#love across the airwaves

[d10nyx]

can't speak

ft. leon kennedy x fem!reader

cw: 18+ content, age gap relationship, oral(m!receiving), headlock with thighs???, dacryphilia, leon is a little mean for, like, a second, daddy kink

a/n: sooo, this one is quite short. it's honestly just pure smut, but hope you like it :))

word count: 1.1k words

Leon's jaw clenches when you worm your way into his office for the hundredth time that day. It's like you've made it your personal goal to test his limits. Sometimes, he thinks it's his own fault. Dating a girl half his age was always going to come with its challenges…

He just hadn't expected you to be such a brat.

“Leon.” You whine, tapping his shoulder as you stand behind his desk chair, leaning over him and dropping your chin on his shoulder, jutting your bottom lip out to try and get his attention. “I'm bored… you've been in here all day.”

“As I told you the last ten times you've come in here, I have to get this report out today.” He says simply, not even turning to look at you. He'd been sweet the first couple of times you came looking for him, and it just made you even more of a pain, thinking you could get away with whatever you wanted. He wasn't making that mistake again.

You whine again, and his expression softens. He can't help it, he loves you so much. You might be annoying, but you were his girl. He wouldn't change that for the world.

“Be a good girl for me and let me finish up, yeah? Then I'm all yours.” He says after a moment, tilting his head to kiss your cheek before turning back to his computer.

Of course, that isn't good enough. It's never good enough. You always made sure you got your way, and it's clear you weren't going to let up until Leon gave you some attention. He's trying his hardest to keep his cool, but you keep prodding at his side, whining like a damn dog and begging for him to blow off his work.

You won't shut up. He can't take it anymore. Before you can even react, he's pushing his chair away from the desk and pressing down on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees.

“Jesus Christ.” He murmurs, one hand fisting your hair roughly, the other fumbling with the button on his jeans, a crease forming between his brows due to his frustration.

“Don't you think I have enough to deal with without you acting like this? Huh?” He asks, irritation creeping in his tone. “Spend every fuckin’ second of my free time with you, and it's still not enough?”

“Daddy, I’m sorry.” You say gently, big puppy dog eyes peering up at him, your lashes fluttering so prettily. Almost manages to get him to go easy on you, but it's too late for that now.

“No. You're not, are you?” He grunts, finally managing to free his aching cock, forcing you down onto it, not missing the way your eyes light up as you suck eagerly on it, making him groan.

“Always fuckin’ whining when you don't have a dick in you. Such a slut.” He says through gritted teeth, using his hand in your hair to guide you, making you take him deeper into your mouth. “And I'm always too fuckin’ sweet on you, let you get whatever you want. It doesn't work like that, princess.”

His eyes are half lidded as he looks down at you, moaning softly as his hips neck up, forcing him further into your mouth, tip breaching your throat. Your eyes are already watering, making the corner of his mouth twitch up into a lazy smile.

“Mmh… there's a good girl.” He coos, making you bob your head up and down on his length a few times before pushing you down as far as your throat can handle, grin stretching across his face. He crosses his legs behind your head, trapping you there with his cock down your throat.

“Shame you had to be so bratty. I hate being so rough with you, baby.” He hums, watching you closely. His cock throats in your mouth as he watches you choke and splutter around it. Your eyes are wide with panic, the breaths you're sucking in through your nose not filling your lungs up. Can't suck them all the way in with his fat cock blocking your airwaves.

His legs tighten around you head, just so he can watch the way you claw desperately at his thighs, scratching at the jeans he never bothered to fully take off. He loves seeing the way tears drip down your cheeks, wet trails staining your pretty face.

“You look so cute when you cry, princess.” He says sweetly, his hand brushing through your hair gently as if he isn't forcing you to choke on his length. Your panties are already soaked, sticky with your arousal as Leon starts to thrust shallowly.

After a moment, he's loosening his legs, spreading them again and pulling you off of him. Tilts his head as you choke and splutter, drool dripping down your chin and throat, your face a complete mess.

He lets you catch your breath before he's thrusting into your mouth a few more times until he feels the tension build in his stomach. He cums all over your pretty tongue without warning, pulling out for the final few spurts to coat your face. You swallow eagerly, moaning quietly at the taste.

“You think my other girl is cryin’ for me, too?” He asks with a grin, thumb rubbing the tears off your face before his gaze lowers, dragging along your thighs as you kneel between his legs.

You nod slowly, looking up at him through wet lashes that have clumped together slightly, your lips swollen and slick with spit and cum. “Yeah, daddy. Been needing you all day.”

“Shame I can't help you with that, sweetie. I told you, I have to get my report done today.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head as he puts on a fake sympathetic look. He pats your head once, turning away from you and facing his work again, tucking his cock into his pants as he tries to bite back a smile.

He doesn't even spare you a glance, just shifts slightly in his seat, squinting as he reads the document on his computer, trying to remember where he left off, leaving you wet and needy, kneeling at the side of his chair.

After a few minutes, he speaks up, clearly pleased you're no longer disrupting his work. “If you keep that up, I'll make sure it's worth it when I've finished up here. Just be a good girl for me, alright, sweetheart?”

He ends up leaving his report half finished when you look up at him with those damn puppy dog eyes again, fucking you into the mattress until you're finally satisfied.

After all, he's always been weak when it comes to you.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy smut

[yeyinde]

NAVIGATION | AO3 COD MASTERLIST

WHEN YOUR NEED GROWS TEETH | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

BABY TRAPPING FIC:

It starts when you ask him to pick up your birth control—like dangling a piece of bloody meat in front of a starving dog.  Of course he's going to take a bite.  He thinks you ought to have known this by now. 

PAST AND PENDING | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

you haven't stopped thinking of what it would feel like to burn your lips on his cigar, and numb the sting with the scotch on his tongue.

ODE TO A CONVERSATION STUCK IN YOUR THROAT | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

Tendrils of something soft liquefy the hardened edges of sapphire—a look you haven't seen on him since Tenerife—but it pauses at the folder you try, and fail, to discreetly tuck further into the crevasse of your body. Hiding it, futilely, from view. Something sours across his face. The half-melted azure firms into unbreakable obsidian. "Business as usual, then?"

FINESHRINE | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PEGGING FIC:

It surprised you when he’d taken your off-handed comment about wanting to fuck him senseless for a change as something sincere, obtainable, and simply looked at you, plain-faced, if a little bashful around the edges, and said, “alrigh’, love. Lemme see what you got.” Or—John Price finally gets pegged.

UNDERDRESSED | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

MASK ON:

He's big, of course: massive. A mountain of a man cut from ashlar. A defensive wall. Stalwart and firm. Unyielding. But seeing him like this, in full gear—battle ready—makes you shiver. Makes you feel too hot, too cold; feverish. Fervid. Or—John fucks you with his gear, and mask, on

BARKING DOG | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PRICE + JEALOUSY

Jealousy comes easy for Price, but it's rare he ever acts on it. Until, of course, he does.

SEA FEVER | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

AU—SAILOR!PRICE

But John's always been greedy. The kind that wants, and wants. Once would never be enough, and he knows that if he sunk his teeth into you, a bite would never satiate his rapacious appetite, never quench the hunger.  And since he can't make a meal out of a morsel, he'd rather starve. 

SERIES

CAUGHT | AO3 MIRROR SERIES. COMPLETE | 18﹢ —AUDIENCE | CIRCLE THE DRAIN

PROMPT: just thinking about moaning captain whilst Price is watching you

NEON MEDUSA | AO3 MIRROR CYBERPUNK AU. SERIES. INCOMPLETE | 18﹢ —STATIC IN THE AIRWAVES | WARNING SIGNS

MYTHOLOGY

WILLOW TREE MARCH | AO3 MIRROR REQUEST. ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

FAE PRICE

"They'll give you gifts," your gran says, shaking her head. "Things from their realm. Little trinkets and gems—" geodes, sapphires and diamonds, raw gold and coral; "—and you must never accept them," a whittled deer made of sequoia under your pillow; crow bones buried in the garden."Because if you do, if you do, they'll never let you go." "Why?" You asked, blinking at her. "Because it's a courting ritual, and to accept means… well," her mouth twists in wry disdain. "Just don't." 

SEVEN ARROWS SERIES. REQUEST. Ptah x Sekhmet —ferromagnatism | AO3 MIRROR

PROMPT: how about price faking injuries to see a specific nurse he has a crush on but won’t admit.

WICKER PYRE | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

DRAGON PRICE

All things considered, you should have expected it. You know better than to make deals with dragons

THREESOMES

ON THE FLIPSIDE | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

JOHNNY/PRICE/READER

(Or: Soap makes a discovery—a tangled web that weaves between you and their Captain—and one can only imagine his surprise when Price turns to him, eyes battle-ready, and says: want to join us, Sergeant?)

SOMEWHERE, TONIGHT | GHOST X READER X PRICE DRABBLE. TEASER | 18﹢

DRABBLES & REQUESTS

COLD, COLD, COLD (voyeurism drabble) REQUEST. DRABBLE. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PROMPT: I need to be railed by price as the team either walks past or is right next door. So upset he's fictional lmao

IN DREAMS | AO3 MIRROR REQUEST. ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

Sweet dreams. Warm knuckles. The ghost of your lips pressing against his crown. He never tells you he doesn't sleep enough, but somehow you just know.

REVERENT ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

imagine just—pretty little woman'ing him in the tub. 

WET | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PROMPT: “#his beard just??? looks wet???” okay but Price having to talk to the team after eating you out and not getting a chance to make himself presentable 🫣🫣

everything looks better from above ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PROMPT: ‼️imagine riding price while he’s smoking a cigar‼️ that just popped inside my head and now i’m horny

TEXTBOOK | AO3 MIRROR REQUEST. ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PROMPT: imagine cockwarming him, sitting all nice and pretty for him, him calling you a good [insert nickname here] or "sweet little pet, behaving so well for me"

BIG BEAR | AO3 MIRROR ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

That scene from SIX with Barry Sloane, but it's Price.

This probably isn't what they meant when they told you to support your Captain.

KILOS REQUEST. ONESHOT. COMPLETE | 18﹢

PROMPT: maybe reader is tongue pierced giving him sloppy head?

CARE PACKAGE DRABBLE. COMPLETE.

PROMPT: Just saw a TikTok where a kid send their favorite stuff animal to his dad who's deployed. Just imagine this happening with 141 🥺

POSITIVE DRABBLE. COMPLETE

PROMPT: So imagine Prices face when you send a picture of a positive pregnancy test. Just let that mental image permeate a little....

⧽ SPIT TAKE | VOICE KINK | SLOW DANCE | BATTLE SCARS | PREG!READER

SFW ALPHABET

#Masterlist #john price x reader

[bullet-prooflove]

Freefall: Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader (Drabble)

Tagging: @malindacath @shanimallina87 @dempy @words-and-seeds @cosmic-psychickitty @xoxabs88xox @hardballoonlove @proceduralpassion @crazy4chickennuggets @kmc1989 @oureternalbond 

When the plane goes into freefall Jake thinks of you. He imagines your smile, the way the left side of your mouth tips up just a little higher than the right, the sound of your voice when you talk, your hands animated as you describe something hilarious that Cujo has done.

In his final moments he thinks of the ring box, secreted away in the top of his locker and the fact he’ll never get to call you his wife.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers as the darkness bleeds into the edges of his vision. He can hear the rush of blood in his ears, feel the pressure on his chest as his fingers slip from the joystick.

He doesn’t know how long he’s out; he thinks it couldn’t be more than just a few seconds. Maverick is screaming across the airwaves and the ground is rushing up to greet him. He can’t make sense of the words, his brain is too foggy, too disoriented. What he does know is, that he doesn’t want to die.

He grips the joystick and pulls up hard. The plane tries to resist the manoeuvre, gravity dragging it down, but Jake knows this vehicle almost as well as he knows himself. He grits his teeth and pulls again and this time the plane responds, he hisses as he battles with it, his arms aching from the endurance.

“You good Hangman?” Maverick’s voice comes over the radio as the nose starts to straighten out.

“I’m good Maverick.” He reports, his voice oddly steady. “I’m very good.”

His head comes to rest on the back of his seat, his heart pounding in his chest as he tries to catch his breath because that was close, far too close.

It’s in that moment he makes a decision.

The first thing he’s doing when he gets out of this plane is taking that ring and heading over to your place.

He’s waited long enough.

Love Hangman? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#jake hangman seresin #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #hangman imagine #jake hangman fic #jake hangman x reader #jake hangman x you #jake hangman imagine #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x you #jake seresin imagine

[bunkoos-mole-enthusiast]

Weekly Jungkook Fanfic Recs

Some fine JK fics for your reading pleasure. Please show your appreciation to all the wonderful authors :)

Sweet Lullabies: You’re crazy in love and for once, so is he. Idol au. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/623051372729925632/masterlist-sweet

Angels & Airwaves: Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he’s never met. Idol au. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/622960748607537154/masterlist-angels

Finders Keep Hers: A drabble about idiots in love. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/622638579073646592/finders-keep-hers

Velveteen Rabbit: What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook. Hybrid au. https://yeojaa.tumblr.com/post/631595211270848512/velveteen-rabbit

Ode To The Nature Of Romance: As a classical violinist, you understand passion and romance better than most. So why does Poetry professor Jeon Jungkook seem to have such a difficult time getting you to understand? https://yeoldontknow.tumblr.com/post/164102450918/ode-to-the-nature-of-romance

Vaunt: Every weekend Beta Tau throws a ‘little’ party to help students relax and let loose and frat resident Jungkook has a big mouth that talks a lot of big game. You finally get sick of the lack of relaxation on your end and set out to see if he’s all talk. https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120811

In Motion: The rule is simple; you can look but you can't touch. https://yoonia.tumblr.com/post/187973590833/in-motion-index

Darkroom: When you somehow end up in an advanced photography class that you definitely shouldn’t be in, you seek the help of shy nerdy boy Jeon Jungkook to preserve your 4.15 GPA. It isn’t until after you stumble upon him in the darkroom that you realize your cute little nerd is actually a super hot vampire with an icy cold stare and beautiful burgundy eyes. https://yoon-kooks.tumblr.com/post/694245428209893376/darkroom-jjk

Paired And Pierced: When your professor assigns a collaborative midterm project, you’re paired up with Jeon Jungkook, the quiet grumpy smartass who keeps to himself. If you can win him over, he might give you a taste of the tatted and pierced body he’s carefully tucked away beneath those oversized hoodies. https://yoon-kooks.tumblr.com/post/706978132809367552/pp-jjk-masterlist

How Many: To Jeon Jungkook, you’re just the cutie who sits across from him in art class. He doesn’t have a clue that you’re also the hidden face of his favorite tattoo artist on social media. When the bad boy notices you’ve taken a surprising interest in his ink, he dares you to explore every inch of his body until all of his tattoos are accounted for. https://yoon-kooks.tumblr.com/post/675948622879293440/ how-many-jjk

Explorer: Jungkook does not want to impress the frankly tyrannical ways of his planet on you. He just wants to stay here and keep your couch warm for you, hold your hair back when you wash your face in the morning.  https://1kook.tumblr.com/post/630561456866377728/explorer

#bts jeon jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic recs #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #bts jungkook fanfic #bts fic recs #bts smut #bts imagines

[howlingday]

Dark au

If the interview was podcasted how many actually believe it's a legitimate interview cause the fact that the location it was taken at was raided by police and huntsmen almost immediately after with white fang present could Beacan not just say Jaune was told to say those thing under threat of death and Lisa was in on it for the most part clearing Jaune's name a little bit at least

"As it stands now, the validity of the interview is..." General Ironwood held the thought for a moment, searching for the right words before continuing. "...not confirmable."

"Not confirmable?!" Professor Goodwitch balked. "Jaune Arc was being held hostage by the White Fang and Lisa Lavender was interviewing with him in the same building!"

"Through a pirate network that hacked the airwaves and was difficult to pinpoint." Ozpin said, hands folded in front of him. "Whoever was working with Miss Lavender has been doing their homework, and unfortunately, she's too busy speaking on talk shows across Remnant to be available for comment. Unless, of course, someone in the audience cares to shed light on the dubious subject."

"Which they won't." The general said, turning to look at the devastated young man seated with his partner. "Because she's only the second most talked about in Remnant right now."

Jaune didn't respond. His eyes were glued to the floor, and although he heard every word they said, his mind was too focused on the words Miss Lavender herself said that day. Jaune Arc was a coward. Jaune Arc was a spineless, gutless, worthless coward who only cared about himself.

Penny sat beside him, trying to get his attention. However, he was too far gone for her to reach him. She tried every method she could think of, and she could think of a lot, but all of them failed to get his attention. Her focus on him then became distracted when a shadow loomed over her, and looking up she saw piercing blue eyes glaring back down at her.

"You were supposed to protect him." He nearly snarled.

"I was... distracted-"

"That's not good enough, Polendina!" He shouted, trying to keep himself from roaring. "Your mission was to assist and provide support for Jaune Arc and you abandoned him to be abducted by the White Fang! What was so important that you would abandon your partner?!"

"I was distracted," she repeated, "by betta fish."

"You would put your partner's life below that of measly betta fish!" He said, more accusing than asking.

"No, I would never!" Penny defended.

"James-" Professor Ozpin spoke.

"And yet you did!" The general continued. "You would choose fish over your assignment!"

"No!"

"James!"

"YOU DID!"

"General Ironwood, sir!" The moment diffused, the group, sans Jaune, looked to the dark-skinned young woman standing at the door. A hand to her head, just below her blue beret, she sounded off. "Student Ciel Soleil, reporting as instructed, sir!"

"At ease, Soleil." Ironwood composed himself, realizing he'd let his semblance get the better of him. In front and towards a student no less. "Are you aware of why you are here?"

"Sir, I was informed that my assignment was to be transferred to Beacon within one week, sir."

"It's only been two days, Soleil."

"Yes, sir. My apologies, sir. The assignment came so suddenly that I spared some time to say good-bye to my loved ones, sir."

"Ja- General Ironwood, what is this?" Professor Goodwitch asked, surprised by the sudden appearance of the new student. "Who is this girl?"

"This is Ciel Soleil, a first-year student at Atlas." The general explained. "I spoke about her enrollment at Beacon with Ozpin shortly after learning about the interview. We cannot afford any further mistakes."

Penny flinched at the accusing tone. She'd failed in her mission, and for the most miniscule reason, too. Looking to Jaune, she saw he still didn't look away from the floor. She clenched her skirt in anger at herself for letting things get this bad.

A hand covered hers, one that was all too familiar to her. Her hand loosened it's grip as she felt the warm embrace of Jaune's hand.

"Soleil, starting today, you will be enrolled at Beacon Academy until graduation to ensure that Polendina does not fail in her assignment."

"Now wait just a minute!" Professor Goodwitch argued. "These students are not soldiers under your command!"

"No, but they are children under your tutelage." General Ironwood argued. "Under your protection."

"General Ironwood, if I may?" The headmaster of Beacon spoke. "While I agree that the current standing is not ideal, I don't believe forcing the issue will best resolve it. Especially when you are assigning a team that is only one-third enrolled. If Mr. Arc and Ms. Polendina wish to enroll, then they are free to do so at any time within the next year. However, the sole-enrollment of Miss Soleil without other students to join her at Beacon in her first year is concerning, to say the least."

"Then perhaps Mr. Arc and Ms. Polendina should consider enrolling." General Ironwood countered. "The tragedy on that day is one thing, but the violation of Mr. Arc's privacy and security in an entirely different beast."

"And acting like a beast solves nothing, General Ironwood." Professor Goodwitch argued. "You cannot simply enter Beacon Academy and force Mr. Arc to-"

"I can speak for myself."

The room was silent. All eyes looked to the young man who spoke, tears threatening but never falling from his eyes. His voice was heard for the first time, both publicly for everyone in Remnant and privately for those in this room to hear. Jaune Arc stood up, leaving Penny in her seat behind him, and walked past Professor Goodwitch and General Ironwood, not giving either a passing glance as he kept his eyes on the headmaster of the academy.

"I want to enroll at Beacon Academy." Jaune said with a voice that was only slightly shaking. "I... want to prove everyone wrong about me. I want to be a huntsman."

Ozpin smiled. "Professor Goodwitch, please bring me Mr. Ar- I mean, Jaune's enrollment papers."

#rwby #dark au #james ironwood #glynda goodwitch #ciel soleil #ozpin #penny polendina #jaune arc

[helluvaimagination]

Shadow Waltz

Ch. 1: Prologue - The Shadow Waltz Begins

CW: Graphic violence, death

Hey folks! This will be a long-form lucifer/alastor fic that isn't compliant with alastor's serial killer past. instead, in this world, alastor is sacrificed as part of a ritual and goes straight to hell. lucifer does his best to help <3

(Lyrics from "Shadow Waltz" by Bing Crosby)

In the shadows, let me come and sing to you

Let me dream a song that I can bring to you

Take me in your arms and let me cling to you

Let me linger long

Let me live my song

It was another quiet night at the station, and Alastor was, as usual, reclining in his chair and sipping his coffee as Bing Crosby crooned across the airwaves. Peaceful. Calm. Quiet. Just a hint of static in the air. It had to be close to midnight now, and when Alastor flicked his gaze out the window, the pinhole lights of stars winked down at him. There was nothing better.

Of course, that’s when it all went wrong.

In the winter, let me bring the spring to you

Let me feel that I mean everything to you

Love’s old song will be new

In the shadows when I come and sing to you

The door crashed open and hooded figures with shrouded, indistinct faces stormed into the booth. Alastor choked on his tea, dropping his mug and barely hearing it shatter against the ground. In an instant, he was being grabbed by strong arms and dragged out of his chair, dragged across the floor, dragged out the door. He tried to say something—the urge to shout and scream clawed at his throat—but nothing came out. The station was near a wooded area, a fact Alastor had loved ardently up until this very moment, as sharp branches scratched at his cheeks and tore open his skin. He was kicking his feet, desperately trying to resist, but the figures didn’t pay any attention to him.

And then they were in the clearing, a myriad of candles casting a red hue across the horrid scene. In the center was a bloodied altar upon which a deer had been brutalized. Behind it, there were chains and manacles attached to a tree. With a creeping sense of dread, Alastor realized that they were meant for him.

Shadows on the wall

I can see them fall

Here and there

Everywhere

They push him against the tree brutally and he hears rather than feels the crack of his head against the bark. His world darkens and grows hazier. Perhaps it is for the best, Alastor thinks to himself, and his suspicions are confirmed when one of the hooded figures picks up the deer’s antlers with reverence. Alastor’s lungs burn and his head spins and his vision blurs. Everything is happening too fast. He wonders, for a moment, if he’s just having a nightmare, if Bing Crosby’s dulcet tones lulled him into sleep.

Then, pain.

Silhouettes in blue

Dancing in the dew

Here I am

Where are you?

Distantly, as unconsciousness tugs at his mind, he hears chanting. Gibberish, for the most part, but then he picks out a word. A name. Lucifer.

It’s the last thought he has. He falls out of consciousness and then his soul falls out of its body and he is shackled by red light and pure, horrific darkness before being pulled down, down, down, so fast it’s impossible. He falls with a painful thump upon a flat surface. He doesn’t think he has eyes or a mouth or even a body, but he can still sense. He senses a being of pure light, light so impossibly bright and warm and radiant.

“I’m so sorry,” it says, too softly, too kindly. “I’ll do what I can.”

The light grows and grows until it cocoons him. He can feel himself being made anew.

In the winter, let me bring the spring to you

Let me feel that I mean everything to you

Love’s old song will be new

In the shadows when I come and sing to you, dear

In the shadows when I come and sing to you

Read Chapter 2 on Archive of Our Own right now!

#alastor/lucifer #radioapple #appleradio #hazbin hotel #alastor #lucifer #alternate universe #fanfic #ao3 #Youtube

[hisunshiine]

—daydreaming | kth

→ posted: nov 19 2022 → pairing: kim taehyung x reader → genre/au: strangers2???, camboy!au, fluff-ish, smut → chapter rating: +18 / M for Mature → wc: 2,585 → warnings: taehyung is too hot, mentions of his insta picture his rude ass posted that has us all feral, sexual talks via social media platform messaging, explicit smut in the form of: exhibitionism via internet, mutual masturbation, use of sex toys for masturbation, use of pet names, praise, reader is more of a sub type, but not full blown submissive. → credits to my beta readers: @whippedbywonho1 on twt, @downbad4yoongi​, and  @peachiilovesot7​. thank you so much for your feedback and for helping me come up with this story this morning! just talking about taehyung and his ig posts caused this, and i love that for us. hahah.  → summary: Give me all of your love, gimme something to dream about. KTH is your favorite camboy, and as a loyal subscriber, you are chosen to test out some new features on the platform he uses to go live. He’s really good at selling his viewers a dream, and as a thanks to a new milemark he’s hit on the platform, he’s choosing one winner to get their fantasy scene.  → an: blame the ig post that tae posted for this one. i literally had to write this asap so as soon as i had my laptop, i typed non stop and then had it beta read and then created the images and now.. a late night drop for y’all. enjoy!!

part 2 | series masterlist

The notification spreads across the top of your phone screen alerting you to a new message from KTH saying he would be going live within the hour as a surprise for his most loyal followers. Sitting at your favorite coffee shop near your workplace, you hastily close your laptop and pack up your things so that you can get home before he starts. 

You aren't working too far from home, only a short bus ride if the traffic is okay. You impatiently drum your fingers on your laptop case as you read the full notice he sent about his impromptu live from your bus seat. The city passes by quickly, and after a brisk walk from your bus stop, you finally enter your apartment, kicking the door shut behind you before shucking off your shoes and locking the door. 

Your laptop unceremoniously is deposited on the top of your bed as you plug in the various cords for your electronics and check the status of the ones you unplugged to make space. Another ping from your phone causes you to dive for it, seeing the seven minute warning from KTH for when his livestream will start, accompanied by  something new as well—a special code.

Shedding your clothing down to just the comfortable bits, you lay on your stomach, opening the laptop and signing into your lock screen before pulling up his site and typing in your code. A screen you’ve never seen before pops up asking you to complete a profile for KTH’s page, like uploading a profile picture and entering your address. 

You read more about the reasoning behind it because you’re a little hesitant to provide that level of intimate information; this session will be a little different because he’s testing a new beta feature with select fans from the platform that allows him to click on the profiles and learn about his subscribers and see the individual comments they’ve left for him. KTH wants to feel closer to his loyal subscribers—his fans know what he looks like and some stuff about him, but he has no idea about the people who leave him nice messages and send him gifts.

He has a countdown timer set for when he will start, and you decide to fill out the profile while awaiting his appearance before you. He’s usually good about following his streaming schedule, with various set times he goes live so that followers all around the globe can tune in…when it’s appropriate for them.

The sound of him connecting through the airwaves sends a shiver down your spine, and you use your feet to kick your blanket over your legs so you can grab it and get a bit comfier without having to turn away. He appears on the screen, golden skin and floppy, permed hair in all his glory. A close up on his upper half, with only a white tee pulled across his broad shoulders, his chest visible. 

He’s so handsome. A smile breaks out across his face as he reads through the list of subscribers who are already on, and you can’t help the way your chest tightens as you see his lips move as he quietly mouths your username. KTH’s Baby Girl. He smirks, looking back at the camera as he leans back as if to settle himself better into his computer chair. 

“Everyone, hi.”

His voice is a low timbre, sweet and full like molasses. You drink him in, the low lighting of the room he’s in adding to the ambience of his stream.

“I know this was unplanned, and I wanted to talk to you about the notice, and why only my most loyal subscribers might have been sent a notification. Today is a special day. I’ve hit a level of  interaction that allows me to become a verified account and it’s all thanks to the loyal fans—” he leans into the camera, and it feels as if he is staring into your soul when he finishes his sentence, “—it’s all thanks to you.”

You lick your lips, eyes dropping to the collar of his shirt that’s shifted to show the delicate bone structure of his décolletage, wishing you could imprint burgundy traces of yourself onto him.

“So this intimate session is with only a few of you, and one of you will be lucky enough to win a one-on-one session with me after this. The rules are simple, you’ll drop in the chat your fantasy, something you’ve always wanted to experience or do, no matter how wild, and I’m going to choose the one I want to do the most.” KTH winks at the camera before lightening the sexual tension with a chuckle. 

“I can see a few of you have set up your profiles, on my end, I can see the squares of everyone who uploaded a picture and damn…this definitely will help me today.” He pauses staring at his screen and a small delusional part of you hopes he’s talking about your picture—a risque one you took for a guy you used to talk to—but you’re sure others have uploaded images of sexual positions or their breasts and—

“I’ll give you all a few minutes to send me your wildest dreams and finish your profiles if you want, and I’ll finish getting set up for today’s fun. Start your submissions with ‘If I had my way with KTH…’ so I know it’s your official entry.”

Sighing, you move your cursor to minimize the fullscreen and bring up the chat, cursor blinking in the empty box as KTH disappears from the screen and sensual R&B music begins to play. 

You can’t think of anything to write, your mind blank as all thoughts are on KTH. You aren’t usually a negative thinker, but knowing that he’s going to pick the one that he likes the most adds a challenge to winning that makes you doubt your chances. You don’t know enough about him to know what he’s interested in to make him choose you. 

Just focus on what you want, girl!, you say to yourself, shaking your head as you clear your mind to really think about what your fantasy is with KTH. You know that your ultimate fantasy includes no screens, just in-person intimacy with him, but what you really want to do is please him. You begin to type, following his directions to share with him what you want most before hitting send and then reading through some of the other messages on the screen.

[start of image words]

KTH: Start your submissions with ‘If I had my way with KTH…’ so I know it’s your official entry.

69KTH: If I had my way with KTH, I would want to watch him edge himself over and over until we ran out of time, him never cumming during our time.

KTHisDaddy: If I had my way with KTH, I want to see him jerk it with the camera from behind and under, with his ass to the camera, a buttplug filling him up and his hand or a toy stroking his fat cock.

KTH’s Baby Girl: If I had my way with KTH, I would want him to show me how to please him, show me what I need to do so that I can be his good girl. Whatever he wants from me, I would follow his lead, because his pleasure, him being proud of me, would make me feel good. I want soft music, candles, and KTH however he wants me. 

CumDump4KTH: If I had my way with KTH, I want to watch him cum into a cup and then slowly pour his spunk back onto his sensitive dick and then jerk himself with it until he cums again.

KTHfuckme: If I had my way with KTH, I want him to use as many toys as possible and be loud as he talks about how they all feel, saying my name as he moans and cums all over his cock.

[end image words]

“Thank you for being patient.”

KTH appears back on the screen, but this time, your breath stops. The music is lowered and the camera is held above him in his own hand, an angle that he rarely uses. In fact, you can’t remember ever seeing him go full body, the lights dark with him appearing in shadows. He’s shirtless, the shape of his silhouette leaving your body yearning. 

He lowers the camera, laughing playfully with a deep sound as he teases the camera, leaning closer and licking his lips, smirking, and making eye contact while he reattaches it to his tripod. He knows he’s deadly and he doesn’t care. You’re glad.

“I took my device with me so I could read the messages as you wrote them. They were hot. You all are so creative. Even if you aren’t chosen for the one-on-one, you still may end up seeing your fantasy brought to life on a live.”

You smile, hoping that means he likes the idea you shared for setting the mood. You didn’t have to have him all to yourself. When you watch him in fullscreen with the chat hidden, it feels like it’s just the two of you anyways.

“I know some of you might not be able to stay since this wasn’t planned, but I’ll send you a message if you win once this session is over. Now…let’s begin.”

KTH always makes it good for his viewers. He always has a theme or a story for his lives, often dressing up to get in character. Today he has a little story about being a lovestruck boyfriend to his viewers, and he’s away on a business trip missing you. He sets the scene as if he’s in the hotel room, facetiming you before bed. 

It starts out cute, with him talking about his day and how much he loves and misses you, before he turns it sensual, sharing exactly what he misses most. He’s already stroking himself, a wide view of him seated on the bed, shirtless with pajama pants pulled to his ankles. 

You’ve already joined him as well, your dual action toy lodged deep within you on low vibration, the clit suction on one out of ten as you tease yourself, warming up to help time your orgasm with his. You roll your hips, movements pushing the tip inside you into your g-spot with each rock against the mattress.

“I think what I miss most,” he pants, cock held firm in his grip, “is watching the way all of your holes swallow me up, as if you can’t—fuck, baby—as if you can’t get enough of me.” KTH’s hand spreads the mix of lube and precum along his shaft in quick motions as he lets out a low growl. He’s good about keeping it gender neutral for his fans, though he slips up a few times and will use a gender when he gets lost in the feeling. Reaching next to him, he grasps the clear, silicone toy that’s shaped like a donut, and slowly slides it onto his hard member. 

Lowering his back to the mattress, he uses his legs as leverage to fuck up into the toy held in his hand, his other hand using a small remote to control the zoom on his device. It brings you closer to his throbbing dick and you up the speeds on your toy, mouth drooling to take him into your warm hole as your body convulses a little at the speed change. 

You watch as he lifts one leg, placing his foot on the mattress to make sharp, forceful thrusts, and he’s getting sloppy, whole body moving in euphoria. Your eyes roll back as he moans out, “Good girl.”

“Yes, I’ll be your good girl, fuck, I want you so badly.”

You can’t help but talk back to him despite knowing he can’t hear, and soon all you can hear are the groans that you’ve learned are his tells. He’s about to cum.

“Fuck, KTH, cum for me, please…”

“I’m gonna cum, fill you up like the good girl you are for taking all of me—”

“Yes, yes, please, I want it,” your fingers press the buttons and your muscles tighten as your lower tummy pulls and twists as your climax builds and then—

“Give me your orgasm, baby, I can’t cum until you cum,” and you scream out his name, or his online pseud, and it’s as if he knows, because he’s releasing, hot spurts leaking out around his fingers as he slows his strokes to ride out his high, murmuring praises as his form of aftercare to all of his subscribers through the internet. 

You fight to get your fingers to listen to you so you can turn off your toy, the overstimulation causing tears to form as you try to take as much as possible until he stops his motions as well—anything to make it seem like it’s real, like he’s really yours, and this is just you and him.

He slides the toy off of himself at the same time you switch yours off, and you sigh in satisfaction as he sits up and adjusts the camera so you can see his face better.

“You did so good, baby, I’m so proud of you.”

His voice wraps around you like a safety blanket, warm and so full of adoration, you almost believe he’s yours.

He leaves the screen momentarily and you can hear the rustling of cloth and the sink running. When he returns a few moments later, his pajama pants are back on his hips, though lower than before and he seats himself back in the computer chair.

“I hope you all had fun today with me, and keep a lookout for a private message from me announcing the winner. Wherever you are in the world, I hope the rest of your day is amazing, whether it's to start your day, sleep, or go to lunch.”

He gives a little wave before blowing the most unserious kiss at the camera, and the black screen saying ‘This live has ended’ appears.

Rolling over in your bed, you stretch your arms back as you groan, muscles still tense and coiled from how good the orgasm felt. Reaching down, you carefully detach yourself and get up to take care of cleaning up the mess KTH made you make. 

While in the bathroom, you hear your phone ping, and you rush to get to it. Swiping down to read the whole message, your face falls, false hope crushed as you shake your head at yourself.

‘Thank you for being a loyal fan. I had a lot of fun today. While everyone’s ideas were great, I can only choose one winner.’

Dropping your phone back to your bed, you curse yourself for thinking he would actually choose you and your fantasy as his favorite. Especially when some of the other’s were so much more detailed and hot. 

You’ve just taken two steps away to finish up what you were doing when your phone goes off again.

[start image words]

KTH: Hey MY Baby Girl ;) I wanted to tell you that you’re the winner of the session today. Your idea really had me thinking and I’m excited to test another new beta feature...Let me know when you’re free for the one-on-one session. 

KTH’s Baby Girl: I...thank you so much! I’m free most anytime that you want to do this, I’m so excited. There’s another new beta feature?

KTH: Yes, this one takes it a step further, so not only will you be able to see me, but I’ll be able to see you, too.

[end image words]

thank you for reading! feedback is greatly appreciated!! please let me know what you think, especially if this should be continued...

© hisunshiine 2022. All rights reserved.

#bangtansorciere #bts dream court #bangtanbathhouse #clubzerooclock #bangtanwhq #taehyung x reader #taehyung smut #taehyung fluff #taehyung au #taehyung writings #taehyung fic #camboy!taehyung #camboy!tae #taehyung fanfiction #bts imagines #bts #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #bts x reader #bts smut #bts au #bts fluff #daydreaming #camboy #cam boy #camboy bts #cam boy bts #camboy tae

[vioxis]

Ring.

Masterlist's | Tiktok | AO3

Word Count: 973 Words

Pairing: Ghost x Reader

Summary: In a relationship plagued by lost gifts, a cherished ring slips down the drain, sparking panic. Through a burner phone, separated lovers find solace as omen looms.

T/W: Angst

I lost the ring, and it slipped away down the drain, a tiny glimmer swallowed by darkness. Panic gripped me as I reached futilely for it, my heart pounding in my chest. It wasn't just any ring; it was the solitary token Simon had ever given me, a fragile connection in a history of lost and shattered gifts that seemed to trail behind like a string of omens.

Through the years, a sense of unease had woven itself into my being, a deep-rooted paranoia that gnawed at me whenever I misplaced something dear from those I held close. The ring was more than just a piece of jewelry; it was a promise, an emblem of our intertwined hearts. It symbolized his vow to return unscathed from his months-long absences, and mine to hold steadfast and not let worry consume me.

Inexplicably, today was the day it slipped through my grasp, escaping as I washed the dishes. With frantic urgency, I begged a plumber on the other end of the line, imploring them to come soon. As I awaited their arrival, I paced the kitchen restlessly, the walls closing in around me, echoing the turmoil within.

Why now, of all times? Not the promise ring, not when Simon was absent and miles away. Is he safe? Should I call him, burdening him with my anxiety? No, he would hate that, I reasoned, my thoughts a whirlwind. But then, a faint sound, a subtle ring, distinct from my usual ringtone, disrupted my racing mind. It was the tone of my burner phone, a lifeline that Simon and I maintained against all odds.

Simon had always been a stickler about rules, yet this was the one rule he willingly bent, allowing a connection that bound us across distances. A shiver of dread danced along my spine as the significance of this phone call overshadowed my loss of the ring. The ring seemed a distant concern as I lunged toward the living room, vaulting over the couch in my haste to retrieve the burner phone from its secretive spot.

"Hello? Simon?" My voice quivered as I answered, a mix of anticipation in my tone.

"I knew you'd worry when I call this line," his voice floated through the airwaves, a bittersweet comfort that painted a small smile on my lips.

"Love, you wouldn't believe what happened. I was washing the dishes and my ring—"

"I lost the ring," his voice was a soft whisper, a fragile admission that trembled with its weight.

My heart skipped a beat. "You lost your ring?" I whispered, collapsing to the floor as relief mingled with a new kind of sorrow. I could wait for the plumber, my love's voice was enough to soothe my anxious heart. "Yeah, figured you'd be worried. You dropped yours down the sink? Typical of you, darling. I always tell you to remove it when you need to," he groaned out.

A heavy silence settled between us, his normally vibrant voice dimmed. "Are you on a mission?" I asked, my hands trembling without reason.

"Yeah, I've been shot. Waiting for Evac. Five minutes, I'm in the corner of an abandoned classroom," his voice carried an odd calmness, punctuated by the faint rustle of his clothes.

His words hung in the air, leaving me breathless. "You've been shot?" Tears welled up in my eyes, emotions swirling like a storm within me. "Forget the ring, your safety comes first," I sobbed, as if the sheer force of my words could shield him from harm.

The line was quiet, an unsettling calmness that hinted at a temporary respite from danger. "I'll get us new rings, and we can make our vows at the base. Not legally, of course, but—" his chuckle pierced through the uncertainty.

Then, shots erupted in the background, piercing through the connection. Panic swelled within me, the safety of my home feeling suddenly fragile. "Simon? Simon? Are you there?" I screamed into the phone.

A sudden ring at the doorbell yanked my attention away, a jolt of surprise and annoyance. The plumber, perhaps? I opened the door, my thoughts still tethered to the call. "Y/N, I promise you I'll come home. After this mission, I'll come home. If you hear this phone ring again, it won't be me," his voice wavered, bullets ripping through the air in the background.

"Love? Simon?" I murmured, my fingers trembling as the phone slipped from my grasp. Is he alone? Where is his team? The barrage of questions and fears engulfed me, blurring my vision.

"I'll be home soon," his words were final, a declaration that hung in the air for a moment before the line crackled into white noise. Frustration surged within me as I cursed the phone, its limitations mocking my helplessness. I placed it gently on the living room table, wiping away my tears with a trembling hand.

I rose to my feet, robotically leading the plumber to the kitchen, my thoughts locked on the fragile thread of connection I clung to. Should I call him back? Should I demand answers?

The burner phone rang again, its urgency startling me. I snatched it up, my heart racing in my chest. "Hello? Hello, love?"

"Oh, you have a lover? This should be entertaining," a mocking German accent spilled from the other end. My breath caught in my throat, dread pooling like ice within me.

Simon's voice, laced with frustration, echoed through the line. "Idiot, I said don't answer it."

"Simon?" My voice was barely a whisper, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. The weight of the situation pressed down on me like a suffocating embrace.

A sharp gunshot cut through the line, the sound shattering the distance between us. Two shots, like a heart skipping beats. And then, silence. The line went dead.

I’ve been saying hello since then.

Don't want to end your reading with tears? Continue here.

Thank you for reading <3, I'll be dropping some art and a master list soon! Please like/reblog if you enjoyed the content!

#cod x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod x you #call of duty #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost mwii #ghost call of duty #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod writing #cod writer #codmw2 #cod mwii #call of duty modern warfare 2 #mw2 #call of duty mw2 #cod mw2 #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #I love this man honestly #ghost angst

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #45: 1994

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Ace of Base, All-4-One, Boyz II Men, Celine Dion, Mariah Carey, Lisa Loeb, Toni Braxton, Bryan Adams + Rod Stewart and Sting, Ace of Base, Ace of Base. End description]

More information about this blog here

Looking at the polls from yesterday and today, it looks like the early 90's were a good time for reggae-inspired music by artists from countries not usually associated with reggae. Most notable for today's selection is Sweden's Ace of Base. The group was doing well in their home country, as Europop taking over the airwaves across Europe. The sound wasn't as big in The States, but Ace of Base saw an immense amount of crossover success. As the years go on, Sweden would continue to have a powerful influence over the sound of pop music. Both indirectly, as more American artists start to incorporate the sound of Europop into their music, but directly as well. Cheiron Studios was founded in 1992 by a man going by Denniz Pop. He was one of the producers behind Ace of Base as well as an incredibly-stacked list of artists based both in and outside of his home country (many of whom will definitely make up a large portion of these polls). Sadly, he never got to live past the 90's, but along with Max Martin (another Cheiron Studios producer whose name I'm dropping here as a bit of foreshadowing), his sound and songwriting techniques would come to define this decade in pop music as well as the ones coming after.

#billboard poll #billboard music #tumblr poll #1990s #90s music #1994 #ace of base #all 4 one #boyz ii men #celine dion #mariah carey #lisa loeb #toni braxton #bryan adams #rod stewart #sting

[shotofchinaco]

If you’ve ever wondered why it seems like every other station on your dial is Christian rock, EMF [the Educational Media Foundation] is a big part of your answer. From its headquarters in a Nashville suburb (the organization is slowly relocating from its longtime home of California), EMF plays the generic sounds of contemporary Christian music, or “CCM.” It is a genre that everyone from artists and critics to church leaders have decried as being somewhere between “the absolute worst” and “doctrinally unsound.” But the Educational Media Foundation has quietly become the country’s fastest-growing radio chain and second-largest station owner in the country, bested only by iHeartRadio. With hundreds of cookie-cutter stations branded as “K-LOVE,” as well as its smaller chain of “Air1” stations, EMF broadcasts on more than 1,000 signals across all 50 states and some U.S. territories, reaching an estimated 18 million listeners a week.  On the surface, EMF’s broadcasts are glaringly apolitical. They opt instead for their trite brand of Christian rock, all teed off by the same, small cast of nationally syndicated, Anywhere-USA DJs who smile through everything from squeaky-clean jokes about the drink sizes at Starbucks to prayers asking God to watch over those who have donated to the organization. But behind its politically neutral facade, the organization — and the CCM industry more broadly — appears to be an inherently conservative project. Many right-wing Christian culture bearers have long believed in the “Breitbart Doctrine” — the idea that, to change politics, you must first change culture — and have fought for decades to build a parallel popular culture free of sharp edges, hard questions, or representations of lives that veer from the straight and narrow.

[...] But EMF’s story isn’t just about bad music taking over the airwaves in service of a cultural vision that is overwhelmingly white, straight, and artistically regressive. It’s also the story of the near-demise of local radio — a longtime haven for new music, artistic outcasts, and political dialogue — at the hands of a tax-avoiding not-for-profit organization that appears to operate like a very-much-for-profit media mega-corporation. For decades, EMF has hidden behind a veneer of uncoolness while honing a signature technique: At big commercial stations and small, beloved community-radio stations alike, they’ve offered the owners an undeniable sum of money, wiped out the local presence, and replaced it with unmanned transmitters.

#worth reading #ccm #educational media foundation #radio #radio industry

[mxaether]

listen listen listen listen listen. cmere. come here. come real close, my little leaflets. my babies. my maple keys still falling from the sky as you learn to navigate this. cmere.

it’s okay. it’s okay because it’ll always be okay. because we’ve always been this. i may not have been dedicated my whole life but i know plenty who have been. and plenty more for even longer.

toronto fans are nothing if we are not fiercely loyal. we love our boys. these are our buds. they rise and fall with the wind just like all of us. history is the worst taskmaster. but we can love them for what they bring us.

they bring us terrifying highs. and deep lows. they bring us excitement, SO times a year. they bring us together. a purpose stretching across all these tiny fucking screens across the entire fucking planet, sometimes. if you’d told a teenage me that i’d meet leafs fans from other countries, i would’ve been dumbfounded. but they do that!

and right now?? right now we are watching history. history is not always written how we want it to be. we watched history in the 90s/early 00s too. We have had some of the most amazing players and most amazing team and still not brought it home. but we still made history. we still all got to watch - holding our breath at the same time. millions of us. all over.

they’ll still bring us amazing games. they’ll still bring us connection. and maybe. just maybe, if we’re really fucking lucky. one day, they’ll bring the cup home.

in the meantime, i don’t mind being that loyal dog at the door, and i sure don’t mind making friends across the airwaves with other unhinged fans going through the trials and horrors of The Narrative.

we got this, pals. don’t listen to podcasts. don’t read reporters articles. it’s that time of year, like every year, where they ask us “is it even worth it??”

yeah. i think so. won’t always be perfect. but sometimes — sometimes it’s fucking magical.

#leafs lb #kam gets very emotional about sports #and community #and being unhinged about a bunch of professional athletes

[such-a-random-rambler]

Happy MiniBang @jbarkerstargazer

I enjoyed scrolling though your blog for art, and a number caught my eye. I settled on this one because I don't think I've seen anything like it before, and loved the feeling of two people sitting side by side sharing a wonder. I couldn't find a reference to who this person was, so kept it vague and I hope it fits who you were drawing.

found in this post, for reference

The 2060’s are a decade of frontiers being brought to the forefront. Whether it’s in the depth of space, the deepness of the ocean, or the most remote mountain peaks, what was once a rare sight can be displayed on every holoprojector in every home in the world. Technological progress has pushed back the edge of exploration so it can be enjoyed by everyone, even if only the bravest – and luckiest – souls are actually leaving their footprints behind. 

There are, however, pockets of experiences left that are known by the very few. Some are not pleasant. Most are life-threatening. One of them John Tracy, and only John Tracy, sees on every trip to and from home: a unique commute even with the bustling traffic into orbit these days. 

Up is John’s favourite direction. Not just because he’s escaping the heavy shackles of unforgiving gravity or because he’s returning to the quiet he needs to focus and save lives. It’s this view.  

On most journey’s John spends the forty five or so minutes it takes for the space elevator to travel from island to station checking over system reports and pre-loading the holograms he needs into the control centre. Sometimes he puts that off, and lets himself enjoy the slow change from atmosphere to vacuum. The colours fade as pressure changes, and the curve of the planet emerges. There’s a precious few minutes when the Earth and the stars are in balance, before the glistening grains of sand painted on inky blackness creep across the whole sky.  

None of the other travelers into space have the time to see the gradual melting from Earth to Heavens, not at the breakneck pace they are catapulted though the atmosphere. This view is one reserved for John, and those special enough he invites to share it.  

“Do you want to see?” he asks her, one lazy afternoon, when the airwaves had been quiet and the pool had been inviting. Lunch in the sunshine had been followed by an afternoon of reading and napping. Now the breeze picks up as the sun begins to set, bringing with it the scent of cool sea and earth to accompany their conversation on the merits of unorthodox space travel. 

She’d been to Five before of course, but by the usual – quick, rocket-shaped – route. 

Her immediate smile is excited at the prospect and touched by the invitation to this most private view.  

He hustles her down to the elevator dock before anyone can interfere, leading her by the hand so fast she has to do a few little jogging steps to keep up. Intense focus on a goal tends to make him forget his long legs in a way she’s come to find endearing.  

The secondary seat is slightly more comfortable than most airplane seats -  even if it spends most of it’s life folded into the wall panels – though nothing in comparison to the bespoke fit of John’s chair, almost as form fitting as his suit. That primary seat shifts aside slightly to make room so they can sit together, the main viewing port on the opposite wall.  

Safety checks completed and harnesses secured, Five lifts them into the evening sky.  

Ever been so focused that no other part of the world can intrude into your bubble? That’s how it is for them this first time: the earth rising below, the atmosphere whispering goodbye and the sky wrapping them in stars. Just the two of them, hand in hand, and a glimpse of infinity. 

That’s how it is the first time, and many times after that.  

#tagminibang2023 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #tagminibang

[singlesablog]

The Look.

“Is There Something I Should Know?” (1983) Duran Duran EMI - Capitol Records (Written by Simon Le Bon, John Taylor, Roger Taylor, Andy Taylor, Nick Rhodes) Highest U.S. Billboard Chart Position – No. 4

“[It was] completely separate from electronic music or the future…all the fucking Southern New Romantic bollocks. I mean, if we were ever called New Romantics there'd be a fight... 'Am I wearing a kilt? Am I wearing enough eyeliner? Is my shirt frilly enough?' Oh, fuck off!

- Paul McCluskey from Orchestral Manoeuvres in The Dark on The New Romantics

I love the term “across the pond”, which suggests that England, the mother country for the USA, is only a hop and a skip away, when in truth, the spaces between us are enormous.  The innovations transferring from one continent to the other, especially with respect to music and fashion, have always had a strange and years-away delay that has been ongoing since the very beginning, as if the ideas were always awaiting the right winds, funding, and large, cumbersome, three-masted ships from the Colonial period to bring them over to us.  Part of Modernism is to assume the new world will be changed; part of reality is that the change, as delivered, is much more elusive.

In 1982 the Second British Invasion was brought to the United States in color on MTV, and was ushered in by two very important videos: first and foremost with the complete smash “Don’t You Want Me” by The Human League (an electro masterpiece and forever influential) and then by Duran Duran’s “Hungry Like The Wolf”, their first bonafide, giant US hit.  It wasn’t just MTV that had them on heavy rotation, it was nonstop over the airwaves as well: these two songs nearly swallowed up the 1982-83 season for radio.  In truth there was so much happening with British artists over here that year it is dizzying to consider; sound and image were delivered with enormous speed, and very persuasively.  It was a very rapid musical turnover (and considering my previous thoughts, I know this is ironic; however, a backlog is a backlog.)  The only problem for me that year was that I loathed “Hungry Like The Wolf”; this included the song, and the stupid video, in which I believe Simon Le Bon is in animal drag pursuing a female through the jungle, but I can’t be sure: I refuse to look at it again after being forced to 500 times.  I was also only mildly interested at the time in “Don’t You Want Me”, after being worn down by its’ endless radio play in the US.  However, the invasion had begun.

As a teenager, there was a lot to process in 1982/83: music was now television, and MTV was our god.  I wasn’t staying up late to look at the Brits, I was staying up late waiting for Prince to appear in a haze of multi-colored, neon-infused fog spinning around in high-heeled boots to “Little Red Corvette” (an incredible fusion of sound and image).  There was a lot to look over: Men at Work with “Who Can It Be Now”, A Flock of Seagull’s “I Ran (So Far Away)” which was HUGE in the states, and even Bowie, the originator, coming back from the dead with the future-forward “Ashes to Ashes” being re-aired (1980).  The Vee-jays talked and talked, and we absorbed every scene.  

In 1983 Duran issued their 8th single, “Is There Something I Should Know?” straight to MTV in a video directed by Russell Mulcahy, and it was at this moment that I sat up and took notice.  Technically the band had already conquered the UK and the US, but it took forever for these ideas to sail my way.  Capitol Records was looking for another hit and had the band create this track after their best album, Rio, was already a sensation, and they were starting to work on their third, Seven and the Ragged Tiger (a hilariously late-imperial and overblown, if rather beautiful, mess). For me, watching on TV, this video was my first impression of The New Romantics ever.  Even though DD's style had already moved forward into clothes that were more New wave, I could sense the old style running through the images.  Mulcahy, a true innovator in music videos, had directed many of Duran Duran’s previous clips, as well as for many other artists (notably Buggles “Video Killed The Radio Star”, MTVs first-ever video broadcast, and most representatively Duran’s “Planet Earth”, which, shockingly, I had missed).  His work initiated many of the classic techniques in video: spot lighting, jump cuts, platform stages, empty spaces, slo-motion, breaking glass, fog, bifurcated screens, costumes, nonsense—you name it.

Unbeknownst to me at that time, Capitol tacked this single on to Duran Duran’s first, self-titled debut LP (1981) for the 1983 US re-release, to capitalize on the huge success of Rio’s “Hungry Like the Wolf”.  Until this post, I was always confused at the range of style changes and images that we took in from Duran in ’83, and why I assumed this look was from 1981.  We were all taking in so much British fashion then it was impossible to sort any of it out.  The video, however, was sharp, clean, and brilliant, the clothes still holding a bit of the New Romantic flounce and swagger, but cut leaner, and cleaner; the bandmembers, by now seasoned stars, had clothes, hair and makeup all perfected in an exactitude of knowing postures, and the song was one of their best, and hookiest, with old touches of guitar from their previous work, and with synth-work that looked forward to the next record.  But in 1983, I thought that this was vintage Duran.

Fashion is a curiously hard thing to pin down, especially considering the clothes from London and Birmingham in the late 70s and early 80s.  I would submit that a classic, classic New Romantic look would be the Duran Duran of 1981: lots of makeup, lots of flounce and ruffles, lots of teased up hair (even a ponytail, here or there).  The beginning of the look sprang up alongside of punk (which was anarchic and utilitarian); Bowie and Bolan would be among the New Romantic inspirations.  By the time of the 80s things moved quickly, and Malcolm McClaren and Vivienne Westwood’s Sex shop become involved (Westwood’s Pirate collection in 1981—think Adam and the Ants—is a clear expansion of New Romantic fashion); however the Sex shop was also an expression of Punk fashion, and much more avant-garde, so the ideas began to merge and mutate.  By 1983, to be called a New Romantic band became an insult (and to these eyes a downright homophobic assault on foppery and artifice) and many bands distanced themselves from the title, if not outright denied it. Even a band like Spandau Ballet (a true New Romantic sensation from the Blitz club in London) moved away from those associations, and began to wear suits.  With the Duran of 1983 everything was trimmed down but one could see they were unashamed; if their clothes flounced less, they still had the spirit in them.  This was in contrast to the bands that resented the association for whatever reason: ABC, Depeche Mode, The Human League, Soft Cell, Simple Minds, Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark, and Talk Talk.  The other band closely associated with it, Culture Club, was fronted by Boy George, whose fashion sense ran from Bowie to Punk.  He seemed neither to take offense nor to care what they called him as long as they were looking.

Back in America I was watching all of this late at night on television—too late.  Many of these styles had emerged and were already smoldering in the ashes before we could understand or appropriate them here.  New wave we got, New Romantic we did not.  It did all rather re-flower in the mid to late 80s for us, however.  Looking at the back of the vinyl from the offshoot band Arcadia (with three members of Duran, 1985) I would say their old style had returned.  Around this period there were lots of brooches and asymmetrical haircuts, lots of layers, and lots of unashamed extra everything from nearly every pop artist everywhere. I think the British divisions had finally synthesized into a catch-all aesthetic.  In fact, it was this extra-ness that we now think of in America when we think of 1980s pop music. 

Back cover from Arcadia's So Red The Rose (1985)

But please—don’t call it New Romantic.  It just isn’t cool.

-

There were so many styles that emerged in the 80s from the streets, but none better than Bananarama, who were never hard to understand, being appropriated from street culture in England.  Like the Go-Gos, when you saw them, it was pretty clear what they were doing stylistically, and it was never anachronistic. US or UK, you just got it.

Researching this entry, and looking around on the internet, I became interested in the word “naff”, which because it is British has had many permutations, but mostly means awful, ugly, no-good.  I texted my friend British Rachel for the definition:

Me: Define “naff” Her: Deely Boppers and Ra Ra skirts. That was the 80s here.  Nightmare.   Thank god for Bananarama!

On an internet message board from The Guardian, I found a more complete, and complex, definition:

Naff is polari (or palare), the gay urban secret language developed in London to ensure conversational privacy in public when talking about gay sex or insulting straight people. Polari was widespread in London, and particularly in the theatre, from the 1940s-1960s, suffered a decline in the 1970s and 1980s, and has had a revival since the 1990s. It consists of snippets of Italian, Latin, Spanish, Yiddish, Cockney Rhyming Slang, Black-slang and acronyms. Naff is an example of the latter - Normal As Fuck - and means drab, unfashionable, dull. By extension, it is a defining characteristic of straight people, who lack the style and swagger of the urban homosexuals.

- Gerard Forde, London, UK

Well. Excluding Duran Duran, of course.

#1983 #duran duran #popmusic #new romantics #vivienne westwood #malcolm mclaren #mtv

[liz-allyn]

so you're ready to start reading tasm!peter...

Do you know someone who may be impacted by Andrew Garfield and his constant assault of incredible acting, boy-next-door-to-DILF-transition facial hair, colorful couture, and well-fitting pants? If so, there may be help.

If you're new to the TASM fanfic fandom and feel overwhelmed, you're not alone! I recommend any new reader START by following these incredible writers who have a large number of TASM!Peter fics, and taking a deep dive into their "masterpieces." These are works that I think truly illustrate their passion and storytelling style (not just their amazing TALENT):

@spidervee - Just read it all. Clearly one of the most prolific TASM!Peter writers on Tumblr, and worthy of being "Queen Vee" since a lot of us got back into writing because of her. Everyone knows her for her blurbs, but start with Band Aids on Broken Hearts, Even on Your Worst Days, and Fractured and Familiar (part 1 and 2), and be amazed as you track the progression into deeper, risker hits like End of the World As We Know It, A Little Wicked and The Wild. Her magnum opus masterpiece is (so far) The Spider and the Sunflower.

@blooming-violets - Such a brilliant and creative mind, it KiLLs mE. First work I came across was Pinky Promise, which is a phenominal story in re: pacing, characters, drama, action, etc. Then I am REVIVED by her naughty "angel" series she DOUBLE JEOPARDY MURDERS ME AGAIN with Something Unforgivable and I'm like "goddamn this is poetic and it hurts." Then she literally murders LOTS OF PEOPLE with Smitten, which I would call a masterpiece. stabby stabb death stab

@withahappyrefrain - Girl is on fire with ideas, patron saint of Daddy Kink and Sundresses. I could not possibly list all of the amazing works on here (especially all the blurbs which are my daily sustenance) but I'd say her crowned jewel is Here Comes the Sun.

@rae-gar-targaryen - Supreme Avocado, Attorney at Law. Has a great mix of content with a chunk of TASM!Peter, such a beautiful way with words, including her visually-sublime sweet masterpiece hang the stars upon tonight

@abibliophobiaa luna lovepine-piney-piningqueen-of-pineville - Perfect Places is a 3rd degree slow burn and is just FANTASTIC. Sleep Peter burns for it. And I burn for them. Speaking of which, I'd say the magnum opus is Another Love, which is an incredible AU feat of genius.

@fallensilencefics writes TASM!Peter almost exclusively and might also get me double-pregnant with her smut works. Also Angel of the Airwaves is like a fucking awesome superhero!reader / poc!reader fic unapologetically and it's also a masterpiece.

@mrshipsmcgee - CAIT! Dis bitch got me pregnant; current awaiting a DNA test. Also: our mother-goddess, because that's her energy, and she helped me with my first stories and inspired me to get back into writing, and I encourage you to check out In Another Universe, Symbiote and my other fav, A Lord & A Lady, her Bridgerton AU that I really loved even though I've never seen Bridgerton.

@p3mybeloved started her tasm writing journey a few months after some of the others on this list but i'm blown away by how OBSESSED i am now. Also I just fucking STARTED We Can Be Heroes because I suck at tasking let alone multitasking and now I feel like I want to read one chapter a month because I don't want it to end.

@luveline Writes 50 blurbs a day with bottomless talent like it's a Happy Hour Special at Applebees and so many of them have made me WEEP like I'm alone at a Happy Hour at Applebees, she is truly a gift.

@lanadelreyscokewhor3 Is the Patron Saint of Innocence Kink and I have to be alone in a forest every time she writes something that's TASM Peter because I should not be near other humans.

@peterthepark I think she's currently retired from TASM!Peter Duty but read her lovely oneshots and her spicy Ridiculous fics are required reading for Blonde Frat Boy Peter (what is blonde fratboy peter? *laughs nervously* it was is a thing)

If you haven't discovered @decadentpaperduck, @foreverrogers, @indouloureux, and @ddejavvu then what is the point of the internet...

and honestly this list can get so long but I really need to eat now. These are blogs that I feel like post majority TASM!Peter and have all been responsible in some way for crafting the way I write.

BUT enough about my opinions. I know I missed some excellent "must read" stories.

Moots, please help me out by reblogging with your favorites!

#Lizzy recs. #tasm!peter #peter parker #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x you #andrew garfield #fic recs

[heckyeahponyscans]

In my search for info about the Oldsmobile ad campaign, I came across this blog post:

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The story of “not your father’s Oldsmobile.” Or how some really bad advertising changed the culture forever!

October 14, 2008

Time for a story boys and girls. It’s a tale that requires we go back 20 years, before copywriters had Macs, before email, before I lost my hair. This story harkens back to a day when Oldsmobiles roamed the earth. And their commercials filled the airwaves. I should know; I made some of them. Including the campaign that served as Olds’ final and famous (infamous?) death gasp: “Not Your Father’s Oldsmobile.”

 Dad’s was better.

The line has become a pop culture catch phrase, in the same ilk –albeit attached to worse advertising-as “Got Milk?”  Both slogans have been co-opted literally hundreds of times, far outlasting their original intent. Try reading your morning paper and not finding a variation on either line. For example, about a candidate: “This is not your father’s Democrat.”  About a technological innovation: “This is not your mother’s sewing machine.” And so on. Sadly enough, more Americans are familiar with the Olds’ slogan than of Shakespeare’s finest sonnets. Way more.

A soft-spoken creative director by the name of Joel Machak wrote that famous line. I actually came up with the campaign’s tag: “The New Generation of Olds.” Both pieces were intended as lyrics. That’s right, a jingle! As a matter of fact, I was brought in to help Joel come up with the refrain. The piece went together as follows (sing along):

       This is not your father’s Oldsmobile…This is the new generation of Olds.

Pretty spiffy, eh? The word “generation” was key. If you recall, each commercial featured a celebrity and one of his or her offspring. This is why the campaign is so damn silly. Outside of a morbid fascination with ogling Ringo Starr’s purple-haired daughter or Dave Brubeck’s motley looking brothers, placing the kin of “B” and “C” celebrities on camera was pure folly. Though I will concede we anticipated Reality TV by 10 years! If you do nothing else today, go to the above link. Trust me.

Where’s my Cutlass Supreme?

The very first spot was for the “totally redesigned Cutlass Supreme.” The protagonist for this commercial was none other than William Shatner, appearing as; you guessed it, Captain Kirk! Riding shotgun was his lovely college-aged daughter, Melanie Shatner. A middling actress, she was pretty darn cute. She also was well endowed. And this became problematic given her wardrobe and where we were shooting. It gets damn cold in the Palm Desert at night. The diaphanous gown provided Melanie was meant to be futuristic a la Star Trek, but it did nothing to warm her up. Subsequently, her nipples went completely rigid, sticking up like Spock’s ears.

beam me up, Scotty!

While this may sound lurid and comical now, at the time (3 AM) it was a “situation.” Imagine the middle-aged suit from GM, replete in a satin Oldsmobile Racing Team jacket, making his way over to the director. “Excuse me, but we can see her nipples!”  Given we’d already shot scenes of Melanie in the gown, a wardrobe change was not possible. The solution? Duct tape. And thus her cleavage had a silver lining.

The other moment I’ll never forget was a captured piece of dialogue (unscripted) between William and his daughter. Between takes, they were side by side in the white Cutlass. Unbeknown to either, the mic was still on. Listening to Captain Kirk school his daughter about the virtues of pep and sleeping pills as a key to nighttime shooting was priceless. What a Dad. What a cad. In a way, it preceded his Emmy-winning turn as Danny Crane by some 20 years.

I know this is trifling gossip, and long past its vintage. But like everyone else, I’m beaten down from our grim economy and an evermore-depressing election. Not to mention the woes of Chicago’s sports franchises… When I was new I used to love listening to the old-timers tell bawdy stories from their shoots. Now that I have a few under my belt, I figured we could all use a respite.

----

As a post-script: in 2021 the writer returned to his blog after fifteen years away. He explained that he had dropped out of the advertising biz and become a substance abuse counselor. He began work just as Covid broke out. Wow! I find that inspiring! He also has a Youtube channel devoted to his aquarium hobby, check it out here!

#Oldsmobile #advertising #William Shatner #I love little stories like this

[wordsofrowan]

From Ashes to Embers

Chapter 14 - You Can't Cover All Your Wounds in Band-Aids

Time passed, with each second feeling like a cruel reminder of how lonely I was. The weight of my double life as Ladybug and the constant battle against Shadow Moth consumed my days. I yearned for a way to bring an end to his reign of darkness, to regain my freedom and be myself once more.

In my room, photographs adorned the walls, capturing moments of joy and friendship. Adrien's charming smile, Luka's gentle gaze, and the laughter shared with my friends stared back at me. Barkk and Ziggy fluttered over to the corkboard where the pictures were displayed.

Barkk, ever the worrier, chimed in, "I told you we should've taken the photos down! They only bring you sadness, Marinette."

I held my gaze on the photos, my voice barely a whisper. "Please don't," I pleaded, my words tinged with a mix of determination and sadness. "Stop, Barkk. I'm not sad, and these photos don't bother me. They're a reminder of who I am and what I'm fighting for. So it's all good." I forced a humorless chuckle, desperately trying to convince myself. "There's no problem, you see?"

Amidst the emotional turmoil, my phone buzzed incessantly, another call demanding my attention. Frustration surged within me, and I sent the call straight to voicemail, not wanting to face the outside world just yet. A couple of minutes passed, and the phone buzzed again, indicating that a voicemail had been left.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I played the voicemail. The familiar voices of my friends filled the airwaves, their warmth seeping through the recording. I heard Alya's energetic voice followed by the cheerful greetings of Rose, Juleka, Mylene, and Alix. "Hey Marinette, it's us!" they chimed in unison. "We're just calling to tell you that we're here if you need to talk. Whenever you want, wherever you want, give us a call back." There was a brief pause, and then I heard Alya's voice again, softer and tinged with sadness. "We miss you."

I felt a mix of emotions well up inside me, a combination of longing, guilt, and a deep sense of isolation. Unable to bear the weight of their words, I deleted the voicemail, my heart heavy with conflicting emotions. In a moment of frustration, I impulsively chucked my phone across the room, the sound of it hitting the wall echoing my inner turmoil.

“Come on we gotta do something!” Barkk shouted out as he hovered over my frame. I grabbed one of my pillows and put it over my head. 

“If only Tikki were here,” Wyazz chimed in, “She would know how to help Marinette.” 

“I got an idea!” Trixx announced as he pulled the pillow off my head, “Why aren’t you using the light box to talk to your friends?” he asked as he floated in front of my face. 

“What’s there to talk about?” Turning my head away from Trixx, I said, “Everything’s fine.” 

Trixx persisted, "Don't you think you should detransform then? Maybe it's time to take a break."

I shook my head, “No I’m better off like this, better off staying as ladybug,” I said as a fresh bout of tears started welling up in my eyes, “this way if Shadow Moth attacks Paris, I’ll be ready for action at any time.” 

“Yes but what about Tikki?” Trixx said, pushing gently “She could use some rest and she needs to eat something as well.” 

Overwhelmed with guilt and worry, I shouted, "Oh my God! Tikki, spots off!" Tears streamed down my face as I cradled the tired kwami in my hands. "Are you okay, Tikki?"

Tikki let out a tired sigh, “better than you Marinette,” she replied, her voice filled with compassion. "We should have a little talk." Tikki and I went up to the balcony so we could talk. 

Feeling the weight of my struggles, I poured my heart out to Tikki. "I don't know what to do anymore, Tikki," I confessed, my voice trembling with sadness. "My life as Marinette is too complicated. As long as I'm Ladybug, I can't have loved ones in my life. I had to break up with Luka because I couldn't tell him the truth. It would be the same with anyone else I date. I can't share my secret with him or anyone else, for that matter. I can't be honest with my closest friends or my parents about anything. I'm doomed to be a big liar to everyone, forever. What do I do, Tikki?"

Tikki's voice carried understanding, yet a hint of helplessness. "I wish I could give you a clear answer, Marinette," she sighed. "But kwami relationships are very different from human ones. We have a natural soul pair, like me and Plagg. I am the kwami of Creation, and Plagg is the kwami of Destruction. We are complementary to each other, balancing one another out. Without me, there is no Plagg, and without Plagg, there is no me. The same goes for other kwamis, like Fluff and Sass," Tikki continued, her voice filled with wisdom. "Fluff is the kwami of Evolution, and Sass is the kwami of Intuition. They are bound together by the burden of time, forming a natural pair. Kwamis have a unique balance and understanding of one another."

I listened intently, my heart heavy with the weight of my secret. "But with people, it's so different," I murmured, tears staining my cheeks. "I long for true, genuine connections, for the freedom to be myself without hiding behind a mask. I want to share my secret with the ones I love, but it just can't and it hurts Tikki, it hurts so much"

I let out a heavy sigh, sinking into the plush cushions of my balcony lounge chair. The weight of my thoughts seemed unbearable as I gazed out into the clear blue sky. Lost in my own world, I was startled when the balcony door swung open, and Alya's voice pierced through the silence.

"Marinette, there you are!" Alya's voice carried a mix of concern and urgency as she stepped onto the balcony. Tikki fluttered nervously, seeking shelter within the confines of my hair, sensing the tension in the air. I turned to face Alya, my expression a blend of surprise and frustration.

"What are you doing here, Alya?!" My voice rang out, laced with frustration and confusion. The events of the past few days had left me feeling raw and vulnerable, and I longed for a moment of solitude. Yet here was my best friend, barging into my private space.

Alya's eyes softened, her concern evident as she took a step closer. "We came to check on you, girl. We've all been worried about you," she replied, her voice filled with genuine care and friendship.

A heavy sigh escaped my lips, my weariness evident as I slumped in my chair on the balcony. "Aw, look! It's just like a real house! Look, the roof even comes off!" Rose's excitement echoed in the air, reaching my ears with an unexpected pang of panic. My heart skipped a beat as I realized what she was referring to - the miniature house, I was creating for the Kwami’s to serve as somewhere they can be outside of the Miracle Box.

My heart raced as I leaped off the balcony, my feet carrying me swiftly into my room. The miniature house stood proudly on my desk, its presence a constant reminder of the hidden world I guarded so fiercely. With each hurried step, worry and protectiveness fueled my actions, propelling me closer to the source of my concern.

As I positioned myself between Rose and the delicate structure, a surge of urgency coursed through my veins. The weight of my words hung in the air, trembling with a mixture of concern and pleading. "Please, don't touch this," I implored, my voice quivering with an underlying fear.

But before I could prevent the inevitable, the roof of the miniature house slipped from Rose's grasp, crashing onto the floor in a cacophony of shattered secrets. The delicate pieces scattered across the room, a visual representation of the vulnerability that now lay exposed.

A pang of disappointment surged through me as Rose's apology reached my ears. "I'm so sorry, Marinette," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret. I couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and sadness, the knowledge that my secret had been unintentionally laid bare.

"Can you please just leave?" My plea hung in the air, a delicate thread of weariness that seemed to dissipate into the tension-filled atmosphere. The weight of my emotions pressed upon me, threatening to drown me in a sea of turmoil.

But Alya stepped forward, pushing Rose gently behind her. Her eyes met mine with unwavering determination. "Chill out, Marinette," she said, her voice steady and reassuring. "It's just a stupid dollhouse. We can totally help."

My patience, already frayed at the edges, threatened to snap as Alya's words fell upon my ears. The desire for solitude burned within me, an unyielding longing to escape the suffocating presence of well-intentioned intruders. I raised my voice, the frustration simmering beneath the surface now boiling over.

"Can you just go?!" I shouted, my words echoing with a mix of desperation and exasperation. "Can't you see? I want to be alone!"

Alya's expression softened, her concern etched onto her features. She took a step closer, her voice gentle yet firm. "Look, Marinette, we know something is wrong, and we are not leaving until you tell us what it is. We're here for you."

The room fell into a tense silence as Alya's words hung in the air. The weight of their presence tugged at my heart, a reminder that true friendship meant standing by each other's side, even in the face of uncertainty. I took a deep breath, realizing that shutting them out would only deepen the divide between us.

Just as I was about to speak, Mylène, usually soft-spoken, stepped forward. In her hand, she held a delicate bracelet, its surface adorned with intricate designs."Look, Marinette," Mylene interjected, her voice gentle yet firm as she stepped forward “Each of us told our secrets to this bracelet. It's your turn."

"The only thing wrong is that you guys are still in my room, even though I explicitly told you to get out!" I shouted, my voice laced with a mix of anger and desperation. Each word carried the weight of my frustration, echoing through the room as a testament to my shattered peace.

Alya reached out to me, her eyes filled with genuine concern. "Marinette, we're your friends," she said softly, her voice attempting to soothe the storm raging within me. "You can confide in us."

“Yeah marinette, we only want to be good friends to you. Real friends don’t let each other down!” Rose said with a smile on her face. A smile that felt like a stab to my heart.

A bitter laugh escaped my lips, laced with a mix of anger and frustration. I took a step back, my arms folding protectively across my chest, a barrier against the mounting tension in the room. The weight of past conflicts surged to the surface, fueling the fire of my resentment.

"Yeah, real friends don't ever let each other down, right?" I retorted, my voice dripping with venom. The bitterness in my words was a reflection of the wounds that still festered within me. "Oh, so now you want to be my friend, Rose? I distinctly remember you telling me, in Juleka's own house no less, that you couldn't stand a 'bully' like me. And Alya, let's not forget the New York incident. You haven't had a single concrete conversation with me since our fight. But now you suddenly want to say that you’re my friend?"

The room crackled with tension, the air thick with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Alya's determination matched my own as she took a step forward, her eyes narrowing with defiance. "Marinette, we're your friends," she shot back, her voice carrying a sharp edge. "But don't act like you're blameless in all of this. You've been distant, shutting us out. We've tried to reach out to you, but you keep pushing us away."

The anger within me roared to life, drowning out any sense of reason or understanding. The walls I had erected around myself fortified my position, shielding me from the vulnerability of self-reflection. I scoffed, my voice dripping with disdain. "Oh, so now it's all my fault? I'm the one who's been distant? Let's not forget how you've all hurt me, how you've all turned your back on me when I needed you the most! How the second Lila comes around all of you abandon me!"

My words hung in the air, a poison seeping into the cracks of our fractured friendship. The room felt smaller, suffocating under the weight of our escalating fight. 

Alya's eyes blazed with a mix of hurt and defiance, her voice trembling with suppressed anger. "You think you're the only one hurting, Marinette? We've all made mistakes, but you're so focused on your own pain that you can't see how it's tearing us apart!"

Tears welled up in my eyes, a mixture of anger and sorrow. The walls I had constructed around my heart threatened to crumble, but my pride held strong. "Maybe we were never really friends to begin with," I spat, my voice laced with bitter resignation. "Maybe it's time we all moved on."

Alya, Mylene, Juleka, and Rose walked away, their backs turned to me, their expressions a mix of shock and disappointment. The weight of their abandonment settled upon me, a heavy burden that threatened to crush my spirit.

Alix lingered for a moment, her hesitation palpable. I could see the conflict in her eyes, the indecision playing out on her face. Her mouth opened and closed as if searching for the right words to say, but ultimately, she too turned away, her footsteps echoing with a sense of resignation.

The silence that followed their exit was deafening, a stark reminder of the void that now existed between us. The room felt emptier, the air thick with the remnants of shattered friendships. I couldn't help but feel a pang of regret, a gnawing ache in the depths of my soul.

“I had no choice Tikki, I had to do it.” The weight of my decision bore down on me, the cardboard house I had constructed now lay there tattered and broken. I stared at it, my heart breaking a little more with each passing moment. The Miracle Box, once housed within its walls, was now safely tucked away in the hideaway drawer, hidden from prying eyes.

Tikki hovered beside me, her presence a source of comfort in this moment of turmoil. "I know, Marinette," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness and understanding. She had been with me through it all, my confidante and guide in the face of adversity.

A bitter smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I tried to find a silver lining amidst the wreckage. "At least now I won't have to lie anymore," I mused, the words laced with a mix of resignation and relief. "There'll be no one left to lie to."

But as the words left my lips, a pang of loneliness pierced through me. The realization that I had severed the bonds of friendship, willingly or not, left an ache in my heart. The thought of facing each day without the laughter, support, and camaraderie of my friends was a daunting prospect.

"And I won't have anyone trying to stab me in the back either," I added, my voice tinged with bitterness. The wounds inflicted by betrayal still fresh in my mind, I sought solace in the absence of potential harm. Yet, the emptiness that lingered in the wake of their departure felt like a void that could never be filled.

I took a deep breath, my gaze shifting to the hideaway drawer. It held the key to our secret, the source of our power and responsibility. The weight of its presence reminded me of the duty I carried and the sacrifices I had made. It was a burden I would bear alone, but one that I was determined to shoulder.

XoXo Rowan

#writing #spilled ink #miraculous au #miraculous fandom #marinette deserves better #akuma class salt #Miraculous s4e3 #Miraculous Gang of Secrets #miraculous ladybug #alya salt #alya bashing