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FOLLOW MY SELFSHIP SIDEBLOG IF YOU GUYS WANT MORE RECEPTIONISTS IN YOUR LIFEEEEREEE

Hello! I'm the Receptionist! (Also known as Archie!) This is mainly a selfship blog for The Driver from Drive (2011), but this is also a Car Guy Blog. Where there is Cars. Everywhere

Feel free to ring me about anything! I love talking to people!!!

(this blog is owned by @audi0visual)

Tags:

art:  doodles from the desk ♥︎

textposts: receptionists desk ♥︎

reblogs: cutie stole it ♥︎

asks: phone calls ♥︎

songs: receptionists radio ♥︎

videos: receptionists catalog ♥︎

cars: automotive business ♥︎

suggestive: ♥︎ receptionist after hours ♥︎ (MOD IS 18+. BLOCK THIS TAG MINORS!!!)

Selfship Tags

Reminds me of Driver:  ♥︎ been thinking about you lately ♥︎

Driver himself:  ♥︎ theres something about you baby! ♥︎

Reminds me of my s/i: ♥︎ I cant go without you baby! ♥︎

LOOK DOWN THERE vv THERE'S MORE!

driver art up top by @ artsy-moonwalker

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Pleasure Machine

[study - photography by hollywood_bruisers]

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Me and my Driver ❤️ @sukusweetsb @p0rk-guts @roachfarmer

New tag game! Use this picrew to make yourself, and your current blorbo

(Mine is Maude Flanders, surprise surprise)

No reassure tags @krispyy-lotol @ablatheringblatherskite @justarandombrit @or-not-2b---i-dont-know @spaghettiwithnachos13 @excusemewotdidyousaytome @literary-lesbian @ginevralinton @nocturnal-cryptid @spineless-lobster @sitdownfeargalyounerd @ticcywhaleshark @ineffablelunatic @blue-eyed-giant and anyone else who would like to :)

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There’s 8 inches of snow in Lafayette Louisiana, what the actual hell is happening

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I just read that Donald Trump and his circus took down a website called reproductiverights.gov

This was a website to help women learn about their reproductive rights in the US and to find health care.

This is absolutely disgusting so I’ll share in this post some resources in case you need them:

https://www.plannedparenthood.org/learn

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FORCING YOU TO LOOK AT HIM…AUUGH…

SELFSHIPPERS PLEASE REBLOG THIS POST WITH YOUR FAVORITE GIF OR PICTURE OR CLIP OF YOUR F/O!! OR YOUR FAVORITE PIECE OF MERCH WHETHER YOU OWN IT OR NOT!! ANY FAVORITES!!

i want to see all of your beloveds!!!

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hey quick question I thought we were subscribed the whole “separation of church and state”? Like I’ve never paid attention to inauguration ceremonies before but I do not remember this???

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Considering you severely white washed Strade in that art you posted yeahhh they need to bring back TikTok so we don’t gotta see that shit from you lmfao

LMFAOOOOO

He is not white washed. I specifically shaded him like that because when I was done coloring, it didn't look right so I turned down the opacity. You can barely tell he has a skin color 😭 chill out it's not supposed to be "white" it's supposed to be colorless

EDIT. Scroll to where I posted about him and you'll see that I haven't.

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Stranded : 12 Days of Goosemas

Day Two ❆ Driver / Reader

{12 Days of Goosemas 2024 Masterlist} ※ {Regular Masterlist} ※ {ao3}

❆ Summary: A little car trouble gives you and Driver a moment alone before you visit your family for the holidays. ❆ Rating: No mature content. ❆ Content/Tags: domesticity, holiday travel, fluff, no use of Y/N ❆ Word Count: 1551 ❆ Author's Note: Pulling so much overtime at work kicked my ass in December and is still kicking it with no end of these 70+ hour weeks in sight, but I'm sure we can muster up a little seasonal coziness in January for some overdue Goosemas prompt fills. 🤞

Your eyes are like starlig-

“Nope,” you mutter under your breath and twist at the knob to change the station—abruptly cutting off yet another Christmas song crooning over the old speakers.

Much to your chagrin, the Malibu is too old for a CD player by about a decade, leaving you at the mercy of whatever radio stations Driver’s beloved ‘73 can pick up through its warped antenna. In a bid for sanity, you have made a game out of dodging all the holiday tunes that have floated across the airwaves. Working a shitty job during December is enough to make almost anyone want to leap out of a moving vehicle at the first jingle of bells.

Your dramatic reactions and desperate lunges at the dial have coaxed a few lopsided smiles out of Driver as he takes you up north for your annual family gathering for the season. The mechanic’s presence behind the wheel is a welcome comfort. Even more welcome is the hand resting on your thigh. Each movement of his thumb back and forth over your clothed skin softens the tense lines of your back until you’re tucked into your seat like it’s a comfortable armchair.

The peace is shattered when the car starts jerking—stuttering like an old woman in her death throes. Driver pulls his previously relaxed hand off your thigh and drops it onto the stick. You don’t have time to do more than let out a startled gasp at the sudden jostling. He ignores your surprise as he shifts down in gear, struggling to keep the wheel steady. The Chevy bucks against his efforts, fighting him with every rotation of her tires.

Driver takes to the shoulder. The action forces the vehicle’s momentum to slow as the wheels catch on the snow that has been pushed to the side of the road by the snowplows that have been working since before the rise of the sun to make the miles upon miles of pavement traversable.

You barely hear him let out a frustrated exhale of air while the car idles roughly in park before he kills the engine. The resulting silence is loud without the crackle of the old radio and the persistent hum of the engine. Driver leans down and fiddles with the loose wires hanging down underneath the steering column. He’s talked about getting a lower dash panel, but still hasn’t found one that will properly fit.

Eventually, the sound of the hood popping free from its latch reaches your ears through the solid body and glass of the car.

Without a word, Driver pushes the keys to the Malibu into your hand for safekeeping. The rabbit’s foot is soft in your palm. He’s giving you his luck.

The wind that darts into the car after he opens the door is cold enough to bite at you through your layers. Despite her state of constant repair and modification, the vehicle does have a good heater and you already miss it. You tug your coat tighter around yourself.

You wince in sympathy while you watch the mechanic round the front of his car. He always runs cold, layering up even in the heat of the West Coast. You’re surprised that you can’t see him shivering in his jackets through the rapidly fogging windshield.

While he works, you pull out your phone out of your pocket and flip it open with a satisfying click of the hinges. No bars. The signal doesn’t improve upon extending the antenna.

“Shit,” you groan, putting the phone away.

A faint sense of worry starts worming its way into your mind. If Driver can’t fix whatever problem has the old car acting up, it’s going to be a long wait until either someone else comes along or your family sends out the cavalry hours after the two of you were due to arrive.

In the effort to dispel your growing concern, you pop open the glove compartment and poke through the items. The space is mostly empty. There is the insurance information, an unopened air freshener, and a chipped screwdriver. Some takeout menus… a map and a pen. There is nothing of note to be found, nothing that screams personal value or sentimentality.

Would it kill this man to allow himself a little clutter?

Movement catches your eye and you startle into shutting the compartment as you see a flicker of your partner dropping to his knees in the snow in front of the vehicle. He falls completely out of sight. You unbuckle your seat belt and open the door with a creak that makes your jaw clench with the sheer volume of the sound in the snow-muffled quietness.

“How’s it going?”

Driver has worked himself underneath the front of the car, you realize as you move to stand by one of the headlights. You pass concerned eyes over him from the thighs down. Snow and asphalt salt are doing their best to soak into his clothes.

“Complicated.”

Dropping into a squat beside him, you wobble slightly on the uneven surface and steady yourself by grabbing his knee. He doesn’t startle at the unexpected touch. The two of you are long past any wariness.

“Want any help?”

“Toolbag, please,” comes the reply. You have to strain to hear him over the wind.

Easy enough, you decide and stand up to inch your way around the car. You lean against the cold metal to keep from slipping and making Driver drag you back up the embankment should you slide right off the road’s shoulder.

You twist the key in the lock of the trunk and pull out the heavy bag once the lid opens. It feels as though he has crammed the entire contents of a mechanic’s shop inside the confines of the bulging leather.

The bag lands with a thud when you complete the slightly perilous journey back to Driver’s side. It nudges against his leg. Before you can ask what he needs from it, his hand shoots out and he fishes out a tool by touch alone before withdrawing the appendage back out of sight. Clanking noises and the scraping of metal against metal ensue for just a moment.

He emerges from underneath the Malibu, holding onto a metal cylinder. His hair is mussed and your eyes drift and latch onto the band of his bare stomach from where his jackets have rucked up. The skin turns a pretty pink in the cold, triggering him to shove the thick material down with chilled hands. He rolls onto his knees and picks up the tool bag as he rises to his feet with a crunch of salt and snow.

“Go sit. Just need to clean this out,” he says, slightly raising the object he’s holding. It looks like something pulled out of a pile of scrap in junkyard,

“What’s that?,” you ask. You’re already opening the passenger side door, not needing to be told twice to get out of the air so frigid that your breath steams with every release of your lungs.

“Fuel cylinder.”

“Cool.” What he said means absolutely nothing to you. As you smile at the mechanic, you make a mental note to ask him for details. It’ll be worth it to see him get that soft sparkle in those blue eyes and actually talk.

The leather has cooled slightly in your brief absence. Settling into the seat is a process of suppressed hisses at the temperature and the relief of being out of the wind. It’s not long before Driver is throwing himself back behind the wheel and tossing a clean rag onto the dashboard followed by a less grimy looking part. It’s streaked with moisture from where it was hastily scrubbed with snow and wiped off.

‘’s cold,” he says, close to complaining as he ever gets. “How ‘bought your family moves somewhere warmer?”

You laugh. “They like it up here, besides, if they did, I would have less opportunities to do this…”

His questioning look turns into the widened eyes of mild outrage as you lean over the gear shift and put one cold hand under the hems of his layered clothing to press it against the warm expanse of his stomach. He exhales, sharp, catching your wrist in one large hand. He makes no effort to actually end the contact. His fingers are even icier than yours.

“Might as well get the other one over here,” he says, dry.

You take him up on his suggestion and proceed to work your left hand higher up on his body than your captured right. The winter sunlight is strong enough through the windows that the fine trail of hair on his abdomen lights up gold.

“You should probably warm yours up too,” you remark, leaning over even further.

Driver meets you in the middle with an eager kiss. His free hand skates over your coat, fingers seeking the edge of the garment to find your heat of your bare flesh. You hum appreciatively into his mouth at his efforts. You won’t be able to touch him as much as you’d like around your family without raising some eyebrows and being that couple. It would be a shame to not make the most out of your time while you wait for the cylinder to dry.

<- previous day // next day ->

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shitty tiny uncolored sketch based on a dream I had last night

just so the driver lovers know THIS MAN will stare down your mom when she insults you, call you "very pretty" and then hug you and sigh so softly into your ear and look at you with such soft loving eyes (before you two get interrupted by something)

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Experimenting brushes with Driver

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Hey Patrick, I thought of something funnier than 2024

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happy last same year as it was yesterday 2024 tuesday

todays the only/last day you can reblog this lol

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I should edit this mans again

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Probably missed a key one, but whatever