#A FOURTH AUDIO HIT THE FUCKING TOWER

[theradioghost]

I don't know if you're still doing podcast recs, but if you are, I really like dramas, horror, sci-fi, honestly anything that gives you the feels (especially if it has lgbtq+ rep). I am not much of a comedy person though unfortunately. The only podcast I finished was tma and I really loved it.

The recommendations are always on tap here, whenever my askbox is open! You might wanna check out:

Archive 81, for a found-footage horror about mysterious archives of tapes full of encounters with otherworldly horror, dark rituals, cults, and a long-suffering archivist with the same name as the show creator who plays him, which despite all that could not possibly be more different from TMA and yet easily matches it as one of the best horror stories I have ever enjoyed. The sound design on this show is basically unparalleled – where TMA has fairly minimalist sound design, A81 goes all out. Quite a few lgbtqa+ folk also.

I Am In Eskew, for a surreal, Lynchian horror about the city of Eskew, where it’s always raining and the streets are never the same twice, as narrated by a man who is trapped there and the woman hired to find him. Take the most viscerally disturbing episodes of TMA as a baseline for how intense this show is, then imagine the Spiral built a city and invited all the other fears over for a party. Also right up there as one of my favorite horror things ever, and recently ended, so you can listen to the whole thing right now.

Within The Wires, for a found-footage scifi dystopia, telling stories from an alternate-history world. Three of the four seasons focus on lgbtqa+ leads, and the first season, a set of instructional meditation tapes provided to a prisoner in a shadowy government institution, is still some of my absolute favorite creative use of medium and framing device ever.

Kane and Feels, for a surreal noir-flavored urban fantasy/horror hybrid, about a magically-inclined academic (and sarcastic little bastard man) named Lucifer Kane and his demon-punching partner with a heart of gold, Brutus Feels. They share a flat in London, they bicker like an old married couple, and they fight supernatural evil. This show WILL confuse the hell out of you and you will enjoy every second of it.

Alice Isn’t Dead, for a weird Americana horror story about a long-distance truck driver, criss-crossing the US in search of her missing wife. Along the way she discovers that both of them have been drawn into a dangerous secret war that seethes in the empty and abandoned expanses of America, and that inhuman hunters have begun to follow her. Also finished! And as the title kind of gives away, the lesbians do not die!

Janus Descending, for a sci-fi horror miniseries about two scientists sent to survey the remains of a dead alien civilization on a distant planet, only to learn all too well why the original inhabitants have disappeared. You hear one character’s story in chronological order and the other in reverse, with their perspectives alternating, which is done in an incredibly clever way so that even technically knowing what will happen it still holds you in suspense right to the end. Also, it made me cry, a lot.

SAYER, for a sci-fi horror with a touch of dark comedy, and probably the single best use of the “evil AI” trope I have ever seen. Tells the story of employees of tech corporation Aerolith Dynamics living on Earth’s artificial second moon, Typhon, in the form of messages from their AI overseer SAYER. The first season is great, the second season is okay, and the third and fourth seasons are fucking amazing.

Tides, for a really interesting sci-fi about a lone biologist trapped on an alien world shaped by deadly tidal forces. It’s different from just about any other sci-fi I know, focusing more on the main character’s interactions with and observations of this strange new world, where she’s very aware that she is the alien invader. (Also I don’t think any of the characters are straight.)

Station to Station, for a thrilling sci-fi mystery where a group of scientists and spies on a research ship (the ocean kind) discover that the time-warping anomaly they’re studying might be causing people to vanish from existence. Corporate espionage and high-stakes heartbreak abound. (And once again I’m not sure anyone is straight.)

The Strange Case of Starship Iris, for Being Gay And Doing Crime IN SPACE! Or, decades after a war with an alien species leaves humanity decimated and under the control of totalitarian leaders, the lone survivor of a research mission joins up with a ragtag crew of rebels and smugglers to figure out why the very government she worked for tried to kill her, and to stop them from inciting a second war. 100% lgbtqa+ found family in space heist action and it’s glorious in every way.

Unwell, for the horror-ish Midwestern gothic story of a young woman who returns to her hometown to help her estranged mother after an injury, and discovers that there is something just a little bit wrong, not just with her mother, but with her mother’s house, and with the whole town. Subtle and creepy. The protagonist is a biracial lesbian, one of the other major characters is nonbinary, the cast in general is super diverse.

The Blood Crow Stories, for an lgbtqa+ focused horror anthology! The four seasons so far have been the stories of an ancient evil stalking the passengers of a WWI-era utopian cruise ship, a dark Western mystery about a group of allies trying to stop the mysterious killer known only as the Savior, a 911 operator in a cyberpunk dystopia who starts getting terrifying phone calls from demons, and strange and deadly goings-on at a film studio in the golden age of Hollywood. Everyone is Very Gay and anyone can die, especially in season 1.

The Tower, for a melancholy experimental miniseries about a young woman who decides she’s going to climb the mysterious Tower, from which no one has ever returned. Quite short and very, very good.

Palimpsest, for a creepy, heartbreakingly sad and yet incredibly beautiful anthology series. Season one is the story of a woman who suspects her new home is haunted, season two is a turn-of-the-century urban fantasy about a girl who falls in love with the imprisoned fae princess she’s been hired to care for, and season three is about a WWII codebreaker who begins seeing ghosts on the streets of London during the Blitz.

Mabel, for a part-horror, part-love story, the kind of faerie tale where you feel obliged to spell it with an E because these are the kind of faeries that are utterly inhuman, and beautiful, and dangerous. Anna, the new caretaker for an elderly woman, leaves messages for her client’s mysteriously absent granddaughter Mabel. An old house in Ireland has a life and desires of its own, few of them friendly. Two women fall in love and set out for vengeance against the King Under The Hill. Creepy, strange, and gorgeously poetic.

Ars Paradoxica, for a sci-fi time travel Cold War espionage thriller. Physicist Dr. Sally Grissom accidentally invents time travel, landing herself – and her invention – in the middle of a classified government experiment during WWII. As the course of history utterly changes around them, she and what friends she can find in this new time must struggle with the ethics of what they’ve done, and the choices they’ll have to make. An aroace protagonist, Black secret agents, time-traveling Latina assassins, Jewish lesbian mathematicians, two men of color whose love changes the course of time itself, this show says a big fuck you to the idea that there’s anything hard about having a diverse cast in a period piece and it will break your heart, multiple times. Also finished!

The Far Meridian, for a genre-bending, poetic, at-times-heartwarming-at-times-heartbreaking story about an agoraphobic woman named Peri who decides to begin a search for her long-missing brother Ace after the lighthouse in which she lives begins mysteriously transporting to different places every day. I can never forget an early review that described this show as “the audio equivalent of a Van Gogh painting.” Suffice to say it is beautiful, and fantastically written and put together.

What’s the Frequency?, for a Surrealist noir horror mystery set in mid-20th-century LA. I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I can really explain what goes on in this show, but it features a detective named Walter “Troubles” Mix and his partner Whitney searching for a missing writer. Meanwhile, the only thing that seems to be playing on the radio is that writer’s show Love, Honor, and Decay, which also seems to be driving people to murder. Fantastically weird, deliciously creepy.

Directive, for a short sci-fi miniseries about a man hired to spend a very, very long trip through space alone, which doesn’t seem all that sad until suddenly it hits you with Every Feel You’ve Ever Had, seriously I don’t want to spoil it so I won’t say anything more but listen to this and then never feel the same way about Tuesdays again.

Wolf 359, for honestly one of the best podcasts out there, containing all of the drama and feels, seriously this show ended over two years ago and I still cry literal tears thinking about it sometimes. It has definite comedic leanings, especially in the first season which reads a bit more like a wacky office comedy set in space, but it takes a sharp turn towards high stakes, action, and feelings and that roller coaster never stops. Take four clashing personalities alone on a constantly-malfunctioning space station eight light years from earth, add some mysterious transmissions from the depths of space, toss in some seriously Jonah-Magnus-level manipulative evil bosses, and get ready to cry.

or, may I suggest Midnight Radio? It’s a lesbian-romance-slash-ghost-story completed miniseries about a late-night 1950s radio host in a small town who begins receiving mysterious letters from one of her listeners, and I have been assured by many people and occasionally their all-caps tweets that it provides ample Feelings! (also I wrote it.)

#holy fuck when did this answer get that long? #anyway I uh. hope at least one of these sounds good to you! #podcast recs #bobbie recommends things #Anonymous #asks #my posts

[loverontheleft]

Symphony

Request: Could you maybe make a one shot and have Brendon be on tour and the reader visits and they sneak off somewhere on the bus to fuck and have to try and be quiet? Then maybe someone from the band catches them?

Brendon x Reader

Warnings: fingering, sex without a condom (not advice; be safe and make good choices), voyeurism.

I’m so sorry it took me longer than expected. Title and last few lines evaded me. Didn’t proofread this, fight me.

Word count: 3.1k

-||-

“Maybe if you shift to your left a little? No, come back a bit. Okay, now,” he instructs you, “lift your left leg up and-okay, yes, higher-“

“Brendon, I will fall over if I have to stand like this for more than 30 seconds. And I know you’re one and done, but your one isn’t that quick.”

You both clap a hand over your mouths to smother your laughter; you’ve been whispering this whole time to avoid getting caught in a what-you-hoped-would-be compromising situation in the bathroom of his band’s tour bus. Instead, you’ve spent the past five minutes each trying to figure out how to position yourself for maximum pleasure but minimum sound. It hasn’t been going well, sexually, but the two of you have been having, admittedly, a blast just trying to have sex. “I need to re-evaluate some of my choices.” He shushes you playfully and you giggle and you recall what got you here in the first place.

He answered the FaceTime request on the first ring. “Hey honey!” Your whole heart melted and you smiled wide. “You look good.” He eyed you on screen and you laughed.

“Shut up, I do not. I look exhausted.” He made a thinking noise, really hamming it up, before grinning.

“Maybe that’s why I think you look good, I only see you exhausted after sex.”

Well. You couldn’t ask for a better opportunity. “Speaking of sex,” and your voice dropped. “I have next Thursday and Friday off. Thought maybe I’d come see you?”

His face lit up. “Hell yes!” You both smiled at his enthusiasm and then it hit him. He groaned. “It’s not a hotel night.” Your face fell a little, but you smiled again cheerfully.

“That’s okay. I just wanna see you in person and not on my screen.” You pressed your lips towards the camera and he did the same. You both laughed at the cheesiness and fell into conversation about the logistics of your arrival and both of your days so far until he had to go for sound check.

When Thursday morning finally rolled around, you showed up at the airport 3 hours early out of pure excitement. You’d been texting back and forth all day and you’re glad you decided to go ahead and take some photos for him early this morning. You did a reverse strip tease of sorts, taking a photo after each piece of clothing was added. Now all you have to do is send them in the reverse order. You’d been sending them at random, no rhyme or reason or pattern to it, and so far he’s gotten you digitally undressed to your bra and underwear; a matching, lacy turquoise set. You knew it wasn’t fair; the poor boy wasn’t sitting around just waiting for photos. He had responsibilities, interviews with radio stations, meetings with the GSAs at the high schools in the area, news stations would be coming by all day to get B-roll for their evening news shows; you shouldn’t have teased him.

And yet. You sent the photo featuring the straps of your bra dangling off your shoulders, the cleavage a little deeper. The reply came through a minute later, an audio message. You slipped your headphones from your purse. It was a soft groan, and god you love that sound in your ear, and his smooth voice. “Jesus honey, you’re just asking for it, aren’t you?”

You didn’t even hesitate; you just fired back with the photos of the bra on the floor and the full body shot sans bra. You’re finally boarding, and you send him lots of love once you’re settled into your seat. “Soon, baby.” You sent him the last four photos in the series; the first with your thumb hooked into the waistband of your panties, the second shows them sliding down your thighs, the third has them pooled by your ankles, and the fourth is another full body shot.

He offered to meet you at the airport but you told him not to change his schedule and throw off Zack’s security plan; as much as you want to see him, you’d rather have him safe and waiting for you. You threw your bag into the rental car once you land and are through baggage.

You were anxious; definitely not nervous - you’ve been together long enough to not be nervous - but anxious, yes. You’d been practically quivering with anticipation; you’d been avoiding Instagram and Twitter and anywhere people might be posting images of him. You want to be overwhelmed when you finally see him.

You let the GPS guide you as you sing along to an older album of his, eyes scanning the road for the giant water tower he told you to use as a landmark.

Finally, finally, finally. You parked next to the bus and fling open your car door. He must have heard the car approach because the moment your door fell shut, he scrambled down the steps and scooped you up into an embrace. You both lingered for a moment, just clinging to each other, breathing it in, your chest pressed to his and your heartbeats palpable. “Finally.” His voice was quiet and he hugged you to him tightly.

At that point, it’s the middle of the afternoon and everyone was sprawled on couches in the middle of the bus, talking casually about the venue, the setlist, and the various twists and turns the conversation takes as it always does with a collection of creative, high-energy people. You were snuggled against him, and his fingers were running up and down your arm lightly. “You okay?” He brushed a hand over your hair and you nodded happily. “You’re just being quiet.”

You shrugged, pressing back against him more. “I just like being here. Listening to all of you, the things you think about, the things you say.”

Nicole laughed. “We don’t all need to hear the things Brendon thinks about, Y/n,” and you groaned, blushing faintly when Kenny and Zack join in on the lighthearted teasing.

Dan and Jake came back from the mini-kitchen in the front, each holding a sandwich. “What’d we miss?” Dan looked around curiously and Nicole giggled, ducking when you tossed a pillow at her playfully.

“Y/n said she liked hearing what we think about and I just made the simple comment that-“

“We don’t all need to hear what Brendon’s thinking?” Dan interrupted her and she nodded. Dan turns toward the two of you. “Brendon, I notice you’ve been quiet during all of this.”

You could hear the smirk in your boyfriend’s voice. “I’m busy thinking.” His fingers were moving slower now, and there’s something sexier, more sensual about his touch - or maybe you’re just thinking dirty thoughts too. The others groaned at his words and Nicole threw the pillow back. He shifted to roll over you and stood. “I’m gonna go take a shower.” He ignored the comments and bent over to kiss you softly. “Don’t let them have too much fun,” he advised loud enough for them to hear and they booed as he walked away.

You heard the shower start and shortly after, your phone lit up. “Come back here.” As naturally as you could, you stood and stretched.

“I think I’m gonna go take a nap before the show,” you told them and headed back to the bunks. You paused by his, where your bag rested, and you loudly scrambled up into it before slipping back out as quietly as you could. You stole into the bathroom and he pulled you in for a heated embrace.

“First, let me apologize for trading the master bedroom in the back for a recording studio; that was fucking stupid of me. I sort of assumed any night you’d be out here would be a hotel night and that was, again, stupid.”

You pressed your lips to his to silence him, and when you pulled back, you were both smiling. “It’s okay. We’ll just have to be creative.” You both looked around the tiny bathroom; it’s hardly more than the square shower stall, a toilet, and a sink with a medicine cabinet mirror. “Really creative.”

You look hesitantly at the sink. “Think it can hold me?” He nods without hesitation and you laugh a little. “Thanks Bren. Think it can hold me when I’m getting fucked by you?” You both consider the force and combined weight and thrusting velocity. “I wasn’t good at physics,” you admit and he laughs quietly.

“Is that physics? Can this sink hold our combined weight while fucking?” You shrug, giggling too. “I mean, it probably can. It is a rockstar’s tour bus after all.”

You laugh and cover your mouth as you roll a leg up to settle onto the edge of the sink. “You didn’t just call yourself a rockstar.”

He looks playfully offended. “Uh, I sold out Madison Square Garden. Girls throw their bras at me. I wear leather pants. I’m a rockstar.” You’re both laughing now and you shake your head, curling your fingers into the waistband of the aforementioned leather pants.

“Speaking of throwing bras, what happens to all of them?” You look curious. “You should wash them in one part bleach and twenty parts water to kill anything and then donate them to a women’s shelter or something.”

He nods, and you can see him visibly filing that away. “Will it sound insensitive if I ask to go back to the sex part of our current interaction?” His whisper sounds guilty and you bite your lip to stifle your laughter.

“No. Not insensitive. Focused.” You jerk him closer so he’s between your legs by the waistband of his pants. “And now you’ve got me refocused. Kiss me, Urie.”

Your mouths meet and you both have to stifle your groans of satisfaction. His fingers grip your thighs as he presses closer and you can feel him against you, hard. His hands inch up until he’s got your leggings in his grasp and you arch your hips so he can pull them down just far enough. You unbutton his shirt but he doesn’t take it off; you’ve got to be efficient in your time. Your shirt gets eliminated though and his hands cover the swell of your breasts roughly before moving down so he can rub his fingers against you.

“In,” you insist and you both laugh at your needy tone. He obliges though and you kiss him hard to smother your moan. “Harder.” He gives you a dubious look and you feel like you can read his mind. “I won’t be loud, I promise.” He raises an eyebrow and you take one of his hands and press it over your mouth, not restricting anything but blocking. “See?” Your voice is muffled against his palm and he shakes his head, eyes sparkling in amusement.

“You’re bad,” he tells you with a grin, but he gives you what you want, fingers going deeper, harder, and slower. You wink at him over his hand and he groans, louder than intended. You bring your own hand up to his mouth and he takes of your two fingers in his mouth, sucking hard. You let your head fall back against the mirror and you tentatively roll your hips into his palm, relishing how his index and middle fingers curl inside you while his thumb plays with your clit. You’re clenching around him, squeezing his fingers tight, and you’re both moaning, both grateful for the other’s hand.

The shower has been going and the small room is steamy, giving everything a dream-like quality, and that’s certainly how you’d describe his fingers stroking you. His tongue teases your fingers and you’re pretty sure your eyes just rolled back in your head. In your examination of the space earlier, you both ruled out oral, and you’re definitely feeling the loss. His tongue, lips, mouth - the man knows how to work your body, especially with his head between your legs.

Just the thought of him lapping at you pushes you over the edge and you bite lightly at his palm before letting your soft cry be smothered. He pulls his fingers out and you remove yours from his mouth so he can replace them with his, moaning and licking with meticulous care. “Tastes so good, darlin. Can I make you feel even better?” He brings your fingers back to his mouth and the wet heat of his mouth over your two fingers has you feeling something as you nod eagerly. His hand moves from your mouth and he shoves his pants down his thighs. Your eyes find his thigh and you whimper, proud of yourself for managing to be quiet. At home, when you’ve got time and space and privacy, you’ll spend up to an hour grinding on his thigh, sometimes clad in his leather pants, other times bare, just really teasing the both of you and getting closer and closer to climax until he tells you to fall apart for him. Even under oath, you don’t think you could give an accurate number as to how many times you’ve brought yourself to a shaking, swear-laden orgasm on his thigh.

You refocus when you feel the head of his cock pressing against you and you nod, his hand back over your mouth. “Please,” you say, and you kiss his palm, your way of begging at this point. He thrusts against you and you both let out soft, broken cries of pleasure when he goes deep, rocking slowly. His fingers dig into your thigh again and you can feel the bruises forming; you fucking love it. Your eyes find his and you stay locked on each other, laser-focused, just feeling. At this angle, you slightly elevated on the sink, his dick is entering from a lower point and is more curved than normal; he’s hitting your G-spot perfectly and you can’t breathe. He knows what he’s doing too; his mouth is a vice grip around your fingers and his palm is pressing against your lips a little more firmly. That’s probably for the best; you’re not able to be as quiet as the moment requires. He presses closer, his torso almost curved over yours, his open shirt hanging on either side of you.

Besides being totally enraptured with each other, the shower spray muffles some sound too, which is probably why neither of you hear the bathroom door slip open or the camera shutter.

It’s all too much, his mouth on your fingers, his hand on your mouth and thigh, his dick rubbing perfectly, right where you need him. “Gonna come,” you tell him, still smothered, eyes slipping shut and he leans forward to kiss you, freeing your fingers and moving his hand. The new angle, from his leaning forward, has you shrieking as you feel the sparks go off and radiate through your entire body. His tongue is in your mouth and he’s coming too and you take your hand to fling it across his back, grabbing at his shirt. Everything is heat and fire and blinding pleasure. You’ve never come like this before, even with him - it surprises you, and your eyes fly open. The glint of the camera lens catches your attention and you scream; not even his hand could muffle that.

“Jesus, Jake, what the fuck?!” He’s pissed, no, furious, you can tell. He jerks his pants up and you tug your leggings back into place; he shifts to stand in front of you protectively. He’s shaking with anger and you place a hand on his back to sooth him. This is bad.

Nicole peers from under Jake’s arm. “We flipped a coin to see who got to barge in. If I won, I was gonna ask to join you,” she says with a flirtatious smile and it’s enough to break the tension - almost. You laugh at least.

Jake looks like he feels terrible - he holds the camera out to Brendon, who snatches it, fingers already working to delete the images, fury blazing in his eyes. You stop him, eyes on the screen. “Look, Brendon, it’s good.” You are in awe of the shot. It’s the two of you, hands muffling each other, and the way his shirt falls, nothing is visible but plenty is implied. Jake took it right when your eyes started to slip shut, pre-orgasm, and the look on both of your faces is pure bliss. It’s in black and white and it’s a really great photo. The next image is almost the same, except he’s kissing you hard, and the way your back arches into him and your hand is clutching him shows you’re definitely mid-climax. His shirt once again plays the role of censor and together with the steam, it keeps the capture from being explicit. It’s gorgeous, it’s sensual, it’s perfect. You want it. You whisper this to Brendon, fingers dancing across his back where he’s kept you, shielding you. He turns to look at you and his eyes soften. He passes the camera back to Jake.

“One, I will fucking kill you if you ever take photos of Y/n again without her permission. Two, I want both of these files sent to me in a protected zip file as high resolution files and I want to watch you delete them from your camera and computer after I have them.” He turns to you, eyebrow raised. “Anything you want, darlin?” His tone is softer.

You meet Jake’s eyes and you grin. “I want you to take the still shots when we film our sex tape. Those are stunning.”

Brendon laughs and all the tension dissolves. Jake looks much more relieved and Nicole elbows him. “Dude,” she tells him, “I think you’re gonna live. Let me know if you need an assistant for lighting and shit.” She grins and he still looks pale. Brendon punches him lightly on the shoulder.

“They are great shots. But I will fucking kill you,” he repeats with a smile, leaving the bathroom with your hand in his. He pulls back the curtain of his bunk and helps you up, climbing in after you.

You settle in next to him and throw a leg up over his waist, snuggling close. “I want those printed on giant canvases in our bedroom.”

He laughs and you think he’s finally relaxing. “Whatever you want, darlin. Your body is a fucking masterpiece, especially in those photos. God, wish you could hear your moans the way I do, like goddamn music.”

You blush, smiling up at him. “Well, you get some credit there too. The masterpiece and music wouldn’t have been half as good without you running the show.”

He kisses the top of your head, hand stroking over your back. “Darlin, I’ll conduct that symphony any time.”

#brendon urie #my work #brendon urie imagine #brendon urie smut #brendon x reader #fanfic #imagine