#Radio Oxygene

[p-rtyboy]

Radio

Gas Mask | Respirator

Oxygen Tank | Doomsday Clock

Radio

Pt: Radio /end pt

Someone who presents in a coytinine [link] way

Gas Mask

Pt: Gas Mask /end pt

Someone who presents in a coytinine and masculine way; Someone whose presentation is masculine in a coytinine way

Respirator

Pt: Respirator /end pt

Someone who presents in a coytinine and feminine way; Someone whose presentation is feminine in a coytinine way

Oxygen Tank

Pt: Oxygen Tank /end pt

Someone who presents in a coytinine and neutral way; Someone whose presentation is neutral in a coytinine way

Doomsday Clock

Pt: Doomsday Clock /end pt

Someone who presents in a coytinine and gender nonconforming way; Someone whose presentation is gender nonconforming in a coytinine way

Coined on January 17th, 2025

Colors are ones i associate with each object / concept | Symbols: Radio, Gas Mask, Respirator, Oxygen Tank, and Clock

Requested by @wilted-blades

Tagging @radiomogai @obscurian and @presentationflag-archive

[slutforpringles]

LET'S FUCKIN' GO 🦡🦡🦡

Daniel overtaking Max and Bottas on the opening lap of the 2020 Italian GP

[sciderman]

You said you get more asks here instead of Ask-Spiderpool

Does that mean there's presently no asks? Or you have an Itty bitty backlog,,

honestly the amount of asks I get on ask-spiderpool is so, so paltry and sad at the moment that i can barely scrape together any motivation for it because there’s No inspiration coming in. which is kind of the point of an ask blog lads. conversation. it is Not a one-sided thing !!

sure, there’s a backlog but those are like, pantry items. I need fresh fruit and vegetables or I’ll die of scurvy

anyone who tells me “I want to start an ask blog” I immediately say “in this economy? don’t bother. you won’t even last a day.” I’m hanging on for grim death here .

it’s not about numbers. you’re more than numbers. you should be more than numbers, so please. act like more than numbers. please. don’t you want to be more than numbers? every time someone talks to me and I respond back they seem Shocked to find out I’m actually a human or whatever. why are you guys like that. of course I want to be talked to. any human wants to be talked to. so talk to me!! I’m as lonely and nerdy and pitiful as the rest of you. I’m here because I want friends. so please, be friends. I don’t need numbers. I need friends.

it’s so not about numbers. I still get thousands of notes or whatever,, more notes than before, even, but you’re all so passive now that it’s depressing. I miss when ask-blogging felt like a community,, and that’s Why I did started, and why I kept on for so long… sighs. I feel like everything’s been reduced to numbers. I don’t know how anyone can be happy with just numbers. numbers are so cold and unsexy. numbers do not tickle my pickle at all. (no sir)

I feel like the human element of everything I do is kind of slowly diminishing and I’m looking around at the wasteland like,, where did all the people go. not just here. everywhere. so I’ve been diving into career things again and having success with it, but I don’t want that to be my lifeline. it was my lifeline pre-covid and I don’t want it to be my lifeline again. I’m good at it, but I miss real people with real gratitude and excitement. not just people paying a pay check for my services. I never, never want what I do to just feel like an exchange of goods for like, money. or numbers. those things have No Soul. They’re not a substitute for what I actually look for when I create anything. and what I actually look for is Conversation. (which doesn’t cost you much, can you believe!)

it’s so funny how when I said I’m planning on quitting (which I don’t want to do, but I’m kind of being forced to do because I mean. how can one keep on running an ask-blog with no asks) I got a very big response here saying “noooo don’t do it” and it's sweet - it's really sweet, and appreciated, and warmed the heart but - again. no asks on the actual blog. so.

if you want ask-spiderpool to actually live on, there’s something so very simple and free (does not cost you money) that you can do! three guesses as to what that might be

I have so, so many plans and posts and scripts but I’m not writing into thin air,, man. why should I keep doing a stupid thing like that. what happened to us, that we’ve stopped communicating with creators because we’ve forgotten that wait a second ,, they share things on the internet because they want other people to interact with them. artists are the neediest guys on the internet. they need people to survive. I’m not going to keep on pretending I’m above it all and I’m cooler than that. I’m not cool, and an ask blog needs asks. you can’t expect it to keep going on without them.

so freaking . leave a kiss. leave a comment. stop just leaving a like and disappearing into that goodnight . I hate you all.

anyway. love you. kisses.

[glassesfreekjr]

(Oxygen Tank and all associated artwork belongs to and was created by @twipsai. Used with permission — thanks for letting me borrow them!)

Band: Oxygen Tank Single: Eat Shorts Kanabo Description: In stark contrast to the absurdity of the title — or in part because of it — this fresh-cooked shibooyah-kei tour de force succeeded, improbably, in propelling Oxygen Tank away from its beginnings in pirate radio into subtle mainstream recognition. The artist behind this unorthodox title, hailing from the Deep Sea, is "usually pretty chill" according to fellow bandmates, and contributes the distinct musical vibe from over there into Oxygen Tank's melting pot oeuvre. Perhaps it was in experimentally straying from that wheelhouse (with the support of said bandmates) in order to "say what needed to" that has made this fresh bop the default BGM of back alleys everywhere.

Hikara Walker, Feb. 122024 issue

(Sample source list can be found on my YouTube.)

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: December 2, 1976

Lyrics: Instrumental

Songwriter: Jean-Michel Jarre

SongFacts:

👉📖

Homepage:

Jean-Michel Jarre

[metalhead-brainrot]

[2024.11.21] Radio Brainrot - Oops, only good albums!

death thrash || 2024 || Seattle, WA || Redefining Darkness Records

o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::>

speed metal || 2024 || Portland, OR || Miserable Pyre

o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::>

death metal || 2021 || Buenos Aires, ARG

o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::> o()xxxx[:::::::::::::::::>

[mothbaaalls]

im like an eel baby if you put me in the water and let me go you will never catch me again

[dksfml]

Love 119 [Part One]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part two] [part three] [part four (prequel)]

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

[part two] [part three] [part four (prequel)]

[whateveriwant]

18+ mdni

I know I’m far from the first person to say this, but I love the idea of Simon and Ghost being like two separate people.

Like on the one hand you have Simon, the caring, devoted family man who holds his duty to his loved ones above all else, and on the other hand you have Ghost, the cold, detached soldier whose only driving forces in life are his need for blood, order, and karmic justice. Or one moment he’s Simon, the wisecracking goofball trading jokes with his comrades over the radio, and the next moment he’s Ghost, the sadistic interrogator hooking up enemy combatants to live car batteries.

And those are just a few in-universe examples we’ve seen of this divide in Simon Riley’s identity. Imagine what it’s like in his day-to-day life; what it must be like as his significant other trying to navigate such a personality schism.

Is it Simon who you’re about to pick up from the airport, the one who’ll eagerly take you into his arms the second you step into the terminal? Or is it him, Ghost, the one who’ll not hug you or kiss you or so much as hold your hand over the center console during the drive home?

Is it Simon who sits across the dinner table from you tonight, the one who, given the right amount of liquor, will regale you with (heavily redacted) stories of his time away? Or is it Ghost, the one who, no matter how well fed, fueled, and fucked he is, remains as tight-lipped as a corpse?

Is it Simon you’ll wake up beside tomorrow, finding him gazing at you like you’re a gift from God? Or is it Ghost who’ll leave behind cold, carefully tucked sheets for you to discover in the morning, wondering if he ever came to bed at all last night?

Is it Simon you feel beginning to stir behind you, who warms you up with soft kisses and sweeter touches before he makes gentle love to you? Or is it Ghost you feel pressing hard and hot against your lower back, who holds you down by the throat as he fucks you through the mattress?

Is it Simon who stumbles into the kitchen when you accidentally nick yourself with a knife, who helps wash and bandage your finger until it’s as good as new? Or is it Ghost who spots the crimson spilling from your hand, who sticks your bloodied finger in his mouth so he can suck it clean?

Is it Simon who’s dying to spend hours with his head between your thighs, much preferring to give over to receive? Or is it Ghost who’s pushing you down to your knees, clutching your head between both hands, and skull-fucking you until you’re dripping with spit and almost passing out from lack of oxygen?

Just the thought of these two distinct, almost opposing personalities coexisting in the same body is super intriguing to me. And how at the drop of a hat, he could switch from one to the other, leaving you guessing who it is you’re really dealing with at any given moment.

[no-144444]

red flag- o.piastri

===========

===========

summary: you get in an accident on track.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader

===========

“Red flag, red flag, safety car coming on track to retire all cars, too dangerous out in sector 3, drive with extreme caution,” his race engineer called over the radio.

“Is everyone alright?” Oscar questioned, slowing the car, the other drivers behind him doing the same. 

“We’re not sure, Y/l/n crashed in sector 3 and hasn’t gotten out of the car just yet. We’ll keep you posted.”

What? You’d crashed and you weren’t out of the car yet? What the fuck? He knew you, he remembered what happened back in f2, back when you’d had the worst crash of your career and you jumped out of the car with a broken leg. Then, you’d at least gotten out of the car. Now? You were in the fucking car. Still. Minutes after your crash. 

“Race is off, conditions are too dangerous.”

Fuck. 

As he pulled into the pitlane, he jumped out of his car, following the other drivers to the briefing room as they all pulled off their soaking suits and damp helmets. 

They sat, waiting for news as none came through. All they knew was that you had to be pulled out of your burning car and airlifted to the nearest hospital. Which meant that you weren’t conscious when you got out of the car. Which meant fucking terrible things. 

Time passed and nothing really happened, so they were all sent back to their hotel rooms. 

“Hey Osc, you want us to come with you? We don’t want you to be on your own right now,” Logan smiled softly, standing at the exit to the McLaren motorhome. Beside Logan was George, Lando, and Alex.

“Thanks guys,” he mustered up some half-smile and they shared a car, then hung out in his room for a few hours. 

Oscar’s phone rang after about an hour, an unknown number. Usually, calls like these would go ignored, especially at a time like this, but something told him to pick it up. 

“Piastri speaking,” he asked quietly. 

“This is Oscar Piastri? Y/n Y/l/n’s emergency contact?” a female voice asked. 

“Yes, yes it is,” he blurted out, grabbing the attention of Logan, Alex, George, and Lando beside him. They held their breath. 

“Well, Y/n was in an accident on the track and she suffered extreme internal bleeding from a broken rib, one that broke during the early laps of the race. She passed out from a lack of oxygen, and crashed into the barrier at a very high speed, meaning that she has a few more broken bones and issues. We'd ask you to come to visit her, she’s been asking about you non-stop since she woke up.”

“S-she’s awake?” 

“Yes, Mr. Piastri, and she’s refusing to take any medication unless you come down here.” 

“I’m on my way,” he hung up the phone without questioning and grabbed his coat and shoes, as the boys followed. Oscar didn’t even bother putting on his shoes as he ran through the hotel and out into the pouring rain. Logan hailed a cab as the other boys tried to get him to calm down. 

“You need to slow down,” George soothed, getting a grip on Oscar’s shoulder. It was strange for them, seeing this much emotion from Oscar. He’d always been so level-headed, so calm. Well, it wasn’t strange for Logan to see it. He was there in f2 when Oscar started crushing on you, and when you two got together. Every summer break you three (and a few other ex-f2- current f2 drivers) go on a week-long trip, just to stay in contact, Logan got a front-row seat to Oscar’s devotion to you. It was sweet, and it brought Oscar out of his shell. 

“She’s refusing medication, if I don’t get there fucking quicker, George, so no, I don’t plan on calming down-” he cursed, brushing his hand off his shoulder. 

“Hey! That was shitty, apologise Oscar. Everyone’s fuckin’ stressed right now,” Logan called back as the taxi pulled up.

“Sorry George,” Oscar added and George nodded, unaffected by his comment. 

The car ride was tense, all of them wanted to get to you, needed to get to you. The hospital came into view, and the boys ran out, George paying the driver and following the rest of them into the foyer. 

“Oscar Piastri, I’m here for Y/n Y/l/n?” 

“Oh yes! Are you family?” the nurse behind the desk asked. 

“I’m her emergency contact,” he replied. 

“Yes, but are you family?”

“I’m her fiancé?” he answered. 

“What?” Lando gasped. “You two got engaged?”

“During the summer break,” Logan answered. “He was planning on telling you after today.”

“All her family is in another country,” Oscar explained. “I’m the closest thing- we’re the closest thing.”

The nurse nodded and handed them visitor badges, and led them up to your room. 

“You go in first,” George nodded to Oscar. “You’ve got this.”

Oscar tried to look positive, but it was difficult when the love of his life was in a hospital bed behind the door in front of him. He pushed open the door and when he saw you, he wanted to scream. Hooked up to machines, but you were awake and bothering the nurse about him. Who gave a shit about him? You were important, you were the most important thing on the planet. 

“Baby, take the meds please,” he barely whispered, but you heard it and almost cried at the relief. She administered the drugs and left you to be. Your engineer left the room to give you privacy, he’d gone in the helicopter with you and had been the first to notice something wrong with you during the race. 

Oscar listened as the nurse explained your condition before she left. They suspected that you’d broken a rib during the first few laps, but it had punctured your lung, and you’d passed out in the car. Then you went straight into a barrier at almost 250 km/h. You broke 3 more ribs, 5 vertebrae in your back, your right hip, your right leg, your left arm, and you fractured your collarbone, as well as all the bruising and cuts you’d gotten. He felt sick to his stomach. The nurse left to inform the others.

Oscar stood at the end of your bed. “What were you thinking? Why would you refuse medicine?” He asked, his voice tense but calm.

“I wanted to see you,” you shrugged. “I needed to talk to you.”

He looked up to see you. The bruising, the cuts, the bandages, all of it, it was almost too much. 

“I lost the ring,” you admitted, choking up. “When I woke up it was gone. I’m so sorry Osc-”

“I dont give a fuck about the ring baby, I care about you. I care that you’re alive, alright?” He sighed, moving closer to your face. “I’ll get you another.”

You started crying as you held him close. It was all too much, the pain, the stress, thinking about what would happen after you got out, wondering if you’d ever be in an F1 car again, it was too much. Oscar always seemed to calm you down, to settle you, not this time. You’d never seen him this stressed, no one had. It was unsettling, unnatural, and it made you more worried, it made you think more, and it made everything too real. Every sob that left your body caused another surge of pain through your back and chest, god, broken ribs were no joke. You kept crying and he kept holding you, pleading with you to stop because he knew how painful it was, and he knew you’d pass out, and he’d be alone again. 

You passed out in his arms and the nurses ushered him away and back to the boys. 

“How is she?” Alex asked, standing from his seat.

“She passed out,” Oscar answered. “She’s in so much pain.”

Logan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She’ll pull through. She’s the strongest person we know.”

Oscar nodded as tears filled his eyes. “This is so fucking unfair,” he cursed. 

“We know mate,” Lando agreed. “We’re fucking livid.”

“Did she at least take the meds?” George asked. 

Oscar scoffed. “Yeah,” he rolled his eyes. “She wanted to talk to me because she lost the fucking ring I gave her. Like I’d ever fucking give a shit about a ring over her.”

Logan chuckled softly. “Well, that’s your Y/n for you. Loyal.”

They all cracked a smile, even Oscar (kind of). 

“She’s going to be ok, alright?” George reminded him. “She’ll be back in that car in no time. She’s a fighter.”

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep going if she doesn’t,” Oscar answered. The weight of his confession sobered the other three to the somberness of the moment. 

“Well, it’s a good thing she’ll pull through,” Alex said. 

===========

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[arrimorr]

Alright,

A base lore info about my setting.

Most of it was yapped away through the asks already, but I decided that it's still worth to organise this stuff in a coherent manner. This text also doesn't really touch on the character's arcs and their relationships with each other. This is more about the wider setting.

SHORT VERSION:

Tginf is a horror roadtrip game I'm planning to make. Embark on a terribly convoluted forest car ride with different local creatures hitchhiking your car.

EXTENDED VERSION:

The main character: You (are going to) play as the Nameless, a 20+ year old without a name, a concrete gender or any understanding of who they should become to avoid getting crushed by a closing in adult life.

The forest:

The forest they got unlucky to travel through is a strict eco system. Everything not useful to it gets digested by it. Literally slowly disintegrated to at least feed the soil. At least this process takes some time.

The feudals:

Luckily, the forest road is ruled by three higher beings, that can save the useless travelers and give each of them a useful (in their opinion) role to play.

The names of the feudals are: the Oxygen, the King of the road, the Mine.

You can easily envision their domains if you split the forest space in three layers. Everything thats above it, everything that is on the ground, and everything below it. Every forest entity that the Nameless encounter serves one of them.

Because their territories are literally stacked on top of each other, the three don't get along particularly well and have been in a territorial conflict for centuries. For feudals, acquiring new followers through picking up the stranded and lost is another way of getting new recources in it.

The specifics of each feudal and their individual followers:

The Oxygen:

The Oxygen is physically invincible and, because of that, she never had to rely on anyone in her existence. This had a big effect on her personality. Unlike the King of the Road and the Mine, she doesn't really NEED followers. She can create servants out of thin air, like she did with the Dummy*. She picks up the travelers for her own amusement, and because the King and the Mine are invested in collecting them.

Her followers are:

The Dummy,

the Diver,

the Time Seller.

* The Dummy was created as a jab at the King of the Road's second hand - the Knight.

* The Diver is there as a statement of ineffectiveness on the King's ruling manner. He does the same job his followers do, but with one important change added.

* The Time seller was made into a tiger, because the Oxygen wanted to see what would happen if she fully dehumanises somebody. She likes experimenting like that.

The King of the Road:

The King of the road is very physically fragile. He needs protection, and, despite his rather gentle demeanor, time made him paranoid and fixated on the idea of control. He collects the followers to avoid any new and unpredictable variables appearing in the forest.

Through trial and error, he came to a conclusion that love is the greatest source of loyalty and motivation, so he tampers with his followers' brains to make sure they love him and the work he gives them.

His followers are:

the Tennant,

the Radio host,

(Sorry, don't have a proper picture of her yet, since her main way of communication is...well...radio, and because I ran into Tumblr's picture per post limit, I decided to cut what I had of her imagery away)

the Knight.

*The Forest is full of eldritch, sentient and, most importantly, hungry places, such as the house, the radio tower and the grand lake. The King aims to station his followers in them, so they are in his area of control too. The Tennant and the Radio host view their designated places as if they are their marriage partners. They love them, they provide for them.

*The King also prefers to take his time before taking a new follower in. After all, the more he waits, the more the traveler gets digested by the forest, allowing the King to rebuild his new follower to his liking. Sadly, the opportunity to wait long enough rarely presents itself because of the Oxygen and the Mine interfering all the time, thus, the only follower he got to fully reconstruct from the state of blank meat was the Knight. This made him the most predictable and by extension the most trustworthy being in the forest to him.

The Mine:

About a year ago I watched a documentary about mine workers. A part of it was dedicated to the fact, that, in case of that particular mine, people should have been working inside of it 24/7, otherwise the tunnels were guaranteed to slowly become toxic. What caught my attention was the way they spoke about it. They said something along the lines of "otherwise she would start to suffocate". And that unexpected personification never left my mind ever since.

SO, the Mine in tginf sufferers from a constant lack of oxygen, and starts to gradually suffocate if there's is no one performing the maintenance work inside of her. The problem is - she is toxic, thus none of her followers live particularly long inside of her. Which places her in a constant struggle to get herself the new ones. She lets her followers out on the road only for one purpose - to promote the service to her to the new travelers. Followers like that are all called Pr agents. Out of the three feudals, the Mine is the most reliant on others to survive.

Her followers are, you won't believe it:

Pr agent 117, Pr agent 121, Pr agent 124/178 (the number changes depending on the story route)

( sorry (2) 😭 had to collage them bc of the picture count limitation)

*None of them lived long enough to meet the other.

I also made a voice claim post some time ago, you can check it out to feel the characters too

[comicaurora]

If you were a sci-fi writer, how would you solve the Fermi paradox? That being the discrepancy between evidence for alien life, versus the likelihood of their existence? (basically. If alien so likely, why we not see?) The Dead Space series has an amazing cosmic horror solution, but i'm curious what you're brain could come up with!

There's a lot of possibilities, some more interesting than others.

The speed of light and the distance between inhabited stars makes it prohibitively slow to detect, make contact with, or reach any star with alien life. It doesn't matter if we're not alone, our corner of Space Reachable Within A Human Lifetime is so comparatively small that we may as well be. We're all blindly wandering through an infinite desert, calling into the void. Space exploration is a long game, and on that timescale, even whole civilizations blink out very quickly. If we manage to catch a signal and follow it, we might find nothing on the other end but ruins - or an asteroid field where a planet's orbit used to be.

The universe is too young for us to find anyone else out there. We're the first. How will we shape the galaxy to make life better for those who come after us?

The life that formed on Earth is terrifyingly invasive. The atmosphere and ocean is choked with monocellular life, and its surface is coated with a mass of multicellular organisms finding new ways to devour one another. Even extinction events don't keep down the biomass for long. If life on other planets looks anything like us, the problem isn't going to be detecting it. It'll have gotten everywhere. The problem is going to be not immediately getting colonized and eaten alive by it. And if life on other planets DOESN'T look like us, our whole planet is probably a class 1 biohazard and contamination risk. Multicellular earth organisms contain microcosmic ecosystems that proliferate explosively when they die. If anything inside them can find ANYTHING to eat, it's over.

Life evolves frequently, but always in oceans. It is extremely rare for any alien life to leave that ocean and adapt to life on land. Without this step, the jump to space exploration - even space contemplation - becomes infinitely more unlikely.

Monocellular life is seeded on planets from an outside source and allowed to self-cultivate and grow until the biomass reaches a certain volume. Then the farmers return to harvest it.

There is not a single other species on our entire planet that humans can actually reliably communicate with. It takes tremendous amounts of training to make an animal capable of recognizing even a handful of words, and very few of them can use them. Humans can't even communicate with other humans with 100% clarity, even if they're using the same language. When we find alien life, if we even recognize it as anything resembling life as we know it, we have absolutely no way of communicating.

Space colonialism has been disallowed by the space geneva conventions due to massive past tragedies, parasitic exploitation of worlds and senseless loss of life. Human expeditionary efforts are being watched warily through targeting sights.

We've known about radio communication for less than 200 years. We haven't yet figured out the medium through which all advanced civilizations communicate.

Alien life exists in abundance, but the vast majority of it is extremely tiny. We wouldn't spot an anthill on a satellite photo, and none of their ships are large enough to survive passage through our atmosphere.

Earth's oxygen atmosphere is an anomaly, and our first and most enduring extinction event. The explosive proloferation of cyanobacteria and their oxygen photosynthesis irreparably altered the planet's prebiotic atmosphere and wiped out everything that couldn't handle the sudden massive increase in a highly reactive and flammable gas. Earth is considered highly toxic and unstable, though recently detected increases in methane and CO2 might signal that nature is finally beginning to heal.

[flangore]

❥ she loves me like a dog

feat.: Valentino & Vox/f!reader

summary: You try and run away from Valentino. It's an entirely stupid idea and backfires spectacularly.

warnings: nsfw content, noncon, physical + psychological abuse, unhealthy relationships, violence, punishments, manipulation, Valentino and Vox are their own warnings, guns, object insertion

Every demon in Hell, especially ones who had spent quite some time in the V's part of Pentagram City, knew that there was no escaping Valentino's grasp.

With connections that spread like spiderwebs through every part of town, there was nowhere to be safe, nowhere to hide, given how Vox's eyes reached every street, every alley, a phone or a security camera always in each and every corner.

There was nowhere to hide — except for at the Hazbin Hotel, apparently under the protection of the Radio Demon. You had heard Vox whine and bitch about it at one point, anger dripping off his voice, and, despite knowing better, your heart had lept with hope. Days after, you had tried your hardest to ignore each of the silly ideas making themselves at home in your mind; had attempted to not think of running away, of a better life.

And yet, in the end, you hadn't been able to resist temptation.

Every demon in Hell knew that there was no escaping Valentino's grasp.

That was why you had only yourself to blame for the consequences now that he had caught ahold of you once more, the contract, signed with both of your names, floating next to your face in silent mockery.

Tears brimmed in your eyes; your heart threatened to drop out of your chest with how erratically it was beating.

“I'm kinda disappointed, baby”, Valentino drawled, accent coming through thickly, betraying his calm and collected act. A claw, painted golden, hooked underneath your chin, tilting it upwards until your neck ached, your height difference only adding to the unease curling in your stomach. “Tell me, why did you do feel the need to run away like that?”

Your throat felt tight.

“Come on, you can trust me. Trust us.”

The chains, made of red smoke and currently wound tightly enough to leave marks around your wrists and ankles, really did not make you feel like you were able to trust him. Neither did Vox's presence. Admittedly, he had always unnerved you even more than Valentino had, though, right now, his smirk was downright terrifying.

“Was it the working conditions?” Vox crooned, tone lathered with contempt, with amusement. “Were you unhappy with your job? Do tell us. We're always open to criticism, really.”

There was no explanation that could have excused your actions.

Valentino's smirk widened. “Yeah, babe. What was the issue? I mean, you really can't quit, not with our contract, so what was the purpose of trying to run away?”

“I remember just how grateful you were when Val offered you this opportunity years ago. Do you suddenly think you're too good for us?”

Those words, leaving Vox's mouth so easily, finally dragged you far enough back into reality for you to get a noise out, high-pitched and terrified.

“No”, you choked out, quickly shaking your head, panic making you tremble. “No, that's not—”

“No? Then tell us the reason, mi amor.”

You were pretty certain you were in the middle of a panic attack, lungs feeling too small to take any oxygen in. Not that it mattered right now. “I don't know, I wasn't thinking—”

“That's such a shame. If you at least had an explanation, we could go easy on you.” Vox clicked his tongue, not looking like it was a shame at all. “Val, will you do the honours?”

“Already on it, babe.”

With how large of a being Valentino was, it was all too easy to forget just how quickly he was able to move. Pain bloomed on your cheek, your head spinning, and it took quite a moment for you to realise that he had hit you with the hilt of his gun, custom-made.

In the back of your mind, you wondered whether the rhinestones on it had left indents on your skin.

A metallic taste spread in your mouth. “Please—”

“It's a little late to beg”, Vox remarked.

Valentino's smile was all teeth, unkind in nature. “But it's fine, sweetheart, don't worry. I won't fire you.” His hand cupped your aching cheek, then grabbed ahold of your hair, yanking your head back painfully. “You'll be with us forever. Aren't you grateful? We just have to teach you a lesson. Can't have the bitches acting up, now can we?”

You really had no choice but to nod, tears dripping down your face, surely smearing your makeup, though that was the least of your worries as, suddenly, your bonds shifted, chains pulling taut, changing your position until your legs were wrenched apart.

Panties were rarely part of your work clothing, but being fully bare in front of them right now made bile rise up in your throat.

“See, I wanted to fuck you, remind you who you belong to”, Valentino commented, sounding terribly nonchalant. The muzzle of his gun pressed against the soft skin of your inner thigh, the metal cold. “But Voxxy had better ideas.”

Your heart must have stopped at one point, you were certain of it. This must have been a fever dream, a hallucination.

Despite the panicked thoughts running through your scrambled mind, you didn't protest; had no time to, either. Not that it would have been any use.

Before you knew it, Valentino pushed the gun into you, dry, fuck—, the pain making you cry out, voice high-pitched. Unceremoniously, he shoved it further inside, unrelenting until the hilt of it rested against the lips of your cunt, your whole body tense with agony.

“There we go.” Your eyes flickered over to Vox, the way he was palming himself through his trousers obvious even with your blurry sight. “That's hot. Hah—, look, she's even wet.”

At this point, you hardly noticed that you were screaming, throat aching, the thoughts of running away by now merely an unrealistic fantasy, silly, like the wishes of a spoiled child.

You were, in fact, not wet; instead, blood was easing the glide at least a little, albeit it hardly offered any relief.

You must've torn somewhere. Placing the pain seemed to be an impossible task when simply everything hurt.

At least it wasn't going to get worse from here on — it couldn't possibly.

Valentino just loved to prove you wrong.

“Hey, you think we can fit a dick in there at the same time?”

[glassesfreekjr]

(Oxygen Tank and its members belong to and were created by @twipsai. Used with permission — thanks for letting me borrow them!)

Retraction: We at Hikara Walker would like to apologize to Oxygen Tank and its fans for insinuating, due to insufficient research, that their origins lay in pirate radio. Unlicensed radio broadcasts, if set on frequencies close enough to licensed ones, can cause interference which screws with radio reception. This is prevalent in the Splatlands and has been known to disrupt Big Run early warning systems — infamously resulting in the sacking of Inkblot Art Academy during March of last year. Rather, Oxygen Tank aired their first performances over the Ethernet radio channels of the Deep Sea Metro before spreading their reach topside. These transmissions were inadvertently picked up by underground Octarian domes via faulty electronic cables, resulting in repetitious illegal broadcasting therein. If the heavenly melody of the Inkantation sparked the downfall of a regime, then others, including Oxygen Tank's Ral-Hula-Loo (first rec. Museum d'Alfonsino), served to fan the fire by complete happenstance. (Reportedly it's rather embarrassing for them and they'd rather not talk about it. But that's journalism, baby — eat our shorts.)

Hikara Walker, Mar. 122024 issue

(Sample source list can be found on my YouTube.)

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: January 1, 1978

Lyrics:

Love is like oxygen

You get too much you get too high

Not enough and you're gonna die

Love gets you high

Love is like oxygen (love is like oxygen)

You get too much you get too high (too high)

Not enough and you're gonna die (gonna die)

Love gets you high

Time on my side

I got it all

I've heard that pride

Always comes before a fall

There's a rumour goin' round the town

That you don't want me 'round

I can't shake off my city blues

Every way I turn I lose

Love is like oxygen (love is like oxygen)

You get too much you get too high (too high)

Not enough and you're gonna die (gonna die)

Love gets you high

Love is like oxygen (love is like oxygen)

You get too much you get too high (too high)

Not enough and you're gonna die (gonna die)

Love gets you high

Time is no healer

If you're not there

Lonely fever

Sad words in the air

Some things are better left unsaid

I'm gonna spend my days in bed

I'll walk the streets at night

To be hidden by the city lights, city lights

Love is like oxygen (love is like oxygen)

You get too much you get too high (too high)

Not enough and you're gonna die (gonna die)

Love gets you high

Songwriter:

Love is like oxygen (love is like oxygen)

You get too much you get too high (too high)

Not enough and you're gonna die (gonna die)

Andrew Scott / Trevor Griffin

SongFacts:

👉📖

Homepage:

Sweet

[carnallysm]

Taking it out on you.

warnings: dom! Emily, sub!fem!reader, gun play, degradation, praise, light mommy kink, lmk if i forgot something!

It wasn't uncommon for Emily to have a bad day—or even bad weeks—due to her profession. Being the Unit Chief of the BAU came with more cons than pros, if she had to be honest.

Emily didn't enjoy it, but she liked it. She liked serving and doing it for her people, her family. That didn't mean it kept the stress away. It simply meant Emily dealt with it trying to appear as composed as she possibly could, and she was good at it. Emily was good at faking being just fine not to worry others.

Nonetheless, you could tell.

Be it the way her steps echoed through the entire apartment, even scaring the poor cat Sergio away to some corner of the house; be it the frown your girlfriend was showing on her features.

You could tell it was a bad, bad case.

"Bad day?" So you asked, stopping your movements alongside the rhythm of some bad song at the radio.

"It was definitely a day," Emily responded with a large sigh, leaving her coat on the couch before stepping towards you, her hands immediately grabbing your waist tightly as Emily sank her face into the crook of your neck. "Thank God you're here." She spoke after taking in a deep breath of your essence.

"I'm always here—" But before you could finish your sentence, you felt a cold metal hugging your wrists together in a rapid movement. "What are you doing?" You questioned, not with fear but mere confusion at having your hands handcuffed so suddenly.

"You want to help me feel better, right?" At that, you did nothing but nod slightly, feeling a warmth spreading across your whole body due to the position you were in—Emily hugging you from behind, with you completely at her mercy.

"Then don't question me, understood?" Another nod, and in a second Emily had you whimpering lowly as her hands went to undo your shorts, pulling them down alongside your panties in a single second.

"I bet you're wet already, aren't you?" One of her hands went to your throat, applying enough pressure to cut off some of your air but not enough to hurt, while her other hand went straight away to cup your wetting pussy. "See, I was right after all." Emily spoke with a mocking scoff, her fingers circling your clit for a few moments, causing your breathing to become further ragged, before pulling away at once.

"Emily—" Her name left your mouth in a whiny tone, barely audible due to her left hand still restraining your air and pushing more pressure in your throat.

"I said, don't question me." Her voice came out firm, determined, and you didn't dare say anything else after that, instead yet another low moan left from you at that.

You heard some ruffling, and before you could even try to turn around and find what the sound was, Emily had took her gun out of her holster and was holding it close to your now drenched cunt.

A hint of fear appeared inside you, followed by a sensation of pure thrill and need. Unable to say anything, you opted to grind your hips a bit, desperate for Emily's touch.

"You want me that bad, hm?" Keeping the firm although mocking voice, Emily instantly pressed the tip of her gun against your drenched pussy, pushing inside you inch by inch at a torturously slow pace.

The sensation of the cold metal against your warm, slicky folds had your head falling back to rest on Emily's shoulder, your eyes almost rolling back in pleasure and the strange, terrifying and exciting tingle all at once.

"You definitely must be a different kind of slut to enjoy this." Emily said with a huffing laughter, her free hand leaving your throat and allowing you more oxygen, but it all went out when she slapped your sensitive clit while still pushing her gun into you mercilessly.

"You're going to cum on my gun, like a good dirty whore, aren't you?" Each and every word pronounced by Emily made its way directly towards your entire body, a shiver running down your spine as you felt that familiar coil settling in your lower stomach.

"Yes, fuck, Emily, please—" Another slap to your clit made you unable to finish your words once again, all the while more breathy moans escaped your lips. "Mommy, please!"

You rectified her name, knowing what Emily wanted from you at the moment, and what you needed to do to get the pleasure you so intently searched, your hips bucking against the gun now covered in your juices.

"I'll be good, mommy," You promised, and you right away felt the speed of Emily's gun pounding more fiercely into your clenching cunt. "Please."

"That's right, you're my good little slut," With that, her free hand pinched your puffy clit with enough force to tear a guttural moan from you, as you cummed in that moment thanks to Emily's skilled touch and gun-play.

As you came down slowly from your climax, your legs almost gave up and Emily had to hold you more tightly towards her, her arms wrapping around your waist after she pulled her gun back into her holster.

"You've been a good girl," Emily murmured against your ear, her breath hitting your skin and making you tremble further still. "You've been so good for me."

"I'm always here for you." You managed to reply in a breathless voice, finishing the sentence she didn't let you before.