#i live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere
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Holy shit there's Tumblr fandom geeks on my bus rn whaaaaaaaat
#for those who don't know shit about me#i live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere#and i MEAN that bitch#this is insane#they're talking about destiel and good omens this is wild
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My immediate reaction whenever my ao3 goes down because of like internet or something is “is ao3 down? No one on tumblr was talking about it so it can’t be” and I think that’s beautiful
#ao3#ao3 stuff#me when ao3 is down for 2 seconds becuase I live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere#where would I be without you ao3
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call me majima the way i miss makoto so fucking much <- i am talking about a hibachi restaurant near me that shut down years ago. and i miss makoto makimura
#snap chats#makoto was too good for this series now we're stuck with bitchass makoto (date) (my wife)#omg date.... i love date so much its been a while since i reminded all of you he's my wife forever#OH BUT I JUST REMEMEBRED SHE'S GONNA BE IN LAD8. ALLEGEDLY. GIRL WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE !!! IM SO EXCITED#anyways NO LISTEN TO MEEEE we had a hibachi place called makoto Because Im Starting To Realize Makoto Is The JP Equivalent To John#not even what the hell is a gender-neutral english name... w/e dont care anyway#SOOOOO good the food was AMAZING and the atmosphere was PERFECT and i loved going there just to be alone or for my bday..#gen the best place ever the only hype-worthy place where i live and it shut down due to covid and i havent been the same since :((((#anyway this is the only time ill relate to majima..... i understand you now i miss her every day of my life.....#covid took everything from me <- restaurants i actually like because i live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere#we used to have this like. car-themed restaurant that sold THE BEST wings ever oh my ffffUCKING god#ill never get over their KBBQ-dusted wings... literal heaven i wouldve been a wing addict had the place not shutdown..
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and you know. things are going to shit but I think we're gonna be ok. if we've survived and resisted propaganda and undone what we've learned and educated ourselves despite the odds and depite everything working against us... I dunno it's just, there will always be people like us fighting, and maybe one day we won't need to fight anymore, I got hope for that
#what comes to mind is like. doing more and more research about the 60s its like hey! they thought the same way i do#and we came to those conclusions... like... 50 years apart? more? idk off the top of my head#completely isolated in the middle of buttfuck nowhere with a racist shitty family. like#idk if i can undo all that shit by myself i think others will continue to. does this make sense#ppl wont be easily controlled forever. we dont have to live in a world of hatred
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Courage the Cowardly Dog is why I have anxiety
#the way I remember having my first panic attack at age 9 while watching it is#now I have to drink two coffees to reach that#or just living my life but yeah#that’s when it started#courage the cowardly dog#also he’s very fucking brave ok#why the fuck are muriel & eustace living in the middle of buttfuck nowhere#that creepy duck still haunts my nightmares and THAT COMPUTER AND ‘RETURN THE SLAB’#RETURN THE SLAB#enough to scare me today#how did they approve this for kids#terrified me#but I was also hooked to it#man (eustace) single-handedly started my career as professional anxiety-haver with anger issues#muriel & eustace also reminded me a lot of my grandparents#& my parents used to leave me a lot with them#so it was mostly us 3 for a substantial amount of my childhood#and to kid brain that meant I WAS COURAGE#and boy did that burn the inside of my skin out#experienced burnout at age 6 thnx to this cartoon#I can write esshhaaaysss#gifted me anxiety now you can take it back#← sentences I should also say to my parents
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If I don't get to see Skz in concert before they disband I'm actually never gonna go to another concert again because what the hell
#salem's rants#stray kids#not to mention how fucking delressing it is that i became a stay during Oddinary and havent had the chance to see them yet→#because i literally live in THE MIDDLE OF FUCKING NOWHERE in buttfuck Iowa
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forever torn between constantly wanting to cut my hair and wanting to grow it out so I can do fun things with it
#just gave myself a trim#the bangs were getting out of control#but I really feel like I need to go to a real salon soon bc this just ain’t cutting it#I’m too lazy to do my own roots AGAIN#and there’s still fuschia in there from like 7 weeks ago#I just need a cut and color correcting to a nice bleach blonde#and then I can give myself fun colors:3#but who has the time#not to mention I live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere so idk where I would go#valkyrie talks
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Very Strong sneaking suspicion that I might have AVPD
#Fits like a glove right down to the fact that PDs are sometimes genetic#My mom; my grandfather; and my grandfather's mother all have/had what my mom calls the ''[family name] Attitude''#And it's just like. ''We are antisocial fucks who pathologically hate being around other people''#''And you're my kid so you should too and so that is one of the many justifications I offer for having forcibly isolated you since Grade 4''#''Stop telling me you're lonely. [Family name]s are supposed to move out into the middle of buttfuck nowhere in the deep woods --#-- with only their spouse as soon as they possibly can and hide there like that until the day they die.''#''I don't care that you're my kid and we can't get to the deep woods I'm just going to let my whole yard overgrow into a jungle and live --#-- here with Only You for the rest of my life anyway. Close enough. You should be happy about this because you are a [family name].''#And the worst part is that the Live In The Woods With Only One Or Two Very Close Loved Ones absolutely DOES sound VERY appealing#It sounds very peaceful and quiet. I DEEPLY miss being able to go to my grandparents' house and just wander alone in the woods for hours.#I damn sure don't want to do it with her though. I do not love her. She has beaten and tortured me throughout my entire life.#.It speaks#.Rua 🦄#AVPD would...explain a lot...#I rehearse every single potential social situation I could end up in in my head EXCESSIVELY to plan exactly how I will get through it...#...and if I feel there is even a SLIGHT chance that something about it will go sour and become embarrassing/painful to me and I can't --#-- plan out how to shut that Potentially VERY TINY Possibility Of Pain down COMPLETELY AND THOROUGHLY then I just. Will not engage.#It's like paralysis. I just can't. It's Not Safe.#I avoid my own EXTREMELY CLOSE FRIENDS like the plague a lot and I feel EXTREMELY GUILTY about it but --#-- the reason I do it is because I don't feel like I'll be adequate enough social company. Not enough spoons to be Uplifting/Entertaining.#I'm afraid I'll just be a mood drain because I don't have enough energy to spare and THAT causes me Crushing Guilt at the notion of --#-- Inflicting My Presence On People. I don't want to get my bad vibes on anyone.#For the most part just the THOUGHT of attempting to engage socially is so nerve-wracking it's exhausting#So that ITSELF eats up all of my spoons.#>I can't engage because I don't have the energy and I don't want to drag anybody else down >The THOUGHT OF ENGAGING takes all of my energy#But I am miserably lonely
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Also. Why is it so goddamn hard to even get a taxi that can find my buildings. Like. They will always either not be able to find me, go to the wrong place entirely, not be able to find the building I'm going to, or will expect me to be able to navigate there as if I can drive but am choosing to take a taxi for fun. I generally think I'm a pretty patient and understanding person, esp if public/service/whatever workers, but holy FUCK dude this is getting ridiculous.
#and it's not like I live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. I'm on campus at a Massive university.#I can almost guarantee that people get taxis to and from these buildings fucking daily. so what gives.#idk man it's not rlly a huge deal but I am so fucking exhausted I cannot deal with this shit#armchair speaks
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nobody:
me with a blue mullet and the mcdonald’s employee with a split dyed bob making eye contact at the drive thru window: 👁️👄👁️
#el has a life#not in a gay way they looked much younger than me#more in an ally way#i’m trying to communicate ‘hey kid. i see u and i would die for u.‘#like when older/former goths/punks give me the lil knowing smile and nod of approval#doesn’t happen that often bc i live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere but it makes my heart happy#oh also the girl at the next window complimented my hair!!#she went ‘here’s your wrap- ooo i like your hair!!’#and i went ‘aw thank you! i like your glasses!!!’#and she looked kinda surprised and went ‘oh- thanks!’#they were pretty glasses#they were slightly tinted blue and a really pretty round teardrop shape with green like#whaddya call it#mother of pearl i think?#that on the rims#very pretty
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Hello my lovely friend! I would love to see an imagine/head canon of Dean and the reader seeing each other for the first time after he either comes back from hell or purgatory if you’d be up for it 💕 up to you whether it’s an established relationship or mutual pining 😉 thank you! 😘
Hello, my dear!!
Thank you so much for this imagine! I needed a bit of Dean. 😘
Now I went with Purgatory for this one (S8, E01 – “We Need to Talk About Kevin”).
I diverged from canon of Sam not looking for Dean to make sure if he was dead. Not just because I think that choice by the SPN writers wasn’t true to Sam’s character (Even Jared has said this lol), but because I think if Dean had a girlfriend at this point in time, Sam wouldn’t just abandon her to deal with Dean’s loss alone.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female Reader
Song Inspo: Yes, I had one for this! Weirdly enough, it was the entire “Moneyball” soundtrack. The whole smooth but intense pace of it really drove me on this.
Word Count: 2,200
Warnings: 18+ only for some smuttiness.
Imagine: Reuniting with Dean, not knowing if things will be the same.
You’re doing the dishes when your phone rings.
You check the caller ID, frowning when the number is unfamiliar. But you answer with a thread of wariness while you’re holding a glass.
“Hello?” you answer. For a moment, there’s silence on the line. Your brows knit together in suspicion.
For months, you’ve been living with Sam and Kevin in this dusty cabin in the woods. Literally, in the middle of buttfuck nowhere. It was the only way you and Sam could try to protect the prophet from Crowley.
So the fact that you're getting a call at all is surprising in and of itself.
Your frown deepens. “Whoever this is, you have three seconds before I hang the hell up.”
“Hey…it’s me.”
Your suspicion fades, but shock overtakes you. Your breath stills in your lungs when you hear Dean’s voice. However, your brain can’t compute.
It’s been a year.
“Sweetheart, are you there?” he says.
You finally choke on a gasp, and the glass slides out of your hand and shatters in the sink.
“Hey, you okay?” his gruff concern is so very Dean that it continues to choke you into tears.
“Dean,” you utter. Your mouth trembles as your eyes close, and your tears find their own way down your cheeks. “I…I’ve been…you’re okay?”
“Well, I’m here,” he answers, with some dry humor, but he sounds off. You don’t know what to make of that, but now you’re worried.
You look down at your shaking hand, and you realize that there’s a small piece of glass that ricocheted into your palm. You ignore it, because all you can focus on is your boyfriend’s voice in your ear.
“Where…are you?” you ask. Every trembling, heave of breath brings you closer to a sob.
“Louisiana. Clayton, Louisiana,” he replies. His voice is even, but there’s emotion there too. You hear it, only because you know him so well. “Where are you?”
And how soon can you get here? his tone implies.
After Dean disappeared in the aftershock of Dick Roman’s death, you, Sam, and Kevin had been scouring every lore book on God’s green Earth. Nothing has gotten you closer to finding Dean in the last year.
You hadn’t allowed yourself to fully give up, but in recent weeks, you would never admit that your heart has been starting to falter. So has your body.
Sam watches you closely on the way out of the house, heading to the Impala. You’re grateful for the way he’s been looking out for you, but you also resent it. You don’t need help. You’re fine…mostly.
As strange as it’s been living in this house, it’s become your safety blanket. Your cold shell where you can block off the rest of the world, as if time hasn’t been ticking by all these months outside of it.
But now you’re practically shaking. Call it nerves, lack of sleep, too much caffeine, too much crap food, stress, and grief. You ignore it, taking a firm grip of the passenger door handle and yanking it open. Sam drives.
The hours are excruciating. Your leg bounces restlessly, and Sam notices, but doesn’t comment. He does try to soothe you with your favorite music in the car. He tries to pick up conversation, but you’re not having it.
You’re even being pretty selfish right now. Sam had been without his brother for a year, just as you had been without. And here he is, trying to comfort you.
You can’t help it though.
You’re not okay. You don’t think you’ll ever be okay again until you see him.
Sam eventually pulls into the dingy motel in the middle of rural Louisiana. (And yet, somehow on the corner of a Hustler, one of Dean’s favorite sex shops. Your lips curve slightly.)
Sam’s calling Dean on his cell, but you’re too impatient to wait for the man to come out.
You jerk the car door open, and in your haste, you don’t realize that you’ve slammed the door shut.
“Hey, easy on my Baby.”
You turn with a gasp lodged in your throat, but not even that can escape when Dean comes into view. Complete with red plaid and old jeans and rough stubble that approaches a beard, and a duffel bag.
Dean’s smirk fades into a softer grin when he takes in the familiar curve of your face, the gentle frame of your body, the sight of your tears, welling up in your eyes.
You take in a shuddering breath, and you go to him. Dean drops his bag so that he can properly welcome you where you’re supposed to be.
His arms wrap around your waist, a hand coming up to cup the back of your head. He smells like motel soap and second-hand clothes, but all you care about is that he feels solid and alive and your heart’s just shy of shattering, or knitting back together. It beats a fast flutter in your chest.
“Shh, it’s okay,” he rumbles in your ear. You nod, even though you can’t help the way you’re shaking, crying, clinging to him.
“I’m sorry,” you say. You hate that those are your first words to him, but you can’t help it. That’s what you feel, down to your bones. “We tried so damn hard to find you…”
Dean pauses a bit on that, but he just shakes his head. He meets Sam’s gaze behind you and offers his brother a smile. Sam smiles back; he’s full to the brim at the sight of Dean, but for you, he’s patient. He can wait his turn.
“I know,” Dean tells you, holds you a bit tighter. “I'm all right. It’s not your fault, you understand?”
You draw another shaky breath and lean back far enough to see his face. You raise a hand to touch his cheek. When he stares down into your eyes, you know you’re going to be okay.
And so will he. You’re going to make sure of it.
In lieu of words, Dean leans down and captures whatever you might’ve said then with his lips. The kiss is heat and longing, both sweet and rough. It’s everything you need.
It’s a long drive all the way back to your cabin in the woods. Dean checks on you often while you’re passed out asleep in the backseat. He’s back in the driver’s seat of his car, hands wrapped around the familiar leather steering wheel, but he still doesn’t feel totally…right.
Despite being wrapped around the leather, his right hand feels empty. Like it needs the weight of a weapon. He’s still tense and on edge, even now, and Sam notices.
“What was it like?” he asks, quietly so he doesn’t wake you. He’s glad you’re finally sleeping.
“Purgatory?” Dean scoffs. “Like being deep in God’s freakin’ armpit.”
Sam’s brows knit together, but he waits, seeing if Dean will continue. And he does, after giving Sam a brief glance.
“It was monsters, Sam.” A never-ending twilight. Never a moment to rest. A wide-eyed existence of gnashing teeth and blood and black ooze.
When Sam inevitably asks how he got out of Purgatory, Dean is vague, evasive. Castiel didn’t make it, he admits, also in halting detail. But Dean is more willing to focus on how tired you and Sam both look. How pale your skin is. How it seems like this is the first hour of sleep you’ve gotten all week.
“How’s she been?” Dean asks, once again checking on you through the rearview mirror. Sam inhales deeply, making Dean frown.
“She’s been holding on,” Sam replies. “Strong, for Kevin especially. Poor kid’s too scared to go outside half the time.”
Dean turns to him with a frown.
“You’ve been taking care of her, right?” he asks.
Sam huffs, with a wry smile. “When she let me.”
Dean quirks a bit of a smile. That sounded like you. Stubborn at your best, damn near impossible at your worst. But the latter is what he’s worried about.
He later carries you inside the cabin, acknowledging your sleepy mumbles that you can walk, but not actually heeding your words. Sam tells him which one is your room, and Dean carries you there. By then you’re awake, but resigned to the fact that he isn’t going to let you down.
Your hand smooths up his arm, up the back of his neck and into his hair. It makes a pleasant tingle run up his spine.
“Your hair’s gotten long,” you muse, sorting your fingers through the strands. His hair’s darker too, not quite so dirty blonde, now leaning closer to light brown.
Dean smiles a bit. “If that’s all that’s changed, then I’d say I’m in good shape.”
He lays you down on the bed, and you bring him down with you by grabbing onto the front of his gray undershirt. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed and drifts a hand from your arm, to your face. He refreshes his memory of every angle, the soft feel of your skin. He knows his hands are rougher, but you feel the same.
You draw him into you and it begins.
Kissing him feels like taking a much needed breath. The way he grips your arms when you lick sensuously into his mouth—a sudden squeeze, an iron hold—it ignites your blood and the fire in your lower belly.
Your fingers rake into his hair. His solid grip moves to your hips, and you lie back when he guides you onto the mattress.
The sound of your breaths mingling together become shallow as you shove the plaid off his shoulders and ruck up the shirt. He does the same for your shirt and jeans, followed by his own. All that’s left it his skin against yours and rough hands squeezing fingerprint bruises into your hips and thighs.
You don’t mind at first; the strength of his hold and how much he wants you spurs you on. You’re slick and pulsing with need when Dean eventually slides home inside you. He has a hand tight in your hair, gripping tighter as he begins to move hard and fast.
“Dean,” you pant. You moan on his name, but you’re also trying to get his attention. You wince as his hand tightens, both in your hair, trapped against the pillow, and on your hip. You hold onto his wrist.
“Ease up, baby,” you whisper. You don’t want Sam or Kevin to hear you, even though you’re sure they could guess what you and Dean are up to.
But Dean doesn’t seem to hear you at first. You look up into his eyes, and you’re not sure if he’s entirely seeing you. It’s not like him, and it triggers warning signals in your mind. You have to wrap your legs tightly around his hips, squeezing his wrist even harder to stop him for a moment.
“Dean,” you insist. And he finally sees you.
When you soothe a thumb against his wrist, his eyes widen. He releases his hand from your hair, bracing against the bed instead.
He frees the other hand from your hip, and he sees the shape of his fingers already forming in your skin. He knows his hold was tight enough to bruise down to the bone.
It’s happened before, but not like this. Dean’s never lost control like that. Not with you, even in times like these.
“Fuck,” he mutters as he catches his breath, frowning deeply. His green eyes meet yours, raw and guilty. “I uh…I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
You tilt your head at him with a thoughtful frown. You reach up to frame his face with both hands, and you wordlessly tug him down to you. Dean is somewhat reluctant, but he follows your guiding hands and meets your waiting kiss, tender and slow.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats against your lips. His voice is low and coarse, filled with the true depths of his emotions. Everything he's been trying to hide from you.
Your eyes sting with the threat of tears.
“It’s okay,” you reply, through sweeter kisses. “I love you. We're gonna be okay.”
He hesitates. Then, he nods, accepting your words and your warmth.
His hand slowly brushes against your thigh, soothing along your bruising skin. You still have your legs wrapped around his hips, but you lessen your own hold, now that he seems to have come back to himself.
You both realize then that it might not be okay for a while. But that too is all right. Because you’re nothing if not stubborn, and Dean is worth the challenge.
He closes his eyes to breathe and center himself. They blink open at the feeling of your hand, insistent on his shoulder. Your face is both tenderness and determination.
You push against him and twist until he's the one on his back, on the bed, holding your hips, the two of you still joined. He looks up at you still with a measure of reluctance.
"I've got you this time," you tell him, stroking his cheek. His almost-beard prickles against your palm.
After a moment, you can see in his eyes that he believes you.
And you begin again.
AN: Gaaaah, this man. I'm weak every time I write about him. 🥲
I have another Dean imagine coming soon. Some special anon asked for the reverse of "Sam being in love with Dean's girlfriend."
So stay tuned for "Dean gives you an impossible choice." 😉
Dean Winchester Imagines
Dean Winchester Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Dean Tag List:
@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin
@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420 @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @fabimaou @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @syrma-sensei
#ask me stuff#reuniting with Dean#Dean back from Purgatory#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester#sam winchester#angst#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fic#spn#supernatural#zepskies answers
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The issue I see with the ESO Dark Heart of Skyrim depiction of Reachfolk is primarily the division between "ethnic/indigenous" stereotypes, e.g. living in "tribes" in the middle of buttfuck nowhere and being hostile to outsiders, and the "civilised" Reachfolk who are depicted as far smarter because they live within the relatively safe confines of Markarth with taverns and banking services and other city crap that are the benchmarks of modernity and Tamrielic civility.
There is no reason beyond blind ethnocentrism that this is a division that exists, either in real life or in fantasy (if we allow the latter to truly break the bonds of fiction into something *better*). So-called "primitive" peoples, be that the Azande or Trobrianders, have been subject to ridicule due to their indigenous knowledge, myths, and beliefs as unaligned with our post-enlightenment, postmodernist, scientific worldview. In the eyes of many writers, projecting what is deemed within their worldview to be "good" for their characters is really a detriment when it comes to original worldbuilding.
At the risk of sounding like yet another unhinged Marxist, my final comment concerns the structures of Reach society. The hierarchical structure of Reach clans is not something I'm super familiar with so I may come off as sounding like an idiot here, but bear with me. Why are Reachfolk, with supposedly primitive and unchangeable belief systems, upheld to the societal structures of mainstream Tamrielic groups? Why would they trade with gold, if they traded at all; and if they didn't, someone needs to do some research on the historical basis of global trade, which cough cough involves cooperation and amicable relations between disparate groups over huge distances and periods of time. Why are the Reachfolk exempt from this cycle of amicability? Is it more thrilling to write them as hostile savages, ready to attack anyone who supposedly threatens their way of life?
Yes, they would be thoroughly aware of the dangers of colonisation. But why have city Reachfolk been portrayed as sensible citizens of Tamriel while their brethren in the wilderness are presented as wild, IGNOBLE savages? Where is the justice in portraying indigenous peoples as they truly are and are capable of, rather than re-used Western tropes surrounding the division of self and savage Other?
Once again, this ties into the prominent Western tradition of Othering those who don't follow the tenets of a monotheistic, hegemonic, organised religion, or similarly prescribed worldview. By not including Aedra worship in Reachfolk culture, they are seen as savages and people who should be civilised and brought into the fold of the Divines. There is a pervasive undertone of violence linked to so-called "primitive" groups in TES, and this may just be to make convenient NPC bandits, but also perpetuates a stereotype that deeply harms real-life indigenous and culturally marginalised groups.
This is why careful worldbuilding is so so so important because we can project the world WE want, free from the socionormative biases that taint fantasy writing. Yes it's necessary to draw inspiration from real life, I do it all the time, but there's a point where you say "what if real life isn't that great of an idea to project here?"
I'd like to conclude by saying that I'd like to see this decolonisation of fantasy writing extended to other socially marginalised and misunderstood groups in TES, such as Bosmer, Argonians, giants, minotaurs, and the Bandaari (I could rant about them all day but I have other writing to attend to). We can do so much better not only with our ability to create some truly original fantasy worldbuilding, but also by showing others that by decolonising our own writing, we are becoming more sensitive to the worldview of others and incorporating that in an insightful and respectful manner.
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guys. guys look. future/timeskip kieran and flori(an) (ocification moment) with an actual oc professor (hemlock) in the middle... ill drop full refs under the cut. flori is shadowing under hemlock before he's able to just go off and be a professor :)
The main narrative for these 3 is basically just Kieran following along so Flori doesn't get into stupid shit, and Hemlock is getting used to having people Living Near Her (She's very isolated and so is her lab). i love them all a lot. this is very important. (Also SGHR are supposed to be around 20-22 here? )
full flori ref... i wanted them to have longer hair but also look Very unequipped for living in buttfuck middle of nowhere for their shadowing/apprenticeship.
Hemlock is basically just cunty older woman. I love her. she's very blunt and shows care in an extremely hands off way. she doesnt let the others sleep in her house (next to the lab) they get a mattress IN the lab.
holy shit. kieran. ive not got a lot to say. he followed flori to make sure he didnt do something stupid. he might be gay.
#pkmn sv#pkmn#pokemon#pokemon kieran#pkmn oc#pkmn timeskip#pkmn au#professor oc#pokemon oc#pokemon professor#pokemon florian#pkmn florian#pokemon au#scarvio au#sv au
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(you can say no to any of my requests btw LOL) #21, poly fob with pete in the middle 😈
"Patrick," Joe groans, "do something about him."
Patrick snorts from across the little living area as their bus rattles down the highway. "Why me?"
"He listens to you!"
"Sometimes. He listens to me sometimes. Don't you think if he was listening to me right now, I would have done something already?"
Pete scowls at the both of them, arms crossed, slouching down into the couch. They're a couple of assholes, is what they are. He's bored, okay? It's not his fault there's nothing to fucking do right now. He doesn't have cell signal out here in buttfuck nowhere, he's already read every book he brought on tour and watched every DVD on this bus at least twice, and trying to write earlier was an exercise in futility.
He turns a pleading look at Andy, the last bastion of hope that maybe one of these dudes who like to claim they love him will show him a little bit of sympathy, but alas, Andy just quirks an eyebrow at him, not giving an inch. "You're kind of being a little shit," he says, not budging even when Pete pouts, just flipping through his issue of Modern Drummer.
"I am not!"
"Pete, you literally haven't shut up since the last time we stopped for fuel. Which was three hours ago." Joe does not sound especially impressed as he says this. If nothing else, Pete would have hoped he'd respect the dedication, but apparently no dice.
Pete groans, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. "You guys aren't normally this boring."
"Well," Andy says mildly, not even looking up from his magazine, "if you keep this up for much longer, we're gonna have to find a way to put your mouth to better use."
Everything freezes for a split second; even the road noise and the constant rush of air outside the bus windows seems to fall away. As the quiet drags on, Pete feels a slow smile creep across his face, widening into a shit eating grin. He'd known Andy would be at least a little sympathetic to his case. His guys always do pull through for him in the end.
"Works for me," he chirps happily, and without further ado, he scampers across the living area to throw himself to his knees at Andy's feet. Somewhere behind him, Joe's spluttering and Patrick's scoffing at the sudden change in atmosphere, something about how Andy shouldn't give in or negotiate with terrorists or whatever, but Pete literally couldn't care less anymore. Andy's rolling his eyes a little, but smiling down at him, and he even sets his magazine aside as he starts to wriggle out of his basketball shorts, so as far as Pete's concerned, things are really looking up.
For all their bitching, Pete's barely had Andy in his mouth for a minute--still soft, though hardening with every heartbeat--when he feels hands in his hair and looks up to see Joe and Patrick settling in above him on the couch, one on either side. He winks at them and gets an eyeroll back in stereo, but the fingers combing through his hair and petting at his face don't go anywhere, and he lets his eyes fall blissfully shut. He's practically purring, especially when Patrick's grip in his hair tightens to tug him further onto Andy's dick, or when Joe leans down to tweak his nipple, or when Andy says, "Good boy, Pete, doing so good."
And Pete just smiles (as best he can with a mouth full of dick, anyway) and leans into it, feeling his brain settle like he's been desperately hoping for all afternoon. This, this is perfect--not necessarily what he was angling for, per se, but honestly better than any boredom-buster he could have dreamed up. Trust his guys to come up with a perfect solution for him. Well, okay, mostly Andy, but he'll give Joe and Patrick participation points, at least. He's feeling awfully giving all of a sudden.
Giving, and so not bored anymore. Never let it be said that being a bit of a little shit sometimes doesn't work out for him, in the end.
#this got longer than I intended LOL but as soon as I saw “poly fob” in ur message all my neurons started firing at once hsdjfksldf#fob rpf#polyfob#mine#ask game
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erm what the phreak......it's like some kind of phighting oc post in here!! yeah i have four of these guys n they're all a big beautiful found family. Smiles
Enphoso's gear is based off the joyful periastron epsilon, albeit VERY heavily modified- she's the Crossroads' very own slasher, and also the adoptive mother of these three doofuses! Despite being a serial killer she loves her babies very much and keeps regular contact with them. Somehow. We're not.... Entirely sure how that's working out- but hey, it is! She never shows any skin and uses a voice changer while speaking- no one's really sure what she looks or sounds like. She's in her early 60s, so she's pretty damn adept at keeping herself alive.
Zombiestaff's gear is xeir namesake- xey wanted to be a Phighter, but unfortunately Dom & Valk have filed a restraining order on them due to xeir.... Unorthodox methods, putting it politely. Besides xeir tendency to Literally Just Bite People, xeir Phinisher quite literally entails mind controlling any Phighters within a certain radius, briefly turning them into hapless zombies to serve Zombiestaff's bidding! After some brief discussing and one-too many matches swept, the move was agreed to be illegal and Zombiestaff was banned from using xeir gear in matches. This doesn't stop xem from sneaking into the ring every so often, of course! Xey are the youngest sibling, jobless and currently living in the sewers of the Crossroads. C:
Bloxy Cola is god's least favorite service worker! Similar to Zombiestaff (despite what xey might insist), her dreams of being a Phighter also fell through, though mostly due to his own anxieties and feelings that her gear was "worthless" for combat. He works painfully long shifts at a gas station in the middle of buttfuck nowhere instead, selling cheap junk food and gasoline to people who are probably, generally having more fun than her for a living! He's tired, man. She's very tired. He's the middlest sibling.
Alien Parasite is a rather interesting case. Oldest sibling, and the only actual successful Phighter of the phamily- she used to reside in Playground with the rest of her family, until a particular Sword event and a bad run-in rendered it partially zombified! She still has a relative amount of her personality and free will intact, which is exactly why Blackrock took such a strong interest in it. She was "politely made" an "offer" of free housing within Blackrock, in exchange for completely signing away its human rights to scientific study- and really, how could a guy refuse??? Her siblings don't hear from it much anymore, but any correspondence they do get out of her sounds cheerful enough, so surely it's doing fine! Right? Right??
.....Bloxy and Zombie don't like to think about it all that much.
under the cut is some bonus doodles, concepts n little snippets of them interacting C:
+ hey man who's that
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Lunch Date
Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
SMUT! (18+ ONLY) ((teasing, orgasm denial, doggy style, missionary, praise, begging))
Word Count: 1,231
You learn canceling on Steve to get high leaves him feeling pretty jealous, and you have to make it up to him.
Sorry this one took so long to get out!! I live in the middle of buttfuck nowhere Florida and my WiFi is always cracking out. Anyway Robin or Nancy coming up next!! Feel free to leave any ideas in my inbox :)
You and Eddie snicker, laughing about old high school memories while passing a blunt between the two of you. He’d called you early this morning, wanting you to meet him over at Reefer Ricks because he didn’t want to be alone. You dropped your lunch date with Steve just this once to hang with Eddie- he just sounded so vulnerable and quite frankly scared when you answered the phone. You felt like you needed to be there for him. He appreciated it greatly, and even more that you didn’t berate him with questions.
Meanwhile, Steve was annoyed he wouldn’t be seeing you for lunch today. Robin teased him all day after complaining when he walked in and it’s been going downhill ever since. Especially when Dustin and Max come running in needing their help locating someone.
“There’s like ten Ricks here, how’re we supposed to know which ones the right one?” Steve scoffs, stepping back.
“Well, you can tell a lot about a person based on the movies they watch.” Robin smirks, quickly typing in the code to reveal the logs for the different accounts. Dead end after dead end appear- until they find one with multiple classic pot movies. “Bingo.” She pumps her fist in the air and writes down the address.
“Alright. Lets go find this freak.” He rolls his eyes, closing the store.
“Dude shut it!” Eddie’s eyes widen and he throws his hand over your mouth, muffling your giggles. “I’m serious (Y/N)- I haven’t been honest with you but you seriously need to be quiet.” He hushes you, sobering you up a little in the process. You nod your head and he retreats to the window, seeing an unfamiliar car pull up.
“Eddie what’s wrong?” You crawl towards where he’s crouched.
“There’s some people after me, they think I did something that I didn’t do.”
“Then hide! Here get under the tarp on the boat and I’ll cover for you.” You offer, motioning to the boat.
“What’re you gonna do?” You shrug, not seriously thinking about consequences at the moment. “Get in with me, they won’t think to look here.”
You can vaguely hear the door slam open and feel the shake of people walking in, but the boat and tarp mask the voices and what the people are saying. The movements get closer, and you jolt a little when something hits your side. Once again, you feel Eddie’s rings press to your mouth- until something jabs him in the leg. You look up at him, seeing him motion about jumping out and scaring the intruders off. You can’t give any criticism before the tarp folds over, revealing himself with a war cry and a broken beer bottle. Now, you can hear the voices a little better and you recognize Steve try to bargain with Eddie.
The tarp swings off of you as you quickly sit up and stumble out of the boat. Steve’s eyes move to you and his heart drops.
“(Y/N)?” His voice waivers, partly due to the glass poking his neck, other part betrayal.
“Eddie!” You hiss, grabbing his wrist holding the beer bottle, causing him to drop it. “It’s just Steve and them! They’re nice I promise.” You defend, going to hold onto Steve’s arm- until he swerves back. “Steve?” Your grin falters upon seeing his mildly disgusted face.
“You canceled our lunch date to screw around with Munson?” He asks in disbelief. The rest of your highness subsides and suddenly you can understand how this looks to him.
“No Steve! That’s not it at all!” You wave your hands, trying to get him to come back after he promptly turned and stomped out.
“Really (Y/N)! Because you flake on me right when I wake up, and now I find you here getting friendly in a boat with Eddie Munson!” He shouts, quickly drying his eyes.
“No dude that’s not what was happening I swear!” Eddie agrees, running over. “I called (Y/N) this morning because I didn’t want to be alone after last night.”
“Last night?” Steve scoffs.
“What happened with Chrissy last night?” Max asks, taking over the questioning.
You and Steve sit quietly in the car after dropping everyone off at one place or another.
“I’m sorry I canceled on you and hung out with Munson instead, he just sounded really shaken up and needed someone there for him. He doesn’t have many people, Steve.” You plead with Steve, telling him your side of the story.
“I know, I believe you. I’m just hurt you didn’t tell me.” He sighs. You think for a moment.
“Let me make it up to you.” You murmur, his eyes meeting yours, surprised. The light from the moon seeps in, allowing you to see his cheeks redden. He nods and puts the car in drive, heading to his house.
Once in his room, he stops you, putting his hand on your cheek.
“If I go too far just tell me to stop, alright?” As soon as you agree his lips are on yours, hands roughly pulling you against him. He pulls away, your head moving to kiss him more before he stops you, lightly holding your chin. “Whose are you?” He questions, watching you intently.
“I’m yours Steve.” You whine, seeing him mildly amused by your response.
“That’s right.” He smugly agrees, laying you down on his comforter, kissing you roughly again.
“Steve-“ you sob, face pushed down into a pillow. He’d spent the last twenty minutes teasing you, and getting you all riled up only to let your hopes to release die down.
“Yeah baby?” He mocks, squeezing your thighs.
“Please,” you sigh, moving your ass back to push against his cock.
“Ah, that’s right.” He sighs. “Whose cock are you begging for right now?” He leans over you to whisper in your ear.
“Yours Steve, oh my god- only yours.” Your whining is music to his ears, and the confidence boost he wanted.
“That’s right baby,” he praises.
“Need you so bad-“ you start, before your voice is reduced to a quiet moan as he pushes into you. He slides in with ease due to your soaked cunt and builds up a rough pace. He slams into you a few times before he flips you onto your back, now getting a better view. You’re thankful for the fresh air and sloppily gasp for it in the midst of your moans. Steve watches his cock disappear inside of you, creating a small bulge he presses down on. Immediately you react, fluttering around him and squeezing him nicely. He throws his head back, getting lost in the feeling of your walls encasing him deliciously. His half lidded eyes gaze down at you when your moans start to get shorter and more frequent.
“You want me to come in you?” He asks, watching as your head nods happily. He leans down to kiss you as he reaches his own high, hips stuttering against your own as you feel him release deep inside of you. You choke out a moan at the feeling of his cock leaving your cunt, feeling empty because you didn’t get to finish. You whine and press your legs together after he gets up. “That’s what you get for canceling on me for Munson.” He shrugs, going to his bathroom to run a bath for the two of you.
#smut#stranger things#eddie munson#st s4#stranger things season four#x reader#steve harrington#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut
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