#Radio Oxygene
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LET'S FUCKIN' GO 🦡🦡🦡
Daniel overtaking Max and Bottas on the opening lap of the 2020 Italian GP
#I need to hear Daniel like this on the radio in 2024 more than I need oxygen to breathe#daniel ricciardo#dr3#italian gp 2020#renault era dan supremacy#f1#formula 1
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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.
#this is why I want to retire . I kind of wondered why I wasn’t enjoying ask-spiderpool as much as before when like.#the numbers are kind of the same. a post will still get thousands of notes but everyone is radio silent.#nobody engages. nobody sends asks. they forget there’s an ask button there.#so like. how is an ask blog meant to survive. I hate you guys.#sci speaks#I’m too good for you guys and you’re killing me like a fire being deprived of oxygen.#please remember how ask blogs work. or leave me alone to die sadly.
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(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.)
#splatoon#splatoon ost#fan music#fan ost#stage theme#eeltail alley#fan splatband#oxygen tank#splatband#splatoon 3#splatune 3#arrangement#remix#plus-tech squeeze box#shibuya kei#pirate radio#deep sea#music#audio#twipsai
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youtube
Release: December 2, 1976
Lyrics: Instrumental
Songwriter: Jean-Michel Jarre
SongFacts:
👉📖
Homepage:
Jean-Michel Jarre
#new#new music#my chaos radio#Jean Michel Jarre#Oxygene Pt.4#music#spotify#youtube#music video#youtube video#good music#hit of the day#video of the day#70s#70s music#70s style#70s video#70s charts#1976#electronic#experimental music#electro pop#songfacts#1474
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[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[:::::::::::::::::>
#radio brainrot#oxygen destroyer#redefining darkness records#death metal#thrash metal#death thrash#deathrash#kaiju#washington metal#seattle metal#concept albums#underground metal#Bandcamp#speed metal#portland music#miserable pyre#oregon metal#i am the intimidator#horrendum vermis#metal de argentina#argentinian metal
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im like an eel baby if you put me in the water and let me go you will never catch me again
#nonsense radio#im too SLIPPERY#DHDHFHDHJS SORRY MY BRAIN IS SO WEIRD RN#im gona chalk it up to lack of oxygen bc i have bronchitis
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Love 119 [Part One]
part of my paramedic!jungwon series. [part two] [part three]
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]
#jungwon#jungwon fic#jungwon au#enhypen au#enhypen fin#yang jungwon#enha x reader#enha imagines#enhypen jungwon#jungwon fluff#jungwon x reader#jungwon x you#jungwon x y/n#jungwon drabbles#jungwon fanfic#fanfiction#heeseung#jay#jake#sim jaeyun#fluff#kpop#sunoo#sunghoon#ni ki#niki#jungwon fake texts#jungwon police#jungwon enhypen#enhypen
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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.
#one of these days i'm gonna write a whole 'simon fcking you as ghost' fic and when i do it'll be over for you hoes#simon riley#simon ghost riley#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley x reader#ghost x reader#simon riley smut#ghost smut#cod smut#ghost cod#ghost mw2#simon riley x you#cod x reader#call of duty x reader#cod mw2#call of duty#modern warfare 2
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red flag- o.piastri
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summary: you get in an accident on track.
pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader
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“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)
#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 x you#formula one imagine#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x you#formula one x reader#formula 1#formula one#mclaren#oscar piastri x fem!reader#f1 fluff
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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.
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Joanna Vargas says her radio frequency body treatment is transformative. Using exclusive state-of-the-art equipment, skin is heated and tightened, triggering collagen production and melting away fat and cellulite leaving skin soft, supple, and smooth. A series of six is recommended for best results.
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❥ 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?”
#❥ my writing#❥ valentino#❥ vox#valentino hazbin hotel#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel#vox x reader#Vox x you#Vox imagines#Vox headcanons#Valentino x reader#Valentino x you#Valentino imagines#Valentino headcanons#Valentino smut#Vox smut#Hazbin Hotel smut#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel x reader#Hazbin hotel x you#Hazbin hotel imagines#Hazbin headcanons#tw.dark content#tw.noncon#tw.violence#tw.abuse#tw.manipulation#hazbin hotel fanfic#Hazbin Valentino smut#Hazbin Vox smut
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prompt: buck gets hurt at a scene due to gerrard. tommy is working ground ops and becomes livid with gerrard. maybe someone has to pull tommy off of him! anyway, buck ends up finding it hot.
“In one word, how would you describe Tommy?”
“Uh... cool.”
“Firefighter Buckley! E- Evan! Evan! Do you copy?!” His heart was racing. He could feel it pounding in his ears.
He didn't wait long for a response. Didn't go back for his helmet or his oxygen. He just ran. He ran past the rest of the 118, who yelled at him to wait. He tore loose of the grasp that Eddie had on him for a brief second. He ignored the way his eyes started to burn before he even got in the building. He gasped and choked against the dryness in his throat as soon as he was inside.
He only had to take a few steps in when he was stopped by a caved in ceiling that blocked any path. That didn't matter anyway, because somewhere underneath the ceiling was Evan.
Evan, who shouldn't have been in the building anyway.
Evan, who had yelled over the radio that he could hear the structure beginning to collapse.
Evan, who cut out before he could finish relaying the information because the ceiling fell on top of him.
He was under there somewhere.
And Tommy was going to dig him out or die trying.
He wasn't alone. He knew that. He could hear familiar voices around him. They were yelling, calling out to Buck, tossing away debris. Tommy knew they were trying to help, but it wasn't fast enough.
It wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough.
It wasn't enough!
“Evan!” He screamed over the sounds of the creaking building all around him. His throat felt like it was on fire.
He didn't care.
“Evan! Evan, where are you?! Make a sound!”
What about you? One word to describe Tommy.”
“Hm... I'll go with stoic.”
He could hear a different voice over the radio. The voice of a man he hated.
“118, evacuate immediately! You're disobeying a direct order!”
He was the reason they were having to dig for Evan right now. The building had been evacuated. All personnel had been accounted for. Except Gerrard decided he didn't agree with the head count. He didn't believe that everyone had gotten out. Swore he saw movement inside.
It didn't take much to convince Buck. If he thought someone was still in danger, he was going to go back in and rescue them.
It's what any of them would have done.
But Buck had been Gerrard's target.
There wasn't anyone else in the building. A part of Tommy wondered if Gerrard had actually seen anything at all.
No one else knew that Buck had gone back in at the time. They were all busy tending to the wounded or working on stabilizing the fire. It wasn't until his voice came over the radio that they learned he was inside. And then the roof came crashing down.
“I repeat, get your asses out now! We'll begin a recovery mission when the fire is completely out.”
Recovery... not rescue.
Tommy ripped the radio off of him and slung it across the room. It didn't matter that the others still had their radios on. That Gerrard's voice was still echoing through the smoke-filled space. It wasn't right in his ear anymore, so he could concentrate on what mattered.
He continued digging so vigorously that he was gasping and panting for breath. He could hear the wheezing escaping him. His muscles ached and sweat dripped into his eyes.
He kept going anyway. Nothing would stop him.
“Your turn.”
“These games are hard.”
“They're not games, they're personality tests. I wanna see how right we are. Now, one word. Tommy. Go.”
“Ugh! Fine. He's adaptable.”
Tommy tossed more and more pieces of rubble away until he hit something that was not part of the roof.
It was a shoe.
Or a boot, to be more accurate.
Evan.
“Evan!” he yelled. “Hey, I- I got something! Over here! Help!” He continued digging to get to Evan as the rest of the 118 came over to help.
“Come on, Evan. Move! We've got you, we've got you.”
Evan didn't move.
He didn't move when they got the last of the debris off of him.
Didn't move when they pulled off his helmet and mask to check for a pulse.
Didn't move when Chimney looked over at Hen and shook his head.
“We've gotta get him out of here!” Chimney yelled. Before they could get into position to lift him together, Tommy was reaching under his knees and arms, hoisting him up and carrying his lifeless body out of the building.
He ran until he made it outside, then carefully laid Evan on the ground and began chest compressions. He wasn't sure how quickly he moved, but it took a few seconds for the group to catch up to him. “Come on, Evan!” Tommy yelled as he counted. “Come on, Baby! Breathe, Evan! Breathe!”
He felt hands on his shoulders, someone- Chimney, he thinks- was telling him to stop. To let them take over.
He kept going.
“Breathe, Baby, just breathe!”
“Now you.”
“I'd say calm under pressure.”
“That is not one word.”
“Okay, so one word for calm under pressure then.”
“Composed?”
“That'll do.”
“You know, calm works too, guys.”
“Please, Evan!”
Suddenly, arms were wrapping around him, pulling him off of Evan before he could try to fight back or protest.
He jerked away from the hold, twisting to see it was Eddie. “What the hell are you doing?!” he yelled.
“They've got it, Tommy,” he replied, his own voice shaking with worry. “Let them handle it.”
He turned back around to see Chimney and Hen working on Evan. They had already torn his shirt and had him ready to be shocked.
Tommy moved beside him, kneeled down and got as close as he could without touching him. “Evan, you gotta breathe. Please, just breathe.”
As soon as he was shocked, the monitor came to life. “I got a pulse!” Chimney exclaimed. “Let's get him ready for transport.”
Tommy thought that would be the moment his own breath would come back to him. He thought that's when he'd feel joy and relief.
He didn't.
As they got Evan ready to go to the hospital, Tommy's gaze drifted up.
Right to Gerrard.
He could feel his blood boiling. A rage like he'd never felt before seeping through every pore in his body. He didn't listen as Eddie came up beside him, telling him he needed to go to the hospital and get checked out too.
He breezed right past him. His pace quickened the closer he got to Gerrard. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the man, and his arm was going back, then making direct contact with Gerrard's nose. “You son of a bitch!” Tommy yelled as Gerrard stumbled backwards. He brought both hands to his face, blood seeping out between his fingers.
Tommy didn't care. He took another step and grabbed onto Gerrard's turnouts. “You sent him in to die!” he shouted as he shoved him against a firetruck.
“I'll have your job, Kinard!”
“You won't get the chance.” The words came out in a growl. It wasn't a threat, but a promise. He didn't care what happened to him in that moment, as long as Gerrard could never hurt another person again. His arm went back, but this time he had people grabbing onto him and pushing him away.
“He's not worth it, Man!” Eddie yelled. Holding his arms out between Gerrard and Tommy to keep them apart. “He's not worth it. Go be with Buck.” Eddie pointed back to the ambulance, which was seconds away from leaving for the hospital. “Go!” he demanded.
“If something happens to him,” Tommy warned, staring Gerrard down, “I will kill you.”
“Tommy!” Eddie yelled. “Go!”
With a final glare, Tommy turned, running for the ambulance.
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“One word. How would you describe me?”
“One word isn't enough.”
“It's all you've got.”
“Then... Loving. No! Caring. No! Affectionate. Wait-”
“Evan.”
“This is hard!”
“Gotta pick one, Babe.”
“Fine. I think, loyal. Yeah, that's a good one. You're loyal.”
There were two very uneasy days in the hospital before Buck woke up.
Tommy wasn't there when it happened. He'd been at the hospital for forty hours straight when Maddie demanded he go home, shower, and eat something before he came back.
He had just stepped out of the shower when he got a text from Maddie saying he was awake and alert.
He'd never gotten dressed so fast in his life.
His hair was still a mess of wet curls when he raced back into the hospital. It wasn't until he walked into the room and saw that Evan was sitting up with a pudding cup in hand that he finally felt okay again.
“Hi,” he breathed out, his shoulders relaxing.
Evan smiled at him, setting the pudding cup on the tray table. “Hi yourself.”
Tommy didn't notice Maddie in the room. Didn't realize Eddie was there either. He simply walked over to Evan and sat beside him on the bed, cupping his face in his hands and leaning in for a kiss.
He tasted like chocolate pudding.
It was wonderful.
“We're, uh, we're gonna give you two a minute,” Maddie said, getting up from her chair. She and Eddie snuck out before Tommy pulled back from the kiss.
“I was so worried about you.” Tommy's eyes wandered over Evan's body. A fear that something else might be wrong. Something the doctors didn't notice while Evan was unconscious. “How are you feeling? I wanted to be here when you woke up but your sister made me leave.”
Evan took Tommy's hand in his, holding on tight. “I'm okay, Tommy. I promise. Maddie, um, she told me she had to basically force you out of here.”
Tommy huffed out a laugh. “She threatened to have me committed if I didn't go home.”
Evan lifted his free hand and ran it through Tommy's hair. “I've never seen you leave the house with your curls before.”
Tommy shrugged. “You're more important.”
Buck couldn't help the blush that rose on his cheeks. “I- I heard, um, from Eddie that you... you defended my honor at the scene.”
Tommy shook his head. “You don't need anyone to defend your honor, Evan. I did go a little crazy though.”
“But you won't lose your job, right?”
“Got two week's paid suspension, and I have to go to anger management, but I think Gerrard is the one at risk of losing it all. Apparently I had a lot of people backing me up. Him, not so much.”
Evan nodded. “Good. Now kiss me again.”
Tommy smiled, his face scrunching up tight as he leaned in for another kiss. It was more chaste than the last, but filled with just as much love.
“Can I tell you something?” Buck asked in a near whisper once they had parted.
“Of course.”
“When Eddie was telling me what you did, I- I...” He broke eye contact, pursing his lips as he fiddled with the sheet draped over his waist. “I thought it was really hot.”
Tommy's eyebrows rose. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Tommy placed his fingers under Evan's chin, lifting his head until their eyes met. “I'm sure someone got it on video,” he said, eyes going dark. “Could probably get you a copy.”
Evan took a deep breath. He knew his heart rate monitor had to be going crazy right now. “I love you, Tommy,” he said, grabbing onto Tommy's shirt and dragging him in for another kiss.
Tommy stopped as his lips ghosted over Evan's. “I love you more.”
“You've gotta pick one for yourself now.”
“Oh God. Sarcastic.”
“Uh-uh. Won't accept it.”
“What?! You can't deny my word for me!”
“I can and I will. Say something positive.”
“Sarcastic can be positive. It won you over.”
“Tommy.”
They were quite for a moment, then Evan glanced up from his paper to see Tommy watching him closely.
“Why are you staring like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like you're in love with me.”
“I am in love with you.”
“Ugh! Tommy, pick a word.”
“Okay, fine. Um, Protective. I'm very protective.”
#bucktommy#911#tommy kinard#evan buckley#tevan#not sure i totally love this one#but it is what it is#prompt
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(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.)
#splatoon#splatoon ost#fan music#fan ost#stage theme#museum d'alfonsino#fan splatband#oxygen tank#splatband#splatoon 3#splatune 3#arrangement#remix#planet dob#date of birth#pirate radio#octarian#deep sea#deep sea metro#music#audio#twipsai
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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
#new#new music#my chaos radio#Sweet#Love is like oxygen#music#spotify#youtube#music video#youtube video#good music#hit of the day#video of the day#70s#70s music#70s style#70s video#70s charts#1978#rock#glam rock#power pop#disco rock#progressive rock#pop rock#progressive pop#lyrics#songfacts#1805
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𝅄 ׅ⊹ ۪ ꣑୧ dance of the sugarplum fairy
𝝑𝝔 l.mh x f!reader
𝝑𝝔 synopsis : Minho believes in fact over fiction. He's a scientist. It's practically in his blood. You're as much of a scientist as he is, hell, a better one than him at that. Yet, you still find wonder in the holidays. While you find wonder in presents and twinkling lights. Minho finds wonder in you. Could a confession gone wrong end up going right for him? Could you reciprocate his feelings that he's been pushing down for years and years?
𝝑𝝔 warnings : chemistry professor!minho, chemistry professor!reader, f!reader, mutual pining, christmas in a non-religious way, crying (in a sappy way), jisung! cameo, tooth rotting fluff, smut got mixed in with my fluff??, no clear dynamics, but minho is mommy (sorry guys act fucking surprised), mommy!kink, shower sex, p in v (unprotected, pls don't do this!!), pet names, pls lmk if I missed any warnings!!
𝝑𝝔 note from the author ! : Calliope once again indulges in soft!minho and doesn't apologize for it >_< I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season and that all who celebrate Christmas get exactly what they wanted!! :3
You're as reactive as Fluorine, and Minho wishes he didn't think of you chemically the way he does. He wishes he didn't immediately think of you when he thought of work and his experiments and the fucking teaching position he held. He wishes he could just think of you for you and he could go fuck off for all he cares - having a crush on his coworker.
And you're humming along to the song playing over the radio - some Clario song, he only knows who that is because you love her music. Honestly, he thinks you like music more than you like chemistry - so why did you choose to do this for a living?
You surely weren't a bad singer - Minho had heard you sing, it puts the harked herald angels to shame if he does say so - and you certainly were pretty enough to be famous.
Pretty was an understatement, you were the most devine creation to walk this earth. There's no way in his mind that he can conceptualize that you breathe the same oxygen as him - to him it was a privilege that he got to see you at all.
You were sought after, every fucking college in the nation wants you to work for them, yet you stay here. It wasn't like the place you work at is bad, it's MIT for Christ's sake, but Harvard has been asking for you for years.
He's almost offended by it, colleges treating you and all your brilliance like a tradeable Pokémon card.
Speaking of Pokémon, you're watching it on your phone as you finish up a lab report. How you can listen to music and watch a show and write a detailed report baffles Minho, but he doesn't question you because you're you, and he's the utter fool in love with you.
"You're spacing out Minho," your voice graces his ears, fuck, was he staring at you? "You look like you need a coffee, let's go get a cup, I'll pay."
You smile that sweet smile and talk in your sweet voice any longer and he's sure he's going to go insane. You're letting your hair down and it falls just right, framing your face perfectly. You had curled it that morning, and worn a perfume that smells like autumn.
He knows it's ridiculously foolish to consider something a chance that is nothing but stolen glances and blush stained cheeks and private thoughts. He can't help it.
"I think Jisung needs to start letting you get some sleep, you're zoning out so much," you hum with such concern, and he crumbles.
He feels almost dirty. Dirty for the thoughts he has of you. Dirty for the reason he isn't getting much sleep. Thinking about you in ways that would terrify a Catholic, or hell, even an atheist.
"'t's not Jisung," he slurs his words together.
They become a wet mix of vowels and articulations when he's talking to you. He hopes he doesn't sound this fucking dumb when he is teaching.
"Maybe you're sick," you tilt your head.
It's a habit you have, tilting your head when you make a statement. He finds it endearing. It was one of the first things about you that he perceived as such.
"'m fine, promise," he brushes off, "'nd I don' need any coffee."
"Well, you better wake up before the festival," you sigh, and he hates to think he let you down.
The festival, fuck, that is today. Each year the college throws a winter festival for the students, a lot of sororities and fraternities set up booths and the cafeteria gets turned upside down with decorations. The faculty's Secret Santa too, shit, he hasn't wrapped his gift. He really doesn't hate the festival or the idea of it, it keeps him young. He just doesn't know if he is gonna be able to stay around you any longer.
"Who did you get for Secret Santa?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, returning to your lab reports.
"Jus' Lix," he hates how drunk he sounds, "what about you? You always go above and beyond in the gift department."
He would never lie to you, you do go above and beyond with gifts. Each year, you go all out, spending a ridiculous amount of time and effort when it comes to the gifts you buy for people.
"Can't say unfortunately," you whisper, "or else it wouldn't be a secret."
You give him a smile that makes his stomach do a flip. "But I did get you something," you perk up.
You walk over to your bag and pull out a wrapped parcel, and carefully hand it over to him. "Thought you'd like it, took forever for it to ship over from overseas."
Minho examines the neatly wrapped box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper with a pink bow tied on top of the box. "Thank you," he sounds breathless.
He opens it carefully, and is met with a white box. He pulls the lid off and pulls out the cloth that sits on the bottom of the box. Revealing a white lab coat. The fabric is crisp and ironed. In the corner the text 'Dr. Minho Lee, PhD' is embroidered in black. Underneath the lettering is another embroidered patch. Instead of his name though, it's his three cats. Each of the cats looks identical to their real counterparts. "Sorry if it's stupid, I-" you apologize, "I just- I dunno-"
Stupid? It's the most thoughtful gift he has gotten in a long time. It comes from your heart, how could it be stupid.
You're the most beautiful and thoughtful person he's ever met. I love you, loved you for so long, he thinks to himself. He's so moved he almost feels like crying.
"Minho," you're quiet, stunned into silence.
He just realizes how his mouth has betrayed his mind, and his legs are moving with a panic.
The air is so damn dense as he sprints down the hall from the lab. The white fluorescent lights taunt him with their hum as he dashes away. Away from you, away from the chance that was all in his head.
He is gripping at the tie around his neck. He sees no comfort in the double doors out of the science lab, he is running without reason.
He breaks through the double doors and is soaked almost instantly. The snow is heavy and it patters against his body.
His legs stop moving, and he just stands there. In the snow. Terribly cold and terribly wet. He could curse God, but he doesn't believe in Him.
The doors behind him open and close. Doom blooms in his rapidly rising and falling chest. "Minho," it's you again, "Minho, you'll catch a cold."
His legs are frozen through. He couldn't move if there were a bear chasing him. He can't speak either. He's rendered silent. "Minho, it's about fucking time you confessed, b-because I-I l-love you too."
He can suddenly find the strength to face you.
When he does, the first thing he notices is your face. Mascara has soaked your cheeks, tear stains evident. "Y-huh? Wh-why are you c-crying?"
"Because I fucking love you," you sound weak- Minho never heard your voice sound so scared, "a-and you love me too? Did you mean it? You love me too?"
You're equally as soaked by the snow as he is. Your arms are crossed over your chest. He moves before he thinks, there really is nothing to think.
Hypothesis : you want him to kiss you. And according to the scientific method, he must test his hypothesis.
He's putting one foot in front of the other and moving to you. He wastes no time, simply cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.
Sparks fly like shown in movies, his lips feel tingly and he can feel his heartbeat in every bone of his body.
Your lips are even softer than he imagined. Soft and molding against his own in ways that make him dizzy.
Like throwing a block of lithium into a pond, he feels like he may explode. Every atom in his body is undergoing a chain reaction that is so right he would never stop it.
"Love you," he's mumbling against your lips, "loved you for so long. You're everything I've ever wanted."
Tears brim his lashes, they nearly fall, but he is too elated to cry. "Minho," your voice is muffled by the sloppy kisses you're placing on his lips. You let out a groan and Minho's composure crumbles.
"Always been you," you hum, "since I met you, no one else."
All he had known until now had been decomposed and resynthesized. Like a chemical equation. He hates that he still thinks of you chemically.
Yet, he'd count every atom in your body so he could find out why you're so you. He's tear apart the heavens and the earth and chemically rearrange them just to see you smile.
Your bodies are melting together, forming a mixture of desperation, love, and lust. His hands are gripping every inch of your soft flesh available.
"Minho- mhm- take m-me home," you whimper into his mouth.
He kisses you one last time. He knows he will have this life, and the next to kiss you, he's in no rush.
His eyes finally open again, and he swears he has never seen a more beautiful sight. Your makeup is running down your face, and your lips are kiss bitten. Your body is pressed against his, and your hands are cupping his jaw. "H-home?" He stutters like a little kid.
"Your house," you grin, and he swears there's a mischievous glint in your eyes, "unless you don't wanna see me naked?"
If his jaw hadn't been on the floor before, it definitely was now. "God," he groans, "c'mon."
He's pulling you along with him, in the pouring snow, to his apartment. "If I catch a cold because of you, Lee Minho," you vaguely threaten.
"Then I'll nurse you back to health," he immediately replies.
You're both placing one foot in front of the other at a fast pace. When he sees his apartment around the corner, his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.
He doesn't struggle with the keys even though his hands are shaking beyond reasonable doubt. The warmth and comfort from his home is nothing compared to that which he gets from you.
He's stepping inside and pulling you in with him before slamming the door closed. A sudden fear rises in his chest, and any semblance of what to do next faded from his mind.
You notice this, you notice everything. "You okay?" you press your body against him.
You're both soaked from head to toe in cold water, yet you're so warm against him. "I-I?" he's stunned, like a dear in headlights.
You try and fail to hide the disappointment in your tone when you say, "do you not want t-"
He doesn't even leg you finish the sentence, "-I do. I do. I do. I-It's just not supposed to hap-happen like this."
"Please explain?"
"I - I have pictured, I've thought about us- us doing this, and I-I feel like I'm doing it wrong," you search his eyes for a clue as to what he means, "I mean-I just thought it would be so much more, romantic. N-not the confession, the- I just want to make it perfect for you."
"And how would you do that?"
"With rose petals and red wine and candles and-"
You shut him up with a kiss that is broken all too soon for Minho's preference, "you're such a dork, oh my god," you sigh playfully and hit his chest lightly, "I don't want roses or red wine, or candles. Minho, I want you. That's it."
"I-I," he stutters and can feel his cheeks heating up, "w-we should hop in the shower?"
"Excellent idea," you smirk.
Minho takes your hand in his and leads you to his bathroom, "sorry for the mess," he apologizes but knows that you won't mind.
He takes his eyes off you for only a moment to turn on the warm water, and when he turns back to you, you're halfway undressed. He swears he's never seen anything as beautiful as you.
You with your shirt and skirt in a heap on the floor, the only thing covering you is your underwear. Black cotton panties with lace hemmed on the side and a matching black bra.
You're reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra when he speaks up, "let me."
You smile at him and turn around, Minho's lips ghost down the side of your neck while his hands busy themselves, taking off your bra. He kisses down the back of your neck and your body shudders against his own.
You eagerly flip around and press your lips against his own. Now it's your hands that are pulling at his soaked shirt. You break the kiss but only for a moment, only so you can take off his shirt.
"Mhm," you moan into his mouth and Minho's grabbing at your sides like a madman.
His fingers hook under your panties and pull them down your legs.
And he finally gets a good look at your most sacred parts. They're more beautiful than his mind has ever painted them to be. Your breasts are soft to his touch, not too big nor too small. And your cunt, it looks tastier than a Sunday dinner in his eyes. His eyes rake down your happy trail that connects to your neatly trimmed bush and he wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss every inch of your skin.
He pulls down his boxers with his pants, and his semi-hard cock aches to be touched, to be inside you. You take his hand and step under the stream of water. He follows.
He'd follow you anywhere.
Hot water brings life to his cold skin. He's wrapping his arms around you, and his lips push against your own. "Where's the scar from?" you mumble the question between kisses.
"Had surgery wh-when I was a kid," he only stumbles over his words because your hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly pump him.
He's so sensitive it hurts. Hurts all over. His body writhes at its own accord. "Your cock is so fucking pretty," you hum.
The words are filthy, but they sound as holy as the Pope's because they're said by you. "Baby- I-" you're so good at making him feel good.
Had you done this with someone else? Had you jerked them off in their shower? Had you ever brought another person this much pleasure?
Jealously pools in his chest at the idea of you with anyone that isn't him. "W-why are you so good at this? I-I just, please, wanna be the last. Can't handle the idea o-of you doing this to anyone but me," he confesses.
His sudden confession makes you falter and he tries to read the expression on your face, "last time I did this was before I met you, there's never been anyone since I met you. You were always gonna be it for me."
He almost sinks to his knees he feels so stupid. "D-do you want me to prep you?"
"There's no need, I promise," you smile at him.
You flip around, your body is pressed against his shower wall, the warm water hits his back and he swears he's never been more comfortable in his whole life.
He holds his cock in his hands and lines it up at your entrance. "You ready?" He can't help but sound a little cocky.
"God, Minho, just put it in," you whine.
His knees falter when he finally presses inside you, your walls are warm, inviting. You were right, you didn't need any prep.
"Oh, God," he groans even though he only has his tip in, "fuck, don't know how long I'm gonna last."
"Don't worry," you hum, a sharp squeak leaves your mouth when he stills all the way inside you.
He's buried so far in his cock is pressed up against your cervix. A shiver runs through his body when he finally thrusts inside you. You're tight and warm and so soft.
He's desperate, with every thrust of his hips he is losing every drop of his composure.
"Harder," you beg, "fuck me like you mean it."
His hips slam against your own, and you let out cries of pleasure as your body convulses against his own.
"Love you," you repeat the words like a mantra, they tumble from your lips with every thrust of his hips.
His hand wraps around your body and finds your clit. He would die if he didn't make you cum first. "Ah, jagi," he moans.
"Ah, Min- mama," you don't even realize what you're saying.
Mama? That was new, but he wouldn't protest. Not to you. Not in a million lifetimes.
"Mama, hmm?" Minho whimpers, "you wanna call me that?"
"Mhm," you nod your head furiously, "love you so much!"
How he loves you too.
His hand glides down your body and finds your swollen clit, he rubs it tenderly as his hips stutter in their movements. "Mama!" you squeal, "gonna cum!"
Minho can't warn you before he cums. He swears on everything he knows, this was the best sex he's ever had. His body convulses against yours and all that can be heard is the water hitting the shower and the both of your debauched breaths.
"Love you," you whisper.
Minho places a kiss on your spine, "I love you so much more, jagi. Merry Christmas."
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