#ic reverb

[carouselofmusess]

@townofcadence from here

Francois offers Reverb only the most unimpressed of looks. "Rest assured, the feeling is entirely mutual." His voice is flatter than even the lowest notes in the song now drifting from the speakers above. The audio crackled, low quality. Amateurs. "In the wildest of my imaginations, our mutual friend and his proclivities to the impulsive would have been the culprit. Not some..... fan club, of yours."

His lip curls distastefully, as he leans back against the wall. His hand finds his pocket and comes back with a cigarette, which is then lit with a snap of his fingers and tucked in-between his lips. He takes a long drag, and lets it out slow. "First off-- I don't do friends. Just a waste of energy and a liability at best."

He pushes himself back up then, stalking along the outer edges of the room as he runs his hand along the walls. "Swear I thought all of these idiots were dead, though..." He grumbles to himself. "Just hope they don't end up trying to sacrifice you." He gives the other a sideways glance, looking him up and down. "You're so fucking scrawny you probably couldn't fight off a cultist if your life depended on it." He snorts.

[carouselofmusess]

There's a slight eye-twitch, followed by the heavy crossing of arms over his chest. "What, are you really so stupid that you thought you'd never meet anyone who watches your videos? Tch-" Reverb rolls his eyes. "They're popular I guess. And the videos you make aren't the worst, unlike the ones you do with that one idiot. They probably couldn't even find a tree in a forest, if they don't believe in the supernatural." The last bit was spoken in a highly mocking tone.

"And stop fucking pacing around so much."

Jace's hands are pratically flapping. "Wow.... I met someone who watches my videos today. I-- didn't think that'd happen ever? But they were really supportive! They even offered a few places I should check out, too! This is-- oh man, oh man." He moved in a circle, pacing. "How do people even do this? I mean-- I'm just kinda a potato?? And someone likes my work?? AAA."

[super-haven]

Isaac Brock on Reverb: First-Time Look at Ice Cream Party Studios

[burnittdown]

@gunslinginnhogtyin from here

At the insult, Butch’s expression remains relatively neutral and he pauses to look behind himself, around himself, and even under his boot before his sights return to the stranger, eyes squinting ever so slightly in annoyance.

“Who th’ hell’re ya talkin’ to? ‘Cause I know fer damn sure it ain’t me. Try again.”

Reverb's eye twitches, ever so slightly, at the stupid display. "Oh I don't know, maybe the only one here who looks like he's a few weeks too late for Halloween, and a lot of years too old to be playing dress up." A hand places on his hip, and he looks Butch up and down with nothing but pure vitriol.

"Honestly half-breed, do you even own any other clothes? I've never seen you wear anything else."

[carouselofmusess]

Eyes roll, and almost instantly Reverb regrets not just leaving. This one seems like it's going to be annoying at best. His posture straightens back up from its hunch, relaxes, and his axe swings back-- to rest on his shoulder. His free hand sits heavy on his hip. "I don't actually give a fuck what you go by, what do you want?" His voice is laced with agitation.

He can't help but to think, though. Annoying creatures like this usually knew about what went on in the areas they roamed. Maybe it would be good to ask... The thought turns to ash quickly though, ignited by agitation that presents itself in a scowl on his face and a small twitch of his eye. "Don't call me that." He orders. "I'm not from here but I don't plan on sticking around much longer. I doubt this dump has what im looking for."

@ryouscared || from { x }

His lips twitched, delight filling his chest from the look sent his way. The warrior giggled, not yet shifting from a silhouette to the physical world. "A grumpy one, I see," he hummed, the shadow across the wall stretching its arms over its head. "That's not too bad I suppose." The occupant inside his chest was slumbering for now, sated.

Joy, now he could have fun.

"I go by many names, you can select either Macaque or Lugu if you'd like."

He shifted up the wall, visage stretching across horizontally. "But that's not important for the moment. Are you lost, Spitfire?" He lifted a claw to tap at his chin, head tilting. "I mean, of course you are, you smell quite different than a normal occupant."

[cloud-iceshadow]

How bad can he possibly be?

[ambrosia-win3]

continued from here. @viviskull

“I’m not that poisonous, jackass.”  Says a dismembered rotting hand hanging onto the shoulder of the gang’s newest house guest.  Goddamn, this thing could be so annoying.  It wasn’t like his finger teeth even went that deep into their arm.  With an irritated growl, he gives the other a light smack against their shoulder blade with the back of his borrowed palm.  “It’s not my fault you feel like shit.”

"Says you, fucker. For all I know you could be trying to possess me!"

The gem locket around her neck faintly flashed a ruby glow. Watch it, demon.

Riley violently shook her arm, trying to knock the possessed arm off of her like a bull kicking off it's rider. But it seemed it wasn't coming off anytime soon, no matter how hard she tried. With a resigned sigh, she resorted to smacking it back, right at the elbow with a look of disgust.

"Do you have nothing better to do than torment the people of this house, or what?"

[mendingmusic]

cash cobain, bay swag & ice spice - fisherrr (remix) (slowed + reverb)

[ithisatanytime]

(nvr nvmbr (slow / reverb / sped))

[dinomites]

You know!! She is going to start taking the Mersault route of stopping distortions! Knocking the lights out of them!

Do you not understand how many problems could have been solved if Roland punted Philp so hard that he was knocked out- and maybe if the piano guy just... got hit with a glass bottle?

[carouselofmusess]

🔥// (Reverb of course)

It's been a long time since he's seen her. The last memories he has are... hazy, admittedly, but he remembers the feelings; the blood, the sensation of axe cleaving limb from body. He remembers her dragging herself back through one of her stupid gates, and that was the last time he had seen her. The feelings he wrestled with then were complicated but they weren't now, now he was just angry. Wasn't that easier?

He notices her immediately and something within him flares, fiery hair pluming upwards. Without thinking he marches over, heels digging into earth with each hard stomp, and the cigarette in his teeth is snatched, pressing into her skin with as much force as it'll handle without falling apart in his claws. "Why the fuck are you here?!" Seems Reverb wasn't aware she had found their new address.

[townofcadence]

Arms wrap around Artair tight from behind, around his torso but leaving his own arms free. The heat would suggest Reverb, but he feels a bit more cool than he normally does. Without a word, he pressed his face to Artair's back, right in between his shoulder blades.

Artair feels the pressure behind him, but he knows the heat isn't what it should be. He frowns, just a little. "....Reverb?" He'd know those spiked cuffs anywhere, even the height and the green and the pressure of two horns right at the top of his brow where his face pressed into his back. He stands there for now, accepting his fate as the support pillar Reverb is leaning into, in his silence. "....Are you okay...? You can just nod, if you don't want to talk."

[dawnwriterimagines]

Traitors Among Us

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x Fem!Reader Task Force 141 x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

PART 2

Part Three: The Guilty Plea

Part Four: The Verdict Due

Summary: You're a rat, a traitor. At least that's what Task Force 141 believes due to the evidence and claims scattered against you. It doesn't matter what you say, everyone's against you, ready to end you for it...until the truth comes out.

Warning(s): Torture, Heavy Angst, etc.

If you liked this would you Buy my a Coffee?

---

Drip.

Drip..

Drip...

Your shoulders seize up involuntarily as freezing droplets continue to hit your skin, eyes squeezed shut to try to ignore the sound that had been going on for who knows how long.

Another drop of water hits your spine from the faucet placed above you, it's cold as it runs down your bare skin. It feels like ice. Hitting the same spot over and over and over...

Drip...

Not even able to take a deep breath, you release a strained cry, it can hardly leave you, not that you hadn't cried enough already. You could feel the dried blood, tears and snot still on your face and a testament to your torment. You haven't been able to get the metallic taste of your blood of of your mouth since you got in here.

You breathe slowly, trying to relieve the pain in your chest. Body positioned downwards, chest pressed down to your knees, a leather buckle holds you down and over a metal stool. Wrists torn open by old shackles and stretched upwards to connect to the steel pipe in the middle of the room.

The stress position had been Johnny's idea, putting you in it to begin with. The bastard...

Kyle had been in and out to collaborate with Price on the interrogation, he didn't have the heart to do you any harm like his Captain. But, that didn't stop him from stomaching your screams as he turned the handle up, piercing cold crashing down atop you, it beats down on your back, by the time it's done your shaking, and your skin a bruising purple hue. It goes on like that for hours, even as you beg. He reads you the files again.

Price would then take the baton from the corner of the room, the side of your face already swollen from the last strike, you were seeing red out of your left eye and soon you wouldn't be able to see out of it if the swelling continued.

"Please..." you shivered, miserably.

"Over in a jiff, love, but i need somethin' from you, you know that." Was his reply, he tapped the baton against the metal below you, the reverb makes you jump each time, leaving you to stare at it as you watched his boots walk around you.

"Cap'n, It's not...It's not--me..." you tried, breathless. "I'd never.."

The steel baton came down on your shoulder, first. There was an immediate response from your constricted muscles, limbs that had all tensed up at once despite their numbness. Pulling at the shackles that kept you in place, the hit shocks you, nearly silencing you completely, it hurts, then it burns. Mouth open in a silent scream, you squeeze your eyes shut in an effort to block out the pain that crawled through your shoulder. "It's not me!"

You've been suffering from hypothermia for a few days since then. Your shoulder crushed right out of place or just plain broken, you weren't sure. It's not like you could feel much of your arms in this position.

It hurt. Not just the painful strain that this position was currently putting on your muscles, but everything else...

Of course, you've handled torture alike this before. Captured and tortured by enemies, ransomed for pay and fought tooth and nail to live, then found your way from that hell...only for the men who you'd kill for, to do the same thing to you with no remorse.

In the quiet of the empty room, you sobbed in agony. Squeezing your fists, but you couldn't even feel them, as far as you knew your fingers could only twitch in response to your demand.

You weren't sure what you were doing here.

Well, you knew. There was a mole, all evidence pointing to you, whatever it was had completely stunted their mission earlier in the week, left them hiding in a safe house for days until they were picked up by evac. Apparently, you'd leaked mission details to some hostiles over seas, you weren't sure which ones, they were hoping you could tell them. You had absolutely nothing, lost.

Of course, they didn't believe you. Although you expected to have at least a sliver of trust, someone to speak up against these claims and believe you...

It must've been too much to ask.

It came out of nowhere, at first you had been in bed with Simon, your fucking Fiancé, then that meeting with Price, then just...they'd cornered you in that room. Knocked you out without even an explanation, woke you up strapped down, confused, stripped of your uniform and feral as you demanded answers. Nobody listened to you.

That first night you thought you were gonna die. The second night you thought you had. The third night you were just convinced this was your hell.

You were soaked to the bone, and unable to stop shivering. The only sound you could hear was your own chattering teeth in this never-ending void of darkness.

It was so fucking dark in here, your eyes darting around to every corner, hoping for even a measly crack of light that your eyes could adjust to. Every sound, scratch, scrape or click made you jump, you couldn't see shit in here, so just about everything made you hyper aware. You couldn't help your anxiety as the sound of the faucet, the constant drops against your spine, the jingle of your shackles and the whimpers that echoed against the walls as you struggled to comfortably breathe. Maybe it was the thought of a mouse crawling up the stool and along your skin, or someone in here just staring at you in the corner, or the door finally opening for Price to start slicing into you demanding answers you didn't have.

You were on the cusp of losing your mind. If you hadn't already.

But it's been a few hours since then...

Maybe even a few days...

It could even have been a week.

You weren't too sure.

Simon had been the last one in here. He'd pulled the strap loose around your neck, hauling you up to an upright position by your jaw, eliciting a whimper from your lips. Able to breathe a bit easier, your lungs finally decompressing and you gulp down air greedily, "Simon..." this had been the first time you'd seen him since. He wears his balaclava, he is Ghost, not your Simon Riley.

As your bloodshot, swollen eyes raise to look into his cold ones, so unfeeling. You hadn't even realized you were so hopeful for his trust in you until then, looking at you like you were absolutely nothing to him, the same look he always had before pulling the trigger. "Simon, please, stop this..." your words slurred by your shivering, exhausted. "You know me...please."

Your tears slide over the leather of his gloved hands, while he holds tight to your face and cuts your pleads short with a painful squeeze. "Shut up," he says. His eyes are blank, but his voice is low and seething. "Shut the fuck up!" Simon harshly grits out to you, jostling you harshly. You squeeze your eyes shut, weeping miserably, throat closing up to your agony.

He had to know that you would've never done this to him. He should've known that. Given you the benefit of the doubt at least. You'd have never done this to him...

"I'm sorr-" you try, he squeezes harder to silence you swiftly, and snatches a tiny bowl off the tray he'd brought in. Raising your jaw a bit higher, he pours down a chunky broth into your mouth, letting it all just fall down to your throat. It's disgusting. He doesn't ease up for even a second as you toss and turn your head to breathe.

"Don't say a fucking word," he seethes, his hand enveloping your neck and keeping your head raised upward. "As if I should believe you..."

He then takes the next cup to do the same, your eyes bloodshot wide and you jerk away from him as you choke, unable to stomach anything, but he doesn't let you. This time you inhale accidentally, blocking your airway, eyes watering as you writhe for oxygen, your shackles clang violently as you attempt to retaliate, the first fight you've put up in days. His grip doesn't let up, even as you struggle and start to vomit up whatever he decided to shove down your throat.

When he finally lets go, you curve over and heave up whatever's left in your mouth, hyperventilating as you empty your guts on the floor. Hacking up whatever you can, it hurts, your throat burning from the sobs that leave you in between coughs. "If you love me, if you--ever had--" you spat at him. You'd given him everything, every part of yourself, nearly given him your life in the battlefield, and yet...it wasn't enough. "You would fucking believe me!" your voice cracks with the effort it takes to scream at him, to curse him to hell.

"My trust? That's what you want," Hollow eyes stare back at you, his attention flickering around to the uncomfortable shift of your shoulders in those cuffs. Your swollen left eye that had been hit so hard, the white of it had filled with blood. The black and blue littering your sides and your spine, the loss of color in your skin from the stress position and the cold that had you uncontrollably shivering. "You've had it before. You must've sold that to them too."

Your head drops to the stool again, releasing a heavy breath. "It wasn't worth much, if it was so easy to lose..."

Usually it's not very easy to set Simon off, you've known him always to be quite mellow, besides the barely concealed rage he had settled in his chest since you've known him. But, today, you were an exception.

Fisting a hand in your hair, Simon yanks at it, pulling you upwards for your to face him. His other hand coming up to wrap around your throat before your tortured scream can even manifest. In that moment, it feels as if he'd snapped your spine in half, having not used the muscles to stretch that area in over a week. Your shackled wrists shifting in the cruel position.

His eyes are wild and rageful, the balaclava that covers him twists just the same, his grip very telling to his violence as he squeezes down any chance at air or even a sentence. "Easy to lose..." he repeats, spitting in your face as he strangles you. "Easy t'lose your life! If you don't tell me the fucking truth," he pulls out the knife you'd seen him slit so many throats with before, you hear the familiar sound of it first then its cold steel pressing into the side of your ribs. "I'm gonna carve out your heart, and I'll take it real slow, let you feel every little thing I do to you in here," he shakes you harshly as a startled cry escapes you, your tears are burning hot against your cheeks. "You don't get to cry. Or whine. Or beg!"

"Stop--" you try to squirm away from him, to get as far away as possible, from this place, from this moment.

"Just tell me the truth," Simon's face twisted in agony, for just a second, his thumb drags along your jaw, meaningfully. "You'd be doing us both a favor..."

As his vast hand finally loosed around your neck just enough to hold you up, awaiting the bitter truth. Simon's knife catches on the protrusion of your ribs, nicking the skin, drawing blood on purpose. You stare up at the ceiling, the flickering old lights, the dripping faucet that's tormented your already fragile state for weeks now. "The truth..." you spoke, hoarsely. "You've all shown me...it doesn't matter to you. If it ever... Believe what you want--" you close your eyes, you're exhausted. Sleep had evaded you for days. "You and your truth and this team, you can all go to hell."

And finally he lets you go, letting your fall forwards, unable to find the relief of a cold floor but back to the strenuous position you'd been placed in. "AH!" nearly popping your shoulders out of place, or maybe they had, you bite down on your tongue, shaking in silence.

If you could see Simon's face, you could've relished in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes, the sudden doubt that led his knife back in its holder and his nails to bite into the flesh of his palms. He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing leaves him, instead he stands there.

You can't say a thing to him now, everything that's happened was just a little reminder that whatever you said, whatever you did, it didn't matter. Their minds had already been made. You really would die here.

Simon stands there a little longer, he doesn't say anything, you're not sure if he stays there to watch your suffering a little longer or to wait to say another heart-wrenching thing. Maybe he's just there to wait for you to die. But, he just watches as you wretch and cry in a ball atop that stool.

He leaves not long after, he didn't bother to strap you down this time. He left the old light on, but it must've been older than you thought.

The single bulb fizzled out completely hours ago. Not unless one of them decided to cut the silence and turn on the light to start another 'questioning', so suddenly being able to see more than darkness wasn't anything to be excited about.

They'd leave you in the dark until then, to await the next moment any of them would grace you with their presence.

To be honest, you'd imagined you'd be stronger than this. But, there was nothing to hold onto, so what did strength matter?

It was too late anyway.

They'd broken you days ago.

---

The truth had come out, two days later.

"Oh god..."

"Oh my fucking God," Simon rushed down the corridor, Price tailing right behind him. "Oh my God!" his normal monotone voice now a mess of fear and panic, breathing harsher, on the cusp of hyperventilating with every stride as he ran faster than he ever had in his life.

Finally getting to the interrogation wing of the department, he bangs his fist on the plexiglass of those silently monitoring the rooms, "Open the fucking door!" he's buzzed in before he can pull on the handle another time.

Rushing down the hall to the now green lit room, lights flickering to life with every step closer down the hall of empty rooms. He nearly rips the door off its hinges as he bursts inside, the lights of the your tiny prison don't come to life as they should. Light spilling into the cell, to hit your limp figure first.

He doesn't deserve to say your name. "(Y/n)," Simon rushes over, to his knees instantly. A puddle of vomit, water and spoiled broth soaks through his uniform.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry," he sobs out his mistakes, unhooking your chains and cutting through your buckles as fast as he could. "Oh my god, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!" he catches his fiancé as you collapse, turning over and off the stool, your legs having lost all sense of feeling. You fall into his arms, catching you carefully. "Price!" he cries out, desperately.

"They're on the way!" Your captain assures, he sees the medical team rushing down the hallway, a stretcher, a box of medical supplies. Christ.

You're freezing to the touch, your skin a hue of blue, not to mention the bruises, the cuts and the swollen areas throughout your face and spine. You suddenly inhale, sharply, coughing terribly. You're sick, breathing shakily, "Simon...?" you breathe, confused. You can't see. Your eyes swollen shut from your torture at their hands.

"It's me, it's me," Simon assured, although he knew it probably brought you no comfort. He snatches the blanket offered up by Price, your captain a mess of himself, holding himself together at the doorway, nails biting into the steel.

As Simon wraps you in the first glimpse of warmth you've had in days, you ease up a bit, fingers twitching upwards to pull the threads closer around yourself. "It wasn't..." you shiver, Simon listens intently as he rises with you in his arms, running off to meet the medical team halfway. "It wasn't me..." you gasp out. "It wasn't..."

Simon can't say a thing as he hears your tormented voice stutter in fear of him, lips pressed tight together, heart sinking and as the nurses take your body, he collapses to his knees.

Part 2

[burnittdown]

"Someone should try pulling out a fistful of hair and see how into it he is then."

[ngoumapulcherie]

pinkpantheress & ice spice - boy's a liar pt. 2 (𝖘𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉 + 𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖇)

[ithisatanytime]

(luv armor (slow / reverb / sped))