear.”

————

Taking on the role of Office Administrator meant one thing to the both of you: less time together.

The interactions were fleeting; sneaking a glance at each other when Eddie made an unnecessary trip to the breakroom to get his jacket for an equally unnecessary smoke break. But it meant he’d pass by Mr. Moore’s office twice while you were being taught how to fill out ledgers and spreadsheets. Two possibilities for you to become enamored with his hair flowing from underneath his bandana, and two chances for him to capture your interest with his charm–his larger than life presence stomping past the door with his chin held high and his hands in his back pockets, looking at you out the corner of his eye, and giving you that tight, knowing grin.

It was lonely working in the mornings, having a short lunch at your desk while scheduling business meetings with salesmen for Mr. Moore, and clocking out at 4PM to help take care of things at home while Robin was managing the night shift, and her dad was on bed rest.

You missed Eddie.

Eddie missed you.

————

It was a cold, bleak mid-December night after a dreary day of clouds and wind. The service bay doors were closed, except for one to allow the draft to carry out lingering exhaust fumes. Darkness smothered the world beyond the auto shop, interrupted intermittently by the odd car stopping at the streetlight. Turn signals blinked. Headlights peered into the warehouse, shining light on the single truck in the empty garage.

Blissful, tranquil winter. Crisp, throat-aching air. Bites of frost sinking into flesh. Numbed fingers. Frozen teeth nipping at the bone. Undisturbed. Quiet. No music.

“Man, it’s freezing in the lobby,” you complained loudly upon entering Eddie’s domain and crouching in front of the space heater next to the workbench.

The pair of legs sticking out from under the truck shifted.

Surprised by your sudden appearance, and grumpy about the loss of hot air directed at him, Eddie beat his wrench on the wheel axle to show his annoyance when you giggled and refused to move. In fact, you hunkered down, rubbing your palms together, hogging all the warmth while having the audacity to wear his tan work jacket.

He tapped the heel of his heavy work boot at you. “I thought you left for the day.”

“Did you really not notice me at my desk for the past hour?”

After waving the tool at the underside of the truck he’d been staring at for the better part of the evening, he then tucked his chin to make a snide remark, “Do you think I keep track of your whereabouts at all times?”

“Yes.”

No response except for a sour expression. Predictable. It was in his best interest to roll his head to the side, and pretend to be working by muttering mathematics to himself. You, however, stood up, and sidestepped the heater to read the buttons on the stereo radio, and dug for the cassette you slipped into the jacket’s pocket before coming out here.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

The black tape spun on the wheels, and from the speakers strung at the back corners of the garage, music began.

Eddie’s groan rose above the plucky piano keys. “Oh, please don’t tell me you’re subjecting me to Christmas music.”

You shushed him, “It’s just jazz.”

Ella Fitzgerald’s warbling hum filled the concrete walls. Her stunning voice and evocative, blunt lyrics soothed your eyes closed. Face-burning words you weren’t ashamed of. You let them take you. Dipping and swaying your shoulders side to side as the piano lulled you into its drunken blitheness. Guiding you two steps to the left, the right. A lazy turn. Paused on the cusp of anticipation. You stopped. Blinked lovingly at the boots beneath you.

“May I have this dance?”

Metal clinked to the ground. Eddie gripped the edge of the car, and pulled himself out. Pushed himself into a sitting position on the creeper, focusing on your hand extended to him, and climbing his gaze upwards. To the smudges of pencil lead and blue pen ink on the inside of your fingers from where you gripped the writing utensils, to the coffee stain on the cuff of his jacket, the name patch, the roundness of your cheeks from your hopeful smile.

“My hands are dirty,” he said.

“I don’t care.” You urged in all gentleness, “Don’t turn me down because you’re shy. I’ll teach you.”

Teach me, he mouthed.

A delicious secret emerged.

Excitement, charismatic boisterousness, unhesitating–eager–sincere excessive vulnerability, bursting to be the shameless youth he used to be and oh so endearing–Eddie sprang into action at the upkick in tempo. The namesake of the song vibrated under his ribs–I’ve Got a Crush On You–and the garage blurred in your dizzy eyes.

Eddie, Eddie, eddie eddie eddie, eddieeddieeddie. Hawkins’ reject, the town’s outcast, Eddie, in all his awkward, standoffish exterior built to protect his sensitive heart, swept your right hand into his left. Raised them. Compelled you into a fast, tight spin under his arm, and at the rotation’s completion, you sank into each other’s embrace like a released breath.

You used the solid curve of his shoulder as leverage, and fit your other hand in the space between his thumb and index.

Eddie didn’t lead.

He demanded you follow.

His muscles were braced with ego as he ushered you backwards. Large advances towards you, forcing you away from the truck, and half-turns to the side with an appropriate pressure at your waist to follow him to the unoccupied center of the garage. But his modest hand grew longing in the distance as you struggled to keep up in the short chase. The thick jacket meant for durability kept him wanting more, and he used it to reel you in. Draw you near. Bodies untouching, but radiating heat in the hushed sigh of winter rolling in from the service door.

Not once had you managed to sound the question on your parted lips, but he understood it, and answered.

“You’re not the only theater kid,” he said softly. “It was the only elective I liked. Had to learn to dance for a few parts over the years, and if I may judge by your reaction, I’m not half-bad.”

You laughed, “Wh-Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

The smug grin he wore waned to something more humble in nature. “Mm-nn. I never wanted to interrupt your stories. It’s more interesting listening to you talk about how you played a witch in a slutty Off-Off-Broadway rendition of Macbeth where you managed to snap both your stilettos in the first Act, than it is for me to go on about how I played background character #4 in my second senior year of high school and mostly used the class as an excuse to make props and shit.”

“Eddie,” you whined. Once upon a time, during your first days working here, he told you to leave him alone for jabbering on about the theater works you and Robin were a part of, and now he reveals this? “I didn’t even think you were listening when I told you those stories. And again! Why–didn’t–you–tell me?” Your words were minced from you shaking his shoulder.

“I didn’t think it’d be relevant,” he explained, speaking in that shy mumble of his.

“We could’ve been dancing this whole time.”

Eddie hung his head back, and bounced his brows upward. “Mmm. You make it sound like you’ve been wanting to do this since we met.” His hum, his words sent his Adam’s apple crawling up the deep shadows his jaw cast on his throat. Vibrating from within his alluring chest, and coming from the plump lips which appeared less blemished since the last time you were blessed with studying them up close.

The tube of Carmex you found in his pocket was doing wonders.

Basking in the overhead lights as flowers did in the sun, he listened to the end of the song fade. He willed his eyes half-open as it switched, dropped his face to lock onto your gaze, and obeyed the slower rhythm. Languid lurches into your compliant hips to the smooth saxophone. Step, step– With a pivot, guiding you around the floor in an unpredictable routine. One which kept you guessing. Had the rolled cuff of his pants brushing against your ankle, and his body coaxing you into a quick reverse turn at the piping trumpets on the following track. Broached the intimacy of his scent in your nose. Of course he didn’t smell great after a long day of working, but.. By your racing heart rushing blood in your ears, you had to admit, you didn’t find it as gross as you should, either.

Breaking you from your trance of staring at the frizzy baby curls sticking to the dried sweat on his neck, he suggested, “Dip?”

Your surprised shriek bubbled into a scathing yelp of Mother Fu–.

Impatient, ineloquent, and forgetful of manners. It was by the grace of your muscle memory you grappled for his upper body before your eyes could adjust to the upside down car cruising by the shop, puttering to a stop at the intersection. The arch he put in your back was wicked. Sinful, even. Supported by his strong arms.

Merciful, he righted your world. And in reconciliation, he observed you with the same obsessive interest he showed when he made you laugh. Watching for your reaction, and when it was adoring, he relaxed the apology from his features.

He hooked a finger around the lock of hair stuck at the corner of his mouth, and pulled it free; clasped your hand again–the other was slipped under the back of the jacket, and he settled his forearm around your waist, hot palm on your spine.

You took the cue. You climbed the scope of his shoulder to wager your dignity on the tight muscle at the crook of his neck. When he didn’t object, and his easy grin remained, you ventured under his unruly mane and found the back of his neck. You slipped your thumb into his collar, and rested it along the naked skin of his nape.

He shivered.

A car passed by.

The gossipers of Hawkins watched a mechanic and his boss’ receptionist-turned-Office-Administrator stare into each other’s eyes, and sway.

The distance between you two was unassuming, except for the tastes of more when the music encouraged, twirling yourself under his lifted arm as two separate beings, and rejoining as a pair, rocking back and forth, side to side, smiling from the exploration into something new.

The drum beats ebbed to a drowsy cadence.

Minutes passed. The embrace became familiar. Your held hands were sticky with shared dust and nervous sweat. His exhale mingled with your inhale. The steady sway was a polite shuffle in either direction, any direction. It didn���t matter. The embrace was the point.

“As Office Administrator,” you started, “I wanted to throw a party next week, the day before our holiday off. It’d be right after work, if you wanted to hang out, eat, and maybe bring Adrie?”

Before he could answer, you lowered your voice to an all-too-candid beg, “Please? I promise it won’t be boring. Mr. Moore said no one’s thrown a work party before, and I’m terrified no one but Kevin and his three dogs will show up.” You put a compassionate squeeze on the back of his neck. “Please don’t let it just be me, Kevin, and his three dogs.”

The bottom of Eddie’s two front teeth showed as he spoke on the verge of a grin, “I thought he only had two.”

You whispered dramatically, “It’s three now.”

He pretended to think over the offer, shifting from foot to foot.

“Eddie.”

As if he could keep up the act when you craved his name like that. “I’ll go,” he placated you, but not before inclining his head, viewing you through his messy bangs and long lashes. “And of course I’ll bring Adrie.”

You celebrated by punching up your linked hands–yours smelling of pencil shavings, and his of burnt brake pads. Eddie used it to maneuver you into another turn. Smooth, suave. A true gentleman.

“Would you help me decorate too?” you dared ask. His answer was an apathetic grumble. “And maybe bring any non-denominational wintry decorations you have because all I could find in town were very red and green, and very Christmas-leaning.”

“You’re not sweetening the deal.”

“But it’s a ‘yes,’ isn’t it?”

Another dissuasive grumble.

Whimsy, breathless lyrics about fresh love trilled from the speakers. The cassette was on its last song before needing to be flipped.

“Do you really listen to jazz?” he asked, skirting into the territory of curiosity as his frame rocked you to the left.

“I listen to a little bit of everything,” you answered honestly, engaging in a fluid stride to the right. “Are you asking because of the music you listen to?” At once, your expression went wry, and his widened to barely constrained intrigue, like you were two steps ahead of him, reading his private thoughts. “The kinda stuff you blast when you think I’m not around.”

“You’ve heard that?”

Not helping the pink hue stemming from the hot base of his neck beneath your palm, you were quick to tease him, “Well, I’m not exactly competing in the Tour de France, y’know. You don’t wait for me to ride away before starting up your little concerts in here when you tell me to leave early. Bet you play air-guitar ‘nd everything when I’m gone, like a dork.”

Visibly curbing his habit to lick his lips, not desiring the swipe of dust it’d come with, Eddie narrowed his eyes, and cocked his head back to regard you down the slope of his nose. “Yeah? And what do you think of the music I listen to?”

“Unsurprising. Suits your image.” Engaging in a bit of intentionality, you worked your hand from his nape and introduced your fingertips to his other shoulder, wrapping your arm tighter around him, and you were enveloped by his warmth doing the same. The waistband of his coveralls rubbed against the metal zipper of his bulky jacket you wore as you moved in unison. “I recognize the big stuff. Metallica, Iron Maiden, Judas Priest..” You shrugged. “Accept?”

The tip of Eddie’s nose came into focus, then his big eyes searching yours as he turned his face side to side, examining you up close. “I wasn’t even playing Balls to the Wall. No one just casually names Accept like that. You like them!”

“Okay, okay, slow down, don’t get too excited,” you calmed him before he strained a tendon in the very finger he pointed at you. “I’ve couch surfed with a lot of weirdos, and lived with six roommates at one point. I’ve listened to my fair share of music through thin walls whether I liked it or not.. But yeah, I like metal enough, I guess.”

Though he unlinked your waltzing hands in his rush to assert himself in your personal space, his arm around your waist persisted–and if he were wary of crossing boundaries, he showed no heed when he employed his strength to press your chests together through the layers of clothes in a sense of spontaneity.

Your view was eclipsed by the thrill in his boyish grin, and then, his hair was slipping from your curious fingers.

“Wait here–!”

And he was gone. His body heat bounded away and out the back door. You were stunned with your hands still posed as if he were there.

You dropped your arms to your sides, and clutched the rugged canvas jacket around you, waiting, listening to the gravel crunch and a car door slam, peering out into the dark to see what became so important he left his dancing partner in the middle of the warehouse in utter confusion.

“Got it,” he said in his stride to the stereo.

“Got what?” It was rude enough to abandon you, and now he was ignoring you in his frenzy. You followed him to the workbench, and turned to the side to rest your hip on it. The heater thawed your shins while Eddie pried open a cassette, but you couldn’t read the front from how he held it in his palms.

Snap. Click. Whirr.

He leaned his ass on the table top and folded his arms over his chest, instilling a narrow distance between you two. His gaze was on the floor. Eyes falling closed. For once, he did not want to see your reaction.

The speakers crackled with static.

You startled.

It was a hard left turn from the somber jazz from before.

Drumsticks crashed on cymbals, setting the aggressive pace for a piercing guitar to enter on a screeching note, quickly devolving into thrashy chords sure to make the fingers sore, along with a bass and rhythm guitar that were getting lost in your pounding head.

Though he wasn’t watching, you schooled the surprise from your features, and relaxed your shoulders. The music wasn’t offensive in the least, but it was loud.

After the initial assault, and a quick bass solo, you were nodding along, enjoying the overwhelming beat pulsing in your throat making it difficult to breathe.

The shredding guitar wept to a softer bridge, and the vocals began.

The vocals began.

The vocals..

The lyrics were spoken–sung–with the last word being dragged into a melodic ballad as the instruments went silent. A rich note held by a man whose voice was neither deep, nor falsetto. Perfectly in the middle. Perfectly fitting your preference. Perfectly matching the one you heard most days, and thought about at night, when your bed was lonely and your body was flushed with heat.

Perfectly matching..

You snapped your attention to Eddie’s face. His eyelids twitched with movement. Individual curls of his hair swung in time to his head dipping to the tempo. His cheek jumped at the start of the next verse, and he dug his fingernails into his sleeve until they turned white.

“This is you,” you expelled in pure infatuation. “Eddie!” You clasped his bicep, and leaned in to him, excelling at matching his enthusiasm from earlier, and surpassing it. “Eddie, this is you!” He opened his eyes and slouched away from your efforts in a laugh, angling his face into his hair to hide his shy grin.

You ran your hand along his forearm and tugged, wheedling him out of the tight hug he had himself locked in, urging him to open up. “This is you singing, isn’t it? This is your band.” The cassette case was behind him. Corroded Coffin. Same name as what was on his sweatshirt on Halloween. 

The second button on his coveralls snapped open, below the one he always kept unfastened. You didn’t know at what point you were bold enough to put your hand on his chest, nor gather the fabric into your fist while shaking some sense into him, but you did. You really did expose the tight white shirt clinging to his sticky skin. All for the sake of validating Eddie.

When he continued acting far too humble–shrinking into himself, and mumbling how it wasn’t that cool–you wasted no time embarrassing yourself by jumping on your tiptoes, telling him just how cool it was, you promised.

Reaching behind him, he slapped the volume knob down so you both could stop shouting.

“I appreciate the groupie attitude, but it’s not like we’re a big deal, or anything,” he said, awkwardly folding one of his arms on top of the workbench as he surrendered and turned to you. His other hand hesitated near the bottom of the jacket. “About once a month we get a gig in Indy. Doesn’t pay much, but it covers the cost of the trip, and we get a decent crowd, I guess. Uhm, the venue sells out.. sometimes. People know some of the lyrics. We sell a couple of shirts..” he trailed off upon making eye contact. “We only get to practice on the days I leave work early. Maybe on the weekend.. so.”

Overflowing with sincerity, you trusted your hands to behave themselves on his forearm, laying your decent fingers over the tensed muscle above his wrist where he wore his watch.

He canted his head, and gave you a cynical look. “It’s not like we’re famous or anything.”

“I think it’s so cool you’re in a band,” you stressed. “How come you never told me?”

Shrugging, he glanced elsewhere. “Being you, and being from New York, you probably know hundreds of bands who’ve made it big. I’m sure you’ve met way more impressive people.”

Is that what this was about? Not sharing his theatrical past, and now his band because he was insecure about not impressing you, of all things? Using a resentful tone when speaking about his life versus yours, as if the comparisons mattered when it took all of your willpower to not stare at his lips in this proximity.

“Who cares who I’ve met. You sound amazing. The music, your voice. Everything. It’s uniquely yours, and I can’t believe you didn’t tell me sooner.”

Eddie sighed.

Cozying into the position, he leaned his weight on the arm you cupped your palms over, and there was a pull at the hem of the jacket. You shifted closer. He looped his finger into the pocket and rubbed his thumb along the edge of it, seeking an absent-minded distraction as he explained, “I also didn’t want to, ah–I don’t know.. Scare you off. Like, if you didn’t like it, or thought heavy metal was Satanic, or some shit.”

“Scare me off?” At least, you intended to repeat it back to him as a question, but your laugh interrupted you. “Oh, Eddie. Light of my day, my neverending fountain of mirth, a true joy to be around,” you gushed at his exaggerated sneer. “If you didn’t scare me off the first week of meeting you, where you made it a point to glare at me for the mere act of speaking in your direction, I don’t think your very obvious music taste would.”

He looked at his boots for a moment to reflect on his behavior, but forwent an apology, and instead asked, “So, you don’t think it’s lame for me to be pushing 30-years-old, and still playing in a garage band?” There was a truncated tension at the end of his question, like he wanted to add more self-deprecation to it, but stopped himself. Good thing, too, because you were about to voice your adulations until you were rendered to a puddle of embarrassment.

Sparing no sarcasm, you furrowed your brows and screwed your mouth into a snarky grin as you rolled your eyes. “Yeah, girls find it totally lame when hot guys with long hair drive fast cars and play loud music and are in a band. It’s totally the most unattractive thing, especially when they have tattoos and are good singers. Definitely isn’t a turn-on at all.”

Too far, too much, too inappropriate–

The last sentence was over the line, and you could see it in his surprised eyebrows wrinkling his forehead, and his wide pupils boring into yours, and his cheeks reddening as your words sank in.

The garage went viscerally quiet.

He stopped fidgeting with the jacket pocket.

Mistake, mistake, mistake.

“Not just the vocalist,” he said, voice cracking on the whisper. “I play lead guitar, too.”

You spat out, “Very cool,” desperate for the relief of his face cracking into a flattered grin.

But no, Eddie didn’t grant you such comfort. However, he did spare you the chance to scratch at the anxious sweat dripping down your back when he rearranged how he was standing, and spun around to the stereo. “It’s pretty late, huh? We should probably get going.” He pressed his hips to the workbench as he organized the tapes into their cases. Then, he paused.

The case yours went to was blank. Nothing written on the dotted lines on the back, nor on the front of the tape.

“I need my jacket back,” he reminded you.

“R-Right.”

You shimmied it off, and handed it to him. He draped it over his arm, and clutched the bulk to his stomach, covering his front as he turned to face you again. “Here.” Holding out the black and white cassette with a stylized logo he drew himself, he gave you his personal copy of Corroded Coffin’s first recording session. “You take mine. I’ll take yours.”

“Are you sure?”

Staring at the mixtape compiled of the cheesy love songs you made over the course of a few nights, he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” And as he dragged his feet backwards–avoiding the space heater without looking–he said on his way to the tray where he kept his rings, “We should do this again. The whole.. dancing thing.” He gestured with the tape. “I’ll pick the music next time, too.”

With his back to you, he cleaned up his station, and let you know you could go. “I’ll lock up behind you.”

“You never answered if you were helping me hang decorations,” you found your voice. It was hiding behind a hammering heart, and shallow-filled lungs.

Outside, a car honked at a truck to take their turn at a green light.

The metal teeth on his jacket ground together as Eddie zipped it up. He sank his heavy hands into the pockets to weigh them down, and crossed his work boots at the ankle to about-face in a sort of pirouette, pinning you with his lopsided grin and mellow demeanor. “You know, I thought with all the life lessons I’ve had to learn over the past five years, I’d be able to resist a pretty girl asking me to do things for her.” He snorted and flicked his eyes to the ceiling, shaking his head. “But when they’re as beautiful as you, I just can’t.”

His gaze came crashing down onto you, and your tongue froze at the tip of your teeth.

“Alright, Casanova,” you let out in a shaky breath. “I’ll take that as you agreeing, and will see you bright and early, and without any complaints.” You left as fast as you could.

No, really. The Tour de France better have a spot open for you, with how fast you pedaled home to sit on your bed, cross legged, happily ruining your hearing from having the volume scrolled to the max on your Walkman, listening to Eddie’s voice, wondering at what point the endorphins would wear off and you were stuck agonizing over how blatant you were about calling your coworker hot. And how he called you beautiful in return.

————

Talking amongst the sputtering coffee machine beginning its brew:

“The fourth one–uh–Solivagant, is definitely my favorite!”

“That one’s instrumental,” Eddie pouted. “And here I was under the impression you liked my lyrics.. Mm, a little lower on your side.”

You put blu-tack on your end of the banner, and pressed it into the wall. “I do! But that one really got stuck in my head. The way all the guitars came together to play the harmony was just–Eddie! You did that on purpose.”

Stepping around to the other side of the lunch table, you threw your head back in a groan at the glittery Happy Holidays sign you wrongly assumed he would help you hang without turning it into a way to tease you.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled on your way to fix the banner so it was even, and his side wasn’t higher by a few inches.

“Sorry,” he said weakly between his snickering. “Let me.”

There was no letting him do what he wanted. He was going to push his way into your space, regardless. Literally, shoving a chair out of his way with his hip, and standing behind you to peel the sticky tacky off the wall, and raising it from your face’s height, to slightly above your head, needlessly, infuriatingly, unhelpfully helping you. Barging in with his hand on your shoulder, and his body at your back. Closer, more intimate than the time at the grocery store.

His inhale swelled his solid chest against your shoulder blades, and his hum rumbled down your spine. “Am I supposed to dress up nice for your party?”

You twisted your head back to admire the underside of his freshly shaven jaw smelling of astringent spice. “Only if you feel like it,” you guessed. “The dress I’m wearing is pretty casual, but you don’t have to do anything special if you don’t want to.” After circling his thumb over the tacky corner of the sign, he dropped his arms, grazing them over yours, if only in passing. “I think the other guys are wearing button down shirts.”

His gaze drifted as he visualized his closet.

You stared. “Do you really not have one nice shirt?”

“I might still have the one from my job interview,” he said, tucking his chin to look at you, creating a silly amount of wrinkles along his burgeoning grin.

The front door chimed. Either Carl, Kevin, or your boss just walked in, and it was then Eddie realized the position he had you in. It struck him when his peppermint-candy-and-cigarettes breath caressed your fluttering lashes, and he could discern the bubblegum flavored chapstick on your lips, just like you could observe the balm on his.

If someone saw him trapping you alone in the breakroom against the wall with your backside pressed to him, there would be no delicate conversation about consensual workplace relationships. He’d be gone.

“Sorry!”

Eddie made his swift retreat–three, no, four steps away.

You widened your eyes at him, at his obviousness, and tried to communicate through your facial expression you knew what he was thinking, and everything was okay. You two were a bit too comfortable around each other, that’s all. It wasn’t something serious he needed to explain away. No one caught him. It was innocent, like slow dancing when no one was around. Innocent. Teasing.

“I, uhm– Y-Yeah, the shirt.” He forced his fingers to unclench into limp fists at his side. Face pale, yet hot. “It’s–I’ll wear it.”

Wringing your hand around the fridge door handle, you bent towards him, and raised your eyebrows higher, imploring him to chill. “Eddie, you can come in a t-shirt and jeans. It doesn’t matter. Adrie can wear whatever she wants, too. It’s just a casual thing.”

Totally casual. Like the body heat fading from the back of your green knit sweater where his chest became acquainted with the acrylic. Dissipating on his skin beneath his coveralls where the crown of your head met his shoulder. Very casual.

“Uhm–”

“So..”

You both started, and ended.

“Mornin’!” Mr. Moore’s gruff greeting came from the hallway.

Treating it as a warning, you each responded with an acknowledgement of your boss’ appearance as he walked into the room. “Good morning!” and “Salutations!” To which you shut your eyes in exasperation at Eddie’s unusual welcome, begging him to act normal while Mr. Moore poured sugar in his coffee.

After stirring in complete silence, he took turns smiling at you both, and meandered to his office, closing the door behind him.

Eddie shifted topics to the table where piles of garland remained coiled.

“Should we–?”

“Wanna just, uh, forget decorating for today, ‘nd do it tomorrow?” you spoke over him.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding too enthusiastically. He tossed his hair out of his face, revealing the red tips of his ears for a split-second, and said, “Tomorrow, yeah. We can do the rest of this shit tomorrow.”

A very graceful conversation between two people who just had a very ordinary interaction without any explicit implications.

“We’re still having lunch together later, right?” you asked.

“Duh. You’ve gotta finish giving me your thoughts on the rest of our EP. The chorus for Taladasian Empire has some meta references to the other songs, I don’t know if you caught onto that, but the second verse mentions..”

Oh, he was adorable when he hyperfixated. Not only did it steer the conversation away from the previous blood-scorching incident, but it was rather nice to have a reason to stare at his lips move a mile a minute as he conjured an unprompted dissertation about his music’s lore, even as you were sitting at your desk, pointing at your ringing phone, and suggesting he should also get to work.

There were only two days left before the long holiday, and customers needed their cars before the shop was closed for the break.

————

Kevin sipped his coffee in the early morning sunlight filtering through the garage.

You garnered Eddie’s help whenever he was available, and the current task was dressing up your receptionist desk to look like a big present, complete with a gold bow flowing over the ledge where the candy bowl sat. Eddie crouched at one end holding a roll of wrapping paper while you unfurled it to the other, and measured it to the side facing the lobby.

Kevin watched the interaction through a unique lens, noting how Eddie bounced on his heels, appearing both bored and anxious to get back to work, but when he glanced over at you–at your face pinched in concentration as you fought with the tape dispenser with one hand–it was as if his worries melted away.

The boy calmed down.

Though Kevin didn’t come in often, the effect you had on the misfit was overt in the sweetest way. It reminded him of his first and last love, who had since passed.

~~~

Carl sipped his coffee as he stood in the doorway to the breakroom.

The lobby was taken over by a cheerful wonderment.

Eddie was hanging white and blue streamers from the drop ceiling tiles, while you decorated the windows with silver snowflakes. At first, Carl thought Eddie was pinning them up around the perimeter of the room because he lacked direction, but then he saw why he insisted on following you around, setting up the step ladder directly behind you.

Without discussing it, you reached out for Eddie’s arm as you stepped onto the cushiony lobby chair customers sat in when waiting for their cars, and he was at the ready. He lent his balance to you, crooking his elbow for you to slot your fingers into, and once steady, you let go.

The conversation picked up where it was left off, and the decorating continued.

Now that the glass door was unblocked, Kevin shuffled inside with his cold mug to get a refill, and stopped next to Carl on his way to the coffee machine.

“You sure those two ain’t datin’?” he asked.

Carl shrugged with his mug on the way to his mouth. “Apparently not. Ed said they’re just friends.”

At a sound in the lobby, they craned their heads to the furthest wall to witness Eddie beaming down at you. His smile was a rarity, and watching the enormous emotion take over him when you touched his arm and laughed at his joke; it was a sight worthy of remembering.

Kevin scratched at the side of his head, then straightened out the bill to his baseball cap over his wispy white hair, and squinted at the mischievous glint in Carl’s eyes.

“But David did say he walked in on them looking mighty flustered yesterday.”

“Did he, now?”

Swallowing the hot coffee with a wet smack of his lips, he emphasized a drawn out, “Yep.”

Kevin suggested, “Maybe the holiday spirit will take over, and they’ll confess their feelings under some mistletoe.”

“Uck,” he replied with a disgusted noise. “You’re always such a romantic.”

“You’re the one starin’ at them,” Kevin countered on his way to the coffee pot, shuffling from the arthritis in his knees, and focusing his energy into keeping his trembling hand still as he poured his drink. “Besides, I think his little girl would appreciate having someone like her in their lives.”

————

Four hours before the party, the auto shop was swept into a flurry of activity.

Carl and Kevin each had vehicles to work on; driving a truck out to the parking lot for a customer to pick up after you called them, and driving a car in. Working in tandem to the jolly Christmas music on the radio. Crowding the garage with discarded packaging from parts that would be gathered to be burned later.

“Guh–” You hung up the phone, and pressed a button to erase what you previously recorded after you stuttered over part of your script.

This outgoing message thing wasn’t going well.

Sighing, you picked it up and pressed the record button again. “You’ve reached David’s Auto Shop at..” you enunciated the number and address in an even tone. “We’re currently closed for the Holidays, and will open at 8AM, Mon–”

The smell of cigarettes should’ve been your first warning. The hand tipping your office chair back should’ve been the second. The general Eddie-ism of it all should’ve been the third.

Eddie blew a raspberry directly into the receiver.

“You! Why! That one was perfect. God, you are so–freaking–annoying. I swear. Obnoxious little..” Fuming, you hung up, and glared at him.

He cackled on his way to the garage. “Hey, since you’re not busy, can you help me roll this stack of tires to the Buick over there?” Before you could share the choice words you had prepared for him–before you could process the droplets of spit drying on your cheek–before the door could hit him on the way out–he spun and caught it and ducked his head back in. “Oh! Don’t forget your policy. Can’t say no to helping me, huh?” On his smooth exit, he winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth, flashing a gratuitous amount of teeth on the smirk.

“You are the absolute worst.” You grabbed your hoodie and followed him, pointedly not thanking him for holding the door open for you. “And you know what? I seriously regret ever telling you about my dumbass policy.”

“Really? I’ve only just begun to actualize the potential for making you do things for me. I’m loving it!”

~~~

Three hours before the party, you put the finishing touches on the breakroom before Robin arrived with the food you ordered from the bakery and deli at the grocery store. Some was excess that would’ve gone to waste; extra cupcakes, and cookies. Other things were ordered, like finger sandwiches, veggie trays, and an arrangement of cheese cubes with those cute toothpicks that have red and green cellophane at the top. You also gave her money for the makings of smores, bags of pretzels, and crackers, themed plates and cups to match. The works.

You cleaned the countertop free of appliances, putting them away in the cupboards to make space and give outlets to the crockpots Mr. Moore’s wife was bringing later.

Otherwise, you shoved a tall stool borrowed from the garage in the corner of the room, and placed the small TV from Mr. Moore’s office on it, intending to play Holiday programs while people funneled in and out.

~~~

Two hours before the party, the sun was setting on the horizon. Eddie moved his car to the end of the alleyway, and Carl rolled out a barrel to be stuffed with leftover cardboard boxes, and firewood he brought from home.

He and Eddie moved the workbench to the service door, and set up the bigger TV so people could watch the football game while standing around the fire.

~~~

One hour before the party, the garage was cleared of anything that a child could hurt themselves on or with, and the shop was hushed in wait. Eddie left first to get Adrie from school, and go home to change. The other guys did the same, leaving to collect what family they were bringing, while you stayed behind to stress over having enough food to feed everyone, even after Robin dropped off more snacks than you remembered listing, along with your party clothes.

————

The evening began trepidatious.

Guests filled the lobby like a sea of warmly-dressed sardines. Scarves, mittens, jackets brushed necks, hands, shoulders. Those recognizing each other hugged, while three rambunctious dogs wove through their legs. You introduced yourself to Mr. Moore’s daughter, Misty, and waved at her newborn. Carl’s teenage sons took the opportunity of their mom being busy to throw pebbles at each other outside. Mr. Moore’s wife and her brother and his eldest son were either setting up food or starting the fire. There was a moody girl of unknown origin moping in the corner. You lost track. It was hard to concentrate in the excitement.

You tugged your sleeves into your palms, and looked around the room for what must’ve been the hundredth time..

Eddie was late, and it was difficult keeping the concern off your face.

“Don’t look so worried,” Kevin said, landing a hand on your back as he shuffled by, carrying the scent of lighter fluid and smoke. “Your date’s still in his car. Probably workin’ up the nerve to come see you.”

“He’s not my date,” you corrected with a comically repulsed frown, hoping he’d buy it. “We’re friends.”

A twinkle danced in his stark blue eyes, and his open-mouthed smile peeked from beneath his thick mustache. “Look out.”

Look out?

A pair of tiny arms hugged you around your ass, and if it wasn’t for the tell-tale giggle, your stomach would be flipping with a much different emotion.

“Adrie!” You twisted and subtly scooped her arms higher on your hips before cupping the back of her head, and hugging her to your leg in the warmest greeting you could muster while your brain went to mush.

“You made it,” you said, staring, staring, staring.

Eddie pressed his lips together as he looked from his daughter to you. Happiness etched itself in every facet of his expression; in the tight smile he failed to control, to the tenderness of his half-closed eyes shining behind his lashes, his confident stance with his hands slotted into his work jacket pockets, in his washed hair falling to one side as he let his head loll from the heavy thoughts swaying his shoulders in a slow rocking motion. Everything about him was relaxed upon seeing you.

“You look beautiful,” he complimented with a magnificent amount of ease, as if he wasn’t a bundle of anxiety minutes ago. Yet, he didn’t withhold his praise. In gradual seconds–each longer than the last–he beheld your appearance in the highest regard, noting the vast departure from the jeans you usually wore.

The burgundy pinafore dress fit you snug, and the hem stopped high on your thighs. The thin white turtleneck underneath clung to your figure, and your black pantyhose matched your chunky Mary Janes.

It was one beret and a baguette short from being an outfit you wore for a skit with your comedy troupe, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Really beautiful,” he said to himself, taking you in, his whisper lost amongst the beginning strums of Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree playing from the garage.

Adrie grabbed at the dress around your waist, chaining herself to you in a needy act for attention, and you stroked your thumb over her hair in return, eyes refusing to leave her father.

“And what about you, handsome?” You signaled it was his turn to show off.

So far, the formfitting gray slacks with a faint plaid pattern were doing him justice, but you wanted to see the whole thing.

Peacocking, Eddie lifted an arrogant brow on the same side of his smirk, and put some confidence in how he unzipped his jacket, savoring the anticipation. Opening it slowly to unveil, unfathomably, a button up shirt. White with blue stripes. Untucked, of course. Dropping the jacket from his shoulders, he strutted in a circle, giving you the full view of his back–no rugged coveralls, no leather, no durable canvas, no sweatshirt–just thin polycotton blend stretched over his frame alluding to his musculature.

Working the jacket back up his arms, he presented one of his legs forward. “Think I gained some weight since I last wore these. They used to fit better.”

Oh. Oh, no. They fit perfectly.

While he was busy looking at where the slacks tapered to his black boots, you were commending other areas. Like his thighs, where the pants gave a slim shadow where his boxers ended. And a little higher, to the place the fabric bunched around, and forced the zipper to curve outward. The real deal. The whole package. The big show.

Jesus..

“You look good,” you croaked out with the last of the air in your lungs. He jerked his head up, and smiled his usual way–too wide, a little askew, showing more teeth on one side than the other. “Should’ve known you’d be just as handsome dressed up as you are in a t-shirt and jeans.”

“You hear that, Adrie? It was worth it being late, because I look extra handsome.”

“I didn’t say extra–”

“Who cares,” she whined at him. After demonstrating an ounce of patience while her dad took a shower, washed his hair, shaved, spritzed on too much cologne, and stood in front of the mirror debating over wearing his nicer clothes or his usual ripped jeans for an excruciating number of minutes, she was at her limits. “My outfit is way, way, way cuter,” she argued in her kid-like way, fighting for your approval.

You crouched to her level, and she twirled in a circle, copying him. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! Your sweatshirt is way, way, way cuter than his boring clothes. What does it say?” Somewhere above you, you heard Eddie suck his teeth.

Adrie pinched the red pullover and held it out for you to read along with her.

“Santa’s.. Widdle helper.” The pronunciation wasn’t her fault. Upon closer inspection, the text did indeed spell ‘little’ as ‘wittl’.’

“And who’s that?” you asked, pointing at the character jumping out of a Christmas stocking on the front.

“Tweety Bird!”

“Alright!” You held your hand up, and she high-fived you.

Thrown back into reality at a dog’s yip, and Mr. Moore’s survey of heads, you let go of the romanticized bubble you surrounded yourself in, where it was just you, Adrie, and Eddie, and took heed of the packed room lurching towards the smell of cooked meatballs wafting in the air.

“Everyone here?” Mr. Moore asked, and when a murmur arose, he rubbed his hands together, and announced, “Let’s eat! Game starts soon.”

The sardine conglomerate moved as one, making a concentrated effort to form a line from the breakroom, down the hallway, and ending where you stood at the glass door. Adrie struggled to accept being last in line, but you prepared many distractions for her; the first of which being Eddie’s present.

“I got something for you,” you said, and reached over the ledge of your desk, patting around in search of the special item. He expressed an unreasonable amount of suspicion. “You have to promise to wear it. Or else..” You gave Adrie a look, and she had a pout at the ready if he didn’t comply.

“I don’t like it when you two gang up on me,” he mumbled, eyeing you.

“Too bad. Here.”

Eddie snorted at the red, white, fuzzy, jingly accessory in your hand. “Really?” he asked, and laughed, “Would’ve worn it anyway.”

After a pause where he held the Santa hat in strange contemplation, he humbly knelt on his knees to Adrie, and asked her to do the honors, “Wanna put it on for me?” She did so enthusiastically, jamming the hat on his head, rattling the bell at the end of the cap, and calling him Daddy Santa while roughly combing his hair. He was sure to hold your gaze as he prompted Adrie, “Not real Santa, right?”

“No, you’re Daddy Santa. Real Santa is coming in two days! And he’s bringing me lots of presents because I’ve been good.”

You understood, then, the glaze of fatigue in the look he gave you. It’d be a few more years until Adrie thanked him for the miracles in her life, the food in her belly, the roof over her head, and as a father, he only hoped he’d fix his situation before she learned the full details of his sacrifices to raise her, to give her a room, to provide her with a bed of her own while he went without.

Still, he was in the constant battle of yearning for the acknowledgement, while fearing her growing up and discovering the real world.

A complex set of emotions to parse for both him and his daughter, and he had to do it alone.

“Ow, Adrie..”

Coming to his rescue when she began pinching his cheeks to a rosy state, you got her attention, “Don’t think I forgot about you, cutie pie.” From behind the ledge, you pulled out a pair of reindeer antlers on a headband, and slid them on for her, doubling as a way to keep her bangs out of her eyes.

Glee burst across her face in a smile which rivaled the dawning rays of the rising sun. Deep-seated satisfaction erupted in your chest at her joy over the small gesture. Her immediate desire was to be picked up by you, ready to be doted on, and in that moment, you wanted nothing other than to gather her in your arms. But Eddie stole her for himself. You were left Adrie-less. And the fact it bothered you, and the fact making his daughter happy affected you in a way you’d only begun to unpack last week when you asked Robin to drive you to the toy store at the mall, was complicated.

“You can’t coerce Miss Mouse into picking you up at your command,” he told her in a playful tone. “You’re a big girl now, and only Daddy’s strong enough to hold you.”

“Oh, puh-lease.” As if your tongue wasn’t already stuck out in disgust, it certainly was when he made a show of flexing his biceps. Under his jacket. Like that would prove anything.

Now, if he were wearing less..

You latched onto the change of subject in your mind, and moved on with the night, away from the poignant feelings of longing for something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

For now, you made a sardine family. You, Adrie, and Eddie. Your hand in hers, she on his hip, and his kiss to her forehead, fond of one another. Huddled in shared conversation–the type where everything faded away. No one else. Just you, Adrie, and Eddie.

You volunteered to make their dinner. With Adrie clinging to his side, she was able to boss you into putting whatever she wanted on her plate, and you checked Eddie’s amused face every time she added another carrot or ham pinwheel, knowing he’d be the one to eat it when she was full. After hers, you made his, and after his, you made yours. Balancing them all on your palms and forearm, and bringing them to your desk, assuring Eddie he could have the office chair while you took the black stool.

Poor him, though. He sat with Adrie in his lap, desperate to maneuver around her antlers to get a mini cupcake in his mouth while you freely ate your sandwiches, and answered her questions about if reindeer were real, and if they could fly. (Yes, and yes.)

Other guests were present in the lobby, you knew, but at the impact of your knee prodding Eddie’s thigh, and his sly grin over Adrie’s head, they faded away once more.

Until a flash startled you both from your ga-ga gazing into each other’s eyes.

“Just saving memories!” Kevin exclaimed, scrolling his thumb over the disposable camera’s film cog.

And before you could blink away the spot invading your vision, he was gone. “Hope we looked good, at least,” you said to Eddie, not having a candid picture taken since you moved to Hawkins.

He snorted, and leaned around Adrie to see the meatball he was quartering for her with a plastic fork. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, sweetheart.”

Your heart fluttered at the endearment. He said it in a casual manner, not like when he was trying to fluster you. And the compliment was sincere, not teasing. It was sweet, with his arm around his daughter to keep her from squirming away, and the warm comfort of his leg against yours, body heat transferring from his slacks through your thin pantyhose.

A moment you’d like to remember. Including..

“Here,” you giggled.

He looked at the napkin you held out to him, and where you tapped at the corner of your mouth. “Oh.”

In true Eddie fashion, he used his tongue to edge at the green icing, following it with his thumb to get whatever he missed and sucking the rest from his fingers while still managing to entertain Adrie with questions about what she did in preschool today, and dipping a carrot in ranch, dropping some of it too onto his pinky and licking that off without hesitation too. A chaotic mess of a man.

~~~

As predicted, it didn’t take long for Adrie to get bored, and she wandered off to play with Kevin’s dogs. Eddie took it upon himself to finish the monumental task of eating the assortment of leftovers she surrendered on her plate. A real hero of the times, scarfing down the butter ring cookies she wore on her fingers, and downing the sip of juice she didn’t want.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Simple, flowing. He slouched to the side with his elbow on the desk, cheek to his fist, legs spread,  listening to you talk about nothing.

“And as you can see” –You pulled open the second drawer to the short filing cabinet under your desk– “I’m all organized for the new year. Got my Post-it notes, a new set of highlighters, some of those fancy pens that make my handwriting look nicer. Living a life of luxury over here.”

“Very cool,” he replied in a hollow tone, implying it was in a mocking ‘you’re adorable’ kind of way, and not a ‘wow, you bought the Bugs Bunny themed sticky notes, that’s very cool of you’ kind of way.

You pushed the drawer closed with your foot, and rocked on your stool, grinning.

Beyond the circle of touching knees, fluorescent lights, and brave glances, there was an abrupt cheer at a scored touchdown. In the lobby, the mothers grouped the chairs together to adore the hiccuping newborn. In the parking lot, the teenage boys drove a remote control car around. The moody girl brought a skewer and marshmallows out to the fire. A Jack Russell terrier panted at your calf. Kevin patted Adrie’s head, and stooped to whisper a secret in her ear as they passed each other outside the glass door.

Eddie took the pom pom end of his Santa hat between two fingers and rattled the bell at you. He looked like he was about to speak, but someone special interrupted him.

“I’ve been sent on a mission. You have to come with me!”

You both turned to Adrie.

When neither of you did anything besides raise your eyebrows expectantly, and she didn’t give more context, nor information, she got impatient. “Come on!” she pleaded with a stomp, and grabbed your hand, and you grabbed Eddie’s sleeve on instinct, practically tripping him over your stool while she dragged you into the hallway.

After several feet, she stopped. You stopped, Eddie stopped.

“What’s the mission?” he played along, linking his hand in hers so you were one big circle. A sardine family.

She didn’t speak. Only grinned, and giggled.

Not catching on, you exchanged a confused shrug with Eddie, and asked her, “Is it a riddle?”

More laughter. Harder, more persistent tugs around your pinky and ring finger where she snared you. And a direct, focused smile aimed above your heads.

Slowly–slowly–slowly–

You straightened up from how you were bent over, and listened to Eddie’s clothes shift as he did the same. You followed the invisible line to where she was looking, tipping your head back in curiosity to see what was taped to the doorway exactly between you, and her beloved dad.

There was silence all around.

From the sharp leaves and red berries of the mistletoe, your gaze began its slow descent to Eddie’s. Passing over the red hat, the wrinkled forehead with messy bangs flattened onto it, the worried eyebrows. His sickly pale cheeks, flushed red lips. Suspended in time. Heart in your tight throat, pounding pulse, stomach twisting. 

You searched the frightened sheen in his eyes.

“I didn’t hang that, I swear,” he whispered.

“I didn’t either,” you promised just as quickly.

It didn’t matter who did.

There was noise all around. The football game turned to a commercial, and heavy feet announced people entering the garage, and approaching the glass door, coming inside to refresh their drinks and nibble at the cheese cubes.

Quickly–quickly–quickly–

“She.. We’ve been watching a lot of Christmas movies, and she must’ve seen it in one of them.” Lowering his voice, he brought his hand up in a sympathetic gesture, trying to explain her behavior. You let go of his sleeve. “She doesn’t understand.. The meaning, and everything.” He paused. “Us.” Another pause, a tic in his lower lip like a tremble. “Working together, and stuff.” Voice almost mute. “That w-we can’t..”

As much as you wanted to smash your lips on his to stop him from overexplaining the multitude of reasons you two couldn’t, or shouldn’t kiss, (you’re at work, this place smells like meatballs, his daughter is right there, Mr. Moore’s shadow breached the lobby, the fact Eddie chose listing coworkers as his rationale for not kissing you and not because you two were friends, but then again, what if he was about to say that, that he only saw you as a friend, and maybe being coworkers was an easier excuse than saying he wasn’t into you like that, oh god–), you had to get out of this situation with grace.

“No, yeah, I get it. Uhm.” Think fast, think fast, think fast. “You know who else is under the mistletoe, hmm?” you drew out the hum to build tension, setting your sights on your target.

Adrie squealed when you snatched her up and spun in a circle, attacking her cheeks with an unrelenting amount of kisses; the type that were quick pecks with lots of kissy noises, so saccharine and fawning and annoying to listen to. Tender and pure and tempting to the man who made a conscious effort to release the pinch of frustration from his face, and remorse from his discontent sigh before answering your question.

“Can she have one of these chocolate snowmen?”

“Only if you’re willing to tire her out before we leave,” Eddie said, taking intentional steps towards you and Adrie on your hip, leaving the mistletoe and its implications behind. He placed a friendly hand along your shoulder blade. His other hand was more menacing on her back, as indicated by her eyes growing large.

He warned her in a stern tone, “If you have too much sugar and keep me up all night, you’ll never have another dessert again.”

She called him out, point blank, nose turned up in triumph. “You’ve already said that before, and I got cookies anyway.”

Your cookies, he said in a quick glance and eyebrow wag at you, before speaking to her again, “You got me there. However.. I would hate for Santa to find out you stayed up past your bedtime.” He sucked his teeth with a pitying shrug. “The consequences are steep. He’s very strict, you know.”

Adrie’s frown was serious.

Eddie was having too much fun using his one seasonal threat to get her to behave.

“Aw, don’t listen to him,” you soothed her. You lifted your chin so she could burrow her head against your neck, and amended, “Well, do listen to your dad, but I have something special planned for us, Adrie.” She roused out of her heart-wrenching pout, and hugged you harder, kicking her feet around your waist in excitement.

You smiled at him, but your gaze fell elsewhere, passing over the men in the hallway, and taking a last, long look at the mistletoe, seeing it for the confusing event it created, not the romantic scene it was known for. “I’ll take her for the night. You go watch the game, or something. Hang out with the adults. I’ve got her.”

The tiny room became overcrowded. Someone whispered, “Oh, aren’t they cute together,” and Eddie chewed on his inner cheek. He removed his hand from you, fingertips slipping over the back of your dress, catching the strap, then your side, below your ribs, above Adrie’s leg. Measured, methodical touches. Not accidents.

While his face lacked strong emotions, there were words in his eyes. Maybe they were an apology for the weirdness you now found yourselves in, or a thank you for taking her off his hands for a bit, or they were something else entirely. He didn’t say.

“You two have fun,” he expressed in his soft voice, and grabbed a cold soda on his way out.

~~~

A cold soda did not unwind him like a beer.

Eddie warmed himself by the barrel fire while the game played. Though any opportunity to talk with his peers rarely expanded past the usual topics of work and raising his daughter, and were frequently shadowed by what was happening on the screen, he didn’t mind the interruption. He knew the rules of the game enough to feel a sense of camaraderie when they celebrated. And really, he just wanted the time to think. Or not think. Definitely not think about how he reacted earlier, stumbling over his words to assure you he wasn’t some creep who hung mistletoe as a way to trick you into kissing him. Absolutely not agonize over his inability to articulate himself, and provide you with an out while also reminding himself why he shouldn’t listen to his impulse clawing to be released, and kiss you on the spot. And certainly not consider your mild response to the whole thing, and how your gaze lingered–for a millisecond–on his lips before you scooped Adrie into your arms.

Eddie ran the heel of palm along his jaw, back and forth, and worked it to the back of his neck, wringing his nape in tight squeezes to release the tension.

A beer was definitely better than soda, but so be it. He downed the rest of it, and justified going inside for another. Of course, his motives for going through the lobby weren’t to quench his thirst, but as he almost ran face-first into the glass door, his mouth went dry.

Your ass in the curve-hugging dress was the first thing he noticed. Noticed it because you were curled into the fetal position on the floor, pretending to die a dramatic death. Oh, and you were wearing a black cape adorned in shiny gold stars, and your mouse ears from Halloween, along with a crown.

The loud crunch of him crushing his soda can got your attention.

“You don’t always have to dress like a mouse for her; she knows who you are,” he said in cool nonchalance on his way to the fridge.

You pointed a pirate’s cutlass at him, regarding him down the plastic blade. “I’m the Rat King.”

The music on the portable radio changed moods from a battle march to a victorious, slow piece.

Ditching the mouse ears by throwing them aside into a small pile of other props, you instructed Adrie to exchange her rapier for a flower crown. “Ooh, ooh! And this is where Clara and the Nutcracker Prince dance. Yeah, hold my hand, lift your leg in arabesque. Just like that.” You walked around her, spinning her in a circle while she posed with her leg behind her, and when you let go, you granted her the stage to improv what ballet moves she knew through pop culture osmosis, clapping and gasping and cheering her on, both of you panting from the exertion of playing an entire cast of characters.

There was a pang in Eddie’s stomach. The usual stuff: wanting to watch, wanting to join, wanting to stop it. The jealousy of being left out of the intimate moment, the yearn to add a third to his and Adrie’s life, the grief of when things don’t work out and this was a mistake. Decisions, daydreams, the reality of you maybe moving away, maybe not. Maybe dating him, maybe not. Maybe making work a place he dreaded coming to again if he tried something and it ended in disaster.

He had no other job options.

And yet..

“Hey.” Eddie traced the rim of the chilled soda in his hand, collecting condensation. “Ah, the TV in there is playing those old claymation Christmas movies in a marathon. D’you guys wanna watch them with me?”

Teaching her to put her toe to her knee in the passé position, you asked, “Don’t you want to hang out and watch the game?” When he didn’t respond, you looked up at him. Immediately, your focus honed in on his shy habit of chewing on his bottom lip.

“Nah. Not really. I’d rather be in here.”

~~~

The breakroom lights were off, save for the dim set on either side of the sink lighting the buffet, and the air was humid from steam curling off the crockpots. On the table were three marshmallow snowmen held together by melted chocolate and pretzel stick arms; remnants of an impromptu competition of which he lost.

It was a warm and cozy affair, made more so by the three of you squished together to watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the small TV in the corner. 

Adrie nestled deeper into her baby blanket. She had the quilt cocooned around her, running her fingertips over her mouth while she watched. Beside her, you sat with your hands laced in your lap, and at the end, Eddie slumped diagonally in his seat, propping his elbow on the back of your chair. Half paying attention to the stop motion film, half congratulating himself on getting this far. It took all of Jack Frost to work up the courage to daintily set his elbow at the very corner of your chair, almost making contact with your shoulder without worrying if he sweated through his deodorant or cologne yet..

But what if his breath smelled bad from the weird combination of food he ate?

Fuck–

The golden retriever lounging on the floor behind Adrie wagged his tail. Kevin’s distinct shuffle came down the hallway. “Well here’s where you three gone off to,” he said. His dog lifted his head, and licked his lips in anticipation for a pet. “Don’t mind me, just came in for another pepperoni slice, isn’t that right, Coop?”

Cooper panted at his name.

Adrie mumbled around her fingers, “I love your puppy. He’s the best.”

“Yeah, she adores him,” you added.

“Aw, you’re a good boy, aren’t ya?” Kevin bent down to praise his dog with a couple of pets under the chin. And when he was finished, he made a fuss about his old knees, and the cold weather affecting them, and the–whatever else he said.

Upon struggling to stand, Kevin sought a place to put his hand for assistance–and wouldn’t you know, the perfect spot was right in front of him. He clutched Eddie’s forearm for purchase, which incidentally took him off guard before he could brace his muscles, and pinned it to the back of your chair. Once the move was complete, Kevin stood and patted the spot he held until Eddie’s arm curved flush against your shoulders. Then he winked and walked off, no longer shuffling. Eddie stared open-mouthed at the determination.

His insides clenched with unreleased tension. The holly hung in the doorway. Things he wasn’t supposed to do. Anxiety, nerves heightened with the sensation of your solid body breathing beneath the weight of him.

Adrie mumbled something about what was happening on screen, and you said something back, nodding.

It’s not like this was the first time he put his arm around a girl. But it was the first time he did so with the burden of pessimism warning him not to.

He scrutinized the side of your face for any sign of acknowledgement that his arm was around you, but if you cared, you didn’t show it. You remained poised as ever.

You didn’t mind, outwardly.

So he didn’t either.

It was only in front of his boss that he lifted his arm to comb the hair off his neck when Mr. Moore entered. And as soon as he was gone, Eddie strung it casually across the back of your chair again, twirling a curl of Adrie’s hair around his finger.

And when Carl came in, you sat forward for the entire duration of his stay, eating a marshmallow while he was in the room. And when he left, you sank back into your seat.

The third time someone came in, neither of you moved. You followed each other’s lead and did nothing. Subconsciously–or consciously–finding the courage to fit your bodies together in a purposeful way, relaxing towards one another, and slotting into the cushiony space his arm allowed against his bulky jacket.

Time went on like that.

The conversation between you two was the easy kind. Wordless, intuitive. Exchanged in the permanent grin affixed to his face, and your tender hums of affection when you looked at him or Adrie. Somewhere in the silent conversation, he summoned the balls to stroke his thumb–only once–over the soft slope of your bicep, and coped with the aftermath of studying the profile of your lips tugging up at the corners.

~~~

The party came to its natural conclusion when the game ended. Eddie scooped what was left in the crockpots into mismatched tupperware he brought from home, filling up an old butter container with chili, and rinsing out the cookware to give back to its original owner. He placed cupcakes in their plastic clamshell packaging, and downsized the veggie tray into a manageable load. You played the part of an amiable host, and wished everyone a happy holiday on their way out, insisting you’d take care of cleaning up. Really, it was no problem. You had Eddie with you, and Adrie was helping by falling asleep with a crayon in her hand.

Eddie listened to you usher them out the door, and lock it behind them once they drove away.

In truth, he preferred them gone when you both made trips to his car, loading the backseat with the leftovers. Didn’t matter if they were room temperature carrots, or the mangled overcooked meatballs from the bottom of the crockpot, he accepted them.

He took inventory of the last containers on the breakroom table while you woke up Adrie, and for once, he felt okay.

Normally stress chewed holes in his stomach this time of year, but knowing the panic of not paying the electric bill before incurring another late fee would be eliminated by the generous bonus Moore gave him in the white envelope tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, Eddie felt.. alright. Like things would be alright. He put enough aside for his daughter to have one big present this year, and things would be alright.

“Ready?” you asked, holding Adrie’s hand in the doorway.

“Yeah, it’s just these two containers, and we’re good. Were we doing anything about the decorations?”

“Nah.” You waved him off. “We can take them down after the break.”

More than happy to get home and reap the reward of a full night’s sleep, he picked her up mid-yawn, and you carried the last of the containers to the car for him. While you found available space to shove the tupperware without it spilling, Eddie swayed with Adrie. He rested his cheek on the top of her head, and closed his eyes, feeling himself meld into the drowsy moment, comforted by her weight in his arms.

He heard the gravel crunch from your movement, and your shivered exhale beneath your jacket. It was his turn to put Adrie in her carseat, but when he caught the dewy glimmer in your eye, he thought he might hold onto her for the next eternity if it meant he could earn that soft awe from you again.

However, it was cold out, and he should hurry up.

“Uh, there’s uh,” you started, standing back while he buckled Adrie in. “There’s actually one more thing inside.”

“There is?” he questioned dumbly. He glanced at your incessant finger guns pointed towards the back entrance door, and tried to picture what he left behind.

“Yeah, if you could just help me real quick.”

He shrugged and tucked the quilt tight around Adrie. “I’ll be right back, okay?” She nodded, and covered the lower half of her face with the blanket.

Still cool, calm, and collected, Eddie followed you into the garage, through the glass door, into the lobby, down the hallway, and stopped when you stopped. In the breakroom doorway. Under the..

He struggled to swallow around the lump in his throat.

Adrenaline raced to his nerves, to his brain, to his heart jumping in confusion. The addictive buzz enabled him to remember each detail of your lips parting, the sound of your shallow inhale, and the sting of doubt on his cheeks when you spun around and pried out the noisy keyring from your pocket, shaking them until you found the one to the storage closet.

You turned the key in the door opposite him in the hallway, and reached inside, into the dark. “I, uhm.. I got a present for Adrie, if that’s okay..”

“You..?” He went silent at the large gift bag you held out to him, with the giant portrait of jolly Saint Nick on the front bulging from what was inside.

Second guessing if you were overstepping boundaries with the gesture, you faltered, “If it’s not okay, I can, I guess–?”

“No, no,” he finally said, screwing his eyes shut at realizing he just stood there like a moron. “No, that’s, that’s so nice of you. I-I don’t even know what to say. Just, yeah.. You didn’t have to do something like that.” He accepted the bag, and hugged it to him, crushing the decorative tissue paper sticking out the top.

“I signed it as being from Santa. I figured that was appropriate.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect. Uhm.. wow.”

He was doing his favorite trait–where his smile evolved into an open laugh; a little obnoxious, and a lot flirty–and he could tell when you beamed up at him and your cheesy grin overflowed into a giggle, it was your favorite trait too.

And you kept the presents rolling.

“As Office Administrator,” you said with a spry loveliness in your sidling up to him, “I have some insider knowledge that someone put in a good word for you, and uh, it looks like you’re getting a pretty nice raise at the beginning of the new year.” There was no mistaking who. “And I heard through the grapevine that Mr. Moore is going to start pulling from his retirement in June, and Misty isn’t interested in running the family business, so he’s seeking out a new owner,” you put more than a hint of inflection on the end of the sentence, and gave him a look.

You shrugged your shoulder to your chin. “Anyway, do with that information what you will.”

Eddie stayed stupefied, speechless, staring down at the bag. Because you were you, you ended the conversation with a weak punch to his arm when a car drove into the parking lot.

“That’s Robin,” you said.

He watched you walk away. Down the hall, into the lobby. Putting distance between him and the doorway to the breakroom, where his regrets taunted him.

The sharp leaves and red berries were lost amongst the shadows, but their warning rang true. The reasons he shouldn’t kiss you. The talk he never had with Adrie, the potential expiration date even if things did work out between you two, the issue of seeing each other every day and knowing he couldn’t handle the habitual rejection of ignoring the other’s existence if things went bad.

New year, same old coward.

Except.

An idea.

An impulse.

A vicious desire.

He rejected the rejection. “Wait!”

You turned, and jumped at his sudden appearance. Eyebrows raised in surprise, a fresh smile lighting up your face in the gentle moonlight.

Eddie stopped you by grabbing your hand, wielding you closer with his rough fingers pressed into your sweaty palm until your arms entwined, and your jackets rubbed. He dropped his head to the side with a shameful shake, and ran the tip of his tongue along his teeth, building to an apologetic admission. “I’m doing that thing again where I forget to thank you,” he said, not needing to speak above a whisper as he gazed down at you, unafraid.

“Then thank me,” you replied, curling your fingers around his.

His wavering voice went deeper in his chest, “Words don’t feel good enough anymore.” The bag under his arm crinkled as he lifted a finger at Robin who had come to peer inside the window, and very quickly made herself scarce after witnessing the moment she was intruding on. “You’re too sweet, and I don’t even get to drive you home.”

You encouraged him in a laugh. “Then think of another way to thank me that’s not transportation based.”

A bad thought bloomed warmth across his cheeks. “I will,” he promised, nodding. “I’ll find a better way to thank you for everything you’ve done for me and Adrie. Something good.”

“Looking forward to it.”

You lingered for a second, waiting, and when you both remained kissless, you rocked your body into him, cozying your sides together with your joined arms squeezed between in a sort of goodbye hug. “Speaking of Adrie, you might want to get back to her before she becomes a popsicle.”

He inhaled sharply and snapped his head up. “Yeah, I should probably go start the car.”

“Have a good holiday, Eddie. Get lots of rest over the break, okay?”

“I will, I will.”

With an absolutely astounding amount of memories made today, you were both content to step away from each other and go home to begin the tossing and turning, sickly sweet, cold-side-of-the-pillow reminiscing about the brave glances, and daring touches.

You reached for the door handle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You stalled with your back facing him. Thinking you were sly, you checked the reflection to see what part of you his gaze was admiring, and you laughed.

Finally. He was making eye contact with you through the glass.

“Goodnight, handsome,” you answered, and left with your smile ducked into your collar.

The evening ended spectacularly.

[astrosky33]

𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐎 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

◉ 12th house placements are really under-looked in astrology when it comes to acting. Two of the things the 12th house rules over are disguise and deception so people with these placements are often great actors

◉ Mars at 0° can indicate you’re very good at displaying anger/aggression when acting and playing badass characters - ex: alexa demie (in sidereal)

◉ 5th house placements that are actors often were theater nerds beforehand - ex: timothee chalamet; he has a 5th house stellium and attended a performing arts high school that propelled him into a career of theater before becoming a successful film actor

◉ Paul Wesley’s 5th house ruler is in the 12th house (in sidereal). Your 5H ruler can give details about the shows/films you’re in and one of the things the 12H rules over is mysticism. Mystic falls is the main setting in the popular show he’s in called Vampire Diaries

◉ Your 5th house ruler in the 8th house can indicate playing in shows/films that are dark or that involve crime

◉ Often people who act as superhero’s have an Aries or Scorpio Ascendant in their Actor Asteroid Persona Chart - Ex: Both Tom Holland & Andrew Garfield have a Scorpio Ascendant in their Actor Persona Chart

◉ Your Ascendant at 29° in your Actor Asteroid Persona Chart can indicate being a famous actor long term

◉ Venus conjunct Jupiter in your Actor Asteroid Persona Chart can indicate gaining wealth from acting/being in films/shows that make lots of profit

◉ Asteroid Fama conjunct Jupiter in your Actor Asteroid Persona Chart can indicate becoming a famous and successful actor

◉ In Tom Holland’s Actor Asteroid Persona Chart he has Asteroid Peter in the 10th house at 17° (in sidereal) and he is famous from acting as Peter Parker in Spiderman Movies. The Actor Persona Chart is a chart discussing acting roles and the 10H placements in it can indicate famous acting roles of yours. 17° is also a fame degree

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

𝗦𝗨𝗕 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗢𝗡

𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗧𝗨𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗔𝗟𝗦

© 𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐤𝐲 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟑 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝

[quindread]

AND HERE’S ANOTHER DEALER!MARINETTE BUT THIS TIME SHE’S RAVEN’S CONTACT!

Raven: I need a skull.

Garfield: Well, mine’s not up for grabs.

Raven: I never said I needed an animal skull.

Garfield: [sudden existential crisis]

Koriand’r: Are you in need of the human skull?

Raven: Yes.

Robin: And where do you suggest we get one?

Raven: I have… someone.

Victor: That doesn’t sound ominous at all.

Raven: Get your uniforms ready, I’m making a call. [activates computer, it dials a number]

Everyone: [cursing while trying to slap their disguises on]

The screen flashes and a Wayne-passing girl waves from the other side of the call.

???: Hi, Rachel! It’s been a while.

Raven: Hello, Marinette. Don’t mind the idiots behind me.

Marinette: This isn’t a social call, huh?

Raven: I need a skull.

Marinette: Human?

Raven: [nods]

Marinette: Does ethnicity matter?

Raven: I don’t think so.

Marinette: Would you like it cleansed?

Raven: Imbued with creation magic please.

Marinette: Is this a main ingredient, a binder agent, or a stabilizer?

Raven: binder and stabilizer.

Marinette: Got it. It’ll be there in a sec. À tout à l'heure!

Raven: Merci.

A few seconds later, a box wrapped in baby pink and ribbons appear on the Main Ops’ table.

Raven: [picks up the box] I’ll be done in thirty-six hours.

NTT except Koriand’r: [still processing]

Koriand’r: How wonderful! Raven has the another girl that is a friend!

AN: Based on the New Teen Titans. I really have no idea if it’s Jason or Tim that’s Robin here. Jason did don Red Robin for a while and that just confuses me. DCU timelines are my worst enemy. And yes I did call Mari “Wayne-passing” and yes I did cackle like a little chicken when I reread that part. My amusement is shallow like that.

This is inspired by the movie As Above, So Below - more specifically the Catacombs of Paris. Because who says the Order in Tibet doesn’t have one of their own?

[hanasnx]

rain - spider-man / peter parker

summary: sweet sweet spider-loving. MINORS DNI

character(s): spider-man / peter parker x fem!reader (can be any spider-man you imagine like tasm)

word count: 5k

warnings: explicit sex, spidey being very impatient, mask kink mask kink mask kink & suit kink <3, VERY SLIGHT dub con because there was no explicit ask for consent— things were implied, no capitalization i apologize if it bothers u

notes: this is my first smut fic that’s been finished. ive been writing for a long time but this is the first time i’ve put it on anything :) i imagine spider-man from the 2018 insomniac game on ps4 “marvel’s spider-man” his voice actor and his character design is my favorite but you can imagine any spider-man u want, holland, garfield, maguire hehe

the droplets of rain pitter pattered onto peter’s suit and he shivered from the biting cold. the combination of water and fifty two degrees. he sniffed and rubbed his nose. “wish i had read the weather report before i went out.” he thought aloud to himself. early in the game he realized no one could hear him when he was perched on the corner of rooftops. it was safe to let that little voice inside become vocal. everyone had one. everyone talks to themselves. he likes to think it helps him organize. realistically, it’s less lonely.

ah, aloneness. he used to covet it. the isolation. it was quiet and safe, and he knew himself best. he didn’t have to talk to anyone. no one talked to him.

“god, i’m gonna go crazy.” peter aimed and swung away, looking for trouble.

he dialed. he waited. she picked up. “yuri? tell me you have something,”

“uh… no. not right now anyway. you’ve pretty much cleared up the last of the loose ends, spider-man. nice work.” her tone was refreshingly grateful, but his heart sunk with disappointment. he needed some action, itching for it. if he had ever been addicted before, he would recognize this as a need for a fix. something had to get his adrenaline pumping. yuri realized the silence. “what? you only answer to ‘spider-cop’ now?” she taunted. peter didn’t take the bait unusually. “hey, is there something wro—?”

“thanks anyway, yuri. gotta go.”

“um, ok—“

he hung up and landed on an edge. he groaned to the sky, as if he needed to tell it his frustrations. he should be happy to go home, have a night off. but he just felt stuck. and restless. he raised his arms, level to his shoulders, stretching out his chest. “breathe, spidey, breathe.” he closed his eyes. inhale, hold, exhale. he tipped backward, falling. inhale, hold, exhale. in perfect form, he flipped. over and over again. when did i get used to this much g-force? how has my head not been bashed in by a ledge? how many times can i flip before i forget which way is up? inhale, hold, exhale.

you.

peter’s eyes opened. he saw the world familiarly, zipping by him. it was too much. he shut them again. and in the comforting darkness, you returned, like a dream. you were an imprint on his brain.

“peter,” you cooed lovingly, “why don’t you come over, peter? you never visit me anymore.”

he opened his eyes. the ground was growing increasingly nearer, faster than he remembered it could. oh, but he couldn’t let go of you now. not yet. he squeezed them closed, desperately grasping onto the cusp of this new fantasy.

“i’m getting tired of waiting for you, peter~” you growled, disguised as a humble murmur, and you sank deeper into the cushions of the bed. your impatience poisoned him. he wanted to please you.

but you were just so irresistible, pouting or not. he took notice of how he pictured you. wearing a lavender silk nightgown that ended high on your thigh, with dangling strings of bows and dainty mesh.

god her nipples are hard.

your eyebrows raised as if you heard his thoughts and he felt blush heat up his cheeks. embarrassed, until your eyes wandered down his abdomen, landing on his clothed sex. “guess they’re not the only ones that are hard, huh?” you got on her hands and knees, and his pants tightened; frozen in place as you crawled towards him. he knew he’d start stuttering by now if this was real. blubbering as he helplessly watched you undo the buckle of his pants. “but you know what’s even harder, peter?” you asked him in a whisper, raising yourself properly on your knees so you could ghost your lips over his.

he leaned into you, chasing your mouth. “what?” he replied in a murmur, determined to silence you with his kiss.

you lingered a moment, gaze flickering from his eyes to his lips. your hand grasped his length and peter’s breath hitched in his throat. “the ground when you don’t pull up.” you lulled. he hesitated, drawing back.

“what?”

your voice rang clear, resounding in his skull like a bell. “pull up, peter. pull up!”

“woah!” he opened his eyes just in time, webbing an edge at the last second before he flattened on the pavement like a real bug. his fingers curled around the ledge and he pulled himself up to sit, breathing hard. he pushed the air from his lungs in a huff, going limp and laying on his back on the rooftop. he picked up his phone.

there was nothing on your snapchat story besides your cat. instagram too. you weren’t busy.

yea, you weren’t busy. not really. you were watching the second princess diaries movie because you felt like getting your heart squeezed by chris pine. however, it wasn’t occupying your thoughts like you hoped it would.

a ding from your phone alerted you to a text from a friend.

i left my dress at your house :,(

you furrowed your eyebrows, responding promptly.

your dress honey? which one?

it’s black. goes down to the thigh i think

you stood up from your lazy boy and took a look around.

where’d you leave it babe?

im guessing bathroom?? it was last saturday. i crashed at your place after My Night Out On The Town™ & borrowed some of your clothes to sleep in

you stepped in and turned the bathroom light on. you didn’t see it.

oh right ! the simpsons tshirt i was wondering where that got off to

i think im gonna keep it

you keep that i keep the dress

fair enough sugar plum. we make the trade at midnight. deal?

deal. i’ll see u at midnight, im sure i’ll find your dress by then

thank you my dear!!

you smiled. she’s sweet. you pocketed your phone and kept an eye out. sure enough, the dress was thrown haphazardly over a chair. you almost didn’t recognize it blending in with your clothes but this was definitely something she’d wear. you held it out in front of you by the straps, examining it for stains when you noticed how cute it looked.

damn. well i’m sure she won’t mind i try it on a second. you thought.

so you peeled off your pajamas and shimmied on that dress. it really was cute. spaghetti straps and a deep v-neck. made your girls pop too. you turned around and stretched the material taut over your ass. “shit, girl, you look good.” you remarked.

a moment passed of admiring yourself. “well, i have to complete the look.” before i have to give it up. your fingers hooked into the bands of your stilettos and you grabbed a shawl with melodramatic potential from your closet. it added but it didn’t complete. so you tapped the palette with your brush and dusted your eyes, “god, forgive me for wasting good makeup on a night in.” you said through a funny, concentrating expression.

it was a worthy sacrifice. you shouldered the shawl and checked yourself out in the mirror. you were nearly there. what was missing? you discarded the shawl, it was no longer working. your eyes trailed from your painted toenails over your shaved legs and good boob day to your hair.

my hair…

so you pulled and twisted and bobby pinned but it just wasn’t right. undoing what you had done, your hair unraveled into accidental perfect little curls. if you kept still, you could keep those perfect little curls around a while longer…

no. better use hairspray.

to get the proper experience, you rushed over to your full length mirror in the living room. safe to assume, you were stunning. you hardly recognized you. “oh, my god. oh, my god!” you strutted, posed. “yes.” you stuck another one. “oh, yes.” and another. “really feel it, babe, look at you!” you twirled, pretending to be your own photographer, praising your modeling.

you tried to sit in your lazy boy in an intimidating, temptress sort of way. claws placed purposefully on the arm rests, your legs crossed over one another. you embodied seductive villainy. you felt hot like one. bad. it felt so… good. “you’re killing it.” you flattered yourself, but it was hard to take yourself seriously when you were sitting in cushioned leather. you needed a real throne. in the meantime, you didn’t think twice about having more fun.

“ah! spider-man, baby, i’ve been expecting you.” you cooed. you pursed your lips in thought; that was way too cliché.

you spun on your heel, “spider-man?” you gasped dramatically, a hand over your chest in shock, the other, pretending to fashion an opera length cigarette holder, “in my living room? get out of town!”

your hand rested on the edge of a table, letting you lean on it for support as you twirled your glass in your hand, mixing it as if it was alcohol like brandy or something villainous like that. it was just sweet tea. “oh, spider-man. you’re here early.” you lulled, and took a seductive sip of your tea. slowly, letting your lips kiss the glass, and the smooth liquid to glide past them. you lowered it, leaving a red stain of lipstick. “care for a drink?”

you couldn’t help but smile as you checked yourself out one last time. your friend should be picking up the dress soon, so it was time to hang up the villain version of you and go back to sweatpants. maybe treat yourself to a little ice cream as a reward for looking so good. as a last hurrah, you winked at your reflection, “baby, you’re so hot i might just fuck you senseless myself.” you joked.

“i think that’s my job tonight.” a voice coming from behind you brutally awakened you from your trance and you yelped in surprise. you spun around and your arms wrapped around yourself on instinct, as if you were nude.

the blue and red of a friendly neighborhood superhero caught your eye. attached to the ceiling, the webhead hung, lightly swaying as he watched you with tempered anticipation. praying for a positive reaction. “hey, (y/n).” he tilted his head. “cute outfit. what’s the occasion? prom?”

“oh, shut up, perv.” you fisted the fabric of a pillow in anger, tossing it at him haphazardly, which he didn’t dodge.

“i deserve that.”

“how long were you watching? how long were you in my house?” you demanded, blush heating your cheeks. it was embarrassing, being caught red headed. you were just messing around, everybody does that. spider-man seemed to take notice of your blush, and crept toward you on the wall, stalking closer in a stance that reminded you of a cat readying to pounce… or more appropriately, a spider.

your skin tingled with anticipation, side eyeing him crawl closer. he faced the floor and picked up his legs keeping his fingers glued to the wall. in a model of peak human condition, he flipped over and skillfully lowered himself onto the floor. you gulped. he was so hot in that suit. he strode towards you but you didn’t back down. instead of stopping to tower over you, establish his dominance, he passed by you, saying, “i thought you liked me watching you.” which somehow made you feel even smaller. you swallowed again, staring at his back. those corded muscles rippling underneath that skin tight suit was enough to make you salivate. he was toying with you.

“that‘s not the point here and you know it.” you started again, feigning strength in your voice but it was failing you. he could hear that. you know he could.

he halted to gaze out of the open window to your balcony. “have you been waiting for me? you left the window open, i assumed it was an invitation.” he glanced over his shoulder. you couldn’t see the smile on his face. you felt the need to explain yourself, sheepish from the interruption of your dress-up game. “and in this outfit too? you didn’t want me to ruin it?” the question was laced with disbelief, as if it wasn’t a ploy you put on in order to lure him.

it was so hard to think when he talked like this. you swallowed thickly and set your drink down, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “it’s not my dress.” come to think of it, your friend was coming at midnight, you should stay vigilant for that. spider-man wasn’t bothered at all, offering a solution as easy as breathing.

“take the dress off then.” heat pooled in between your legs at the statement. when you couldn’t speak, he added something else, “the rest is yours right.” he bowed his head as he generously looked you up and down, “i recognize those heels,” he reminisced knowingly, surfacing the memory within you of wearing these during one of your escapades with him in the past. “the makeup is yours.” as he spoke, he sauntered closer, taking note of how your eyes were glued to the way his hips moved. his gloved hand came up to tangle in your hair, “this hair…” yanking downwards to force you to look up at his towering form. even in your black heels he was taller than you. lengthy, toned, and lean. this suit made you want to lick stuff off of him. “obviously yours. the jewelry— i was there when you picked this choker out.” his hand came up to hook his finger in the necklace, drawing a line underneath it absentmindedly. he resisted the urge to remind her his hands were her favorite choker. “you gonna take the dress off or should i? because baby, i’m getting tired of waiting.”

it had been so long since this scene was played out with you two, where he desired you enough to take the control away from you. it was invigorating, and lit a fire in your chest that drove you to listen. your hand reached behind you to grasp the base of the zipper, dragging it down in order to reach the zip, and tugging it slowly and smoothly, until you were able to push the straps off your shoulders. this has happened so many times, that the look of spider-man no longer bothered you. blank eyes only hid the brown ones underneath that held so much lust for you. it was exciting, not being able to see his face. the dress pooled around your legs, and you stepped out of it, kicking it to the side. because of your lack of planning, you didn’t pick out a cute set of lingerie. you were simply bare. naked and hot. at the sight of you, you heard spider-man exhale sharply. now it was your turn to move things along, “well? what are you waiting for?” it was breathless. vulnerable. a plea. in minutes, the hero had you begging for him all over again.

his hand came up to pinch the hem of his mask, about to lift it up over his lips. your hand halted his, fisting his suit after to get him closer as you told him quickly, “leave the mask on, dear god, leave it on.” without wasting a second, he stooped to pick you up by your thighs, bringing you over to your kitchen table to set your back onto it. one of your chairs was kicked out of the way causing it to skid. the spider was gearing up to eat you out like he’s been thinking about for hours. have you writhing and coming on his tongue over and over— but you were explicit. leave the mask on. his hand squeezed your thigh involuntarily at the thought, his other one running down from your clit over the opening of your sex causing you to whine. being patient was painful, so you curled towards him to guide his movements but he wouldn’t have it. snatching your wrist and pinning it next to your head. in a skilled maneuver he webbed it to the table, trapping that arm above your head. “hey!” you called, but he ignored you, smacking your pussy to cause you to keen. “baby, i need your fingers, i need you, i need something,” you were desperate, surprised at yourself that he could goad such a response from you with nothing but a few words and a dry spell. he granted you friction, circling your clit with his finger.

“oh, you need something, alright,” he told you, alternating giving your clit attention, and plunging a finger inside of you to tease you further. frustrating you was in order, after everything you’ve done to him since the last time you two got together. “all those pictures, and those texts,” he groaned. images of your new bikinis, new bras and panties in red, your perfect tits in candlelight or your toys playing with your wet pussy. “you need a good, hard fuck, don’t you?” he added another finger, and another, feeling you loosen like putty in his hands. you nodded feverishly, filthy sounds pouring from your mouth now that he was curling his fingers inside of you. “oh, c’mon, angel, say it. you’ve been waiting for me so impatiently, now that i’m here, you can’t even tell me you missed me? that you wanted me here?” you cried at this words, unable to open your eyes when they were rolled so far back in your head as he abused that spongy spot inside of you. it was so sudden, no prep, and he was expecting you to have coherent thoughts, and then speak them. it was too much.

you tried. you tried really hard. “yes. yes,” you agreed, “please don’t stop.” his pace didn’t falter, he liked that you were responding, and he loved knowing how hard it was for you to respond. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as he eyed yours, parted in sinful pleasure, awaiting a kiss to swallow your moans. this mask thing was so hard, but so enticing. “c’mon, spidey, i wanna come on your fingers.”

“no way.” he told you, enthralled at the idea of denying you for all of your terrible teasings while you two were apart. at the words, you picked your head up to look at him with such a delicious, crestfallen countenance. he wished to savor it a little longer, but he couldn’t pass up another chance to bully you, “i’m gonna edge you like you wouldn’t believe,” you whined in protest, but he was busy, paying attention to your clit, and when you tried to close your legs, his hand pushed your thighs apart harshly, “oh no no no,” he said with a malicious laugh, “don’t give up now, sweetheart, don’t you wanna make me proud?” it was such a mean thing to say, and it made the coil in your belly tighten regardless. he had you where he wanted you, “can you believe this is only two fingers?” he snickered, and your only free hand reached for him lazily. “don’t make me tie down this one too.” his wanting was punctuated by adding another finger inside you, and you cried out at the feverish pace.

“god, peter, please!” there it was. his name. he didn’t even have to tell you to say it this time. he wondered if that sullied the illusion of the spider-man roleplay, but you didn’t seem to mind too much. your back arching off the table. he could feel you clenching around him like a vice, but you were so wet he was able to maintain his cadence.

his voice dripped with false sympathy, “you gonna come, baby? c’mon, angel, are you?” he demands your answer, and you can only nod, your face contorted in rapture. that was his cue to slow down, which made your frustrated noises all the more satisfying, attempting to grab at his wrist in order to fuck yourself. that earned you complete denial, and he slipped his hand out from you, leaving your pussy throbbing, dripping all over your kitchen table.

“you’re being so mean,”

“you like it.” he rounded the table and drew your free arm to him, successfully webbing it down to match your other restraint. like a bitch in heat, you reflexively moved to dip your head over the edge of the table, opening your mouth as you eyed his pants. you were asking to suck him off. the act was so devious, he gave in immediately, hooking his thumb in the hem of his pants and freeing himself, his other hand tangling in your hair to help guide his leaking cock to your mouth. he would never admit how much he loves this position. watching your straining throat, the vibrations of your grateful hum around his cock, your tits bouncing with each of his movements that made him lean over to clutch one of them, earning another one of your moans. he exhaled, finding it much harder to compose himself, “you are so damn good at that,” he crooned as your tongue swirled around him just how you knew he liked. when you gagged he pulled out to let you catch your breath, a string of his precum mixed with your saliva connecting your mouth and his cock. as soon as you reached for him again, he obliged, and to show his appreciation, his fingers returned to your neglected sex, filthy sounds pouring from the both of you. it was music to his ears.

you needed more, and once he noticed your change in pace, he took it as his hint to move on. panting, you looked up at him with such a drunken content face, once perfect makeup smudged, he felt like coming all over it. your tongue came out to lick your lips and he wished he could kiss you. a second he lingered, but got a hold of himself, ripping apart his webbing entrapping your arms like string. his hand at the back of your head aided in helping you up. “i know you said you would edge me more but can we do that after we—“ you started, stepping onto a chair while he circled the table, pulling you up from the surface so you could safely walk down. immediately, you were in his arms again.

“after we fuck? yes.” he finished for you, and by his tone it seems your little ploy of getting his dick in your mouth again worked its endless wonders once more in getting what you wanted. you grinned, and kissed him over his mask to his surprise. he felt your lips mold into his through the thin fabric, and he figured this was good enough, his fingers digging into the plush of your ass in desperation. thinking of everything he could do to you on his day off. out of instinct, he began to part his lips to play your tongue with his but had to stop himself when there was a barrier.

once your lips detached, you were free to say, “where do you want me?” but you already had an idea. it was confirmed when he whipped you around, bending you over the table again. you laughed breathlessly, your tits squished underneath you, feeling the coldness of the wood. it was obvious this was one of his favorites when you wore heels because now your entrance lined up perfectly with his—

“i’ve missed you so fucking much,” he confessed, unable to wait any longer to plunge his aching cock into your silken folds. it was too much to bear, causing you to clutch onto the table in delicious pain. he was so big it hurt in all the right ways, sliding against every inch of the inside of you. you were so wet, it allowed him freedom in his pace, your hole loosening in order to accommodate him. you rocked back into him with his thrusts to meet him, his hands on your hips providing a support. you moaned his name, causing him to reach forward and push your head down onto the table, your cheek resting against it. you whimpered as he continued fucking into you with reckless abandon. clearly, he did miss you. and you missed him so dearly. your fingers weren’t as long as his, your dildo was nothing compared to him. this scene he’s created as been so enjoyably rare, you loved every second of him taking control this time, taking what he wanted.

you couldn’t answer him, instead greedily taking what he was giving you, he praised you, “i love this pussy, baby, you’re taking me so good. i love filling you. you’re so hot bouncing on my cock like this,” it made you work harder, fucking yourself back onto him, and getting more force from him in return. the pace was unimaginable, you were screaming with his thrust. his tip repeatedly kissing your cervix in a way that made your toes curl and your legs shake. that coil in your core was back and worse than ever, making you beg.

“don’t stop, please, whatever you do, peter, don’t stop,” you ordered, tears seeping from your eyes onto the table as you closed in on finishing. he couldn’t help but squeeze one more position out of you before that happened, guiding your back to him by your hair, sending pleasant tingles shooting down your spine as he blew your back out. his hand enclosed itself around your throat as the new angle reinvented your idea of pleasure, a chain of screams emitting from you. everytime he did this to you, he made sure you could never close your mouth.

“you like that, baby? how do i feel?” holding the ability to speak over your head would be cruel, if you couldn’t hear how close he really was in his voice. his movements were becoming more erratic, and he couldn’t keep himself quiet either. the position he had you in gave you a front row seat to his breath on your ear, and gift wrapping his whines in perfect packaging that had you reeling.

“so good, spider-man, you feel so fucking good.” he had such an exploitable kink for his superhero name, keening himself in a way that caused you to moan loudly, “i love hearing you, baby,” he listened to you, letting every sound spill from his lips.

“you close? i can feel you. i can hear your heartbeat, smell you. tell me.” he spoke over the sopping sounds of your pussy and the snapping of his hips against your ass.

“i am, yes i am, i’m gonna come,” you admitted, the last word resounding in a pitchy whimper, making him groan.

“do it, c’mon, baby, come all over me,” his hand attached to the arm around your middle moved down in order to rub circles into your clit that made you tremble in his arms. you didn’t have to be told twice to let go, feeling the warmth of you drip down your thighs. to get him to stop putting too much pressure on your clit, you had to put his hand over his, waiting for him to follow your lead and come inside you. he fucked your wetness back into you with fervor, tensing up and no longer keeping pace. his eyes squeezed shut behind his mask, and you felt his seed flood inside of you as he let it go, moaning in relief. it trailed down your thighs along with your own. his forehead fell onto your shoulder as he moved until he was too sensitive.

“spider-man,” you say in surprise, “you’re so dirty for a super-hero,” he chuckled at that, pulling himself out of you and ripping his mask up off his face, revealing his familiar face and his grin. he was so happy to see you, and when you faced him fully he took you up in his arms. you were at a loss to how he still had energy to pick you up, and you squealed.

“c’mon, let’s go take a shower,” he threw you over his shoulder and you cried out again.

“peter!”

“what? we should really clean up so i can get started on that edging i promised you.” he told you, your hands at the base of his torso to keep yourself up. you eyed the back of his head.

“my friend is going to be here any minute, and i have to return that dress.”

your friend knocked, and after a second, you opened it wearing an oversized t-shirt. “hey, hon!” you greeted, and she took note of your appearance. disheveled hair, frizzy with knots in your curls. black makeup smudged under your eyes, running down your cheeks. if you had thought to fix it before opening the door, you would’ve.

“rough night?” she asked slyly, her meaning shining through with her mischievous glance.

your eyes widened, and you sheepishly muttered, “you could say that.” you handed her the dress. “thanks again.” she handed you your simpson’s t-shirt.

“no problem, sweets.” your friend replied, tossing the dress onto her shoulder like dishrag and waved good-bye. you closed the door, pressing your back against it with a sigh of relief. you heard the shower running, and pete’s voice calling for you.

“you coming?”

“coming!”

[sepublic]

TOH Gallery Nucleus Info!

            All right! The Gallery Nucleus livestream just ended, so here’s some info and trivia I found relevant!

         When asked what they would’ve liked to see in S3 that they couldn’t fit in, JBO said “more dates”, while Cissy replied merely “Detention”. Sarah wanted to see the kids go to school, and Shawn Responts suggested one of the demon kids visisting the doctor, and us learning about demon physiology that way.

         JBO continued his answer, saying he’d like to see the kids explore more via a road trip, with so many options; Maybe Maine where they’d be trapped in a lighthouse, or a haunted, mossy Charleston. The group joked about Hunter driving, or Vee disguised as an adult.

         Sam Bosma would’ve liked to see them visit a comic con and see some Cosmic Frontier stuff, especially for Camila!

         Cat Harman Mitchell suggested a grocery store; In exploring concepts for the Thanks to Them end credit illustrations, one idea was thrown out of Amity and Hunter looking suspiciously at a banana; Which, I guess that means the Demon Realm having bananas was retconned, Amity is also really sheltered, and/or Demon Bananas are much deadlier than human ones, hence Amity’s distrust. Gus and Willow would’ve been stoked by a bottle of mustard, which I find connects nicely to Gus’ ‘mustard ravioli’ recipe that he thought Camila loved!

         Eden Riegel said she’d like to see King visit the human world and become a youtuber!

         Amity’s witch outfit from the S3 montage was designed after Vivian from Paper Mario… Vivian is a trans girl, could this mean…?

         The Duolingo homage initially looked too much like Garfield, so they had to change it.

         In designing the Boiling Isles, they looked to Flemish and Dutch architecture, avoiding Gothic because it was too obvious and also complicated; Hieronymous Bosch paintings served as inspiration. The one thing that was too gross even for Dana was Latissa, AKA the Titan’s armpit, which initially had a lot more hair follicles.

         It was confirmed that in designing the Boiling Isles, they had this idea of the Titan trying to regenerate, hence all of the fleshy masses, body parts, too many bones, etc.! Which can I say, as someone who guessed and analyzed all the way back in Season 1A… I CALLED IT!!!

         JBO also mentioned that in early drafts, the show’s sixth episode (of S1) would’ve had Camila in the Demon Realm!

         Likewise, he revealed that Belos wasn’t always Emperor; Originally, there was going to be an insect ruling family, with the current ruler being Emperor Pupa. However, they were stuck in their cocoon and had yet to emerge because of Belos, who claimed to be the only one who understood why the cocoon screamed; They changed the idea as it was too complicated and weird. VERY reminiscent of the Titan’s will, the implication he’s still alive and trying to regenerate, showing glyphs, not to mention the giant heart in the throne room…

         Vee is around Luz’s age, at about 15-ish! All the kids would be entering Sophomore year, while Hunter is a Junior!

         According to Rebecca, Dana said the timeskip was a few months, and the exact number didn’t matter, because in the end the characters would still act the same. Tbh, I respect that; Writing the main story and keeping in mind what matters, really does take precedence over the little details in the back imo.

         Luz’s palisman egg is in her fanny pack!!! She took it with her into the Demon Realm!

         In regards to the QnA, the first question asked that for writing a show like TOH, where everything comes full-circle, what was solidified?

         JBO said that the main and only thing (and this can change!) is knowing exactly who the characters are. One of Dana’s great strengths is the cast, and having believable characters that you could know what they’d do in a situation. One thing that’s hard about TOH but helps make it what it is, is that the writers had to throw out a lot of stuff to get to what they felt was real and right. You go in with characters and think you know what they want and need, but that can change; It’s really about knowing what feels real. JBO also said that Dana had certain visuals/images she wanted for the ending of the show from the start!

         When asked what surprised them for making it in, even if it was too gross; Andy Garner-Flexner brought up the magic shop the kids visited and all of the references, like the Ness shirt. They also put some Pokemon Team Aqua and Magma costumes in some boxes too! Fun fact, Andy’s husband asked him to hide a bunny for him in the background of S2 near the ending.

         Surprisingly, some stuff would be gross or messed-up, and they’d make it even worse, only for the execs to love it; Like Flapjack’s death scene! Oof…

         The crew had to avoid religious connotations for background books, so a D&D manual called “Advanced Sinning” was cut. Showing guts was fine, but no Donald Duck; Shawn wanted to put in a Donald Duck easter egg, for the implication he visited the Demon Realm or was even from it. Copyright was the hardest thing to get past execs in general… They tried to get Disney’s version of Hades on Luz’s wallpaper, but had to settle for the videogame instead. Cat can’t believe they got away with Hollow Mind and Lilith’s ice cream scene.

         In regards to favorite fan theory? Sarah Nicole-Robles explained she didn’t know the plot in advance, so when she got the scripts for S2, she wondered if Hunter would be a homewrecker for Lumity, but was relieved and confirmed that no, he’s a SIBLING. Rebecca loved the Collector Luz theory, and JBO joked about the “Lego Eda” theory being right, their plans for a spin-off of her… Not to take it too seriously but this does remind me of my theory about the Collector turning everyone into toys…

         In regards to a premise for a TOH spinoff, Sarah said she’d love an MTV cribs one-off of the Owl House, a tour of the rooms. Cat wanted a Lilith show about her historian adventures; Maybe a How I met your Mother style flashback show for the adults as teens, and how they got to the point they are now.

         Andy wanted a Raeda prequel; JBO wanted to explore the deep past of the Demon Realm and the world beyond the isles. The characters would be unconnected to TOH’s on the surface; Different characters in a different part of the world. Rebecca joked about a Hooty spin-off.

         In regards to the hardest character to work on; For JBO it was Belos… He was hard to write because he’s from so many different places and lived lots of lives in the Demon Realm, they had to ask does he have a set slang, a way he talks? Does he talk like a colonist? Likewise, Belos’ plans and motives are a secret for a good portion of the show, so it was tricky figuring out how much to reveal and when throughout the show.

         Andy said that because he asked Dana, they changed the way they did glasses in side-profiles! This change can also be seen in Them’s the Breaks, Kid; Was he responsible for that too?

         For Cat, one challenge was how short King was; They had to go for the shortcut of him riding on shoulders. This is because they’d want to do shots of characters, but not show their feet, but King was so short he’d be cut-off; So they went for the “Pikachu solution” to keep him in-frame.

         When asked what their palismen would be, Sam Bosma said a penguin; Rebecca wanted a deer/elk, anything with antlers to stab with and use as a melee weapon in conjunction with magic. Andy went for a mole (which is also his fursona), JBO asked if anyone had a moth palisman? Shawn said he’d be a giant ground sloth, about the size of the Bat Queen, that he’d have to drag around.

         Cissy went for a honey badger, since it could get stuff done; Be mean for her when she’s too nice. Sarah brought up a puppy, dragon, octopus (this last one reminds me of Thanks to Them!), Cat would be a puffball cat; The opposite of Ghost’s sleekness, just fuzz and eyes.

         When asked what Hunter’s first day at Hexside would be like, JBO said that he’d simply “turf out”. Rebecca said he’d get eaten by a locker, as did Sarah; Rebecca explained Hunter would make the mistake of putting food into his locker, so the next time he opened it…

         Cissy of course said detention. Cat said Hunter would get lost; Rebecca said Flapjack would have to help, and everyone cringed because y’know, JBO said that was too soon.

         Someone asked how they approached fleshing out Camila through a dream sequence? JBO explained that from the start, they KNEW she was a good mom and wanted what was best for Luz, and not in a super wrong-headed way either. But at the start of the show, all we had was that she sent Luz to camp, so it was hard to reconcile this take with that action. It took a lot of thought, how did this happen? Everyone had their own experiences with their moms worked in.

         In the end, the writers realized they’re all at that part of life where you realize your parent is their own person and doesn’t feel any older than anyone else. So when they looked at Camila as her own person and not just Luz’s mom, that helped them make their breakthrough on her character.

         Andy brought up as another bit of Camila characterization was the background, and all of the queer community books she was reading; Not only does she support in one way, but she’s learning. And in regards to what Camila went through after Manny passed…

         In the background, you can see signs of things being unfinished in the house; A lot of things incomplete, boxes not yet unpacked. It’s like a stand-still in time; Camila couldn’t keep going with some of these things. There were still boxes at the end of the hall with the family photos, it was half-painted. Given the short runtime, they really used the background and environmental storytelling to flesh out Camila this way.

         When asked what coven they would be, Andy mentioned he thought of this answer in anticipation of that type of question, on his way to the event. He considered Oracle or Construction but decided on being a wild witch. Rebecca went for Abominations or Beastkeeping; JBO also wanted Abominations, so he could get to the bottom of what this thing is that he’s making, and talk to it; Is it bad to have it blown up every other second? Someone jokingly suggested what if Abominations were just Titan boogers.

         Cat chose Illusions, Shawn opted for Potions and Oracle. Sam Bosma went for a smaller coven from Covention, like the Tiny Cat Coven. Sarah decided Bad Girl Coven was a cop-out answer, so considered Plant or Beastkeeping, ended up really feeling the former today. Lilith would be Emperor’s Coven; Just kidding, it’d be beast-keeping to keep all eight-legged friends far away. Eden chose Bard Coven.

         When asked about the human outfits they liked, Bosma mentioned he loved the Cosmic Frontier ones; They always had the red and yellow in mind as a DS9 reference, but he still experimented with other colors.

         At one point, Dana couldn’t decide between two Gus shirts; So she flipped a USB drive instead of a coin, and with that opted for his Dinosaur shirt! Cat said Hunter’s wolf shirt was a vibe; Andy mentioned they ‘tortured’ Matthieu Cousin by asking for more and more costume variations, until he said he needed a break for his wrist. Andy said Amity’s fits were good, Sarah concurred that Amity looked so hot and was killing it.

         When asked if Flapjack ever tried flapjacks, Sarah said objectively yes. Rebecca figured he probably did; Andy suggested it was because of Camila, and Flapjack was told he was eating flapjacks too, but didn’t know if they were good.

         (This led to a question among the group of whether palismen had taste buds, which they figured only Dana could answer. We know palismen hate the taste of goreberries, so the answer is yes!)

         When asked what the characters’ zodiac signs would be… Dana prepped Rebecca with an answer ahead of time for this; She told Rebecca to tell them that Earth’s astrological calendar didn’t exist in the Demon Realm, they didn’t even have the same number of months. It’s a much more confusing system and they can’t answer that question; There’s thirteen months and 666 days, and the animals associated with each month are worms or other tube-shaped creatures.

         (Andy did say he HC’ed Willow as a Virgo since he was one too and related to her. This isn’t canon however.)

         When asked what anime the kids would like, Andy brought up My Hero Academia, Naruto, Yuyu Hakusho (which inspired his fashion choices). JBO said Gus would really get into a show about some dude addicted to gambling but also GREAT at it, always finding a way to pull it off; Like a mahjong anime.

         In regards to their favorite creature/demon, it was the skin-eating fairy from the first episode for Cissy, whom Eden voiced! Cat said Hooty was a disgusting work, Rebecca liked the little version of the Owl Beast and had a plush on hand of it! For Andy, it was Titans. Bosma liked the detention guards, and…

         Shawn said he liked the Bat Queen; And in their discussion, JBO revealed she wasn’t the Titan’s palisman (pointing out he was too big for her), she just belonged to a giant who lost her. Shawn liked her story of becoming a ruler after that incident.

        And that’s it! Very illuminating stuff about production. Very sad to hear the Bat Queen’s backstory here, since it likely means we won’t have it addressed in S3, nor will the writers retcon her as the Titan’s to fit it into the remaining storyline. Thrilled about what we heard of the Titan’s regeneration and Belos’ original story concepts, especially since I WAS correct in likening him to a beetle in Season 1B, after all! Between this and Titan King, my earliest S1 theories have been getting vindicated, babey!

[its-wabby-stuff]

How Human is your Animal?

Based on animalistic representation in Media. Ranging from anthropomorphic to everyday pet.

A tier list for your convenience

S Tier- Humans don’t exist here

Qualifications: the world has no humans, animals tend to walk on hind legs and participate in human like societies, most likely anthropomorphic but not required

Zootopia, Kung Fu Panda, Sing, Rise of the Planet of the Apes, Chicken Little, My Little Pony, Goofy Movie, Ducktales, Robin Hood, Angry Birds, Samurai Rabbit, Paws of Fury, Spiderhams Universe

A Tier- I see, a little co-op happening

Qualifications: the world has humans, humans acknowledge animals in some way, they can be hired/considered for jobs and/or are active in society. Might be considered mutants

Paddigton, Muppets, Stuart Little, The Bad Guys, Pinnocio, Shrek universe, Care Bears, the Bee Movie, Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3, and subsequently the entire MCU, Monsters Inc, Storks, Looney Tunes, TMNT, MHA, Yogi Bear, We Bare Bears, Chip N’ Dale: Rescue Rangers (2022), Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Hop, Wonderland, James and the Giant Peach, Hoodwinked, Mr. Peabody and Sherman, Ichabod and Toad, Sonic Movie

B Tier- Your getting suspiciously close

Qualifications: act more human like, perhaps develop a hidden society or walk on hind legs or plan elaborate heists, it’s just not quite right for an animal

Madagascar, Ice Age, Shark Tale, Surfs Up, Snoopy, Rescuers, SpongeBob, Ratatouille, Horton Hears a Who, Free Birds, Great Mouse Detective, Chicken Run, Flushed Away, Fantastic Mr. Fox, Tom and Jerry, Secret of Nym, Tale of Desperaeux, American Tail, Once Upon a Forest, Garfield, Over the Hedge, Rango

C Tier- Communication is key in fostering animal relationships

Qualifications: Perhaps by magical transformation or special gift or something that has always been kept a secret until now, these animals are able to talk to you

Cinderella, Tarzan, Jungle Book, Epic, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, Charlottes Web, Scooby Doo, Happy Feet, Snow White, Pete’s Dragon, Princess and the Frog, Aladdin, The Little Mermaid, Spies In Disguise, Emperors New Groove, Enchanted, Sophia the First, Peter Rabbit, Meet the Robinsons, Anastasia, Swan Princess, Dr. Dolittle, Leo, Up

D Tier- Oh look, it’s gaining complexity

Qualifications: although animals have been known to convey emotions nothing is more complex than creating Shakespearean like storylines. Humans take to the sidelines

Lion King, Finding Nemo, 101 Dalmatians, Bambi, Land Before Time, The Secret Life of Pets, Bugs Life, Oliver and Company, All Dogs go to Heaven, Lady and the Tramp, Fox and the Hound, Aristocats, Migration, Bolt, Dinosaur, The Good Dinosaur, Super Pets, Dumbo, Home in the Range, G-force, The Wild, Spirit, Rio, Curious George

F Tier- It’s all okay, animals are just animals here

Qualifications: Imagine your pet in a movie, that’s prolly what fits here. The everyday dog, or cat, or shark. Likely plays a part in the plot progression of the movie

Babe, Jurassic Park, Milo and Otis, Old Yeller, Life of Pi, Sword in the Stone, Beethoven, A Dogs Purpose, We Bought a Zoo, Pokémon, Dolphins Tale, Homeward Bound, The Black Stallion, Marley and Me, Jaws, King Kong, How to Train Your Dragon

Z Tier- So it doesn’t work like other places, but it works for you

Qualifications: a Universe with its own set of rules, perhaps jumping into a place outside of their own where rules seem just a little different. Who can say if it was real, or a dream?

Mary Poppins, Spiderverse, Fantasia, Mario Bros, Song of the South, Alice in Wonderland (cartoon), Calvin and Hobbes

Each placing is based on the highest human to animal ratio in universe even if that is one exception. This is for fun, don’t take it too seriously. You’re welcome to fill in anything you think is missing. If I mentioned one of your favorite movies you have to reblog, I don’t make the rules.

😉

[le-trash-prince]

This Love Doesn’t Have Long Beans: eng sub for character introductions (x)

Sailub Hemmawich: Chef Oab, owner of the restaurant “This Restaurant Doesn’t Have Long Beans” Pon Thanapon: Plawan, a model who loves pad kaprao and disguises himself as a chef to join Oab’s competition Benz Atthanin: Methas, the owner of a real estate company Garfield Pantach: JJ, a physical therapist (other sources mention that he’s also Plawan’s best friend—Garfield your intro didn’t need to be so abrupt lol!) Michael Kiettisak: Nub Nueng, a pastry chef and Oab’s best friend Lee Asre: Auto, one of the chefs competing to inherit Oab’s restaurant Tiger Tanawat: Punsib, another chef in the competition Aon Kasama: Kluea, Oab’s former soux-chef, also competing for the restaurant Belle Jiratchaya: KhaoSuay, Oab’s ex-girlfriend

[stephreynaart]

HEARD U WANTED REQUESTS

about you design a new disguise for zim? it could be anything u want it to be. i think thatd be pretty cool to see

If you haven’t been watching Jhonen’s drawing streams, your missing out on top quality Garfield content

[straightplayshowdown]

Angels in America: In the first part, we meet Louis and Prior and Harper and Joe, two couples whose relationships are on the rocks: the former because of Prior’s AIDS diagnosis and Louis’s inability to cope with illness, the latter because of Joe’s closeted homosexuality and Harper’s incessant fears and hallucinations, as well as her addiction to pain-killers. The second part focuses on the story of Prior Walter, a gay man living with AIDS who has recently been left by his partner, Louis, after he could not cope with the physical and personal impact of the disease.

The Importance of Being Earnest: Two bachelors, John ‘Jack’ Worthing and Algernon ‘Algy’ Moncrieff, create alter egos named Ernest to escape their tiresome lives. They attempt to win the hearts of two women who, conveniently, claim to only love men called Ernest. The pair struggle to keep up with their own stories and become tangled in a tale of deception, disguise and misadventure.

Propaganda under the cut!

Angels in America:

painful funny surreal and down to earth all at the same time somehow, even without being a landmark piece for me personally w/ regard to queer literature

The Great American Play. The definitive exploration of how AIDS affected an entire generation of queer Americans in the '80s, and what it left behind in its wake. Those more eloquent than I am will be better at doing this play justice, but my sincerest hope is that the sheer significance of this work is clear enough to carry it all the way through to the highest end of this showdown.

honestly the peak of modern theater 2 me. everything i write and create is in the hopes that i might someday make something that lives up to the bar that angels set. it treats every one of its characters with such depth and compassion and the world it creates is so vivid and fantastic. and the context in which it was created will always be beyond important to me like i don't know how to describe how important it is that a play widely considered an american classic is about the aids crisis. she's the blueprint she's perfect she's everything

genuinely changed my life when i first read it. andrew garfield played prior walter in the 2018 national theatre version and he fucking kills it. it's 6 whole hours of joy and heartbreak and, most of all, hope. stan harper pitt!!!

This epic stageplay has become more accessible since its HBO miniseries adaptation in 2003. It is epic, intersectional, commemorative of a collective trauma that had been silenced for too long at the time of writing. (also Harper deserves to be as much a Tumblr Sad Girl icon as Lana del Rey or Sylvia Plath.) 

The Importance of Being Earnest: 

Queercoded love interest and Victorian dandies, what’s not to love? 

Quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever read.

It's very funny.

there is a HANDBAG and it is a MAJOR PLOT POINT. jack pretends to be ernest because he's been doing it for ages and why not am i right? algernon pretends to be ernest to get a girl and also so screw stuff up. as one does. gwendolen and cecily have a REALLY passive aggressive tea party. this play slaps. it is so good. go read it and/or see it

“Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.” 

Lady Bracknell: “I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.”

Lady Bracknell: “My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of triviality.”

Jack: “On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I’ve now realized for the first time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.”

[my-gf-is-kazuichi-soda]

Some people in the MLAATR fandom act like Sheldon is irredeemably creepy or gross or manipulative, and then uses examples of behavior that happens with all of the characters because it's an exaggerated children's cartoon.

Exhibit A:

To me, this is the same logic as saying "Jon Arbuckle is an animal abuser" because he lets Garfield drink coffee and sometimes puts him on a diet of a single lettuce leaf (I read the Jon Arbuckle hateblog for a laugh sometimes). Yes, obviously irl this would make someone an animal abuser, but in the silly world of Garfield these are just signifiers that the human reader, who might drink coffee or be on a diet that they hate, is supposed to relate to Garfield. Neither of these actually foods hurt him in the comic. Garfield eats entire trays of lasagna for crying out loud! Jim Davis even describes Garfield as being more like "a person in a cat suit" than a real cat. If we put the actions back in the context of the comic strip, Jon Arbuckle is just a pet owner who sometimes acts as a parent to a child, other times acts as Garfield's friend or roommate, and is kind of a dork but generally a good guy. Garfield and Odie's family.

Likewise, the world of MLAATR operates on cartoon/sitcom logic. Very often the characters will resort to lying, trickery, disguises, being aggressively friendly, etc. as ways to keep the plot and jokes rolling. I'm pretty sure every character has done this at some point, because of the humor potential. These are not meant to be looked at as abusive behaviors. You can usually judge how harsh the actions were based on other characters' reactions and how quick they are to forgive at the end rather than applying real-world relationship logic.

This is not to say that the writing is infallible or unable to be criticized because "it's just a kid's cartoon!" (I hate that argument, it's usually meant to silence people and that's not what I'm trying to do). Yes, cartoons can screw up in their messages, and you might be able to argue that maybe this writing style makes all of the characters bad role models for children. But if this is how you judge Sheldon, it's only fair to hold all the other characters in the same standards, including Jenny herself.

It bothers me that Sheldon gets the bad rep in the fandom because as an autistic person, especially when I was an autistic child, I related to both Jenny and Sheldon and their struggles in communicating/socializing in a world that glorifies popularity and being "normal" and hurts the weirdos to get them to conform. So it hurts on a personal level to see Sheldon get hated to such a high degree, and to hear people say Sheldon and Jenny would be an inherently unhealthy relationship, just because Sheldon can have some boundary issues and lack of social skills. I know people aren't saying this to villainize autistic traits, but that's how it can feel to me.

I could also get into how the show hinted that Jenny was at least a little curious about a relationship with Sheldon and that she might have gone for it if not for her fatal flaw in trying to seek popularity, but I'll save that for another post. This isn't meant to shame those who dont like the Jenny and Sheldon ship, but to give an alternative perspective to the whole "Sheldon is creepy!" thing I keep seeing in the fandom.

[redstarwriting]

too easy

stephen strange x reader

requested?: yes

request: “okay hi! i was wondering if you could write a imagine with stephen strange where the reader is the daughter of the ancient one and she is ridiculously powerful like even more powerful than the ancient one and saves stephen’s life and defeats mordo, stephen falls in love with her and asks her to stay and protect the sanctum with him? i’m sorry if this doesn’t make sense cause i’m horrible at explaining my thoughts. thank you!”

word count: 1.7k

genre: fluff

warnings: language, awkward rambling, flash thompson, mentions of alcohol, angsty peter for a bit

a/n: and we’re BACK. fitting for me to return with writing something about andrew garfield’s spider-man. when i tell you i was OBSESSED with these films when i was like 12, i mean it. anyways, please enjoy, and take this as a peace offering for disappearing for like two years lol

───────────────────────────────

Being the most powerful sorcerer on Earth had it’s perks, but it also had it’s downsides. The obvious perk? You are quite literally the most powerful sorcerer on Earth. The biggest downside? You’re constantly compared to your mother. Your mom being the Ancient One seems all fun and cute and you absolutely love her, but if everyone could stop comparing you to her for like, five minutes? That would be great. Especially Mordo. He tends to do it way more than any other person you know. 

And you hate it. 

In fact, it made you beg your mother to stay away from him. Of course she agreed, she knew how much you disliked him and what kind of mother would she be if she didn’t listen to you. To everyone else, it looked like you ran away from magic, but in reality, you were set to guard the Earth from whatever evil magical encounters befell it. Mordo of course constantly tried to tell others that you ran away from your responsibilities, so where was your shock when you realized he turned evil? Oh, that’s right, it didn’t exist. It just pissed you off more than anything. Your mother helped this man and he repaid her memory by doing this? No. Absolutely not. And that’s how you ended up in the position you were in. 

You knew about Stephen Strange. Your mother would talk to you about him before he even came to train under her, so you knew of his powers. What you didn’t know was he was an idiot disguised as a genius He tried to go after Mordo himself, and while he could have easily taken him when Mordo was his typical self, Mordo had been collecting magic from other sorcerers for multiple months now. Strange was still more powerful, but he severely underestimated the situation. When you showed up, Mordo was about to drain Stephen of his magic. Luckily, you put a stop to that almost immediately. 

“Mordo,” you say, making him whip around to face you. “(Y/n)? Finally decide to stop running away from your problems?”

“Oh please. Why do you think the only problem lately was Dormamu? I’ve been busy saving your ass this whole time,” you respond, glaring. It’s true. Stephen was supposed to defeat Dormamu, you just had to make sure nothing else was happening that would destroy his chances at becoming the Sorcerer Supreme, a title which you could have had if you actually wanted it. You knew what you were meant to do. Your mother had trained you with the Eye of Agamotto ever since you were a child, which is now sitting pretty on Stephen Strange’s neck. Mordo scoffs at you, completely disregarding Strange and putting his full attention on you. “You may be powerful, child, but I’ve been improving my skills.”

“Uh, no, actually, you’ve been stealing other people’s magic and therefore gaining it for yourself. I see no improvement, just an asshole who wants to feel more important than he actually is,” you say, giving a shrug. You clench your fists, making sure your rings are securely on your fingers. Not just the portal ones, if need me you could move to a different place knowing Mordo will follow you and leave the future Sorcerer Supreme safe… for now, but also some of your artifacts. There were two rings that chose you specifically, and lucky for you, one of them contained a tiny piece of the time stone, something about it that is unknown to most. Of course, it makes sense, you mastered the eye of Agamotto and then just willingly gave it up? No, I don’t think so. This ring makes it possible for you to continue using the magic you mastered so long ago. For most sorcerers, it would be nearly impossible due to the size of the shard, but for you? Piece of cake. The other ring is one that protects you. It can form into something of a shield all around your body, making magical attacks difficult to get through to you and physical attacks comparable to a blow of wind. Of course, it is named Achilles ring because although you may seem invincible to the average person, anyone with information about the ring knows where your weak spot is. And those are just the ring artifacts that chose you.

Mordo glares at you. “I AM IMPORTANT!” he booms, “YOU are the one who ran away! YOU are the one who appeared at this moment hoping to be more important than you are! YOU are a scared child, afraid of responsibilities and--“ Before he can finish, you blast him backward with a wave of your hand. He hits the stone wall behind him with a thud, falling to the ground. “I’m not a child,” you grumble, glancing at Stephen Strange, “Only my mom could call me child.” You yank your necklace off, and it immediately turns into a magical sword, the blade a glowing beam of light that you can control and bend at your will. He chuckles, standing up again. “Your mother is—”

“I recommend you don’t finish that sentence,” you growl, and whip your arm. The beam of light forms into that of a lasso, tying around Mordo tightly. You grunt, using your strength to fling him over your head and into the ground on your left, and then proceed to do the same on your right before releasing him from his constraints. “I’m well aware there is a fight going on here, but would anyone care to tell me who you might be?” Strange asks and you raise your eyebrow at him. “Not the time, Doctor,” you say as Mordo slowly stands again, his angry expression somehow morphing into an even angrier one. He raises his hand to do something, and your ring quickly activates, covering your body in an iridescent sheen. Mordo screams in frustration and starts sprinting toward you, pulling out a knife. You hold your hand out, freezing him in place. “Strange, open a portal to Wong, now,” you say and he looks taken aback. You smile slightly as you see Cloak shake in amusement and watch Strange glare at the artifact before opening a portal. Sure enough, Wong is just sitting and enjoying tea which he promptly drops when he sees you freezing Mordo in time. “Can I ask how you’re doing that? Or is it still—”

“Not the time,” you and Wong both say. “Not the time, of course, not the time even though the bad guy is frozen in front of your face. Not the time,” you hear Strange mumble, sitting down on a rock as Cloak pats his shoulder. “Don’t sit down yet, Strange, how proficient are you with the eye?” you ask, glancing at him. “I saved the world with it. Stuck myself in a time loop and convinced Dormamu to—”

“Yeah, I know that, but can you do what I’m doing right now?” you cut him off and he blinks at you slowly. “Yes. Obviously.” “Great, take over,” you say, immediately freeing Mordo who continues to scream and run towards you again. You don’t even flinch as he gets so close that his knife is about to swipe at your only point of weakness. Of course, before he can, Stephen freezes him. You look over at him. “Took you a little long over there."

“Now how the hell was I supposed to know you would just let him go and not give me any time to prepare to stop him?”

“You shouldn’t need time. Always be ready to make a decision without thinking. Your logic will be your downfall,” you tell him, as you place your hand on Mordo’s chest. You begin extracting the magic he stole from everyone else from his body, including his own. You frown. You’ve always hated this type of magic. Fitting that Mordo would willingly use it. When you finish, you nod towards Strange, who lets him go from his frozen state. He crumples to the ground and you look down at him. “You did this to yourself, you know,” you say to him and turn toward Wong. “You can handle it from here?” you ask and he nods. “Of course.” He passes through the portal, forcefully lifting Mordo from the ground and leading him to Kamar Taj. Now that he is unable to use magic, he will be contained. Perfect. “Is it the right time now? Because I have questions and you have the answers,” you hear Stephen say and turn towards him. He walks closer to you, and you grin. “I will answer three questions.”

“Three?!”

“Or I could just leave, whichever you prefer,” you shrug and he rolls his eyes. “Is this how difficult I am to deal with?”

“Well, considering this is the first and only time I’ve interacted with you and you need to know everything about me? Yes,” you turn and he follows you. “Fine. Three questions. Who are you?”

“(Y/n). Daughter of the Ancient One, most powerful sorcerer on Earth, last name unknown,” you answer and he raises his eyebrows. “A little cocky, don’t you think?”

“It’s only cocky when it isn’t true. I’m simply stating facts,” you shrug. He shakes his head. “How did you freeze Mordo like that?” You hold up your ring. “You didn’t think the eye of Agamotto was the only artifact that used the time stone, surely. There’s a chip in the stone, correct?”

“Yes.”

“That shard?” you tap the ring, “It’s welded into the metal of this ring. It’s small but has all the power of the Eye of Agamotto,” you explain and he hums in response. “And here I thought I was special.”

“You kind of are. Not many are able to do what you do, so be proud of it. You are the second most powerful sorcerer on Earth, after all. That’s an impressive feat,” you pat his shoulder and he scoffs slightly. “Second most…? Yeah, whatever. One more question?”

“One more question.”

“Come to the Sanctum? We can protect Earth together?”

“I can’t say yes to that just yet.”

“And why not?”

“It would be far too easy for you,” you respond with a smirk. You see a glint of excitement and determination in his eyes as you open a portal and step through it. “Will I see you again?”

“I said three—”

“I know. That one was rhetorical. I already know the answer,” he says with a wink, and you roll your eyes, closing the portal. You’ve spent years hearing about Doctor Stephen Strange from your mother. Now it seems you’ll spend years around him. He just has to catch you first.

[stranger-in-a-strange-new-world]

Sometimes a family is a car mechanic, a lawyer, her American mother named after a dolly Parton song, Andrew garfield in a disguise, a hematologist, his town planner boyfriend with a peacock for a Penis and laurence Dallaglio.