#my water heater exploded

[joelletwo]

(dox me by my) local barometric pressure graph which is an identical graph to the three day headache that had me crying myself to sleep for two hours last night. with instant relief this morning after the winter precipitation passed. AND WE DIDNT EVEN GET ANY SNOW ABOUT ITTTTTTTTT. we got a piddly showing of ice. im so mad. im so mad.

[cacw]

sometimes i come across art that is so obviously referenced from lacryboy battinson fanart and this isnt a bad thing its just an observation and i get excited whenever i see it because i think its really really funny

[highspeedinterconnect]

this week has been fucking awful I just wanna lay down somewhere quiet w my gf and cats. holy shit

[bee-a-ts]

this is such a niche, usa-based rant but I work at a credit union and I keep encountering people who have taken out a loan, have issues with what they purchased with that loan (in my case, usually solar panels), then decide they will not be paying the loan back because the product they purchased doesn't work. and it's like

I get it!! capitalism is hell and our financial landscape is broken!!! unfortunately you borrowing money from the bank has nothing to do with what you purchased not working and that does suck but you still have to pay your loan!!

i'm talking to these people who are six months past due not because they can't pay but bc they're mad at the solar company and i'm trying to explain if they don't make payments, the loan will have to be charged off and sent to collections and legal action will be taken at that time and they're like fine! take me to court! my product doesn't work! and I am on my knees begging to work with them because I know they have no legal standing and they are about to be ~very unhappy~ when they lose that court case because borrowing money has nothing to do with how you spent that money!!!!!

[pinkiboba]

the eldest daughter’s mommy issues to do everything by ourselves because everybody else will just mess it up by trying to help but wanting their help because doing it alone makes you feel like no one loves you

[meateater-rabbit]

i thought going on meds would be the most odd thing to happen this week and then my water heater exploded

[slumbering-shadows]

DID YOU GUYS KNOW THERE ARE SO MANY DUMB THINGS YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT WATER HEATERS. DID YOU KNOW. im gonna explode I hate home ownership

[ofbatsandballads]

i’m aliiiiiive!!! please have this offering that I started writing last month and finally finished this month (it is literally the only thing keeping me going imagining this rn). anyways, i’ve always thought that jay would be great with periods bc one: he’s a grown ass man who knows it’s perfectly natural, and two: he’s seen way, way worse on a nightly basis. also he’s a yearning lover boy who would take care of his partner like they were precious.

tw: explicit discussion of menstrual cycles (symptoms + treatments + the messes that come with it), moderately suggestive at the end

Thinking about Jason Todd who is so good at handling your period that he ruins you for any other man. You wake up to the telltale ache in your lower belly and the feeling of damp fabric sticking to your thighs and you just know. Your face burns with embarrassment and you foolishly contemplate if there’s some way that you can extricate yourself from his arms and change the sheets without waking him. But Jason has a sixth sense when it comes to you and he’s fluttering his pretty seafoam eyes open the second he feels your breathing shift in rhythm. He smiles sweetly at you and hums as he pulls you closer. Normally you’d snuggle into his chest and savor the warmth he provides, but right now you can feel the blood slowly seep out of you, your back and belly feel like someone is stabbing you, and you’re so frustrated you could cry.

“Good mornin’, baby,” Jason yawns.

“Morning, Jay,” you wince. “I’ve got to get up, angel. Can you let me get up?”

Perhaps your pain drifts into your tone because Jason’s gaze sharpens, all traces of sleep vanishing.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong, ma?” he asks, eyes scanning you like he’s assessing for injuries.

God, he’s going to make you admit it. Your face burns hotter.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say unconvincingly as a cramp tears right through you. “Just have to get up and change my clothes. And probably our sheets. I’m sorry, Jay, I should’ve known it was coming.”

You hope he gets it without you having to say outright that you’ve gotten blood everywhere. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. You choose to focus on the wall right over his shoulder instead. You’re bracing for some reaction of disgust or annoyance, but Jason is surprising as ever.

“I’ll get the sheets, sweetheart,” he says softly, pausing to press a kiss to your forehead. “You just get yourself a shower and try to relax. I know our water heater is shit, but try to get it as warm as possible for yourself, okay?”

Oh. Oh, he’s perfect. You already knew that, of course. It's just nice to be reminded of it.

“You’re not…upset?” you ask hesitantly.

Jason just laughs low and gentle, soft as the sunlight that filters through your bedroom window.

“Baby, why would I be mad about a bit of blood? It’s natural. Far more natural than all the times I’ve come home bleedin’ over everything,” he reassures you.

He kisses you sweetly and rubs your lower back before ushering you off to the shower. You do as he says and you swear that he’s magic or something, because against all odds your water stays hot the entire time. You get out warm and refreshed and find that Jason was true to his word. Your bloodstained pajama shorts have been removed from the bathroom floor and replaced by a fresh pair of your underwear and a set of Jason’s soft black sweatpants. Beside the fresh clothes sits the dark gray set of towels that you two always use when Jason comes home bloody and bruised. They’re warm to the touch, likely straight from the dryer, and if you loved him any more you think you might combust with the sheer energy of it.

You will explode with it, you realize, when you see him in the kitchen chopping up fresh fruit for your breakfast. Jason sees you and the blend of fondness and concern in his eyes is a testament to how much he loves you.

“I read somethin’ about how fresh fruit helps with period cramps, so I figured it couldn’t hurt to try,” he explains a bit sheepishly as he pours you a glass of orange juice.

You nod and hum softly, your throat suddenly choked with emotion and tears pricking the corners of your eyes. You can’t help it. You literally throw yourself at him. Your hands grasp his sleep-tangled curls and you kiss him desperately, messy and warm and full of love. Jason’s left panting, his lips kissed red and his eyebrows furrowed in confusion when you’re done with him.

“If I knew fresh fruit would get me that, I’d be goin’ to Louie’s produce stand every fuckin’ morning,” he chuckles breathlessly.

“You do know you’re perfect, right? And I can’t possibly live without you, right?” you confess.

You’re holding on to him so tightly that Jason might just be inclined to believe you.

“That’s good, sweetheart, because I’ve got no plan of goin’ anywhere any time soon,” he whispers sweetly. “Now drink your orange juice.”

Jason is true to his word. He stays by your side all day. He lets you cuddle up to him and steal his body heat for your own, only making a few little jabs about how he’s “nothin’ but a personal space heater to you”. He presses his big, warm hands to your tummy when your cramps hit and rubs firm circles that miraculously ease the ache. Your beloved heating pad serves a dual purpose wedged between his stomach, bruised and sore from a few hard hits on last night’s patrol, and your lower back.

When evening comes and you start to drift in and out of consciousness, body exhausted from the pain and hormones ravaging it, Jason cradles you in his arms and carries you to bed. You’re hazy and tired, but you still giggle when he cleverly lays down your fluffy, waterproof blanket. It usually serves to protect your poor sheets from your rather…messy sex life, but it works just as well in this instance.

“You’re a very smart man, Jason Todd,” you say as you make grabby hands at him.

“Hm. I try,” he replies.

The second he’s within reach you’re burrowing into him again. Jason, as always, obliges and wraps your entire body up in his. A sense of peace and pride courses through him at the satisfied sigh you let out.

“Y’know what else helps with period cramps?” you ask through a yawn.

Jason just watches you lovingly, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear as he shakes his head.

“Orgasms,” you nod sagely.

Jason snorts loudly, his joyous laughter echoing across your bedroom walls. You smile and think that you’ve never been happier, body actively fighting against you and all.

“Uh huh. Sure. Maybe we can work on that one in the mornin’, ma. Now go to sleep,” he says, his face lit up with a boyish grin and a warmth in his sea green eyes.

You hum in agreement and smoosh your face into his chest. He’s warm and he smells like cedar and something distinctly Jason, and you can barely keep your eyes open a second longer. You idly hope you dream of him when you finally fall asleep.

“I love you more than all the stars in the universe, Jason Todd,” you murmur sleepily.

“I love you more than life itself, sweetheart.”

You drift off to sleep nestled between the warmth of your lover and your electric blanket, content and happy and vaguely looking forward to the promise of trying that one in the morning.

[fandoms-in-law]

Mayfield's Trailer Repairs

Summary: Steve meets Wayne while trying to help repair something at Max's trailer and ends up getting lessons on how to repair things a lot after that.

Author's note: Imagine a happy ending post S4 for these guys, I can't think of one right now.

My Idea for this Fic: Steve should get to bond with Wayne. He finds himself meeting Wayne one day at Max's trailer when he's offered to try fixing something to attempt reaching Max. Wayne offered to as he knows they haven't lived in the trailer park for long.

/\/\

Steve wasn’t the handiest of people. He hadn’t had a father to show him how to fix things, or lived somewhere he’d have to learn to keep things working; but he did want to be.

He’d do everything he could to help his friend and for Max now, that included learning how to fix the things that broke around the trailer.

That was why he was hurrying over to Max’s after a quick stop at the library to ask for any books that might help him fix air con or a water heater. He couldn’t remember which she’d said had stalled. It was a sign of how limited his knowledge was that Steve was still thinking he hadn’t known things other than cars could stall.

“Finally. Steve, when I ask for help, I don’t mean 2 hours later.” Max was complaining before he’d gotten out of the car and was still leaning over to grab the books.

“Well if you don’t want something exploding I thought a book or 2 to check was reasonable.” He retorted. “Now show me the broken thing.”

She’d already turned to do so but span back around, “You don’t know how to!?”

“Uh no. Not exactly in the Harrington playbook. We’ll figure it out.” He huffed, opening the back door of his car to fetch the meagre tools he had found.

“You kids okay?” A man called from the trailer opposite. “Need any help?”

“Please.” Max managed to groan while calling. “Steve knows nothing.”

Steve shot her a look, narrowed eyes and suspicion in them. “Do you even know him? After everything we’ve been through you’re trusting strangers?” He hissed.

“It’s Wayne. He helped us get moved in.” She rolled her eyes as if his concern was stupid.

By this point Wayne was with them, toolkit in hand. “And I told you to ask for help if something broke. Who’s the rich kid?”

“Steve Harrington Sir, Just trying to help since Max called me.” He sighed, already expecting some judgement to be given.

“That explains the books. Better than your folks would’ve done. Want me to show you what to do instead?”

The offer shocked Steve enough to meet Wayne’s eyes, nodding automatically. “Please.”

/\

They formed a pattern after that evening spent fixing the air con unit. Steve would be called first and would try to repair it based on what he’d learnt so far and books he picked up, now knowing which manuals and machines were spoken about when Max called so he didn’t have to borrow so many each time.

If he thought he’d managed it, then he’d head home and Max would get Wayne to double check if she saw him around. She’d usually radio to relay and advice Wayne offered for the next time that fault happened and realising that many of the faults had a guaranteed next time really made Steve see how much just having his house changed how he experienced the world.

The days he couldn’t they’d usually just pop over to the trailer and ask Wayne to come and help if they could see his truck was in, but he did always point out that doing night shifts meant he slept a lot of the day and didn’t want waking to help them.

That came a month after Steve had started learning to repair things from Wayne and he wasn’t prepared to have narrowed eyes suspiciously looking him over. “Harrington? Why are you knocking on my door?”

Despite having images of the boy climbing on dining tables Steve couldn’t remember his name, and after a minute gave up trying to, “Is Wayne around or awake? The heater’s broken at Mayfield’s and I can’t figure it out.”

“He’s sleeping and you just gave me so many more questions to ask, King Steve." Munson asked. Steve decided since that was Wayne’s surname it had to be the boys too.

He nodded, wondering if he could just walk away and ignore those questions, “Right, could you tell him we need a hand when he wakes up, please?”

“The message shall be relayed, my liege, but tell me how dost thou know my uncle? What convinced thou to leave your fine castle and help we humble peasants?” The boy bowed low, teasing grin and curious eyes remaining trained on Steve.

He took a step back, uncertain how to respond and deciding to slowly walk backwards, “You haven’t met Max, have you? Humble is not how I’d describe her.” Thankfully Munson let him go without another reply, just laughing at the comment. Steve just hoped he actually would tell Wayne they needed help since looking through the books wasn’t getting him far.

/\

Wayne usually got slow afternoons when he woke up, relaxing with Eddie if it was the weekend or just reading in his recliner if he wasn’t. He didn’t usually have Eddie hovering around as he got coffee, going to speak and stopping multiple times.

“You going to say whatever’s got you watching me like I’m a stranger or should I guess?” He asked after starting to eat his breakfast.

Eddie opened and closed his mouth a few more times. “Harrington was asking for you. Said he can’t figure out something that broke at the Mayfield’s.” He blurted out eventually. “How the hell do you know the former king of Hawkins High?”

“Just do.” Wayne bluntly replied, speeding his eating a little, “And you didn’t offer to have a look? Eddie.” He knew he didn’t have to say more than use that tone, just watching his nephew shift in place.

“Don’t look at me like that! It’s weird he’s here at all.” He protested.

Wayne shook his head, “Help him next time.” He stood having finished enough of his breakfast that he could help and eat the rest later.

“Where are you going?” Eddie asked, a small whine in his voice presumably over not getting to ask more questions.

“To help.”

/\

The Mayfield trailer seemed chaotic when Max invited Wayne in; books scattered on every surface that wasn’t covered in tools Steve had brought.

“What was the banging noise like again? It could be this issue.” Steve was asking, clearly having missed the knock and his arrival, completely focused on the manual in his hands.

“Well now, I’d prefer to hear that for myself. A minutes run shouldn’t cause more damage.” Wayne answered easily, forgoing any greeting.

Steve brightened, looking up at him, “Wayne, thank god. I can’t figure it out and this is confusing me more.” He held the manual up.

“Well that’s all in mechanic speak so it would do. Let’s have a look.” Wayne shook his head. He knew how to understand manuals now, but was pretty sure Steve was a few years out from figuring that out.

/\

Eddie hadn’t expected Wayne to start occasionally mentioning Steve now. He’d accepted that Dustin, and occasionally Lucas and Mike, would sing Harrington’s praises but realising that his uncle was somehow taking on a teaching role to the other boy was difficult to comprehend.

Still, when there was a knock a few weeks after the first time he’d seen Harrington in the trailer park, he knew that he had to help this time, or Wayne would actually say more over his insistence on helping.

“Harrington, Wayne’s asleep.” He stated, not waiting for anything else to be said and instead turning to grab their toolkit.

Steve leant around the door to reply, “Oh, well can you – what?”

Eddie huffed out a breath to make it clear this wasn’t the most willing action he was making. “I’m leaving a note and coming to help. He’s taught me this stuff for as long as I could hold tools.”

“Thanks, are you okay if I watch and help or would you rather I head home?” Steve hesitated as Eddie walked over to the Mayfield’s trailer. Apparently he wasn’t as oblivious to the strangeness of his presence as Eddie had presumed.

“Please do. I want to know this man my uncle thinks needs a role model.” He snorted, knocking on the door and getting a dubious look from the red-headed girl who opened it.

She looked past him to call, “Now who’s trusting strangers for no reason.”

“He’s Wayne’s nephew. That’s enough reason to trust him for me.” Steve countered, before glancing at Eddie. “This is who you tried calling humble? She only gets worse if you know her better.”

It was a point definitely well made Eddie learnt, managing to argue with the kid as much as he answered Steve’s questions while repairing the air con.

/\

“He’s Wayne’s nephew. Let us help him.” Max stated, cutting through all of Dustin’s rambles trying to convince Steve to help Eddie based off his own knowledge.

Steve hadn’t actually been arguing with that though. He just wasn’t a fan of the videos getting knocked to the floor and the chances he and Robin could get fired for letting kids access the Family Video systems.

/\

It was meant to be a simple trip, they go to warzone, Steve pops into Melvalds and the chemist for extra first aid supplies and gather back at the stolen van, then someone helps check his injuries and bind them together before they all make plans.

He was not meant to run into Wayne while in Melvalds, and definitely wasn’t meant to have him call over as they both left just after each other. Steve, Eddie and Max all agreed that as much as Wayne would help, he’d also be the one everyone would try to follow for clues over where Eddie was. For his safety it was best to keep him out of everything while they could.

“Steve? You and Mayfield vanished from her trailer too. Are you two okay?”

He blinked at Wayne, wondering how quickly he’d moved to be directly in front of him now. “No.” He honestly replied, not wanting to lie except where he had to. “But we’re dealing with it. We’ll make sure Eddie is fine and his name gets cleared, Wayne. I promise. It’s just a challenge.

Wayne’s eyes tightened, and Steve realised he’d probably said more than he should have. That didn’t seem to matter as the pain from his bat bites made him sway slightly in place and got him looked over again. “You’re injured, aren’t you? Let me check the wounds while you tell me what’s going on.”

“No. You shouldn’t get involved. I wish Eddie wasn’t either but you can-”

“Both my boys are involved so I figure an adult can help too.” Wayne insisted, cutting off the refusals as Steve found himself guided to a truck and helped to sit in the passenger seat, while his shirt was pushed up. He wasn’t sure why that was where Wayne decided to check for injuries but it did get a whistle in reaction, “At the very least cause I got bandages rather than torn up clothes.”

Steve looked down at the remnants of Nancy’s skirt and thought there was definitely a point to be had there, just not in the car park of Melvalds. “Not here. People suck and with them already blaming Eddie treating my wounds could set them after you.” He gave in to the care being offered. It would be nice to have an adult involved again.

“Then give me directions to wherever is safe enough Eddie’s hidden there.” Wayne insisted, moving to the drivers seat and watching him buckle his seat belt.

This wasn’t what Steve wanted to happen, and he had to radio the group so they didn’t panic over him vanishing, but something told him Wayne was probably the best person at first aid any of them knew. Something about Eddie’s everything gave that impression.

[ernmark]

So my roommate informed me this morning that the hot water suddenly cut out in the shower.

Which left me in a predicament, because it's the Friday before Christmas, and the chances of getting the general contractors to my place to figure out what's wrong with my water heater seems like an incredibly ill-timed (and incredibly expensive) venture.

So I employ my (2) millennial skills.

I find the fuse in the fuse box that I think goes to the water heater, I turn it off, and I turn it back on again (actually I turn off all the fuses to that part of the house and kind of hope that the water heater is among them)

I crawl up to where there's a bunch of instructions on the side of the heater and I try to make sense of them. And I find a term that I only actually know from one place.

See, there's an episode of Rugrats back when I was a kid that begins with Stu Pickles taking a shower and suddenly shrieking to his wife that "the pilot light's gone out!" because the water suddenly went cold.

Hey, it's worth a try.

So, based on the insight gained from a TV show I watched as a child, I read the fucking instructions, and I follow them to the letter.

With a water heater as old as mine, it seems unlikely that I can do anything that either wasn't about to happen already or that the contractors can't fix (or can't pry out of the cinderblock) after I fuck it up. (That hearkens back to Millennial Skill 2.5: the ability to keep calm and take nihilistic comfort in the fact that if I die in a freak water heater explosion, then I am absolved of all debt and may finally rest in an afterlife beyond the confines of this capitalistic hellscape.)

I look in the little window in the heater (did you know they have a little window in them???) and see a little blue flame, so I'm guessing that did it.

By the end of which, nothing exploded and I have hot water again.

[laserbobcat]

Good luck cleaning and try not to inhale the mold <3

Bought an appropriate mask. But the water heater just exploded and we have no water nor electricity, so that's fun. I can still tidy up lol

My uncle is trying to kill all the flies with his new electric racket to cheer himself up XD

[blogger360ncislarules]

If you don’t immediately recognize Betsy Sodaro’s face from her countless TV and film appearances, odds are you recognize the voice. Currently stealing scenes as Nancy, a basement-dwelling ghost who died of cholera on CBS’ hit comedy “Ghosts,” Sodaro’s voice packs an extra punch to her already assassin-like skill with a punchline. Simultaneously raspy, yet childlike with a joyful cadence, it’s become so much her signature that in one recent “Ghosts” episode, where Rose McIver (as Samantha) was “possessed” by Nancy and spent an entire episode doing an imitation so uncanny many viewers assumed it was dubbed (it was not.) Like Morgan Freeman, Sodaro’s voice is so distinctive that it can often proceed recognizing the actor. Yes, that eye mite in the commercial for XDEMVY medication is indeed her. Both she and her characters are prone to outbursts of enthusiasm (“Ooh!”) or disgust (“Ugh!”) that are becoming as iconic as Homer Simpson’s annoyed grunt, and her language is frequently peppered with words like “rad” or “crazy cool.” Combined with her expressive face, Sodaro often conjures images of an animated character – so it makes sense she’s in-demand as a voice actor, recently lending her talents to such shows as “Exploding Kittens” and “Tiny Toons Looniversity.”

“Ghosts” fans can rejoice – Nancy will be seen in the final two episodes of the season, starting tonight on CBS. Here’s some things to know about the scene-stealing actor.

She auditioned for a different role on “Ghosts.”

It might be hard to imagine, but Sodaro originally read for the role of the hippie cult-member Flower, played by Sheila Carrasco. Sodaro admits her take was very different from Carrasco’s naïve and forgetful character. “I was definitely more of an aggressive hippie,” she says with a laugh. “My take was more like Nancy – I don’t know that my range is too big. Sheila is just killing it.”

After the show was picked up, the producers offered her the role of Nancy; while she isn’t certain it was written for her, she did pick up on some similarities immediately. “I was like, ‘Whoa! This is, like, how I talk! This is awesome!” At the time, she was told the character might be back for more episodes – but that’s something actors are frequently told. “I felt lucky just to do one episode,” she notes. “From the start, it has always been such a kind set and such a safe space to make big choices and feel comfortable. Sometimes you guest star on a show and worry you’re just in the way or annoying somebody.”

She’s created quite the backstory for Nancy.

Part of the genius of the program is how it takes certain archetypes (a Viking named Thor, a stockbroker bro) and plumbs unexpected depths. The Cholera Ghosts all began as pretty much an entity of nameless specters covered in sores who aren’t accepted in the main house, but that didn’t stop Sodaro from building a whole character biography.

She started with justifying why a 19th Century woman would speak in such a modern way. Because most of the Cholera Ghosts are obsessed with the water heater, she had the idea that in the 1990s two repairman were frequent visitors. “I saw them sort of as Bill and Ted, these two cool, laidback dudes,” she reveals. “And she kind of clung to them and listened to them talk about surfing and absorbed their whole lifestyle.” Suggest that Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter should play the repairman in a flashback on the show, and Sodaro literally gasps. “I just got chills!”

Sodaro began performing at an early age.

Sodaro grew up obsessed with the standards, from “I Love Lucy” to “The Simpsons” – she even has a season pass to Universal Studios Hollywood so she can hang out in Springfield. Her father Craig is a teacher and a children’s theater playwright who often writes under the pen name Sam Craig, and his plays have been produced all over the world. He would also teach a summer theater class for kids, which Sodaro participated in. She continued acting through high school, realizing she wanted to study it in college.

“Saturday Night Live” was the original goal.

Sodaro originally attended Marymount Manhattan College simply to be in New York; the goal was to end up on another of her favorite shows, “Saturday Night Live.” She laughs now at the memory of her hubris. “I figured I’d go to college but probably drop out to do ‘SNL’ in a couple years. I absolutely thought: Lorne Michaels will walk by while I’m ordering a sandwich and think I’m funny and I’ll get on the show!”

She found she didn’t care for the pace of New York and transferred to a smaller college in Colorado where her love for theater really blossomed. After college, she spent a year in Sacramento doing improv and eventually moved to Los Angeles as Upright Citizens Brigade was blowing up. “My friend and I decided we were going to work whatever crappy jobs we had to just to take classes and get on that stage.” Those jobs included working at Target (“Which sucked”), the Disney café next to the El Capitan Theater and, ironically, Universal Studios when they still had the “Backdraft” attraction. She spent more than three years working a “rad job at a little company that stored sets and props for shows” while teaching and touring improv.

Sodaro did submit tapes and do showcases to audition for “SNL” but started to realize she was enjoying the dynamic of UCB and improv. “I learned there was this whole other world of comedy that I think I personally thrive in more,” she notes. She still performs regularly, including every second Friday of the month at UCB with her team Bangarang, and frequently guests at shows like “Assscat!”

It was through her comedy performing that she began to realize she had a distinctive voice – literally and figuratively. “I remember as a kid recording messages on the answering machine and thinking, ‘Ooh…my voice sounds weird,’ but everyone thinks that,” she says. “The more I was performing, the more people would comment on it, and I realized: I guess it is different.”

She’s built up a long list of credits in the last 13 years.

Sodaro cites her role on the 2012 NBC comedy “Animal Practice” as a major break – it was not only her first series regular gig but her first TV show outside of unaired pilots. Memorable guest spots on shows like “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” and “Superstore” proved she could make a meal out of a minimum of lines, and she got to share the screen with legends like Adam Sandler in “Hubie Halloween” and Seth Rogen in “An American Pickle.” But it was the Kathy Bates-starring Netflix comedy “Disjointed,” in which she played Dabby, a regular customer at a cannabis dispensary, that shifted things for her. With the exception of “Ghosts,” it’s what people bring up most when they see her today – all over the world. “A couple years ago, I went to Greece and people kept coming up and saying, ‘Dabby!’”

Sodaro is writing and pitching future projects, and while she would love to have her own show one day, she says mainly she just wants to “make stuff with my friends.” And for now, standing out as a scene-stealer is the fulfillment of a lifelong dream. “Growing up, I was always drawn to the side characters,” she says. “Where I’d say, Oh that person’s in a billion different things. They say one line and it’s always funny – that seems really cool.”

[seat-safety-switch]

I have a filthy confession to make. I still love Volkswagens. No, not the current ones, with their humming-coughdrop efficiency and Teutonic stereos made entirely of hovering touchscreens that you can't get rid of even when you go to sleep at night. No, I mean the real shit: water-cooled cars from the 80s and 90s.

Yeah, I hear you air-cooled folks in the background screaming at me about how spending ten thousand dollars for approximately 36 horsepower is a way more fun way to exist. To you, I have no polite reply. You have gone so far down the rabbit hole (get it?) that there is simply nothing that can be done to rehabilitate you into regular society. For the rest of us, I think we can all acknowledge that the Mk3 GTI is underrated.

Sure, when they were new, and even when they were a little bit old, nobody liked the Mk3. You've got the Mk2, which is fun and zingy, and the Mk4, which is luxurious and fast. The Mk3 is... neither of those things. So everyone threw them in the bin as soon as they could, and went to go buy Audi Allroads instead. Joke's on you, suckers. You accidentally made those shitboxes into rare collectibles and I hope the exploding-heater-core coolant burns to your face and genitals heal quickly.

Thing is, there's just something about these terrible cars. Maybe it's because they're boxy. Possibly it's because I have a compulsive hoarding behaviour that makes me want to rescue unloved vehicles from oblivion. Most likely, though, it's because I still harbour a delusional fantasy that it's possible to buy a car – any car – for under one thousand fucking dollars, and surely these hated shitbaskets must be somewhere near the bottom of Kelley Blue Book value.

For me, the disease is so bad that I'll sometimes drive past farmer's fields in the most racist part of the outskirts of my city. I hope that they have an old Mk3 GTI just sitting there, up on blocks. That there's some kind of combination of honeyed words, fast-cash-flashes, and freshly-deceased owners that will let me escape with a five hundred dollar one. And then, I will finally be able to live my fantasy of owning and operating a car I didn't want twenty years ago.

I'm sure you feel the same way about the Mk3 GTI, too. If you don't, maybe you should go take a look at one. Then tell me which farmer's field it's in and if his widow is willing to accept cash, or if she would strongly prefer Venmo.

[moonlight-prose]

wip wednesday!

i don't think anyone tagged me in this last week (but if you did then thank you). i also just really like dropping little snippets here each wednesday so here's a big one for the one, the only, eddie alden fic.

this fic has consumed me entirely and well i've got a surprise that goes with it but that's for a different time.

hopelessly devoted to you

Trailing to the kitchen with you hot on his heels, he rummaged in the take out drawer full of old menus that needed replacements eventually. Pages were stained, ripped, and crumpled from years of use. You snatched the only pizza place one out of his grasp, eyes flicking through the selections with a grin. Predictable. He could have ordered blindly for you if he'd have known your tastes were the same.

"Lemme guess–"

"Pepperoni–" you began.

"With sausage and jalapenos," he finished.

"Fuck off Eddie."

He smiled, confident enough to have your mind falter on anything except the man before you. How did he do that? Render you a bumbling fool who could barely put the correct words in order to form a complete sentence. One day you might have to ask if that was just his Eddie charm, or if it only worked on you in particular.

"I would. But it's my place kitten." Dialing the number he knew by heart, he left you to wander spots in the apartment that hadn't been on his grand tour.

A corner table held a photo of Eddie's mother, his father nowhere to be seen in the background. You didn't blame him for avoiding the man entirely. After what occurred you were surprised that Eddie hadn't killed him; although he once came close at nineteen.

The night his mother spilled the truth over one too many glasses of sherry; the night Eddie figured out the man he once looked up to had a different family in an entirely different state.

If you trailed your fingers down the back of his neck you'd find the spot his father had slammed him into the banister of their front staircase. The fight bordered on brutal. A viscous act that left what relationship remained tattered and torn to shreds on the floor around them. Both men landed hits with no true aim, teeth bared and seeking blood through the red haze of their anger.

Eddie wanted revenge. His father wanted submission.

They'd always stood on thin ice ready to crack beneath the weight of their baggage. A horrendous cycle of push and pull—each one aware of how to tear the other down with ease. Their bond was built on torment. And to watch the tension explode, drowning them both beneath the glacial waters, left you stuck in a dark chasm of helplessness.

Stupidly you got a scar to match when you threw yourself in front of a near unconscious Eddie, attempting to stop the man from landing a final punch to his son's face. He hit you instead. The scar on your shoulder was small, barely there, but you could still feel Eddie's lips on it when he cleaned the wound. Apologies spilling from his lips until he fell asleep in your bed.

But you supposed that was Eddie. A protector above all else.

The man who would throw himself into the heat of battle before considering the consequences that came with a choice that reckless.

"They'll be here in twenty minutes." He crept up behind you, glancing at the photo of him on his Mom's birthday. "Thinking about that night?"

You jumped, glancing at him over your shoulder. "Yeah."

He nodded. "Hard not to."

"Has he ever..."

"No." The darkened shadow across his face gave you enough of a response. It was time to move onto a different subject.

"So..." You settled on his couch with a heavy sigh. "Your work."

Dragging the throw blanket his mother sewed him over your legs, he clambered onto the empty space beside you. The heater was slowly sputtering to life—radiator giving it all it had to keep the both of you warm. But beside him you felt the heat practically emanate off his body in waves.

What you wouldn't give to curl into his lap and seek it from the source.

"The drama has been exquisite," he stated, draping his arm on the top of the couch behind your head. "You remember me tellin' you about Jane?"

"Goodall?"

"The very one." He settled further into the cushions, legs spread beneath the blanket until he nudged yours. "She and Ray broke up. It's been hell in the office dealing with their confused tension."

"Wait, isn't this the guy who cheated with her?"

He nodded. "Now I'm not saying he's horrible. But you gotta at least break up with the girl before you go with another."

"Ahh you're taking my teachings to heart," you smiled, leaning your head against his arm.

"I have to Kit. Every time I don't I feel like you're gonna pop out and whack me–" Landing a weak hit to his side, he clamped his hand around your wrist, tugging you close with a laugh. "Like that!"

Attempting to free yourself was futile when he outmatched you in strength and speed. Yet you found that you enjoyed being this close to him. Laughing as you once did in the years of your youth. When all that mattered was which movie you were seeing that Friday and what school the team was playing.

Somehow—in the blink of an eye—you were two adults stuck in your own travesties. Forced to forgo the blithe energy of your childhood. You'd jump at the chance to go back; if only to get more time with Eddie. To spend a few more hours in his bedroom watching horror movies that left you both shell shocked and restless.

To cheer him on at every game with the promise of burgers and shakes at the local drive in afterwards. To watch him grow up and move to New York. Only this time...you'd follow him the second he asked.

His eyes softened as your smile slipped from your lips, fingers curling around his fist. Hazel had never been your favorite color until Eddie left. You rarely thought of it when he was home, but as his absence became a reality you could no longer suffer through you began to see the color everywhere. In the trees, in the color of your old blanket you stole off his childhood bed, in the flannel that once belonged to his grandfather.

You found traces of Eddie Alden in every little aspect of your life, except him.

"Kitten," he murmured, a fraction closer than he'd been a minute ago. His eyes dropped to the curve of your lips, how they parted so sweetly at the sound of your pet name.

"Eddie..."

All that remained was the space between your heads—your body practically leaning into him the longer you talked. He could lean in and kiss you. He could finally learn what you tasted like, figure out how you'd sound if his tongue licked along yours. Fuck he'd never wanted something more.

 The dazed glint in your eyes made his heart twist, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. Your gaze fixed on the movement immediately and Eddie felt his cock twitch in interest. One day he'd explain to you how fucking beautiful you were; how his mind went haywire at the sight of your smile. How he'd destroy himself to get you to look at him like he hung the moon and stars.

One day he'd spill his deepest darkest secrets to you.

Starting with three little words that kept him up at night tossing and turning.

He swallowed thickly. "I..."

The door buzzed loud enough to scare the shit out of you. Leaping back, you felt the breath catch in your throat painfully and like an idiot you began to cough. Eddie's eyes went wide, his hand tapping your back as you waved him off to get the pizza. Leaving you to sit there on his couch and choke...on air.

Dumbass.

"Thanks man," Eddie muttered, handing off what cash he had left in his wallet. "Keep the change."

He rushed back to the couch, pizza in one hand and a glass of water in the other. "Kit, you okay? Here drink this before you die on my fuckin' couch."

"Shut up Eddie," you snipped, eyes burning with a glare. Though the smile on your lips told him something else. "Hand over the pizza before it's you dying."

"Yes ma'am," he muttered, flipping open the box and swiping the remote off the coffee table. Taking his spot by your side back with a grin.

tagging whoever wants to do it!

[inthahouse215]

Fuck I just exploded a minute worth of pee onto the concrete of the closet that holds stores the water heater.

Nothing like the sound of of a slow trickle to a huge splatter. Hearing it SMACK on the ground sounding like a public sidewalk you know those public pisses where you have to run to a alley way because you’ve been drinking too much and you’ve already left and bar and it’s well pass last call. You rush looking for privacy trying to get your pants undone and down you lean against a wall drop your pants finally and your body may be ready or not either way it gushes out and it you try not to get it on shoes and your underwear or pants but it always happens anyway fuck it. It’s going to trickle down your legs once you pull your pants up anyway.

So yeah I came out of the closet so turned on and hard from that long loud ass piss. Pee still dripping down my legs into my socks and slides, clinging to my thin material jogger pants. It’s still wet I wrapped myself in a blanket you help it dry and mask the smell a bit but who cares. Fuck wiping it’s so overrated

[katyawriteswhump]

Eddie and Steve: Monster Hunters (steddiemicrofic/steddielovemonth)

For @steddiemicrofic Feb prompt, ‘edge,’ and @steddielovemonth day 23, Love is giving him your sweater even if it makes you cold. (@stevesbipanic) Thank you <3

Rating: T. WC: 509. CW: None. Tags: established steddie, angst, slight au, slightly fluffy, slightly soft Eddie, slightly silly!

…

Eddie wasn’t sure how he’d gotten separated from Steve. However, there he was—alone, the demo-goat caught between him and the quarry, his Molotov cocktail primed.

“Eat dirt, you evil, bleating little sh—iiiiiiit!”

Suddenly, Steve was there, hot on the goat’s hooves, brandishing a home-made flame-thrower.

Too late. Eddie’s missile already flew. A flash blinded him, echoed by a crackling boom, and a thunderclap in his chest. He rushed, choking, through the smoke. DID I JUST EXPLODE MY BOYFRIEND?

“Steve?”

“Heeeeere!”

Eddie swayed on the quarry precipice, from which Steve dangled, clinging with both hands. And then with one hand. Already on his knees, Eddie grabbed Steve’s wrist.

“You trying to kill me?” Black goop smeared Steve’s pale face.

“Didn’t see you, Stevie.”

“I’d got this… Jesus! My shoulder… your rings… Hurts. Oh shit, oh shit, I’m gonna die!”

Sweat beaded Steve’s brow, fingers quivering for grip as he slipped farther. Eddie squeezed tight words from gritted teeth:  “Gimme your other hand.”

It didn’t go like in movies. Steve’s efforts wrenched at Eddie’s faltering hold. Their gazes locked, pulses going apeshit in union.

“Steve, I—"

Steve plummeted into the cool twilight. Eddie’s heart dropped through his boots, falling with his boyfriend, as far as the distant splash.

Eddie stumbled blindly to the shingle shore. He saw only his final image of Steve—Steve’s horror mirroring Eddie’s own, Steve’s too-pretty mouth forming a perfect ‘o’.  Almost like when we kissed, and those times we… The sex no longer mattered. It’d been casual between them till now, when the idea of a future without Steve shredded Eddie’s soul. Worse, poor Steve! Way too young to…

Eddie whipped out a flashlight, legs numb, stomach knotted. Something crawled out of the water. Hopefully, not the demo-goat. Seconds later, he hovered over Steve, who flopped onto his back, arms flung wide.

“Holy shit.” Eddie tugged his hair, hesitating to touch Steve—fearing he’d shattered some illusion.

Steve panted hard, catching his breath. Wet, bedraggled, and incongruously adorable, his flat hair made his eyes seem huge. Then he scowled, attempted to sit. Eddie finally tumbled forward, flung his arms around him.

“You scared the shit outta me.”

“You angling for an apology?” Steve’s voice was trembly as the rest of him. “Diving that far stings like a b-bitch! Did I say I wanted a swim, Munson?”

“Sorry.” He rubbed Steve’s back

“Thought I was a g-gonner. Makes you realize… about… st-stuff.”

Eddie sniffed then pulled off his sweater, shivering himself as he wrapped it around Steve. Steve raised a weary brow. “B-body heat st-still required, Dipshit.”

Eddie enfolded him tight again, then might have sobbed as he helped Steve up. Steve proved too tired to speak, Eddie too choked, till they reached the car. Eddie dialled the heater up, touched Steve’s thigh: “Stevie, there’s something I… uh…”

“I love you, man.” Steve rested his head back, eyes fluttering closed. “Try not to nearly kill me again this week, ’kay?”

“Love you too.” Eddie tenderly stroked dripping hair from Steve’s brow, then scrambled over the gear-lever to get cosy.