#Viper motherfucking Darkness

[es-ist-nichts-persoenliches]

Neues Lieblingsspiel:

✨Aus wissenschaftlichen Gründen✨

#Viper motherfucking Darkness #sweet du musst hier hie Charakter Namen und den shipp Namen hinzufügen #du weißt ich habe keine Ahnung wie einer fon den heißt #Quentin [Bestiarium]

[ugh-yoongi]

the artist | jjk

(or, the one where the only person who can help you is the one person you never want to owe a debt.)

→ pairing: jungkook x f. reader → genre: cyberpunk au, e2l; humor, sexually suggestive → rating: explicit. minors dni. → warnings: reader is a mercenary, so mentions of murder/violence/blood (nothing explicit), swearing, smoking, jk is a horny sob who is easily swayed by the possibility of sex, sorry to hoshi for sullying his good name but we’ve all seen those mafia gose episodes, i think that’s it? → wordcount: 1.8k → a/n: this fic is part of my drafts series, where i post all the unfinished, unedited fics i’ve started but have no intention of completing in an attempt to clear out my wips folder, meaning this fic will most likely not be continued in any way. however, you are free to send in questions/asks/requests if you so desire!

Of all the days.

Of all the fucking days.

“Of all the fucking days,” you groan. “Of all the goddamn, motherfucking days.”

(See, here’s the thing: you’re the best mercenary in the city for a reason. You’re good at it, the killing thing. Doesn’t make you feel all queasy and guilty the way it does to others, so you’d fallen into it easily. Carved out a niche for yourself and made a lot of money in the process. Like, a lot of money, which helps offset all the unglamorous parts of the job.

Because it might be easy, but that doesn’t mean you enjoy it.

You enjoy the money. You enjoy that people generally know not to fuck with you. You enjoy the prestige, the respect from the most powerful scumbags in the city, the power you wield yourself, because nothing comes for free in a place like this. You enjoy the adrenaline rush, the chase; the smug satisfaction of knowing you won’t get caught as you watch the incompetent, corrupt police force chase down leads that don’t exist, try to connect clues that repel each other like magnets.

You like that secrets are the highest form of currency. Makes other people vulnerable, but not you, because you’ve never bothered to keep any. You don’t trust easily, don’t trust at all, but you don’t have secrets. Everyone else does, though. Really valuable ones, too, and those are your favorite. You don’t barter in secrets, but you like that you could if you wanted; like that you know every inch of the dark, grimy underbelly of this irredeemable city like the back of your hand, like that saying the right combination of words can take a bleak situation and turn it in your favor.

And the tides always turn in your favor.

You’re infamous in this city for a lot of reasons. No one knows your name, what you look like—but they know the most important part:

Never make a deal with the devil, because the devil always comes to collect.

There are a lot of things you like about killing people for money, but the job itself isn’t one of them. You don’t like the grime, the blood and the guts and the general mess that goes along with killing. You don’t like the people that hire you, don’t like the way their squalid, wandering hands feel entitled to grab at you; the way the neon city glints off their gold-capped teeth. You don’t like the way the hazy smog sticks to your lungs; that your hair always smells like smoke and gunpowder. You don’t like how heavy of a burden it is to have a hundred lifetimes’ worth of misdeeds, secrets, and general bad behavior weighing you down.

You especially don’t like that sometimes—like, every once in a million times sometimes—secrets aren’t enough. Don’t like that your silver tongue can’t help you weasel your way out of another impossible situation. Because everyone knows if you want to know a secret you never go straight to the top, you ask the people lurking in the shadows—

And sometimes you trust the wrong shadow.

You’re barely out of The Viper Room twenty minutes when your comm device vibrates against your wrist. A tap of your finger and the hologram’s lighting up in front of you, the artificial face flickering as rain belts down, words garbled but still clear enough to convey its message.

THIS IS THE HORSEMEN SPEAKING. THERE IS HEREBY A TEN-MILLION DECALCOIN BOUNTY ON THE HEAD OF AN INDIVIDUAL YOU MAY KNOW AS “THE DEVIL”—

You’d trusted the wrong shadow.

You’d trusted Kwon Soonyoung—the conniving, duplicitous bitch that he is—and now there’s a bounty on your head.

A sardonic smile splits your face. “Well, yee-fuckin’-haw,” you say, staring up at your pixelated form, billboard stretching 40 stories into the obsidian sky, so high you can barely see the signature devil horns embroidered on the back of your jacket. “Let’s fuckin’ go, then, Pony Boys.”)

So, yeah. Of all the fucking days.

“That does sound quite inconvenient, I must say.”

Jeon Jeongguk, not much unlike one Kwon Soonyoung, is a bastard. You don’t trust him. Never show your back to him when you’re within fifty feet of one another, but even though he’s a bastard, he’s a very powerful one.

Jeon Jeongguk is the only Artist in the city. The only person who can import the ultraviolet ink he uses in his work; the tattoos that only adorn the skin of the city’s upper echelon, because wearing his art is a status symbol few can afford.

Jeon Jeongguk is also, as of five minutes ago, the only person in this god-forsaken city that knows who you really are.

He lights a cigarette and sticks it between his lips but doesn’t inhale. Steps on the foot pedal just to hear his tattoo gun whirr to life. “How much is it?”

“Fuck you,” you retort immediately. “I’m not telling you how much the goddamn bounty is before you agree to help me.”

He tsks. “So uptight, angel. I merely asked you a question.”

“And I said fuck you. I’m not giving you time to decide if you’re gonna sell me out or not.”

“Too late for that. I’ve been considering it since you dropped your little bomb on me,” he shamelessly admits. “Should’ve known. All those times you came in here for work and never told me how you could afford it. Testy little thing like you…” He drags his gaze over your frame, doe eyes sparkling as they meet yours. “Yeah, shoulda known you’re a devil.”

“The Devil,” you correct. “There’s only one.”

“Mm. Most ruthless mercenary this city’s seen in the last five decades.”

Your eyes narrow into a glare. “If I wanted to know what’s on my bounty poster I’d read it myself.”

Jeongguk carries himself with the kind of overconfident swagger you’d expect a man of his status to have. If you barter in secrets, Jeongguk barters in raw power, and there’s only one other person in this city on his level. Which is why he finally takes a drag of his cigarette and says, “Kind of a stupid nickname, isn’t it? The Devil,” and blows the smoke right in your face without a care in the world. “Fuckin’ corny.”

“I’ve killed people for less, you stupid fuck.” You suck two fingers into your mouth and drag them along your tongue; get ‘em real wet. Pinch the tip of Jeongguk’s cigarette and extinguish it before plucking it from his lips and tossing it onto the floor of his studio. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

“Why would I help you?”

“Because you want to fuck me,” you deadpan, “and the only thing more motivating to you than money is pussy.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’ll fuck me if I get this bounty off your head?”

“No,” you say immediately. “I’m saying that’s why you’d help me. Like, the possibility of it.” You wave your hand in the air. “The allure of it and all that shit, you know?”

“But you just said you’re not going to. That’s not very mysterious or alluring, is it, to spoil the ending?”

“I mean…” You trail off, eyes darting around Jeongguk’s studio space. Gaudy is probably the word you’d use to describe it. Definitely tacky. “Who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll somehow save me from certain death right at the last second and I’ll be so horny and overcome with adrenaline—”

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “Wow, you’re really selling it.”

You shrug. “Just sayin’.”

He’s quiet for a long time, cogs turning in his head, and you know exactly what his dilemma is as you watch him, for the second time tonight, rake his eyes up and down your body in the sleaziest way possible, and it’s at this exact moment that you realize you’ve made two critical mistakes:

Assuming Jeon Jeongguk would be helpful, for any reason, out of the kindness of his own heart.

Assuming Jeon Jeongguk’s silence is one of resignation and not sordid contemplation.

“Are you seriously thinking about it? You can’t put a price on this pussy,” you huff, gesturing vaguely at the apex of your thighs. Skintight leather had been an unintentional, if not beneficial, choice. “It’s literally priceless.”

Jeongguk tongues the inside of his cheek. “Nothing in this city is priceless,” he quips. Still, his eyes follow your pointed fingers and linger. “Including that pussy of yours. But, just out of curiosity… how much is it up against?”

“Like I said, it’s priceless. Unable to be priced. Ten out of ten, five time recipient of the World’s Best Pussy award—”

“I’m starting to lose my patience, angel.”

You can’t help but snort. “You don’t have any patience to lose, Jeon. Don’t forget you’ve sought me out—not once but twice—to take out some piece of shit down by the docks because your shipments were twenty-six minutes late.”

Jeongguk just grins, proud and predatory. The kind of smile you’ve grown used to seeing from powerful men who can snap their fingers and bend the world to their will. “I can make a lot of money in twenty-six minutes.”

“So can I, so if you could hurry the fuck up and decide how the rest of my evening is going to play out, I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Oh, I’d love to, baby, but I’m still waiting for you to give me a number.”

It’s the principle of the thing, really. You’ve known Jeongguk a long time, have had long enough to become intimately familiar with three things:

Just how infuriatingly difficult he is;

How much he gets off on being so;

His strong penchant for playing mind games.

The fourth tick of knowledge, the bit that tells you it’s a dumb idea to engage, doesn’t make the list. Isn’t even acknowledged. Simply does not exist.

Jeongguk likes playing games, but so do you.

“Eight,” you answer.

“Eight…?” he repeats dumbly, face scrunched up in confusion. “Eight what? Eight million? Eight-hundred-thousand—”

“That’s how many people I killed yesterday,” you continue. “I made four-million coin for doing it. It took me approximately six hours and forty-three minutes. I left my apartment at twelve-o’clock and was home in time to take a hot shower and watch Disk of Misfortune at seven-thirty.” You pause, give yourself a moment to revel in Jeongguk’s stunned expression. “How’s that for fuckin' numbers?”

You’re picking day-old dried blood from beneath your fingernails as Jeongguk attempts to sputter a response. “Stop fucking with me,” you snap, patience finally worn down to a pathetic stub. “You know exactly how much the bounty is. Everyone in this fucking city knows it. Now, answer my fucking question: are you gonna help me or not?”

You expect Jeongguk to turn you down. Maybe he won’t sell you out and turn you in, but there’s not a single person in the city selfless enough to help you.

There’s a beat of silence.

A pregnant pause.

Then—

“You’re really not gonna fuck me, though?”

as always, thank you for reading! my inbox is always open if you’d like to leave feedback. i’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤

#bts imagines #bts fic #bts scenarios #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic

[ajgrey9647]

"Suck on it." + Boom! Comics; GGPR universe or Coinless Universe + Billy/Skull ^^

In the Moment/It's All That Matters

That night as they sat at the counter in Billy’s kitchen, devouring steaming bowls of Hamburger Helper and hotdogs, followed by shy, soft kisses, Skull considered one of the best of his life. To know that the blonde genius returned his affections made his heart feel as if he were soaring. He thought he must be dreaming that he’d tasted the Blue Ranger’s soft lips.

He kept his promise about keeping the Rangers’ identities a secret, not even letting his best friend, Bulk, know what he’d seen. Nor did Billy make the others aware that Skull had seen them morph. All that the scrawny teen could do was cheer quietly from the sidelines, though his stomach clenched with worry whenever he watched the deadly battles on television screens.

Seeing Tommy strutting down the halls at school made him bristle. Knowing that the viper was slithering about so close and being unable to do anything about it made Skull feel nauseous. He was right that Oliver, that fucking dick, was dangerous. More than once Tommy caught Eugene glaring at him angrily and he’d smile brightly before flipping him the finger.

That dreary, rainy Saturday afternoon, Skull lounged on his lumpy mattress, idly flipping through his new copy of a Spiderman comic, gifted from Bulk, when he heard a sudden series of blows hammering smartly against his bedroom door. He jumped causing the brightly colored pages to flutter to the floor.

“Hey butthead!” Stan screamed from the opposite side. “Your little boyfriend’s here to see you!”

Butterflies swirled in his guts as he scrambled to his feet, excited to be seeing Billy unexpectedly even here in this hell pit. Straightening his clothes and running a hand through his disheveled dark hair, Skull struggled to fight the goofy grin threatening to stretch across his face.

As soon as the door swung to, the problem of a cheesy smile was no longer his biggest issue.

“Hey there, buckaroo,” Tommy cooed, all sunshine and rainbows except his eyes which were bottomless black pools.

‘He really IS a demon,’ the punk’s mind realized despite the eruption of fear and panic blasting away logical thought.

“You two don’t be making out now,” Stan chirped before bounding back down the stairs to the living room where his buddies were plotting their newest escapade.

As soon as the older boy was gone, Tommy bulldozed his way into Skull’s bedroom, shoving him back until he tripped, landing roughly on the worn carpet in an untidy heap.

“Why are you here?” Eugene squeaked as he stared up at the menacing, psychotic teen who was pointedly swinging his door shut.

The patrician lips curled in an icy smirk when he heard the latch click ominously.

“You tell me, you chicken-looking motherfucker… Because I think you know.”

Skull inched away on his bottom under the Green Ranger’s contemptuous glare.

“I think you’re giving me too much credit, you fucking dick!” Skull spat, the words tumbling out to his bewildered horror.

Tommy’s head tilted as he considered the smaller, weaker boy scooting across the rug like a dog dragging worms out of its ass. His feline grin was full of sharp, white teeth and the black eyes flashed an emerald fire.

“Now, now, which one of us is running around pushing people off ledges, Eugeeennneee…” he hissed. “You can stop playing dumb. I know you know about me. And the other technicolor bitches.”

Somehow Skull managed to find his feet, not that it would do him any good. He couldn’t fight, not really, not skilled in any martial arts like the Rangers or this raging asshat. Dumb luck was the only thing that seemed to step in on his behalf and that wasn’t exactly a reliable weapon. His ass knocked into the splintered wooden chest of drawers, blocking further retreat.

“Did it make you feel good, Eugene, feel like a hero? Swooping in to save that little Blue nerd…” Tommy growled, coming ever closer. “Did it finally earn you some ass?”

Skull’s grey eyes were stormy as he stared back defiantly.

“Eat shit, Oliver, you pompous, power hungry, witch humping dumb fuck!” he snarled. “I bet you prance around in that Madonna inspired titty holder like you actually are in charge of anything, you sniveling puppet bitch!”

Tommy’s advance halted, his expression one of stunned fury at the scrawny little punk’s outburst.

“The fuck did you say to me?”

“What? Are you deaf AND stupid?” Eugene nearly yelled. “I had you figured out from the start even if I didn’t know you were a Ranger! You’re a sick fuck and I’ll be glad when Jason trashes your smug ass!”

This made the Green Ranger howl with laughter, his hands clutching his sides like a cartoon style bad guy.

“Is that what you think is going to happen, Skull? Haven’t you seen little Red Riding Hood limping down the school hallways? Or any of the rest of them? I know you saw what I did to Billy, the night you two sucked face…”

Inching his way around the room, Eugene frantically tried to figure out how he was going to escape this monster. Tommy slowly circled like a shark, awaiting an answer, amused at the boy’s glowering stare.

“What I think is going to happen is you getting your ass kicked five ways from Sunday!”

The green-clad teen rolled his eyes.

“So full of empty insults and pathetic wit. I’m going to bring those pitiful little children low, toy with them until they beg me for death, then drag them into the fiery pits of hell. But first I think I owe you for my little impromptu swim, don’t you, Eugene?”

At that moment, his shaky hand brushed a large plastic box perched on his nightstand and he instantly knew what he was going to do.

“Alright, Mean Green, come on! Take me out!” Skull challenged. “I’m not afraid of you, you nutty trash panda!”

Time seemed to stand still as Tommy took a large step forward, teeth bared and rearing an arm back to punch the smart ass into next week. He didn’t realize that the other boy’s arm was also moving until five seconds past too late. A wave of bright orange smacked him squarely in the face, painfully coating his wide eyes and invading his nostrils and mouth.

As the evil Ranger spat and hissed in fury, a mist of orange kinetic sand issuing forth when he bent forward to dig at his burning eyes, Skull ducked around him and out of the bedroom, sprinting down the stairs in a mad dash towards the living room. Fortunately, Stan was no where to be seen and his good ol’ ma and pa were who the fuck knew where…

Slamming into the front door, he hurled it open and darted out into the chilly rain.

Somehow, Skull had gotten lucky yet again…

However, eventually luck does run out and he was keenly aware of this fact.

The Day of the Great Battle was coming, though no one could know that and in the interim, Angel Grove was trashed along with many other cities across the world. The Rangers were hanging on by a thread, exhausted, demoralized, and knowing that they were most likely looking down the barrel to their own death. But they stubbornly refused to back down and surrender.

No where was safe and the frightened citizens had abandoned their homes, fleeing in terror from the army of monsters that seemed to come in wave after wave, prowling the streets as they gleefully sought weak, pathetic humans. Fires raged well into the night, the smoke permanently choking the air and giving everything the scent of burnt wood and decaying flesh.

This night was no different as Skull carefully crept amongst the shadows toward the park, not the popular one everyone else used, but a smaller one that he and Billy spent hours in as small children. The wooden play structure that served as their ‘ship’ somehow still stood against the dark sky, backlit by the moon.

And waiting inside, a lithe figure crouched.

“You came,” Skull whispered as loudly as he dared, hooking a leg up to climb into the makeshift tower.

“Affirmative,” Billy answered, leaping to his feet, his smooth hands gliding along the sides of Eugene’s face to pull him in for a deep kiss.

The lanky teen was happy to accept the passionate lip lock, relishing the warmth and softness under his lips. He wasn’t sure that he’d see the Blue Ranger again. And after tonight, he just might not, thanks to that demented, evil fucker cavorting up and down the city with his band of merry assholes.

Pulling back from his boyfriend’s lush mouth, but only slightly, he gazed into those amazing blue eyes intently.

“I thought you might be too busy. You mentioned that you guys might have found a way to stop that slimy son of a bitch, Captain Crazy Ass.”

Billy chuckled, always amused with the wide variety of nicknames and adjectives his boyfriend had coined for their deadly nemesis. It made the gravity of the situation a little more bearable.

“We’re harnessing the power of the White Light. They’re being made from the light of goodness and are stronger than any of our Ranger powers, including the Green Dragon,” he answered. “Ninjor, one of our allies, is feeding the energy into a coin that will create a new White Tiger Ranger. It should be ready in a day or two at most.”

“Sweet! I knew you guys would figure it out!” Skull crowed, pulling Billy tightly against him to twirl through the air. “So, who gets the honor of smoking that fucker?”

Steadying himself once he was back on his feet, Billy adjusted his glasses and quickly scanned the shadows for listening ears.

“Jason has the best shot against Tommy compared to the rest of us. He’ll have to take on these new powers and it might take some time to do it safely. We don’t want to risk overloading him by doing it too fast. It’s unknown how much Grid energy a human body can safely handle,” he whispered. “We just need to hold out a little longer.”

Eugene gave a theatrical sigh.

“Thank goodness! I miss the way things used to be, even going to school every day, just don’t tell Bulk I said that!”

Taking the Blue Ranger’s hands in his own, the skinny teen brushed his thumbs tenderly over the scratched and burned skin. Billy had been working nonstop, fighting the Green Goofy, repairing Zords back to back to back and earning painful electrical burns in his hurry, and assisting with this new power coin. It was obvious he was overwhelmed and exhausted.

“You know, in spite of all this fuckery and shocking revelation going on, I can honestly say that one positive thing came through,” Skull’s eyes twinkled. “I don’t know if I’d have ever got up the courage to tell you how I feel. Or to save a Ranger. Well, Rangers, I mean if you count me and Bulky intercepting Oliver before he blitzed Jason.”

He chuckled.

“I’ve learned a lot about myself during all this and it’s changed a lot. So, when this is over, Billy… I want everyone to know what you mean to me. I don’t care what anyone thinks about it. They can go pound sand!”

The blue eyes behind those wire frame glasses were sad and Eugene paused.

“What?”

Billy nestled closer into his boyfriend’s protective embrace.

“We not out of the woods. Not yet. Anything could happen between now and defeating Tommy. My brain can’t help but look at probabilities, Skull, and overall we don’t have the greatest odds until we secure the White Tiger powers.”

He was right. Skull knew it too, though he couldn’t bring himself to go down that line of thinking. Every moment needed to count.

Starting now. If Billy was feeling what he was feeling. There might be no second chances. Oliver was too goddamn nutty and unpredictable.

His hand moved to smooth the soft blonde hair back from the Blue Ranger’s face. Billy felt the charge in the air that sparked between them and his cheeks flushed shyly. All the uncertainty was making things happen at a faster pace than they would have if they could have gone along their natural course. Considering that they had never faced a foe as deadly as Tommy was proving to be, neither wanted to have regret.

Words were not needed once blue eyes met grey ones.

A sudden volley of passionate kisses and swarming hands was not something Skull expected from Billy. If anything, the punk was quite surprised that the Blue Ranger beat him to it. That evil asshole might liken Billy to an innocent, pathetic lamb, but there was a wolf hiding in this sheep’s clothing.

And he loved this unexpected contrast, seeing the meek, quiet boy ignite into full bloom.

Skull was more than happy to oblige Billy’s wild side as he no longer had to worry about frightening his boyfriend or if he was moving too fast. Time was a factor in their lives, looming over them like a Grim Reaper.

Scarred hands tugged at old black leather jacket, yanking it from the other man’s shoulders and down his arms before tossing it absently to the mulch below. They found their way to the hem of the faded orange t-shirt and worked it up and off to join the discarded coat below.

For once, Billy’s rational brain was offline.

Skull’s lips felt swollen from the deep, desperate kisses, the skin was his jaw to ear peppered with nips and licks before descending his throat in long sweeps.

“Fuck!” he couldn’t help but hiss, tilting his head back to give more access.

Where was this coming from? Billy had been holding back his human instincts for years, whether due to his shyness or the chaotic lifestyle of ‘Rangering’, and it begged for release. NOW.

Pulling Eugene’s face back down, those piercing eyes flashed with Grid energy, the Blue seeing the hints of Orange flashing in and out of existence, like a ghostly aura. Soul recognized soul, their places long cemented by forces beyond their control in the great vastness that comprised the mysterious, almost sentient Grid.

Fate or destiny or whatever you wanted to call it was not alone in making the decisions that shaped this world. The Grid was her chess partner in this friendly game.

Perhaps that is why it was so easy for the two new lovers to come together this way.

Breathlessly, Skull panted into Billy’s open mouth.

“Tell me what you want, Blue… I want to make you feel good, you deserve to feel so good…”

Without realizing what was going to tumble from his lips, the blissed out Ranger hissed painfully.

“Suck on it…”

He was too far gone to feel the embarrassment that he normally would have at uttering such crass and vulgar words, for desiring something so…so… primal.

But his boyfriend was more than eager to obey his strained wish, already sinking to his knees as he unzipped the pants confining an already engorged cock. His slim fingers slipped inside the waistband of the underwear and smoothly slid them down the smooth, muscular thighs.

Billy stared at the top of his dark hair as he moved and the moment his head passed the salivating lips, all thought was gone. He was fully flush with hormones and need and the way he needed this intimate moment with the man he loved.

Because in his heart of hearts, the Blue Ranger felt something ominous was on the horizon. Though no logic dictated this to be so, the Triceratops, the Blue energy felt the encroaching Green with its obsessive and monstrous force of will…

A more evil energy loomed, one unfamiliar but no less real…

Standing in the shadow’s a mere stone’s throw away, Tommy stood, watching the lovers. Of course, he knew the Rangers’ comings and goings. He even knew where they laid their heads at night. No reason to broadcast his knowledge because it wouldn’t matter in the end.

But this clandestine tryst revealed something he DIDN’T know.

‘Interesting… A new power for Little Red Riding Hood?’

He grinned in the darkness.

“We’ll see about that… I have a feeling things are going to go out of control…”

#boom! comics power rangers #world of the coinless billy cranston #world of the coinless eugene skullovitch #billy cranston x eugene skull skullovitch #skull x billy #before the fall #prompt asks #sorry so late

[faustianbroker]

TIMING: Friday, 6/23. Early morning. LOCATION: A nondescript cabin in the Pines. SUMMARY: Leviathan goes after the warden that’s been trying to kill Bridie. CONTENT WARNINGS: Descriptive body horror.

—

The man looked surprised to see him, to say the least. Which Levi couldn’t exactly fault him for—not many people expected visitors at five in the morning. And of those early morning visitors, even fewer were expected to be demons out for revenge on behalf of their lovers. 

But Leviathan was nothing if not a constant challenge of one’s expectations. 

He shoved his way inside, barrelling down on the man with quiet, seething rage. The hunter started yelling at him to get off his property, threatening to gut him like a fish if he didn’t comply. The imagery inspired a smile, and then a laugh, which the warden didn’t seem too pleased about. 

“W-what the fuck do you want, man?!” 

“I want you to leave my girl alone.” A stupid lack of recognition passed over the hunter’s features. “Think, motherfucker. The faun.” The warden’s gaze darkened and he started to protest, but Levi silenced him with a hard stare and blunt interruption. “Shut up. I don’t trust you enough to take your word for it, my friend. So don’t waste your breath trying to complain, all right? We both know that isn’t how this is ending.”   

A few beats of silence passed between them. The warden, who realized that this man was here to kill him, was trying to figure out which stashed weapon was the closest. Leviathan was conjuring an image in his mind, and grinning while doing it. There was a flurry of movement and the man was diving for his nearest hidden knife, snatching it out from the underside of an armchair and scrambling to his feet. He whipped around and buried it in the chest of… of… oh. It wasn’t a man at all. 

Chuck the human’s face and chest had split open, and writhing beneath the surface of torn flesh and splintered bone, the warden could see something dark slithering quickly—too quickly. Its black scales shone with greenish-blue iridescence, slicked with red from its host, as whatever it was writhed and slithered in a tight formation just beneath the surface. Whatever it was, it seemed impossibly large—there was no way it could truly fit inside a human, try as it might. 

The hunter stepped back, aghast. His knife clattered to the floor as Chuck the human became less of a figure and more of a heap of viscera, torn apart by this thing inside of him as it tried to claw its way out. His screams could be heard deep in the woods around his cabin as he watched, pinned, as this massive beast climbed free from the gore. It filled his house as its long body never seemed to stop coming, twisting itself into knots. Its great head swung around to face the hunter, rows and rows of shark-like teeth bared at him in an open-mouthed hiss. Dozens of eyes stared at him as his body was pressed harder against the walls of his own home, the pressure not yet suffocating his horrified wails, but crushing his legs and pelvis beneath its weight. The satisfying crunch of bone giving way to immensity made Leviathan grin a beast-like grin. 

You are a cockroach, it spoke in the man’s head, basking in his fear like a bugbear enjoying its meal. You are a disease. Let me… The demon shifted, hoisting the broken man higher up the wall and fully smothering him with its thick, serpentine body. … cure you. A sickening, wet crack ripped through the cabin as the man’s ribs and skull gave way, and just like that, silence fell over them once more. 

Leviathan let the corpse fall to the floor, coiling in on itself more to reveal the meal. Without any kind of fuss, the demon struck out at it like a viper, snatching the ragdoll body in its jaws and throwing its head back, swallowing him whole. The next hour was spent napping and digesting, confident that no one else would come by… and if they did, it would just be having seconds.

#. thread ; #. solo ; #. cradle ; #blood tw #[ for the banner. tho it is actually wine ]

[infernal-general]

For the Mafia Verse because deja vu

"A coworker gifted me these funky glasses," Val explains, a pair of red tinted heart sunglasses on his face, topped with gold lining. The red shades making it hard to see his dark eyes, "What do you think? Carmen doesn't like them."

Well that was a sight which needed a few seconds to adjust to.

“You're lucky you're handsome.” was the first part of the blunt reply

“I mean if your aim is to have your enemies die while having a hard on or laughing, it works.”

Her shoulders shook slightly from the held back laughter, they weren't necessarily terrible -especially on him-, but definitely not a...business look.

“Listen, if you get a feather collared coat like a dollar store pimp and decide to wear it, we cannot be seen together.” the tone dead serious until giggles finally broke through the dam

The remaining green eye glinted with delight as she glanced up to her husband with absolute lack of malice.

“You make it work don't worry. If I can walk around with a viper cane disguised sword, you need a little dramatic flair as well, and if it's the litetal take on ‘heart eyes motherfucker’ meme- I'm actually sorry for this one, but couldn't help it- be it”

“Plus...I might have flame shaped ones.”

#🚬 mafia verse 🐍 | blood is on the dancefloor; look how the viper took you under with seven inches in #❤ winter's club / valentino & rozália 🔥 | when the river of fate glided in a different direction; violent love bloomed across its path #⚔ crack 🔥 | holy shit #writing them so...happy feels like a sin😂

[nebulus-frd]

Jealous and protective Rowan and oblivious Aelin in a modern established relationship au

Hi!!!

Thank u so much for the request. I loved your prompt and also love Rowaelin deeply. Hope u enjoy it ♡

If you liked it or not, let me know. Leave a comment, compliments and especially, constructive critics, are always welcomed.

Wanna request your story? Come ⋆⭒ here ⋆⭒, tell me everything. ----------

The beach. The sea. Them.

Synopsis: Modern AU where Rowan and Aelin finally get a deserved vacation. But he isn't enjoying all the attention given to his wife during the first day of it.

Rated: T

Warnings: implied sexual content. If I forgot anything, let me know.

Words: 1700+ (oneshot).

1/1

It was their first time back at the beach after being married.

The life of a military couple was hectic, to say the least, but Rowan and Aelin were rather used to the chaos. This explained why Rowan found himself alone in bed on the first morning of their vacation. Although his wife had always been a late riser, he knew better than anyone how hard it was to break their routine and if he himself hadn’t take medicine to fall asleep, he wouldn’t probably have slept at all.

Not bothering to properly dress, Rowan moved to the kitchen only to find it empty. Did she go grocery shop? But to his surprise not only was the fridge completely packed, but three sandwiches also topple each other on a plate next to a note.

Good morning princess, did you sleep well? Not even a true love kiss was able to break from the evil medicine spell. I’m training on the beach. Join me… Or not, if you feel like sleeping throughout the entirety of our vacation.

Love,

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius.

Rowan didn’t even feel the smile that broke through him. God, I love her. Of course, she was training. His wife always called him a workaholic and a military freak, only to always prove herself one. The food was warm enough for her not to have left for too long. And in half an hour Rowan found himself heading to their hotel gym.

Where was Aelin?

He had circulated the gym area twice without success in the mission of joining his wife. Could she be at the beach? It wouldn’t be a surprise. Aelin loves the sea, the sunny weather, and the heat on her skin.

Eight years ago, if someone said to Rowan that there were people who loved those things, he would have straight-out laughed in their faces. He couldn’t anymore. He had learned to appreciate each of these unlike anyone else.

Rowan loved the smile Aelin would have while watching the sea, loved the glow her eyes would reflect under the sun’s light, loved the heat from Aelin’s heart.

His wife had changed each perspective he had in his life.

And while at the beach, once again he asked himself how the hell, he was deserving of the woman he married to?

Aelin was coming out of the sea, dressed in a swimsuit that covered a lot more of what he was used to seeing, looking like the sea god herself had descended in the mortal world to bestow her beauty upon mortals. Thus, Rowan was hindered breathless and as soon as their eyes locked up, he could listen to her thoughts through them.

“Are you delight with the view?”

And the smile that broke in her lips made his knees go weak. She pointed to a small pile of clothes at his right and he could recognize the tennis beside it. As soon as they met Rowan girdled his arm around her hips and kissed her.

“Missed me much?” Aelin asked holding a smirk while still in his arms. Her turquoise eyes nailed on his green-forest ones. The only answer she received was a grunt and a heavy head dropping in her shoulder. “You know you could use words, rather than growling like a beast”, which made Aelin feel the smile coming from her husband, she could picture it too: the perfect set of teeth accompanied by two fangs that were borderline not-human, which had left so many marks on last night's activities, she had almost come to the beach in a diver suit.

“I can’t be bothered. There are a lot of more interesting things to do with my mouth… And my tong…”, Rowan’s impure statement was interrupted by the sound of Aelin’s phone ring, it took a moment for the woman to snap out of the mood her husband had put them in. Poor object, it earned a glare that, if possible, would have transformed it into ashes.

“Oh hi!... Yes, of course, I’m coming… Right, next to the bar… Yes, be there in a few”, she said on the phone friendly. With whom she could have made prior appointments?

“Where are you going?”, Rowan asked confused, involuntarily holding her tighter, Aelin didn’t hide the smile at her husband's unwillingness.

“WE are going to a functional training, apparently the hotel holds them every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday”, she said while putting on a pair of shorts and her tennis, Rowan just nodded in answer.

Once they were in the central area, the closer location between the hotel’s pools and the beach, the equipment could already be seen as well as 10 people roaming around it. Soon enough a man came up to them greeting Aelin, too friendly to Rowan’s likeness, although he could only spot the top of his head.

“Miss Galathnyius, it’s good to have you with us today”, the strange said while avoiding looking at Rowan’s side but he did not miss a beat.

“It’s Mrs.” his accented and low voice seemed to reverberate, earning him an alarmed glance from the instructor, as he had taken from his clothes and name tag.

“Yes, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Galathnyius it’s a pleasure to have both of you here”, the smaller man seemed ready to bolt as he alternated his looks from Rowan’s face tattoo and Aelin’s mirth-filled eyes, she just nodded and that was very well what he did. She knew it wasn’t jealousy from her husband, more like his inability to not correct a mistaken person.

Oh, how wrong she was.

…

Half an hour throughout the class, Rowan was calculating how much trouble would he be if he were to beat three civilians. As the training was open to anyone at the beach, around fifteen more people had come to enjoy the activities. Including a group of four men, who seem too inclined to help Aelin with her training.

Which had made Rowan seeing red since he heard the first suggestion in correcting Aelin’s posture during a core exercise. Whilst his wife seemed completed oblivious as not only agreed to a few suggestions and gave tips of her own. Rowan didn’t mind that both were right.

Nonetheless, at each suggestion made by a stranger, Rowan would casually assert his territory. Moving closer to Aelin, helping her with the weights and holding her during an exercise that required it. Of course, there was the possibility that none of the people participating held any second intentions towards his wife and were only trying to be helpful. He seriously doubted it, even though that was what Aelin seem to think.

Usually, Rowan had never been one to bluntly be jealous and if he found it necessary to discuss attitude with someone, he wouldn’t do it in front of Aelin. But he’d gone apeshit when one of the guys from before made a move to touch her while he went to grab for water. Fuck this. He had been by her side every single moment. What’s with these disrespectful motherfuckers?

The man whose hands extended to help Aelin in moving the piece on her waist only caught a movement in corner of his eyes before a mountain of a man was before him. His eyes caught a glimpse of a wicked tattoo on the man’s face, which had been hidden by the cap he was using.

Rowan’s intimidating demeanor and the fucking gold ring in his and hers left hands were more than enough for assholes to grasp the situation.

She is mine, I’m hers. Fuck off.

Either it was the rings or himself didn’t matter. Apparently, with one look everybody understood his warning.

…

However, nine hours later, he’d been left baffled as his wife complained how, after he glued himself to her side, nobody had talked or interacted with her anymore.

“Well, if you weren’t such a territorial bastard today, we could have made some friends that could introduce us to the town”, she said as they had clearly lost themselves while looking for a Japanese restaurant.

“I beg your pardon?”, Rowan answered seeing red all over again just from remembering the previous event.

“Oh, come on, you thought I did notice? You were just asserting your territory for the heck of it”, she said not bothering with more than an eye roll, still searching the street’s name on their map.

“For the heck of it?”, Rowan was bewildered. Aelin thought he was doing that out of leisure?

“You couldn’t possibly be jealous of those guys from the beach, right?”, she said finally dropping the stupid map that had put them in their current predicament and looking straight into his eyes. Whatever she saw there gave Rowan his favorite smile. “You were….”, she laughed, loud and uncaring. Beautiful. “You are unbelievable”.

Like the viper his wife was, she stealthy approached him in that dark alley. “My cranky husband was jealous of some gym dudes?”, her voice was surrounded by arrogance and seductiveness. Reminding Rowan just who he had married with. The most confident, assertive, dazzling woman he had ever met.

Their eyes were locked on each other as she stalked him like a snake ready to consume her prey. His response to her provocation was nothing more than a grunt. “You know what you should have done?... You could have kissed me right there, ravished me, really… And I would’ve said thank you”.

After many years into their relationship, one would think that Rowan had become numb to Aelin’s advances. However, it was very much the opposite of it. He would be scandalized, shocked… And excited, she burned him with bold words and even bolder actions that made his head spin. His calloused hand didn’t miss one second into holding Aelin’s by her backside and his mouth went to her neck.

“Ditch dinner, Fireheart, I will show you what I would like to have done”, Rowan could feel Aelin’s thundering heartbeat, like his own due to their proximity. It would never lie to him, he affected her just as she did him.

“Oh, why, when you say with such gentleness. I suppose we could make something at home”, she smoothed her hand at Rowan’s ringed finger each word, handing him a bright smile by the end. “I love you”, albeit the sentence was said in a soft tone, it swept bothering feelings between the two, such as sea waves that accompanied their evening.

“To whatever end”, he said holding her left hand and as they walked toward the ocean. Free, unrestricted, and vast. Much like their love.

#rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin #aelin ashryver #fanfic request #rowan whitethorn #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #rowaelin au #modern setting #they are powerful military couple fight me #jealous rowan #oblivious aelin #throne of glass #throne of glass fanfiction #tog #love them so much #rowaelin oneshot #oneshot

[punemy-spotted]

hi lovlie! How about a POV from TPYP? hope you’re doing ok ♥️

Hello darling! I'm doing alright, and I'd be happy to do a little POV shift!

Read The Price You Pay Here

Pairing: Mob!Steve Rogers x Reader, Senator!Andy Barber x Reader

Story Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements, Dub-Con, Dark!Fic, Abuse of Legal System, Murder, Character Death (minor, possibly major), Love Triangle, Political AU, Mafia AU, Workplace Sexual Harassment, Abuse Mentions, Possessive/Obsessive Characters, Other Chapter-Specific Warnings May Apply, Possible Dead Dove: Would Not Eat

Chapter Warnings: Angst; Throwing Courtroom Procedure out the Window; Reader isn’t a Good Person; POV Shift; Dove Probably Dead: Would Not Consume

Chapter Summary: Courting danger is never easy. A view of the Courtroom scene from Steve's own eyes.

Notes: I really am trying to get the muse back here, so please bear with me. Thank you for your love and patience!

You’re a viper. He can see it in your eyes, the sharpness of the fangs you bare as you take your turn around the courtroom, venom dripping from every word. On another day, in another setting, with another kind of stake on the table, he might have enjoyed this.

It’s too bad then, that you’ve chosen his throat as your target.

You make it look so easy, composed and careful, all fluid grace and flowing prose, drawing details from the exhibits you never should have gotten your hands on. The deck is stacked against you in every way he could have managed — a rookie prosecutor unwilling to bend the rules you swore to uphold and a system he insisted on having in his pocket — but here you are.

And here’s the verdict.

The room is a war zone of whispers and speculation as the Jury delivers the verdict Guilty, guilty, guilty like an executioner’s own axe. He can’t look at Bucky’s expression when the blade finally falls, veins running cold as he catches the smug surety of your gaze, How fucking dare you.

The courtroom empties slowly, lingering bailiffs filtering away, leaving you in your coliseum, the lion padding forth to the sound of silent cheers, Real woman of the law, aren’t you?

You rejected his offer, three months ago, to turn your back on this and become one of his. He knows an asset when he sees one, but assets don’t usually tell him to go fuck himself.

I did my job, and what he would give in this moment to wipe that smug smirk off your fucking face—

Did you? Is that what you think your job is? You’re going to tell me the motherfucker on the slab’s worth more than the life Bucky could have had?

My job is justice, unflinching and blind, Mr. Rogers. I don’t care how much power you have or how afraid you leave this city, I’m going to do my job.

You could always let justice turn a blind eye.

Yeah. I could, but that wouldn’t make this any fun, would it? Thank you for the win, Mr. Rogers — I’m sure I won’t get many more.

It was fun. Fun for you — he doesn’t know how to tell you who the victim-that-wasn’t-really-a-victim really was without incriminating more than his right-hand men, but he knows he can make this much less fun.

#steve rogers x you #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers #mob steve rogers x reader #anonymous #asked and answered #shroombox #the price you pay

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Reasons I love the Vipurr ship aka the classic Big/Smol dynamic, with added Cute-agen: A Post.

Gaetan’s favourite place to fall asleep is in Letho’s arms by a big fire, all wrapped up in a thick blanket like a little purrito. He’s completely enveloped and feels safe for once in his gods-damned life.

He regularly uses Letho as a makeshift ladder to reach things. And sometimes just because he can. This has never once backfired. No, sir.

Gaetan, sat upon Letho’s shoulders, wielding a blunted sword like a knight from the value section at Aldi: “Onwards, scales!” Letho, the noble steed, who is too tired to protest, trudges on.

This is actually a way to get a free ride when he’s tired on the Path. Sometimes Gaetan doesn’t bother with the pretence and just drapes himself over Letho’s back like a shawl. The viper doesn’t notice.

A belligerent asshole snarks at Letho in a random shitty inn, and Gaetan appears from the shadows like the hellion of destruction he is, knives drawn, teeth bared. “Motherfucker gonna’ die.” Letho, who has grown used to the murderous machinations of his smol ball of fury, fondly collects him and walks away.

Gaetan does the head thing that cats do when they’re being carried away from something they’re fixated on: eyes wide, head perfectly still, no matter how he’s being held.

Letho regularly murmurs under his breath. “Itty bitty murder kitty.” He denies it when Gaetan hears him one day.

Gaetan is a feeder. His massive BF needs the calories. Letho has woken up more than once to be presented with an entire deer carcass, and expectantly folded arms, as if he’s meant to unhinge his jaw to swallow it all. This was a joke he made once. Once. 

Gaetan has lots of energy. All the time. His favourite game to play is to pick up Valuable Object No. 3 in his mouth while Letho’s trying to use it, and run around the room until captured. They’ve been kicked out of many a tavern due to the destruction that ensues.

They have various “plays” they use on contracts that utilise their talents as assassins. The “Damsel in Distress” is one of Gaetan’s favourites, because he distracts the target while Letho emerges from the shadows to execute the kill like feckin’ C’Thulu. It’s hot, okay? 

They have a mutual respect. Letho doesn’t “baby” Gaetan for being smaller, and respects his power and strength as a fellow Witcher. But Gaetan understands Letho’s desire to hold him sometimes, to feel like a protector, even if it’s in the privacy and safety of their own room. Letho’s lost many people he loves and the guilt haunts him to this day. Gaetan can give his viper that little bit of catharsis.

And most of all? I love how they accept all the darkness in their past, all the mistakes they’ve made, and they can find a small bit of comfort and happiness in each other. There’s no false forgiveness, or attempts at ‘redemption’. They each love the other for the exact person that stands before them. Warts and all.

With thanks and credit to: @caspertheassholeghost​  @stardustlupin​ @angry-cajun-lady​

#rawrkinwrites #Vipurr #Big and Smol #Gaetan #Letho #Cute-agen

[gcthamqueen]

🌹💖

It was either this bit i’m still particularly proud of or some absolute debauchery with them tbh 😂

“Not that I’m fuckin’ complaining,” Dum Dum said, breaking the silence to fish an inhaler of Lace out of his vest on the floor to take a quick puff and hand it to Lilith, “But what brought that on?”

“My goddamn husband, who the fuck else?” she shot back as she took the inhaler, settling her feet in his lap as she lounged back in the Jefferson’s wide back seat, propped against the door, “Gonk motherfucker came home from his trip early tonight.”

“Didn’t take kindly to my handiwork?”

“One way of putting it,” she replied with a short laugh as the plates of her face twitched slightly so she could blow a smoke ring into the air, “He was spouting some shit about wanting to ‘surprise me with tickets to Corporate Wars’. Nate’s never surprised me a day in his life. He got a nice eyeful of everything,” she gestured at the still visible hand shaped bruises still ringing her throat from their last hook up, “Decided now’s the time he gives half a fuck about who I’m screwing behind his back and decided to teach me a lesson, the smug bastard. So I walked out after he fucking punched me and as far as he’s concerned, I’m checked into Konpeki right now and not returning his phone calls.”

Content to let her rant, Dum Dum couldn’t help but curl his fingers around her bare ankle with a low growl at the idea her husband had smacked her around, a vicious sort of possessiveness coiling in his gut.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill him.”

She leaned forward to cup his cheek, the metal tip of her thumb trailing the line of cyberware in his cheek in a softer gesture than he’d been expecting that managed to quell some of the dark rage simmering beneath his skin.

“I appreciate the vitriol, darling, but I’m not risking you in this. I know how to deal with Nathaniel.”

“Hope you mean a fuckin’ bullet, Viper.”

And if the heart is for the “how do they say ‘I love you’ without actually saying it” prompt, Lilith (since she’s who my brain is all in on right now) straight up said she loves Dum Dum to his face but brushed it off as “in the general sense of you being fun to hang around with” rather than “somewhere along the line of us knowing one another I caught feelings and now I can’t possibly let you off my husband”.

Was basically the last thing she said to him before she murdered her husband herself, faked her own murder too and scrubbed her identity for a while so she could go into hiding. It’s a whole mess.

#asks #my writing #dum dum #wake the fuck up samurai #my brain is just #all in on these two rn #it’s just angst and straight up debauchery in here rn

[es-ist-nichts-persoenliches]

TBH größter power move den Randy ( Randomsprecher im Spielhafen Au) tut, ist nichtmal einfach nur zu seiner Freundin zu ziehen.

Der größte power move ist, dass er seinen Nachnamen wieder zu Sprecher um ändert ( sein originaler nach Name bevor quint ihn mit 6 oder so adoptiert)

#auch ein power move: #seine Lieblings Farbe ist orange #nimm das quint #Eras #Grazek und Temmeron wünschten sie könnten Quint so weh tun #Random Sprecher [Kontinuum] #Randy Sprecher [Spielhafen AU] #Spielhafen #gepostet von: #Viper motherfucking Darkness

[thriving-on-chaos]

Masterclass In Chaos

Daniel PL600

{ daniel asks }

{ muse } daniel

{ daniel } a fault in the code

{ main } all the voices in my head

{ human } blood on my name

{ killer excl } are you insane like me

Oracle ST200

{ oracle asks }

{ muse } oracle

{ oracle } the synthetic flower

{ main } oh she is the metallic bride of frankenstein

{ alt killer } the all seeing eye

Lilith (Biblical Satan Verse)

{ lilith asks } 

{ muse } lilith

{ lilith } the true first woman

{ main } queen of demons

{ alt } battle for your life, babylon

Priestess Bijou

{ bijou asks }

{ muse } bijou

{ bijou } the queen of the witchery way

{ main } long may she reign

The Dragon

{ the dragon asks }

{ muse } the dragon

{ the dragon } the great red dragon

{ main } breathing fire and steele

Mr Glass

{ mr glass asks } 

{ muse } mr glass

{ mr glass } into the looking glass

{ main } all the sparrows were listening in

Mr. Ito

{ mr ito asks } 

{ muse } mr ito

{ mr ito } the dragon’s gentleman

{ main } I will be brutal

Sean Anderson

{ sean anderson asks }

{ muse } sean anderson

{ sean} made of glitter and gold

{ main } I’m a motherfucking starboy

Katarina DeVille

{ katarina deville asks } 

{ muse } katarina deville

{ katarina } born of wolf and viper

{ main } snow white did you know your father’s the evil king

{ alt } a bloom in the nightshade

{ royal } under a violet masquerade

George Preston

{ george preston asks }

{ muse } george preston

{ george } the man with the right hand

{ main } loyal above all else

{ royal } sworn by blood

{ werewolf } oath by moon

Lin Song

{ lin song asks }

{ muse } lin song

{ lin } one queen to rule them all

{ main } bitches build empires

{ royal } I too breathe fire

{ vampire } queens never die

Maya Tran

{ maya tran asks }

{ muse } maya tran

{ maya } I will be the serpent

{ main } these heels cut like knives

{ hollywood assistant } hooray for hollyweird

{ witch } ash and bone

Christian Weston

{ christian weston asks }

{ muse } christian weston

{ christian } the man in black

{ main } nothing is ever black or white

{ flashback } fade into the red room

Rhiannon Young

{ rhiannon young asks }

{ muse } rhiannon young

{ rhiannon } she is like a cat in the dark and then she is the darkness

{ main } rhiannon rings like a bell through the night

#{ tags } compilation in chaos #{ tags list }

[foradecision]

forthechaos sent :    ‘you're a rat stuck in my maze, crane. nothing more, nothing less. you move because i will it. because you've been taught to follow the cheese.’

     consciousness eluded him for a while. it comes back in pieces, like shards of glass digging into the soft tissue behind both eyes — like the details of what happened before. of how he missed the steel trap buried beneath dead leaves until he was right on top of it, and its teeth had already snapped shut. an explosion: he remembers that. zere’s camp under siege. rahim’s blood still on him when brecken told him to go, cast him out of the frying pan and straight into the fucking fire. but that’s not on brecken. he would’ve gone either way. he always does.

     in hindsight, rais probably counted on it.

     he remembers tracking them — rais’ men, zere’s abductors — back to the garrison and getting inside. parking garage. bullets flying, ricocheting, clipping the meat of his right shoulder just beside the line of his tac vest. a grazer. barely superficial. the place was clear, but it wouldn’t stay that way. crane remembers kicking down a door, telling zere to lower his voice, the blurted intel that he’d given jade his research for camden before she’d disappeared to old town — 

     the lights. the lights went out. 

     and then they came back on.

     six guys. three grunts, and tahir. and roman. and rais himself. the gang was all there. tahir’s gun to zere’s head. roman in the shadows behind them, watching, while rais jammed a blade into the doctor’s thigh. more concerned with preventing his escape, he’d said, but there was something else, something before that, something in the dictum of an order.

     jade. it was about jade.

     hunt the scorpion down. spare no resource.

     the last thing he remembers is a rifle stock swinging at his face.

     there’s the headache. 

     an absolute, unrelenting beatdown of a fucking headache, fireworks of white and threads of black, and every minute shift of movement costs him a nasty lurch of his stomach. it takes a second to get his left eye open; blood from his hairline was holding his lashes together like glue.

     a grunt. a groaned, “... shit.”

     "are you aware of the myth regarding dying in dreams?”

     actually, backpedal. there’s the headache. 

     the room — if it is a room; it’s hard to tell when his spatial awareness is compromised and everything’s out of focus — is scantly lit with a single lantern turned down low. it throws rais into an even deeper cast of shadow, throws the scars on his face into sharp relief and turns the darkness of his gaze to pools of near - black. 

     “they say if you die in them,” he continues, “you die in reality. fortunate, then, you've decided to wake up and join us. get up.”

     “... fuck you.” but crane does get up. pain skews his vision sideways and through it, his eyes stay on the warlord. “where’s zere, you son of a bitch? if you laid another hand on him, i swear to god, i’ll —”

     “what, crane? what will you do, hm — ?” 

     “you’re a dead man walkin’, rais.”

     rais tuts softly. the low sound raises crane’s hackles like the hiss of a viper from a curtain of tall grass. “you bark, little dog, but as it would appear ... you have finally begun to lose your bite.”

     “wh— the fuck’s that supposed to mean? answer me, motherfucker.” 

     “is that not why you left roman alive, when you stole my explosives?”

     the school. of course he knows they were at the fucking school. somehow, he doesn’t think the information came from roman; any of the others on site, maybe. all it would’ve taken was a glimpse of him going in or out. words overheard. details that don’t even matter in the here and now because the bottom line is that rais knows, and that opens the floor for a whole other kind of threat. 

     it’s not that he knows about crane crossing paths with roman. 

     it’s that crane crossing paths with roman might not be all he knows. 

     “why don’t you ask him yourself? i told you, i’m done with this shit. tell me what you did with zere.”

     “the doctor is alive,” rais says, smooth where crane is rough. “for the time being.”

     “where is he, rais?” 

     a smile. sharklike, all teeth. he’s fluid in the way he moves toward crane, tuts again at the practiced reach for a weapon that’s no longer there. “if i were you, agent, i would be less concerned for him and more concerned for yourself.”

     the breath crane had pulled in catches halfway down his throat. it holds. blood pounds in his ears. agent. friends on the outside. 

     he knows. 

     “you come to us,” his voice carries a serrated edge to it now, a commanding volume without lifting to a shout. the distance between them gets smaller. everything about this fucking place gets smaller, walls closing in. “like a snake in the grass. here, in a city of lies — you are the biggest liar of them all. did you take me for a fool, crane? did you think i would not find out, that it does not behoove me to know from which filthy corner the vermin scurry?”

     a door opens behind rais, flooding the room with light. no, not a room: a shipping container. two men enter, flanking the warlord, awaiting his order. roman and tahir. 

     his right hand, and his left. 

     crane’s hands flex into fists, the cut of his jaw clamped tight. so tight that he could almost swear he hears a crack of molar. 

     “you’re a rat stuck in my maze, crane. nothing more, nothing less. you move because i will it. because you’ve been taught to follow the cheese.”

     crane snaps. red mixes with the white and black. he jerks forward with his arm coiled to spring — and, that quickly, both roman and tahir are on him. tahir’s knee flies up for a brutal blow to his gut, doubling him over, but they haul him back up, keep him standing. in the greyish light, roman’s eyes meet his. 

     something is different. just like at the school. 

     something isn’t right.

     then the order comes.

     “throw him in the pit,” rais tells them, already walking away. “then we will truly see how well the GRE trains its operatives.” 

#battle journals.* #forthechaos #i. do not go gentle into that good night.* #canon who

[headoverhiddles]

Hey There, Demons - Marilyn Manson x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You, drummer for the Spooky Kids, aka the Dumbass Idiots, decide with the band to go ghost hunting in LA one night after a show. Bad idea for the most part, good idea for the sole reason of finally putting you and Manson together in a dark room. Feelings? What are those? 

Notes: Spooky Kids era! I’ve been watching a lot of Buzzfeed Unsolved, so here you go. Also features a bit of Twiggy x Pogo for good measure. 

"I don't believe in ghosts."

You toss a napkin at Brian. "Poser." You're all sitting in an airport, waiting for your flight from Jacksonville to Los Angeles for a show tonight.

He grins. "Nah. I'm just bullshitting, of course I do. I mean, I've never seen one, other than that whole Necronomicon thing when I was a kid, but half of me thinks that was from drinking bong water.” 

“Yeah. Well. Imagination is a beautiful thing." 

He licks his lips. "Especially when I'm jacking off."

"Gross," you mutter.

"That's not what you said last night."

"You wish," you huff.

"Cool it you two, we all know you're banging," Pogo calls out, and starts making high pitched moaning noises. You (and everyone else in the band) looks at the keyboardist, wondering if it'd attract even more attention to tape his mouth shut. "Ah! Ah! Ah!”

Jeordie joins in. “Oh, god! Oh, Brian! Yes! What a big dick you have!"

"All the better to fuck you with," Brian plays along. Jeordie climbs into Brian’s lap.

"Stop it, big boy, you're turning me on!"

"I don't sound like that," you mutter.

"Ohhh yeeeeah," Jeordie groans out a climax, and Daisy scoffs, slipping on his sunglasses to avoid the odd stares you're getting.

"I'll have what he's having."

"Unless... Brian is the one taking it," Pogo muses, "That's possible." He drops his voice. "Mmmm. Bette, make me your bitch!"

"Yeah, I just love it when (y/n) gets the strap on out and destroys my ass," Brian grumbles. You blush a little, but hide it under a laugh.

"Again. You wish."

“Am I the only one who finds it very hard to believe (y/n) would put out for Bri?” Jeordie asks. It’s Brian’s turn to toss something at his best friend.

“We all know if she had good taste in men, she’d be fucking me already.”

You hold up three fingers. “Read between the lines.”

You and Brian had been skirting around one another since you had joined the band. You had known Jeordie since working at a crappy part time job at a used record shop with him, and had met the others when Brian had moved to Florida from Ohio, which was a few years ago. They had gotten this band together with another drummer who called himself Sarah Lee Lucas.

Recently, Sarah had left the band to pursue something else, and since banging on things with sticks isn't too hard in your books, you convinced the Spooky Kids to hand you the drumsticks as the newly christened member, Bette Davis x Jeffery Dahmer: Bette Dahmer. It hadn't been easy to convince them to let a girl in, since they’re all a bunch of juvenile assholes, but with Jeordie backing you, eventually they caved.

"Back to the matter at hand," Brian says.

"Hand job," Jeordie giggles, picking a scab off. He pouts as it bleeds.

"Later," Brian quips, standing on a chair. You tug him down before a security guard can do it, and he falls on his ass. "Ow, fuck you."

"That's what anal feels like," you say.

"You would know Bets, you probably take it up the ass from fifty guys at a time, ya fuckin whore," Pogo laughs.

"Stephen, Jesus," Daisy chuckles a little. Pogo has zero filter, and sometimes it's refreshing, sometimes it's annoying. You take your wad of gum out, balling it up, and use your hair elastic to slingshot it right in his face. The guy just picks it up and pops it in his mouth.

"Aw!"

"Ew!"

"You're fucking disgusting, man."

"Eat shit and die." Pogo gives you all the finger, and Jeordie speaks up, laying his head in your lap and stretching out over the airport seats.

"Someone said something about ghosts. I like ghosts. Space ghosts."

"Yes!" Brian brings it back. "Thank you Jeordie, back on track. We are all going ghost hunting tonight, after the show."

"Who died and made you god?" Pogo asks.

"God did," Brian snapped. "And when I'm god everyone dies."

"That's profound, poetry-man," you smirk, crossing your arms, "Got any more emo shit to say before Scott gives every reason why we shouldn't break into some haunted building tonight with video cameras?"

"Who has a video camera?" Jeordie asks, wide eyed, "I wanna see how big my dick looks on screen."

"It looks just like your namesake," Brian says. "Twiggy." Jeordie looks crestfallen.

"It's not that small," you assure him, "It's average, but not small."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I'd let you have a go, if you weren’t..." You smirk, alluding to the crush Jeordie had on another band member. He goes red.

"If Brian wasn't already balls deep in that," Pogo chides.

"I bet your dick looks like a pickle," you shoot back, sticking your tongue out.

"Wanna check?"

"Okay," Daisy blushes, standing up, "Just cause we're a band, doesn't mean we need to have an orgy."

"What was the point, then?" you joke.

"Anyway. Like Bette said, I really don't think we should be doing this tonight. If we get arrested for trespassing, what'll that do to the band?"

Brian crosses his arms. "Well I'm the leader, and I say it'd give us a cool reputation!”

"Right. Members of the Marilyn Manson family get arrested for... what, looking for ghosts? What a hardcore group of people.”

"We can tell the press we killed someone. Besides, this is the type of shit we’re supposed to do as a metal band. We gotta do dumb, risky things that make us look like bonified Satanists. Otherwise we’re just posers like the rest of ‘em.”

“No, we just have to go on a couple benders in hotel rooms with some blow and a couple tatted up prostitutes, and we’ll fit in.”

“Look, we can do cocaine off girls’ tits and go ghost hunting and still be rock stars, so shut the fuck up Berkowitz, we're doing it," Brian says. Daisy puts his hands up, unwilling to argue with him any more than he already has. So, it’s settled.

You bump your foot against Brian's, and he gives a lopsided smile, brushing the long black hair out of his face and bumping your foot back. Momentarily, his attention is diverted.

"Will someone go get Jeordie? He's pissing in the water fountain."

--

You look out at the crowd. This is a bigger audience than usual here in LA.

“Lots of motherfuckers came out to see us,” Bri comes by to whisper at you, parting his hair and making sure his lipstick is nice and smeared. You nod, and toss him his big floppy top hat. He sticks it on his head as you’re introduced.

“All the way from the South Florida music scene, we’ve got Marilyn Manson and the Spooky Kids!”

Jeordie starts the first song, Negative Three, off with a bassline intro, and you start the band off with a four count on your drumsticks, then hit the drums as Brian begins to wail into the mic.

“Give me your blood, your teeth, your high school pictures...”

You watch him, not skipping a beat on your rhythm. Daisy headbangs as you launch into the chorus, and Twiggy fiddles with his bass guitar across the stage, dressed in one of his ragdoll dresses. Pogo is to the right of you, hammering away at his keys and jolting around. You always have a good time performing with the guys, but Brian’s got your attention tonight.

He keeps looking back at you, for some reason.

You almost don’t realize the change in song and the fact that you’d been playing it, and nearly jump when Brian screams into the mic: “I bring you!”

You look away from his shirtless figure, and focus on putting on a good show with them as the crowd moshes in front of you.

--

After the show, everyone stops back at the motel quickly, drying off and getting changed. You all reconvene after getting into more comfortable clothes, avoid the small group of fans waiting to follow you, and get ready to leave.

“You were great tonight,” Brian says.

“Really? I nearly missed the beginning of Lunchbox,” you huff.

“Nah, I didn’t notice it. If I had, I would’ve yelled at you til you cried.” He gives a shit eating grin.

The Viper Room. The five of you stare at it. The sun has long since set after the show, and you're in front of the LA nightclub with amateur ghost hunting equipment. (AKA, anything you could find at a five and dime store on the sunset strip this late at night).

"River Phoenix died here,” Jeordie mentions.

“And Johnny Depp owns the place," Daisy remarks.

"I know him," Brian says.

"River Phoenix?” Pogo asks, stroking his beard. “Yeah? You climb into his grave often?"

"Depp, I know Johnny Depp."

"If you know Johnny Depp, then Twiggy's Luke Skywalker," Pogo scoffs.

"Like my father before me," Twiggy mumbles. 

"No, I know him! I was an extra on his show, 21 Jump Street. He's cool, we're friends."

"Suuuure."

Even Jeordie snickers at that, after emerging from his Star Wars fantasy. "Fuck you guys," Brian mutters, "If Johnny was here right now--"

"Oh, you're on a first name basis, huh?"

"If Johnny was here right now, you fucking clown asshole, he'd say hi Brian, and tell you to go fuck yourself."

"He'd say ‘hi Brian’?" you tease, and he smiles.

"Yes, he would. He's nice."

“Would he like me?”

“Anyone would like you.”

"Does he think this place is haunted?"

"I don't know," the singer hums, "I never asked."

You pick the lock, all enter, and shut the door behind you. It's pitch black, and frankly a little nerve-wracking.

"We shouldn't be here," Daisy sing songs.

"One more word out of you and we're feeding you to the ghosts," Pogo says.

"The same could be said for you," you say to the keyboardist. He shoots a dirty look your way that you can't see through the dark. "I did some reading,” you admit, and everyone turns to you. “Apparently there’s a body buried downstairs, in the crawlspace.”

“Johnny’s a killer,” Jeordie whispers in awe.

“That’s fucking rad,” Brian mutters, “I have even more respect for the guy now.”

“It wasn’t Johnny, don’t say that shit out loud in Hollywood or you’ll get sued,” you say, rolling your eyes. “So aside from the bones, the ghostly activity is downstairs in the basement, the VIP room, and by the bar.”

"I know where I'll be," Jeordie smiles, and walks over to the bar. "Pour me a stiff one River, and don't spare the rum."

Pogo sighs. "C'mon, Daisy. The odd couple are going down to the basement."

"Uh, now I think I should be the one to stay at the bar." Daisy shakes his head. "If Jeordie does, we'll have smashed bottles and cop sirens."

"Fine," Jeordie complains, shoving his red and black dreads out of his face.  

“Whatever, dude. It’s just a bunch of bullshit anyway,” Pogo mutters, “It’s like Santa Clause, parents invent ghosts and all that shit to scare kids into behaving themselves, the ever present fascism of the oppressed American youth...” Jeordie follows the ranting keyboardist downstairs, shooting you a desperate look. You just smile, giving a little good luck wave.  

“That leaves you and me in the VIP room,” you say, turning to Brian.

“That it does,” he replies, licking his lip ring. “Just don’t try to hold my hand. That’s sick.”

“If you touch me, I’ll scream,” you retort, and walk ahead of him. He admires your ass with the flashlight, and you smile a little.

Downstairs in the basement, Pogo starts banging on the walls.

“Hello! My friends, my ghoulish friends! My... ghoulfriends, if you will. ANYONE WHO’S GOT THEIR BONES BURIED BACK HERE, MAKE A NOISE! Fart or something!” He swings his arms around.  

“Did Johnny Depp kill you?” Jeordie asks, eyes wide. He twitches at a car honk outside.

Pogo bounces up and down. “Come attack me, bones! Make me one of you! Come on, murder me and bury me, daddy! I’m into that kinky shit! I am here for the taking!”

“That sounds a little forceful,” Jeordie whispers.

“On my part, or their part?” Silence.

“Good point.”  

They keep walking around, and Jeordie trips on something. Pogo keeps banging and yelling obnoxiously. “GOBLINS, GHOULIES, FROM LAST HALLOWEEN! AWAKEN THE SPIRITS WITH YOUR TAMBOR—hey Jeordie, what the fuck are you doing on the ground?”

“I just like the taste of carpet,” Jeordie retorts, sarcasm apparently not evident enough for Pogo to catch it.  

“Jesus, what are you on? I want some.”  

“Help me up?”  

“Yeah, yeah,” the mad clown mutters, and leans down. Jeordie takes his arm, and the two look at each other for a few seconds, the flashlight beneath them illuminating the specks of dust floating through the inch or so between their faces. “Uh...” Pogo whispers, deep voice grumbling.

“Yeah,” Jeordie swallows, and the two stand again, looking away from one another.

Upstairs, you and Brian enter the VIP room.

“Hey there demons, it’s me. Marilyn Manson,” he says, “This is my concubine, Bette Dahmer. Scare us.”  

You glare at him. “Actually, scare me. You can just kill him.” The two of you look around with the flashlight a bit, inspecting the dark wallpaper and decor.

“This is kinda spooky,” Brian admits.

“It’s nice,” you say, stroking the dust off a lamp, “Very gothic. I can see why movie stars like this place.”

“Yeah.” Brian turns the flashlight on and off, finally setting it on a small table and letting the beam keep the room dimly lit. ���Lots of old Hollywood glamour. You’d fit right in.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, you’d look pretty in an old Marilyn Monroe dress. Or at least one of Jeordie’s.”  

“What if Marilyn Monroe came here?” you giggle.

“Hey, Mar! Thanks for the name!” Brian calls, “If we get rich and famous, we’ll give you the royalties!” You lounge out on one of the couches, and he eyes you. “You could be sitting on a ghost right now,” he says, “You could have a ghost inside you.”

“Mm?”

“You could be sitting right on his big ghost cock.”

“That’s hot.”

“You could have me inside you too, if you wanted.”

“Y’know, I think we’ve been on the road too long,” you laugh, “Pogo’s jokes are getting to you.”

“It’s not the jokes.”

“Yeah, well. If I’m starting to look hot to you, you must be delirious.”

“Nah... I really do think you’re hot, Bets.”

He sits next to you, and you look over at him. “Seriously?”

He ducks his head. “Yeah.”

“I... feel the same way. I mean, I was never ever gonna tell you, cause soon, with any luck, we’ll be big rock and roll stars, and you-- well, you know how it works. You’ll have a million groupies, you’ll be drowning in free pussy.”

“Fuck the groupies. I want your pussy.”

You laugh. “You say that now.”

“Yeah, I do. Til someone better comes along, which I doubt will happen.” He lifts his eyes to meet yours. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all night. It was weird onstage—usually I can hide it, but tonight... I don’t know. You sitting there, in that top, with your eyes... you were just...” He looks down again, his old shyness coming back. You don’t know what to say. You can only stare at his lips.

Over at the bar, Daisy sits patiently, watching the glass he’s set on a napkin. “Hello, ghosts. It’s me, Scott. You can call me Daisy if you like. If you can hear me, move the cup.”

He stares at the cup. The cup does not move.

Downstairs, Pogo and Twiggy are awkwardly trying to continue their ghost hunt without talking about the moment they just had.

“So, uh, so ghoulies. Where ya from?” Pogo shouts. “Is SATAN in the room with us? We are BIG FANS, sir.” Jeordie starts giggling about something. “What is it?!”

“I just heard a bang above us.”

“That means the demons have come out to play, Jeordie-boy!” Pogo cackles, hopping up on a booth seat and drumming the ceiling.

“No. It means Bette and Manson are screwing around,” Twigs laughs. Then his face gets dead serious. “What if, uh...”

“What if what?” Pogo glances over suspiciously.

“What if... they weren’t the only ones?”

You gasp, standing up and staring at the shattered lamp that had just fallen off the table. “Oh my god. That wasn’t me.”

“Wasn’t me.”

“They’re totally gonna think we’re screwing around up here.”

“Maybe we are,” Brian gets up too, tucking his hair behind his ear.

“Y-you wanna?” you back up. He nods, and falls on top of you on the other couch.

At the bar, Daisy sits, staring at the cup. He patters his fingers on his knees. “It’s okay, ghosts,” he says, smiling politely, “I can wait.”

He stares at it some more. The cup does not move.

In the room, you reach your hand up Brian’s back underneath his black t-shirt. “Fuck, I can’t believe we’re doing this.”

“Shut up and take my pants off.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up. Take your own pants o... ohhh, god, yeah.” Brian reaches up to massage your breasts, and you throw your head back, undoing his fly.  “How long have you wanted to do this?”

“Since the day I walked into the dumb record shop and stole that David Bowie EP.”

“What the fuck?! I got fired for that!”

Downstairs, Pogo runs a hand over his smooth bald head. “I don’t know, man. This sounds very gay to me.”

“I mean,” Jeordie scuffs his shoe on the ground, “It doesn’t have to be. Or like, it could be. If you’re cool with that.”

“If I’m cool with being a homo?”

“...Yeah.”

Pogo looks up at Jeordie, and sighs. “For you?” He glances around the dark, creepy basement, then back to the bassist. “I could be cool with that.”

Daisy changes tactics. “Here. Don’t like moving cups? That’s okay, neither do I sometimes. Let’s try this again.” He smiles. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, god... Brian!” you moan from the VIP room.

“Br... Brian!” Daisy says, excitedly, standing up. “You have the same name as my friend! Oh god... okay, um... how did you die, Brian?”

“Get inside me,” you groan, and Brian takes his boxers down, kissing you as he sinks into your tight heat. The two of you moan, base instincts taking over.

“In... inside you?!” Daisy repeats, eyes lighting up at the apparent paranormal activity he’s discovered. “Oh! You died from an overdose, just like River, didn’t you? You had too many narcotics inside you!”

Downstairs, Pogo steps forward, and swallows. Jeordie closes his eyes, and waits. Suddenly, a car screeches through a red light outside, and Jeordie practically jumps into Pogo’s arms, forcing the two together at the lips. Pogo’s eyes fly open, and Jeordie’s close again, enjoying the kiss. They break away, and stare at one another. Pogo swears, and goes in for another kiss.

“Harder,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around the singer’s neck. He pushes his hips in faster.

“You like it rough, sweetheart?”

“Yeah Bri, I like it rough, yeah...”

He reaches down, finding your sweet spot. You arch into him, scratching your nails up his slender back. He keeps pounding into you, and grunts into your neck.

“Baby, baby, baby...”

“Do you have a message for me, or for any members of our band?” Daisy asks, and lowers his voice conspiratorially. “You know... some insider’s industry tips?” He winks.

“Goood, you’re so fucking good!”

Daisy raises his eyebrows. “I... well thank you! Thank you very much, we really try to reach people with our music.”

“What the fuck are you blabbering about?” Pogo mutters on the stairs, wiping Twiggy’s lipstick off his chin. Daisy beckons them over.

“Shhh! Watch this. I’m sorry I ever doubted you guys... the spirits are so active in this place! Forget making records. We could be mediums!” Jeordie joined Pogo over by the bar as Daisy went on. “Okay—if you’re here with us now, give us a sign.”

There’s a loud bang, followed by a creak and a faint gasp. Jeordie and Pogo look at one another, actually a little bit freaked out by the response. Then comes the “communication.”

“I’m coming, oh-- I’m coming!”

“Where?!” Daisy cries, “Show yourself, come!” Pogo sighs, and Jeordie falls to the floor, laughing.

“I think they already did, pal.” The keyboardist raises his painted on eyebrows, and points to the VIP room. You stumble out, hair messed to hell, and Brian comes out behind you, buckling up his belt. Daisy stares at the two of you for the longest time, before getting up and walking toward the door.

The rest of you go to walk out, deeming the place a paranormal dud, when a gust of wind blows behind you. Brian’s about to turn around, accusing Jeordie of leaving a window open or something, but there’s nothing there. Then, everything happens at once. Daisy’s cup tips over the side of the counter and shatters. The door to the VIP room slams shut, and you all start to hear thumping footsteps coming up the stairs from the basement.  

You and Brian grab at each other, running out first while laughing. Pogo shoves Jeordie over and bolts out. A few seconds later, he runs back in, grabbing the bassist by the hand and dragging him out too. Daisy stays, getting out the video camera. Brian walks back in, guiding the guitarist out calmly, and closes the club’s front door with a click.

“Hey uh, Bri?” you say, taking his arm. He grunts, putting an arm around you. “Next time you see your friend Johnny Depp... maybe don’t mention that we fucked in his haunted club. Kay?”

#marilyn manson #marilyn manson x reader #reader x marilyn manson #this band is just too much fun to write for #that's probably why I keep doing sk era stuff #madonna wayne gacy #twiggy ramirez #twiggy x pogo #pogo x twiggy #brian warner x reader #reader x Brian warner #brian hugh warner #the spooky kids #marilyn manson and the spooky kids #ghost hunting #buzzfeed unsolved #inspired by buzzfeed unsolved #marilyn manson smut #marilyn manson fanfiction #daisy berkowitz #bette dahmer #marilyn manson imagine #marilyn manson imagines #marilyn manson fandom #mansonite #mansonites

[crownonymous]

heres whats gon happen this month IN THEORY because we all know by now that every goddamn time i try to plan something in advance it backfires and stabs me in the back like a jilted lover stalking me in the dark of night only to pounce when i least expect SO

the plan is BNHA Viper updating a new chapter because about goddamn motherfucking time

plus 8 Sanders Sides oneshots, 7 of them being the logince week ive been planning since before covid hit and 1 of them being a standalone fanfic

i have 1 more planned but im not gon fucking push my luck

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 30

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

-------------------------------------

Piotr’s gut was in knots, sick with worry. Each minute passing by was a minute that his wife and best friend were in terrible danger.

Charles Xavier reviewed the plans of the Icebox, projected onto the wall of his office. One of his teams had hacked into government servers to steal them. Even so, they weren’t complete plans. Some of the files were redacted, and the team was still looking for full versions. But, it was enough to confirm what Xavier had suspected for years. “Part of the structure has the very same alloy that Magneto and the Juggernaut use in their helmets, to keep telepaths from finding them.” He centered his gaze on the distraught Russian. “That’s why I could never find her with Cerebro, Peter. I’m sorry.”

Piotr clenched his fists, then released. “I always knew it wasn’t for lack of trying, Professor.”

"What we don't know," Xavier inhaled, deep in thought, "is how they acquired so much of it."

Cable pointed at one section, then another, "I initially breached here. In this section is where I first engaged Wade. We did a lot of damage they'll have repaired by now." He looked back at the others. "Do we have anything on the repairs?"

Xavier shook his head, "The hackers are still looking. It will be a matter of time."

"We don't have much time," Piotr huffed, agitated, and paced around the table. 

"The plan," Cable said firmly as he followed the Russian giant with his gaze, "is for them to take the control office where the DMC keeps the hard tokens. They will need time for that. If we rush in too soon, there's too many factors we can't control."

Usually, Piotr was the levelheaded one. Usually, Piotr was the one talking down Logan or Scott from doing something drastic without thinking. His shoulders were tight with guilt and fear, tension etched into his expression. He turned to the youngest person in the room, "Russell, what can you tell us? What is the daily routine, how do new inmates get processed?"

Russell swallowed. It didn’t seem that long ago since he’d been in the Icebox himself, and he remembered even being a little excited to go, thinking he’d take over the whole prison with pure aggression and willpower. A lot had changed since Wade had taken a bullet for him, including realizing how dangerous the prison really was. He didn't dare say aloud that he thought taking over the place was impossible. “New inmates,” he began, licking his lips, “get hosed off before they give you the jumpsuit. They took mugshots of me and Wade and assigned us numbers, but I heard they don’t do that with everyone…” The adults shared a pointed look that made him pause.

“What else?” Xavier prompted gently.

He thought for a moment, then continued, “They brought me and Wade in at bedtime, put us in the same cell at lights-out. They did meals at six, twelve, and six.”

“What about guard rotations?” Piotr asked. “Or anything about the control office?”

When Russell couldn’t recall much specifically, admitting that wasn’t what he had been paying attention to, Cable filled in what he could. On the schematics, he pointed out a central box where he had previously encountered the officers gearing up in the armory. It had mostly glass walls, a bank of monitors to track security camera footage, control panels to operate every door in the Icebox.

“If they’re smart,” he added, “They’ll have changed a lot of this in the repairs.” Cable cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. “Superior firepower aside, I had next to no trouble just walking in there.”

Xavier nodded, carefully considering their options and the best approach to breaching the most secure mutant holding facility in the world.

Brows set in a scowl, hands clenching and releasing, heart pounding with worry, Piotr asked the teenage boy, “Is Rhonda well known in that place? What is her reputation?” He couldn’t bring himself to say his real question aloud. 

Russell’s eyes widened slightly, then his gaze fell to the surface of the table under his fingers. He grimaced, sucking his teeth before answering, “The main thing I was told was you only sign the ‘Book in a group.”

--

"Already making the boys cry," Mimi purred in the dark. "I always liked you."

“You arranged this on purpose,” Rhonda didn’t move from having her back against the cell door, wary of every word and action from the leader of the Vicious 13. One hand rose to her collar and rubbed at the scabs.

Mimi leaned into the glow from neighboring cells’ lights, revealing dark, pointed scales like a viper. In more light, the scales would shine shades of green and purple, but in the dark, they looked charcoal grey. Her pale eyes, framed by big, fake, very contraband lashes, greedily drank in Rhonda’s frame, from the green of her hair to the clenched fists. “Of course I did,” she showed a little slip of pointed teeth in a smile, “I couldn’t have you getting killed too soon.”

Rhonda rolled her eyes and slipped onto her cot, but her shoulders didn’t relax. “So you can give me the Join Us Or Die pitch again.”

The reptilian woman clicked her tongue, a delicate sound, “I never say ‘or die,’ please.”

“Well, someone trying to kill me after every time I turn you down isn’t subtle.” She started to settle under the thin blanket. It would never keep her warm enough.

There was a rustling sound like dry leaves as Mimi shifted around. “What about that husband of yours? Did he toss you back in here, or was he never real to begin with?”

Rhonda delayed her answer. It was best to give someone like Mimi as little information as possible. “He’s real.” Over the dull murmuring of inmates settling into bed, someone a few cells down coughed. Maybe Wade.

“Ah,” Mimi hummed with too much amusement, “Homecoming didn’t go as planned. My condolences.” The rustling sounded again, with an added swishing. “Well, a few things have changed since you ran off. What if I told you I’m the only gang in the Icebox now?” Rhonda was quiet long enough that she prodded, “Guestbook?”

“I’ll think about it,” she finally said, even as her skin was crawling.

“You’re a wonderful conversationalist, as always--”

“Good night, Mimi, shut up.”

--

One night down and Rhonda’s muscles were already getting stiff, joints already starting to ache. The hottest the showers would go was just a shade less than lukewarm. A grid of pipes hung from the ceiling in the completely open shower area, a spraying spout at each intersection. Sixteen inmates could shower at once, but there was no privacy. Between being exposed and cold, Rhonda couldn’t get the goosebumps on her skin to lie flat. She tried to imagine the tepid water was just a light summer rain, one she might go dance in just so her husband would laugh and say she was ridiculous. 

The showers were a dangerous place, surrounded by other wet, naked inmates, and Rhonda kept her eyes peeled the whole time, even when she got a little soap in them. Other inmates bumped into her or brushed close enough to slash her open if they’d managed to palm a shiv, but none of them gave her anything worse than a sidelong glare. 

The towels managed to be both threadbare and scratchy. At one of the cubbies that lined the walls of the shower area, Rhonda scrubbed herself just dry enough that she wasn’t dripping, and yanked on her DMC-provided underwear, grey t-shirt, and yellow jumpsuit. Another inmate, a wiry man with stringy blond hair lazily walked toward the cubby next to hers. She slipped on her flimsy velcro shoes without her socks, ready to fight or run. Getting shanked wasn’t the only danger in this place.

“Tick tock, motherfucker,” the wiry man hissed. “We all know you’re gonna tell Mimi no. Hurry up so we can have some fun with you.” So they were waiting. Either Rhonda would make an arrangement with Mimi and the Vicious 13 and she would have a modicum of protection, or she wouldn’t, and the attack could come from anywhere at any time. How long would they wait? Hopefully she would have time to talk to Wade.

--

Rhonda had gotten to the mess hall with just enough time to get a tray and scarf down some breakfast. She found Wade and took a seat beside him. Between bites of the thinnest, most underdone waffle ever, she noted his fresh black eye. “What happened to you?”

“Oh this?” he laughed, “My cellie was practicing our secret handshake. You should see him.”

“Try not to get in any more fights,” Rhonda replied firmly. She nearly choked on the dregs as she took a swig of what they said was coffee. “We’re joining a gang.”

Wade guffawed loudly enough to make a few people briefly turn their heads and look. “My friend is hilarious!” he told them, waving them off, “Just - just an inside joke, don’t worry about it.” Then he lifted some of Rhonda’s damp hair so he could say low in her ear, “Did you already get kicked in the head? What are you thinking?”

She leaned away until he let go of her hair and grumbled, “I think our options are real fucking slim unless we get some kind of alliance, and I have an in.” She gave the quickest, most casual of glances past Wade to the end of the tables. “You see the snake with eyelashes?”

Wade gave a much more obvious glance, and even waved. Turning back to Rhonda, his eyes went wide in a bright smile. “She’s a giiirrl dragon!”

Rhonda finished her last bite of cold hash browns and shook her head. “I wouldn’t make any more Shrek jokes unless you plan on being the donkey who fucks her.”

#piotr rasputin x oc #colossus x oc #not a ghost #xmen fanfic #deadpool fanfic #longfic #multipart fic #angst #deadpool 2 #colossus #piotr rasputin

[kuiperror]

i tell you everything i know about pluto because i have tons of information and i don’t know what to do with it

pluto has five natural satellites: charon, styx, nix, hydra and kerberos, which are all names of myths that relate to the underworld. pluto is the god of the underworld in roman mythology, charon is the ferryman of the underworld, nyx (pluto’s moon uses the egyptian spelling) is the mother of charon and the goddess of the night, hydra is the serpent-headed monster that lives in lake lerna, which was thought to be an enterance to the underworld, and styx is the river that forms the boundry of the underworld and earth.

pluto’s and charon’s rotation system is actually very interesting! charon is almost half the size of pluto. their barycenter (their point from which they rotate around) lies just around pluto itself, so the two are actually rotating around one another in a binary system. they are also tidally locked to each other, so charon & pluto are always facing one another. pluto and charon are sometimes informally referred to as a double-dwarf planet system.

pluto’s rotation around the sun is skewed to a 17 degree angle, so occasionally pluto will be closer to the sun than neptune. pluto’s axis is at its side, like uranus.

an eleven year old girl named venetia barney came up with the name of pluto.

the heart-like region on pluto is named the tombaugh regio, named after discoverer of pluto, clyde tombaugh. the geographal feature is also nicknamed “the heart.” a basin in the region is made up of solid nitrogen and other ices, and is named the sputnik planitia, after the first man-made satellite.

a small amount of tombaugh’s ashes were placed on the new horizons flyby space probe, which flew past pluto in the summer of 2015.

pluto’s new moons (styx and kerberos) were named via online poll, with the most voted name being vulcan, from star trek. the IAU seriously thought about naming one of pluto’s moons vulcan, but the name had already been used in astronomy, so they went with the other two top names, which were styx and kerberos.

on one side of pluto’s tombaugh regio, (the bottom right of it) there are irregular dark spots with varying boundries, which have been nicknamed “the brass knuckles.” on the other side of the heart (left side) is a region named cthulhu macula, nicknamed “the whale,” due to its shape.

while charon, the moon, shares a name with charon, the ferryman of the underworld in greek and roman mythology, the name was actually chosen because of the discoverer, james christy’s wife, charlene. he took “char” from charlene and added the -on to the end (mainly because science-y terms use -on endings.) the name charon is pronounced sh-air-on, because of his wife, and not how the original authentic greek name was pronounced, with a silent c/k, ha-r-nn.

pluto lies within the kuiper (cuh-eye-per, rhymes with viper) belt, and is referred to as “the king of the kuiper belt” because it is the largest known object in said belt.

when pluto was discovered, clyde tombaugh was looking for lowell’s planet x, but due to pluto’s size, pluto did not fit lowell’s discription of the hypothetical planet.

ok motherfuckers pack your jetpacks for the most drama-filled story of the solar system, probably. aka how pluto was demoted to a dwarf planet

so it starts in 2005. pluto is still a planet. of course, ever since pluto’s discovery, it’s been a debate among scientists over whether or not its a planet. pluto’s size and eccentric orbit were pointing to pluto being a large KBO, or kuiper belt object. other objects in the kuiper belt were being discovered that were approaching pluto’s size, and it only sparked more tension and debate.

another dwarf planet, ceres, was already discovered at this time, but it had been named as an asteroid and not a dwarf planet. haumea, another dwarf planet was found in 2004, which i think they classified as a minor planet before 2006. 

anyway, in 2005, astronomer michael e. brown made some new discoveries. he discovered two small planets within the kuiper belt. and one of them is... supposedly larger than pluto. 

enter eris. this is the backstabber who made the IAU define the term planet. eris actually isn’t larger than pluto, it’s around the same size. (maybe, somehow, if the scientists didn’t overestimate, pluto might still be a planet. maybe even eris would be our tenth planet? maybe not, but it’s interesting to think about.) eris is named after the greek goddess of strife and discord. the dwarf planet’s moon is named dysnomia, after eris’ daughter, who is the figure for lawlessness. pretty fitting names, wouldn’t you say?

(ok but being serious here, it’s not eris’ fault. it just got discovered, that’s all. and pluto being demoted was bound to happen anyway with the discovery of similar sized KBOs. it’s not brown’s fault either. science is science. but you know all that. just putting this here just to clear the air.) 

so, once eris was discovered, the IAU (international astronomical union) defined the term planet in august 2006. in order to be a planet, you must meet the criteria.

one: must orbit around the sun

two: must have enough mass to have a nearly round shape

three: you must have “cleared out your neighbourhood,” which means that you must be gravitationally dominant, and no other bodies (besides natural satellites) can be under your gravitational influence. 

if you match the critera, congrats, you’re a planet. if you don’t match the third one, you’re a dwarf planet. pluto does not meet the third criteria (it shares its neighbourhood with other KBOs & the gravity of neptune effects its orbit)

so, pluto is a dwarf planet. and it’s our favourite! we still love pluto no matter what. if you want to read more on the story of pluto’s demotion, mike brown himself wrote a book called Why I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming (i wanna read it so bad)

anyway. it took four hours to write this so i am going to conk tf out. i probably spelled almost everything wrong and probably generalized a bunch so if you want details go read an actual credible source instead of my secondhand shitty explanations. if you’re reading this, thank you for reading and also go listen to 134340 pluto by cojum dip and i’m your moon by jonathan coulton please

#the only thing ive done since quarantine started is learn about pluto #it's so interesting!!!!! #but i haven't been able to talk about it with anyone so #this is the result of that. #long post