#paper radio clipping

[artistthetravel]

Art collection name > search In t. Eyehearitwad the start of a Portfolio.. another hey steal my idea make a app no limit add on with video audio pics for artists and make it a portfolio... watch out for hacking editing stealers taking painting making smaller

[fozmeadows]

the older I get, the more the technological changes I've lived through as a millennial feel bizarre to me. we had computers in my primary school classroom; I first learned to type on a typewriter. I had a cellphone as a teenager, but still needed a physical train timetable. my parents listened to LP records when I was growing up; meanwhile, my childhood cassette tape collection became a CD collection, until I started downloading mp3s on kazaa over our 56k modem internet connection to play in winamp on my desktop computer, and now my laptop doesn't even have a disc tray. I used to save my word documents on floppy discs. I grew up using the rotary phone at my grandparents' house and our wall-connected landline; my mother's first cellphone was so big, we called it The Brick. I once took my desktop computer - monitor, tower and all - on the train to attend a LAN party at a friend's house where we had to connect to the internet with physical cables to play together, and where one friend's massive CRT monitor wouldn't fit on any available table. as kids, we used to make concertina caterpillars in class with the punctured and perforated paper strips that were left over whenever anything was printed on the room's dot matrix printer, which was outdated by the time I was in high school. VHS tapes became DVDs, and you could still rent both at the local video store when I was first married, but those shops all died out within the next six years. my facebook account predates the iphone camera - I used to carry around a separate digital camera and manually upload photos to the computer in order to post them; there are rolls of undeveloped film from my childhood still in envelopes from the chemist's in my childhood photo albums. I have a photo album from my wedding, but no physical albums of my child; by then, we were all posting online, and now that's a decade's worth of pictures I'd have to sort through manually in order to create one. there are video games I tell my son about but can't ever show him because the consoles they used to run on are all obsolete and the games were never remastered for the new ones that don't have the requisite backwards compatibility. I used to have a walkman for car trips as a kid; then I had a discman and a plastic hardshell case of CDs to carry around as a teenager; later, a friend gave my husband and I engraved matching ipods as a wedding present, and we used them both until they stopped working; now they're obsolete. today I texted my mother, who was born in 1950, a tiktok upload of an instructional video for girls from 1956 on how to look after their hair and nails and fold their clothes. my father was born four years after the invention of colour televison; he worked in radio and print journalism, and in the years before his health declined, even though he logically understood that newspapers existed online, he would clip out articles from the physical paper, put them in an envelope and mail them to me overseas if he wanted me to read them. and now I hold the world in a glass-faced rectangle, and I have access to everything and ownership of nothing, and everything I write online can potentially be wiped out at the drop of a hat by the ego of an idiot manchild billionaire. as a child, I wore a watch, but like most of my generation, I stopped when cellphones started telling us the time and they became redundant. now, my son wears a smartwatch so we can call him home from playing in the neighbourhood park, and there's a tanline on his wrist ike the one I haven't had since the age of fifteen. and I wonder: what will 2030 look like?

[tapeskingdom]

vintage themed study planner washi tape

[thinkinonsense]

old!logan and his obsession with the cute diner girl *mdni

a/n: this is my first attempt at writing something smutty so if it sucks im sorry lmao also if any writers have any tips please share! :)

logan has been around for long enough to know when a woman is attracted to him. there was a certain essence given off that was always a dead giveaway. usually it came from women close to the age he looked like and it tended to be brief moments of lust before all hope was lost. this was until he met you.

the pretty young girl working at the diner during her time off from college. everyday, he came in and ordered a black coffee. the coffee wasn't even that good but logan would spend two dollars every single day of his life if it came with the view of you bending over in that tiny uniform skirt.

logan would watch you for hours while he drank and skimmed the news paper alone in a booth. your hair was always up in either a ponytail or held together with a hair clip. he loved seeing your pretty handwriting as you scribbled on your notepad, taking orders. it was part of your job to be nice to everyone but you were especially nice to him. even your friends began to notice how you would linger by his table, constantly topping off his coffee mug and making small talk; sometimes giving him a slice of cherry pie on the house.

"don't you think he's kinda old for you?" one of your friends whispers to you behind the counter.

it's stung but you suppose she had a point. what would a man old enough to be your father want with a young wild girl like yourself?

"i-i guess so?" you stuttered, embarrassed at your previous attempt at flirting with him.

the rest of the night, you hoped he would leave before close so you could have some time alone with your feelings. summer was almost over and you would go back to the city soon. it was time to forget these silly fantasizes.

by ten, all the other waitresses went home except you, the older woman in the back who counted the drawer every night, and a few of the cooks. the only customer still there was logan. he flipped through one of the books he brought with him; still sipping away at that damn coffee.

"isn't it getting a little late for you, sweetheart?" he asked nonchalantly, not even looking up at you as you bent over to scrub the table next to his. the fifth table you've cleaned in the last hour and the second time you've cleaned that specific table. logan noticed but you didn't.

"need the hours." you mumble, frustrated by a stubborn stain. all logan could focus on was your scrunched nose and how your tight top pushed your boobs together just right for his viewing. "college is fucking expensive plus grants and scholarships only cover so much."

"hmm.." logan grunts. grants? scholarship? what a goody fucking two shoes, logan thought to himself. "if you bring me piece of pie, i think i can help you out."

you lean off the table and go get what's left in the glass container. it's probably a little hard so you definitely didn't plan on charging him for it. you sit the plate down in front of him and before you could turn around to walk away, logan reaches for your wrist softly.

"join me." he offers.

you knew you shouldn't but what was really the harm? at least your friends weren't here to make fun of you. the radio played quietly on an older station while you watched logan take a bite of the pie.

"why did your friends leave you here alone?" he asked, watching your face turn sour at the memory of them.

"don't wanna talk about it." your voice was small in the empty diner.

"why? think an old man like me can't relate to it?" logan chuckles. your thighs squeeze together without thinking. so much for not embarrassing yourself.

"no, no, not that." you shake your head and a strand of hair falls from your bun. "just sort of juvenile, you know?"

logan could tell that you were trying to come off more mature around him. you didn't want him to see you as some college kid.

"juvenile, how?" he eggs on, pushing down his glasses a bit.

god, those glasses got to you; and logan knew it.

"they don't understand how i feel about someone." you sigh.

"how do you feel about this person?" logan noticed you now avoiding his gaze, not liking it one bit. "eyes on me, princess."

the nickname caught you off guard like a dear in headlight; blinking and trembling up at logan. something logan enjoyed very much and could get used to.

"it's not important, just some stupid crush." you lie through your teeth. "they will forget about me in a month."

"why don't you think it'll work?" he cocks his head to the side a bit. "you're a pretty young thing, dollface. anyone of those college boys would be lucky to be wrapped around your little finger."

"i don't want college boys." you mumble, slightly annoyed by the memory of your friends.

logan felt himself getting hard at you admitting you had a taste for someone older. his eyes grew dark as he leaned in a little over the table.

"then what do you want?"

your moment to answer was interrupted by the older woman from the back, releasing you to go home for the evening. this was your chance to get up and leave before you admitted anything else that you would regret.

both of you stood up. logan threw down some cash while you went to collect your stuff behind the counter.

"i'll see you tomorrow, lo-"

"you didn't answer the question."

"i must go now if i want to catch the last train."

logan worried about you taking the train back to your apartment alone this late at night. usually you drive back but your car has been in the shop for almost three days now. he would watch you get to your car every night to make sure you were safe.

"i can drive you home." logan offers.

you shouldn't be this excited to be sitting in a strangers truck alone at night but here you were. the two of you sat in silence for a few minutes before logan brought up the conversation from the diner again. what did you even want?

"i want someone who understands me..." you begin rattling off the first things that come to mind when you notice logan's hand on your knee. you don't dare move.

"someone who is responsible..." with every word, his hand creeps higher and higher up your skirt. logan is more than pleased when he notices your legs spread on their own.

"someone who is m-mature..." logan's fingers inch towards the delicate skin of your inner thigh. there's no way this was happening, you thought as his index finger plays with the lace on the center of your pink underwear. he smirked at the wet spot front and center, waiting for him.

"treats me r-r-right." every word was a struggle to form as he stroked you softly. back and forth. back and forth.

logan nods along, not letting up down below. his index finger hooks onto your underwear, pulling it aside. you weren't even sure if you were breathing at this point; all this teasing was torture.

"p-p-please, logan..." you whine. "touch me."

his thumb rubs tiny circles on your button, adoring the way his name pours from your glossy lips. your hands fly to his wrists, needing more; nails digging into his skin in the most delicious way.

"where did this greediness come from?" logan groans, dipping his index finger inside of you. "what happened to that good girl from the diner?"

logan's finger barely fit in the tight space. your head fell back and a loud moan escaped you.

"oh, you weren't letting those college boys touch you at all, huh?" logan mocks, adding another finger and creating a steady pace.

"n-no!" you whine, lifting your hips a little.

"you were waiting for a real man to have his way with you, isn't that right, pretty girl?" he growls, pushing your hips back down.

you completely missed logan pulling off to the side of the road until now. his pace increases becoming rather rough now that he isn't driving. logan leaves deep purple bruises down your neck and across your chest, praising you to no end until you gush around his fingers, completely soaking his palm.

your heart pounded like you had just finished a marathon. logan allowed you to catch your breath as he carefully removed his fingers, bringing them up to his mouth to lick clean. he can feel your dazy eyes staring at him as he does so, making a real show of it.

"i've been wanting to do that for months now." he admits with a smirk.

"me too." you said, leaning forward and pulling him into a kiss; tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. logan wraps his hands around your hair, pulling you back a little when another moan falls from your lips.

"and we aren't even close to being done."

[velarisdusk]

and All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

word count: 1.7k author's note: listen.. i may write but i am no songwriter. i dont wanna hear shit abt these lyrics, i drove myself to madness for HOURS trying to come up with them ✦ . AU Masterlist . ✦ ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

The studio smelled faintly of old coffee and cedar, the latter courtesy of Cassian’s obsession with “ambience candles.” Their flickering glow did little to cut through the dim light of the room, but that was how they worked best—shadows stretching long across the walls, a backdrop of soft atmospheric music mingling with the faint hum of amplifiers. 

Cassian was seated cross-legged on the worn couch, his drum pad balanced precariously on one knee. Rhys sat opposite, his guitar cradled loosely in his lap as his fingers absentmindedly picked out a melody that might, one day, become something. 

Azriel lounged across the arm of a chair, his legs draped over one side, notebook in hand. He’d been silent most of the night, pretending to be engrossed in writing, but he hadn’t added a word in over an hour. His pulse thrummed low and steady, though it felt like it was trying to climb into his throat. 

He cleared it instead. “I, uh…” His voice broke the lull, and both heads turned to him, expectant. “I’ve been working on something,” he added, tone clipped, casual—too casual. “Thought I’d see what you think.”

Rhys’s guitar fell silent, and Cassian stilled his restless tapping. “Let’s hear it,” Rhys said.

Az’s fingers curled around the edge of his sacred notebook, the slight crinkle of paper betraying his tension. Still, he began to read. 

“Got a taste of sin, it’s dripping off your skin, Lost in your fire, pull me in, Your body’s a drug, and I’m high on the feel, Push me to the edge, make me kneel”

Cassian’s mouth fell open, and Rhys slowly set his guitar down, leaning forward as Az kept going:

“Whisper my name, and I’m already there, Fingers gripping tight, pulling through your hair. Take me in deep, make me lose control, I’m yours to break, body and soul.”

When he finished, the studio was dead silent, save for the faint buzz of the amp. Cassian stared at him like he’d just confessed to a crime. 

“Holy shit.” Cassian let out a low whistle, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Az, I don’t know who did this to you, but she must’ve been a damn good lay.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, but he schooled his features into a mask of indifference. “It’s just a concept.”

Rhys arched a brow, his lips twitching in amusement. “Sure it is.” He didn’t press, though, only added, “It’s good. Uncomfortably horny, but good. Way different from our usual stuff.”

Cassian grabbed his sticks, tapping out a beat on the drum pad with a lecherous grin. “Let’s lean in, boys. This is the kind of trashy filth that gets crowds throwing bras at us.”

Rhys’s lips twitched into a smirk, and he picked up his guitar again, plucking out something slinky, the kind of riff that felt like it belonged in a smoky, neon-lit club. “It’s dark,” he said, nodding to himself. “Sultry. Needs that dirty edge, though. Cass?”

Cassian’s grin widened as he began hammering out a beat—deliberate, aggressive, a rhythm that hit like a pounding pulse. “You’re singing this, Az.”

Azriel froze, shooting him a glare. “Absolutely not.”

Rhysand chuckled, pointing at him with his pick between two fingers. “You’re the one who wrote this filth, so you’re singing it, lover boy.”

“It’s just a concept,” Az repeated, gritting his teeth.

“Oh yeah?” Cassian retorted, his grin feral. “Then why does it sound like you’re confessing to something you did last night?”

Az opened his mouth to respond, but Rhys interrupted, strumming a riff so suggestive it could’ve been banned on public radio. “Alright, focus, idiots. Let’s make this worth the headache.”

For the next hour, the song began to take shape. Rhys layered intricate licks over Cassian’s primal rhythm, the combination dripping with heat and tension. Azriel’s lyrics were sharpened, punctuated with pauses that hit like clenched fists, every word landing like a whisper pressed against the shell of your ear.

Cassian couldn’t help himself. “‘Tie me down, tear me apart,’” he sang mockingly into the mic, voice exaggeratedly gravelly. “Az, I’m learning so much about you tonight.”

Az snatched the mic out of his hand, deadpan. “Learn to shut the hell up.”

Cassian laughed so hard he almost fell off his stool. “This one’ll wreck them. Absolute filth.”

Rhys leaned back, smiling lazily. “Filthy sells. And Az?” He tilted his head, studying his brother like a puzzle. “Next time you’re uh, inspired, maybe don’t hold back. This is… enlightening.”

Azriel only shook his head, flipping his notebook closed as Cassian howled with laughter, already promising to slap the song on the album. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Midnight wrapped around you like a blanket, the world outside still and quiet. The soft glow of your laptop lit your room as you settled further into bed, earbuds in place, ready for this moment. You’d been counting down for weeks, your excitement bubbling just beneath your skin. Finally, their newest album was here. 

It’d been months since the concert—months since you’d stood in that dark, electric space, his voice carving through the air like a blade. You could still feel the vibrations of the bass in your chest, the heat of the crowd, the way his eyes had found yours for just a second too long.

You hit play, and let the first track wash over you, a rush of gritty guitars and smooth vocals pulling you in instantly. The familiar sound of Rhysand’s honeyed voice wrapped around you, rich and magnetic, while Cassian’s drums hit like a thunderstorm. But it was the deeper, shadowed harmony threading through the background that made your breath catch. 

Azriel. 

Hearing him again sent a shiver through you, unbidden memories tugging at the edges of your mind. You’d spent one unforgettable night with him, his low, dark voice murmuring filthy things in your ear—words that had set your skin on fire and lingered long after the moment ended. His presence had been like gravity, drawing you closer, holding you there, even when you weren’t sure you could take it. 

And now, hearing that same voice woven through the music, backing Rhysand’s lead, was enough to make your pulse race. You didn’t know if you wanted to rewind the track or keep going, chasing that sound, that pull. 

You let it play. Each song unfolded like a gift—raw emotion, sharp edges. You found yourself nodding along, your fingers drumming softly against the blanket as you let the music consume you. But you couldn’t ignore the way Azriel’s harmonies caught your ear, his voice dipping into the pockets of the melody, haunting and magnetic. 

The opening notes slinked through your ears, unhurried but charged, the tempo slow enough to make your breath hitch. This was different. Azriel’s voice took the lead, a rare spotlight for him on a track, with Rhysand providing backup vocals—a reversal of their usual dynamic. It was striking, intimate, and laced with something that felt far too personal.

“Past the greenroom, whispers low, ‘No one’ll see, now don’t let go.’ Your nails, your teeth, the sting, the scrape— Pull me under, I’ll beg, I’ll break.”

You froze.

The blanket bunched in your fists as your mind caught up to what you were hearing. 

No.

Your thumb hovered over the pause button, but you couldn’t press it. The way Azriel sang it—low, raw, and dripping with heat—made it impossible to think straight. His voice wrapped around the lyrics like a confession he hadn’t meant to give, and Rhysand’s smoother backing vocals added a dangerous edge, amplifying every word. 

You yanked one earbud out, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a moment, you just stared at the ceiling, the words looping in your mind like a broken record. But the harder you tried to dismiss it the more the connections gnawed at you. His mouth at your ear, his breath hot against your skin, murmuring reassurance as his hands slid under your shirt. You’d laughed, breathless, trying to quiet yourself as his lips pressed to your neck, but he’d just chuckled, low and dark, “No one’ll see. Just let me feel you.”

And “now don’t let go”—your stomach flipped at the memory. His voice, husky and commanding, echoing through his dressing room as he hauled you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. His teeth grazing your jaw, his hand gripping your thigh. “Now don’t let go, sweetheart,” he’d rasped, right before pressing you into the wall and wrecking you. 

Your breath came shallow, heart racing as the memories sharpened, aligning too perfectly with every word. The song ended, and silence pressed heavy against your ears. Before you could think, your thumb hit replay. 

Your knees tucked up against your chest as the opening notes filled the air again. You closed your eyes, the melody threading through you, every word lodging itself deeper. Was it just your imagination? Or was there something unmistakable in his voice—a heat, a pull, that felt like it was meant for you?

Your chest tightened as the song finished, leaving you breathless and stunned. “No way. No way,” you muttered, shaking your head, but your hands were trembling as you pressed play again. 

You got up, pacing your room with restless energy, the song still blasting through one earbud. Each time you heard it, new details jumped out at you—an inflection here, an ad-lib there. It wasn’t coincidence. It couldn’t be. 

The realization hit you all at once, like a weight in your chest. The lyrics weren’t just abstract poetry. They were something real. They were yours. 

You needed to see them perform this live. You needed to hear Azriel sing those words like looking out at a crowd, to watch the way he carried himself under the stage lights. Would he meet your gaze if you were there? Would he falter, even for a second, knowing you’d heard every word and recognized yourself in them?

And more than anything, you needed to talk to him. To get his attention again, to hear the truth from his lips. 

[daydreamabout]

Over the Radio [Tim Bradford Imagine]

Summary: It is the usual teasing between Tim and you, except for the fact that the others can hear you.

It was another usual day at the LAPD precinct. Tim Bradford sat at his desk, his brows furrowed as he studied a case file. The office buzzed with the low hum of activity—officers coming and going, papers shuffling, phones ringing. But for Tim, it was all white noise. He was focused, determined, and as always, his serious demeanor made him stand out from the others.

Across the room, Y/N sat with a cup of coffee, her feet kicked up on the edge of her desk. She was the opposite of Tim—soft-spoken, quirky, and often surprising people with her sharp wit. The two of them had been partners for a while now, and while they kept things strictly professional on the surface, there was an undeniable connection between them. One that neither of them had been willing to fully acknowledge, at least not out loud.

"Tim," Y/N called, her voice light and teasing. "You ever consider cracking a smile? I mean, I'm pretty sure it’s still in there somewhere."

He didn’t even look up, instead huffed in that way he always did when she pushed his buttons. "I’ll smile when you stop talking."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, leaning back in her chair. "Ah, so it’s my fault you're perpetually grumpy, huh?"

"You know I don't have time for small talk," Tim replied, still buried in paperwork.

She smirked. "Right. Small talk. That’s totally it."

The radio buzzed suddenly, interrupting their banter. "Unit 57, we’ve got a 10-31 in progress at 5th and Meryl. Need backup. Over."

Y/N grabbed the mic without hesitation. "Unit 57 here, we're on it. Tim, you ready for some action?" Her voice was light and easy, the same tone she used to tease him.

Tim’s response was clipped as usual. "Always."

As they headed out to the car, their usual routine fell into place. Y/N hopped into the passenger seat, and Tim slid into the driver’s side, his focus instantly shifting to the road ahead. He wasn’t much of a talker while driving, but Y/N, ever the one to fill the silence, couldn’t resist a little playful commentary.

"You ever think about how weird it is we’re partners? I mean, I’m all sunshine and sarcasm, and you’re… well, you." She paused, glancing at him. "A grumpy, well-dressed tornado of intensity."

Tim’s lips twitched. "I’m not grumpy."

She shot him a look, her playful smile never fading. "Uh-huh. And I’m totally not secretly a sarcastic genius."

He let out a small sigh, trying to suppress the amusement that was fighting its way through. "Sure, whatever."

As they reached their destination, Tim parked the car, still holding onto his usual stoic expression. But as they prepared to exit, Y/N couldn’t resist one more jab.

"You know, if I were a betting woman," she said, as he adjusted his gear, "I’d say you’ve got a soft spot for me under that tough-guy exterior."

Tim shot her a look that was half-impressed, half-exasperated. "You’re delusional."

Just as they were getting ready to move, the radio crackled loudly, startling them both. But something was off—the sound was far too clear and continuous, like the mic was stuck on.

"Unit 57, you two getting cozy in there or what?" Angela’s voice came through the radio, her tone amused but sharp. "Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like a whole lot of flirting going on over the radio."

Tim’s eyes widened in mild panic, his face turning a shade of red that was rare for him. "What the hell?" he muttered under his breath, quickly reaching to adjust the mic, but Y/N was faster. "Uh, I think... I think the mic’s stuck," she whispered, her voice laced with a mix of disbelief and amusement. She tried pushing the button to no avail. Angela’s laughter crackled through the speaker again. "Yeah, it sounds like you two have a lot to discuss on the airwaves. Maybe I should be worried, huh?"

"Nah, we’re just discussing the fine art of sarcasm, Angela. Don’t you worry your little head,"Tim spoke up.

Angela’s laughter echoed over the radio. "Uh-huh, sure. Just make sure that fine art doesn't get you two in trouble when we’re out on the field. Keep it professional, lovebirds."

Tim gritted his teeth, but Y/N couldn’t help herself—she leaned over and whispered, her voice low but teasing, "I think we’ve officially been outed."

Tim shot her a look, his usual seriousness battling with the growing warmth creeping up his neck. "This isn't funny."

Y/N leaned back in her seat, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, I think it’s hilarious."

The radio crackled again, this time Angela’s voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Seriously, though, Tim, you better be careful. I can hear the smile in your voice, and we both know that’s a dangerous thing."

Y/N snickered, and Tim tried his best to hide the slight grin threatening to break through his mask of composure. But despite himself, he couldn’t help it.

"Just focus on the case, Angela," he said, his voice still sharp but with a hint of amusement that hadn’t been there before. He glanced at Y/N, who was grinning like she’d just won a small victory. "You too, Y/N. Keep it together."

But Y/N just shrugged, the glint of playful rebellion still dancing in her eyes. "What can I say? I’m just making sure the day stays interesting."

As they headed toward the scene, the tension between them remained palpable, but now there was a new, unspoken understanding hanging in the air—one that neither of them was ready to acknowledge out loud. Yet.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Do you think that the autobots or decepticons might find any aspects of human technology interesting? it is technically less advanced, but it's also so drastically different that several kinds of power source exist for their machines, I imagine it would at least draw Shockwaves intrigue

I doubt they would find any one thing all that wild. After all, the internet is nothing new to them, nor is most of the tech humanity uses. However, with that said, I do think Cybertronians as a whole would be astounded by the stuff humans came up with an either used to hilarious/frightening effect or did not use due to the sheer wildness of it.

Example one: Spy cats with listening devices implanted into their skulls to allow operators to pick up conversations from targets without suspicion. To a Cybertronian, the idea makes perfect sense on paper. Get a beastformer, a minicon, or a cassette. Have them act more beast like and hang around to listen. Easy enough right? Well that's what they would think until they actually get to know Earth fauna. At which point I can see them becoming wildly confused with the entire idea and similar ones like it.

I do think the Autobots in particular would find radio waves to be fun. Largely because they can pick up no it and mess with it easy peasy. Bumblebee could use it to make voice clips, meanwhile the rest of the team just mess with the radio to be nuisances. Ratchet might use them on occasion to listen in to his favorite stations while out and about. Arcee and Bulkhead would find them fun for music reasons. And since Optimus is the way he is, he'd likely listen to country music or chime in to various police stations just to keep tabs while out driving.

As for the cons? I can see them finding humanity's attempt at building weaponry to be funny. Minus MECH, humans haven't been very effective at cutting them down. So I do imagine it is less of an awe thing and more mockery as they gaze down at the US Navy and their silly little boats. Or the US Airforce and their slow as slag jets. Starscream might have fun picking a few apart just to see why they suck so bad (in his optics at any rate).

[redvexillum]

TAGS/WARNINGS: f!reader, human!alastor, period-typical racism, period-typical sexism, implied abuse from reader's husband

SPECIAL MENTION: @cartoonykat thank you for the request. It has been fed into the monster that is called VEXITOBER.

SPECIAL SHOUT OUT: @redfoxwritesstuff I know I promised a fanfiction of your fanfiction (Misdemeanour of the Heart) like 300 years ago. But, just take this one-shot to stave off your hunger for now.

The brittle paper crinkled under your fingertips, every crease, every worn edge, a reminder of the countless times you’d held it before. It was delicate – seemed like it would crumble into dust at the slightest touch – but despite its fragility, it was the most valuable thing you’d ever possessed. Your fingers trembled as they traced the lines of the newspaper clipping, but it wasn’t the printed news of the “Bayou Butcher” striking again that made your heart race.  

It was his writing, the neat curling script at the bottom, a mere whisper of words: “Tune in next Monday at 3:00, ma chère.” 

Your breath hitched, a sharp hiss escaping between clenched teeth as the persistent ache in your left leg flared. Pain shot upward, digging into your hip like a dagger, but you fought to stay upright. The agony was a minor inconvenience today.  

Today was the day.  

Your heart pounded harder, matching the rhythmic throb in your leg. The memory of those elegant, looping letters tugged at your emotions, just as they had when you’d first received the note. Every time you touched the ink, you remembered his voice – smooth as honey, with that rich, radio charm, the voice that captivated thousands. But it wasn’t just a radio host’s voice.  

It was his voice. 

It was…Alastor’s. 

You never should’ve gotten involved. At first, it had all been so innocent, hadn’t it? You thought little of it – a mere curiosity – when your husband, a man who harboured such blatant hatred for “coloured folk,” began conducting business with Alastor, a man of Creole descent. It was scandalous in its own way, but you, ever the dutiful wife, entertained your husband’s association with grace.  

You were polite, respectful, keeping your eyes down and your words sweet. But slowly, ever so slowly, those polite gestures became something more.  

A fleeting brush of his hand, lingering longer than it should have. A shared smile, deeper than you intended. The space between you shrank until a single kiss shattered the fragile boundary you’d drawn. And now… 

Now… 

Tears blurred your vision, each drop falling onto the brittle paper and smudging the ink. The once-crisp words bled together, dark and dreary, as if the rain itself had swept across the page. A storm had gathered within you, just like that fateful night. You almost got caught. You and Alastor, locked in a forbidden moment, nearly discovered by your husband.  

The thought of your husband finding out, of him laying a hand on Alastor, made your blood run cold. You couldn’t stay.  

So you left.  

You left Alastor.  

A broken whimper escaped your lips as you stumbled forward, your body too weak, too damaged, to hold itself upright any longer. You caught yourself against the bookshelf, your trembling fingers gripping its edge, knuckles white. Every movement was agony. The bruises littering your skin throbbed with each breath, each heartbeat, a cruel reminder of the hell that had become your life.  

Lately, your husband returned home late, reeking of alcohol so pungent it seemed to burn your skin when he got too close. The man you once knew, once loved, had become something unrecognizable – a monster lurking behind a mask of daylight.  

You were trapped. A prisoner in your own home, your body marked by his rage, your soul shattered by the weight of your tight-lipped silence.  

The clock ticked steadily in the background, its rhythmic pulse mocking your stillness. You closed your eyes, wishing for a moment of peace, but even in the dark, the memories of Alastor haunted you. You hadn’t seen him since the day you walked out of his life. But weeks after, he appeared right on your doorstep, unannounced. His brown eyes were gentle with concern, only to have that warmth crack and harden when he saw the state you were in. His once soft brown eyes had turned into stone, his anger rippling beneath the surface as though it could tear the earth apart.  

He tore a piece of newspaper he had in his pocket and scribbled a message before handing it to you. His eyes narrowing when he saw the striped bruises around your wrist. He hadn’t said a single word to you, other than the two words that seared into your heart: 

You’re mine.  

The clock struck three, and slowly, painfully you opened your one good eye – the other swollen shut from the brutal fist that had come down on you after you refused your husband’s demands. You had denied him access to your body – denied him your so called “God-given wifely duties.” And this state you were in was your divine punishment. The bruises around your bony wrists were dark and vicious, branding you with your husband’s mark that trembled as you reached for the radio.  

Today – Alastor had asked you to tune in specifically today – and out of some stroke of luck, your husband was out of town. He hated when you listened to other men, even if it was just the radio. The idea of another voice in your ear, a voice that wasn’t his, filled him with blind rage.  

You took a quick glance at the window, letting out a brief sigh of relief that your husband was still away. Your fingers hovered over the dial, and with a soft click, the radio crackled to life. Static filled the room, but then, through the distortion, came a voice that made your breath catch in your throat. 

His voice.  

“…and now, I have a special message for the lucky lady tuning in!” 

Alastor’s familiar, jaunty tone spilled through the speakers, wrapping around you like a warm embrace, like the gentlest touch on your battered soul. You bit your lip, stifling a sob as tears welled up, your body shaking with the need to cry out. It had been so long. Too long since you’d heard his voice.  

“A-Al…” you tried to whisper, but your voice was hoarse, cracked from the screams you’d muffled in the night. Your lips were raw and bruised, but even with the pain, you smiled. It was small, fragile, but it was a smile nonetheless. Because here, in this small moment, you had him again. His voice, his presence, filling the void left by your husband who only knew how to hurt you.  

Closing your eyes, you sank onto the floor, legs giving out as you rested your head against the cool wood of the shelf. Alastor’s voice filled the room, filled you, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you let yourself feel – let yourself be held by the words of the man who had once shown how gentle and beautiful love could be.  

You tuned in, just as he had asked, and for the first time in weeks, you weren’t alone.  

���Ma chère, I still remember your warm eyes that gazed only at me, steadfast and unwavering, filled with wonder and bright cheer. Your voice, a sweet melody, that I could listen to daily and never tire of. Ah – but if I may be so bold to confess, ma chère, it is your smile that visits my dreams. It is your smile that keeps me company daily, it is your smile that I miss…” 

His words hit you like a wave, crashing against the fragile wall you’d built around yourself. Your smile, once warm and bright, slowly withered. The first tear trailed down your cheek, hot and burning, followed by another, and then another, each one faster than the last as you bit down on your lip, suppressing the sob threatening to escape.  

“I miss your smile too…Alastor,” you whispered, lips quivering, forcing the words through the pain. For a moment, you let yourself pretend. Pretend you were strolling though a sunlit park with him by your side, hidden from the eyes of the world. But reality, cold and merciless, clawed at your throat, dragging out a small, broken whimper.  

“… Ma chère, my sweet, my love,” Alastor’s voice dipped lower, his tone like velvet through the static of the radio. If you closed your eyes now, you could almost feel him – standing behind you, his breath warm against your ear, whispering his sweet, honeyed words. Words that once filled your heart with joy now felt like they might tear you apart. “A day without you is bleak, but a future without you is…” His voice wavered, a beat of silence, as if he was fighting to get the next words out.  

“Hell.” 

That single word, harsh and broken, cut through the crackling static like a knife. You flinched, the pain radiating from your chest as if someone had reached in and twisted your heart.  

There was another stretch of silence. The white noise filled the room, deafening, until finally, his voice returned –softer, aching. “My love,” he whispered, “if you would allow me to see you once more, to brush my fingers down your lovely cheek, to gaze into those bright smiling eyes, then I vow… I would move Heaven and Earth for you. I would be everything you want and more. And there will never be a day when you must endure the chilling embrace of an unworthy touch, nor a single night of agony. This, I promise. I vow to you, ma chère, if you would only give me the honour to be worthy of your love.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, teeth chattering as you let his words wash over you, seeping into your tired bones. He was offering you everything. Love, protection, a life free from the horrors you endure every day. But didn’t he know? Didn’t he understand that this love was doomed from the start? You were already married, bound by vows to a man who made your life a living nightmare. A love like this – your love with Alastor – could never survive. It wasn’t meant to.  

And yet…yet, like always, Alastor had planted a dream within you, a sweet, dangerous seed that promised bountiful harvests of love, of tenderness, of a life you’d only dared to imagine in the darkness of the night. How could you not reach for it? How could you not want to believe in it, despite everything? 

Your fingers tightened around the scrap of newspaper, the brittle paper crumpling in your hand as you tried to stop the flow of your tears. Yet, it was no use as the tears continued to stream down your face, stinging your bruised eye. You pressed your trembling hand to your lips, your skin still raw and split from your husband’s violence, as if trying to hold in the cry steadily building inside you.  

But you couldn’t hold it back. Not anymore.  

A wail tore from your throat, loud, agonizing, your body wracked with sobs as the flood of tears spilled out, unchecked and relentless. It was too much. The love, the longing, the pain – it all crashed down, drowning you in its biting cold tide.  

You loved him. You loved him. You loved…him.  

The truth of it echoed in your mind, in your soul, and as if he could hear your heart’s desperate cry, Alastor’s voice broke through the storm of your agony, as soft and tender as the touch you craved.  

“My sweetest dear,” he murmured through the radio, his voice filled with the words you had both been too afraid to speak during all your stolen moments together. “I love you.” 

It was the confession you had waited for, the one you never dared hope to hear. And at that moment, despite the bruises, despite the pain, despite the impossible weight of your circumstances, you believed him.  

And you loved him back.  

You bowed low, forehead pressed against the floor, your tears soaking into the polished wood, staining it with sorrow. The ache in your heart was unbearable, sharp and unrelenting, a pain deeper than any bruise your husband could leave on your skin.  

This love – it hurt. It hurt in ways you had never imagined. The realization cut through you like a blade: loving someone you could never have, never be with, was a torture far worse than any physical blow.  

Oh, it hurt.  

Your eyes fluttered shut as your body, too exhausted to endure any longer, curled onto its side. Just for a moment, you needed rest. Just for a moment, you wanted to escape the reality of your life – the bruises, the pain, the suffocating hopelessness.  

In your mind, you reached for Alastor, imagining him beside you, his arms encircling you with warmth, his voice lulling you into a peaceful slumber. A world where his love was real, tangible, and the pain that haunted you every night simply vanished.  

He promised you everything in those dreams – tenderness, devotion, a life free from fear. And as his voice played softly through the radio, talking about the weather, the sports, the latest hot gossip, you let the tears dry on your cheeks. His voice, so familiar and comforting, pulled you from the edge of despair, if only for a little while.  

For the first time in what felt like eternity, a small, fragile smile curved your lips. It had been so long since you felt any semblance of peace. So long since you could rest without the constant grip of terror choking you.  

As your consciousness began to slip away, sinking into the embrace of sleep, Alastor’s voice faded with it, the steady cadence of his words slowly disappearing into the background. The surrounding darkness wasn’t frightening this time – it was welcoming, calm. There were no screams here, no pain.  

Only him.  

But before you fully drifted away, his voice lifted again, bright and animated, his thick transatlantic accent dancing through the radio 

“Now, dear listeners, before I end my segment, please do take care! Word on the street is that the notorious Bayou Butcher is prowling the streets, and the past several victims all appeared to be married men! Haha!” 

The words hung in the air, but you were too far gone to hear the dark twist of humour in his tone. Too far gone to realize what it might mean. Your last thought, before sleep claimed you, was of Alastor, and how much you wished – how much you needed – to be in his arms, far away from the world that was tearing you apart.  

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

[wooeo]

☼ BEAUTY QUEEN — enhypen x f!member!reader

youtube compilation (name) my beauty queen, 1.3 million views

note, the 2 girls during clip 2 are ocs dont mind them

clip 1

— “noona,” jungwon called you over to him and niki. he had just confessed to once getting valentines day chocolate from one of his friends. 

“hmm?” you pushed your hair over your shoulder, making sure it didn’t get stuck in your clothes.

“noona, have you ever gotten white day chocolate?” niki asked, looking up at you.

the camera panned to you, “yeah,”

they both ooh’ed, teasing you as you smiled awkwardly, “how many times?”

embarrassed, you laughed and turned away from them. they protested loudly, catching the attention of your bandmate and old classmate, jay. 

“what? what?” 

“hyung! you and noona were classmates right?”

“yeah,”

“have you ever seen her getting white day chocolate?”

jay nodded, “yeah. she once had a whole bag filled,”

you protested, not wanting him to make the information public, “jay! shut up!”

“eh?!” niki’s mouth fell open and jungwon looked at you in shock, “seriously?!”

jay nodded, laughing at your flustered expression, “didn’t you have two full bags in our third year?”

“JAY!”

clip 2

— jay entered first, then sunghoon, then you. you were half hidden behind sunghoon until you stepped out onto the white platform where the boys made space for you between them and you properly came into view of the other contestants. 

“wha,,”

you were too far away and too nervous to hear the sounds of awe coming from the others. two of the girls that were already seated, leaned closer to each other, “is that fair? her face?” they giggled, eyes zoomed on you. “don’t let me stand beside her,, seriously. i’ll look like a trashcan,”

you chuckled nervously, “they’re all staring,”

jay leaned closer to you, “aren’t you used to that?”

you rolled your eyes at him and he smiled. 

“she’s seriously pretty,” 

“very pretty,”

“(name) has a pretty voice,” bang sihyuk put his papers on the desk, “and she’s a strong performer,”

“ah,” rain and zico made noises in acknowledgement. “she looks like a manhwa character,” zico commented, laughing along with the other two when they saw how the contestants kept stealing glances at you.

clip 3

— “(name)!” the radio host turned to you, eyes on the cue card.

you peaked up, ignoring heesung calling you cute. 

“there is a rumor going around,” the host's eyes went to you. 

your nose scrunched up, already knowing what was to come. 

“that when you were in school,, your desk was so filled with letters and gifts that it broke,”

your band members snickered while your face flushed in embarrassment. you shook your head and waved your hands around, “‘t’s not true, it’s- ah,,” you hid your face in your hands, “over exaggeration,” you managed through the embarrassment. the boys burst out laughing, clapping and hollering.

jake, who was sitting next to you, ran his hand up and down your back in comfort through his laughter.

“it’s true! it’s true!” jay laughed even harder when you protested his words. when everybody calmed their laughter (except niki, who found your embarrassment the best entertainment), you repeated your denial.

“it’s not true. but,,” you hesitated and the boys and host chuckled again, “there was a lot on the last day before summer vacation,”

jay, your ever so helpful, ex classmate, opened his mouth, “so many it letters they fell of her desk,” 

“JAY!!” 

[mothofmyth]

Steve Harrington is lost. He's trapped in the upside down. Alone. Because of fucking course he is. Why wouldn't he be? Still, at least it's not one of the kids or something.

Then again...

At least the kids know shit like morse code, and they're smart enough to figure out how to communicate topside. Steve's just sitting here, miserably staring at the vines with his plank (he misses his baseball bat, this rotting old timber was all he could find on short notice).

Sometimes he hears little bursts of voices from the real world. Hears fucking Munson and his godawful noise-music that gave Steve headaches BEFORE all of the head trauma. And actual trauma.

But all he can find in this dump is a walkman and a two-way radio. He's tried talking into the radio an embarrassing number of times, to no avail. He doesn't know if the damned thing even has batteries in it.

He can't communicate. He can't get back home. He's just... stuck.

He's just about given up on ever getting home; ever even seeing another living person again.

When he hears Munson again.

He's just talking to himself, muttering about his latest campaign or something. Steve doesn't really care, he's just grateful to hear someone's voice other than his own.

He tries recording it, so he can listen to human speech whenever he wants, but he grabs the radio by mistake.

Munson stops talking. The air becomes thicker, somehow tension seeps across the dimensions.

"Hello?" Munson sounds concerned - afraid, even.

Steve's eyes snap wide open.

"Hello?! Hey, Munson? Can you hear me?" He shouts into the musty air, careless of the monsters waiting outside the paper-thin walls of his hideout.

"Fucking losing it, Munson." Eddie mutters to himself, seemingly without hearing the call.

Steve tries the radio again, shouting into it, begging to be heard. No luck.

He sighs, assuming some miserable coincidence gave him a tiny crumb of false hope, and drops to the floor.

He grabs the walkman, resigning himself to listening to faint recordings of Eddie fucking Munson's voice for the rest of his short, sad life. He hits record and lays in silence, listening to Eddie until he falls silent.

Steve winds back the tape, listening for whatever he's captured. It's bad quality, but that's certainly Munson's voice, raving about dragons and other nerd shit. He'll take it.

Some time passes and Steve's got the tape playing aloud while he's toying with the radio again. This time, Eddie hears it.

He reacts with surprise and fear and confusion. He's hearing his own voice, distant and crackling, coming from nowhere in particular. Of course he's fucking terrified that's some mimic ass shit.

Some sort of monster, lurking in the dark, trying to lure him to it with his own voice.

Steve, of course, realises that for some fucked-up reason, the radio works to connect him to the other side, but it only hears the fucking walkman.

Steve spends weeks trying to communicate with Eddie by playing his own speech back to him, writing a full glossary of words he's got at his disposal with time stamps for where on the cassette he needs to play to express them.

He finally convinces Eddie to listen by playing "help" "me" "it's" "big" "boy" any time he hears Eddie's presence.

He sometimes catches snippets of Wayne, too, and throws some of his words into the mix as well.

Just the innate horror of being able to communicate but only through another's words, of hearing something strange and other speak to you with your own voice, cut and clipped and tonally all wrong for the context.

Something uncanny. Something familiar yet not. Something dark and serious and frightening.

The nature of danger and bravery and fear and innovation.

They muddle through together, and when Steve is finally, FINALLY rescued he ofc holds Eddie so tight the poor boy can't BREATHE but he doesn't care because it's over and they're both safe.

Eddie holding him in return because it's REAL and he thought he might be losing his mind for a hot minute there.

[artistthetravel]

PAPER RADIO CLIPPING EP.1

[brucewaynehater101]

Y'all think about how different the batkids' perspectives on Batman were growing up?

For Dick, Batman was around 1-3 years before Robin joined him (depends on canon ig). Dick probably hadn't heard of him before the night his parents died. Then he finds out that the weird shadow monster thing that hugged him after the Graysons fell is the weird guy who is fostering him.

Barbara heard about these new vigilantes trying to do good from her dad. She saw them as people she could help and/or learn from to aid her dad in cleaning up Gotham. They weren't legends to her, but strangers that could be allies.

Jason definitely saw Robin and Batman shit in the papers (or heard it on the radio, saw some clips on TV [if he didn't have a TV then probably in a store or neighbor's home], whatever). He was tentatively five or so when Robin hit the streets. He got most of the grumbling from Crime Alley about the new vigilantes (which a lot of the folks in his neighborhood were probably pissed at Batman [either for Batman apprehending/beating up common muggers, him avoiding protecting Crime Alley, or the child shadow he had]).

Cass probably didn't know much about Batman until she met him. She knew nothing about his stories or work. She didn't grow up with the legend of Batman. All of her impressions of him came from their first meeting.

Tim and Steph both grew up with established Robins and Batman. Steph might have heard similar cursed muttering that Jason had (especially from her dad), but Tim idolized these semi-known heroes.

Duke is younger than Tim and Steph. Thus, Batman and Robin (and Nightwing) would have been considered normal throughout his childhood. It's just how it is in Gotham

Damian grew up hearing about how awesome Batman was but didn't get the proof the others did. He was told to live up to that legacy, a faint and distantly known one.

Just, for some, he was this huge legend, vigilante, and hero. For others, he was this new guy. For one, he wasn't known at all.

[stormblessed95]

Watching Are You Sure?! EP 8 Finale

A reminder of how I do these reaction posts as I watch things. I just write my reactions and thoughts down literally they happen. Think more of a bullet point format. I'll include links when I can to videos, thanks to the people who twt who upload clips and to @dstdes for providing so many of my linked video clips. And at the end, I'll do a better wrap up of all my opinions. I hope everyone enjoyed the show, I can't believe it's over!!

JK turning on Korea's top hits on the radio and both their songs playing one after the other. They KNOW they are powerful. I like them seeing/hearing that evidence though first hand 🥰 Jikook can't be separated, even on the radio!*

JK mentioning the Park Jimin summoning spell 😭😂 lmfao I love it

"this is the boyfriend shot" Jimin says THREE TIMES IN A ROW. we get it, he said this is what it looks like to go out on a date with Jungkook. And Jimin is the one who gets to do that 😅😂🥰🥰🥰 goodness. What was that Jimin? Lol honestly though, it was a cute and cozy picture!

Did the head chef just gift them one of everything on the menu?! Lmao they have so much food!!

JK telling Jimin to basically just strip naked because he went to go undo his pants buckle because he was so full but it was already undone was such a wild statement and comment to make?? The fuck? Lmao and Jimin replying with a meme was hysterical. Joking yet blushing. Top notch 😂😂 loved it. Love them. We aren't even 20 minutes into the episode yet And that was so out of pocket 😂🤣

JK being so tickled over teasing Jimin and making him come back to the car to get him 🤣 they are so funny!

Jimin dancing SNTY 😍

Their giggles over the beds?? Lol it has to be because they saw photos originally and saw the staff had separated out the beds to be separate when they originally weren't and then still gave them matching PJs to wear 🤣🤣 idk why they would do that? Lol they aren't strangers to sharing a bed lol

Jungkook teasing Jimin over the scuzzi 😂😂

Jimin putting snowballs on his head while in the hottub lol the way JK watched him. Love 😍

Not rock paper scissors to have to lay down in the snow 🤣 Jimin forcing JK to follow through on the punishment he thought up 🤣🤣🤣 the way Jimin called him baby as JK gave him the biggest puppy eyes trying to get out of having to do it 🥺🥺🥺

Jimin just laying on the floor at the bottom of the stairs while JK has his snack. Lmfao the call and response singing they had is so cute and what a song choice! 😂 Jimin saying he likes randomly laying/sprawling/rolling on the floor at home too 😂

Them reacting to episode 1 of AYS was NOT on my bingo called but im so happy about it! The editors joking with them and their interaction with the staff made me so happy too! It was also really funny them admitting to having a hard time editing the show 😂

Their giggles heal something in my soul 🥰

And the way they are sitting so close and kept their feet touching almost the entire time?? 🥰🥰🥰

Jimin's head in JKs lap at some point while watching too. I love them

JK acting a fool in the kitchen while cooking to make Jimin laugh 🥰🥰🥰

Jimin calling JK " Honey" 🥺🥺🥺 he wanted to cheers their glasses, but he called him honey. Cute

Not them teasing each other over their snores and sleeping habits 😂

"Jimin doesn't like it when someone touches his head" JK says, while rubbing his head with Jimin unbothered. Lol Jimin will let that man do ANYTHING to him 😂 and idk if JK was trying to tease Jimin or us by flexing his privilege in our face. Probably both 😂

JK saying driving on smaller roads like this is romantic. Jimin saying "this is romance, this is youth, this is nice" 😭😭😭 fuck they are so cute

JK is flying from Japan to Korea and then basically straight back out to America for his schedule. And he choose to not drink, even though he really wanted to, because he wanted to drive Jimin to the airport, just them instead of depending on the staff to take them. Give them that extra alone time together. And he chose to fly to Korea with Jimin instead of giving himself an easier and more relaxing travel schedule with more rest by staying and flying to America from Japan instead. That is... It's really fucking special and sweet and says so much about how they love each other honestly.

Giving up his last beer of their trip, after being told to relax and not worry about it because he wanted to be the one to drive them, to have that time together, just them and a GoPro they had control over, and spending that extra travel time to be together when it made a much longer and harder few days for him? That's that persistent, dedicated, quiet yet impactful kinda love. Really said a lot without saying anything.

The tradition continues of JK filming their food before ending with a close up shot of Jimins face. love that is a constant here 🥰

"I'll make sure you have a safe journey" "it's an honor" just kill me now omfg 😭🥰😭

JK being salty that Jin didn't dream about him with Jimin in the military since they are going together 😂😂😂😂

Jikook talking about how these trips were some of the happiest moments ever. And the way they were feeling a little melancholy over the trip ending and things changing and losing this constant togetherness time they had to be free .. goodness. Enjoying the cool air while trying to feel better. Ugh, I love them. I love them so much and I love the way they love each other so much.

Talking about how they loved it so much in the ending interviews, how they were the best of times. JK softly rubbing Jimins nape and back in comfort too. I'm tearing up, damn

The way JK is looking at Jimin during that last interview outtakes. My goodness 😍 same way Jimin was looking at JK while he was driving 😍

Them ending the show by having us literally send them off to the military is cruel, omfg. I AM CRYING NOW, DAMN. "A letter from beyond" fuck you too editors 😭

Wrap up Thoughts:

I'm so sad this is over. My God. Minute of silence to mourn.

.

.

.

This was such a sweet and wholesome episode. It had teasing, it had bickering, it had pet names. It was domestic as heck. It was the perfect trip for them to end their "freedom" before military service. I would have loved more conversations about that, but I'm fairly content as it is too.

Again, so many cuts (not complaining, very normal) but my favorite was how Jimin went to go wake JK up and then it cut to them leaving. I hope they enjoyed their time cuddling and relaxing sans cameras and interruption 🥰 (my assumptions I guess, but wouldn't be far fetched)

Letting my delulu out when Jimin said he just lays wherever whenever all the time at home and me thinking about the the members teasing JK about all the random ass mattresses over his house 🤣 it's too keep them comfy no matter where they end up wanting to lay 🤣🤣 (just kidding, sort of lol)

The way Jikook play fight is so equal and cute and funny. They just shove the crap out of each other but never with an intention to hurt or be mean. And they both LOVE IT.

They trust each other, give weight to each other's words and have confidence in the others beliefs and thoughts like no one else. It's such a special bond, and I'm so so glad they opted to share this with us. I truly am so grateful. And grateful for y'all letting me share all my musings with you too. 💜

And we have to end this post with the way that Jikook were spotted in Sapporo driving in the car, Jimin being the passenger princess he was, alone with their GoPro's and giving major flirty energy. And the way the show just proved OP right too. Genuinely Jikook are so special and wonderful and amazing and I love them so much. And when they got home from this trip, the group live they did shortly after? They were sooooo touchy and snuggly!

Hope everyone is excited for the photobook and behinds as well. I unfortunately am horribly sad because I'm broke AF and cannot afford to buy it in my budget at the moment, but hopefully ARMYs will upload all the photos and upload the behinds for everyone too. I will share links if I find them.

[thearttomb]

Voice acted, drawn and tweening by yours truly!

I thought about this for a while, and I decided to, idk, make it because of the many Weezer memes I came across last month.

Yeah, Mason was around the time that Weezer was new to the music industry. He began to listen to them because of his father just 3 years later, he would just sit by the little radio and listen to them every time they came up next, giggling to his little heart’s content.

Micheal listens to them slightly, but he spent most of his time staring at the wall and almost caused a power surge due to his attempts to put a paper clip into a power outlet. They were young and didn’t know the dangers of their certain actions can cause.

I have to tell you that Mason does have a friend named Brandon, he literally hates Weezer for somewhat reason.

Shadow was added in here since I originally wanted this to be just regular Four Swords content, but whatever.

[ereardon]

Before I Knew [Jake Seresin x Reader] Chapter Eighteen

A Jake Seresin unexpected pregnancy fic

Overview: On your first night after moving to San Diego to spend more time with your brother Bob, you unknowingly have a one night stand with his teammate Jake Seresin. For the first time in his whole life, Bob has a closely knit friend group and you’re desperate not to rock the boat. But an unexpected and unplanned pregnancy upends your world, forcing you and Jake closer together, against Bob’s wishes. What will happen when you find yourself actually falling for the father of your unborn child? 

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Reader; Bob Floyd x Sister!Reader 

Warnings: Pregnancy, cursing, eventual smut, angst

Chapter summary: The truth about Jake and Bob's feud comes to light

WC: 1.6K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

The day it happened, the sky was blue. Not light or foggy blue, the kind that bleeds into white. Not dark blue like midnights, or a storm on the horizon. 

It was crisp, perfect blue. The kind your memory associates with summer beach trips and perfect picnic days and the way the sky felt the day school let out at the end of the year and the kids rushed outside in a flurry of old papers and discarded textbooks. The kind of blue that felt like freedom. 

It was blue that day. Bob felt it in his bones. Jake did, too. There was something almost calming about how blue it was. How accessible. 

And then the call came in. 

The sound of the jets was loud. The wind as it whipped on their faces as they sprinted across the deck of the carrier was harsh and hot. Suddenly, the blue sky felt like an omen. 

Jake hopped into the single seat of his jet, checking the sensors, nodding at the attendant who wheeled away the ladder. 

Bob climbed into the seat behind Dakota. The two of them had been partners for years. He was the godfather to her son, Blake. They had been friends in flight school, neighbors for a while at Lemoore. He taught Blake how to ride a bike. 

They strapped in. The air buzzed around them. Bob found himself holding his breath as they climbed into the sky. Into the blue. That’s the funny thing about the sky. Once you’re up there, it’s transparent. You find yourself always reaching for something just out of your grip. 

The fight was hard, but fast. Guns blazing, enough loops that Bob felt his stomach lurch into his throat more than once. But then the smoke cleared and the radios were silent. 

They were safe. 

Dakota looked around one more time in the open air. There was something practically fizzing on her tongue, she couldn’t put her finger on it, but it was there. A feeling. A trepidation. 

And then Jake’s voice, haggard over the radio. “Dakota, five o’clock!” 

She whipped the jet just in time to dodge a bullet that pinged off the wing, leaving a burn across the metal. Bob felt his heart start to race. Suddenly, there was a firestorm of bullets. But everyone had already descended, back to the carrier. It was only Bob and Dakota’s plane, and Jake’s, left. The two of them fought off the best they could. And then the gun clip went dry. 

“Jake, we need fire,” Dakota cried, looking over her shoulder. “They’re coming!” 

“I–, I–,” Jake stuttered over the comms. 

“Hangman!” Dakota’s voice was sharp. “Hangman, where the fuck are you? We need cover!” 

There was a moment of dead silence in the air. Just Bob and Dakota waiting for a response, watching the streams of light from bullets pierce the air around them.  

“Eject, eject!” Jake’s voice was frantic. “Eject!” 

Dakota grabbed the handle beneath her seat. “You heard him, Bob. Eject!” 

Bob grabbed his lever, tugging it hard, feeling his seat throttle into the air. His eyes were squeezed shut. As he came to, he was floating, parachute gliding him down toward the water. 

And as he swam, ditching the parachute, paddling for his life, he watched as another body floated down, twenty yards away. He paddled, fast, but he already knew. He could see it in the way she fell. 

He was too late. He had been too late the moment he pressed eject. Her head was bloody from the impact, her blue eyes closed tightly, mouth slightly ajar. Bob held her in his arms, even as they fished the two of them out of the water. He tugged, hard, on her limbs as they pried her body away. 

Jake stood on the outer ring that had formed around them, sweat dripping down his face. Bob sat with his head in his hands for a moment, before looking up and making eye contact with Jake. 

Despite Bob’s smaller stature, he grabbed Jake’s collar as Bradley dove for the two of them, but Natasha stopped him. “You fucking coward,” Bob seethed. “You could have covered us, but you wanted to escape unharmed. She’s dead because of you. Her son has no mother because of you.” 

“Floyd, I–” 

“You killed her,” Bob repeated, loudly for all to hear. Jake’s face went white. “You fucking killed her.” 

***

You stood with your hands on your hips, squinting. “I think it’s crooked.” 

Jake groaned from where he sat on the floor, dutifully building the dresser that would house the baby’s changing table. “Honey, trust me when I say it’s not.” 

“Our daughter is going to roll off that shit like Humpty Dumpty.” 

“Let’s hope she doesn’t have a huge head.” 

“Your head is enormous.” 

“Hey!” 

“Am I interrupting?” Bradley poked his head in the room. 

“Yes, you are,” Jake replied, “and good timing. Y/N was just reaming me out about my big head.” 

“I mean, it’s huge,” Natasha said, striding in with a basket of baby clothes in her arms along with a bag of tiny hangers. 

“I’m sorry, does everyone think this?” 

The three of you nodded in unison and Jake rolled his eyes. “Where’s Bobby?” you asked. 

Bradley frowned. “He’s, um, busy.” 

“Busy?” You grabbed your phone out of your pocket. “Excuse me.” 

You brushed past the others, dialing Bob’s number as you entered the living room. 

“Ducky?” 

“Where are you?” you asked. “We all agreed to setting up the nursery and then Jake and I wanted to take you guys out for dinner.” 

“I, um, sorry I forgot.” 

“Well come over now,” you replied.

“Y/N, I just don’t feel like seeing Jake tonight, OK?” 

“No, not OK,” you said, placing one hand on your enormous stomach. “I’m having this baby in less than two months, Bobby. And I refuse to bring her into a world where her uncle and her dad hate each other. So get your ass over here before I scream.” 

He paused. You tapped your foot impatiently. Then, “I’ll meet you at the restaurant.” 

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth, hitting the phone’s red button and forcing it back into your pocket. Back in the nursery, Jake looked up, his face scanning yours quickly. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” You shook your head. “Let’s go to dinner? Bobby is meeting us there.” 

A shadow passed across Jake’s face. Or was it nausea? You couldn’t tell, because it was gone in an instant. 

At the restaurant, Jake held your hand beneath the table, his thumb stroking the soft part of your palm as you twirled a bite of pasta around your fork. All the while, your gaze fell on Bob, who had his eyes trained on his plate. When he did look up, there was a sadness, an ache, in his features. You couldn’t place it. 

When he left for the bathroom, you excused yourself, waiting outside in the narrow hallway until he crossed through the door and almost slammed into your stomach. Immediately, his hands shot out, guarding you. “Ducky! Jesus, what are you doing lurking in the dark?” 

“What’s wrong?” you demanded. 

“Nothing.” 

“Don’t give me that,” you said sharply. “I know you and I know something is wrong. What is it?” 

“It’s nothing,” he said. “Let it go.” 

“Did Sena dump you?” 

“No.” 

“Then what?”

“Y/N.” His blue eyes flared. “Don’t test me. Not today.” 

“Why? What’s today?” 

“What’s going on?” Jake stood with his arms crossed over his chest. “Y/N? Are you OK?” 

“She’s fine,” Bob bit back. 

“Bobby,” you warned. “Stop.” 

“You want to know why today?” he asked. You nodded. He tilted his head toward Jake. “Ask him.” 

Your gaze went to Jake, who turned pale. 

“Floyd, maybe we should do this somewhere else.” 

“I think it’s time she heard,” Bob said. “Tell her, Seresin.” 

You frowned. “Jake?” 

“Three years ago,” Jake said quietly, “there was an accident.” 

“It wasn’t an accident,” Bob spat. “You froze. You chose yourself over us.” 

“I chose YOU” Jake bellowed and you stepped back, alarmed. His green eyes, normally so calm, flamed wide. “I fucking sacrificed myself for you, Floyd. You and Dakota. And what did I get? You hating me for the rest of my life. I couldn’t save her, Bob. Neither of us could. She hit her head on the way down. It wasn’t my fault and it wasn’t yours. So can you stop blaming me for making her eject? It was protocol. It was what we were supposed to do.” His breath was getting ragged. You reached out for his arm but he yanked it away, practically buzzing with anger. “I took it. All of your anger. All of the hate. All of the pain. I took it because I was her wingman and I let her down. I couldn’t protect her up there. But I never fucking forgot about it. Not a single day goes by when I don’t regret that I froze up there.” 

Tears tingled in the corner of your eyes. Bob’s mouth was wide, but no sound came out. Jake’s face was red, stretched in angry tears. You wanted to reach out for him, but it was clear: he didn’t want you.

“You hate me for what happened,” Jake whispered. “And I know you hate that I’m the one your sister is having a baby with. But you know what, Bob? Sometimes I hate myself too.” 

Then he turned on his heel and strode away. 

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[wh1msic4lwasab1]

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐃𝐚𝐲 ᝰ ☕︎ 📂 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

⤳ synopsis: Nanami asks you to come into work tomorrow for overtime, but it’s supposed to be your day off.

genre: smut

⤳ a/n: got inspired by an animated clip in twt….I can’t find it though :(

⤳ tags: power dynamics, backshots (me next nanami), praise, vulgar, explicit, office sex-

⤳ wrd cnt: 1.9k

You sat down in your crummy office chair, staring at the mountain of paperwork ahead of you. It was the most interesting site in your boring middle office, view covered with the big cinder block building that no one rented. All you could think about was the fact that tomorrow was supposed to be your day off. Supposed to.

You had been looking forward to a relaxing evening, catching up on all your half watched shows and indulging in some much-needed self care.

However, as usual, your boss Nanami had other plans. You could hear his voice over the little radio in your office phone, calling you into his office for a moment.

You sighed, knowing that it was probably another project that needed to be finished urgently.

You walk into him staring at his laptop with a look of overwhelmed dread. 
“Y/n, I know tomorrow is supposed to be your day off, but I was hoping you could come in for some overtime, it’s much needed” he said casually, leaning back in his chair.
You couldn't help but feel a rush of annoyance. You were scared your eye was about to start twitching infront of him.

This wasn't the first time he had asked you to sacrifice your time off for work, and you were beginning to feel resentful towards him. But as soon as you opened your mouth to protest, he continued.
“I know it's asking a lot, but I promise it'll be worth it. I can't do this project without you. And besides, I'll make it up to you,” he added with a charming smile.

That walking company credit card better get you some pad thai, at the very least. 
You looked into his eyes and felt all your resolve weakening. You knew you couldn't resist the allure of his persuasive words and his stupid handsome face. And deep down, you were a little curious about what he meant by 'making it up to me.'
Maybe a raise? 
“Okay, I understand.” you reluctantly agreed, trying to sound firm but failing.
“Great, I'll see you tomorrow night then,” he said, giving you a smile before he saw you out.

The rest of tomorrow was quite dull, there really was no one but you, your boss, and a few strangling assistants trying to keep up with agendas and filings.

It was finally 6pm, and your overtime started.

You made your way to Nanami’s office with most of your belongings and the rest of the stack of papers you had procrastination on the day before.

Before you had a chance to knock on his office door, it swung open with Nanami inches away from your face, quickly backing up, startled.

'Y/n- Sorry, I was just about to go get you. Please, have a seat,” Kento said as he closed the door behind him. “I appreciate you staying late to help me with this. You've been a great asset to the department”.

You blushed and mumbled a thank you, feeling flustered by his words. You had to admit, as much as your boss annoyed you from time to time. You truly looked up to him, and a compliment from Kento made you feel much more confident about your capabilities. But as you looked up at him, you noticed the way he was staring at you.

It wasn't just appreciation, it was something more. “I have to admit,” Kento continued, walking behind and around your seated form to plop down into his desk chair across from you. “I've been watching you. Your dedication to your work ethic, your intelligence….your beauty. I've expected a lot from you, and I’m glad I was right to do so.”

You were at a loss for words, your heart pounding in your chest. You never imagined that Kento, your strict and unapproachable boss, would have paid so much attention to you. But here he was, confessing all this in front of you, his eyes burning into you with every word.

Before you could say anything, Kento smiled and looked down to your lips, and back to your eyes before opening up his laptop and crossing his legs, leaning back into his chair as you tried to form words.

You were taken by surprise, and you didn’t fully register everything he said, especially the part where he told you how beautiful he thought you were.

“Thank you- Mr. Nanami.” You said, gulping slightly and trying to fill the silence.

He twirled a pen with his fingers while replying to you, “Call me Kento, you’ve earned it.”

You nod, getting to work on the shared desk.

The two of you exchanged more details on the work at hand, hours went by and it certainly felt like it.

You let out a big yawn, small droplets forming in your eyes. It was already midnight.

“Oh dear…we’ve been here quite a while huh? Let’s take a break, stretch our legs.” He suggested.

“Sure, would you like to get some coffee?” You offered.

“I’m okay, how about you?”

“I actually…don’t even like coffee”, you confess.

Nanami lets out a deep chuckle, catching you off guard a little as it’s the first time you’ve heard him laugh.

“Y/n, there’s something I’d like to share with you. I find it now to be quite appropriate.”

Your curiosity is peaked, silently hoping for something more than just a raise.

“You’ve shown how loyal you are to this team. I’d like to offer you a promotion to senior management. We can talk more on the details later, but I look forward to sharing them with you.”

You eyes widen, this was a promotion you didn’t expect til the next few years.

Trying to stay as professional as possible, you say, “Yes! I would-“ you jump up, trying to calm down a little but it’s a little too late. Without even thinking you hug Nanami, surprisingly he hugs you back, lifting you up a bit off the floor since you pounced on him and all.

It only got worse, you may have accidentally kissed him too.

Could you blame yourself? His hands hugged your back in a way that felt too welcoming, and when you pulled away from the hug in trying to reclaim your professional manner, you swear it was like a slo motion film, where your eyes met; lips slowly pressing together.

His lips were soft yet demanding, almost like he wished for this more than you did. His tongue teased yours as his hands roamed over your back. 
“Miss Y/n,” Kento whispered against your lips, his voice sending shivers down your spine, “You should really be more careful.”

Before you knew it, he had you lifted up into his hold. He placed you onto his desk, throwing the rest of your unfinished stack to the floor in a swift motion. His hands engulfed the sides of your face as he took your lips into another dance, standing in between your legs. The authority and control he had in the office now seemed to transfer to this encounter, and you were putty in his hands, melting into his palms.

You soon felt his kisses trail down to your jaw.

“Nanami-“ You gasp.

“What did I tell you before. Call me Kento. I need you to.” He whispered into your ear, pulling your hair to make you look at him. You nod, as he makes your head lean back, giving him ample space to place kisses to your exposed neck as you sat on his desk, the paperwork as unimportant as ever.

“Yes- Kento…please- need more…”

You moan, your words shaky as he takes your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently before soothing it with his tongue.

His hand trails down your body, his fingers slipping under the hem of your pencil skirt, teasing the skin of your inner thighs before finally meeting the dampened fabric of your panties.

“You’re so wet for me already. Did you think about this all day, imagining my hands on you?” He asks, his fingers starting to rub against your clothed core, eliciting a loud moan from you.

“Yes-! Please Kento…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, about how badly I wanted you to fuck me…” You admit, feeling a sense of freedom in sharing your desires with him after all his vulnerability towards you.

“Mmm, I’m so glad we’re on the same page. Tell me how badly you need me sweetheart.” He commands, his voice low and husky, only adding to the heat between you two. You whimper, feeling his fingers pressing harder against you, the fabric of your panties becoming damper with your arousal.

“Please, Kento. I need you, I need you to fuck me. I want to feel you fill me up, I want you to make me yours, completely.”

You plead, feeling the desire and lust pulsing through your body. But Kento is not one to give in easily, enjoying the way you squirm under his touch. “Thats it, you’re such a good girl.”

He smirks, hiking your skirt up as he kneels down before you and pulls your thighs closer to his face.

He looks up at you with eyes of dark endearment, moving your panties to the side before diving down to bury his face between your thighs. His tongue works magic on your sensitive bundle of nerves, making you grip onto his hair tightly as you try not to scream his name. He already knows just how to push all your pleasure buttons, his fingers slowly tracing your folds before entering you with two fingers, curling them to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

Your superior, knelt down and serving your cunt right before your eyes.

“Fuck, Kento. I-I can’t-” You pant, feeling yourself getting close to the edge. He pulls away, making you whimper at the loss of contact.

“No, not yet. I want to be inside you when you come.” He stands up, unbuckling his belt and sliding off his pants. You can’t help but admire his toned, muscular body as he grips you hips to turn you over, forcing you down onto the hard desk, tits pressed against it with his hand pressing down on your lower back to make your ass grind up against his hard, throbbing cock.

He positions himself at your entrance, slipping his dick up and down your dripping folds, coated with your arousal, his spit, and his pre-cum leaking tip.

He slaps it on your ass a little too, making sure to savor every part of you.

“Look at me.” He commanded, waiting for you to turn your head back to meet his eyes.

He slowly pushed into you, making you gasp and grip onto the desk for support. He almost came right then and there from watching your eyes wince at his size.

He starts off slow, but it doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become rough and demanding.

Your entire body burns, a sensation so deep and guttural.

You feel Kentos hand snake up to your neck from behind, pulling you up off the desk, arching your back into him deeper, his cock finding spots in your cunt untouched to anyone else as he fucked you deeper.

“Do you like this, dirty girl? When your boss fucks your hard like this? You’re so tight around me.”

“Oh God, Kento. Yes, yes, yes!” You cry out, feeling yourself reaching your peak. He matches your moans with his own, the sound echoing through the room. The tension builds, until you both reach your climax together, panting and moaning each other’s names. Kento doesn’t pull out of you, not until he’s finished making sure you’re full to the brim. Only then, he’ll pull out and watch all his cum drip out of you and onto the edge of the desk. He might even fuck it back into you.

His gift to you, for your new promotion.

whimsic4alwasab1 ™ - do not copy, translate, modify, or claim any of my work as your own.