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#manson babble babbles
soft-for-them · 11 months
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Apologies - Once upon a time in Hollywood & plus size reader
Summary: You and Rick, like most siblings do, aren't talking because of an argument. The only thing getting you both to apologise to each other is a group of cult members trying to kill you. (Platonic, reader is Rick's step sister who he's helped raise, so no shipping.)
Trigger warning: Descriptions of fighting and injury, this fic is mainly based in the scene in the film were the Manson family try to kill Cliff, Francesca and Rick, so yeah, there's blood.
Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.
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A/N: I like the idea of writing more fics with the sister reader, idk I think it would be sweet.
The ever constant headache for you both had started around fifteen years ago, you being around five years old whist your older step brother was in his prime staring in Hollywood films and bedding super models like it was a causal Tuesday night.
Around that time your mother had remarried Rick Dalton’s father and them both wanting to get away from it all (aka you) had dropped you off at a random film set were extras roamed around in fake blood and plastic disembodied limbs littered the ground like gravel.
Your ‘parents’ didn’t care that they had dropped you off on the day were a massacre scene was being shoot. Thinking back to that blurry memory you think they hadn’t even realised it was a high budget horror flick Rick was staring in, all they thought about at that time was ditching the hyperactive child on the rich enough son who probably could hire a baby sitter unlike they could.
Whilst Rick spent most of the day dazzling the camera crew and his female co-lead you had spent most of the day in the makeup trailer been cooed over by the hair and makeup ladies whilst stuffing your face with cheese puffs and apple juice.
At one point Cliff Booth had hobbled in, cigarette hanging from his bloody lips and his leg aching from the dangerous stunt he had just performed, his blue eyes going wide as a little curly haired child cheered as he entered the makeup trailer.
“Why is there a child in here?” he had asked whilst taking the cigarette from his lips with one hand whilst trying to rub off the fake blood dribbling from his face with the other.
The makeup ladies had to quickly wipe his face off with soaked cotton balls and wet wipes because he was just making the red mess even worse all whilst a bright eyed you began babbling to him like you knew him forever.
“I’m five!” you had happily declared as one of the women whispered the situation to Cliff.
“That you are little lady.”
So for the next hour instead of fucking off smoking half a pack and challenging cocky actors to fights Cliff Booth spent his time entertaining you. He had no clue what to do with a child but he knew at that moment he had to protect you, he’d always did with Rick and call it an itch but he had a feeling that you were going to stick around.
Now fifteen years later, you complain to Cliff as you dry brush a fake sword’s blade with a rust brown paint, pots of paints and film props surrounding you at your little prop master’s table ready to topple over.
Over the many years you’ve been in and out of your brother’s life, mostly due to your parent’s inability to look after you correctly, you’ve grown to loath the big screen and all the entitled people that come with it, instead falling in love with the small screen and indie films.
Many days you’ve spent watching Star Trek or Colombo on the telly with Rick pointing out which sets and props look to be made of Styrofoam and flimsy plastic.
Now at the age of twenty you have solid work as a prop maker for television. You love the job and you love the people.
Right at this moment you’re trying to make foam swords look real whilst Cliff tries to talk you around to apologising to your brother all because you called him an idiot for looking down on Spaghetti Westerns because they were ‘beneath him’.
“I’m not saying sorry Cliff.” You grumble as you dip your paint brush in a rusty looking solution made from many brown paints and diluting alcohol, “I didn’t spend most of my childhood stuck on his sofa watching B movies only for his failing ass to talk shit about them!”
Cliff hovers around you cluttered desk, the trailer you work in being cramped and filled to the brim with handmade props, no cigarette in sight for he has developed the habit of not smoking when you’re around (that and the trailer filled with props are so flammable that it would combust into flames at out flick of a lighter.)
“AND THEN, WHAT CLIFF!?!” your voice crescendos as you pad away any blotting paint on the prop sword, “He goes and does all those Spaghetti Westerns anyway getting the lead in that Nebraska Jim flick and what, a wife too! He’s funnelling money in the bin like it’s nothing and he still has the gall to talk shit about my line of work and what pictures I decide to create props for.”
You stand up you shin hitting leg of the table you work at making you swear up a storm.
Cliff only watches in slight amusement.
“I’ve worked on Star Trek you know, I’m friends with Leonard Nimoy, I’ve been inside DeForest Kelley house multiple times, I’ve been personally invited and gone to countless parties hosted by Grace Kelly and her husband all because I was nice to her that one time on the set of that musical film-“
“-I thought you didn’t like the Hollywood type.” Cliff asks in such brotherly way trying to get a rise out of you.
What, he might be fed up with your ongoing feud with Rick but he still sees you as his own little sister and he does find it fun teasing you.
“Yeah, well most of them I don’t but she is pretty and nice and she’s my friend- for fuck’s sake Rick is just jealous!”
“Well, that he might be squirt but I think-“ Cliff begins to guide you out the trailer away from the fumes of alcohol and oil paints, “- he might be more jealous that his little sister is being taken away by all these big wig actors.”
Hair a mess, paint covering your dungarees and magnifying glasses propped on top of your head like you some kind of mad scientist, a flow of extras on their break all in medieval garbs walking around, you turn around to Cliff with an anger on your face that melts into a profound sadness.
“He didn’t even invite me to his wedding, I haven’t even met his wife, for crying out loud Cliff I don’t want another absent father, I’ve already got plenty of those.”
Cliff was itching to get out a cigarette out of pocket but once he hears your outburst, once he sees your eyes welling up with years and your round body slump somewhat he bounds over and engulfs you in a big hug that only fathers and father figurers know how to do.
“Come home and talk with Rick. I’ll be there and you can meet Francesca.”
You look up at Cliff as you both begin swaying in the hug.
“Can Brandy come to?”
“Of course kiddo-“ he says tightening his grip on you, “-to be honest I think she likes you the best.”
You let out a loud booming laugh that says ‘Ha! I knew it.’ one that gets Cliff laughing too.
I didn’t go quite as planned.
At first when you showed up Rick tried to act like nothing had happened, he did his normal smooching. He offered you a drink and smiled that movie star smile at you all whilst not introducing you to his wife who stood in the background slightly confused at the odd ordeal.
You waved off his offer of a drink and went straight to the fridge plucking out a can of beer.
“You want one Francesca?” you had asked, she replied with a baffled ‘no’ before you plonked yourself down on the sofa making yourself right at home.
You truly wonder what Francesca Capucci thought at that very moment seeing a round young woman with a smile like Mama Cass and a the grace of Etta James all rolled up in pain stained dungarees and Dr. Martens boots.
One thing lead to another, you and Francesca became fast friends whilst Rick and Cliff went off for drinks, and now you're lounging on Rick’s sofa with Brandy’s head on your lap and Cliff offering you a LSD laced cigarette which he’s been smoking.
“Shit, things must be bad if you’re smoking near me?” you grumble as you pat Brandy’s head with a lazy hand, “Nothing was resolved so let’s get shit faced, because that always goes well.”
“At least you met Francesca.” Cliff mutters as his face turns all smiley as the drugs take effect.
“Hum, yeah, she’s real pretty ain’t she…” you ponder out loud as the front door gets kicked in.
You jump up slightly, Brandy not too bothered by the two greasy haired people clad in black who stand there trying to look menacing.
“Ahhhh, can I help you?” Cliff asks.
Another one appears all in black too, her face a pale sickly white, a knife in her hand.
And to think your day couldn’t get any worse because oh boy, it does.
One moment you’re complaining to Cliff about your idiot brother with Brandy on your lap trying to cheer you up, the next thing you know you have a gun aimed at your face by the ‘horsey’ guy and Francesca only in her underwear being forced out into the living room by the redhead.
Thank fuck Cliff is both level headed and slightly crazy at the same time because one moment he’s laughing like a clown and the next Brandy is attacking the fuckers which gives you a bit of time to move out the way of the gun.
It’s when this so called Tex starts hitting Brandy do you snap out you little panicked trace (having a gun aimed at you does that to a person) do you leap over the sofa and begin punching him square in the face, your body holding him down so he can’t kick his way out of it, Brandy still mauling his arm like it was a tug rope.
By the time Cliff has thrown the can at the face of the pale woman, knocking her straight down and breaking her little white nose, you’re fully on top of Tex trying to knock him out.
Now, you were never the best puncher, when you were fourteen you punched a bully who was teasing you about your weight only to breaking your thumb in the process, by my gosh is the adrenaline kicking in has you trying to knock out Tex.
The frightened screams of Francesca in the background spurs you on, the fear of the nice (and very attractive) woman getting hurt making you see red.
Maybe you’ll unpack your childlike crush on the starlet along with the ongoing feud with your brother later on when you’re not trying to wrestle a grown man (said grown man who’s now getting his balls bit by Brandy.)
(Brandy will defiantly get all the treats and cuddles later on.)
“CLIFF! DO SOMETHING YOU DUMB BITCH!” you scream as Tex punches at you, some hits missing but most slamming right into your soft sides.
Doing something Cliff clicks his fingers and Brandy is off mauling Samara. At the same time Tex pushes you off him and charges at Cliff like an angry bull, one eye already going black from you repeated punches.
It’s all a fucking shambles all culminating in you climbing through a smashed window to see your dear brother Rick using his fucking flamethrower to burn the pale bitch like he was finishing crème brulee with a blow torch.
How fun.
“Rick! Be careful!” you try to scream but it only comes out as a pain filled gabble, “Rick.”
Your last call of ‘Rick’ sounds more like a sob than a word, your soft body in so much pain. Your face is stained with splatters of blood and trails of big fat tears which when Rick sees he scrambles to take off his flamethrower (safely of course) to run over to you and engulf you in the biggest of hugs.
Your cries of your brother’s name as you break down and cling onto him cause the older man to start crying ugly tears, ones that are louder that your own sobs.
“I’m sorry Rick.” you sniffle out.
“I’m sorry too-“ he lays a kiss on your hair and starts rocking you side to side in the tight hug like he used to do when you were little and had a nightmare, “I’ve been ignoring you and I didn’t tell you about Francesca.”
“I’m sorry too for ignoring you as well.”
“I’m sorry for being so mean-“
For the next ten mites the two of you prattle off many apologises, too many really, so much so that when the red and blue flashing lights of emergency services clouds your blurry vision and paramedics try to pry you away from Rick you’re both still apologising.
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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year
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Lock The Last Open Door
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/4c0Q1FW
by AKelaNakamura
Amity Park doesn't exist. That's the official line.
On the surface, it would appear that Amity Park truly didn't exist. But the more Batman digs, the less true that seems. You add the fact that there's an unconscious teenager in the Batcave's Medbay that begged for his help and Batman smells a coverup. Amity Park may not exist on paper, but Batman won't let that stop him from saving it.
Tucker's on his last legs. The escape out of Amity took everything he had and of all the places to land in, he finds himself in Gotham. Through a bit of creative hacking and desperation, he manages to find the reclusive Batman, only to babble about needing help and passing out at the man's feet. He just has to convince Batman that ghosts exist and that his entire town is in danger. Easy, right?
Words: 2703, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: Gen
Characters: Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Batfamily Members, Jack Fenton, Maddie Fenton, Jazz Fenton
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson, Batfamily Members & Tucker Foley
Additional Tags: Amity Park Under Siege, Ghost Investigation Ward - Freeform, GIW, Guys in White - Freeform, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, The Author Regrets Nothing, Halfa Jason Todd, Amity Park Doesn't Exist, ALLEGEDLY, Dc x dp, DP X DC, no beta we die like jason todd, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Tucker escapes an Amity Park under Seige, And gets Batman's attention, And now Batman is trying not adopt another child, This will probably read like Eternal Trio so go wild, I'll add more tags as things Escalate, Danny's in trouble, Amity Park is Liminal
read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/4c0Q1FW
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love-and-i-am · 22 years
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The Age of Blame
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May 03, 2002 | MarilynManson.com Journal | Archived by Nick Kushner at The NACHTKABARETT
Serpents bang the window pane for fruitless hours.
"Where is our apple?!" "Where is our apple?!"
"Kill that man. Kill that Manson. He is STARK raving mad and we are sad."
I say throw him in the hole and cover him in those forsaken songs. Where is our devil? (We know where god is.)
LOVE the exaggerated.
LOVE what we are knot, until we are so tangled we cannot escape.
I I I I have got a big new cd, undefined, well-designed. I want to give you a peak this week-end. Maybe 5 or 10, I don't know.
I have final news on the book. There's a date set. Place your bet.
I I I love you all (yes, all) and I hate to see this tower of babble fall. It is just a playground, and the principal will fix the sandbox soon.
Good afternoon,
Da Da Marilyn Manson
Da Da
[posted 5/3/2002 U.S.A.]
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realhankmccoy · 6 months
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Q: Hank, can you respect or listen to the microopinions of people who’ve talked about hoping you die?
A: like Christina and Bro? Absolutely not, for even if all their opinions weren’t the babble of simpleminded idiots, I’m not going to let somebody who talks about hopefully I die sit around like they’re patriarch as the universe as their very Parentally coddled egos see themselves and babble about how they feel about identity politics, race, AI, reblogs, Covid or any other thing. There’s not for a moment I hear anything other than the babble of a white supremacies Nazi-friendly anti-art child in them due to how they’ve repeatedly shown themselves to be this in thought word gravitation and deed, but even if they were capable of adult formulation of adult opinions, you don’t sit and listen to Charles Manson’s opinion on politics or hear out Trump’s thoughts on AI, do you? It’s not like their opinion will ever be rooted in logic and empathy anyhow so they don’t even need to utter it… in almost every instance except the odd passage of xerox or bulllshit, their opinion on adult matters will be memememememememe just like the era of Trump decided it is to me for them. Memememmemememe crossed with some crap that’s convenient for Donald J.
they have no opinions worthy of consideration, I’ve seen not a single one by Christina ever since I saw the truth about her and same with Bro… oh but how seriously they take their opinions! They positively think they’re philosopher kings. Not as seriously as Bruce who’s the worst on thinking he’s king opinionator and director the universe, but certainly way more seriously than any spoiled fucking brat who wishes for death upon others ever would if it hadn’t had parents kiss its ass for year after year after year and pay its bills for it. In Bruce’s case he just is a passionate wacko religious person, but the other two are more whacko formed by patriarchy and parents who treated them as precious gems so it made them stupid and their opinions a fucking dumpster fire that they confidently spew to cover up any insecurities they might have, just like Trump said is The Way.
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Jodorowsky's Dune : Thoughts
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This documentary was a strange but interesting one for me, I found it quite disturbing in a deeper way, not just on the surface like we find with rotting food or a little bit of blood - this interview and his work as well as things jodorowsky spoke about things in this video made me deeply uncomfortable.
He and the other people who are present speaking about the film Dune, to me all appear to be under some kind of under a cult-like trance, as if jodorowsky was some kind of god like being for having “broken the boundaries of film and what we know”. To me, I found him to be a babbling lunatic, someone who has taken too many drugs and thought himself a god for the hallucinations he encountered while in a drug induced high. I can understand and appreciate that this idea and the script he had in mind was ahead of it’s time with Star Wars not being released until a few years after Dune never got published or even made.
But why does this make him a genius? Everyone in the documentary talked about him as if he had to be seen to be believed, that they had never met or seen someone like him before - though everything was telling me that he had just simply created his own cult and they all worshipped him like a Charles Manson kind of figure? He made them move to Paris, try his special drugs that made them “see” his vision of the movie, and all work on the film almost like a family - which almost seems nice and sentimental - though when you listen to how obsessed and infatuated they all are with him and the film it becomes unnerving.
His choice of words were alarming to me throughout the documentary also, his description of how a man is assaulting his bride with love, and using first person in such a way was disgusting to listen to. The imagery of the film and other works was also disturbing, very demonic and evil to mez skinned animals, naked bodies covered in boood, over used of nudity, symbols and strange shots, to me they just depicted madness.
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figuresinthewoods · 1 year
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Babble babble bitch. Nonsense nonsense. Oooo loook, I’m 21, I’m so ominous when I type random shit!
ooooo look I steal Marilyn Manson lyrics ooooo im so FUCKING FUNNY
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I think the most telling thing of all is when i brought up my CSA and he said yeah and so have the other 95% of the female population if you asked them.
Or the fact that i said that for the last 6 months I've wanted nothing sexual to do with anyone and that means I've wanted nothing but a plutonic relationship for the whole 8 years.
Or how someone sent me $200 so i must be fucking around on him so it's totally cool that he had been debating cheating on me for months.
According to him me on the truck was the real me and this is nothing but the resort of psycho babble bs yet even he said issues started years ago so how does that work?
I really don't have any reason to hang around anymore. It was a relationship of convenience according to him. He said he didn't say i never loved him then contradicts himself 20 minutes later.
I get to be a good little house slave and do what I'm told. I hate the fact that i bragged about him stepping up and doing more bbqs. I never cook anymore yet I've cooked all week? You grill a couple times a month and think that's pulling your share?
Guess I'll be moving to the living room. His dog is the asshat the hates everyone so he needs the space more than i.
You can kill yourself now because you're dead in my mind
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headoverhiddles · 4 years
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Portrait era, for the word: protective
Era: Portrait
Prompt: Protective
Words: 150
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"You show me where this prick is!"
Manson paces backstage. Daisy is launching into an extended guitar solo to make up for the fact that their frontman isn't onstage singing Dogma like he should be right now.
"No, just forget it. It was nothing!"
"For what he called you? I should crack the motherfucker's skull."
You tug at his pink feather boa. "Just get back onstage. You're being too protective!"
Not having it, walks you out into the crowd of the small Jacksonville club. He looks around, sees you staring at the asshole who harassed you.
"Hey, dipshit! Guess who?!" The guy sees you, sees your proximity to Manson (who currently looks like a deranged, half naked, sweat-soaked lunatic) and starts to freak out. Thankfully the mosh pit is a good cover for throwing punches. Twiggy looks out into the pit, sees the anarchy, and laughs his ass off.
Request a babble
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captain-emmajones · 3 years
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trying hard to work, but my brain keeps repeating the same sentences from a ghost story i want to write for halloween and like...I GET IT BUT LET ME WORK. Your TIME WILL COME. 
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corwidae · 4 years
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ok i was kind of sad about yoh kamiyama (previously ewe) moving away from vocaloid but Child Beat and ヘルタースケルター fucking SLAP if he keeps making tracks like those i'm not sad in the slightest actually
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boop-le-snoot · 3 years
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more stephen brainrot. correlates with the previous brainrot pieces (but as usual can be read as a standalone), at this point this is a series lol. this is EXPLICIT, featuring one great instance of "inappropriate use of the eye of agamotto" that a nonnie dropped in my ask box some time ago, as well as a whole love confession and my need to validate myself with marilyn manson lyrics.
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got a crush on a pretty pistol, should I tell her I feel this way? // got love songs stuck in my head, killing us away
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Stephen has lust on his fingers and love in his brain. She's all over him, panting, gasping into the scarce space between their mouths where they babble ludicrous sounds of unadulterated bliss back and forth between themselves.
Clear sweat glistens on her chest, the droplets of it sliding down her neck; millilitres of obvious, visible proof Stephen gets under her skin as much as he hungers for her on the daily. He catches the tangy, salty fluid, savours the taste of it on his tongue, sucks on her skin until reds and purples and blues bejewel the arch of her throat and no space on her body is marked safe from his fervour.
It is just so pretty. She is so pretty, all warm and gleaming, depths and valleys of her muscles shadowed soft by the candlelight, tensed where she clings onto his larger, stronger body, chasing the bright bokeh of her upcoming release. It is so close and yet so far, just out of her immediate reach.
The frustrated, mewling sounds spill out of her like bubbly champagne, bittersweet and utterly delicious. Stephen is torn on keeping her on the edge like this forever: pliant, malleable and a little bit delirious. She'd get her revenge eventually, as it is and as it will be, the sweetest sort of torture on his weary, scarret body.
Lips stretched into a grin and her wet bottom lip between his teeth, Stephen easily wrestles her arms over her head, effectively trapping her smaller body under his broad form, taking a second to feel her heels dig into his ass, nestling him deeper, hungrily pushing his hard cock into her swollen cunt.
His cock twitches his approval, resulting in a full-bodied shiver that starts inside her pussy and ends at the roots of her hair. Stephen can feel the goosebumps rise on her heated skin.
The leather of the broken watch on his wrist is damp, slippery between his trembling fingers. It takes several tries to unclasp it; keeping up a glacial pace with his hips, Stephen succeeds in both frustrating her to the point of begging and resetting the Eye of Agamotto to it's default state. It hangs around his neck, settling prettily between her flushed breasts.
The moment of appreciation bleeds into one of impatience. Her curiosity gets the best of her; her eyes crack open, unfocused and blurry with moisture, her voice wobbles on the vowels and grazes on the consonants. "Stephen?" So much incredulity and excitement and trepidation and enthusiasm held in a single word.
"Shh," he calms her worries with a chaste kiss, sitting back on his shins and pulling her along like a perfect sheath to his cock. Just like it is on her nature, she doesn't resist, lips falling open in an obedient moan.
The arch of her waist is as prominent as ever under his large palm; Stephen ignores the jagged scars on his fingers, gripping the side of her body like an antiquity to drag his cock out of her cavern just to immediately push it back in, squelching slick and the tremble of her thighs grounding him in their little corner of passion on this wretched earth.
He feels every spasm, every enticing draw of her cunt. She nurses his cock and it pulls at the strings of his soul and he never, ever wants to leave this moment.
The Eye glows, dousing the room in vivid greens and neon yellows, as the lines between then, there and now blur, pieces of furniture and interior losing their definition and bleeding into each other, into shapeless, formless shadows at the edge of their vision.
Stephen's eyes are focused on her and as she fights for her way to the surface, over the thrashing waves of neverending pleasure, he bares his teeth in a teasing smile, watching her come to a shattering realization. The green light enhances the shadows all around them, betraying her immense need. Curiousity and craving mix, bringing tension to her muscles.
The pace of his hips increases and it culminates in a piercing scream that makes her throat quiver with the force of intensity.
Stephen's grin only grows; as her cunt flutters, squeezes his cock in all the ways that he was told he should watch out for it would be the sweetest, most addictive poison he'd ever have- the brass casing of the Eye turns once and freezes under his fingers before he collapses on top of her, bucking his hips at a wild pace.
Her face is open and vulnerable, bittersweet in all of his thoughts; even before it begins, Stephen regrets the words bubbling out of his mouth and into the soft shell of her ear. Under the influence of the Eye and drunk on lust, his voice coarse, "I love you," Stephen rasps and pleads and feverishly demands reciprocation.
Nowhere close to being good at it, her words are passionately curious, repeating over and over again, swirling in the currents of frozen time and space. "Love you too, love you too," they barely break the whisper barrier. It's not a doubt but rather a new discovery, the sweetness of novelty and promise of everlasting comfort and understanding neither of them have really known before.
The world rocks around them like a canoe caught on tidal waves, they lazily lick at the shore, slowly but steadily overtaking Stephen's control and pulling them deeper into the ocean where a whirlpool of staggering extasy threatens to blur the lines between time and space and the universe. It is inevitable.
Stephen's fingers release the Eye, kick-starting the rapid movement of spheres with a sound click; borrowed minutes that had kept them both on the brink of release feel like centuries. They crash upon the both of them, a shared scream starting around their solar plexus, all their chakras activated and burning from the temporal anomaly.
It's not an orgasm, it's ascension. Their bodies morph into one for a second - at least, it feels like it, because the souls are much wiser than their brains and the flesh is weak, but nothing, nothing holds against pure, unadulterated need. She inhales his devotion and exhales her own; he drinks in her adoration right back up, not wasting a single breath.
Wet, hot and messy. Loud, like love. Various items fall and clatter as the temporal anomaly around them finally recedes, a few final tremors shaking the bed on which their bodies are still interwoven, burning, hearts beating in sync in a wild race to hurry and show their proof of allegiance to each other.
Her chuckle is breathless. For all that she is buried under him, damp hair sticking to his chest and slick with sweat, the joy is infectious. Stephen's responding scatter of kisses all over her face is nothing short than smitten.
"I love you."
"I love you more," she responds immediately, not putting up a fight, just staying true to herself.
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ao3feed-brucewayne · 1 year
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Lock The Last Open Door
by AKelaNakamura
Amity Park doesn't exist. That's the official line.
On the surface, it would appear that Amity Park truly didn't exist. But the more Batman digs, the less true that seems. You add the fact that there's an unconscious teenager in the Batcave's Medbay that begged for his help and Batman smells a coverup. Amity Park may not exist on paper, but Batman won't let that stop him from saving it.
Tucker's on his last legs. The escape out of Amity took everything he had and of all the places to land in, he finds himself in Gotham. Through a bit of creative hacking and desperation, he manages to find the reclusive Batman, only to babble about needing help and passing out at the man's feet. He just has to convince Batman that ghosts exist and that his entire town is in danger. Easy, right?
Words: 2703, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Danny Phantom, Batman - All Media Types
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Categories: Gen
Characters: Danny Fenton, Sam Manson, Tucker Foley, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Batfamily Members, Jack Fenton, Maddie Fenton, Jazz Fenton
Relationships: Danny Fenton & Tucker Foley & Sam Manson, Batfamily Members & Tucker Foley
Additional Tags: Amity Park Under Siege, Ghost Investigation Ward - Freeform, GIW, Guys in White - Freeform, Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, The Author Regrets Nothing, Halfa Jason Todd, Amity Park Doesn't Exist, ALLEGEDLY, Dc x dp, DP X DC, no beta we die like jason todd, Protective Batfamily (DCU), Tucker escapes an Amity Park under Seige, And gets Batman's attention, And now Batman is trying not adopt another child, This will probably read like Eternal Trio so go wild, I'll add more tags as things Escalate, Danny's in trouble, Amity Park is Liminal
source https://archiveofourown.org/works/44210827
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fureliselost · 3 years
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GUYS, NANA IDA MANSON FUCKING KNEW ABOUT DANNY!
She caught Sam sneaking out and said "Who knows? Maybe I'm old and babbling... Or maybe you should sneak out and help your friend while I'm lost in my memories."
WHAT ELSE WOULD SHE BE REFERRING TOO?
NEW HEADCANON DROPPED: NANA MANSON IS THEIR RELIABLE ADULT!
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acesymmetricfool · 2 years
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12 Days of Ficmas Day 2: Peppermint
Ao3 link!
-----ooo---OOO---ooo-----
The smell of the Manson’s kitchen wafted through the open window despite the December chill. Though the location might change over the years, from her childhood home with her own grandmother, to her cozy first home with her late husband, to the lavish mansion she lived in with her family now, Ida Manson was always in the kitchen in December more often than not.
Hanukkah was at an end, but Amity Park celebrated Christmas and she could never resist baking things for her family and friends no matter what they practiced.
For the third time in two weeks, babka was baking in the oven. One was cinnamon, warm and spiced like her grandmother had taught her to make all those years ago. The second one was chocolate, rich and swirled for her granddaughter’s sweet tooth. Of course two babka could hardly curb that appetite.
Christmas marketing was mainstream and every time she went to the grocery store, it was impossible not to notice the displays covered in ingredients and blown up photos of their featured recipes. Even the kosher section had an end-cap featuring reindeer cookies.
Ida wasn’t immune to charm and she did love peppermint anyway...
As a result of the combined obligation to fill her granddaughter with sugar and the temptations filling the aisles, Ida was busy.
Donuts were rolled out and shaped all over one of the marble counters waiting to go in the oil currently heating on the stove in a good heavy pot instead of the new-fangled digital deep fryers they had two of for some reason. Once those were cooked and cooled they would get stuffed full of custard and rolled in chocolate curls or iced and dotted with crushed candy canes.
Ida had just pulled out the peppermint brownies that would be slathered in cream cheese frosting and more of those little white and red specks of holiday cheer.
Lastly, one of her favorite things, the mighty slabs of chocolate bark that took up the entire kitchen island were ready to break. Parchment paper lined almost the entire 80x40 inch marble surface and was generously coated in dark chocolate. She had planned ahead, then deviated from the plan, and the four quadrants of barely separated chocolate "rectangles" were studded with fixings. They were embedded with candied orange peel (homemade of course), finely chopped dried fruit, roasted nuts, pretzels, precarious drizzles of white chocolate, and of course, a generous section was covered in peppermint candy.
The smell of everything mingled in the air and poured onto the street all day. People slowed and hummed pleasantly as they walked down the sidewalk all bundled up now warmed from the inside. If the scent didn’t make them stop, this next part might.
With a heft and a mighty cry, Ida Manson lifted one of the large chocolate slabs and slammed it onto the counter where it shattered.
CRACK
The sound was deafening and sudden, but then it was over. She smiled at the varying sizes of chocolate bark then reached out to take another slab in her hands.
“Hello!? Is everything- oh.”
Ida looked up and there, sticking his head through the window of her massive kitchen, was the ghost boy of Amity Park. His name was Danny.
“Ah, you could smell it couldn’t ya?” she grinned at him waving the second slab in the air.
He floated in more and more until only his foot was sticking out into the December air and he didn’t even seem to notice.
“I actually-”
CRACK
Ida slammed the second piece of chocolate down and bits of decadence went flying.
“I was coming to investigate but now I know that noise wasn’t a noise , but a wonderful sound .” he blinked at her then put a gloved hand on the back of his neck nervously before starting to babble.
“What I meant to say was like… Ya know, a sound is good while a noise is bad or potentially dangerous and the connotations are different so like if the noise was someone getting hurt that was bad but you were just making chocolate and.. chocolate is… is good.” A little pink tinted his cheek as he started to float away.
He looked tired. His hair was a bit unruly, his shoulders were tense, this boy looked sad.
His butt was just about out the window when Ida brushed her hands on her stained apron.
“You’re right about that. Now why don’t you come down here and have some, deary?”
Green eyes blinked at her owlishly. Obviously he wasn’t used to being offered anything even though he was just a kid caught in the cold.
“I-I really can’t, I-”
“Pish posh. Now come choose a piece, I’ve got plenty.”
“I don’t eat. I’m a ghost.” she could have believed him if it weren’t for his voice or his face or the way his hands moved.
“You’ve got a mouth, don't ya?”
Danny seemed stunned for a second then came inside seemingly dragging some of the outside with him. It grew colder as he very slowly flew down to her level instead of flying above her. Perhaps it was a sign of respect, perhaps for just a moment he was forgetting he was supposed to have all these superpowers.
“Thank you.” he said politely and Ida beamed as she gestured at the broken pieces. Some of the shards were no bigger than a nickel while others mirrored her handbag. It was to be expected, but it was fun to look at all the different bits.
Danny reached forward and picked up the tiniest piece that had a tiny speck of peanut dust on it and she slapped it out of his hand.
He drew his hand to his chest in surprise, betrayal just barely starting to color his expression when she pointed again.
“You pick a proper piece. Do you know how hard it is to work hard when you’re my age? This is art! You wouldn’t do that to a poor old lady now would you? Take a lackluster piece as if I had microwaved a Hershey bar and spilled it.” she shook her head and started pawing through the pieces on her side of the table.
He blinked at her processing the words then nodded. Obediently, he reached out and carefully selected a piece with a healthy amount of peppermint. He looked to her for approval and when Ida took a bite out of her own piece, he took an experimental bite.
Green eyes widened.
“This is delicious.”
“I know. Have some more.”
There were no arguments or attempts at being polite as the kid snapped off piece after piece with his teeth and ate the entire thing. The whole time he stole glances as if she would slap it out of his hand again remembering he was supposed to be a ghost or something. She smiled and he twitched his gloved fingers like he would lick them if she wasn’t watching.
“Um… thank you. I’ll let you-”
“Did you like it? Best you ever had, eh?” she did lick her fingers for crumbs.
Danny’s mouth twitched like he would smile before the expression fell and he answered honestly.
“I never had it before. My folks aren’t good cooks. And they especially don’t cook Christmas stuff.”
Ida smiled at him.
“Tell ‘em it’s not too late. It may say Christmas on the tin but it’s good stuff year round. Especially when you get to share.”
He nodded but she could tell he would not be passing the message along.
“Thanks again for the chocolate.”
“Of course. I’m glad you got to try it. Busy night?” Ida leaned on the counter resting her body against the stone.
“Not really. Pretty slow this time of year with the Truce and all.”
Ah, that would explain a lot.
“Good.” she slapped the table and the poor boy jumped in his seat in the air.
“Here. Help a helpless old woman break up her bark?” she pouted at him with an exaggerated lip. After a long moment, that finally got a little smile out of the boy.
“Yes ma’am.”
“None of that nonsense, Danny, you call me Grandma Ida.”
His face blanked with shock and his eyes, so expressive, grew large.
“I’m Phantom .” he said with his lying voice, face, and hands.
She grinned but innocently lilted her voice.
“Danny Phantom. That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”
Danny relaxed a bit and she turned back to the island.
“Now come on, we don’t have all night to do this part. That oil is gonna start screaming soon and I’ll show you how to fry donuts.”
“Yes Grandma Ida.” The boy said picking up a large piece.
“And lemme tell you, if you ever wanna make this, it isn’t actually art. This stuff is stupid easy to make. I’ll walk you through everything then you can make it any time you want.”
Danny smiled back.
“It probably wouldn’t be as good.”
“Darn tootin’ it wouldn’t be as good! But it’ll tide you over until you get your scrawny behind back here for more!”
That smile he gave was bright and wonderful.
“Yes Grandma Ida.”
“Good boy. Now slam that down and we’ll get to work.”
CRACK
-----ooo---OOO---ooo-----
Do not expect this length for the rest this one just spoke to me. Thanks Grandma Ida!
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oh-for-fic-sake · 3 years
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New tag game game!
Select some song lyrics that describe your blog and tag others as many or little as you want!
'Babble babble, bitch bitch, rebel rebel, party party sex sex sex and dont forget the violence'
No pressure tags: @littlefreya @nuggsmum @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @viking-raider @hisangelicdemon (leaving it here so you all got people to tag 😅)
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daily-dimitrescufam · 3 years
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forhead tattoos? gothic clothes? well if the girls ever get sick of.... doing vampire things.... there’s always a career in soundcloud rapping!
Alcina : Don't give them any ideas. They're already edgy enough.
Heisenberg : They listen to Marilyn Manson. A lot. You can hear it in the whole castle.
Alcina : Yes, because you bought them these... human sound amplifier.
Daniela : *from somewhere in the castle* BABBLE BABBLE BITCH BITCH
Alcina : ... See what you've done ?
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