#obscure 20 questions
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Since we are in between rounds I figure now is as good a time as any to do another round of Obscure Blorbo 20 Questions! I have randomly generated a blorbo from the character spreadsheet, so this can be one's eliminated in previous rounds. To ask a question, reblog the most recent version of this post with a YES OR NO question not in the tags, and every so often I will answer the most interesting question that I can. As always, if this minigame is not something you are interested in, feel free to block the special tag I'll be putting on these posts.
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this year will be MY YEAR (i MUST find some gay ass ausitic nerd to kiss to fix my past misjudgments)
#and he’s GOTTA be nerdy like i’m nerdy#if he doesn’t get more excited by talking about some obscure topic than sex i don’t want him#weirdly into 20 questions nerdy#trivia for fun nerdy#i’m deprived out here#it’s me and one of my friends as the only two queer and weird guys in my senior class#and i’m in like#the gayest place ever#man.#math college will fix me
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damn hes good
#limon talks#took him like 20 questions to get there tho#and here i thought shed be too obscure to guess
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.
singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader
✶After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.✶
NSFW — slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine but eddie's just tired, reader and eddie are mid-late 20's
chapter: 1/20 [wc: 5.5k]
↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12
AO3
Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise
“Yes.” A simple answer which spawned as many awkward scenarios, as it did great ones. Your name was spray painted on the side of a bridge, you spent nights learning to tango on abandoned rooftops, the amount of tales you accrued of bad dates could fill a self-help book.
Whatever the question was, the answer was “yes.” Life was more exciting that way.
Well, your policy usually lended itself to exciting adventures, anyway.
Currently, you were sat behind a desk with your boss, Mr. Moore, who slouched on his black stool with his cheek propped on his fist, pointing a pencil at a customer’s pink invoice sheet in front of you, explaining who to call in the spiral-bound catalog for the parts to be shipped.
The tall counter top partially obscured the both of you from employees and customers alike, but as you soon realized, the number of employees was slightly above two, and the customers even less; and if any of them paid you any mind, you couldn’t tell from the disorienting mix of exhaust fumes, dirty oil, and grease wafting in from the glass door on the left.
Thus began the first day of your new job at David’s Auto Repair. Boring.
————
Your second and third days were hardly different. Arriving at the butt crack of dawn and beginning the routine that definitely wasn’t in the ad in the newspaper: clean the bathrooms (hey, at least they had two), start the coffee pot after scrubbing off years of neglect caked onto the inside, and organize the paperwork Mr. Moore left for you in his office.
Oh, and most importantly, after locking up your bike outside the front door, you made your way through the echoey workshop and poked your head out the back door to the parking lot–which, by all means, was a gravel alleyway with overgrown trees blocking your view beyond the sleek black car parked next to the dumpster.
“Morning!” you greeted the one employee who arrived early and stayed late. “Eddie, right?”
The man leaning against the gray brick wall didn’t bother acknowledging you. Didn’t lift his head from its dropped back position, nor open his eyes. Definitely didn’t take the cigarette out of his mouth to bestow you the gift of his chipper attitude, nor did he uncross his arms to offer you the bare minimum wave.
And much like the other days, you sat perched behind your desk and beamed up at him as he walked past you to the break room. And as usual, he slid his gaze to you. And like normal, he didn’t say anything.
But he did hold your eye contact for a fraction of a second longer, albeit, he looked a bit frightened when he did, as if he were suspicious of your smile.
You listened to the clunk of his heavy boots fade down the hallway, then return with him holding a mug of coffee.
This time, as he walked by, he remained vigilant, and your grin went ignored by his stupid big brown eyes surrounded by envious lashes.
Lucky you, the reception area was essentially a glass cage. Behind the black pleather seats for customers was the glowing blue sky, and beside you were floor to ceiling windows showcasing the artificially bright garage where the man in grease stained coveralls twisted gaudy rings off his fingers and placed them on a tray with his coffee, before picking up a dirty rag and popping open the hood of the car he worked on past closing last night.
“You’re welcome for the coffee,” you mumbled in a mocking tone, sneering at his red name patch–Eddie. “Jerk.”
————
Friday was different. You locked up your bike, chucked your backpack into your chair behind the desk, and made your way to the back of the garage for the routine, “Good morning.”
For some reason, you decided to reveal your whole self; more than your head stuck out the door, or rising above the countertop customers leaned on when trying to schmooze deals on parts–hell if you knew how to do that, anyway. You didn’t get paid enough to bargain.
You stepped onto the uneven gravel and surveyed the scenery, looking both ways down the alley to the major roads on either side leading to the heart of downtown Hawkins. Absolutely dismally silent. Void of life. Except for the small things you never noticed, like faraway birds, the hum of a distant motor, buzzing bugs before they disappeared for the cooler months. You felt the dew settling on your forearms, and swore you could smell impending rain on the cloudless day.
“Is it always this quiet?” you asked, face pinched in confusion as you took it all in. “I swear I can hear my own thoughts.”
Eddie may not have appreciated your joke, but he did surprise you.
He kept one of his arms crossed over his stomach, and took the cigarette from between his lips to flick the ashes. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked the dilapidated fence across from him.
Feeling cheeky, you schooled the thrill out of your voice from getting a response out of him, and said, “What gave it away?”
A drag on his cigarette was his wordless answer. Fair.
“I’m from New York.” The implied City followed without clarification. “Just moved here last week. My roommate’s from Hawkins, and she had to move back to help take care of her parents. They’re older and her dad has some health problems, and yeah, I couldn’t afford rent on my own, so you know, why not. Why not follow her to a town so small it’s impossible to find on a map.”
All your talking earned you a magnificent thing. Eddie finally opened his eyes, if only to pin you with a mild glare, and a skeptic pinch between his brows.
He said more to himself than you, “You must really like your roommate to come here.” The inflection at the end was both amusement and contempt, no doubt.
“We met in our first year of college and became best friends like that–!” You snapped. “Both theater kids going to school for acting, and we later made a comedy troupe with a few other people. When she asked if I wanted to move with her, I said ‘yes.’” Inclining your upper body towards him, you explained, “It’s sorta my thing. If anyone asks me anything, I say ‘yes.’ Obviously, I can veto shit that’s dangerous or crosses any boundaries, but it’s my policy to try everything. Life makes better stories that way.”
Your unique brand of wisdom furthered his obvious distaste for you.
Eddie inhaled his vice until the orange glow burned to the filter. Smoke fell from his mouth in a rush as if he were about to speak again, but he didn’t. He merely stared at you. And if he were having a staring contest, he won.
“Well, have a good day, then,” you said, spinning on the toe of your shoe.
You sat in your glass zoo for the day shuffling papers, making calls, and filling out forms. Most definitely not talking to the guy who appeared annoyed at your very existence.
Unfortunately for him, Hawkins was tiny and the pickings were slim.
Maybe it was his eyes, or the way the short layers of his choppy hair cut escaped his low bun to curl themselves in face-framing waves, or the fact he was twenty-years younger than the other two mechanics, but you took a liking to Eddie, much to his dismay. And due to your affinity for his annoyance, you noticed the subtle changes in his appearance sooner than you should.
————
Dark purple circles announced the lack of sleep under Eddie’s eyes before the bags could. Bloodshot and struggling to open past a sliver, he sucked down half his cigarette before the routine minutes of peace he carved into his strict schedule were interrupted by the newest knot in his muscles.
“Good morning!” you said.
“Morning,” he returned without thinking about it. Rookie mistake.
You stood closer this time, inching down the brick wall, approaching him as if he would startle like a wild animal to get a better look at the years wearing heavy on the fine lines etched into his face. Perhaps no longer ‘fine.’
“You good?”
He didn’t have the energy to put up his usual front. With his chin dipped to his chest, he kept his eyes closed, nearly drifting to sleep as he muttered, “Long night.”
“Ah.”
Your clumsy shuffling alerted him to your movement, and he reluctantly observed you standing a few feet in front of him, rocking on your heels. He filled his chest with an incredulous sigh before you even spoke.
“You seem like you could use some cheering up,” you beamed. “I could juggle for you! Should I do three or four?” Eddie’s jaw went slack, and the cigarette stuck to the wetness inside his chapped lips. You bent down to gather large rocks into your palms, opting for four when he didn’t answer.
You stood up and stepped back. Made a big show of tracing invisible arcs above your head with your gaze, readying your hands. Sucking in a breath. Building suspense while his expression slowly crept into one of tempered curiosity.
Tensing, you tossed all four rocks into the air, and made a genuine effort to catch them before they fell unceremoniously around you, bouncing off the gravel in your scramble.
Clasping your hands behind your back in feigned shyness, you announced, “I don’t know how to juggle.”
For a moment you thought he was going to continue to regard you as if you were a bug in his coffee.. Then his veneer cracked.
He snorted. The cute way, when someone’s trying to suppress it. A subtle shake in their shoulders, keeping their head down, and their smile hidden behind the heel of the palm.
Eddie hugged his arm tighter over his chest, and chastised himself, “Why’d I let that get me.”
And truly, when he flicked his gaze to you with the lopsided remnant of his grin, you were imprinted with the heat of his wonderment, and your body remembered that feeling. Sensing it later when you sat at your desk, tapping your pencil, rattling off a series of numbers and letters for engine parts, and you snuck a coy look over the phone at the exact moment Eddie turned around to ask Carl for a wrench instead of getting it himself from the tool box near the window.
And he felt your stare during lunch when you promised an irate customer their car would be ready by the end of business hours, and hung up the phone with the type of heavy-handedness one used when implying a ‘fuck you’ without stating it.
You pushed yourself from the desk and went to the fridge in front of the circular table in the break room, eyeing Eddie’s odd choice as you walked by. A bologna sandwich–fairly normal–but also a stained orange tupperware container with an array of dried out microwaved leftovers. A corner of spaghetti, pale instant mashed potatoes with three peas stuck on top, unidentifiable sludge that may have been beef stew at one point, and a handful of Kraft mac n cheese.
Pitiful amounts of food that most people would’ve thrown out.
Not that you should judge. Your lunch was the blandest rice-based meal your roommate’s mom made the night before. The woman had never heard of salt, much less other spices, but she was letting you live in their attic for free until you and Bobbie found a place to live.
Breaking your chain of thoughts, you smiled at Eddie on your way out.
He didn’t look up from his paperwork.
Wholly ignored.
————
Over the rest of the month, you learned there wasn’t a definitive pattern to which days of the week were hardest for Eddie, but it was clear when he was enduring the worst.
As the evenings grew cooler, you left the lobby door open, and in doing so, were wise to the bite in his words, the edge to his voice. The quick apologies to Carl when he let his frustration show. The fluidity of ‘fucks’ flying past his mouth, the way he wrung his nape while staring into the distance, and the lurking stress of bottled emotions causing his teeth to grind.
He approached you with concern spurned from the windows being painted black with night.
“You don’t have to stay behind, you know that, right?” Eddie got your attention in the doorway. You blinked at him, still seeing the words of the book you were reading swim past your vision. “I have a set of keys. I can lock up when I’m done.”
It was the most he’d said to you in two weeks. Three entire sentences composed of more words than he’d uttered if you added them all up since your juggling stunt.
“I don’t mind.”
A meager response which resulted in a standoff.
Eddie wasted no time bunching his shoulders at your defiance. He left streaky fingerprints on the door handle as he reached for his neck, and tucked his fingers under his collar to run his thumb along his chain necklace in a self-soothing gesture. A layer of grime coated his skin. His disheveled hair stuck to his sweaty, dirty neck. The front of his coveralls were blackened with grease, as was the white tank top he wore underneath, peeking above the unfastened top snap.
On the other hand, you overturned your palms and glanced around the barren room. “Is it really that much of a bother that I’m sitting in here being quiet?” you drawled.
“Yes.” Automatic irritation.
“It’s not like I have somewhere to be.”
“Don’t have a comedy routine to rehearse with your roommate?” he intoned in complete monotony.
“Ha-ha,” you replied, just as emotionless. You thought about correcting him in regards to you and Bobbie no longer doing stand up, but decided to grab your backpack and leave without putting up a fight. His concern about you staying late may not be genuine, but it was evident he wanted–or needed–you gone. You didn’t want to push his boundaries when he showed this level of discomfort, especially when the burden of fatigue wore beyond acceptable exhaustion, and he was ready to snap, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.
You surrendered, “Bye, Eddie.”
No reply.
In total darkness, you unchained your bike and hopped on, pedaling past the mailbox when you heard the thunderous slams of the service doors being lowered shut.
And you made it to the edge of the trees before coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty street, cracking your neck at the speed of which you whipped around to gawk.
Your heartbeat skipped, then timed itself with the extreme drum beat and opening wail of a guitar accompanied by high-pitched screamed lyrics.
The music may have been muffled, and the inside fluorescent lights struggled to penetrate the dense fog from the upper warehouse windows, but it was as if Eddie was subjecting the desolate parking lot to his own personal Judas Priest concert, hearing be damned.
You didn’t even know the dusty radio in the shop worked. But whatever helped him blow off steam, you supposed.
————
Today was a good day.
Eddie liked Fridays. Most people working weekdays did, but when he came inside early from his morning cigarette, and you hadn’t finished sweeping the shop, he made a point to idle around the orange car at the center, seeking your attention and offering an apology. Not a spoken apology, mind you. But it was rare he initiated eye contact, and when he did it with the purpose of showing deference in his softened features, you understood.
You forgave him with a gentle lift at the corner of your lips for an incident yesterday afternoon, wherein he grunted at you to leave him alone when you were telling him about one of the plays you and Bobbie acted in. Sometimes you required your own reminder of when you were being annoying, and gave him an apologetic smile for bothering him. He nodded. All was right with the world. All was forgiven and now he could get to work.
He wiped his hands down the sides of his coveralls, and leaned his upper half through the open car window to reach the latch for the hood.
The perfect opportunity to mess with him presented itself in all its glory. But first, you couldn’t resist taking a long.. long look at his backside, head tilted, mouth more than a little hung open.
“Huh?” He nearly banged his head on the roof, rounding on you with the sharpest glare in the Midwest.
Under the guise of perfect innocence, you kept brushing the broom over his work boots and toward the dust pan. “Sorry, sir, just doin’ my job. Gotta clean up the filth.”
“An actress and a comedian, huh?” he posed, allowing his smirk to foster as he gripped the edge of the door. “Gonna tell me you were a clown, next?”
“Actually..” You were interrupted by Carl coming in, followed by the near-retired Kevin who worked two days a week.
You greeted them loud and proud, overdoing it in the joy department at the ripe morning hour. Asking about Carl’s wife, and Kevin’s dog; really laying it on thick for the purpose of sending a message to the looming ghoul behind you: I’m annoying you on purpose now.
Still, as you entered the lobby, you caught sight of the sneaky grin on his face before he turned his back to you. A tight-lipped thing he was clearly trying to rid himself of while pulling his hair back into a low bun, and taking the time to tie up a bandana to keep everything out of his face, thus losing his security blanket from the world perceiving he wasn’t in a permanent bad mood.
And of course, Eddie kept up his act through lunch. Stomping through the lobby in that way people did when they were so very obviously trying to appear aloof, and coming across as anything but. Eyes staring straight ahead, but too wide and too aware to not be soliciting a reaction from their periphery. Chest out, muscles flexed. Posture the very opposite of casual, causing them to walk in a stilted manner like a robot.
And his charade continued when he came back from the break room, rounding the corner with softer steps. Slower. Hanging onto the precious milliseconds where your back was to him, and he could absorb your image freely without being noticed. Then, he lifted his chin and returned to his project, pretending you weren’t there.
Yep, so painfully obvious when he forgot reflections existed and you were surrounded by glass.
~~~
Fridays were the days he anticipated most. Work was grueling, and he had many things to finish before the break for the weekend, but he didn’t mind staying late. He preferred it.
Fridays meant he could rely on someone else handling the stressors at home, and he was free to earn his late hours at the garage, indulging in his loud music, and unwinding the constant state of tension lurking beneath the surface. It was the only way he knew how to cope. To stay sane.
Yeah, he loved Fridays. Until a surprise came running at him in her tiny pink shoes.
Eddie screwed his eyes shut and exhaled a long, hard breath through his nose.
“Sorry,” came Wayne’s earnest apology as his nephew wilted; shoulders sagging, head hung. Tapping the wrench he was holding on his thigh. Trying his best to keep it together. “Don’t mean to drop ‘er off on you, but work called me in, so I came here after picking her up.”
Turning away from the engine he was installing, Eddie assumed his authoritative voice, but it came out as a weary sigh. “Adrienne, you know the rules,” he warned lowly, “No running in the shop.” After a beat, he corrected himself. “I mean, no being in the shop at all!”
She giggled as she skipped away from him, sloppy pigtails bouncing with mirth, plastic glittery shoes slapping the concrete floor where a myriad of items she could trip on laid.
“Adrie!” He called out, but she was too busy opposing him to pay attention.
Lucky for her, a certain receptionist caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into a rogue tire.
“Whoa there, little Miss!”
You looked to Eddie for further instruction on what to do with the girl currently laughing up a storm at your feet, but he was frozen. A bit paler, and wringing the back of his neck. Unable to articulate any of the broken consonants on his tongue as he stared at you. You switched your gaze to the older man beside him, but he was equally confused as to why Eddie was having trouble speaking.
Addressing anyone who would like to volunteer an answer, you asked, “And who’s this?”
“This.. This i-is my daughter. She, I, Goddamnit–I’m sorry, can you take her inside? I swear she’ll be quiet. Right, Adrie?”
Seeing the pure desperation settle around his eyes, you assimilated into the role of babysitter, wanting to alleviate his anxiety despite the sudden surge of your own. You held your hand out for her to take, and she did so without a second thought, grasping onto you with her little fingers and standing up, being the one to lead you to your desk.
As the door closed behind you, you overheard the older man clear his throat under the strain of bad news. “The water heater is broken again, and I couldn’t– ..Before I had to leave.”
Their private conversation was sealed behind the glass. You didn’t care to eavesdrop. It was too heartbreaking watching Eddie frantically catch his fingers on his bandana before removing it so he could tangle his curls into his fist, tugging them over his face as he groaned in a fruitless effort to hide himself from the world.
But on the subject of his brunette waves..
His daughter had the same curl pattern. Almost the same cut, too. Clearly Eddie was the acting barber of the family. Something you’d find adorable if it wasn’t for the pang of rejection in your stomach.
Daughter. Family.
The words repeated themselves in your head as your eyes wandered to the black tray beside the tool cabinet. He wore several large rings. Lots of jewelry, in fact, but you couldn’t remember if any of them were a wedding band, and the embarrassment of developing a crush on a married man for weeks without taking two seconds to cross reference his left hand burned your cheeks hot.
“Hi,” his daughter said cutely, swaying from foot to foot while holding two of your fingers.
You crouched to her level. “Wanna draw while we wait?” She nodded, sucking on the tip of her thumb.
Steadying your spinny office chair while she climbed into it, you made sure she was comfortable before bringing out the black stool from Mr. Moore’s office, and sitting next to her. You opened your backpack, flipped to a clean sheet in your sketchpad, and presented it to her along with your colored pencils.
“Hmm, what should we draw?”
Adrie snatched the bubblegum pink color, and began her masterpiece. “Mrs. Teresa read us a book about a mouse.”
Thank God she said it was a mouse, because you didn’t want to be the one to guess what the two oblong circles on the page were.
Adorably, she filled you in on the parts of the story she remembered, and added a triangle of yellow cheese under the mouse, then waited for you to prompt another thing to draw. You followed the nocturnal theme and asked for an owl. She hesitated on what colors to choose, and you helped her pick out the shades of brown and tan.
“How old are you?” you asked while she inundated her bird with too many feathers.
“Four-and-a-half,” she said proudly. “How old are you?”
You raised your brows. “Certainly not four-and-a-half.”
At some point, your arm had wrapped itself around her. Maybe to help shift her closer to the desk. Maybe to collect her in a pseudo-hug when she completed her art. Maybe to let Eddie know everything was okay when he craned his neck to check on you while conversing with the man outside, and you put on your best face, grinning at the story his daughter reenacted about a cartoon she watched that morning at preschool.
“What next? What next?”
“Let’s see.. Can you draw me a bat?”
She was more sure of herself, grabbing the black pencil and outlining an entire colony of bats mid-flight with more attention to detail. “My daddy has bats.”
“He has bats?” you questioned, sweeping loose hair out of her face.
She pointed to her elbow.
Thinking on it for a moment, you perked up. “Oh! He has tattoos?” She recognized the word, nodding vigorously. “Interesting, interesting.”
She’d hardly begun to fill in their wings when Eddie opened the door, and held up the comically small backpack slung on his arm, signaling it was time to leave.
You helped her down from the chair, and she excused herself to the bathroom, which only contributed to the awkward silence when she disappeared down the hall and Eddie was forced to wait at your desk.
It didn’t have to be analyzed, nor stated. The reality.
He had an entire life outside of work.
Duh. Of course he did, but still. It was one he never shared with you. Not like you earned the privilege to know, or to be included in anything he didn’t want to divulge, but with how private he was, it came as a surprise.
Invoking the thousands of dollars you spent on acting classes, you moved on, and kept your tone light, “The butterfly backpack suits you. Not sure about the color, though. Bright pink clashes with your navy blue outfit.”
Tough crowd.
His sulky demeanor permeated in his dull gaze trained on his stained sleeves. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“Dumping her on you like that. Normally my uncle has the day off work and can take care of her, but he’s gotta go in because someone called out sick, so, yeah..”
If it were at all appropriate, you would reach across the countertop to soothe him from picking at his torn cuticles. But it wasn’t appropriate. So you didn’t.
You locked your hands behind your head and leaned back in your chair. “Funnily enough, I worked a brief stint as a clown for children’s birthday parties, so I’m actually quite comfortable entertaining them.”
“I’m shocked,” he said, void of shock. Finding the strength to lift his eyes from the animals she drew on your sketchpad to the encouraging curve of your lips, he tried to match your grin, but it fell flat. “At least you can go home on time today.”
You sucked in a breath for a quick retort, but Adrie interrupted you in her tiny voice, “Daddy! I can’t reach the sink!” And maybe that was for the best before you humiliated yourself more.
Because, the truth of the matter was, you always had the ability to go home on time. It was only because Eddie stayed behind that you made excuses to sit at your desk past your scheduled hours, prattling off some nonsense about memorizing the catalog.
“C’mon,” he said to his daughter, supporting her on his hip. “Let’s get going.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t exactly patient, either. The creeping exhaustion he kept under wraps was breaking through. Stress fractures in the mask he wore around others. The sanity he gripped for dear life for the sake of Adrie.
He caught the empathetic pinch between your brows, and used the last of his energy to turn so his daughter could see you. “Say ‘bye,’ and ‘thank you’ for playing, Adrie.”
She waved with the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever wagging their tail. “Bye! Thank you!”
“Bye, Adrie,” you laughed. “Bye, Eddie.”
Like usual, he didn’t respond. Today that was okay.
————
Eddie was on the verge. He was trembling, failing to loosen a bolt on the water heater to investigate why it broke–again–when his hair was yanked–again–and his knuckles scraped a bent piece of metal–again.
He was kneeling on his kitchen floor, craving nothing more than a shower to wash away the work week until his skin burned, but he was not afforded the simple luxury.
No relaxation. Not for him. No one to call on when Wayne was gone. This was his life to fix. On his own.
After repairing cars all day, he was exhausted. Touched out. But Adrie needed something from him, something he couldn’t understand with his tired mind. All he wanted was a break. All he needed was a break from her using his coveralls to scale his body. All he sought was the energy to deal with her pulling his hair.
But he was not spared the fortune.
“Adrie, please,” he resorted to begging. And when she didn’t stop, he withdrew his arms from the closet, and pried her hands off his hair, peeling her away and setting her on the floor.
She made to grab him again, but he used his waning strength to squeeze her arms to her sides, giving her his full attention she fought for.
“Can I get you a snack? Or put something on the TV? Do you want a nap?” He listed off anything, shaking and desperate.
“I wanna play with Daddy.”
Guilt amplified the shame.
He was a shit dad. He knew. He did his best and it was never good enough.
“I know you do,” the words fluctuated in the wake of water stinging his eyes. “I know you do, but Daddy needs to fix this. I can make you a snack and you can eat it in the living room. How ‘bout that?” Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t allowed. She had a penchant for dropping sticky food on the carpet–which was just another thing he’d have to get around to cleaning–but he was willing to bend the rules for the promise of a shower.
Adrienne thought about his offer for a long while, and settled on his deal.
And yet, it was hours.. hours until he was able to sit down.
The water heater required more service than he initially thought, and his daughter wasn’t entertained by herself for very long. She came to him in intervals of minutes, climbing up his back and hanging from his neck. He stopped caring. He didn’t have it within him. He made sure she was safe, and that was it.
He fed her a dreadful dinner, and she was so happy for her overcooked noodles in pasta sauce. He saved the leftovers. Put them in the nearly-empty fridge and took out two beers for himself, cracking the tops before sinking into the couch.
Adrienne stood between his legs while he wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and placed her in his lap. The top half of his coveralls were tied by the sleeves around his waist. No matter how dirty he was, this was how they ended the night. Him staring blankly at the TV, and her cheek on his chest, ear pressed to his white tank top, listening to his heartbeat. Curling her fists into her tattered quilt in response to him nuzzling the top of her head, and resting there in a content hum. Closing his eyes. Turning off his brain. Tipping back swigs of beer until he felt better, and giving her kisses until she giggled and squirmed.
The kisses were as much for her as they were for him, giving and receiving the only affection in his life. Apologizing for earlier when he couldn’t stand to be touched.
Her hug was small, yet powerful. Clumsy, but what he needed. Another person to gather in his arms and have their weight fall asleep on his chest.
He collected Adrie, and gave her a few more doting kisses while carrying her to bed.
“Stay, Daddy.”
Sometimes he did, just to have a real bed to sleep in, but with how long it took to fix the water heater, there was only enough hot water to bathe her. He’d have to wait until the morning.
“Not tonight, Daddy’s still dirty from work.”
It hurt to walk away. It hurt more to sleep on the lumpy couch. Hurt worse when Wayne came home to crash on the roll out bed, and the sun funneled through the windows, and the day started all over again.
Hurt the most when Eddie thought about the surprised look on your face when you learned he had a daughter.
Hurt the least when he imagined a world in which you wouldn’t care, and still flirted with him come Monday morning, because fuck, it was the only thing he looked forward to after Adrie’s meltdowns on the way to school.
#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson#stranger things#eddie x reader#eddie munson smut#mechanic!eddie#eddie munson fanfic#stranger things fanfic#the yes policy
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Eddie Munson x Best friend!reader | ~1K
Summary: It's the perfect solution. You need a place to stay, he needs someone to help with the rent.
*There be some male masturbation below.
A/N: I don't know. I was supposed to be writing something else. I just think they're neat. Will there be more? Who fucking knows, I certainly don't.
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It was a stupid idea born out of necessity. All of the most memorable things in life begin that way. You needed somewhere cheap and immediately available and his roommate ran off with the bartender he met less than a month ago. These are the days to remember - early 20s when life can change at the flick of a zippo in a dark alleyway. That’s what got Gareth, the girl that lit his cigarette. He never stopped seeing her in the soft glow of that low flame, and it left Eddie without someone to pay the other half of the rent.
And there you were, broken hearted and bleeding in front of him. In need. And he could push away those thoughts that linger in his quiet and empty bedroom in the privacy of the night. He could make a space for you, he could help you. So he did. It all came together over the hashbrowns and pancakes seasoned by your tears. Your best friend, Eddie, made a proposal that would save the day and be perfect for both of you.
Eddie Munson - your hero with a spare room and the promise of an escape from that motherfucking dickhead that stained your sheets with that girl from his office.
—
It’s the first full day, and Eddie is standing in his own kitchen with his cock pressed painfully hard against his fly at the sight of you bending down to fish the griddle out from the low cupboard next to the oven. He bites the inside of his cheek until the taste of metal hits the tip of his tongue. He adjusts himself and clears his throat while he watches your hips jiggle. The blue and purple wings of the butterfly on the soft love handle above your left him seem to flap with the movement of your arms.
“Uh, when the fuck did you get that?” Eddie’s question startles you. Your head bangs against the shelf in the cupboard your elbow deep into. “Oh shit, are you ok?”
“Yeah,” you back out of the small space and stand with your hand on the top of your head, “I think I’ll make it.”
The first thing you notice when you look at Eddie is the red at the top of his ears. This is something you rarely get to see because of the way his shaggy curls hang around his face. This morning his hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail at the base of his neck, and those hot ears are on full display. You think, I wonder what they would feel like against my tongue,
These are the kinds of thoughts that you’ve been having for Eddie for a long time. Months. Years maybe. These are the kinds of thoughts that make this entire arraignment the worst idea. These are the kinds of thoughts that keep you company in the dark when you chase after secret pleasure in the privacy of your own touch.
“So.” Eddie’s hands are gripping the back of the vinyl chair on the opposite side of the small kitchen table from where you're standing. “So, when did you get that tattoo?”
Your eyebrows pinch together in thought, but your hand travels back to touch the marked skin before your mind catches up. It feels hot at the thought of his gaze scanning across it. You can practically feel the inked skin dancing against your fingers.
“Oh! God, I forget it’s there.” You smile and can feel heat creep across your skin at not only the question, but also in the way his eyes look black. The way he shifts from foot to foot. You can’t help but let your own eyes scan across the inked skin of his arm while you think of how to answer. “I got it a few months ago. It’s stupid. A butterfly? It’s embarrassing.”
Eddie sighs and smiles. He turns his head a little. It’s a shy kind of gesture you’ve seen him do before, but without his hair to obscure his lips you can see that secret lift of his lips. It makes your knees feel weak to see it, and you think about running your fingers across his cheek. You think about his eyes fluttering at your soft touch.
“It suits you. You shouldn’t be embarrassed.” Eddie clears his throat again and turns his head to look out of the small window above the kitchen sink. He doesn’t know that this gives you the perfect view of his long neck. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”
“Oh, ok. I’m making some homefries,” at your words, Eddie meets your gaze again and it knocks the breath out of you for a beat. Your next words come out on an exhale, and you want to shrink to the size of a grain of salt so he’ll stop looking at you, “how do you like your eggs?”
“However you make them, Sweetheart. I’ll be back soon.” You watch Eddie spin on his heels and walk awkwardly down the hallway before returning to the task at hand. Coffee, homefries, and eggs as a thank you to Eddie for letting you move in so quickly. You laugh at the shake in your hands and think about how stupid you are for letting your imagination run wild like this. This is Eddie, your Eddie. These foolish fantasies need to chill out. You can’t live like this.
—
Eddie’s head is pressed against the tile in the shower, warm water flows down his body in rivulets. He thinks about the way the purples and blues danced on your skin. The way those pretty lined stretch marks bracket around it. He thinks about the way his fingers would feel pressed into that skin, and squeezes his aching cock the way he wants to squeeze you.
The water runs down his face. Warm water runs into and out of his open mouth while he imagines the way those purple and blue marks dance under him. The way his fingers feel holding your hips still as his cock reaches deeper and deeper inside of you.
This was the worst idea he’s ever had, but he can’t care right now.
#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson#eddie munson smut#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fic#eddie munson blurb
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THE TINIEST DETAILS: CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS
do they drive? if so, do they enjoy driving or do they hate it? or somewhere in between?
if they drive, where is their favorite location to drive to?
if they drive, do they own a vehicle? if so, what make and model?
what bumper stickers do they have on their car?
what paintings and/or posters are on their walls?
what is a song they listen to with the windows rolled down, turned all the way up, on the highway?
is there an artform they've always wanted to try (glassblowing, woodworking, painting, ect) but never have? if so, what about that artform speaks to them?
what time of day do they usually start getting sleepy?
do they catch a second wind? if so, what is their method for catching it (napping, drinking coffee, exercising, ect)?
are they a nap person? if so, how long are their naps? do they set a 20 minute timer and wake up before it? or set no timer and wake up in the middle of the night?
what is the most obscure book they've read?
what is a book that interested them so much they took it with them to the bathroom?
what did the air smell like during their childhood?
what is a core memory from their childhood that they look back on fondly and for comfort?
when was the last time they were held, and truly held, for several minutes? who was it with?
do they meditate? if not, have they ever tried? how did it go?
how many pennies and quarters do they have in their couch?
how dusty is their home? spotless, lived-in, dust bunny haven?
what is their favorite chocolate bar?
do they like their brownies fudgy or cakey? or not at all, and only want the crusts?
whats that one weird food combination that everyone else thinks is gross but they think is delicious?
where do they put their shoes when they come home from a long day?
after a vacation, do they immediately unpack or slowly retrieve items from their suitcase until its empty?
how often do they do self-reflection?
are they more afraid of being alone with themselves or with others?
have they ever had a near death experience? if so, what was it?
out of all the subjects in school, which was their favorite? which one did they excel at?
how many alarms do they have set on their phone? what is their alarm ringtone?
do they fart in front of other people? or do they hide their farts?
do they have to see any specialist doctors? if so, do they have a strong bond with their doctor or do they dislike them?
what is their favorite seasoning?
what is their favorite sauce?
how spicy is spicy for them? (pepper, jalepeno, ghost pepper, ect)
how long do they let the dishes go unwashed?
how much laundry do they accumulate before doing it?
what shampoo, conditioner, cologne/perfume and deodorant do they use?
#rph#rpc#rp memes#rp prompts#rp meme#roleplay prompts#ask box meme#inbox meme#character help#character development#visvivathms#part one!
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So, I organise a graphic novels reading group somewhere in darkest northern England. It started nearly 20 years ago when someone wandered into a library, saw the graphic novels collection, and slurred "Hey, there should be a reading group!"
And a reading group was duly formed. It chose 'Sandman' as one of its first books, since the library had many copies.
The years went by. Some left, some joined, some left then rejoined. Some focussed on their careers, some rose to high academic achievement, whilst others became an invaluable part of their social circles, much-loved by all. Some created art, and even wrote their own comics. Some of us lettered comics. Some of us married, some of us had kids, some of us divorced. We dabbled in board games and movie criticism; we developed a taste for proper beer, some of us wrote film scripts, whilst others wrote obscure fanfiction, and some delved into the fine arts of DJ-ing and film curation.
But always, every other Tuesday, there would be the meeting, and the pub, and every so often, the conversation would circle back round to 'Sandman', and what new insight we had had from re-reading it. And when a new person joined, the question would be asked, and a copy of 'Preludes and Nocturnes' gently but firmly pressed into their hands, had they not read it.
Anyway, that aside, I thought you'd like to know that we needed something to do every other Tuesday, and the local pub does a quiz, where the tradition is that each team comes up with a new name every time. We were running out of ideas, so we went with 'Tumblr tags', and I'm pleased to report that Team Drunken Folderol were victors last week. We toasted you with our £5 a piece winnings.
#stand by for the adventures of Team Venomous Knees.
That's marvellous!
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݁ ִ ࣪⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ "𝙜𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙞𝙨 𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 "
ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ after some convincing i finally decided to write this nasty lil imagine or whatever this shit is, enjoy, mwah~ (p.s. for the native spanish speaking girlies, pls lmk if i fucked up on anything)
ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ wrd count: 2.2k+
ﾟ𐦍༘⋆ tags/tw: mdni 18+ race/ethnicity neutral + age gap (reader can be from 18 to early 20s! so college aged) + dilf!miguel (mid to late 30s) + don’t trust him he’s using u!!! + afab reader + sweet nothings + spanish petnames + cursing + unprotected sex + miguel is a perv + exhibitionism(?) + expensive cars + money + and big booty bitches (you).
Just thinking of you stumbling upon dilf!miguel as you go by door to door offering to wash peoples’ cars for a few bucks. You weren’t expecting a behemoth to be behind the tall, mahogany, double doors to answer your languid knocks – a handsome one at that. One that stood six-nine feet tall paired with honey drizzled orbs surrounded by hooded lids. Soft tufts of hair shimmered burgundy with silver specks which were gifted to him from prolonged time. His tan skin brightened under the powerful sun but it still wasn’t enough to obscure the fine forehead wrinkles and smile lines that adorned his features.
“Can I help you?” The deep baritone of his voice rumbled so deeply you wouldn’t be surprised if you were to look down and see the bucket of soapy water you brought ripple at its force. It should be you that’s supposed to be helping him. You’re the one going from neighborhood to neighborhood asking uninterested people to wash their cars for some cash that wouldn’t even last you a few days. But a side hustle is a side hustle, you thought. Nothing wrong with a stash for a rainy day.
You take note of how seductively the black wife beater he wore embraced his torso and how his pecs puffed out at you like some majestic penguin in the cool lands of Antarctica, staring down at you, a piece of flopping fish dreading to be eaten as he cocks his head to the side waiting for a response. His shoulders are broad and his muscles are taut and veiny – you ponder on what his reaction would be if you were to trace his veins from his neck down to his finger tips and tell him how badly you want them inside you. Gulping down the saliva that was building up on top of your tongue, you spoke your first words like a toddler.
“Would you, um-” Why couldn’t you finish your sentence on the first try? Did you forget how to speak English? Perhaps that’s only the case around him and a few other gorgeous people you’ve met in the span of your years living on earth. “Do you need to have your car washed – sir? I can wash it for fifteen.” You sounded so weak and frail to Miguel, just like how most college-aged girls sounded when they managed to have some sort of interaction with him – their hands clasped firmly around their elbow as they sway from side-to-side, asking him frivolous questions before poking their chest to get him to catch a glimpse of their cleavage that peeked out from their low cut tops. They all played the same game – a game he always loved to play.
He takes this moment to observe what you had on; a peach colored camisole that matched the flower placed delicately in your hair along with the daisy dukes that revealed your plump thighs. Not too skimpy. At least you were somewhat modest. A cute, weak, little thing you are.
He grins and you can see his crows feet crinkle at the gesture, his canines looking sharper than most. “Of course. Been a while since I’ve gotten her cleaned up.” He reassures you to wait for him as he gets his car from the garage and when you lay eyes on the ‘Ferrari SF90 Spider’ he displayed to you, your eyes nearly pop out of their sockets. It was a car model that you couldn’t even afford to dream of, glowing a dark navy blue with a rear wing that was coated in a vibrant red. Its engine roaring loudly and aggressively, telling you who the alpha is in the midst of asphalt concrete and dotted yellow lines. Miguel twitched at the gasp you couldn’t contain.
“A-are you sure you want me to wash this?” You ask while ogling at the car parked in front of you. This wasn’t a car some teenager bought with the aid of their low minimum wage job at a department store, this was a sports car – a Ferrari! This was something that should be washed professionally. “I’m no expert car washer or whatever those guys are called. As much as I would love to help you I don’t think I’m fit for something so…luxurious.” He lets out an airy chuckle that kisses your eardrums.
“No worries, cariño.” He would say and it makes your heart tremble and thighs clench. You’re not proficient in Spanish. Only remembering the fundamentals you learned when you were still in grade school and several language apps you’ve downloaded on a whim but you heard that word before in several love songs you’ve come across. ‘Darling’ is what it means. An affectionate pet name.
Miguel drinks up your reaction like drinking water in the Sahari desert. It was the last drop left in a flask that was so kindly offered by you, smiling at him with dry lips as he sticks his tongue out, aching for the pure droplet. You were so considerate – not wanting to risk destroying his five hundred-thousand plus car that he deliberately squandered his money on. But it was ok with Miguel. He always has money to spare.
He finally convinced you to do the job and get his vehicle all cleaned up and tidy. You instantly got to work but not before murmuring a sugary ‘thank you’’ and taking your sponge to the roof of his car. You and Miguel would conjure up some small talk such as your hobbies or careers. You’ve learned that he was a father of a little girl named Gabriella. His ‘sweet sunshine’ is what he would call her. You found that attractive – a father who is willing to take care of their offspring with genuine affection. His wife must be lucky…well, if he had one she would be, you think.
Miguel didn’t go deep into explanation at his lack of a spouse. A typical “It just wasn’t meant to be.” fell from his lips as he looked off to the direction of his house. Sensitive topic, maybe. Which is why he decided to shine the light on you. “You’re in college, right? Anyone there sweep you off your feet?”
All of a sudden, you feel coy. Embarrassed and bashful at your answer being a firm “no, there has not, Mr. O’Hara.” There’s a slight quiver in your voice but Miguel can tell that you’re trying to remain neutral and not break into tiny pieces under his watchful gaze. And just like every man thinks when they see an attractive young woman who claims they don’t have a partner, he asks why – why hasn’t anyone stepped up to you and asked for your number in hopes for a date? Why hasn’t anyone paid for your meals at semi-expensive restaurants? Why hasn’t anyone told you they loved you more than anyone they could ever imagine before clasping their hands under your chin, gazing at soft, plump lips before pressing them onto theirs? Why hasn’t anyone dared to run mischievous fingers up the hem of your dress before tasting the sensual keen you let out due to the fingertip teasing your throbbing clit?
Then Miguel remembers there’s a difference between boys and men.
You would notice how sinful Miguel’s gaze is on you. Like a stray cat preparing to pounce on a small alley mouse, the feline waiting as patience is his best friend. The mouse is aware of the cat’s presence and stiffens like a rock. “I just haven’t found the right, uh, time. Though, I would like to…” You try your best to conceal your face, you felt as though he was staring too hard. Miguel adjusts his stance to be directly next to you and you smell his scent – like masculinity, vetiver, and sweat. Your knees buckle.
Then the cat sluggishly leaned in on its prey, familiarizing itself of the little mouse’s smell. “No time for it, huh, amor? Guess pretty girls are too busy for romance, what a shame,” His tsks were faux but they still made you feel bad however you didn’t have the time to empathize with his breath streaming down the curve of your neck and his hand caressing your waist. His hips were practically against your lower back as a result of his staggering height and you can feel his bulge poke you excitedly. “Who will I have to love me at night? It gets so cold sometimes.”
Finally that cat strikes, working its fangs in the fragile neck of the weak mouse. With hands firmly planted on the hood of his sports car, your shorts were practically ripped away from you as Miguel takes its place with his big hand, digits rubbing over the cotton fabric of your panties at the direct spot your swollen clit lays, aching and pulsing for his attention. Your back was securely glued to his chest as he loses his patience and rudely shoves your panties to the side, pushing back your clitorial hood with a skilled finger to hear you squeak like said mouse under the grip of the fervent cat.
“Mr. O’Hara. We can’t. Not out here.” The words exhale from your lips so elegantly as you try to prevent Miguel’s free hand from lifting up your loose camisole top above your breasts, to no avail. They glistened under UV rays and sweat, your areolas were puffy and craved Miguel’s assertive touch. You both were out in the open driveway of his home with dozens of other beautiful houses encasing the area yet there was no one in sight but people still had windows they could look out from. Everyone looks out their window from time to time, right? Maybe not unless they hear the muffled moans and wet squelches coming from outside to which they wouldn’t be able to contain their curiosity and feel compelled to take a quick peek between their blinds only to be met with their hot neighbor ramming the living daylights out of some young woman they’ve never seen before.
Both rocking in harmony as you relish in the filthy pleasure you are both given. The suds from the soapy water covers the expanse of your tummy and forearms as you feel Miguel abuse your guts with the hard tip of his reddened cock. Filling you like a hand in a latex glove, you feel so full, so stuffed, so cramped with all of his veins and precum as he grips a hand around your neck like your favorite, pink, choker – reminding you of oh how dumb you sound taking his dick like the ‘buena puta’ you were made to be. His trimmed, pubic hairs tickled your ass each time he plunged his way back in you after teasing you lightly whenever he pulled out to the head.
“Ay Dios, amor. You’re clenching around me so tightly. You aren’t gonna let me go? Want me to cum in your filthy, young, pussy out here in the middle of my driveway? Have you any decency? Mierda.” He would groan in the shell of your ear. His canines brush against the skin softly and you bite your lip for the fourth time that afternoon as he continued to have his way with you.
“I do,” You pathetically start. “I do have some, ugh, decency, sir. I do.”
“But you’re not showing that to me, love. That isn’t what I see here now, is it? Is this the same girl talking to me while she lets me stuff her full with my cock, hm?” The tap-tap-tapping of his thighs colliding with yours crescendos into a louder pitch, one much more noticeable than a few minutes ago and you wish you could cover yourself with an invisible cloak. He kisses his wet kisses and speaks his sweet nothings as he hovers over your small, mouse-like, appearance with his hulking form. It would have scared you if not for the pecks he left on your body and the conjuring of soft coos he knows you would like to hear.
It was too hot, metaphorically and literally. The sun was blazing and the combination of both of your body heat was not ideal for this kind of weather but Miguel just looks so good fondling your tits and pumping his warm seed into the wet cavern of your insides while he slurs out cursed spanish phrases from his tongue that you couldn’t even bother to pick up, too busy savoring the spurts of cum leaking in your used cunt.
Fortunately, in the middle of your fucked-out daze, Miguel was nice enough to pull the panties and shorts back in their reserved spots (you felt his cum pile up in your underwear as soon as he lifted them up and you shivered at the feeling). You feel something wiggle its way between your hip and the hem of your shorts just for you to look down and catch sight of the wads of cash he stuffed there like you were some cheap whore (perhaps you were).
You glance back up, getting ready to tell him it was only fifteen dollars but he beats you to it by giving you a quick peck on your cheek. It was softer compared to when he was balls deep inside of you.
“Take it. For being so good to me, corazón.” His crow’s feet appear again and you silently wish to give each line a kiss but it was already too late once he turned around and stepped foot into his house, locking his door shut with a loud ‘click’.
©This work belongs to @dilftaroooo. If you see any work similar to mine, please notify me for plagiarism will not be tolerated.
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Let's do a little minigame. I'll randomly generate a character from the bracket (that I can find enough info on), and you all have 20* yes/no questions to figure out who they are.
*might be more if this is too hard
How this will work/how to participate: I will be using the tag "obscure 20 questions" for this minigame. To ask a question go to the most recent post on my blogged tagged with that (it matters that it's the most recent) and reblog it with your question. (do not put it in the notes) I then choose whichever question I want every so often and answer is. If this works than you should be able to see every question and answer given so far in 1 big reblog chain.
The game starts now, with this as the first post to reblog. Also if you see this after August 3rd please do not ask more questions. I don't know how long this will take but it will definitely be done in a week
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out on the highway
older!Eddie x reader
this is a mid-2000's little blurb where Eddie is in his late 30's/early 40's and ends up in Oregon for whatever reason. maybe this is even drifter!eddie. there are so many isolated gas stations and mechanic garages where I am, I think about this every time I am on the road.
wc: 770
It was a dark and foggy November night when you pulled over to the first gas station for 50 miles on your long trek to the Pacific Northwest. Only a sliver of a moon in the sky and very few visible stars, most of them obscured by bully clouds.
The two pumps under a metal awning were well-lit, as were the modest mechanic garage and mini mart connected to it, but the rest of the surrounding land was nothing but agriculture fields with no other sign of human life to be found.
Perhaps you’d watched too many horror movies and episodes of Forensic Files, but this place gave you the creeps bad enough to make you wonder if it might be better to chance your luck and see how far you could get on fumes.
You opened your door a crack, enough to stick the toe of your foot out, and a song from the newest Arcade Fire album Funeral blared from your speakers, just before you turned the ignition off. You were about to get out and pump your own gas, because that was what you were used to—but then there stood a person, mere feet away, and you sank back, ready to slam your door, feeling suddenly threatened.
The person in question was a man in light blue coveralls, with the added warmth of a leather jacket and black, fingerless gloves. He had dark, wavy hair, just long enough to tuck behind his ears with two silver hoop piercings in one lobe, and there was some type of tattoo design peeking out of his collar on his throat. His eyes were dark brown and kind, and you couldn’t help but notice the thin scar that pulled down the skin of one eye and made it droop slightly.
It took you an extra second to realize he had a cat with him. The orange and brown calico teenager was perched on his shoulder and he steadied it with one hand to keep the feline secure while the tail swished behind. The hand that held the cat was slashed in white scars, decorated in chunky, silver rings, and the fingernails had chipped black polish on them.
He stopped abruptly, not wanting to scare you, not when that eastern side of the state had too many similarities to the scene of the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
“Sorry, hi, I’m Eddie,” he opened the palm of his free hand and spread his fingers out in a bit of a Spock greeting to let you know he was safe. “And this is Yvette,” he added, gesturing to the calico cat that he gently lowered to the ground. You both watched her sprint off to the garage and through a tiny door that had been cut in the sheet metal.
“Regular or super?” He asked, clicking the pump handle off the port before you could get out and do it yourself.
“Don’t worry about it, I don’t mind—-” you were about to step down to do it yourself.
But then he chuckled softly, realization dawning. “You can’t pump your own gas in Oregon,” he let you know in a patient voice, avoiding your eyes. “I have to do it. It’s the law," and at that last bit, he wiggled his eyebrows.
“Oh, of course,” you gave a ‘silly me’ laugh and crawled back in behind the wheel to shut the door before rolling the window down. You gave him 20 bucks, and then you watched him from the side mirror as he stood there making sure you got what you paid for. He was humming a song; one you couldn't place.
“So,” you spoke up, sticking your head out of the window. “How long have you lived here?”
He worked his jaw as he checked the rolling numbers on the gas tank, tucking a hair that escaped to his cheek, still never looking directly at you. “I’ve been here a while,” he said, vaguely.
You stared at your steering wheel for a bit, until you heard the pump click to let him know your tank was full.
“Thank you,” you said out the window. He cleared his throat and said a gentle, “you’re welcome”, as he twirled your gas cap closed and snapped the shield into place. You watched him head back into the garage, with several cats circling his feet.
You spent the next several miles on the desolate road wondering about Eddie, why he looked so familiar, and how he’d ended up in such a po-dunk town. You wondered about him until you were sleepy and had to pull over at a roadside motel to get some rest.
You weren’t very far from the gas station, and you wondered if he would still be there in the morning.
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mutual 1: sorry the update for my webcomic this week is a bit late! i really had to rush it so it prolly looks really sloppy lol [some of the most sophisticated comic art ive ever seen]
mutual 2: call me uterine lining the way astarions cervix got me bleeding profusely
mutual 3: do you think nanowrimo will give me a posthumous pity publishing deal if i mention it in my suicide note
mutual 4: okay fine i finally started revolutionary girl utena
mutual 5: does columbo know the service he did for butch lesbians. for all of us
mutual 6: wish you were here [blurry picture set of conifer woods in early autumn evening, taken as if frantically running down a winding trail]
mutual 4: im pretty hardy i dont need the trigger list but thanks for looking out for me guys
mutual 7: good morning lovelies another day the wizard tried to best me and another day i successfully locked him in the spare bathroom lol hope u like drinking shampoo fucker
mutual 8: here is a zip of every yuri manga scan i have and here is a backup in case i get dcma'd. the himejoshi lifestyle will never die
mutual 9: i wish i could go back in time to the shinzo abe assassination and ask to hold the doohickey
mutual 10: here's my essay on how wanting to be loved is the same as wanting to be eaten. three paragraphs in you'll find out that this is 100% tied to an obscure beauty and the beast manga i've been reading lately and how much i want to fuck the beast
mutual 4: oh thats why there was the trigger list.
mutual 11: YOU CAN'T LOCK ME IN THIS BATHROOM FOREVER
mutual 12: why do i have to defend my thesis to people i dont even respect. im not dickriding you just give me the degree
mutual 13: its just me and this scab ive picked into my scalp against the world
mutual 14: my little dragon got glazed and is ready to go into the kiln! everyone wish him good luck!
mutual 3: nvm i am a beautiful genius. perhaps the most beautiful genius of all
mutual 15: i think we should give david lynch rpgmaker and whatever happens happens
mutual 16: kpeyboaatrds brpokem gpuys
mutual 17: also heres my work in progress glossary of mixtec words! i still have a long way to go but i love being able to preserve my roots even in this small way
mutual 4: i just finished the black rose arc. question: what
mutual 18: i need emet-selch to be my wife
mutual 19: i need glados to be my husband
mutual 20: visited the ocean today!!! <3 beach pics!!! there is a darkness growing within me
mutual 21: the forms for my legal name change came in. pls vote in this poll of what my middle name should be: Dill Pickle (Dickle for short), Optimus Prime, Tumblr User Gorgonicteratologist, Smeve
mutual 22: just finished my 100th book of the year! this weeks read was the uses of enchantment by the psychologist bruno bettelheim,
mutual 23: reeses penis butter cups lol
mutual 4: i need to hunt akio for sport
mutual 24: oouugghhrgh. hot. dog.
mutual 25: your favorite character or fictional other would want you to brush your teeth and wash your face so you're well rested and wake up feeling refreshed! make them proud!
mutual 26: being a delivery driver isnt the worst job ive ever had but i do keep wondering what itd be like to drive off into the wild blue yonder one day and not come back
mutual 27: weird dog? [phone picture of critically endangered stork]
mutual 28: i think the two phone line polls in front of my house are having a lovers tryst. no way to prove it tho
mutual 4: WHAT
mutual 29: while you bitches are balduring your gates or finalling those fantasies im doing what a REAL gamer does. playing a b tier rpg that came out in 2004 for the 18th time
mutual 30: ^ real. hamtaro ham ham heartbreak is a masterpiece of interactive art. im not even going to call it a video game at this point
mutual 4: THAT'S HOW IT ENDS?! ANTHY?
mutual 31: can you help me pick which drawing looks better: 34% overlay or 36% soft light?
mutual 32: new video essay out. its called disability in video game narratives: final fantasy 14's most reliable fault. i churned the script out over an all-nighter and my mic crapped out halfway through but by god i did it
mutual 33: my new zine bundle is out! if you buy it you also get a discount on all my game jam games! i really cant wait for you to play them!
mutual 4: yall should watch revolutionary girl utena
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The Beach Omake And Authorial Intent
initially i was going to save this for a big teru analysis i had cooking however i eventually ended up deciding that it would feel like a really long tangent in its original context and probably deserves a separate post.
when it comes to the whole "teru's parents" thing i generally see two competing ideas on it
a. terus absent parents are the real villains of mob psycho and are the direct cause of everything wrong with his life and any and all teru analysis must center around this fact
b. terus parents being absent in the first place is only revealed in an omake and only exists for plot convenience and is not something that should be focused on at all when writing him
and whenever i see either of these my mind always drifts to the question of authorial intent. i know how people are reading this information, but how are we supposed to? i know death of the author is becoming more of a common thing in fandom spaces (albeit usually misused) but i feel like a better understanding of why this omake exists and how we're supposed to read it might help to better synthesize two takes that seems to be completely at odds with each other.
okay first i want to go over the actual placement of the beach omake in the update schedule of the manga because, unlike most other omakes, i feel like this ones placement in the schedule of page releases is actually super relevant
the vast majority of omakes come at the end of weekly updates. you finish reading the usually 15-20 pages ONE put out and then you get a little bonus comic at the end, usually something funny or a slice of life but but occasionally more serious. multi part omakes are usually spread out over multiple updates, making you wait a couple weeks for a punchline.
beach omake is not that. between chapters 99 (mob gets hit by a car) and 100 (the whole rest of the omake) there was a 6 week hiatus from normal pages and in this hiatus is where we get beach omake. reading it all together immediately cuts away the sort of "slice of life sunday paper comic" tone other multi part omakes have and make you read it as a part of the actual main story, since that's how you're used to reading these weekly updates.
now the actual tone. generally the multi part omakes exist to be long punchlines and the rare emotional ones are a single page for maximum impact. beach omake has a very different structure compared to, say, the haunted doll omake or the pot of happiness.
off the bat from the first two pages there's not really a joke. the tone mostly seems kind of melancholic. mobs expression for the middle section of the second page (maybe purposely) is obscured by the panel breaking off, it's hard to tell his reaction, all our attention is directed at teru. with all of the panels taken up by dialogue (primarily his own), we're being asked to focus on what he's saying:
-teru lives alone
-he lives alone because his parents live overseas
-he hasnt seen them in a while
-he doesnt like having nothing to do
-he doesnt like being alone
all of this information is delivered with an extremely casual expression from him, implying that it's not something that seems ll the out of the ordinary for him. mob, on the other hand...
the hesitation before he says anything and the way his expression is obscured seems to imply something is... off... about this information to him. this isn't a handwaved "oh mob is walking home from school after passing out because he needs to for plot reasons", we're reacting to this information like it's weird.
the next two pages are, mostly, a lot more of what we expect out of a mob psycho omake. the first one works as a standalone joke page, teru is bad at identifying animals which leads to him showing reigen a roach, something reigen is terrified of, instead of a beetle.
the second page starts similarly, we get a dumbass joke about reigen trying to pick up women at the beach (note: i think this is the singular time we get an indication reigen is even into women) but then the next two panels take on a more melancholic tone again. we get a small panel of mob and ritsu playing on the beach and a much, much larger panel of teru sitting on the beach, watching them. the dialogue bubble forces us to pay attention to the fact that he is silent.
the ending of this omake is where we bring it home. generally the last panel centers the punchline of the page, or of the whole omake, but the final panel of this isn't really what was being built to in this case.
we start our second page on teru. his expression is obscured, reigens speech bubble is shoved to the side so we can see that teru's hat is being held in his hands.
when we see his face in full view he looks... confused. he looks like he doesn't know how to react to someone going through all this trouble for him. teru is a character who, up to this moment, we have seen as extremely independent. he always rushes into things alone, he always has to be the hero, he always has to be the one to save the day. hell, this omake is immediately followed by the confession arc. where... you know.
so what are we supposed to get out of this omake?
teru's been doing everything on his own up to this point
but he doesn't have to anymore
#mp100#mob psycho 100#teruki hanazawa#pic#edit: even though the hair makes this difficult to date timeline wise#i like to picture this as post confession arc#i feel like it makes the most sense
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4/20/2024 zsww fake rumor post. 💕
Contribute
I wish you all the best these days
✌🏼: I miss you.
👍🏻: you say it like you don’t.
✌🏼:...
👍🏻: OK OK
Like coaxing a child
It's quite obscure. The moonlight tonight is so beautiful.
✌🏼: Happy.
👍🏻: Uh-huh. Happy.
✌🏼: Is that all?
👍🏻: What else could it be, Wls?
✌🏼: What would have happened if I hadn’t met you now?
👍🏻: What do you think?
✌🏼:I don’t know
👍🏻Bo I think we will meet eventually
✌🏼: hmmmm 😊
🤷🏻♀️ happy again
IM DYING. this convo whether it’s true or not is so sweet! i think the same way as XZ. even if they didn’t have the chance to have a closer relationship because of CQL, they will eventually meet because of their common friends. or maybe a project or event where they could have been introduced and hit it off. there is no way these two wouldn’t gravitate towards each other at some point. and OP’s use of the emoji, is questioning these lovesick fools and what makes them happy. lol. we get it!
✌🏼:When will it be scheduled?
👍🏻: wait a little longer
✌🏼: i want to go now
👍🏻: It's being arranged
✌🏼: You knew all along.
👍🏻: Yeah, yeah, yeah, what can I do to you?
✌🏼: 👀
2+6=8 and that was the year ( alternative translation is that’s the year )
cpfs are guessing what year this is 2&6, is this 2026? but there is an 8, 2028? what’s gonna happen? where are they going? 👁️👄👁️ the next part might explain it:
Someone's directing, someone's acting.
One step at a time, we'll get to the top.
AND THIS IS WHERE WE LOSE OUR MINDS. is this saying what we think it’s saying???? i know this is fake but i am hoping that maybe someday.. they can really work together.
See you next time 🍸
source.
END.
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I do wonder how many people who consider soriel problematic don't see frans as problematic (which it's arguably even more problematic given Frisk's approximate age). Like, I personally do consider age gaps icky at times, but in the end soriel is between adults so it's none of my business, there's nothing morally wrong with it. But, like I really would love to hear what that kind of age gap haters has to say about frans
not many anymore i guess. that idea (sans and frisk are both 18ish) was very widespread early in the fandom, but it's gotten debunked pretty clearly multiple times and eventually like. either faded into obscurity, or morphed into "i aged them up". people know that frisk is a child. if they still ship it (and don't age frisk up either) it's because they frankly don't care about the problematic aspect of it. I've found it's kind of inescapable with japanese fanartists. at least all the "big ones" i know. ya just gotta arm yourself with the best blacklist you can and hope the filters don't shit themselves
but anyway, to go back to your questions, people who deem soriel problematic nowadays either like some other sans ship (like him and grillby. or him and napstablook????? apparently). they don't think he's frisk aged, more early 20s, so they do say he has a "mother and son relationship" with tori, and thus a "big brother relationship" with frisk. better make sure your found family follows the nuclear structure!!!
#either way it's a dumb argument. it was dumb before with the frans stuff it's dumb today with the..nuclear found family stuff.#answered asks#biscia hater moment
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Movie Night | C.S
a/n: i was watching When Harry Met Sally on my flight and came up with this blurb so enjoy!
cw: just fluff
wc: 436
pairing: chris sturniolo x fem!reader
“Bro what is this?” Your boyfriend probed as the older movie began to play. “Chris I told you already, it’s When Harry Met Sally. It’s only the best rom com known to man. As well as my favorite fall movie.” You shrugged, jumping onto the bed and cozying up to your boyfriend. “Right right. So who's the guy making out with that girl?” He continued to probe. “Chriiiis!! That’s Harry, now just watch the movie!” You reply, pressing your cheek to his chest as you flicked his chin. Chris scoffed in fake pain, flicking the top of your head. “Is Sally the one he’s eating the face of like she’s the last ice cream in the world?” You laughed, a soft scoff escaping your lips. “He is not eating her face! And no, that’s not Sally. You see her in a second.” You replied quickly, Chris holding you tighter. As the movie continued you’d smile, you always wanted to watch this movie along with the man of your dreams. Thankfully you finally found that man of your dreams. You got through a good 20 minutes more of the movie before he spoke again. “Wait, he’s getting married though. Aren’t they supposed to be together? I told you I don’t get these romance movies.” He exclaimed. You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Just watchhhh! It’ll work out.” Chris nodded, pulling you farther onto his lap, rubbing up and down your torso.
After his second little outburst Chris paid careful attention to the entire movie. He barely spoke for the rest of the movie, making a few comments about how unrealistic the story was and how he didn’t like Harry. You were quick to hush his rambling and random questions. As the movie came to the resolution you’d sniffle, rubbing your eyes dry. Chris looked down at you before laughing, messing your hair up into your face. With your vision now obscured you couldn’t see Billy Crystal making his intense love proclamation. “Are you actually cryi-” “Chris shhhh this is the best part!!” Chris was quick to quiet himself though he did laugh before. Chris gently began to draw his fingers through your hair, pulling the strands away from your eyes. After the movie’s romantic climax Chris tips your chin up to face him. “I love you.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper. Shivers went down your spine and you smiled up at your boyfriend. “I love you too Chris.” Chris smiles back at you, tilting his head down to connect your lips. You kissed Chris back gently, holding onto his shoulders with a certain desperation.
#sturniolo triplets#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo#matt sturniolo#sturniolo#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo blurb#christopher sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo fanfic#bobawitch writes
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give me your tmi!
how skz tries to get closer to you!!
bang chan 방찬
chan was bored and ended up going to a cafe
to his surprise you were there, he politely greeted you, though something caught his attention
you were watching a youtube video on something of your interest
“oh yeah I’ve recently gotten into this and am trying to learn more about it” you said with a smile
the boring sunday afternoon had ended up in the both of you learning more about it
“i think your doing it wrong chan” you said giggling
“i don’t know what you talking about this looks great!” he said sarcastically
now sunday’s were dedicated to spending time learning about new hobbies with esch other
minho 민호
you peaked your head into the dance room to make sure no one was there
you had wanted to impress the others by learning the choreography to one of their songs (easier said than done)
you watched the video in front of you carefully trying to understand the moves when you heard a laugh behind you
none other than minho
“here let me help you”
he showed you the steps again but you just stared at him blankly
“idiot”
“hey I’m trying here” you said jokingly punching him in the shoulder
that day had ended up with lots of joking remarks from minho, but you untimely learning the chorus’s choreography
changbin 창빈
changbin had been having a stressful day at the studio
he kept messing up and decided to go to gym to get him mind off things
once he finished his work out, he bumped into you
“oh sorry” he apologized “oh hey yn! how’s it going?” both of you had a short conversation
“you wanna grab something to eat, you seem pretty tired” you offered
the both of you headed to a small shop and ordered something
surprisingly the conversation flowed well, you had never seen this side of changbin usually only exchanging “how are you’s” with each other in the studio
“thanks a lot for this, but next time let me pay”
‘there’s gonna be a next time?!’
hyunjin 현진
you and hyunjin had stumbled into each other on your way to a park
the both of you were planning to take some time alone but thought it would be nice for the both of you to talk
when he was talking to you he started picking up about the small things you did like fidgeting with your ring when you were happy or writing things down on your hand so you wouldn’t forget them
he ended up making a note about all things you had mentioned that you’d liked just to make sure that he would remember (tho he didn’t really need it because every word you said was engraved in his head)
he would often get your trinkets or little gifts that had something to do with what you had shared with him
han 한
when the movie had ended some of the members had gone home and the others went to their rooms
this led only you and han to be sitting in the living room
“wanna play 20 questions?” he asked
one round turned into two, two turned into four
you switched games to truth or dare and started asking each other to do the most obscure things
chan peaked outside of his room due to the sheer amount of laughing he heard
“YOU KISSED-“
“STOP IT WAS A WEIRD DREAM” han screamed
he had never had this much fun with anyone
felix 용복
you and felix were well acquainted enough to send random texts to each other
usually none of them would be serious just memes or “what’s new for you?” texts
one day you had sent him the location to a cafe that you thought he would enjoy
felix had actually been to the cafe recently with the other kids, somehow they had managed to spill coffee all over one of the new workers there and were now way too embarrassed to go back
after sharing the story you had started talking about a something similar
you both ended up texting each other for an hour or so just talking about random things that were funny, you didn’t even know what the conversation was about anymore
felix giggled at his phone while chan was giving him a questioning look
he hadn’t seen felix this giddy about something in a while
little did he know that after that day felix would spend all his break in his phone talking to you
seungmin 승민
on occasions you would join the kids to dinner
one day you needed a ride and seungmin had offered one to you, little did you know that one wrong turn would change your relationship forever
“oh crap this is the wrong way sorry” he said apologetically knowing that you had work tomorrow and it was already late
though that one turn had turned into many
the long drive had given the two of you time to talk one on one learning more and more about each other
when you had gotten to your house there was a visible frown on your face
“that was fun, we should do it again” seungmin said
jeongin 정인
when all the members were busy, jeongin had ended up calling you to play with him
to his surprise you were excited and got on your pc immediately
you two played games for hours while sharing laughs, screams, and cries for help
he didn’t even know it was capable to play as long as you both did, usually getting tired after an hour or two
please don’t spam like posts, repost, translate, or use my work without my permission. all work is fictional and only used for entertainment purposes. © azurez 2023
#skz#skz felix#han skz#skz scenarios#skz bang chan#jisung skz#skz fanfic#skz fluff#skz jisung#skz imagines#skz x reader#skz lee know#skz changbin#changbin x reader#bang chan#bang chan x reader#lee minho#minho x reader#han jisung x reader#hyunjin x reader#lee felix#felix x reader#seungmin#seungmin x reader#yang jeongin#jeongin x reader#ot8 x you#stray kids#stray kids ot8#stray kids x reader
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