#Chromeskull: Laid to Rest 2

[evilvvithin]

CHROMESKULL: LAID TO REST 2 robert hall, 2011

[thesightstoshowyou]

💀 Chromeskull/Jesse Cromeans Masterlist

🔺🔻🔺🔻

Big Bad Wolf (NSFW)

Fur Rug (NSFW) (noncon)

Birthday BJ (NSFW)

Jesse Teaching You to Dance

Ice & Handcuffs (NSFW) (w/ Asa)

Timing is Everything (NSFW) (w/ Asa)

Stockholm Syndrome (NSFW)

I’ll Be Good (NSFW) (noncon)

White Wedding (NSFW)

Correction (NSFW) (w/ Asa)

Trip Wire (NSFW) (noncon)

Stand in the Light

Sight-Seeing

NSFW Short

Cooking with Chromeskull

[noxturnals-void]

WHY DID I JUST FIND OUT NICK PRINCIPE (guy who plays Jesse Cromeans aka Chromeskull) IS MAKING A COMIC BOOK SERIES TO FOLLOW THE SECOND MOVIE?????

THAT LOOKS SO FCKING COOL OMG!!!

[fanofspooky]

Scream Queen - Danielle Harris

[spoopieere]

New Year’s first post. Have fun ppl <3 (idk why but Tumblr keeps fucking the quality up)

The Collector & ChromeSkull Tamagotchis :3

Arkin - Asa: 🔒 🕷

Preston- Jesse: 🍷 💀

[unknownmelodies]

Jesse cromeans has a 20 step hair care routine for his bald head to make it extra shiny (probably enough to blind someone)

Thats it, thats the post.

[darknessbambi]

such an overlooked and underrated scene

[fredbydawn]

Actually, one more thing I’ll say about Chromeskull, when I saw the final scene I was like “wait, I think I’ve seen this as a gif before” and realized that I’ve definitely seen cishet daddy dom blogs use bits of that scene as like their icon/blog header/whatev

Which, like, yeah this looks cool, but in context… this really the guy you wanna be relating to? Mr Necrofucker McMeltyface? To each their own I suppose

[shedontsmelltoogooddarious]

ChromeskullxOC (SMUT)

Shameless self indulgent first time writing actual smut between my OC, an eldritch mafia boss and Chromeskull from Laid To Rest. Two bad rich older men sdhdhdhd

(Black is trans)

He picked the most upscale club in town to discuss business with his partner, within a private room, drinks going in and out as Ivanov barely paid attention, his wallet was too fat to care. He lit another cigarette, offering one to the man sitting across from himself. He took it, his mangled face lowering to light it- barely acknowledging the desperation bursting through the mafia boss’s seems. “So tell me, are those girls beneath your knife satisfying you enough?” 

Black purred, prompting Jesse to look up, his hands suddenly going into motion; “Very much so, thank you for asking.” He signed, before smirking- knowingly at the face of danger. If he wanted, Black could snap the experienced serial killer like a twig. 

“Nice to know that our rendezvous meant nothing to you, but I guess we’re here to strictly discuss business.” 

He poured himself another drink, taking a swig before slamming it down to the table. “Preston emailed me about you needing another place to “play”, I supposed I could allow you to have free reign on one of my properties in the city- but why should I give you that privilege?” 

“Because you still want to fuck me.” 

Jesse signed once more, before taking a drag off his cigarette, smoke whisping out of the holes where his nose should have been. A low growl could be heard, his human form slipping. But Jesse remained nonchalant, ignoring it like his former lover ignored him when his face melted off. 

Muffled techno music could be heard, filling in the silence between both men. “You’re right, and I always get what I want when I want,” 

His hand shot across the table between them as he grabbed Jesse’s shirt, ripping expensive silk in the process as his lips feverishly collided with his ex’s. Instead of fighting back, he allowed it- his long, boney fingers entwining with Ivanov’s black hair. The don was expanding, sickly popping and crunching sounds being heard as he contorted into his true, monstrous form. Tendrils wrapped around Jesse’s legs, parting them, the sharp blade of a knife suddenly against Black’s throat. 

“No.” An electronic voice commanded, the blade biting into his skin- right above his jugulars. Don Ivanonov was shoved down to the floor, a human dominating a monster, a predator of his species. He undid his belt buckle, his cock throbbing out as it was erect. Jesse’s free hand traveled down to Black’s pants, undoing them to reveal a familiar sight, his fervid pussy already seeping. His face flushed in embarrassment as he turned his head away, forgetting the blade held to his throat before feeling sharp pain as Jesse shoved it deeper. 

“You’re so pathetic- look at me!” He growled, before his black leather glove hand grabbed his bottom jaw and forced him to look into his mangled face. “You’re mine- you’ve always been mine.” 

WIthout warning, his member slid inside Black’s warm insides as he needily thrusted into him. How long has it been since he last was inside one of the most notoriously dangerous dons in this city? Too long. The knife against Black’s throat trailed down to his own dress shirt, cutting it open as the blade slid across his skin, causing inky black blood to bead out against his pale white skin. 

The thrusting gradually turned to a steady pace, syncing with the rhythm of the music outside, stretching Black’s insides out as his claws dug deep into the tiled flooring, leaving deep grooves behind. Jesse lifted his partner’s hips up, gripping his large thighs tightly, shoving himself deeper yet. “I’ve heard you’re whoring yourself out in this city- tell me, what happened to your playthings Ivanov?”

Jesse growled, sparing no mercy for Black as he continued, going faster with the tempo. Black gritted his teeth, his pride now in shambles as he was drunk on pleasure and pain. 

“Answer me!” His fingers dug deeper, Black’s tendrils going limp. 

“You killed them.” He moaned, recoiling in disgust internally. 

Jesse grinned, going slower with the tempo change, but still keeping a firm hold on the man larger than himself. His cock throbbed, he knew he was about to come soon- but he wanted to keep going, to reclaim what was his and his alone. “You’ve been fucking around with my toys as well, you can’t share can you? You’re a greedy old bastard.” 

He was about to come too, his legs shaking- insides clenching around Jesse’s cock. They squeezed, kneading against him. He needed more. His claws found themselves in Jesse’s shoulders, gripping for dear life as his lips once more collided with the human’s, but this time his sharp teeth were prominent. He bit down on Jesse’s lower lip, instantly drawing blood, savoring the familiar taste. “You’re like a damn drug.” Black snarled, 

Jesse was unable to hold it back any longer, his back arching as he came into Black, his hot seed spilling deep inside. As if on cue, Black too came, his name sake’s goo spilling out as it leaked from every orifice, mixing with his partner’s crimson red blood. Black made an attempt to pull away, but his partner had other ideas. He locked in his grip, coming again into Black before thrusting once more. 

“What are you-” 

“I want you pregnant.” 

A new track was placed down, faster and harder.

[lowkeyclowning]

Hehe little dumb thing I threw together based on this old doodle here, he needed the picture of his interest (victim)

[evilvvithin]

CHROMESKULL: LAID TO REST 2 robert hall, 2011

[thesightstoshowyou]

Trip Wire

Jesse Cromeans/Chromeskull x AFAB Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Noncon, violence, blood, arm trauma, heavy gore, sadism, torture, needle mention, blood as lube, cum in wounds, traumatic amputation. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

~~

Crickets chirp and nightingales call, but you don’t hear them, not over the way your frenzied breaths spill from your mouth and your heart pumps adrenaline through your ears. You sprint through the open field, tall grass whipping against your thighs as you fly past. A tiny sliver of moon barely lights your path, giving you just enough light to navigate through the brush.

You chance a look over your shoulder, racing heart leaping in your throat when the chrome skull mask glints in the moonlight and casts a threatening sheen on the serrated blades clutched in his gloved hands.

Up ahead, a grouping of trees. Maybe you can hide, catch your breath—

You hit the ground so hard you bounce, roll, tumble head over heels until you skid to a stop in a twisted, dusty heap. Pain follows, blinding agony in your left arm, throbbing in your hip, sharp pinpoints scattered across your skin.

Wild eyes rake over your body and take stock of your hurt limb, bent at an unnatural angle, bloody bone tip protruding from the flesh of your forearm. Broken.

Fuck, fuck….

What had tripped you up?

Squinting, you see it: A stretch of barbed wire is twisted around your legs, your hips, your arm, your shoulder. Blood, black in the moonlight, drips and spills onto the flattened grass as the barbs dig into your flesh. It must have caught your shoe as you’d sprinted past and wrapped itself around your body as you rolled.

What are the fucking odds…?

You do your best to quiet your agonized cry when your arm throbs, pulses in anguish. Instead, the sound leaves your mouth as a pathetic whine you must silence immediately as—

Crunch, crunch, crunch….

Unhurried footsteps stalk toward your immobilized form, shining skull mask coming into view over the top of the grass. The hulking man pauses near your feet, squats, tips his head to the side. You watch with teary eyes as his shoulders bob in silent laughter.

He shakes his masked head, lays his blades in the grass, and produces a cell phone from his pocket. Pushing a button on the camera mounted on his shoulder, a little red light blinks to life as the man types out a message on the phone in his hands.

‘I couldn’t have done better if I’d tried, piggy.’

You wince when the phone shrieks at you, screaming women’s voices taunting you with their message. Quickly, you shake your head, try to crawl away only for the barbs to catch in your skin and tug. Rancid pain tears a shriek from your throat, a sound that tapers into a whimper. You’re mocked with more silent laughter.

“S-Stop this, stop…” you plead, tears spilling over your lashes. The man’s gloved hand darts out, grips you face, angles your head so you’re looking right into the camera. He squishes your cheeks until your lips purse, tauntingly wiggling your head back and forth.

With his free hand, he retrieves one of the knives at his feet. A squeak and a cry sneak from your squashed mouth, more tears carving wet trails down your face and dripping onto his glove.

Slow and measured, like he wants you to see his every move, he shifts, lifts a heavy boot, presses the toe down on the wrist of your broken arm to pin it to the grass. Night birds take flight, startled from their trees by your piercing screams. Agony—sharp, feverish, nauseating—wracks your injured limb.

Steel glints as the knife is raised, lowered, the point set against the mangled skin near protruding bone. The man pushes, knife tip sinking into the wound. Your howling reaches a fever pitch, legs thrashing, heedless of your injury. You must get away, get him away, stop this torment at any cost—

Your face is released so the man can dig his fingers into the wound, peel back oozing sinew, expose more bone. Crimson splatters the front of his mask and your eyes roll back into your head, unconsciousness giving you a brief respite.

Pat, pat, pat.

Your eyelids flutter, a hoarse groan burning your sore throat. Your teeth clench when pain explodes along your arm again, like someone turning the volume from 0 to 100 all at once. You flinch as the man repeatedly smacks your cheek until you crack your eyes open.

Glowing light momentarily blinds you when his cell phone is shoved in your face. Squinting, you read, ‘Ask nice and I’ll make it feel all better, piglet.”

Choking on a sob, you don’t hesitate. “P-Please, PLEASE make it stop, please—

More silent chuckling as the man reaches into his suit jacket and produces a needle and syringe filled halfway with clear liquid. Jesus, what could that be?

Anything is better than what he’s currently doing to you.

Probably….

You wheeze, hiss when he lifts his boot off your wrist. You barely feel the needle as it’s inserted into a vein in your hand. Numbness spreads through your limb, medication following the path of your blood stream until all you feel is a dull pulsing.

You can hardly believe it. “Thank…thank you,” you stammer, wondering why the hell you’re expressing appreciation to the man who did this to you in the first place. He gives you another condescending pat, pat to you cheek, tosses his blade back into the grass, and grips your waist with two large hands.

The rest of your injured body protests and you shriek as he lifts you, flips you onto your front, hoists your hips in the air. Your torn pants are ripped down to your knees and a new wave of terror surges through you.

“N-NO, nonono please, no—

The man in the mask shoves your face into the dirt, effortlessly holding you in place. There’s no fighting him, no strength in any part of you that could match even the force of his arm. This is happening, it’s coming, there’s nothing you can do….

Rustling of clothing behind you heralds the noisy slap of a hot, hard cock against your ass. Trembling, uselessly begging, you tense when the thick head prods your entrance. He pushes, feels resistance, pulls back.

There’s a muffled, irritable huff and two gloved digits dip into your still-seeping arm wound, wetting themselves in scarlet. Slick clicking reaches your ears—he’s stroking himself, oh god, he’s using your blood—and the slippery cock head returns to your hole.

This time when he pushes, he sinks into tight muscles. Your jaw falls open, a pained grunt sounding in your throat as your speared open and stuffed full. The man releases a haggard exhale behind his mask before snapping his hips forward.

You cry out, the sound tight and constricted as your lungs fight for air, but you think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. The cock deep in your guts prevents you from taking a full breath. Worse, every harsh thrust grinds your cheek into the grass and pulls taut the wire wrapped around your frame. Rusty barbs stab into sensitive flesh over and over until you’re shredding your throat with screams once again.

The pace of his hips doesn’t falter as he reaches for his cell. The tap, tap, tap of the keys sounds behind you and you hear the shouted message, ‘Every time you scream your pussy gets tighter.’ Sobbing, you claw fruitlessly at the grass with your good arm.

Tap, tap, tap,

‘You’re right, crying is better.’

He leans down over you then, cold chrome coming to rest against your tear stained cheek, the warmth of his body enveloping your back. He’s listening to your blubbering, you realize. You can hear his own labored breathing this close, feel him so, so deep in your cunt when he bucks his hips and ruts into you.

You hate how weirdly intimate it is, how this man who has tortured you can so easily force himself on you so tenderly. You hate it even more when your body responds, a sweet little mewl falling from your quivering lips.

With a grunt, your assailant pulls away, rips his cock from your slit, furiously pumps his length, his glove still slick with your blood. Hastily, he moves to your left, hovers over your broken limb. You can only watch in horror as he cums with a wheeze, thick ropes of white painting your mangled wound. He…he just….

Sighing contentedly, shoulders shrugging, he stands and tucks himself away. He straightens his jacket, fixes a ruffled sleeve, and peers down at you. You can only stare up at him, eyes glazed, heart fluttering against your ribs like a panicking bird. Around you, the wind rustles the tall grasses, tree branches creaking in the chilly breeze.

You feel it when he brings his heavy boot down on your fracture. Every creature around for miles must hear your anguish. He stomps, stomps again, bones crunching under his heel. Two gloved hands take hold of your wrist. He leans back, jerks, pulls, twists. Sickening ripping, tearing of flesh, snapping of tendons, squelching of blood and the man stands, your forearm clutched in his palms.

He slings your severed limb over a shoulder, like one would a shovel after a long day of digging in the dirt. At his feet, you wail, voice gone hoarse from all your racket. No medication could dull this agony.

Retrieving his phone once more, he types up another message. You can barely see it through tears, drooping eyelids, growing darkness at the edges of your vision.

‘Get up, little piggy. I’ve got a coffin waiting with your name on it.

‘.…need a hand? lol’

[noxturnals-void]

Rewatched Laid to Rest 1 + 2 and OMG

My Roman Empire is how comical he is while being the most diabolical, ruthless serial killer

HIS BODY LANGUAGE IS SO FCKING HILARIOUS

LIKE—WHY IS HIS SENSE OF HUMOR SO DAMN GOOD??!???! HE HAS NO RIGHT BEING FUNNY AND SCARY

I love how even completely mute, he gets his emotions/mood/intentions across so clearly.

Send help— I’m about to be obsessed with his character all over again 😩😩😩😩💖💖☠️☠️

[slasherbish]

Woods (Jesse Cromeans x fem reader)

author note Please let me know if you'd like a gender neutral pronoun version.

Part 1

Why you? Was all that ran through your mind as trees blurred by. ‘I’m a good person, so why me?’ You mentally asked yourself as dried leaves and twigs snapped and crunched under your feet. Your mind wandered back to how this all started. 

Feeling confident in full makeup and glam you walked down an alleyway. For the first time in a few weeks you had managed to drag your depressed butt out of bed and into actual clothes. The lights in the alley buzzed casting a yellowish tint onto the womans self. She smiled to herself feeling like a small victory had been won tonight. Glee bubbled up in her chest as she thought back to the few drinks she had with friends at the club. Nothing could possibly ruin this night, she thought. Not a heartbeat later the woman was snatched from the alley by a large man in a black suit and chrome skull mask. She barely had time to scream as the world went black. 

Sometime later she came to, in what felt like a coffin. You weren’t about to go down without a fight so you began to scream and hit and kick at the wood in front of you. After a few moments you stopped and listened to the surroundings. The coffin was stood up and opened and you came out swinging. You punched a man with short black hair and what could only be described as an annoying face. A sickening crack came from his nose and he doubled over. “You fucken bitch” Preston yelled holding his now broken nose. You took the moment of confusion by your captures and booked it past them.  And now you’re here.

The tall man clad in a black suit topped off with a camera on his shoulder chased her relentlessly. Your only saving grace was that you were slightly faster and slightly more agile. Your lungs burned but you couldn’t stop. If you stop you die. You knew that and so you kept running. He had to admit that he was a little impressed, likening you to a gazelle or deer in his mind. Not many piggies could keep pace, much less out run the large killer. 

A second glimmer of hope appeared in the distance. It came in the form of a rickety old wood and rope bridge. You thought that surely a man of his stature wouldn’t dare to cross a bridge that fragile looking. The chasm it covered was deep. Deep enough that a human could not survive the fall. The advantage was in your court. You were nowhere as heavy as the chrome masked man that had been chasing you for the last couple hours, or at least what felt like hours. 

Your feet flew over the wooden boards only slightly slowing down. The smile that had painted itself on your face fell as the sound of the killers thudding foot steps on wooden boards reached your ears. Your feet landed on solid ground and you were going to milk that since he was still slowed down from the bridge. You could easily get a huge lead on the man. 

Moments later she stopped in her tracks. The sound of a wooden board snapping and a startled grunt made you curse under your breath. ‘Had he fallen all the way down.’  You thought ‘Wait, no’ You realize there was no splat. No thud of a body against cold hard ground. After what felt like an eternity she looked behind her. There she saw one of the mans hands holding on to the crumbling dirt ledge for dear life. ‘He must be able to pull himself up, who isn’t he using his other hand?’ You thought as you stared at the hand. ‘What should I do?’

            ‘I’m a good person’

[spoopieere]

Preston and Jesse as cats and being in love ig.

(I pray for the ppl who have never seen the original material these two came from)