imehchibi-blog

[97thhour]

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[zahanaraimamshop]

I want sell customised products on United States.Products like T-shirt,mug,hoodie, pants etc......

If anyone suggests me anything....

[wavecolordrop]

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[notyourhetloki]

sharing is caring (Logan x Reader x Wade)

Reader: they/them (gender neutral)

/NSFW Logan x Reader x Wade/

A/N: Hey I'm back in my Marvel era!!! Just a quickie "porn without much plot" fic because I'm obsessed with these men… they don't kiss in this one but I'm already working on a sequel ;) anyway, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Use of (y/n), oral sex (m! receiving).

Word Count: 2k

—

Being Deadpool and Wolverine's neighbor was much more peaceful than you'd imagined... aside from the constant bickering you could hear from the walls, of course.

You met Wade first when you had just moved in, boxes splayed across the hall as you moved them into your apartment one by one. He offered a hand, and you gladly accepted it. "Let me help you with that, gorgeous."

On that same night, you almost bumped into Logan as he strutted his way to his door. He held you by the shoulders and gave you a smug look, examining you up and down. "Careful there, sugar."

From then on you managed to build quite a friendly relationship with them, hanging out together whenever you had the chance. You would chat with Logan and laugh at Wade's jokes, spend quality time with them, and even cook them some food if you felt like it.

All of it was greatly appreciated, even the building tension between the three of you. It was clear from the beginning that they were interested in something more, from the looks they would give you to the pet names they called you... it was exciting to play along.

For example, you didn't lose an opportunity to touch them. Even if the touches were brief, like a pat on the back or a slight squeeze on the arm/shoulder... all 'innocent' gestures until they reciprocated, arms around your neck or pulling at your waist. It was then that the fun actually began.

They would fight over you, eyeing each other angrily whenever you were around the both of them, seeing who could make you smile more or who could get closer to you. It was a competition for them, and you were rooting for them both.

Wade had that clown energy that was hilarious and irresistible, while Logan was stoic, serious and captivating. You found them to be so different yet so alike... they were perfect for each other, perfect for you.

One night, Wade sent you a text inviting you to come over to watch some TV. You decided to go in your pajamas (short shorts and a baggy T-shirt) only to see his reaction, and it paid off. He greeted you at the door, looking at your body and giving you a smile that told you he was up to no good. "Hey there, gorgeous."

You sat on the sofa and Wade plopped himself way closer than necessary. As you were deciding on what to watch, Logan appeared from the bathroom, shirtless and hair wet... heat traveled to your belly at the sight. "Gosh, Wolvie! Have some decency, (y/n) is here!" Wade exclaimed.

Logan quickly put on the white tank top he always wore and went to greet you. "Hi, sugar. Sorry about that." You smiled at him and he grinned back, accommodating himself next to you on the sofa. "What are you watching?"

You were sandwiched between them then, nerves started to get the best of you as you settled for a random TV show to watch. The three of you were in silence before you noticed a certain commotion between them. Wade wanted to put his arm behind your neck but Logan had the same idea, so they were silently wrestling to see who was going to win... no one did.

After they gave up, Logan slowly moved his hand over your thigh and left it there. You gave him another smile as you covered his hand with yours.

Wade bit his lower lip in frustration, moving his own hand onto your other thigh and giving it a gentle squeeze. You looked at him and also smiled, mimicking the same action you did for Logan and putting your other hand on top of his.

They looked at each other, bragging with their eyes. It was then that Wade had another idea, one you couldn't resist. "(y/n), do you know I really like you? Like, a lot." You couldn't see it, but Logan was not amused at that... but he quickly recovered, bold enough to speak his own mind. "I... like you as well, (y/n). You truly are something special."

"Just remember I said it first." Wade retorted with a wink, leaving Logan fuming. "What does it matter?!" He said.

Before they could start an argument, you got up from the sofa and turned to look at them, leaving them confused. With a sweet voice, you decided to confess. "And I like the both of you... equally. Or would you like to make me choose?"

They looked at each other, then back at you before Wade finally spoke. "But how much exactly do you like us?"

It was exactly the invitation you needed, you smiled slyly as you demanded. "Get up."

They both rose from their seats in an instant, almost comically. You inched closer, pointing a finger as you eeny meeny miney moe'd between them, choosing your next target. The finger ended up pointing at Logan, so you moved your hand to rest on his chest and whispered. "You first."

Before any of them could understand what was happening, you closed the gap between you and kissed Logan on the lips. The kiss was chaste at first, but soon deepened as he pulled you by the waist and brushed his tongue on yours. All you could hear was Wade speaking to himself in the background. "Holy fucking shit."

You kissed for a few moments before you pulled back, Logan’s pupils blown wide and mouth parted open. He followed your movements as you got closer to Wade, caressing his cheek. “Thank you for being patient, love.” You said before kissing him as well.

Wade hummed on your lips as he ran his fingers through your hair, pulling you even closer. The two of you kissed passionately until you felt another set of hands on your waist, Logan was directly behind you and guiding you to turn towards him. "My turn again." He said in a gruff.

You smiled as you turned to kiss Logan further, but this time he aimed for your jaw, then neck... started to mark your skin with hickeys and bites while taking the opportunity to grab your ass. You gasped and moaned gently while Wade simply commented on everything. "Naughty Wolvie... so rough! Hungry, aren't we?"

"Shut up." Logan simply answered, coming back to ravish your mouth. After a moment you felt Wade's hands grabbing at your hips, turning you around. "Sharing is caring, friend." He said at Logan, who not-so-willingly let you go.

As you kissed Wade, he also grabbed your ass and caressed your hips and waist. When he decided to kiss your neck, he whispered compliments into your ear. "Gosh, you're so soft..."

It was then that you felt it, Logan's erection was poking at your bum as he drew closer and closer to you, pulling you towards his chest while Wade's own erection grew and grazed at your thigh.

You hummed in approval, turning enough to face the both of them. You looked down and confirmed that the two were rock-hard in their pants, so you stared at their faces and playfully said. "Oh my... looks like you are ready for some fun."

You gently palmed their bulges, making sweet purrs escape from their mouths. Their eyes were dark as they looked at you and then at themselves, incredulous at what was happening. Logan was first to break the eye contact, finally looking at you and asking. "And what did you have in mind, sugar?"

Simply lowering yourself to your knees, you began to plant kisses on their respective bulges one at a time before looking up at them and demanding. "Take them out."

Wade excitedly obeyed, his dick springing out of his trousers as he slid them down. He was big and ready for action, and you gladly started to kiss and lick along his shaft.

Logan stared longingly before taking his own pants off, giving his girthy member a few good strokes as he praised you. "Yeah, take his cock in your mouth, baby..."

"Oh, Wolvie! You're so generous..." Wade teased as you finally started sucking his dick. It was sloppy, spit ran down your chin as you bobbed your head along with your strokes. You took your time and looked up at them eventually, pausing to lick and kiss at the base and at his balls.

"Fuuuck, (y/n). You're a fucking pro at this." Wade moaned with your every move, and Logan just stared and stroked himself leisurely.

They both caressed your hair when you heard Logan's voice fill the room again. "My turn now, hm?"

You and Wade agreed, so you turned slightly to capture Logan in your mouth. You continued masturbating Wade as you licked Logan's dick from the base to the tip, coating him in your saliva. "Such a pretty mouth, so good for us." He groaned.

As you sucked on his cock, Logan grabbed lightly at your hair guiding you into a rhythm. It was faster than Wade's, rougher, but you followed along willingly as you moaned around him. He groaned and cursed and all of it went straight to your sex, already aching with all the stimuli.

You were so turned on you couldn't help but whine when Logan pulled you by your hair away from his dick, looking at your eyes. "Open your mouth."

Wade looked in confusion as you opened wide, and Logan took the opportunity to spit on your tongue. "Good bunny." He praised.

"Jesus Christ." Wade exclaimed. "I'm so turned on right now."

After swallowing Logan's spit, you continued stroking them both while looking up at their expressions. Wade was breathing through his parted mouth, moaning and speaking to himself. "Oh wow, what a sight... you're so fucking gorgeous." While Logan silently observed your face and your hands in action, groaning from time to time.

You were getting hot then, so you decided to take your T-shirt off, leaving you with a bare chest. They both admired your body as you stroked their dicks, spitting on them occasionally. "Look at you..." Logan said, followed by Wade. "Fuck, I'm close, baby."

"Fuck... yeah, bub... cum all over their face." Logan gruffed out as Wade held his shoulder for dear life, Logan's free hand around Wade's waist.

Opening your mouth obscenely and darting your tongue out, you looked at Wade in the eyes. He soon came with a moan, spilling his seed all over your tongue and chin.

Logan followed right after, his cum shooting at your mouth and running down your cheek. He groaned and continued to hold you by the hair with one of his hands, caressing your scalp after his orgasm had passed.

"Damn, Wolvie... I think you will have to take the biscuit this time." Said a breathless Wade, leaning into Logan as he too caressed your hair and face.

You swallowed what you could, tasting both men in your mouth... they tasted bitter but delicious, just like you'd imagined. Logan then took his thumb and gathered some cum from your chin before taking the digit to his mouth, tasting... whoever's cum was that. He looked at Wade who was already staring at his mouth. "What?" Logan demanded.

"That was really fucking hot of you." Wade answered. You smiled at them both, getting up and promptly putting your arms around them.

You kissed Wade first that time, pulling him closer while Logan watched patiently. The both of you moaned against each other, feeling each other's tongues in your mouths.

After a few moments, you parted and turned to Logan who was yearning for your kiss. You joined lips and his tongue soon met yours, swirling around in tandem as he felt and grabbed your soft body.

When the kiss was done, you stopped to look at the both of them. You couldn't help but giggle, and they reciprocated soon after. "So... what does that make of us?" Wade half-jokingly said.

Logan rolled his eyes, a smile stamped on his face as you gently answered. "Whatever you want it to be..."

—

[velvetti]

Taming a wild rabbit.

T/W: dubcon/noncon, gunplay, drugging, not yet proofread.

Remake to: A mole was found

(Fic layout inspired by @miyuuuki ^^)

The sky is clear today, thanks to that, Blake was able to buy some desserts. He was in a good mood after his work, even when the corner of his shirt was stained by a small drop of blood. He bought a few slices of top quality cake from many different flavors, paying with his credit card as if what he bought wasn't extravagant.

He quickly heads home after that, opening the door and greeted by a wide hug from you, your arms wrapped around his torso, the leash of your collar dangels as you move. After recovering from his shock a few short moments after, he hugs you back and you said with a wide smile.

"Welcome back, Blake!"

Blake looks at the collar on your neck before leaning in, saying in your ear, his lips curving into a smirk

"I'm home."

"I don't think it's weird..."

"Don't be stupid, who is it?"

Said the two men, both wearing a suit but one in his mid-twenties while the other look to be at least 60 with white hair and a beer belly. You lean against the wall nearby as the two men talked about your next mission, your arms crossed while trying to come up with any new strategy.

You have officially started your job as a spy about a year ago, at first it seemed like a dream job where you get to be sleathy and wear suits 24/7 but in reality, it's nothing different than a gamble to try to gain even the equivalent of a grain of rice amount of information.

It's nothing different than throwing your entire life anyway for "the greater good" to have a slim chance of actually winning or accomplishing something. You would probably be better off actually gambling with the chances that you have. At least you get paid well for every job you take.

Meanwhile, the two men in suits were still negotiating. The younger man was your agent, you wouldn't usually talk to him unless you need his assisstant, while the older one was your client. The moment your agent opened the suitcase to check the amount of money the client provided you, the older man started saying.

"And you know...There's been rumours going aroun-"

The man couldn't finished his sentence before he gets cuts off by another man in suit, the man's face is covered by a black fedora. He walks into the room casually as he asks "What rumours?". The simple question caused the client to panic almost immediately and turns back with a fearful expression, a bang went off in the horror of your eyes and your agent was shot in the forehead, eliminating him instantly. You grab your weapon and point your gun at the mysterious man as he holds the client hostage by a gun at the older man's cheek.

You yelled at him to not shoot, gaining a simple reply and a smirk from the mysterious guy.

"Do you know me?"

You mutter your reply, your tone is filled with cautiousness, a cold sweat runs down your forehead.

"Blake..."

The man simply looks down at you with an annoyed glance.

"You're only here because I escaped, and my boss is furious."

Suddenly your client started screaming and yelling at the fedora-wearing man, to shut up and let him go. Which you admit, was a terrible choice of action.

"Shut up."

The fedora hat wearing man clicked his tongue, pressing the nuzzle against the client's back and fire.

The man doesn't seem to spare you even after killing both your agent and your client, he aims his gun at you at the exact moment you aimed yours at him. You thought this was gonna be a stand off, just for your gun to be greeted with a bullet, the man missed the shot but at least he managed to knock the gun out of your hand.

He exploits the moment of your shock to push you against the wall, each hand holding your wrists back and looking down at you. You could hear him say very faintly, almost like a whisper.

"You have a cute face"

The words don't move you however, you resist the urge to call him a pervert since in this situation when you're facing a guy with a gun, it's best to not provoke any aggressive chain of behaviour.

"Where's your boss' HQ? Tell me and I'll let you go"

The man said. Did this guy seriously think you'll sell out your entire company just so you could survive? Even if you survive, the company would probably find a way to bite you back even harder. In conclusion, this man can suck your dick and go find the information himself.

You replied with just that, "Like I'll tell you, glasses. Go to hell."

However, that seemed to be the wrong answer as the man doesn't say anything at first, he looks at you with the definition of a blank expression before it turns into a frown. With minimal effort, he knee kicked you in your stomach and held you up by your arm, that kick alone was enough to knock you out. If you were a normal person, you would've coughed out blood from that.

"Stupid boy. I wished I could have killed you."

You woke up in a strange place, the first thing that hit your eyes was the dark coloured wall and ceiling. You sit up and try to rub your eyes, realising that you have now been handcuffed. You look around to see where you are, your head filled with questions but no definite answers. The only clue you had was a few tabs of pills on the table nearby and the black fedora hat that the man was wearing before.

The clues didn't help in finding an escape route but it at least let you understand the current situation a little better.

Your line of thought is quickly cut off by the sound of the shower ending, following the sound of the bathroom door opening. From your surprise (are you really surprised though?), Blake walks out from the bathroom, topless while wearing some black pants, a white towel hanging over his shoulder and one of the identical pill tabs in his hand.

He glances at you, saying with a smiling expression.

"Oh, you're awake? Sooner than expected. Is it because I'm getting weaker or you're getting stronger?"

He doesn't even seem to acknowledge your internal panic as he didn't look at you after saying his sentence, his hand popping a pill from the tab before tossing it in his mouth.

Your reaction speed didn't prepare you for the sudden kiss he placed on you, he used his tongue to force open your mouth and push the pill over to you, forcing you to swallow it by forcibly deepening the kiss in by pushing the back of your head in.

Out of self defense, you bit his tongue harshly, hard enough for it to bleed but it wasn't enough to cut Blake's tongue off permanently. As expected, he pushed you down on the bed right after what you did, but he didn't seem upset. He licks his lips, seemingly savoring the irony taste of his blood and saying again, his voice makes you want to punch him square in the face despite it being the same tone as before.

"You could bite back... How adorable, my little rabbit thinks it can scare me. Just a small warning cutie, your struggle turns me on, so stay still and be a good boy, alright?"

You try to cough out the pill he made you swallow, but it seemed to be too late as your mind suddenly went blank, your vision going blurry as if you've knocked down 20 bottles of wine. Tears are already forming in the corner of your eyes, the effect of the pull caused your body to become all weak and shaking. You mutter a question about the pull through gritted teeth, getting a reply from Blake while he holds both of your wrists up.

"Oh don't worry, I didn't poison you. Ever heard of aphrodisiac, my darling?"

Of course, it is that damn thing, makes sense why the tab pills have 'A' marked on it. You let out a deep sigh, sending Blake a glare out of spite. While you weren't paying much attention, he had already started playing with your chest with his mouth, a single lick was enough to harden your nipple.

You were about to cuss at him, but the moment you opened your mouth, Blake pushed his lips against yours again. Your body was already greatly weakened by the pill, so all you could do was frown and let out a few noises to try to get Blake to quit it.

This situation is way more romantic than imagined, you expected him to be rough and thrust inside in one go without any foreplay, at least you won't have to go through anymore pain.

You were turned on your stomach by Blake after the kiss. Your body got goosebumps upon feeling some kind of cold liquid on your crack, a few drops even getting inside you, gaining a small uncontrolled whine from your mouth. Blake kept quiet, his eyes stayed on your hole and you could hear the sound of a zipper.

Blake thrusts two fingers inside you and leans forward to place a kiss on your nape, nibbling on your neck. The two fingers slide in and out of you, the action is surprisingly gentle for a guy like Blake. When he felt you were ready, he gripped both of your shoulders and held you up, aligning your hold with his length. You plead for him to stop, but it seemed to turn him on more as he pushes you down until his tip is inside you. Then he moved his hands over to your hips, slamming you down deep on his dick, causing you to choke on your saliva for a second.

He bites on your shoulder and buries his face in your neck, leaving back marks of all sizes while also giving you a few seconds to adjust to his size. Until your breath has stabilized, he moves you up and down by gripping your hips at a fairly gentle pace at first. His breath also fastened, continuing to bite your neck to muffle his groans and occasional moan. Both of your bodies are hot and sweaty, harmonizing together despite technically being enemies.

Finally, he pushes you down on his dick, filling you up with semen and letting out a satisfied grunt. He breathes heavily, brushing his damped hair back before he pushes you down on the bed again and caresses your cheek with his hand, saying with a cocky smile and letting out a chuckle at the end.

"Not yet, darling. You don't get to leave me until I'm fully satisfied."

Blake kept his words and kept you with him, both of you fucked like bunnies in heat for the weekends and fucked daily when Blake needs to go to work. He made sure to 'train' you 24/7 in any way possible, using sex toys to please you when he's not with you and abusing aphrodisiac.

A small flame from a lighter lights up the dark alley, Blake leans his back against the wall and huffs out the smoke from his cigarette before glancing at the blond haired man nearby. Both of them are in suits, but in contrast to Blake, the blond haired man seemed much more serious as he approached Blake and said with a frown.

"Where did you take him?"

The question caused Blake to slightly lower his head, the black fedora covering his eyes. Then Blake replies vaguely, his lips curving up to a smile.

"Well... I turned a stubborn brat into an adorable kitten."

"You..."

Blake said before shooting the blond haired man on his arm, glaring at the man.

"He's mine now."

Blake leans down to kiss you on the lips, which you return the kiss with delight, your arms wrapping over his shoulder. He pulls you into the bedroom and ignores the bag of dessert he had dropped.

He grips your hair and pulls your head in his crotch, pushing his dick deeper into your throat with one hand while removing his tie with the other. He glances down at you, his eyes darkened for a short moment.

When he had pushed you down onto the bed, he seemed to be in a rush to relieve his stress since he buries his head in your shoulder the moment you laid your back on the bed, one of his hands playing with your nipple. He muttered about how harsh his day was at work.

When he is distracted, your eyes sharpen with bloodlust. Your hand grips the razor that was hidden behind the pillow and aligns it over Blake's neck. No matter how hard Blake tries, you can never forget what he had done, even then your higher up won't even care since he works for the enemy.

Before you could take action, Blake pointed a gun at your chin and continued to kiss your neck. It started to dawn on you that he expected your retaliation, the timing of the blond hair guy-your colleague and your sudden obedience was too suspicious to pass over. He hums, his other hand continues to play with your body.

"What do you think you're doing? I was genuinely turned on, darling. I saw one of your damn colleagues around this area, the one with blond hair..."

Your eyes widened, the only colleague you have with blond hair is Luka, your highschool best friend. You were about to speak up but he turned you on your stomach and held the gun in front of you, saying with a sickly sweet tone. You recognise the gun as the one he used to kill your client before.

"I was planning on killing you with this, but I missed the shot, I believe that's the best decision I could've made. Now, lick it, darling. If you don't wish for your dear friend to disappear forever."

Having no other choices, you obeyed the order and sucked the barrel of the gun, your body slightly shaking from fear of the trigger pulling any moment. He watched in satisfaction as his other hand moved to play with your underbody, preparing you for nightmare.

After what felt like an eternity, he thrust himself inside of you, but leaving you no time to adjust this time as he focuses on pounding into you like a machine. He holds both of your wrists back to pull you deeper into his cock, ignoring any pleas and any noises you make, even when you are overstimulated and sobbing on the pillow.

When you're on the verge of passing out, he has finally finished but he doesn't seem so tired, just pure satisfaction. He puts his glasses on and before your vision goes dark, you hear the clicking sound of a collar on your neck as well as feeling a kiss on your forehead.

[catboybiologist]

So I'm realizing that I basically have one outfit that I just make minor alterations/swaps with. I wanna keep tabs on where I got this stuff, and since I'm an attention whore, I might as well make a post out of it. With a few exceptions, everything has been stuff I've nabbed when it's on sale online or I see in a thrift store within the past couple of months.

Here's a dump of pics, some new, some old, to give you an idea of what I wear basically every day:

I really like this fit. It's professional without being stodgy, showy on the figure without being inappropriate, casual without being sloppy. I'm def "dressing up" by grad student standards, esp compared to what I used to be like as a guy, but I'm okay with that.

Now, let's steal her look!!!

Bra:

https://www.calvinklein.us/en/underwear/women/bras/perfectly-fit-lightly-lined-full-coverage-bra/52013837-643.html

Underwear:

Shirts:

Khakis:

Alternate khakis:

https://www.calvinklein.us/en/cotton-stretch-straight-fit-chino-pants/198294081239.html

Cardigan:

https://www.uniqlo.com/us/en/products/E472074-000/00?colorDisplayCode=30&sizeDisplayCode=004

Flannel:

https://www.rei.com/product/192987/rei-co-op-wallace-lake-flannel-shirt-mens

Glasses:

Shoes:

Note that the shoes are absolutely the most expensive part of my outfit, but I have 0 regrets. I do NOT fuck around with shoes. I'm a hiker with messed up feet, I need to keep those babies working. And so far, these have been amazingly supportive on my messed up arches and ankles, I've used them in hikes even, and they support my ankle well. They also look really nice, far cuntier than hiking boots, so y'know. That's nice too.

There are two additional things I'll mention here that I know aren't easily accessible. I have pride colored hiking socks that I wear a lot which were given to me by the trailQTs. My belt was also something I got years ago from a leather worker at an art show.

Anyways. Idk if my assessment of this actually holds up, but I figured I'd record this all somewhere.

[andreisvechnikov]

Hurricanes’ Seth Jarvis leans into status as an honorary Harvard grad

By: Luke Decock, April 24, 2024

When Tripp Tracy was asked to speak at a meeting of the Harvard Club of the Research Triangle last week, he naturally invited the Carolina Hurricanes’ two other Harvard Men to join him. Jack Drury, owner of a Harvard diploma, class of 2023. Seth Jarvis, owner of a “Harvard Alumni” T-shirt, class of not quite veritas.

Neither Drury nor Jarvis could attend because of the team’s pre-playoff dinner gathering, but Jarvis was nevertheless welcome despite his self-proclaimed “Grade 6” education, because if there’s one thing that’s true about the Hurricanes’ third-year forward above all else, it’s that if you try to make him the butt of a joke, even a heartfelt, good-natured one, he’ll find a way to turn it back around on you.

When Drury returned from his Cambridge graduation last summer with the crimson T-shirt as a gift for Jarvis, he never expected Jarvis to cut off the sleeves.

He never expected Jarvis to make it his undershirt and wear it under his shoulder pads every single day of the season. For every practice. Every game. Every postgame interview.

“I thought, there’s no better way to put it to use than cut it into a tank top and wear it under my gear,” Jarvis said.

Seth Jarvis. Harvard alum. The shirt says so.

“There have been a few people who have seriously asked me if I went to Harvard,” Jarvis said, “and they’ve obviously never had a conversation with me.”

The Hurricanes have always had a strong connection to Harvard, through Tracy and his youth teammate and future front-office executive Jason Karmanos, through players like Craig MacDonald and Craig Adams.

They’ve had players from the rest of the hockey-playing Ivy League schools as well, other than Brown: Jeff Hamilton (Yale), Kevin Westgarth (Princeton), Lee Stempniak (Dartmouth), Riley Nash (Cornell). Now Drury. And, apparently, Jarvis.

“I think it’s been awesome,” Tracy said. “I would have liked to have had him on the roster.”

Even within the hockey world, it’s hard to imagine two teammates as different as the goofy Manitoban and the cosmopolitan Harvard grad becoming so close. Jarvis left home at 14 to play junior hockey in the Western Hockey League and was in the NHL by age 18.

Drury, scion of a prominent hockey family, spent two years at Harvard and another year overseas in Sweden; even though Drury is two years older than Jarvis, Jarvis has played more than 100 more NHL games than Drury.

The two are akin to brothers as much as they are friends or teammates, so when Drury gave Jarvis the shirt, it was with the best of intentions. Still, give Jarvis an inch or two, he’ll take all 200 feet, same in the dressing room as on the rink.

“I got it for him hoping he would wear it,” Drury said. “Using it as the undershirt, I love that. I didn’t know he’d do that. Once he started to do it, I thought it was awesome. He’s a character. But you couldn’t have a better guy around the room.”

Every single day, the shirt goes into his laundry bag to be laundered with the rest of the team’s base layers, an old-school throwback amid the sweat-wicking, high-tech gear.

By now, seven months into the season, as the Hurricanes head north for Thursday’s Game 3 against the New York Islanders with a 2-0 lead in their first-round series, the T-shirt should probably be in tatters. It looks just fine. Other than the missing sleeves.

“It’s hung on,” Jarvis said. “It’s high quality. Only the best at Harvard.”

At the end of the regular season, when Jarvis sat in on the Bally Sports broadcast with Tracy and Mike Mansicalco while sitting out Game 82, he told Tracy he would have liked to major in “micro-macro engineering” at Harvard, which sounds like a typical Jarvis malaprop, mishmashing economics and engineering. But it also could very well be somebody’s bespoke “special concentration” in Harvard’s engineering school, studying “theories of engineering principles” or the “interactions between microscopic innovation and large system models.”

Jarvis, with his elite hockey IQ and even quicker wit, may be more evidence that you don’t have to be book smart to be smart. He plays up the dopey-goofball angle because it gets laughs — “There’s still a lot of stupidity going on throughout my day,” Jarvis said — and won the Josef Vasicek Award this season for his quotability, but he’s the son of two educators, and there’s a spark that animates both his personality and his game, burning bright under all the self-deprecating humor.

“He plays a little dumb, but he’s pretty smart actually,” Martin Necas said. “I’m positive. He’s pretty smart. He just makes himself look like it on purpose, sometimes.”

Watching his game grow over the past two seasons, as he spent last year becoming a two-way player and this season reaping the rewards, it’s fair to wonder what would happen if he applied himself in the classroom as he has to his hockey career. Who knows what might be possible.

“It’s never too late,” Drury said. “He plays it up a little bit but he’s smarter than people realize. He’s got a good head on his shoulders.”

And the T-shirt over his shoulders to sort-of prove it.

[lady-raziel]

Cna i... Can I ask what the beef is with M Night Shyamalan?

fair warning, this is a self-indulgently long post. but if you endure the page break, you may find the story entertaining.

a long time ago...in a small indie comic book shop in downtown Philadelphia...

picture this. it's circa 2016. my hyperfixation at the time is DC Comics-- the Flash specifically. I like the Flash, but I really like his nemesis, the Reverse Flash. This guy's gimmick is that he has the same powers as the Flash, but he's also evil because he used to be a Flash stan and his idol didn't validate their parasocial relationship when they actually met in person, and now he just wants to kill the Flash instead. It's a long story. Reverse Flash has died many times. He's also from the future, but that's not the important bit right now.

Anyway, despite being one of the Flash's main enemies, there are not that many comic book issues that feature the Reverse Flash for some reason. My main hobby at the time of this whole ordeal is to go to the local comic book shops and search through the bins of back issues to find anything with the Reverse Flash in it (bonus points if he's on the cover, but at a certain point you can't be picky). I'd been fairly successful at this, and had even been able to avoid buying too much off Ebay as I really didn't care too much about the condition or grade of the comics. The comic book shop in downtown Philly I was in on the day of the Incident was one I'd been to before, but not in a while as I went to school out in the suburbs and didn't leave that general area too much.

So. I enter this shop, and it's not too busy. That's a good thing as it's not a large space and if there were too many people it would have been very difficult to navigate around the displays of Funko Pops and tables of back issues. However, as I was soon about to find out, it doesn't matter if there's only one other person shopping at the same time as you if that person is the wrong person.

I make my way to the back where all the big boxes of old comics are, and scan the rows alphabetically to find the 'Fs.' I see 'Firestorm,' and 'Fantastic Four,' and all the others...but there, right there, where the Flash comics should be...there's a guy. Standing there. In the way.

Now, that's alright. He just seemed to be perusing randomly and wasn't actually looking at the Flash comics specifically (my Flash comics), and I can just go look at the action figures or something until he moves to another section of the shop. No problem. I mean, it's one box of comics, Harold. How long does it take to look through it? 5 minutes? No, all I have to do is wait a little bit and then I can examine those 1980s Flash comics with my own grubby little paws.

So I do a loop of the store. I examine the Funko Pops (they all look the same), the t-shirts (only Hot Topic quality), the new comics (Superman #1? How many times are they going to reboot this thing?), and even the super expensive vintage comics up on the wall (no Reverse Flash here, and it would still be beyond my price point anyway). But when I finally make my way back to the back issues, the guy...is still there. He hasn't moved. And now he's not even pretending to look at the comics anymore.

Now, to my horror, he seems to be having a full-on conversation with one of the store employees right on top of my box of comics, and neither of them seem like they plan to end this discussion anytime soon. You may be asking at this point, "well Raz, if you wanted to look at the comics where they were standing, why didn't you just ask them to move out of the way?" You're right. I could have done that.

But problem. I have social anxiety. And sometimes it gets very bad about very small things. So while it would have been entirely reasonable to ask these two men to move their conversation elsewhere, the crippling social anxiety made it so that asking for that very small and reasonable thing would have been akin to asking these guys if they would set me on fire right here right now, please and thank you. It wasn't gonna happen. My only option was to hover uncomfortably 6 feet away, pretending to go through the back issues systematically and hope they picked up on what I was doing and moved out of the way when I got back to the 'Fs,' or give up and suffer an hour and a half on the SEPTA train back home with nothing to show for it.

now, i've never had a conversation with famous filmmaker and director M Night Shyamalan. I didn't even know what he looked like at the time, so when all this happened I thought he was just Some Guy who in his unawareness was keeping me from completing my mission. Maybe he's a really engaging conversationalist and talking with him causes you to not notice anything going on around you. That may even be the case-- as neither the Twistmaster himself or the besotted store employee seemed to notice I was there. But I WAS there. And my frantic silent social cues were being "returned to sender," unread.

Meanwhile I was enduring a level of internal turmoil on the level of a character in a Greek tragedy. This was my crucible. Surrender, or do something I was honor-bound not to do. Was this the meaning of an impossible choice?

It was only after almost 15 long, agonizing minutes and two more laps of the store on my part that finally, finally there was a breakthrough. Unaware Man (for this would be Shyamalan's superhero code name) and Employee-Bro had moved to the cash register, as the former had found something he wanted to buy. With speed rivaling the Flash himself, I descended on the fated box of comics like a plague. It seemed that the day had not been lost after all.

However, like any film from the man himself, there was to be a final twist to this tale. One last turn of the knife. You might be thinking-- "And it turned out that there weren't any comics in the box you wanted to buy after all, rendering this whole ordeal meaningless, right? Like any tragic hero you endured the terrible trials only to discover that the treasure you sought was a hollow fantasy of your own creation, and this all could have been avoided if you had not fallen prey to the follies of man?"

No. The problem was-- I did find several comics in that box that I wanted to buy. I even found one with the Reverse Flash on the cover. But now that I had found my prize, I faced a new, even greater challenge, which was somewhat an extension of the old challenge, but to the extreme.

I now had to get Employee-Bro to ring me up so I could leave this cursed place, but here's the kicker: I had to do this while he was still utterly engaged in discussion with Unaware Man and thus blind to the outside world. I had come out of the frying pan and into the fire, because now it wasn't like I could just go home and take only a feeling of defeat with me. My precious comic book finds were on the line, and what was I going to do? Just put them back in the box and leave?

Unfortunately, I was committed. I would have to stand reasonably out of the way of Unaware Man's personal space yet close enough to indicate that I was, yes, in line to check out my purchases. And goddamnit, I was going to do this until all of us died of old age or the world ended.

I kind of lost all sense of time at that point. It could have been only a few minutes. It could have been five hours. All I know is that it was long enough that I wished for the sweet release of death, because then at least I'd be able to lie down. How it eventually went down was that Employee-Bro rung up Unaware Man (because really, processing a credit card transaction and signing the receipt only can take so long), and the two continued to talk as Employee-Bro gradually gained awareness that I Was There Too, and multitasked to check out my items while remaining totally focused on his other conversation and not speaking a word to me.

And that was it. I was free, from the physical prison of the comic book store at least. But again, like a Shyamalan film, this was in reality only the end of the second act. Because as I walked through the streets of Center City Philadelphia and rested my head against the smudged window of the SEPTA train on the way home, I started to descend into the mental turmoil of the question, "wait, who was that guy? Was he like...famous, or something?"

If you've ever been to a comic con or spent enough time in a hobby shop, you know that sometimes Nerd Bros can get really deep into conversation about these sorts of things. Many of them even have lots of opinions on films, and will be happy to share them in detail unprompted. So it wasn't entirely unreasonable for me not to realize in the moment that what was happening wasn't just "Nerd Bros Being Dudes."

But the more I thought about it, the one-sided adoring dynamic between Employee Bro and Unaware Man did seem unusual. And in the bits of their conversation that I had been forced to endure, hadn't one of them mentioned something about...filming locations? What was that about? Nobody in their right mind films stuff in Philly unless they're making the 86th Rocky film or the like.

It was a Google search of "movies filming in Philadelphia" that returned several results of articles talking about how location scouting was going on in the area as part of the production of a long-awaited sequel to the 2000 film Unbreakable, a undercover superhero sleeper hit. Unbreakable, a film set in Philadelphia, written and directed by famous filmmaker M Night Shyamalan.

Shyamalan. SHYAMALAN. the man responsible for 2010's The Last Airbender. it was HIM. he was not only the man who originated the (still unbroken!) curse on the Avatar franchise, but also the man who had ruined my day. Thoughtlessly. Carelessly. Not by massacring a beloved children's television franchise, but by being unaware. Inconceivable.

This was horrific. It wasn't even like I was the Reverse Flash or any other famous superhero nemesis, who had a compelling backstory causing their undying hatred of the hero. Instead, I now had a narrative foil who barely even fit that description, because chances are he hadn't even taken notice of my existence the whole time! This was my supervillain origin story, and it was his normal day!

It was at this moment I swore an oath. I would not forget this terrible day of inconvenience that was partially caused by my own social failings. I would dedicate my life from this point forward to slightly narrowing my eyes and shaking my head disapprovingly when I saw mentions of Shyamalan or his works online. I would color any opinions I had of his films with the thought, "but remember that one time he was kind of a dick to you without even meaning it? what was up with that?"

and that is the tale of my tragic encounter with M Night Shyamalan. To this day, my only solace is that my epic origin story turned out more narratively coherent and with deeper substance than any other film made in the Unbreakable saga, including the one he was location scouting for at the time this happened. Shyamalan can write twists all he wants, but no one is better at that game than karma itself.

-END-

[butchgambit]

In light of butch gambit (& femme rogue soon #trust) gaining traction (amongst butch versions of many others), I thought it'd be fun to share my rogue and gambit headcanons here! I'll place it under a read more since it's long :]

(little disclaimer: some of them are already in canon but rarely touched on again or is only implied so I've listed them here anyway in case y'all are wondering why something's listed that seems familiar!)

general Gambit hcs:

permanent burn scars on his hands & forearms + faint scars on his palms as well

has moles all over his body + shoulder freckles

has beauty marks all over his face

tan/sun kissed complexion (slightly darker than canon)

eyes glow into his signature pink when he's visibly angry or using a lot of energy of his mutation 

broad shoulders with a slightly curved waist + a little tummy 

hairy body but usually prefers to keep his facial hair to his scruff/stubble

has rounded cheeks but a chiseled chin & nose

has matching scars with rogue from being impaled with her (see: X-Treme X-Men (2001) #16-#17)

has faint scars on his back, knees, & legs

has a crooked/hooked nose 

prefers gold jewelry

had his ears pierced in multiple places (lobe, upper lobe, helix, tragus, flat)

paints his finger nails occasionally

loves to buy cringey matching shirts with rogue to wear around the house

gets matching items for the cats & him

stress cooks/bakes

has slight eye sensitivities to bright lights

tends to be a night owl but makes sure to be awake before rogue to make her breakfast & coffee 

more personal Gambit headcanons: 

intersex stone butch on T 

t4t butch4femme

top surgery scars that formed a flame like appearance

has undiagnosed audhd 

has ptsd & sexual trauma he masks

fidgets with his cards or things he keeps in his duster pockets

cut off the headpiece to the X-Men uniform so his hair would stick out bc he thought it looked stupid 

prefers to keep his hair neck/shoulder length until it starts to bother him 

loves having his hair played with by rogue 

has an intense hair care routine 

has a hard time letting rogue help him with tasks around the house 

has chronic pain in his hands & arms 

gets phantom burning pains all over his body when his antarctica trauma gets triggered

^ gets triggered by extremely cold weather + during the winter but he deals with it better with time & with rogue's help + reassurance

quit smoking but chews on items when he's distracted or stressed 

gets jealous & possessive over rogue but then feels guilty about it 

love language ranking is quality time —> words of affirmation —> physical touch —> acts of service —> gift giving

enjoys taking candid photos of rogue, the cats, & the team + has a general love for photography

keeps a flash of all the photos he's taken in a safe so nothing happens to it 

has rogue help him with doing testosterone injections since he's afraid of needles & medical things due to trauma

general Rogue hcs:

extremely curly hair + dark brown

her white patch of hair covers the top half & flows down into a stripe towards the middle of her hair

her eyes are more of a bright hazel green

has perpetually rosy cheeks

freckles along her nose & cheeks & a few scattered towards her forehead

has pouty full lips

has a warm yet slightly pale complexion due to covering up

light scattered freckles on her shoulders, back, & chest

has dimples & a soft, round face

her nose is less of a button nose & more downturned at the tip

has toned arms & legs but a soft belly & pronounced curves

has a matching scar with gambit from being impaled in the heart (see: X-Treme X-Men (2001) #16-#17)

^ the healing factor she absorbed from wolverine made it not as prominent as gambit’s

prefers gold jewelry & likes to wear some of gambit’s

has faint scarring all over her body from before she had absorbed any healing factor

has beauty marks on her nose & cheeks

wears clip on earrings since they're easier

pretends to hate the cringey shirts gambit buys but wears them more often than he does

stress cleans & bakes

always cuddles with the cats in the mornings before getting out of bed

doesn't talk & only makes noises in response to gambit until she's fully awake/had her coffee

tends to be clingiest (/pos) in the mornings & before falling asleep

attempts to make gambit’s favorites when he's having a bad or rough day until he ends up cooking with her to help

is incredibly stubborn, much more so than gambit

prefers baking & is better at it than cooking

personal Rogue hcs:

nonbinary high femme lesbian

t4t femme4butch

is autistic + has ocd & ptsd

has sexual trauma

even before her mutation she struggled with lots of touch which only then furthered when it manifested

makes sure her gloves are always the right texture

pulls at her hair & fingernail skin when frustrated or overwhelmed

tries to befriend any animal or critter that she can/will let her

doesn't mind getting a little dirty outside but too much can trigger her ocd

her southern accent gets extremely pronounced the angrier she gets

has sensitivities to touch & sounds due to her own mutation & the other mutations she's absorbed

enjoys reading romance, thriller, horror, & fantasy novels

enjoys watching super cheesy & crappy movies

picked up painting as a hobby to help her work through when her mind is busy or through her trauma being triggered

love language ranking: words of affirmation —> physical touch —> quality time —> acts of service —> gift giving

gets jealous & possessive over remy who indulges in it which makes her smug

has a skincare & hair routine when she has the time

makes gambit join her in her skincare routine & got them matching headbands

loves the little touches from gambit either on her skin or over her clothes

buys Gambit cute band-aids to put on him after helping with his testosterone shots

[annaphoenix1994]

First Christmas

Masterlist - Part 2 Here

Simon conquers his first real Christmas and gets a gift of his own.

"Merry Christmas, baby."

Tags: Pure fluff/Soft Simon/Domestic Simon/Slight angst

Additional Note: Simon gets a unique surprise when he sees an old friend. "Looks like you got yourself a win, yeah L.t.?"

Throughout the years, Simon dreaded the holiday season and hoped he could at least stay in active status as he didn't have a family to return home to. To him, Christmas was just another day with a dinner that the Captain would usually plan, Price being the one who did so on his unit. But unlike Simon, Price had a family of his own to go home to for the holidays as well as Soap.

On top of everything else, this would trigger his depressive attitude all over again, leaving him to wander alone in his thoughts, wishing he had what everyone else in his unit did. A family.

That was the longest tour of his life. Christmas really hit him hard that year and he spent the holiday being on guard atop a cliff that hugged their headquarters.

Roughly a few years later, Simon hadn't had to pick up the mask for combat since being home, surprised that he didn't want to go back after adjusting to a healthy relationship. After talking to his brother-in-arms, Soap, he didn't feel as guilty when Soap didn't want to go back to the field either. The men still called each other by their nicknames and made time to reconnect while bringing along their partners for quality time together as they enjoyed their early retirement.

Simon sat in his at-home office, looking at the medals and certificates that you had framed nicely for him to be a reminder of his honorable duties. He fidgeted with the balaclava that had a bruised and tattered skull print on the front of it. The pad of his thumb traced over it as he knew he wore it a lot while deployed, but vowed to never have to put it on again unless it called for war.

His attention darted towards the closed door, his gaze breaking from the photos of him and his comrades in uniform, posing in front of the helicopter that carried them to many destinations, one with the K-9 that was on their unit, Kyle, they called him as the Marines on his unit at the time compared the K-9 soldier's bravery and heroism the same that reminded them of Chris Kyle - the American Sniper, and one of him, Soap, and Alejandro. Christ, he was such a cool guy.

The door opened slowly after a soft knock. He admired how you respected his office as it was a sacred place. You were ignorant of how he spent his time overseas, nor did you question him about it, but you were always there for him whenever he needed to. "Hey," You smiled at him, still in your pajamas.

He was too, sort of... He didn't have a designated set of pajamas, but he figured a black t-shirt, sweatpants, and thick socks did the job just fine.

As for you, however, you loved the festive prints that were put on the fleece bottoms as the four seasons brought out a happiness that Simon loved to see. He wished he had as much light in his eyes as you did.

He looked at you with a heavy gaze, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky, but he forced the negative thought from his mind as he constantly feared he would lose you.

You picked up on that gaze and tilted your head in concern, "You alright?"

He nodded, watching you walk into the office and close to the desk, looking down briefly at the balaclava that he had been fidgeting with, "I'm going to start on the turkey," You said to him, referring to the Christmas dinner you had planned. He was eager to see your family again as your father was the complete opposite of his own - he was a true family man - something Simon admired to be. "You want to come with me?"

"I'll be there in a few," He replied, his sharp eyes never leaving your features. "Just thinking."

"I understand. I'll be here if you need me." You nodded, presenting that comforting smile that he loved so much coming closer to him, feeling your warm lips press against his forehead.

After a few minutes, what really ended up to be twenty, Simon gathered the motivation to join you in the kitchen, stopping briefly to eavesdrop as he heard you on the phone with someone.

"Around seven is fine - sure, absolutely! He'll be astonished! - Okay, just text me when you're near!"

He watched as you set your phone on the counter before continuing to mix ingredients in a mixing bowl, unaware of his presence. He waited until your hands were off of the bowl before snaking his arms around you, knowing you were likely to jump every time he managed to sneak on you and he wasn't in the mood to have to help clean up a mess of flour and eggs off the floor.

Surprisingly, you didn't jump clean out of your skin this time. Instead, you just gasped at the sudden warmth of his torso against your back and his chin against your neck before placing a delicate kiss there. "Coming to help me bake cookies?" You smiled, leaning your head back on his shoulder.

"I thought you were cooking the turkey."

"Multitasking, babe, it's what we women do so well."

"That and running your mouth." He poked, watching you gasp.

"I guess you're right... for once."

"I know I'm always right, sweetheart," He chuckled, kissing your neck again before making his way to the wine cabinet, getting himself a glass, but offering you one first. "Want one?"

"No, thank you. I'll save it for later." You nodded.

---

Evening had fallen and the small gathering at the house was going according to plan, except for one thing. You began to grow nervous as Soap was supposed to be there by now and judging by the lack of texts, he hadn't shown any sign of being near. You forced yourself to hold your composure as you didn't want to give away the surprise, but you couldn't help but worry. Glancing at Simon, he sat at the dinner table with your father as they were all patiently waiting for the rest of the food to be ready. You, your aunt, and your sister were helping you prepare the food, always insisting for the men to banter on about their days. And the fact that they would always try to sneak a piece of hot food before it was even time to eat. Especially the deviled eggs -- you had to physically hide them every year.

And make two platters of them -- your father, uncle, and Simon didn't give them any mercy.

"I'll be right back." You told your sister as you exited the kitchen, trying not to look in a rush as you pat Simon's shoulder on your way past him, a comforting gesture you had always done for him. You made sure that Simon wasn't watching you as you checked your phone, seeing a relieving text from Soap that had come through not even a minute prior:

Thank God, you thought as you walked towards the front door, making it look like you were changing into your slippers to keep any suspicion at bay. Thankfully, it worked.

Simon was hard to surprise, but you thanked your father for keeping him distracted.

You opened the door, smiling at Simon's brother-in-arms alongside his new wife. "Thank you so much for coming." You smiled, mumbling the words as you didn't want to ruin the surprise for Simon.

"Wouldn't miss this for the world, love," He nodded, greeting you with a warm hug. "He for-sure doesn't know I'm here, right?"

"Not yet, anyway. I was going to let you surprise him."

"Oh, I can surprise him." He smirked, his hand resting on the small of his wife's back as he guided her inside first. To your relief, the short hallway that led to the front door was enough to keep Soap in the shadows for a bit longer until it was time to surprise Simon. Truly, he didn't know what to say, but he knew he'd think of something.

He shrugged off his coat after helping his wife out of hers before shooting you a smug grin, nodding as if he were asking permission to make his presence known. You smiled as you let him take charge.

"Well, well, you really are quite the opposite." He said, referring to their last big battle together when he teased Simon about taking off his mask.

Simon turned around in his chair, truly stunned before standing to his feet, immediately stretching out his hand to grasp Soap's before the men embraced. "It's so good to see you, brother." Soap said, patting Simon's back.

"Where in the bloody hell have you been?" Simon asked in disbelief, stepping back to look him over, glad that he was still in one piece.

"Around," He shrugged. "I know we weren't in contact for a while, but I knew once she reached out to me, I had to come and visit and wouldn't miss it for the world."

Simon glanced at you with soft eyes.

"Well, I have a seat saved for you, sir." Simon said, repeating the same words Soap had said to him that night when he and Simon regrouped for a final agenda, although Simon was a bit hostile for the first half of it if he had to be honest.

Dinner wasn't quiet this time. All of the chairs were full, the food was hot, and the fireplace kept the house warm. It was nice to see Simon and Soap reunite, knowing he was comfortable around him as, aside from you, Soap had been alongside Simon the most, the men claiming their brotherhood with military status.

You were always one to get gifts for the ones you love, so it wasn't a surprise when you began handing a gift to Simon and your family, even Soap and his wife. It took a while for Simon to get used to gift-receiving, not knowing how to truly accept one due to lack of experience, but he was no stranger to giving gifts. In fact, he loved to shower you with them, going overboard sometimes as he sometimes felt he couldn't quite get it right when it came to showing how much he loved you.

For Soap and his new wife, you gifted them with a housewarming gift - well, multiple... you also went overboard when giving gifts. You just couldn't help it. Besides, it was a special occasion for Soap - he had just purchased a new house with his wife.

Amazon was your best friend when it came to buying multiple gifts.

You laughed as Soap and his wife opened the gift together, seeing that you had bought them a personalized cutting board (she loved to cook), a speaker that worked in the shower (Soap loved music and Simon always joked with him on base that he "should as well baptize himself" with the long showers he took), and an ornament for their Christmas tree that was a picture of them at their wedding in the middle - Simon being the best man as well as the men standing in attention, similar to how they stood in the photos in Simon's office.

"Thank you so much." Soap complimented you.

"You're welcome. I know you can make use out of it!"

"Definitely will."

Throughout the gift-giving ceremony, you were fulfilled as you loved the feeling of having family, hoping that Simon felt the same as you knew he had a rough childhood/early adulthood. You were glad Simon got along well with your father - the men even going on fishing trips every so often. Although you got each member of your family one gift, you had two for Simon - one of them being something he didn't know about, so you were going to save it for everyone to see, knowing he would love it.

His first gift was, of course, multiple items into one. You got him one of his favorite hoodies, his favorite cologne, and something new: an online pass for one of his favorite car video games that he and Soap had talked about at dinner - that conversation being planned too, ensuring that it was something of interest to Simon before you bought it. He wasn't a big gamer, but he liked to interact with a virtual world every now and then to take the edge off. And he loved racing cars. Now I definitely won't hear from him much anymore. He'll be too busy racing Soap, you thought jokingly.

He placed a thankful kiss to your temple, watching you as you opened your gift(s). When this man went overboard on showering you with gifts, he meant it. Inside the box was a gift card to your favorite coffee shop(...let's just say it was enough to keep you satisfied for a few days on your favorite iced coffee...), a pair of socks that had a cute print of your favorite animal on them, three books that you had always been wanting to read, but always forgot to order (he literally swiped your phone while you were sleeping and went through your Amazon cart), your favorite face scrub, and inside of a small velvet box was another diamond band to match against your engagement ring. To Simon, the bands he got you were to symbolize the years you have spent together. Having two bands total, he would want you to choose the band you wanted for when your wedding day came.

"Thank you so much, baby." You smiled, pressing a kiss to his lips as you immediately tried on the band, watching it fit snugly against your engagement ring.

"You're welcome, sweetheart."

"I have a surprise gift for you, by the way. It wouldn't have made sense to give it to you before everyone opened their gifts."

"You're making me nervous with that talk." He chuckled.

"Don't be nervous, you'll love it!"

You got up carefully, rushing towards your shared bedroom to retrieve the special gift you had been hiding from him for the past week from the closet. Walking back into the living room, he was still standing at the table, the wrapping paper from his gift box thrown away and his items sitting in the box, organized. Yep, the military never left him...

Simon began to feel suspicious as Soap and his wife approached the table as well, but those feelings subsided as it was only the four of you at the table. You smiled as you set the box on the table, wrapped in solid red wrapping paper. He looked down at it, his suspicion growing as he honestly thought it was a prank Soap had put together.

"It ain't gonna open itself!" Soap teased.

"The more you talk, the more resistance I feel on opening it."

Soap sighed.

"Don't be a wuss." He chuckled.

Simon shook his head, hiding the chuckle he wanted to let out as he was truly happy to be picking at Soap again. He missed it - taunting him and joking with him across their radios while on missions. It made the time go by faster.

Slowly, he opened the gift, seeing a white box underneath. It resembled a box that a cake would come in, but it was no cake. Using his pocketknife to cut the tape that held it shut, he then saw a mound of tissue paper under the lid. Now confused, he glanced at you briefly before slowly moving the tissue paper out of the way.

He was truly at a loss for words. His chest tightened, his heart thudded against his sternum, and his mind felt dizzy as if he were stunned.

It was an outfit for an infant with a positive pregnancy test on top of it and a copy of the ultrasound of the baby. A little blip.

You were only seven weeks and had found out on your recent check-in at your doctor. It was partially a planned pregnancy, but you nor Simon were in a rush but were prepared if it were to happen.

He was afraid to reach in and touch the items, afraid that they would disappear if he did. He couldn't believe it, but also couldn't find the motion to express what he was feeling. Happiness was an understatement and he hoped that you didn't think he wasn't happy with the gift, but you knew by seeing in his eyes that he was truly too stunned to speak. He then looked over at you, seeing the excitement in your eyes as he felt the time had slowed down around him. Everyone was looking his way now, making him feel like he was obligated to jump for joy, but he didn't move.

He looked back down at the items in the box, seeing your handwriting on a small card next to the test: 'I can't wait to meet you, daddy!'

That did it for him right then and there. He broke out of his few-second trance and approached you, "Are you serious?" He asked, pleading with his eyes that it was true. His hands were on your hips, closest to your abdomen as he was going to admire that bump of life that grew inside of you.

You nodded at his question, wrapping your arms around his neck as he carefully pulled you closer to him, leaving a couple-inch gap between you two, afraid that he would squish your belly. You were so delicate to him now that he was responsible for.

He was going to be the man he admired - your father.

He closed his eyes as he imagined it was just you and him in the room, ignoring everyone's curious gaze and congratulations as he pressed his face against your neck, keeping himself there before you felt his left arm come up behind your neck and to his face, seeming like he was pinching the bridge of his nose. He was holding back tears.

"Well, all-be," Soap smiled as he approached him from the side, patting his shoulder. "Looks like you've got yourself a win, yeah L.t.?"

[likesunsetorange]

okay so similar to the mikasa ones, here are all the ones for eren and my thought processes behind them!

i think men’s fashion tends to be a little less versatile than women’s fashion by a long shot, so i think there’s definitely a lot less diversity and variation between my eren’s compared to my mikasa’s! i think each of my mikasa’s have a specific “aesthetic” whereas my eren’s more so have more of a color palette/vibe to their style because i think there’s only so much you can do with men’s clothing tbh unless you’re aiming for a super curated aesthetic (e.g. cowboy eren)! so i think they’ll have a lot of overlap tbh, but this is kind of how i envision them all! and again i’ll include the moodboards i’ve made previously!

— 𝐝𝐨𝐥 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

i think dol eren and mikasa both have this very “boy next door” and girl vibe to them, like i don’t wanna call them “basic” per se, but it’s a very sort of typical and like almost expected vibe you’d expect of average 24 year olds. for eren, since he works a more physically demanding job, i imagine him being a very casual person. i also just see most guys being casual in general, so wearing a lot of like solid/vintage graphic tees and then whatever random bottoms on a day to day basis if he’s not doing anything special! i imagine the only time he dresses up is when he goes out with mikasa, because she’s the only person who he cares to really impress (hence the chapter about their date), so he’d have some nicer clothes for when he has nice things to attend, but they’re only reserved for things like that!

i see him wearing the most of: t-shirts, hoodies/sweatshirts, the occasional nice button up. idk dol eren would be uniqlo if he were a brand. he is a GOOD QUALITY, LOYAL, and DEPENDABLE! when has uniqlo EVER done you wrong??? like it’s simple but it’s tried and true man, for good reason!!!

— 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

bodyguard eren is a casual guy but he’s like the emo version in my head lol. like bodyguard mikasa’s colors in my head are red/pink/white, and bodyguard eren’s are black/green/grey—he wears a lot of darker colors essentially! mikasa obviously is the more fashion forward one in this relationship, and eren is def more casual lol, he basically just wears all black or some variation of a neutral outfit bc he’s a very simple and apathetic man lol, he doesn’t really care. but similar to how eren inspires mikasa to dress more casual, mikasa would def play ken doll with eren and buy him clothes lol, so i think he’d dress up a bit more too! but i don’t think she’d ever force him to wear anything he didn’t like, i just think eren dresses casually bc it’s simple and easy, and he’s just a laxxed man.

he would be converse bc i see him begrudgingly taking his shoes off when mikasa pisses him off and he’s struggling to get them off in ample time bc they’re high tops lol

(also there’s a cardigan bc mikasa would so put him in a cardigan lol)

— 𝐞𝐱𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

okay after model eren, i think e2l eren is the second best dressed, and this is solely because him and mikasa were together for so long LOL, she played build a boyfriend! like his style comes from her! but eventually after being together so long he does sort of develop his own sense of style but like the foundation of his style IS mikasa. so i think his style kinda emulates the same kind of vibe as hers, idk how that translates in male description. he would dress up a little more than some of the other eren’s and probably wear a bit more color too! def has that vacation-y vibe too. also e2l eren is a graphic designer, so he has that artsy boy vibe to him a bit too!

he’d be zara bc mikasa definitely introduced him to zara while they were dating lol

— 𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

i feel like this one doesn’t need much explanation, we all know cowboy eren is just a hot, sexy cowboy. he’s a working man and he has to dress accordingly!!!! (and for whatever reason we’re all very oddly attracted to it) (it’s bc it’s eren) but i think for mikasa’s fancier events he would dress up, and occasionally omit the cowboy hat if need be lol

he is boot barn lol. and maybe levi’s.

— 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

model eren to me is obviously the BEST DRESSED out of all the eren’s, like this is an obvious given. he’s a model! of course he’s gonna be the most fashionable! to me, he screams pretty boy lol, so he’s going to dress and act accordingly lol. it’s one of the main things that mikasa also makes fun of him for too. so i think of his style as very tailored, very classic, but also some fun and a bit more stylized pieces! i think he would wear a little bit of everything, so he would dress super fancy some days, but then have some more casual pieces too! but then once he kind of stays in montana with his family, he’ll def kind of his model mikasa moment and have the little bit of cowboy flare to his style a bit too!

he would be all saints! or some niche expensive brand im probably too poor to afford

— 𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧

academic rivals eren is kinda my favorite to talk about bc he’s kinda funny LOL he’s basically frat boy adjacent and it makes me giggle. he’s literally what you’d think of when you’d think of an obnoxious little frat boy in the most stereotypical way (not in the board shorts and polos way tho omg), although he isn’t technically one! his style is definitely pretty casual, so he’d definitely wear a lot of t-shirts and flannels, but since he’s a bit well off, i think he’d wear a lot of stuff like golf wang and more expensive sneakers! i see eren as kinda basic tbh lol he’s a simple man but i think he’d have his occasional indulgences lol (and golf wang stuff is SO comfy). he’s just your tried and true college boy in my opinion!

he would be golf wang & converse (but not for the reasons stated above).

i won’t lie i feel like this one gave me more grief than the one for mikasa did lol like i definitely had to think about it a bit more! men’s fashion is way harder to me so i had to be a lot more considerate about each eren and their vibes, but this was fun!

[wordynerdygurl]

Two Sizes Too Small

Author’s Note:  Well, lovelies, I pulled an all-nighter to finish this one.  I just really wanted to give Eddie Munson a wonderful Christmas.  That it involves love and my favorite holiday movie, How the Grinch Stole Christmas, well, how could I resist? Full disclosure- there’s a lot of holiday movie and music references!  Also, my taglist is open, so let me know if you’d like to be added!  Lastly, I hope everyone has a lovely and restful holiday season!! Pairing:  Plus Size Female Reader x Eddie Munson

Summary:  Eddie hates Christmas, the whole Christmas season, and maybe his heart is too small but it’s Christmas and miracles can happen at the holidays!

Warnings:  SMUT, a touch of dubcon in the beginning, and also some angsty pining!

If it weren’t for Wayne, Eddie would have given up on Christmas a long time ago. 

  Around the time when he realized that Santa was his uncle scraping up extra change to ensure that there was something for him to open under the tree, Eddie’s heart had hardened against the holiday.  Wayne already did so much: working double shifts, making sure that Eddie had food, clothes and a safe way to get to school each day.  Why add to that burden with a day set aside for the sole purpose of spending money on stuff that no one really needed? Oh, he’d heard the arguments about showing people how much you cared this time of year.  That the depth of someone’s feelings was greater than or equal to the quality of whatever sweater, baseball cap or new crock pot could be wrapped in pretty paper with a ribbon slapped on top.  In his opinion that was a shitty system for communicating how much you appreciate someone, not to mention it only happened once a year.

There was no question in Eddie Munson’s mind that Wayne loved him.  He didn’t need a stocking full of candy or a gift boxed t-shirt to show him what he already knew to be true.  So, why make a big deal about it?  It was just another day on the calendar.

Regrettably, his sentiments weren’t shared with, well, anyone else.  All of the people around Eddie, his uncle especially, seemed to go Christmas Crazy.  Shopping all the time, planning events and scheduling parties, worrying about what to buy everyone and where to get the best sale price.  It didn’t make sense to him.  The decorations, the lights, the ornaments, all of it was sentimental in a way that Eddie just couldn’t abide, “What’s the point?  You’re just gonna pull all this shit down in a week.” Not dissuaded, Wayne snorts indignantly, digging through a dusty box marked X-MAS, “The point is, I like it.  The point is, it reminds me of when you were an excited kid who liked the simple things in life.  Things like bikes and blocks and crayons, not girls and drinking and rock music.” “Ok, ok, you made your point.”  Eddie concedes, helping to tape a strand of red tinsel garland along the shelf of mugs which had all been gifts to uncle over the years. Wayne stoops low, child-like glee on his face, as he readies to plug in the light strand, “Ready for the tree?” It was like this every year and Eddie nods, ready to get this part over with, faking his way through Wayne’s Christmas crankiness.  With a snap of electricity, the three foot artificial tree lights up.  It’s filled with paper Santas scribbled in red marker, macaroni stars and once glitter covered foam gingerbread men.  It is an annual homage to Eddie as a kid and Wayne adores it.  Despite the grumbling from his nephew, Wayne refuses to give it up, at least, not without a serious fight. Unimpressed, Eddie drones, “Very nice.  I like how you managed to keep all the ugly ornaments facing the window.  The neighbors are gonna love ‘em.” Incredulous, Wayne scoffs at his semi-scowling nephew, “They should!  I’m damned proud to have them.”  A heavy wave of nostalgia falls over the old man, making his proud chin quiver with unspoken words of affection for the little boy turned man standing in front of him.  Eddie hears the dip in his uncle’s voice, recognizing his yearly Christmas melancholy from a mile away.  What was it about this time of year that made everyone go a little nuttier than usual?  Was it the weather?  The food?  Or just the expectations that the holiday season seemed to carry? Screw that.  Eddie wasn’t going to give into the commercialized crap that seems to sweep everyone else along in December.  Christmas was for suckers and Eddie Munson was nobody’s fool.  Well, almost nobody’s fool.

His hand lands on Wayne’s shoulder, going for fondness while ignoring the emotions playing out behind his uncle’s faded eyes.  Softening a bit, Eddie offers an olive branch, “Wanna get drunk and watch White Christmas?  I had Steve snag it for me.” Patting at his damp cheeks, Wayne nods happily, sappily, “That sounds great-” The phone trills shrilly, cutting through their conversation and Wayne lifts his eyebrows in Eddie’s direction.  But his nephew shakes his head.  “Ignore it.  I’m exactly where I want to be.”  Whoever was looking to score was gonna have to call back. Three rings later and Wayne is practically shoving Eddie towards the receiver, “Just answer the damn thing!” Grumpy and gruff, he gives in, whipping up the phone, “Yea?” —-------------- It was December 23rd and the party at Barry’s house was winding down, thankfully.  People had been peeling off in pairs and trios, leaving just a few of your boyfriend’s buddies drinking the night away and ignoring you.  At some point you looked around and realized that Barry was just gone.  The house he grew up in- still lived in, with his family, was, in a word, enormous.  There were dozens of rooms and thousands of doors which made your search all the harder.  It was just like him to vanish, leaving you to fend for yourself when he had assured you that this time it would all be different. Arms circle your thick waist from behind as he pulls you into the second floor bathroom, pressing you against the granite countertop while lifting your pretty green skirt, “I’m so hard right now, gotta fuck you.” You giggle uncomfortably, already feeling a little too full of bubbling champagne, “Barry!   Here?  Now?” But you don’t get an answer beyond a rough tear in your tights, Barry’s fingers shifting your panties to the side abruptly, “Yea, right fucking now.”  And then he was pushed inside of you, his thrusts sloppy and bordering on painful as he drunkenly rubs at your full breasts through your sweater. If he was concerned with your needs, it didn’t show in the fast sawing motion of his hips, and before you could even trace the beginning of your own ending, Barry was babbling through his own.  Curving over your back, he pants in your ear, “Hmm, that was great.” Pulling out of you quickly, Barry tucks himself back into his chinos and presses a tiny kiss to your cheek, “Make sure you clean up before coming out to say goodbye to everyone.”  And then he’s gone, leaving you frustrated with sticky thighs. You thank a god you don’t believe in for birth control pills and shuffle over to the toilet, eager to tidy up the mess Barry had left in his wake.  Swiftly removing your torn pantyhose, you toss them in the trash can, regretting the loss.  Money wasn’t exactly tight, but you were trying to save as much as you could, unlike your upperclass boyfriend. Flushing behind you, you replace your panties and wash your hands.  Wiping some water over your cheeks, you smile at yourself in the mirror, confident that no one would know what had happened in the bathroom between you and Barry. Carefully, you shut the bathroom door, surprised when you hear voices, low pitched, in the nearby hallway.  Whispers that carry the weight of the familiar voice of your boyfriend begging quietly, “Come on baby, it’s Christmas.” “So?  You told me you were done with that trash, Barry and then, then you bring her here.  Throwing her in my face?  Are you trying to hurt me?” “Dawn, please.  You know I only want you.” “Barry, I want you too, baby.  But I won’t share you, not with someone like her-”  And then the sounds of sloppy kisses gain strength, complete with moans and grunting.  It was bordering on pornographic, like something private that shouldn’t be witnessed by anyone but those involved and you wish that you weren’t having to hear it at all. A gross knot of nausea welled up inside of you at the realization of what was happening, and so soon after Barry had cornered you in his bathroom.  Disgusted now, you knew you had to leave.  The sooner the better. On quiet feet you tiptoe into the nearest bedroom and choking back tears, reach for the phone.  Dialing the only number you can think of, the only you have committed to memory, you pray to that same god that he’ll pick up.  Finger twisting in the beige cord as you wait through four long rings, nervousness and shame filling your belly as you wait for the call to connect. “Yea?” His voice is gruff, grumpy, which takes you by surprise.  It makes your own sound small as you ask timidly, “Eddie?” “What’s wrong?  Where are you?”  It’s immediate, that change in tone, his understanding of your need, and you drop into a whisper, “Would it be too much trouble for you to come and get me?  I- I don’t think Barry-” He breaks in, direct and guarded, “Meet me at the corner.  I’ll be there in ten.”  The line went dead in your ear, a sure sign that Eddie was already en route to you. Sneaking away was easy when your boyfriend was frenching someone else and no one else at the party cared about you.  Scooping up your fuzzy holiday sweater, you went right out the front door into the chilly night, without anyone noticing.  Sobbing openly, you scurry to the corner, suddenly overeager to get away from this whole night.  Eddie told you ten minutes, but he made it in seven, the van idling loudly when you rounded the corner.  Dashing away tears, you climb into the heavenly heat of his vehicle, smiling tightly, “Hey Eddie.  Thank you so much, I just- I really needed to get out of there.” He eyes you, a look full of questions, but wisely Eddie asks none of them.  Waiting for you to buckle up, he rests a broad palm on your thigh, patting it twice, “No problem, sweets.  Where we headed?” “Just home, if that’s alright.  I’m- I’m kinda tired.” Putting the van in drive, he appraises you from the corner of his eye.  Something about you was so small tonight it made Eddie’s heart hurt.  When he heard you on the phone that damaged sound in your voice was enough to make his Spidey sense tingle.  It was wrong, the way you had whispered, asking- no, pleading for him to come and get you.  Wayne completely understood why he had to leave, even if it was in the middle of putting the final touches on their Munson Christmas traditions.  Besides, nothing was going to stop Eddie, not when you sounded so shattered.    Clearly something had happened, something not great.  And it was something big enough for you to run away from Barry’s huge holiday party, something you had been talking about for weeks.  So, while Eddie appreciates you calling him in your hour of need, he absolutely wants to know how to make it better for you and make sure that you’re really alright. “That’s okie-dokie artichokie.  But, uh, can you just tell me-” turning to you now, his deep eyes searching yours, full of concern, “-you’re not hurt, right?”  He couldn't stand to think about what he might be capable of if you said that you were, or had been.  But still, Eddie needed to make sure that you were okay for his own sanity’s sake.

You nod shyly, appreciating the kind hearted way that Eddie handles your privacy, and tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.  Looking away, you hum lowly, “Yea, Ed.  I’m alright.”

“You sure?” “Uh huh.  Just got my heart hurt, so, ya know, nothing too serious.”  You try for lighthearted, breezy, but you don’t sell it because Eddie frowns, “Just your heart?  Oh, sweetheart.  I’m so sorry.” There’s a lot of things you find hard to bear, but Eddie’s pity is just too much.  It punches the air out of your lungs.  It crumples your bottom lip, setting your chin wobbling as you give into the burning tears of your heartbreak. Smoothly, Eddie pulls over although you’re not too far from home by now.  You can hear his seat belt unlock and then your own is set free so that Eddie can scoot you closer.  His chin rests on the top of your head as you cry into his neck, his voice soothing as he comforts you, “It’s ok.  It’s going to be alright, sweetheart.  You’re going to be ok.  Hush now.” You don’t know how long you let Eddie console you, his leather jacket warm under your damp cheek, but eventually the sobs become sniffles and the sniffles fade to hiccups.  Pulling out of the comfort of Eddie’s embrace, your eyes red and cheeks chapped, you lament thickly, “I got you all wet!  I’m so sorry, Ed!” “Hey, stop that.  I’m fine.”  Brushing wayward hair from your streaky and sticky face, Eddie tuts, “Are you sure you’re alright?” “Yea.”  It’s sad sounding, but you’re being honest.  You will be ok once you get home, have a shower, and start putting Barry behind you.  It helps to have a friend like Eddie Munson there to offer his shoulder to cry on. He fusses over you for another minute, wiping away the crystalline dew of your tears with his thumbs, “I’m here for you, whatever you need.” Eddie makes you stay in your seat until he can open the door for you, like a gentleman should, and walks you to your door.  His hand is loosely holding yours as you slide your key into the lock.  Almost embarrassed, you look his way, suddenly shy again, “Wanna come in?  I’ve got some beer and I think The Grinch is on tonight.” Laughing a little, Eddie shrugs, agreeing easily but still giving you the option for backing out, “Alright, if you don’t mind?” “Of course not.”  Once inside you slink out of your coat and motion for Eddie to do the same, “Have a seat.  I’ll be right back with something to drink.” Your place was very sweet, just like you, with a tinsel tree glowing with colored lights and other small holiday decorations set out just so.  It seems to Eddie like you’re also on the Christmas Crazy-Train.  There are two small boxes laying on the red plaid skirt beneath the tree and a single stocking tacked under the television stand.  He half expects you to leave out some cookies and milk, as if Santa was going to shimmy down your chimney tomorrow night and deliver you a Christmas miracle.  Eddie couldn’t help it.  He thought it was precious, sorta like you.  And if he’s being honest, he feels as though his own Christmas miracle is happening, right here, right now.  For two long years, you had been friendly, a close relationship beginning when you both reached for a recently returned copy of Evil Dead at Family Video.  In a moment of unprecedented cool guy maneuvering, Eddie’s suggestion that you come over to his place and watch it together.  When you agreed, offering him that sweet smile of yours, well, that had started everything.  He didn’t regret it, couldn’t even if he wanted to.  It wasn’t your fault that Eddie was using you as the standard against which all other ladies in his life would be judged.  And even though, in a bunch of unsuccessfully small ways, Eddie had tried to nudge your friendship in a more romantic direction, he was still as sprung on you as he had been from that very first moment. Now, he was here, with you, and so close to the big holiday.  It felt like his own Christmas miracle might be possible, if he believed in that kind of stuff- which he didn’t.  Because Christmas was a commercial product.  It was soulless, despite what people said to the contrary. But still, he rubbed his hands over his thighs nervously as he thought that maybe tonight was the night.  Tonight you would see him as the charming, romantic leading man that you deserved in your life and not just the guy who bailed you out when trouble came around.  Eddie’s seen enough of the fluffy, feel-good films that capitalize on the holiday season to recognize that he may be a part of one, with you. Because it couldn’t just be a coincidence that you called him on Christmas Eve, needing help and knowing exactly where to go to get it, right?  From the sound of things, Barry was quickly moving out of the boyfriend column and into the exes pile.  Another coincidence?  He sure as shit hoped not, but Eddie can’t get his hopes up, they’ve been dashed too many times.  With eyes that couldn’t seem to settle on anything in particular, Eddie’s mind strays to the countless other times where you had required rescuing and he had charged, nobly, into the fray.  Finding you crying on the nearest corner after running out on Barry’s insensitivity, pulling up in his ratty van outside of a party where you had clearly been unhappy, and once driving to the Indiana state border to fetch you from another one of your idiot boyfriend’s debacles.  Each time he promised himself that it was the last time- that he was going to protect himself, he was going to stop answering the phone, he was going to tell you how he felt.  But the calls, they just kept coming.  Happening way too frequently for his liking, the worn muscle of his heart tightening every time Eddie had to hear you sob, or listen to you talk about the belittling way Barry treated you.  Over and over again, you let the guy break your heart, only to take him back after some groveling and half meant apologies.  And over and over again, Eddie could feel his own aortic organ shriveling up from the knowledge that you refuse to see him as anything more than your second choice.  Tensing, he rubbed the back of his, wondering why he was here, waiting for you. Sometimes, it seemed to Eddie, like he was always just waiting around for your next phone call, your next emergency.  On hold until the phone rang, on the shelf, out of use.  Sure, he went out, hanging around other people; Steve and Robin, obviously, the Hellfire crew, his band.  Other than that, Eddie was at home, puttering around, on alert for the jingling ring that means you’re tagging him in for an assist.  And he hates it.  He truly does, because even though he hasn’t said it in exactly these words, Eddie needs you too.  Even more than that, he needs you to need him.  It gives him a purpose, a reason for sticking around this one horse town that isn’t connected to tragedy or trauma.  You were unavailable, sure, but always present, the living embodiment of his happiness and his sadness.  Eddie couldn’t help that the ache of wanting you for his own and always coming up short, time after time, was starting to splinter him into pieces. Snapping his head up at the scuffing steps you made, you pad back into the room wearing a cozy flannel nightgown, complete with elastic wrist cuffs and satin covered buttons at the throat.  In place of your make-up was a scrubbed clean face, glowing from the effort.  Your heels had been replaced by a pair of simple slippers.  Eddie swallows thickly, all of his other thoughts knocked out of his head.  Never had a woman been more covered up and still so alluring.  The old fashioned sleep shirt skimmed over the sweeping curve of your hips, but still managed to show off your shapely legs and graceful neck.  He isn’t sure why it affected him so much, this comfortable and easy version of you, but it did. “Do you still want a beer?”

He’s seen your mouth move, shaping the sounds of your question, but Eddie is dumbstruck by the innocent version of you hovering at the doorway.  Tossing his head, mostly to clear away the fog of his want, he croaked, “What?”

Giggling softly, you take a step closer, “I asked if you were thirsty.  Still want that drink?” “Oh, that?  Yea, yea sure.”  Knowing that he must seem mental, Eddie shifted on the couch, rolling his eyes at his own erratic behavior. From over your shoulder you ask him to turn on the tv, “The Grinch is on channel five, I think.” “Gotcha!”  The snap of the television coming to life fills the small space and you were practically running around the corner by the time Boris Karloff starts his narration.  Plopping down right next to Eddie, you gently hand him a bottle and drop a bag of chips onto the table, “Just in case we get hungry.” “Uh huh.  Since when do you like Doritos, huh?”  Flicking at the plastic bag, Eddie gives you a friendly side-eye look, full of teasing. Settling back into the cushions, you tug Eddie’s arm around your shoulders, “Since I’ve been forced to eat them with you.” An appreciative tone rang out from Eddie’s chest as you pressed your ear over the dip in his torso, right over his heart.  The gentle, even rhythm you found there was one of your favorite things and you took every available opportunity to listen to Eddie’s heartbeat.  You couldn’t say why it was important or what it was about his particular pulse that made you feel better, but it did, and Eddie, well, he never seems to mind. His fingers seemed to have a mind of their own, petting sweetly over the strands of your hair that trailed down towards your shoulders and he saw you shiver, “Here.”  Eddie tugged the knitted afghan from the back of the couch, tucking it in around you. Sighing, you snuggled into him, letting your eyes shut, feeling truly and completely at ease finally, “Hmm, thanks babe.”  Babe?  Oh shit.  That wasn’t good.  Not for his spiraling thoughts. Sipping his beer, he refocused on the green Grinch stomping on the screen.  He couldn’t bear to look at you.  Looking at you, right now, was dangerous.  You were too precious.  And the scene around him was too domestic.  It was exactly what life should look like if you weren’t the town scapegoat, raised by your uncle in the worst part of town and Eddie didn’t trust himself not to do something stupid in pursuit of that idealized image. Against his thigh, Eddie felt you shift as you drifted off.  You were practically in his lap with your head nuzzled into the center of his chest, eyes gently shut.  If he wasn’t careful, Eddie was going to enjoy holding you like this, so close and so easy, a little too much. The Grinch was complaining about noise and Eddie understood the sentiment a little too well because right now he was struggling to ignore the little kitten snores you were making with every exhale.  Your tiny huffed puffs blowing against his tummy, beer scented and sweet. He smiled down at you, full of affection and pulled you tighter to his side.  Unable to stop himself, Eddie brushed a peck to your upturned forehead, whispering a rueful “Fuck” into the night. When The Grinch ended and Charlie Brown’s Christmas started, Eddie sat still, his empty beer bottle in his hand, afraid that any movement would wake you up.  A news broadcast, filled with updates on the coming snow storm’s progress and holiday toy drive details wrapped up before the intro to Johnny Carson began.  Through it all, Eddie kept his arm around you, enjoying the worn in feel of your nightgown under his hand and the way you were burrowed into the crook of his shoulder. It was hard to be in your space so intimately and not touch you, even if his hands burned at the effort of keeping them to himself.  So, he didn’t trace the sweet sweep of your nose or tuck your hair behind your ears.  And somehow, Eddie managed to keep from pulling you into his lap fully, just to pet you, like he would a sleeping kitten.  Instead, he relished the trust you put in him, content to imagine happy kisses shared between the pair of you, while you dreamed next to him on the sofa. And you slept just like that, curled into Eddie Munson’s warmth until the strains of the National Anthem faded into staticy snow.  You sat up quickly, pulling back from the shared heat you and Eddie had created with a yawn.  Blinking his way sheepishly, your words full of drowsiness, “Sorry Ed- Did-” you rubbed your still sleepy eyes, “Did you- did you stay all this time just to let me sleep?” It was his turn to look bashful, and glancing out your window, Eddie nodded, “Yea.  What can I say?  You were too cute to move, sweetheart.” Snorting, you rolled your eyes at his kind words, “Oh, I bet I was!  All drooly and-” But he cut you off with a firm finger under your chin that yanked you near enough for his lips to press into your own.  A hungry sound, the kind a man makes when he’s digging into his favorite dinner, rolled through Eddie as you let your mouth part.  Thick and probing, Eddie licked over your bottom lip, letting the kiss deepen as your hands tangled into the second skin of his t-shirt. His forehead rested against your own, chest rising and falling rapidly, as Eddie’s dark eyes locked on yours, “Hey.” “Hey,” you echoed, keenly aware of Eddie’s presence in your sphere, breathing him in with short inhales as you tried to quiet your racing heart. Hands that you know as well as your own come down to cup your face, handling you as if you were porcelain- precious beyond measure and utterly breakable, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Looking like a happy kid on Christmas morning, Eddie’s dimples show as he smiles your way, his fingers threading with yours.  Falling back into his original spot, he drags you with him, eager to have you in his arms, but you hold yourself back, teeth toying at your bottom lip as you blurt, “But Barry.  He’s-” Your words stick in your throat at the sight of Eddie’s crestfallen face, a new iciness filling each syllable, “What?  He’s what, sweetheart?”  When you don’t answer right away, a rage that he normally can keep in check threatens to overflow, as Eddie carried on in a rising voice, “I’ve seen- shit-” a fist slams into the meat of his thigh, his anger focused on that one spot as hurt filled eyes find yours in the silver light of the running television, “-I’ve seen what he’s done to you.  How he treats you.  How he hurts you over and over.”  Slender fingers reach for your cheek but Eddie doesn’t touch you.  Instead he lets his hand drop into his lap, his heart falling into the abyss as he manages to choke out, “And still, you’d rather be with him?” For a long second you didn’t answer, your brain too full of thoughts.  A lot had happened in the few minutes since you woke up, huddled around Eddie’s middle and you still weren’t thinking straight.  How could you after an incredible kiss like that? And Barry.  What about him?  Were you together?  You didn’t think so, not after what you had overheard, but that final conversation hadn’t happened yet.

Eddie’s words surround you though, the pain in them unmistakable.  Shaking your head slowly, you huskily counter, “I didn’t say that, Eddie.  It’s just-” But he pushed to his feet without giving you a chance to explain.  Swinging his jacket over his broad shoulders with furious flare, “Ya know, what?  Don’t.  I don’t wanna know.  Just uh-” in three long strides Eddie’s jerked open your front door.  His back is to you, the handsome face that you’ve come to associate with protection and honor haloed by the streetlights, Eddie chokes out over his shoulder, “Merry Christmas.”

Your door, red bowed wreath swinging, slammed shut and now, now your apartment feels really empty, cold.  The lights on your tree seem garish and glaring as this year’s holiday slowly but surely becomes the worst kind of memory.  Feelings that you’re too tired to process flow through you, but in the end you drag yourself to bed in the early hours of Christmas morning, wishing it all away as a bad dream. Flopping into bed, you clutched your pillow in your arms, disappointed that it didn’t have a pulse to share with you.  Already missing Eddie, you kicked yourself for being so indecisive, for ruining the precious seconds where only you and he existed in the twinkling glow of Christmas lights.  Pale sunlight was streaking the sky when you finally closed your eyes, hoping that you’d wake up to a world that was back in its proper alignment. Only, morning finds you, just the same, and unfortunately, there are no singing Whos to make you feel better about the night before.  There’s no one to kiss you awake and wish you a Merry Christmas Eve or tell you about the snow that is just starting to fall in fat, perfect flakes.  You don’t have anyone to cook for or watch open gifts.  It’s just you, all by yourself. It was always going to be a small Christmas, you knew that, truly.  You didn’t have much family and only a few friends, except for the people you met through your boyfriend or Eddie.  In fact, the gifts laying under the tree had been for them, of course.  Now they both were ghosts: Christmas Past and Christmas Present. At some point you throw yourself onto the couch, clicker in one hand, a can of Coke in the other even though it was still breakfast time.  It was around that time he’d called, much too early for your liking, so you let the machine get it.  With a self assured voice that proved how little he understood or cared about you, Barry had left a message asking you to bring a dessert when you came for dinner that night.  A last minute request for a last minute invitation.  He was so sorry, but you would do it, right? His call went unreturned.  Angry, you immediately erased the tape and took the phone off the hook.  After last night with Eddie, you were fairly certain that no one else was going to be calling.  Not on Christmas Eve when there were presents and parties and people to enjoy. Besides, all this silence gave you time to think, so while Danny Kaye and Bing Crosby tap danced across the twelve inch screen of your tv, you did just that.  And if your eyes got misty at Rosemary Clooney’s gift of a knight on a white horse, then that was just how good the movie was, right?  It didn’t have a single thing to do with a certain man willing to ride into battle on your behalf, over and over and over again. The more you thought, the more you realized that Eddie hadn’t been wrong about the ways in which Barry failed you as a boyfriend.  He had been treating you like garbage for a very long time, longer than anyone should tolerate, but when you had so little, even the scraps seemed significant.  Swallowing down your less than festive Swanson’s turkey dinner lunch, you realized that you didn’t want scraps- not anymore. Changing the channel, Jimmy Stewart’s drawl takes over the room, but you're not thinking about bells ringing.  You’re thinking about Eddie, again.  Still.  You’re thinking about how, even now, your nightie smells like tobacco and light beer and old leather.  You’re thinking about the sacred synth beating of his heart and how it always seems to settle you.  You’re thinking about that tender kiss he laid on you when your brain was still fuzzy but your body knew just how to respond.

You’re thinking about Eddie this Christmas Eve, but is he thinking about you?

— Eddie has never been more miserable in life.  Surrounded by all of his friends, gorging themselves on pie and turkey and ham and potatoes and cookies cut to look like snowmen, mittens or bells, Eddie is cursing the whole Christmas season.  All of the trappings are just red and green reminders of what he doesn’t have, what he can’t enjoy, what he had with you last night when you were tucked into him, safe and sound, while The Grinch stole Christmas.  “What’s eating you?”  Steve’s got a small paper plate in his hand, balancing a slice of lasagna along with a piece of cake that’s been stabbed through by a white plastic fork, as he dropped down beside Eddie. “Nothing.”  Leaning his chin into his hand, Eddie’s elbow dug into the meat of his thigh, a grouchy position for a grouchy guy. Licking frosting off his fork, Steve hummed, “No way.  Something’s got you all pissy.  Pissier than usual- and on Christmas too!  Come on, lay it on me.” Rolling his eyes Steve’s direction, Eddie sat back reluctantly, “I- I think I fucked up.” Steve’s bite of lasagna hovered in midair, between the plate and his open mouth, as he tossed his infamous locks, “Impossible.  It’s Christmas.” “What’s that got to do with it?”  Eddie grumbled, sitting up swiftly.  Really, was that any kind of explanation?  It was December 25th so your life couldn’t be totally screwed up?  Humbug. Chewing loudly, Steve nodded, holding up a finger as a silent indicator for Eddie to wait up until he swallowed.  With a sip of his egg nog, Steve twisted in Eddie’s direction, “Well, first, everyone loves Christmas.  Everyone but you, I mean.  It makes people feel better.  Want to be better, do better, ya know?” “So?”  “So, you’re more likely to be forgiven for fucking up.  I mean, shit.  Nance and I got back together over Christmas.  It’s magical, dude.” Blowing out a noise that was similar to a fart, Eddie shook his head in frustration, “It’s a day, Harrington.  One day out of 365.  Why does everyone make such a big deal-” “Are you kidding me?  Have you like, never seen A Christmas Carol or, or watched ‘Rudolph’?”  Confused, Eddie shrugs, “I have, but-” “But what?  All the songs, the movies, the stories, they’re all about loving each other- and, and being kind at Christmas time.” Throwing up his hands, Eddie stared at his friend, his smile sort of sad, “Well, what if you kiss someone who’s still hung up on their asshole boyfriend?” With rounding, wide eyes, Steve stuttered, “You- you kissed her?  It’s about damn time, man!” Flopping back, his long haired head resting against the tall cushion of the Wheeler’s couch, Eddie groused, “Naw, Harrington.  She-” sighing deeply, willing the pain out of his tone, “-she’d rather stay with Barry.” Steve tossed down the empty plate, standing quickly, “No.  Nope.  Nuh uh.” Looking around, shocked by Steve’s sudden movements, Eddie can’t help asking, “What’s happening, Steve?” Bending at the waist, his handsome forelock falling forward, Steve’s hands find his hips as he admonishes the depressed rocker in front of him, “I’ll tell you what’s happening.  You’re getting up and going over there.  You have to talk to her, man.” Glaring up at his friend from under his shaggy bangs, Eddie shook his head defiantly, “No way.  No fucking way.  She-” Leaning down further, dad stance activated, Steve snapped, “Do you like her?  Do you-” pausing to cock an eyebrow skyward, “-love her?” Gulping guiltily, Eddie’s head bounced in response as Steve added, “I thought so.  Well, the good thing for you is that this magical day isn’t over.  You never know what might happen if you go and talk to her.  I mean, it’s Christmas, man.  And maybe, just maybe, you’ll find out you didn’t fuck up everything after all.” “Is this some kinda motivational speech, Harrington?”  Tilting his head as that wicked grin spread over his face, Eddie isn’t laughing at Steve, but he can’t help mocking him just a little bit. Confusion filling his face, Steve faltered for a second, “Uh, is- is it working?” Genuinely this time, Eddie smiled genuinely, “Yea, I think it is.” Straightening his spine, resolute, Steve countered, “Then, yes.  I’m motivating you with my speech.  Now, uh, get lost, Munson.”  Offering his unlikely friend a hand, Steve pulled Eddie to his feet and was already ushering him towards the door. “Alright, but if this backfires, I’m coming back here and kicking your ass to the tune of Jingle Bells.” “Fair enough.”  Steve tapped him twice on the back as Eddie slid towards the van, his sneakers not offering much traction in the snow, “Go get her, Munson.” Eddie started the van and gave Steve a thumbs up before backing slowly out of the driveway.  For some reason, his heart felt lighter, buoyed by the pep talk from his buddy.  Maybe Steve was right.  Maybe there was a way to save this Christmas after all. Mind whirling, he was already planning out what to say to you- an apology to start.  And he was sorry.  Sorry for kissing you out of the blue.  Sorry for not telling you how he felt.   Sorry for talking about your boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend?  Whatever the hell he was now.  But mostly, Eddie was sorry for walking away without telling you what was going on inside his head.  You deserved that much at least. Snow was falling faster now, dusting the whole town in powdered sugar whiteness, and he found himself hunching over the steering wheel to see better between the drifting flakes.  His defrost was working overtime, struggling to keep the fog off his windshield, as he cursed, “Jesus Christ!” As he got closer to your place his headlights illuminated a person, bundled up like a snowman, trudging along the barely plowed street.  Shaking his head as he slowly rolled past, Eddie couldn’t understand what would possess someone to do something like that, even if it was Christmas Eve.  What was so damned important that you went out in bad weather, a soggy sack of gifts melting under the swiftly shifting snow, he’d like to know. Pressing on the brake, Eddie stopped, disbelief flooding him.  “No.  No way-”

— Snow was dropping down in gentle swirls when you decided that you had to see Eddie, regardless of the fading sunlight, before Christmas Eve came to a close.  Too much had been said, too much left unsaid, for your mind to let it go.  Not to mention the way your heart ached dully when you thought about the wounded look on his face before he’d left you, stunned and speechless, after that tasty kiss. No.  It was Christmas, dammit.  And at Christmas, you told people how much they meant to you.  How much you needed them.  How much you relied on their strength, their warmth, their willingness to take teary phone calls at all hours of the night and then come rescue you from shitty situations time and again.  How much you, gulp, loved them. It was Christmas Eve and you were only just now realizing that there was one person who you needed to make the holiday happy and bright.  One dark hued, leather wearing metal head who just happens to be the white knight of your personal story.  You just hoped it wasn't too little, too late. Jamming his gift into a bag, you dressed as warmly as you could, layering up like a cake before lacing up your boots.  Pulling on a striped winter hat, complete with a fuzzy pom pom on top, you zipped up your heavy coat and stepped outside, shivering in the chill.  You didn’t have a car of your own, so you were going for a wintery walk to the trailer park, all in the name of love.

With a foggy exhale, you hummed to yourself, “Oh, the weather outside is frightful-” On a good day, the walk to Eddie’s place was about fifteen minutes.  Today, Christmas Eve, during a snowstorm, that quarter of an hour turns into forty five minutes easily.  Color rose up on your cheeks, across your nose, and the tips of your ears.  Anywhere you couldn’t cover with a scarf or coat was chapping in the cold air.  And you had long ago stopped your singing. Forced to walk on the road since most of the sidewalks were untreated, you didn’t mind, but you were incredibly cautious about oncoming traffic.  You wanted to talk to Eddie, not get turned into road pizza on the biggest holiday of the year, so you are walking into the wind and making yourself as visible as possible in the coming dusk.  Still, it required a lot of effort on your part, even if you had started to question the sanity of your idea.

Headlights catch your eye and you raise a hand to block the brightness.  The driver was going slow due to the snow and you move as far to the side as you can while also avoiding a slushy splash.  Tucking further into your scarf, you trudged on, rehearsing the speech you were going to give when Eddie opened his trailer door. And maybe that’s why you didn’t notice when the passing vehicle slid to a stop before reversing on the empty roadway.  All you know is that one second you were inside your head, white flakes flying past in swirling cyclones, and the next you hear a shout, “What the hell are you doing?” “Eddie?”  Stopping short, your head snapped up at a voice you know as well as your own. He was out of the van in a flash, his hands gripping onto your shoulders tightly, “It’s cold as fuck out here, not to mention snowing like crazy, and you’re just- just walking around?” Tipping your chin up, you eyed him from under the brim of your stocking cap, “I was going to your place.  I- I have a gift-” “A gift?  Sweet fucking Christ!  You coulda been killed!  A car could have- or, or, you could have slipped on ice and hit your head.  I mean, do you have any idea-”  Horrible scenario after horrible scenario filled Eddie’s mind.  Worrying about what could have happened to you and knowing that it hadn’t could not stop the flipped switch of his panic.  With a cracking voice, Eddie pulled you into his heart, his warmth, questioning you brokenly, “What if I hadn’t seen you?  What if- what if something happened to you and I wasn’t able to stop it.  To save you?” 

His grip tightens around you and your bulky coat, almost lifting you off the ground, “What would I do if-” A sweet half smile curls over your face as you put a mittened hand over his chest, cutting him off, “Eddie.” Your voice stills him, those wide burnt sugar eyes locking on yours, as he tips your head up, “Yea?” Pushing up onto the toes you could barely feel, you pressed a chaste kiss to Eddie’s warm mouth, lingering in his cinnamon gum scented sphere.  For a second, he froze, your cold nose rubbing against his as your eyes fluttered shut.  Then, his arms pulled you as close as your jacket allowed, those lips of his finding your chapped ones with a happy hum. Heat rushed through you, a welcome change from the dropping temperatures out on the snowy street.  Only this heat was spreading from the clenching muscles in your tummy, a fire ignited by the wanting way Eddie moaned into your mouth.  His nimble tongue danced alongside yours as the sky deepened into an inky indigo, dotted with picture perfect snowflakes.  Fingers, pinkening from the cold air, tug on the ends of your scarf ensuring that you can’t get away from Eddie this time. He didn’t need to worry.  You weren’t going anywhere, not without Eddie Munson, anyway.  Not anymore. Parting in a puff of heavy air that turned silver in the snowy night, Eddie’s forehead bumped against the cuff of your cap, a goofy grin making his dimples impossible to ignore, “Hey.” “Hey.”  Looking up at him through the curve of your lashes, expectant and excited, you were waiting to see what Eddie’s next move would be. You were rosy from cold, eyes shining bright in the fading light of day, and Eddie had never wanted you more.  Swallowing thickly, you watched his Adam’s Apple bob while his arms rubbed over your thick sleeves, “Can I- Will you let me take you home?” Biting into your bottom lip, you nod quickly, “Yea.  Yes, please.” Guiding you, Eddie ensured that you’re safely situated in the passenger seat before securing your buckle and shutting the door.  You giggled as he moved around the front of the van, slipping in the slush, his face illuminated in the headlights.  Catching your eye, he winks wickedly and then is seamlessly sliding behind the steering wheel with a wild toss of his snow-dampened hair, “Where to m’lady?” Sighing deeply, but happily, you pull off your winter hat, staticy strands sticking up at odd angles, “I’d normally say take me home, but-” “But?”  There’s caution in Eddie’s voice.  Like a skim of ice on the lake, things between you are still tentative- not solid, and he has a momentary lapse of confidence. Laying a hand on his denim clad thigh, leaning closer to reassure him, you shrugged, “But I don’t want to be alone.  Not tonight.  It’s Christmas Eve.” It gives Eddie an idea.  A wonderful idea.  A perfect, Hallmark Card, winter wonderland idea. “Ok, but just remember… You asked for it.”  His tone is playful when Eddie swings the van in a circle, turning from the direction of your place back the way he came. Oh, he’s nervous.  There weren’t a lot of people who had been to his trailer; just the closest, dearest of friends.  Steve had seen the inside of the clean and cozy space a time or two, Robin and Nancy for sure, but mostly, Eddie was the guy pulling up to your place, not the other way around. A small Christmas tree, loaded with lights and ornaments faced the gravelly road where Eddie’s uncle was already parked.  There’s strands of blinking lights criss-crossing the awning and a small sign that says, “Santa Stop Here” propped up on the porch.  It’s a sweet sight, a glowing, golden invitation on a cold and snowy Christmas night and you can’t help the dopey look of glee on your face at what you’re seeing. Pulling the van in smoothly, Eddie held up a hand, “Wait, k?  I haven’t been here to shovel.” Agreeing with a head bob, you sat patiently as he stomped around, snow high enough to cover his sneakers.  Snagging your bag, you are prepared to step into the snow, but Eddie doesn’t give you the chance.  One foot touched the ground and then he’s bear hugging you, walking you straight to the stairs as you laugh, “What are you doing?” “Keeping you from getting cold feet.  Obviously!”  Once he’s sure you’re on the firm ground of his steps, Eddie bounced back and kicked the van’s door closed. He brushed by you, his hand finding your elbow so that he could haul you inside, calling out warmly, “Hey, Uncle Wayne!  Hope you don’t mind-” An older, more worn in version of Eddie, minus the long locks, popped a head out from the kitchenette, “Wha?  Oh.  Oh, we’ve got company then?” Wiping his hands on a well used dish cloth, he moved closer, arms wide, “I’m Eddie’s uncle- Wayne, in case you didn’t get that part.”  The hug is crushing and so full of tenderness that you can’t help but wrap your arms around this new person, squeezing hard as he welcomes you.  Stepping back, Uncle Wayne kept a firm hand on you, but eyed Eddie steadily, “Your phone call, I take it?” Chuckling nervously, Eddie rubbed a palm across the back of his neck, ruffling his hair in the process.  He’s never been able to hide much from his uncle, this is no exception, and he can tell that he’s busted.  “Yea, Wayne.  She’s the one who called last night.” A look passed between them, approving and accepting, before Wayne clapped his hands, asking, “Are ya hungry, darling?  It’s not much, but it’s our tradition, so to speak.” “If you don’t mind?  I-” “Mind?”  Wayne says it as if he’s offended by the idea, “You’ll be doing me a favor.  Keep this one-” pointing at Eddie with an up turned thumb, “-on his best behavior.  Come on!” Your jacket disappeared into a closet somewhere and Eddie helped you shuck the soaking boots you’ve been wearing for much too long.  Excusing yourself, you duck into the bathroom, and when you come back, there’s a heartwarming scene unfolding in front of you.  Wayne and Eddie, setting an extra place at the table, grumbling about the “good china” which you can tell is paper plates.  Stopping, Wayne appraised his nephew for beat as Eddie centered a folded paper towel over your spot.  A small smile pulled at the corners of his uncle’s mouth before Wayne dragged Eddie into an unwilling hug that ended with a firm clap on the younger man’s back.  You swing back into the room at the sound, “This- this looks great, you guys!” A pot of macaroni and cheese, neon orange and buttery, sits in the center of the table.  There’s a plate of ham and cheese sandwiches, cut into triangles and piled high on a Miller High Life tin tray, next to a bowl of salad greens.  A big bottle of ranch dressing standing proudly at its side. “It’s not traditional, I guess-”  Eddie started but Uncle Wayne cut him off, “It’s our tradition!  All of Eddie’s favorite food is here.  Except the salad, of course.” “Except the salad.”  He echoed his uncle, offering you a sandwich from the tray while his teeth pinch the fat of his lip, desperate for your acceptance. He had no reason to worry.  It’s just so lovely to be with other people, especially guys like the Munson boys.  They pass around bottles of beer, telling stories, making you laugh so hard that your stomach muscles ache from it.  From deeper in the trailer you heard the sound of an alarm clock buzzing and Uncle Eddie exhaled hard, “Well children, I have to get going.” Looking up from your seat at their table, you questioned, “No!  You’re not leaving are you?” Taking one of your hands in his, Wayne pats it gently, “Double time at the plant is too good to pass up, even if the company is as excellent as yours, darling.” Pouting, you let your bottom lip stick out and Eddie is struck by an urge to kiss you stupid.  Instead of whipping you into his arms in front of his uncle, Eddie stood up and started clearing the table, “Ok, old man.  You can stop flirting with her now.” “Me?  I would never!”  And you could hear the same teasing tone in Uncle Wayne’s voice that Eddie has inherited.  It’s flattering and flustering at the same time and you just knew that they could feel the flush of heat radiating off of you from the attention they both give you. “Yea, yea.  Here-”  Eddie handed a small box to Wayne, “-Food, for tonight’s shift.”  “Thanks, son.”  Turning in your chair you watched Wayne shrug on his coat, popping the collar up high to block some of the snow that’s still falling.  At the doorway he nodded your direction, “Don’t be a stranger young lady.  Merry Christmas to you both!”

And then the trailer goes quiet.  Eddie pivoted fast, big eyes finding yours, and you both started laughing again. “Shit!  I mean, I knew Uncle Wayne had moves, I’ve just never seen them in action like that before.” Feigning innocence, you placed a hand over your heart, “Do you mean to tell me that he was flirting?  My, my, you Munson men must have a type!” Eddie’s chuckle petered out, his face growing serious, as he looked you over, “Yea.  We do.  Pretty ladies who uh, who walk through snow storms and love The Grinch.” You didn’t laugh because it wasn’t funny anymore.  Reaching out his hand, Eddie lifted you to your feet, spinning you in place before bringing his hands to your hips.  “Hey, hang on, k?” Nodding, you missed his presence when he stepped up to the record player hidden in the corner of the living room.  The speakers spring to life, and with a triumphant grunt, Eddie placed a 45 on the turntable before returning to you.  Nat King Cole started to croon about chestnuts and open fires, but you’re hardly listening. You’re caught up in the way Eddie’s eyes reflect the multi-colored lights of his cute Christmas tree, reds and greens and yellows and blues.  The feeling of his hands swaying you back and forth, moving you where he needed you to be, is intoxicating, heady.  Drawing your palms over his forearms, you slid them higher, higher, higher, until you could lace them behind Eddie’s neck. He stretched against your folded fingers, looking down at you, “I’m really glad that you came over tonight.  I don’t think Wayne will ever get over it.” Snickering sweetly, you wet your lips, “He loves you.” “He’s the only one.” Shaking your head, your hooded gaze never leaving his, you countered, “Uh uh.  That’s not true.” Eddie tilted his head, studying your expression, “You calling me a liar, sweetheart?” His tone was playful but the tenor was low, raspy, grating, and you matched it when you answered, “Yea, maybe I am.” “Are you saying that you love me?”  Whispering, just in case he was dreaming, just in case he had to deny that these words had ever been spoken, Eddie paused all movement. You nod, yes, but it’s not enough.  Not for Eddie.  Not tonight.  “Please, I need- I need you to say it.” A clock ticked away the seconds while you peered into the hot cocoa gaze of the only man you truly trusted, “I love you, Eddie.  I- I think I always have, really.” If you could capture an image to look over forever, it would be the face Eddie made at your husky confession.  The unadulterated joy that crowds his features made you think about New Year’s Eve fireworks, exploding and expanding as they brilliantly burst.  Eddie broke your hold on him, his fingers threaded between your own as he brought a hand up to press a little kiss to your knuckles. “I know.  It took you long enough to realize it, though, sweetheart.” Looking away from him, a stupid, giddy smile grew across your face.  You rolled your eyes, “Maybe I was waiting for the right moment?  ‘Tis the season, ya know?” Eddie didn’t reply, at least not with words.  He picked his moment and using your waist as leverage, snugged you tight to his lean body.  One arm braced along your spine as his other hand cupped your bountiful bottom, tipping you off center a bit so that he could wrap your leg over his hip. He’s so solid, so sturdy, that you melted into the embrace, letting Eddie support you entirely as you gripped at his firm biceps.  That curtain of ebony hair brushed against your cheek as your mouth searched for and found more of Eddie to taste.  Mewling against his lips, you could feel his growing excitement and your core pulsed with need at the idea of having all of Eddie, all for yourself. Pinching your bottom, Eddie straightened you both up, jerking his head towards the small room at the end of the hall, “Come on.” A little light headed, you followed where he led, landing in his personal domain.  It’s a space dominated by his love of music and all things D&D related, and it smelled so good, so right, that you launched yourself in his direction, needy lips already moving in on him.  Eddie met you there, in the middle, ready and wanting. Longing for him, you toyed with the hem of his t-shirt, desperate to feel Eddie under your hands.  Gliding higher, Eddie chuckled, catching your hands in one of his, “Your hands are freezing!” “Sorry!”  You rubbed them together, blowing on them, trying to warm them up as quickly as possible. “S’ok, I got you.”  He stepped away and crossed his hands at the bottom of his shirt before ripping it off in one fluid motion.  Eddie is stunning.  His compact and constant strength is evident in the smooth lines of his chest, his tattoos a road map to pleasure.  You didn’t know whether to touch him, or kiss him, or lick him- your thoughts derailed entirely when he tisked, “Um, see something you like?” Beneath your hands Eddie felt so substantial, so solid.  Tracing his ribs, you leaned in to kiss the places where black ink outlined the images associated with his rock and roll persona, keeping a hold on his trim waist.  When you reached the hollow of his chest, the place that hovered above his heart, you lingered long enough to purple the skin there as yours.  Home. It’s the sort of attention that Eddie isn’t accustomed to- someone showering him in affection.  The time its taken for your tongue to lick lines over his pecs, press kisses across his collar bone, nips at the cologne stained skin of his neck, feels like decades.  Eons.  Ages. But he let you take that time.  Breathing became a struggle, especially when you purse your lips and sucked little red splotches over the length of his core, your still chilly fingers dug into the muscles of his back as a reminder for him to keep still.  Tentatively, you played with his belt, not wanting to show just how eager you truly were in this moment. He doesn’t stop you, instead Eddie moves your hands to his handcuff shaped buckle, encouraging you, “Yea, go ahead, babe.  I- I want you to.” Jumping at the contact, Eddie’s stomach muscles contracted and he hissed.  Dropping to your knees, you pushed his jeans down, down, down, and tapped his calf.  It was a silent way of telling him to move his feet so you could get his pesky pants off of him. From this position, Eddie stood tall and straight like a mythological hero above you.  Other guys might have tried to hide their growing erections, crossing their hands over any visible sign of their desire, but that’s not Eddie’s style.  If anything, he parted his legs, widening his stance to showcase his masculine power.  And if the boxers he wore weren’t covered in Santa faces, then you were certain his manliness would have overpowered you. “Ah!  These are very cute.”  Flicking at the hem of his shorts, you had to tease him.  You have to lighten the mood otherwise, you were going to combust right to ash at his feet. “‘Tis the season- isn’t that what you said?”  Throwing your words back at you, Eddie let his fingers tangle in your hair, urging your head back as your dewey mouth parted. You were so close to him, to his aching stiffness, that all his willpower is being channeled into behaving.  It would be all too easy to dig his thumbs into the pudgy flesh of your cheeks, keeping your mouth open wide as he fed his hard cock between your lips until you were full up with Eddie.  A shadow of his thoughts crossed behind his eyes and you gulped audibly, pressing your thighs together at the idea of him using you for his own end. Only, that wasn’t who Eddie Munson was, at heart.  There was no forcing, no taking, not without talking first.  And that alone was so very different from whatever his name was that you were already feeling more excited, more aroused than you could ever remember being before. Nodding at his quip, you stretched  your fingers toward the gathered elastic band of his jockey shorts, but he stopped you, “Not yet, ok, pretty girl?  Wanna see you first, alright?” “Oh, yea, ok.  Sure.” You stood up on shaking legs, never breaking the heated stare between you and Eddie.  Slowly you started to peel off the layers of clothing that you had wrapped around yourself before heading out into the snow.  Fumbling, you toed off one thick sock when Eddie’s low laugh interrupted your eager undressing, “Lemme help you.  You helped me, it’s only fair.” Motioning to his thigh, you brought your socked foot up, inhaling sharply when Eddie rolled the soggy wool down your toes before chucking it towards the door.  Those calloused fingers massaged up your calf, the muscles there tense from your excursion, and you groaned gratefully at the softening his touch brings.  Too soon, in your opinion, Eddie lowered your leg back to the floor, but it’s only because he was raising the bottom band of your hoodie over your head. Stumbling a bit, he caught you, now in a t-shirt and leggings, “Did you put on everything you own?” “It’s cold out!  And I was walking here to tell the guy I love “Merry Christmas”!”  It’s your best defense and the base honesty of it makes Eddie weak. “Fair enough, sweetheart, but I need you naked.  Like, now.”  His eyebrows are raised expectantly making you chortle as his overeager attitude. You got a little bit fresh though, wanting to tease him, to draw out the night, so you sass, “What if I’m your gift, huh Munson?  And you’re just rushing through the unwrapping part-” He doesn't let you finish.  Instead, Eddie scooped you up with his hands on your soft bottom, pushing his nose into the crook of your neck, “Oh, I know how to take my time, babe.  Especially when it matters.” “Fuck, Eddie.”  It’s a broken exhale, wanton and laced with a desperation that he had never heard from you before.  He’s an addict already. Buttons part easily under Eddie’s knowing fingertips.  Your flannel shirt and faded tee are thrown across the room joining the growing pile of your clothes.  After your ribbed tank top comes off, the last barrier to your bountiful breasts is the emerald green bra you put in, hopeful that Eddie would have a chance to see it before the night ends. Now here he is, an owlish look on his wonder filled face, “Wow.” Heat climbed through you at the raw realness on display in Eddie’s features.  That’s when you decided that you can’t wait any longer and took his wrists in your hands, placing them on your waist as you stepped into his arms, “Eddie, baby, please?  Please touch me.” He doesn’t respond with words.  Gripping you tight enough to bruise, your head is tipped back to make room for Eddie’s roving mouth as he scorches a path down your neck.  At the swell of your breasts he slowed down, savoring the flavor of your skin, teasing you with his tongue.  Licking over the lace of your bra, Eddie sucked on your hardened nipple through the fabric, the foreign sensation making you jump under his ministrations.  You tangled a fist in his hair, pulling against the loose curls, and he let you direct his mouth back to your own bee stung lips as you mewl, “Need you, Eddie.  Need you now.” “Fuck, baby.”  Walking you backwards, Eddie lowered you onto his bed, following you down to the mattress.  His hands cupped your cheeks, brushing your hair back so he could really see you, those broad thighs pressing your own open.  You could feel the delicious weight of him on top of you, his hard cock unavoidable, and you rolled your hips into Eddie’s just to hear him groan. In a rush now, Eddie ripped your pants off in a flash, taking your panties with them.  Kneeling between your spread legs, he laid his hands over his heart, “I really love-” you angled up onto your elbows, anticipating how he’ll finish his sentence, “-my Christmas gift.  Thank you so much for bringing it over, even if you had to walk a mile in the snow.” “You shit!”  Giggling at his theatrics, you grabbed for him, only satisfied when he’s draped over your prone figure. There’s a kiss then, and another, and another until they blend together in your mind.  Some are sweet and slow.  Some tender and testing.  Others are sloppy, teeth clicking, tongue sucking kisses. Hands are everywhere.  They glide along hairy thighs and smooth arms.  They paused to fondle, to flick, to squeeze.  They never stopped moving. Fingers find ticklish spots to linger on, drawing out laughter, high and sweet.  Fingers press hard into soft skin.  They dig in, they hold on. When Eddie’s bold enough, he touches you at the dark, damp cavern of your core.  The un-rushed attention is overwhelming and it doubles in intensity when his calloused middle finger finds a home surrounded by your satin walls.  Clutching at his arms, you wailed thinly, “More, Eddie, more, please.” A second finger breached your wet cleft, the stretch delicious and somehow delicate because Eddie’s listening to you, to your body, and he’s not rushing.  His gaze had not left yours, the show you’re putting on is just too good to miss and he has a front row seat.  Kissing over your tummy, moving lower, you bucked into his grip just as his plush pout pressed against your straining clitoris. Fisting his pillow with one hand, the other curled possessively around the back of his neck, holding him steady.  Holding him close.  Holding out for the inevitable peak of your pleasure, brought on by the unceasing attention of your lover. Panting, your thighs quaked, the ecstatic energy gathering in your body ready to explode.  It’s been so long since you had someone take care of you, worry about pleasing you, think about getting you off first, that when your orgasm hits it is leveling.  The air huffs out of you in short bursts as your body goes rigid, all of your limbs seem to lock up, and every molecule of your form is concentrated on the overriding bliss created by Eddie and his feelings for you. Maybe you blacked out, you don’t really know what else to call the far away floating sensation that accompanied your little death.  What you do know is that Eddie has you gathered in his arms, your head cradled over that spot- your spot on his chest, his heartbeat the first sound that breaks through the fog of your climax.  Rocking you back and forth, soft kisses pressing into the crown of your head, as Eddie cooed, “I got you, pretty girl.  It’s alright.  You’re ok, honey.” Shivering as you come down from your intense high, stray tears cascaded down your cheeks, but these are not born of sadness.  Experiencing euphoria like this was overwhelming and you gratefully sunk into Eddie’s warmth, hiccuping, “I’m- I’m ok, Eddie.  I’m- thank you.  Thank you so much.” “Thank me?  Sweetheart, I didn’t do-” Swiveling in his arms, you peered up at him through wet eyes, “But you did!  You do.  You always take such great care of me and tonight, all this, it’s no exception.”  And you kissed him with everything you had in your heart, saying ‘I love you’ with your body over and over again.  When you pulled back this time, a small hand on Eddie’s stubbled cheek, you shook your head, not believing that you were here, now, with this loving man, “I think I must be dreaming.” “Then, please, for the love of Ozzy, do not wake up.” An undignified snort of laughter snuck out of you and Eddie takes advantage of the distraction to lay you back on the bed.  Floppy and boneless, you’re spread out and giggling, ready for whatever Eddie wanted to do.  You run your foot over his leg, landing on his hip before he wrapped a hand around your ankle, steadying his hold on you to ensure that you were open wide for him. You nibbled on your pinky finger, knowing what came next, but playing coy.  That sweetness, the innocent way you batted your eyelashes at him, it made Eddie throb.  Yearning to be inside of you, he smooched at the skin of your inner thigh, “God, you’re so fucking pretty.  Can I touch you, beautiful?  Can I make you feel good?” Why would you ever say no to that?  Letting your calves lock around his, you lifted your hips up so that you could hump against Eddie, “Please, Eddie, for fuck’s sake!” And then he was fisting himself, lining the hardest part of his body up with the softest part of your own, “Hey, hey, look at me.” Locked in on Eddie’s blown out stare, you licked over your bottom lip, which only made him groan.  Dropping his chin, he shook his head, “You- you can’t look at me like that, baby.  I’m going to cum before I ever get to feel you if you keep that up.” “But, I didn’t-” Running a hand through his hair so that it fell over his shoulder, he husked, “You can’t help it.  You’re just so damned adorable and-” the expansive head of his cock caught at the slick circle of your quim, “-And I fucking love you.” Inhaling sharply, your body arched off the bed and straight into Eddie’s chest at his first breaching thrust.  Hands tensing, your nails clawed at his forearms as he stilled, giving you time to adjust to his shattering length and stretching width.  Distracting you, Eddie’s mouth dotted kisses along the base of your throat and over your jaw, before huskily growling into your ear, “I’m gonna move now, ok?” Noiseless, you nodded as Eddie kept his word.  Withdrawing slowly, Eddie was exercising all the control he possessed to ensure that you got the best of him.  And even with his concentration focused on the long, smooth strokes of his thrusts, he still managed to touch you, kiss you, mumble out sounds like yes and fuck and your name. “Eddie, more, please?”  You hadn’t meant to whine but he felt so good that you wanted all you could get. It was as if you had cut him free by asking that question.  Eddie let his body reply, rolling his hips, no longer pulling free from your velvet vice.  Instead he surged forward, deeper and deeper with every press of his pelvis against your own.

Your sweaty skin had gone over goosebumps, a shivering, shining sensation spiraling from your core.  You found your voice but could only manage to whimper as Eddie let a free hand rake over your thigh before his fingers landed on your clit, rubbing in light circles.  The contact made your muscles clench and through gritted teeth, Eddie cursed, “Fucking hell, sweetheart!” His reaction made you giggle breathlessly, “I’m so close Eddie.  Are you?  Are you gonna cum?” “Yea.  Yea I am, honey.  Can you hold on?  Cum with me?” Hugging him, your back off the mattress, you peppered him with kisses, agreeing with a happy hum.  Eddie kept his rhythm, the even movement of his fingers, and when he felt his own eminent ending, took a beat to encourage you, “Sweetheart, please?  Let go for me, yea?  Wanna- shit- wanna feel you cum around my cock.” Language like that would have made you embarrassed before but coming from Eddie’s sweet, sweet mouth it set you aflame, “Eddie!  Yes!  Yes, baby!” Your ruinous release arrived with a shout of his name.  Going rigid under Eddie as he rocked into you, his palm pressed to the center of your chest, right over your heart, and then he shuddered above you, his forehead coming to rest against your own as you both fought to catch your breath. 

But then Eddie pushed away, abruptly, the overflowing spend of his ecstasy wetting your thighs.  It left a cold and empty gap between you when he turned his back to you, his shoulders hunched.  Sitting up, you moved to Eddie’s side, “Eddie?  Are you- are you ok?” There was no answer, so you crawled to his side, but he avoided looking at you, so you draped a hand on his meaty quad, squeezing slightly, as you asked, “Babe, what’s going on?” Kneeling on the bed in front of the man who just gave you two delicious orgasms, you were utterly shocked at the sight that met you; Eddie, skin shiny from sweat, sitting cross legged, was biting into his knuckle.  It was the reason which broke you. He was crying.  Tough, beautiful, Eddie Munson was crying.  Sobbing really, and to stifle the sound, his teeth were gouging into the flesh of his finger.  Once more he tried to avoid you, but you were quick to pull his arm down, “Eddie, what happened?” “I-” his voice was thick, embarrassed and full of emotion, “-I’ve never- What we just did, I-”  When you realized that he couldn’t get the words out, you took his hands in yours, kissing over the pulse point of each wrist, “Imma need you to take a deep breath, babe.  There ya go!”  And you praised him when he inhaled brokenly. Puffing out his cheeks on the exhale, he allowed your clever fingers to wipe away his tears, apologizing, “I’m so sorry.  So sorry, sweetheart.” “For what?  Where’s this coming from?” “For being a big baby, now, after we just-” damp and wet cheeked, his pretty brown eyes found yours in the dim, “-after we made love.”

“Oh, Eddie.”  Your hand cupped his cheek and he leaned into the warmth he found there, sighing. For the first time in your relationship, you were able to offer Eddie the sort of comfort and care that he had shown you so many times.  Wasting no time, you straddled his lap, wrapping him in a hug.  He hooked his chin over your shoulder, “I just- I’ve never had anyone love me.  Not like this and-” You silenced him with your lips, your tongue prying into his mouth, drinking the sadness from the source.  All of your want, all of your love, all of it went into the kiss you laid on Eddie.  When you leaned back far enough to stare at your man, you were met with his earnest expression, still raw and real.  

Your forehead nudged into his, a half-smile playing on your lips, “Hey.” “Hey.”  Still sounding sad, Eddie let a chuckle burst out of him, but you found it endearing, encouraging. Eddie let his hands find a place on the thick meat of your tush, keeping you close as you nuzzled into his neck, “I love you, Eddie.  All of you.  And for so many reasons.” “Yea?”  He sounded like he still couldn’t believe it.  That this was all too good to be true. Pulling back on his hair, he hissed but didn’t try to stop you.  “Yea, Eddie.  Yea, I do.  I fucking love you.” Then he was laughing.  A joyful, open, happy sound that brightened the room and made you smile wide.  Eddie lightly slapped your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips as he licked open mouth kisses along the top of your chest, leaving red marks along the way.  Laughing too, you basked in the bubble of love that the two of you were creating. Dragging you to his side, your head rested against his chest, over your special spot.  His heart was thumping, steady and strong, already lulling you to sleep, when you tipped your head up, “Merry Christmas, Eddie.” “Uh, Merry Christmas.” And what happened next, well in Hawkins, they say, that Eddie Munson’s small heart grew three sizes that day. On Christmas morning, Eddie cooked you breakfast, and made sure there was plenty of fresh coffee for Uncle Wayne to come home to.  After the dishes were washed, you pulled his gift out of your snow stained bag, “This is for you.” “Aw, baby!  You didn’t have to do this.” Shifting your weight, you nervously danced, “I know!  But, well… OPEN IT!” The paper tore away quickly, revealing a framed photo of the two of you sitting on lounge chairs at Steve’s house, happiness visible on both of your faces.  When he looked at the picture it was painfully obvious; you were in love even then.  It was clear from the way you leaned into each other, your head resting right over his heart, exactly where it belonged. All you needed to make that love a reality was a Christmas miracle, but those only come around once a year. A lump rose in Eddie’s throat.  Maybe there was something to this holiday after all.  Something about love and caring and showing people how much they meant to you.  Maybe it wasn’t about the cost of gifts or the wrapping paper; the ornaments or the parties. Maybe Christmas wasn’t so bad.  Not if it brought you two together, once and for all. Shit.  Steve had been right.  Eddie was going to have to thank his friend for the motivational speech. When he saw your expectant look, Eddie cleared his throat, declaring, “I love it.  Thank you, so so much.” Extending his hand, you took it, letting him settle you in his lap, humming, “And I love you, so so much.” When Wayne came home, you were curled in Eddie’s lap, his arm holding you close.  Both of you were sleeping peacefully, the tv playing a repeat of the holiday parade.  He shook his head, happy in his heart. Merry Christmas, indeed. —------FIN—-----

Want to read more?  Click here for my MASTERLIST!

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[jackstockhypno]

Cocky Muscle Italian (Custom)

In this VERY customized audio, you become a cocky italian-american musclehead college-age jock. You become hyper masculine and rough on the edges.

You love to take risks, live with high testosterone, and think about muscle building all day long.

Drink beer, get arm/chest tattoos, walk with a swagger.

Thick hair on your chest. Dress like a straight guy from the East Coast with a philly accent.

Jeans and t-shirts, gym clothes etc. Charismatic extroverted personality, even to the point of "toxic masculinity".

You become sexually adventurous with men, even though you're outwardly straight-acting, you're willing to top any ass, be fucked by any cock, and suck men off.

Group sex, get sucked off, into spit, masculine smells, etc.

Eat your own cum, suck cock like jocks in a porno, get horny and excited at sucking cock and even more when you swallow.

Your gag reflex is disabled so that you can deepthroat more cock. 

*This is a very intricate custom-ordered file, so it will only be suitable for certain people. 

Listen to the Full Quality version here

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[the-leg-supreme]

The Origins Of The Infantalization Of Women In Today’s Society and Media.

-What is the ‘Infantalization of women’?-

Infantilization refers to the portrayal of women as childlike, helpless, and dependent on others. In recent years, this portrayal has become increasingly common in media and advertising, perpetuating the idea that women are not capable of making their own decisions and require guidance from men, and that to be ‘feminine’, one must be docile, submissive and small, both physically and in the sense of being quiet and unassertive.

This infantilization of women has real-world consequences. Women are seen as less capable than men, and are often treated like children rather than equals, with the 'ideal woman' being portrayed with mainly childlike qualities of submission, innocence, and helplessness. Women are expected to be submissive and obedient, and up until recently, were repeatedly denied opportunities for education and professional advancement. Women who did assert themselves were often accused of being “difficult”, “aggressive” or “unfeminine.”

Even through language, a subtle image of a woman is painted, in which ambitious women are labeled bossy and controlling, their dominance seen as nothing more than a tantrum. They are told that they are not seen as a feminine woman unless they are docile, submissive, and quiet.

-Lolita-

The origins of this phenomenon in mass media can be largely traced back to the controversial yet popular novel ‘Lolita’, written by Vladimir Nabokov. The plot of this novel focuses on the relationship between a middle-aged man, Humbert, and his twelve-year-old stepdaughter Dolores, or as he calls her, Lolita. 

Even though in the novel, Nabakov repeatedly emphasizes that there is nothing conventionally beautiful about Lolita, Kubrick’s film adaptation of the novel airbrushes this character into a 1950s pinup model. In this film adaptation, Lolita is heavily sexualized despite being just twelve years old, not being portrayed as a victim as she rightly should but instead, as a provocative and helpless child-woman, while the novel’s Lolita is described as a tomboyish, malodorous (smelly) little urchin. Humbert comments on her ‘monkeyish nimbleness’ in the book. In her introductory shot, Lolita is dressed in only a bikini, lying provocatively so that her hips and legs are accented, wearing a sultry expression on her face. Again, this character is only twelve years old and Sue Lyon, the actress who portrayed twelve-year-old Lolita on screen, was only fourteen years old when she played this disgusting and over-sexualized role.

It's important to note that the infantilization of women is not unique to "Lolita" or to the time period in which it was published. Women have been infantilized throughout history, and continue to be infantilized today. But "Lolita" helped to popularize and normalize this trope, making it more difficult for women to assert their autonomy and demand equality.

-Young female celebrities-

The blurring of the line between childhood and womanhood in such cases is heavily related to the portrayal of women in the media in general, celebrity young women especially. 

For example, in magazines in the 2000s, celebrities like Britney Spears and Alicia Silverstone, 17 and 19 years old respectively at the time, were featured in rolling stone magazine, their pictures featuring them with stereotypically childlike props such as stuffed toys and pink cord phones while wearing clothes that gave their images a strange edge of promiscuity for having such a childlike feel. The pictures taken of Britney Spears had her dressed in tiny pajama shorts and an open pajama top, fully exposing her black bra underneath. She was holding a Teletubby doll and a pink cord phone and was against a bright pink background and Alicia Silverstone's pictures had her clad in all bubblegum pink, i.e a pink t-shirt with a heart sewed on and frilly pink undies and a couple different pink hats, against a pink background. She had a fluffy pink stuffed animal with her in some pictures and was posed with her legs splayed open, looking up at the camera.

Even in social media today, the Infantalization of women is constantly being shown to young girls, which can have very harmful effects on today’s youth, perpetuating an unrealistic beauty standard that might lead to eating disorders, body dysmorphia, or various other issues, not to mention promoting the idea that to be “feminine”, girls should strive to look and be young and innocent and helpless. Furthermore, infantilization can discourage girls from pursuing their goals and aspirations, as they may believe that they are not capable of achieving them. 

In conclusion, the infantilization of women in today's society is a concerning trend that is perpetuated by mainstream media. It has a profound impact on young girls, leading to a lack of confidence, unrealistic beauty standards, and a reluctance to pursue their goals and aspirations. To combat this trend, it is essential to promote positive role models and messages that encourage girls to be confident, assertive, and independent. We all have a role to play in promoting a healthy self-image and combating the negative effects of infantilization, for the betterment of our society and to get one step closer to achieving true gender equality.

[nerdieforpedro]

Hello dear!

This year is a leap year, and as 29th February is not technically a real day, I'm giving you the chance to spend 28th February with a Pedro character that you love and 29th February with a Pedro character that you don't. Which are they, and how are you spending your days?

Love, El

I’m going to answer for the Pedro character I do not love: Maxwell Lord. I will pull that man by his hair, dye it back to its beautiful chocolate brown and kick him to go spend quality time with his son. 😤 I’ve only watched WW 1984 once, will not watch it again. No thank you. Keep Max over there. 👀 Ewww…

Now picking a Pedro character I like, there’s so many! (Besides Maxwell thank goodness!) This is hard because I would like to make a schedule for at least four of them, that’s not too greedy right? 😂

My top three: Din Djarin, Javi G and Tim Rockford. Maybe not what you were expecting but this is Nerdie so, meh. 🫤 Which one of these three would I choose for the 28th…. This is a very difficult choice, but it’s gonna be Javier Gutierrez 🧸

My heart will always be fond of our dogged, holster wearing, no those white shirts fit just right Detective 🕵️ Rockford and our bounty hunter with a heart as big as his pulse rifle Din Djarin.

But Javi G though 🥰

He’d be fine with me being loud, snorting a bit when I laugh and requesting that after we watch three Nic Cage movies, we watch The Lion King, Robin Hood: Men in Tights and Harlem Nights. All excellent movies and if he for some reason hasn’t see these, he will with me. We will laugh, cry, sing along and debate the importance of pinkie toes so long I will forget that I have to see Maxwell (bless you Javi G for making me forget that man. He’s a stain on my brain.) 🧠

I know that after having difficult cases or hunts, Tim and Din aren’t going to be too happy about my volume. I have only one - loud. Not really calming. Like they may need.

Javi G might find my volume endearing and love when I exclaim at different things during “Gone in 60 seconds” maybe. 🤔 Also people forget that Javi is an excellent shot just like Tim and Din (maybe not Din but who else has a pulse rifle?) And that touches me deeply (insert whatever dirty joke suits your fancy, I’ll accept all of them). Plus I can floof his hair during the movie or Javi might agree because I said I wanted to. I wouldn’t have to explain why.

Tim would want me to explain why he needs to swear his holsters despite being home to tease me which would work - I would feel like my face is on fire but that’s fine. Din would not understand my fascination with his beskar or extreme interest in it outside of him being a Mandalorian. I would melt into the floor when Din would ask (because he’s our inquisitive non-judgmental big metal bean) why am I so focused on it. I can’t lie, he’s got sensors and has been a bounty hunter long enough to that I’m lying and I just can’t tell him why to his T-visor. My why would be best described in my Sardi’ka Sessions and I cannot say any of that to his helmet. 😭

Anyway, that’s my spiel. Javi G is below because that’s who I’m spending the 28th with. I would leave Max waiting for me very sad and spend the 29th with Javi as well.

[bunbunpawz]

Jfashion SheIn ripoffs

In case you want some Jfashion, Jirai kei and similar popular fashion items but don't want to pay for it and don't care about the quality or maybe you just cant afford the real deal, heck maybe it's just a shipping issue What ever the reason, I gotchu Enjoy the updated shein ripoff Jfashion recommendations: Lizlisa popular sweater: (I Recommend only the white one) https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Cold-Shoulder-Lace-Trim-Bow-Decor-Cable-Knit-Sweater-p-18857413-cat-1734.html JiraiKei colored blouse: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Bow-Decor-Statement-Collar-Contrast-Lace-Shirt-p-20913169-cat-1733.html

Plus size version: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Plus-Contrast-Lace-Statement-Collar-Flare-Sleeve-Shirt-p-20701719-cat-1891.html Jirai kei colored dress: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Colorful-Contrast-Rolled-Hem-Ruffle-Decoration-Detail-Dress-p-26218229-cat-1727.html Somesort of Ank Rouge Lizlisa rip inspired sweater: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Ruffle-Trim-Turtleneck-Sweater-p-20912968-cat-1734.html Jirai Kei top: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Bow-Decor-Cold-Shoulder-Frill-Trim-Sweater-p-22817279-cat-1734.html Another inspired sweater: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Cold-Shoulder-Ruffle-Trim-Cable-Knit-Sweater-p-20912913-cat-1734.html Jirai kei, Dark fashion (popular sweater currently): https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Striped-Distressed-Sweater-p-12353657-cat-1734.html Beautiful Jfashion inspired Plus size dress: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Plus-Colorblock-Ruffle-Trim-Flare-Sleeve-Ruffle-Hem-Dress-p-22235072-cat-1889.html Jirai Kei Pink skirt Plus size: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Plus-Contrast-Lace-Ruffle-Trim-Overall-Dress-Without-Blouse-p-20913247-cat-1889.html Lizlisa rip off teddy bear sweater: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Bear-Pattern-Lace-Up-Cable-Knit-Sweater-p-11858565-cat-1734.html Tenshi Kaiwai graphic T: https://jp.shein.com/Amemiya-pamutasu-Figure-Graphic-Drop-Shoulder-Sweatshirt-p-22382701-cat-1773.html Tenshi Kaiwai ESC jacket: https://jp.shein.com/Wings-Letter-Graphic-Drawstring-Thermal-Lined-Hoodie-p-15596760-cat-1773.html Cross sparkly jacket Fake: ( I will only post 1 but any of the fakes in any color work for jirai kei, dark styles. Black with white parkles is the best option for the popular look) https://jp.shein.com/SHEIN-Coolane-Rhinestone-Decor-Drop-Shoulder-Drawstring-Zipper-Thermal-Lined-Hoodie-p-20101725-cat-1773.html Jirai kei \ popular fashion solid color set: (this one is super adorable and looks like a lot of the expensive fashion in Japan rn) https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Plaid-Print-Puff-Sleeve-Top-Shorts-p-24808576-cat-1780.html Tenshi kaiwai/ Jirai kei Popular Solid color set: (actually considering this one) https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Contrast-Lace-Button-Front-Blouse-Shorts-p-23601671-cat-1780.html Beautiful adult vibe set: (rather popular here, but already died out when it became colder, was a big thing in the spring and summer) https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Bow-Front-Puff-Sleeve-Blouse-Skirt-p-23137893-cat-1780.html Tenshi Kaiwai (white) jirai kei (black) skirt: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Contrast-Lace-Pleated-Lace-Up-Skirt-p-5912677-cat-1732.html Oh gosh the cross trend has gotten shorts now too: https://jp.shein.com/Goth-Cross-Rhinestone-Drawstring-Waist-Velvet-Shorts-p-23789069-cat-1912.html Attempt at the jirai kei puff sleeve coat trend: (ngl I hate this) https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Woolen-Coat-With-Plush-Collar-And-Cuffs-p-26218192-cat-3051.html Jfashion sweater: https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Turtleneck-Cold-Shoulder-Ruffle-Trim-Cut-Out-Sweater-p-20913142-cat-1734.html Jfashion Cartigan: (was more popular last year, color yellow recommend) https://jp.shein.com/ROMWE-J-Fashion-Solid-Button-Front-Cardigan-p-11258458-cat-2219.html Jirai Kei esc cartigan: https://jp.shein.com/Lace-Up-Detail-Drop-Shoulder-Cardigan-p-23541903-cat-2219.htmlsc cartigan: Jirai Kei masculine graphic t: https://jp.shein.com/Anime-Men-Japanese-Letter-Figure-Graphic-Tee-p-24565966-cat-1980.html Another one: https://jp.shein.com/Anime-Men-s-Cartoon-Girl-Printed-Round-Neck-Sweatshirt-p-23878843-cat-1974.html Cute dark Plus size blouse: https://jp.shein.com/Goth-Plus-Sailor-Collar-Flounce-Sleeve-Blouse-p-25935877-cat-1891.html Cute dark Plus size blouse (more kawaii): https://jp.shein.com/Kawaii-Plus-Contrast-Lace-Statement-Collar-Puff-Sleeve-Shirt-p-20703188-cat-1891.html Masculine Jirai Kei pants Dupe : (this exact type EXTREMELY POPULAR recommend black or gray color) https://jp.shein.com/ROMWE-Avant-Guys-Cotton-Raw-Trim-Straight-Leg-Baggy-Jeans-p-15607310-cat-1989.html

masculine Jirai Kei sweater : https://jp.shein.com/ROMWE-Street-Life-Guys-Oversized-Distressed-Pullover-Sweater-p-26318733-cat-1977.html I got tired looking for JFashion stuff on shein so this is it for now~! hope this helps someone, enjoy your shopping :)