#vault 666

[lowqualitygarbage]

Vault 666 presents:  Very Important Scientific Research.

*Modern era ghouls surveyed - for classic ghouls, please see “t-shirt and cargo pants” 

[fraugwinska]

DoubleTrouble No. 2 - Missionary Impossible

Yes, we did Team up again - the wonderful @macabr3-barbi3 and my humble self wrote another DoubleTrouble fic, based of a hilarious FranticFanfic game result (If you are a writer and have some friends who also indulge in fanfiction, check the game out: www.franaticfanfic.com - Your throat will hate you but the laughter makes it worth it!)

This time we give all of you Vox Lovers a real Treat! Mine is the Readers POV, while Barbie provided Vox's POV - get the TV's dirty version right here.

And now, without further ado:

Explicit Sexual content - Minors DNI - 18+ - 6.5k words

You had to admit: Breaking into Lucifer’s personal vault was your boldest and most impressive job yet. You had your concerns - normally you didn’t take jobs that seemed too shady or downright wrong to you - but you didn’t steal anything powerful, just a bottle of his vanished wife’s perfume. You shake your head at the memory. Most certainly one of her many, still very active superfans, kind of icky to be honest. But money talks, and boy did that client talk.

The only downside had been that for the first time, the 666 Evening News had a picture of you.

Granted, blurry, obstructed and absolutely not usable at all - but it still irked you to no end. They didn’t call you the ‘Traceless Thief’ for nothing.

But even though no one was more the wiser about your identity, even though Lucifer begrudgingly stopped looking for witnesses, even though the gossip on the streets about speculations who the Traceless Thief could’ve been died down - ever since that night, you felt like you were being watched.

The next jobs you take go without news coverage and media attention, and yet, you grow more and more paranoid. Hell has many eyes - figuratively and literally - and you feel them all on you. But there is work to be done and a living to be earned - and the tiny alibi antique bookshop you keep definitely doesn’t provide. No one sane wants old shit in hell - and the rare specimens that do and visit the dingy little space under your apartment come and go, disappointed in the stock you barely keep.

Which is fine by you - you only really need it for one thing. The PO Box.

The wonderfully boring, uninteresting PO Box of the ‘Dusty Pages’ bookshop was your portal to the real money. Hell had become a lot better the day you mastered the powers the underworld granted you: No physical barrier could contain you. Being intangible granted you freedom, and to return to the profession you were best in: Stealing Shit.

Of course, noble causes like overturning corrupt governments by breaking into officials homes and publishing their many crimes was still stealing, if you ask heaven that is, and it landed you in hell. You gave up being salty about it, and made the best out of the situation.

“Hey Frankie. How’s the wife?” The post office clerk, a grumpy looking crocodile in an ill-fitting checkered suit huffs.

“Still fucking annoying, as always. Each day I’m getting closer to bribing an exterminator to kill the bitch just to shut her up for good.”

You chuckled, leaning on the counter and tapping your fingers on the scratched wood.

“Aw, did you burn the meatloaf again? You know Alice hates that.” Frankie gives you an exasperated look, which you meet with a mocking grin.

“You want something? Except for getting on my nerves?”

You shrug, twirling a tiny key on a string around your finger. Frankie, and by proxy Alice too, were parts of your harmless, boring, inconspicuous appearance. Just a normal young sinner, just a normal errand to run, keeping normal small talk with the clerks.

“Just checking my PO Box. I’m waiting on a few rare books I ordered to restock.”

“Uh-huh. Tell someone who gives a shit.”

The crocodile turns away, adjusting his small, round reading glasses and eager to ignore you. Perfect.

“Always nice to chat with you, Frankie.” you say and saunter over to the little door with the number 13. The quiet click always sounds satisfyingly like a little exclamation of joy and like cashflow, and under the ‘Old Crap & Thingamajigs’ catalog you found what you were hoping for. A thick envelope and a letter - new jetstream-bathtub, here you come.

God, why were the VoxTech maintenance uniforms so fucking skimpy?

You grumble silently, cursing yourself that you haven’t grabbed the male one. But that would’ve been suspicious, and you couldn’t afford to be suspicious today. Not if you want to get the job done and live to tell the tale. 

The Vee Tower is full of cameras, hundreds of tiny, red blinking lights next to crystal clear lenses, and dead spots were hard to find and a rare occasion. So, when you couldn’t shift through the walls, you had to look like you belonged. And apparently, a fucking laced, black mini-skirt and a top with puffy sleeves that looked more like a fetish bralette was what it took to ‘belong’. The whole point was blending in, not being remembered - and all the female employees from cleanup and maintenance looked the exact same as you. So, unless one was walking around with a bag full of personnel files on hand, you looked like anyone else on this floor.

You stepped into the elevator, the keycard your client had sent you along with the money and initial job offer in hand. Wherever that person got those precious credentials, you were grateful for them because it gave you an easy way to bypass all the layers of security that VoxTech imposed. All that hassle for an incriminating photo.

You sighed when you pressed the button to floor 66, where the CEO of VoxTech enterprises had his private apartment. Vox.

The name was even more intimidating than Lucifer's to you. While the king of hell was aloof, inactive, disinterested in the ongoings of hell, Vox was the absolute opposite. He knew every little secret. VoxTech had millions of eyes and ears. It was a well known fact that he kept his all-seeing spycams on the whole pentagram and his pliant audience in his steely grasp. Always on top of the times, on top of the news, on top of the sales and on top of any business, shady or not, in hell. In the eyes of the citizens of the Pride Ring, Vox and his partners Valentino and Vevette owned practically everything. He had the largest audience in the history of hell, the sharpest wit and the keenest, calculating eye on the prize - a charming manipulator that was considered very much dangerous and not to be underestimated. Which is why you had to plan your gig for a time you were certain he wasn't around.

A shame really - you couldn’t deny, despite his ruthlessness and questionable business practices with which he had built his empire, you kind of admired the self-made TV-demon that rose to overlord status and made quite a big name for himself in stellar time. That, and he was nice to look at too, even with a flatscreen for a head. Oh well.

The ding of the elevator brought you back to the job at hand, and with confident steps, you glanced up and down the corridor. There were a few cameras pointed to the apartment door, but you found a dead spot not far off, and with a content smile, you walked over as if to inspect the carpet, just to shift as you were out of the camera's angle, your body transpiring through the wall, and with a quiet thud, you were inside.

That was the moment the lights went out.

A power outage was the last thing you had expected - in the Vee Tower of all places. The one place in hell that burst with electricity, and you would laugh at the irony if you weren't so tense. The timing is suspicious,and with a beating heart you shuffle forward, trying to phase through the nearest wall.

What the fuck?

You furrow your brows and huff, irritated. The wall is - well, a wall, and while that was a normal state for others, for you? Unimaginable. Your hands are resting against the concrete and steel, normally easy peasy to walk through. But you feel the hardness under your fingertips, much more intense than it should and almost stinging.

Conventional route it is, then, you think begrudgingly and slowly make your way through the corridor, listening into the stillness of the apartment. The corridor led into a spacious living room - flat, modern couches that screamed money and luxury arranged in a half circle, surrounded by various screens, all turned off. In the middle you see the outlines of a metallic, lavish coffee table, empty and clean like in a catalog. It was the kind of space that wasn’t really meant to be lived in, but to show just how much you had that you didn’t really need. A show.

You scanned the room. There was an open arch leading into a kitchen - also polished and top notch empty, not the cluttered mess you had in your apartment - and a closed, narrow door, likely a storage room. But at the opposite end of it, you see a faint, blue stripe of light, teal blue, luring you towards it. A night light maybe, or some indirect mood lighting shit that was all the rage since LED’s hit the Pentagram a few years ago, shining through a cracked door. Intentionally inconspicuous, your brain whispers, but anything was better than the dim darkness you were stumbling in now. 

When you reach the glowing gap and peek cautiously into the adjacent room, one hand almost on the handle, a groan makes you freeze before you could register what you are looking at.

Oh satan.

Vox.

A LOT of Vox.

The overlord was fucking home, and not just that. In his bedroom - your target location - naked, an impressive and glowing cock in hand, working himself in a way he would definitely not appreciate anyone seeing him in. You felt your neck and cheeks flush with heat - another thing you did not expect nor calculate for. But you can’t look away - as surreal and absolutely dangerous this situation is - his deliciously large hands and the sheer sight of his luminous length glistening with precum as he strokes himself cuts your breath short with highly inappropriate lust. The screen in front of him was bright, and for a moment, you were so enraptured with him that you didn’t recognize the silhouette he was pumping himself to.

You.

It’s you.

In this ridiculous maid costume that was unconsciously riding up your ass, sneaking through the corridor, not even half a minute ago. With growing horror you watch yourself taking tentative steps through the living room, the you on the screen hesitating before deciding to move to the left, one arm reaching out to a cracked open door.

“Fuck, yes.”

The words were barely said when your brain kickstarts.

Fuck, no.

He knew. He knew you were here.

In a flight of panic, you bolted for the corridor, back to the door, back to the safety of not-fucking-here, but you couldn’t even make four steps before your wrists were bound by cables shooting out of the walls surrounding you. You ready yourself to slip through them, but again, your powers leave you high and dry again. Helpless, you back away into the nearest wall, and the door opens fully, with the TV demon standing in the frame. Tall, intimidating even butt-fucking-naked, and a cocky smile on his HD face.

“Hello, my dear,” he almost coos and takes a few steps towards you as you writhe in the restrictions, desperately trying to slip out and get the fuck away. “I’m so glad you got my invitation!”

“Invitation?” That makes you still against the cables, your eyes darting over his face, confused. What the hell does that mean? You weren’t invited, you had a job to... Oh. Oh shit.

“You’re the client?”

His face was answer enough, and you would have slapped yourself for your stupidity if he hadn't had you in an iron grip. A loud game-show ding startles you back into the here and now, he was so much closer than before…

“Sure thing, doll! How else was I supposed to catch a slippery little thing like you without scaring you off?”

He traces his fingers down your cheek, his tips sparking with static electricity. How fucked up are you that this turns you on? Not being able to suppress the need to glance at his still shining and ripped cock again, you swallow hard. Where is your sense of self-preservation? Apparently left outside of this apartment, along with your usual foresight and dignity.

Cables wrap around your thighs and with a yelp you feel yourself getting lifted, legs parted by the wires. You almost topple over but are caught by his hands on your arms and faced with a smirk when you press your back into the wall, stabilizing yourself with a reddened face.

“Those didn’t come with the uniform,” He has the audacity to wink at you, nudging to the black lace panties you wear - excuse a girl for not wearing granny panties in the workplace - and you want to retort something snarky to him, when he looks at you that way. 

Within a moment, you realize two things.

Firstly, with the way he was roaming your body, his eyes lingering not only on your face, but your tits and the flimsy underwear concealing your very obvious wet arousal - you were fucked one way or the other. Which should’ve terrified you. Emphasis on ‘should’.

Because the other thing was, that even though he had bound you, even though you were at the mercy of this powerful sinner who tricked and trapped you here, rendering your power useless with whatever-the-fuck… he didn’t seem malicious, but rather… curious? Fascinated? Playful? You can’t really pinpoint it, but something tells you that - if you play your cards right - you might get more out of this make-pretend job than a jetstream-bathtub and hopefully all your limbs intact. And most importantly - you have nothing to lose.

“They're from my personal collection - lucky coincidence that they match the overall vibe of your staff's... uniform." It takes a lot to steady your voice as you talk, with the way his clawed hands run along the insides of your legs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

He cocks his brow, as if he's pleasantly surprised, and licks his lips before he answers, his voice sultry and dripping of sexual tension.

"Mh... Luck favors the prepared, I always say. Oh, and speaking of slippery and prepared, sweetheart..."

You gasp as you feel the soft fabric being pushed aside and long fingers running lightly through your drenched folds. Fuck, you can already tell just how skilled those fingers must be. How great they'd feel deep inside you. Involuntarily, you buck your hips to guide them to where you wanted them most - onto your clit and burrowed to his knuckles - the desperation just dripping from you as he chuckles and lets his thumb glide over the throbbing pearl teasingly teasingly as he pushes one of his digits in. Your head rolls against the wall behind you with a needy moan escaping your lips and you have to bite them to stay focussed for what you were about to do.

"What a sight. You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment, doll, seeing you all desperate and fucking..."

The rest of his sentence died in his throat, replaced by a low, long and stuttering moan. Half shocked, half aroused, he looked down to his throbbing cock, then his head snapped up to you, grinning down on him. You moved your hips again, grinding down on his unmoving fingers, frozen in place at his confusion, confirming your suspicion that he didn't know about your other power. Not as strong as your intangibility, sure, but strong enough for him to feel - and see - the ghostly hand you envisioned around his dick, continuing what he started, pumping him in leisurely, slow strokes. 

"Didn't know about that move, doll." His hand comes alive again, and even though his voice glitches a bit he adds another one, much more tenderly and almost softly, properly prepping you. And judging by the circumference of the cock you feel through your spectral hand, it was more than precaution, but nothing less than a mercy. Mercy you were ready to beg for, given his thumb would continue the delicious circles it drew, just the right pressure, just the right pace to push you near the edge without tipping you over it.

"You're just a whole mystery, huh?"

Now fairly certain your head wouldn't roll at the end of this encounter, you let your last reservations slide. It has been too long since you were in the hands of a skilled lover, one that didn't disappoint, that didn't come too soon or drilled amateurishly into you in search for the g-spot they never found. This one knew what he was doing, finally, and by satan you wouldn't waste this opportunity. Make it a night to remember, and who knows? If you fuck his brains out, maybe he'd be knocked out long enough after for you to make a quick and easy exit. You imagined the spectre hand to twist, its thumb mapping the soft ridges around the crown. That seems to do the trick for Vox, and the look he shoots you deeply satisfies. "Fuck me, that's good."

Playing into this sentiment, you didn’t stifle the moans his damn fingers stroke out of you, the way they glide in and out, pressure on all the right marks without fail is too good to hold back. Your skin felt on fire, even without him touching anything but your pussy, and you felt no energy left to care that your clothes - if you would call them that - seemed to fall apart on your body, skirt pushed up to your waist, top loose around your shoulders and almost down enough to let your boobs fall out. You must look a mess, but then again the overlord didn’t seem to mind - quite the contrary. He looked outright hungry, eyes glitching occasionally with a particular squeeze of your hand or a poignant lustful moan from your lips.

“Do you have to concentrate to do that?”

“A little.”

His fingers hitting that one sweet spot inside you, cutting any other, more elaborate explanation short. Fucking hell, that you had to get tricked and trapped by an overlord to find a man that doesn’t think ‘foreplay’ is the interview before a soccer game was a fucking travesty. Grateful for that fact you withdraw from your own pleasure and decided to reward him, regaining your concentration enough to imagine a second hand to pay attention to the firm, very plump balls of his, rolling them in its palm and giving them a gentle, tentative squeeze.

“Cool party trick though, isn’t it?”

As if you challenged him, there’s a subtle change in his demeanor - his eyes more inquisitive, his fingers more eager and fervent, and a third one joined the others, stretching you oh-so-deliciously. For a moment you think you’d lose control, the ghost hands flickering before you got a grip on them again, determined to not tip the scales so soon. But you had to admit - it was tempting, to give into this implied command: Submit, let me take care of you, let me fuck you dumb.  

Little did he know, you were all about equality - or nothing at all. And if he was allowed to plow you with three fingers, surely he couldn’t protest against a third hand.

You weren’t sure how you’d manage it… the power was new, still waiting to be mastered, but you willed a third hand into reality, joining the one on his balls, softly working their way down and massaging his perineum. It strained you to no end, operating the conjured hands while Vox was adamant to make you cum on his fingers alone, but with how the cables shook and loosened around you, you were fairly certain it was enough to show him you meant business, your message clear: If anything, baby, we will fuck each other dumb. 

You watch with almost painful arousal how his screen flashes from the three-way-stimulation, his teeth slightly baring from the sensation but without losing his cocky smirk, as if to show his resilience.

"You'd be the life of any party I know, sugar, if you can pull shit like this out your sleeve."

With a wince from you, he pulled his fingers out, leaving you gaping, empty and fucking whining at the loss, eyes sharp and with a dangerous glint in them. "But you're not the only one with a few secret talents."

He kneels down then, opens his mouth, and you can't believe your eyes as a thick, long, very analog blue tongue unfolds and licks his lips hungrily and almost impatiently. A hand around each thigh spreading you almost impossibly wide, the hot breath feels chilling against your slick opening, and a brush of the tip of his tongue on your swollen clit makes your toes curl and your muscles tense with expectation. Your gaze, locked with his, breaks only when your head throws back and you moan out his name as he truly begins to eat you out. 

No teasing or games, no building up the tension - it's unmerciful, frenetic, his tongue alternately flickering on your clit with its pointed tip and pushing deep into your core with an almost unbearable thickness until there was no space left to be filled, tasting every little centimeter inside. Instinctively, your real hands twitch in their restraints, wanting to reach out, grab his head, the frame of his screen, fucking anything really just to have something of him to hold onto and push. Your hips can't hold still, but he made sure not to lose an inch as his hands gripped your ass down and into him as if he heard your thoughts, drawing you deeper into his maw as he devours you. Your spirit hands fade in and out, your mind unable to keep them steadily corporeal - he was too good, his tongue was too good, not once did his rhythm falter nor the damn thing slow down, giving you no chance to collect yourself.

Finally - oh god finally - his cables loosened enough for you to dart your hands towards him, finding a saving anchor on his arms. You literally felt like you were drowning - wet and out of breath, senses fogged by that wonderfully violent tongue swiping and licking and prodding and fucking pulsing. When he hummed into your cunt, all dams broke, and you could only stutter “fuck, cumming - oh my God-” before you snapped and you fell into the depths of your orgasm.

Whatever prick, mouth or fingers you had on and in you before - this erased them all. Never before felt your head so light, your cunt so heavy and hell so divine.

His relentless licks make you mewl with every stroke as he rides you through your high, but he just doesn’t stop. Greedy, rawing your abused cunt to a point where moans turn into almost pained whimpers and your body twitches and squirms, begging for him to relent.

Mercifully he understands, and when he stands up, you only passingly realize with a pang of bad conscience that your spectre limbs have dissipated somewhere along the line, leaving him high and dry - only metaphorically, because his cock was soaked in leaking cum.

He hooks your legs over his arm, his other snaking around your waist to lift you from the wall, and you made no motion to resist it, being that the prospect of his soft sheets on his bed were much more preferable than color-coated concrete on your back. The short walk over feels like the eye of the storm - a short illusion of a safe space, and you use it to assess the damage.

For one - the ‘clothes’ you wore were useless now, they did nothing clothes were supposed to do - The sleeves were half-ripped from the bralette, hanging by a thread, and the top itself so far down your tits were fully out, nipples dark and flushed, while the skirt was nothing more than a drape at this point, hiding the mess on your thighs and reddened, puffed lips.

Then you look up through your lashes, up to the best lay you ever had, down below as well as up above. You should plan your escape, should use the time you had now to calculate what to do to get the fuck out while you could - Instead your horny little fucked-up brain was busy imagining how you could draw this out, make him so pussydrunk he’d send another decoy job weekly, just so you could return to that magic tongue again and again.

You were right. The sheets felt soft and obscenely expensive. You spread your fingers, the only real motion you were still able to make for now, taking his roaming gaze and the appreciative expression on his screen as a badge of honor. Your senses tingled, and you blinked one, two times, listening into your powers. The walls of his apartment were prepped by him to prevent you from leaving - electricity most likely, something intangible itself - but the ceiling and floors weren’t.

“Got another round in you, baby?”

You look up to him as he wraps your legs around his waist,lining himself up to you, tip ready and loaded. But he doesn’t push in. He waits, and you could cry as he does so.

Fucking hell, the ruthless media overlord half of hell fears to the point they piss themselves is waiting for your consent.

It’s this unexpected, contradictory duality that draws your lips into a smile. Trapping you in his territory, able to kill you with his goddamn pinkie, and yet the only thing he does is make you cum on his mouth and wait for a ‘yes’ to fuck you mindless - how could you not fall for that? Even more, how could you not test your luck with that?

With regained strength you reach for his dick, fingers wrapping firmly around his girthy base. His body follows your gentle guidance, and he lets himself glide into your ready heat with a groan that sends a shiver down your spine - such an earnest sound it makes you want to return the favor tenfold. And you just knew the way you could.

“You don’t need to worry about my stamina,” Voice like honey, you refocus your mind, visualizing the wicked idea that had entered your mind.

A soft hand. Long, flexible fingers, slick and smooth and ready. It formed as you thought it, stroking the cleft of his ass, halting at the tight ring of muscle it found, testing his reaction with a teasing, light press against his opening.

The reaction was priceless. Face glitching, hips jerking violently forward into you as its fingers pass his entrance and slide into him, coming to a halt at that one, very sensitive spot. His breath is ragged and eyes fucking wild, but the way he bends down, gripping your hands to entangle them with yours and pressing as much midnight-blue skin against yours tells you that he doesn’t exactly hate it.

“Worry about your own,” you whisper against the skin of his chest, grinning at the way he shudders at the sultry tone of your voice and the challenging eyes of yours, hilted in your pussy still, taking the ghostly fingers like a good boy.

“Whatever you did to your apartment, you only did it to the walls - the floor is fair game - ah fuck-”

He found some of his senses back, his thrust surprising your nerves with a sudden jolt of electricity - added by him or imagined by you, you can’t tell. He fills you so perfectly, as if molded just for you, big and hard and absolutely sublime, and when he brings his knees up more and bends you at the waist he manages to push in even deeper, pounding almost at your cervix with increasingly feverish, tough thrusts. Again, he wanted to break your concentration, but this time, you were prepared. You let your body do what you trained it to do - it goes hazy, misty, almost translucent in a blue-ish hue, revealing the vision of his buried prick deep inside you, teal glow in navy mist, before you solidify again and find the strength to grin up at him.

“If you cum before I do, I’m out of here.”

There was a wicked glint on that screen of his, and he upped the pace of his snapping hips, pressing you deeper into the mattress.

"Guess you'll have to move in then, baby." His voice sounds almost distorted, his body starts to spark with fizzing bolts of electric energy, and when he grips the headboard with one hand to gain more momentum to fuck even faster and stronger into you, you almost want to take him up on that quip, convinced his apartment was equipped with more than just a boring jetstream hot tub.

Your spirit fingers stroke in a come-hither motion over his prostate, over and over, varying in pressure, intensity and speed, and each swipe makes him moan a little louder, driving his dick a little deeper into you. It's becoming a race towards a finish line none of you wanted to get to in the first place, a fight of wills and bodies, pushing you to your limits judging by the way your oversensitive pussy clenches, begging for release once more. But by Satan himself you did not intend to lose without a good fight, your fingers raking over his lithe back and the sharp edges of his body, lingering, scraping, writing wordless praises into his skin in red streaks.

“In fact, sweetheart,” he says as he pounds you and your pants become out even louder, “I’ll make you cum so hard you don’t want to leave - you’ll scream my name so loud they’ll hear you down in Wrath, know exactly where you’ll be living from now on.”

Vox, too, is close, you can see it, hear it, most importantly feel it. One hand remaining on the headboard, the other scoops you up by your neck, pulling you onto his face in a kiss so breathtaking and fierce you almost pass out. It's sloppy and lustful, it's lips against lips and tongue on tongue, and your ability to use either becomes redundant when you and him both simultaneously cry out, orgasms overlap and intertwine, you cunt clenching tightly around his pulsating length, sending spurt after spurt of hot cum into you as your own release drips onto the soaked sheets below. Your eyes roll back, the fingers buried inside his tightened ass vanish and your muscles relax. With his hand still on your neck, claws digging into your skin, he slowly brings you back onto the mattress to let you fall together with him.

Silence settles for a second. A brief moment of stillness and clarity, sweat cooling your skin, hearts slowing down and breathing returning to normalcy. You feel the aftermath of his touches everywhere. His marks litter you from top to bottom: Your wrists and thighs are covered in red streaks from the tightness of his cable bondage. Your whole skin tingles from the waves of his inherent electric current. But most telling of all was the pooling mess inside of you, already leaking.

You let yourself feel the weight of his body on yours - it's an intoxicating feeling, the heat radiating off his dark blue skin, and the subtle charge beneath, a hidden hum underneath your fingertips, telling of the immense power of an Overlord you just let fuck you senseless. Now would be the time to run - his screen was completely blue, turned off while he recovered his breath - if you wanted, you could disappear, and he wouldn't be able to stop you or track you down. But when you searched the depths of your mind and body for regret and the sense of danger it brought - there was none. Only satiated warmth, an afterglow you could bathe in, like a warm, healing balm, easing your aching bones and bruised skin.

And just in that moment of resolve, Vox’s screen returned to show his face, and he lifted his head slightly to look at you with eyes as bright and vivid as the neon signs lighting up the streets of the entertainment district outside his windows.

One Month Later

“Thanks babes, I was about to lose my shit when Velma and Kelly fucking quit on me. Bunch of pussies, those two, seriously.”

You shoot Velvette a smile over your shoulder, adjusting the last couple of details on six of her girls, ghostly blue hands hovering around them - clipping a collar here, buckling a shoe there. You pity the two foolish girls - the runway show had Velvette occupied tonight, but tomorrow - well, you were sure Vel was about to annihilate their sorry stylist asses for blowing her off last minute… and not just with a snarky post on Sinstagram.

“No problem, Vel, that’s what I’m here for.”

The small woman laughs sarcastically, but not in the usual mean way, but a playful one, a friendly one. That was one of the things you could pride yourself on - That Velvette, social media queen and judge of what’s hot and not, fell in love with you almost as fast and hard as Vox did.

“Darling, we both know that no one really knows what exactly Vox hired you for. What was the job description he pulled out of his flat ass again?” she raises a cocky brow, sipping obnoxiously on her iced coffee to go in her hands, holding out another, identical one for you. “Ah, yes, ‘ASS’.”

You take the drink from her, smiling mischievously back at her. When Vox came up with that title, he didn’t even notice the ambiguity of its abbreviation, and you let him stew over it for almost a day before you told him, silently convinced your fingers left a memorable impression. “It’s ‘Administrative Services Specialist', and what can I say? My resumee was very convincing.”

Velvette snorts into her vanilla foam. “Funny name for your cunt love, but you do you. Now shoo. Didn’t you and flatface have a date tonight?”

You wave her a quick goodbye, sipping up the cold drink in one gulp and throwing it into the trash as you bypass it, hurrying down the hall and plucking the private keycard from your back pocket. You scan it at the elevators, noticing the other employees backing away from you, and you couldn’t hide the grin that flashed your face. No one dared to ride in that elevator with you, a very badly kept secret that it sent you one way straight to Vox’s apartment, and every one of them would rather chew glass than be caught by whatever awaited the opening elevator doors.

And Vel was right - you had a date with Vox, a special one at that.

Barely three weeks ago you actually did move in - call it a whim of insanity, call it fate - and since that, your days were filled with a job in the Vee Tower that you actually liked (no one shed a tear at the ‘Dusty Pages’ closure notice) and the nights were spent naked, sweaty and blissfully explicit under, on top and any other possible way with Vox in his bed. You learned something new about yourself - with the right partner, you were almost insatiable. Another thing you learned was that Vox seemed to feel just the same. Lucky coincidences indeed.

But date night was something special. Giving up the alibi bookshop was easy enough - but you were adamant that you still wanted to do your other jobs.

Not because of the money - Vox provided generously, and wouldn’t take a cent from you (although you managed to convince him to let you buy him at least snacks and small gifts, an exception you abused to the absolute limit). No, you actually liked to sneak through the night, liked the thrill of moving in the shadows and shifting through secured buildings. Liked the excited arousal you felt after a completed heist.

To preserve your secret, you and Vox decided that you wouldn’t reveal your main power to the others at Vee Tower, the only other people who knew were Velvette and Valentino.

The latter wasn’t your biggest fan, and who could blame him, giving that you were living with  and fucking his ex-lover, but he had his own flings and things to take care of, and after a few occasions where you stepped in to help him out at shoots and with his scripts, he at least became cordial towards you.

But date night was where you went out to do a job, secured through Vox for one of his many business partners, and the pool of people the TV demon had on hands that needed or wanted something of value was a bottomless pit from which you could choose the ones you liked the best. And your digital lover not only organized your gigs - he became your eyes and ears, your literal partner in crime.

The doors open, and Vox stands waiting, leaning, in the doorway, arms crossed and a grin on his face.

“You’re late, doll.”

“I know I know, but Vel needed some helping hands - you know I can’t leave her hanging.”

“Oh, I saw.”, he chuckles, his screen switching from his face to images of you from the security cameras on Velvettes floor, close ups of your face, your tits and ass sprinkled in between. ”You know I can never see enough of you, gotta keep those cameras on.”

You scoffed, but did so with a smile before you kissed him and ran off into the closet, undressing quickly while he followed you, letting himself fall down on his bed and watching you intensely as you peeled your clothes from your body and slipped into your signature skintight suit. By the time you were changed his cock was hard, straining his pants which you acknowledged with an appreciative smile.

You both exchange longing looks, but time is ticking. You put the newest addition to your equipment in your ear - a tiny, wireless headset, directly connected to Vox, bend over the bed, your tongue running over the warm line of his lower lip and sigh as he groans with want.

“I know it’s usually payment upfront, baby, but we’re already behind schedule.”

You can’t seem to tear yourself from him with those big hands on your ass squeezing tightly and that goddamn tongue in your mouth, your mind half decided to tell your client to fuck off and fuck the demon in front of you senseless. But he gently pulls away, his eyes burning not only with need, but also with pride. A look you loved to see on him.

“And besides, you are so much more voracious after a job well done.”

He slaps your ass as you pass him, and you shift through the wall, now almost as eager to steal that stupid looking red duck from some dingy, rundown hotel as you were to return to his waiting cock to cash in your salary.

[vidavalor]

Angel of Music

Auctioneer: Lot 665, ladies and gentleman: a papier-mache musical box in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals. This item, discovered in the vault of the theatre, still in working order, ladies and gentleman...

Auctioneer: Lot 666, then: a chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of The Phantom of the Opera-- a mystery never fully explained. We're told, ladies and gentleman, that this is the very chandelier that figures into the famous disaster.

Auctioneer, cont.: Our workshops have repaired it and wired it for the new electric light. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination.

Madame Giry: But remember-- your hand at the level of your eyes! Why? The Punjab pun jab lasso, Monsieur!

In sleep, he sang to me... in dreams, he came...

...that voice which calls to me... and speaks my name...

...and do I dream again?...

...for now I find...

...The Phantom of The Opera is here...

...inside my mind...

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Michael Moore's Substack:

Right now, if you know how to really read the polls, or if you have access to the various private and internal polling being conducted by and shared only amongst the elites, Wall Street, and Members of Congress, then you already know that this election was over weeks ago. Trump simply refused to believe that “Sleepy Joe” was no longer his opponent and that there was instead “some woman” claiming she was “Black” who was now going to pummel him on Election Day. He soon became unhinged, ranted for hours about Hannibal Lecter, Haitians cannibalizing your pets, and a nonstop drone of oral diarrhea spewing misogyny, racism and essentially claiming that if he loses “it will be the Jews’ fault.” 

The vast majority of the country, the normal people, have seen enough and want the clown car to disappear into the MAGA vortex somewhere between reality and Orlando. The swift and explosive momentum for Kamala Harris is unlike anything that’s been seen in decades. Which is why maybe at this point in my rant I just need to say out loud that which is being said to me in private by people I respect — and not just in whispers, but in excited tones of exuberance: That a new era is being born, one where caucasian is just one of the options but no longer the bossy pants of the world. Where it’s OK if you’re missing the lower right quadrant of the second X chromosome thus making it a “y” which means you’re never going to have your own fallopian tubes so just deal with it and keep your hands off the gender who has them. Simple.  An aggregate of top polls as of today shows that Harris will defeat Trump in the Electoral College count by 270 to 268. But I think we need more. We need to ensure that Trump loses in a landslide, with numbers so massive, the likes of which haven’t been seen since the entire country tuned in to watch Geraldo open up Al Capone’s vault. Because that’s the only way to guarantee his permanent removal from the public eye. We should settle for nothing less. 

[...] Since losing the debate to Harris, Trump’s momentum has come to a screeching halt. Even with Vance “winning” the debate on Tuesday night with his “charm,” “civility,” “politeness” and “the“ “Satanic” “laser rays” “shooting” “out” “from” “his” “eyes” “into” “our” “brains,” it did not help change anyone’s mind. Harris continues on her rocket ship, never slowing down and only increasing her popularity each day. Trump’s voting base is now severely depressed and more and more they have that sinking feeling as they realize there is no way now for Trump or the Astros to win. BUT… You and I know that there are always ways for him to win. We just don’t know what they are because we don’t have “666” inscribed on our foreheads in invisible ink. We do know that Trump has a stellar streak of pulling off the impossible — and those who have written him off have more than once lived to see the day where they must eat humble pie. It is never wise to do a victory dance on the two-yard line when Trump is your opponent.  So, each of us must still do our work to get out the vote and, most importantly, make sure Harris has a Democratic House and Senate elected next month to pass her/our legislation next year.

Michael Moore has some astute analysis on who is favored in the 2024 Presidential Elections. Moore is predicting a Kamala Harris victory.

He predicted Biden to win 2020 and Trump to win in 2016.

[alkalyart]

Fallout vault idea

vault 666, this vault used to do experiments on the vault dwellers that turned them into grousome deathclaws that understood human language

[blackjackkent]

Oh, hells, there's another one.

Thankfully, the boudoir fountain is multi-use so we can beat this one up as well, facetank everything, and then drink the healing waters once again. I think we can use this strategy to clear out the minions in the room before the entrance hall too. All praise to Raphael's bathtub.

This also allows us time to break into Raphael's treasure vault, which I didn't see before but is in the center of the whole area.

This get us a very nice helmet, which we'll give to Minsc:

And, of course, 666 gold. XD

Enemies in the entrance hall were easily taken care of. Another quick stop at the fountain and we're ready to roll.

[thefalloutwiki]

Fallout: Original Names

Were you previously aware that some of the original names suggested for Fallout in mid-1996 included:

Moribund World, Nuclear Summer, Vault 666, Devolution, Radstorm, Warriors of the Apocalypse and Doomsday Warrior?

This information was revealed by Tim Cain in his May 12, 2023 video, “How Fallout Got Its Name.” You can read about all of the names suggested and about the naming process here:

https://fallout.wiki/wiki/Fallout#Name

[kragehund-est]

can you please summarize scp's for us :)

scps get a longer analysis because im bored, so.

SCP-666, ultra death class. right now it's locked in an underground vault made of titanium and hellfire, but it WILL break out some day. it kills people by making them explode and bleed to death and then their souls go to hell. it floats like an angel. it's skin makes you cry.

SCP-8008 barely disguised fetish class. a seemingly ordinary glass of milk that has strange effects on the human body when consumed. subjects begin to lactate uncontrollably and need to be milked constantly. the milk produced is delicious and addicting.

SCP-XD lol random class. a grocery store FROM ANOTHER DIMENSION. if you go in and buy a coke it will KILL YOU. the baking aisle is full of rainbow burritos and penguins with mustaches! also all the employees there are swedish men named björn.

SCP-667 sadsap class. a terrifying beast with claws as sharp as obsidian knives. this scp was discovered ruthlessly slaughtering people in arizona, and during the initial months of containment, all it did was pace and scream and scratch at the walls. one day, a researcher decided to go in and sing for it. upon hearing the song, SCP-667 revealed another form, a beautiful young girl. SCP-667 told the researcher the reason that she'd been killing people is because she was abused and bullied but actually all she wants to do is be a singer. and she fell in love with the researcher who first sung her a song but he might have died. and so we all learned the meaning of love.

SCP-555 did you even try class. A seemingly normal calculator that screams profanities at random intervals. though it is currently unaccounted for, we know it's in containment, as its heard around in various researchers' labs periodically. it is currently unknown whether this means that SCP-555 teleports, or if this is a prank by dr. bright.

SCP-413 normal real life thing class. the Entire Region of Western Massachusetts.

[olympusgenius]

*Me in the really bad mood😡😤💢 right after coming back home really late cus there still much work in my job*

*Heph came in to comfort me*

*Me eating my onigiri while I complained bitterly about working late hours*

"(Sighs) Talos! Initiate Operation Lotus..."

"But Operation Lotus is still in beta state, Creator...it may be very riskful for the guest, besides, the lotus' scent hasn't been properly tested yet"

"It's right...but we will use just a small quantity, if there's any anomaly, we will use Sulphur 666 as antidote"

Talos goes to the vault and brings a crystal perfume bottle with a clear pink liquid, then Hephaestus takes a pair of gas masks and gives one to Talos before sprinkle some of the pink liquid in air, that sprinkle aromatizes the place with a fresh and floral fragance, that smell makes you feel like you're in a secret pond full of lotuses, it relaxes you in seconds, you feel a little drowsy...

"It works, Creator! The lotus' scent is a success!"

"It works better than I expected! But we will have to reduce the recommended dose a little...let's leave our guest sleep a little more, then it will work better later..."

Hephaestus takes the lotus' scent to his vault again

[lowqualitygarbage]

More Vault 666 quick drawings based on minor character trivia, featuring:

Husk was born and raised in New Vegas, it’s kind of a mystery why he left the Mojave and came to the Wasteland, but the weather difference (and ghouls being shit at temperature regulation) is why he’s usually bundled up 

(except I just googled the timeline and apparently the strip has only been active for less than a decade? So either I have to make him way older or pretend Mr. House got off his ass super early in this AU)

Angel Dust never wants to take off his boots around others because he is embarrassed by his missing toes (birth defect, accident, amputation, Val shot them off in a fit of rage? who knows, he’s not talking)

Alastor uses my absolute favorite Bethesda build and is a high-charisma stealth/sniper character. He can talk his way out of 99% of problems if he wants to, and the rest he simply vanishes and aerates their skulls from a distance

Vaggie is not comfortable showing lots of skin, even with Charlie for some mysterious reason

Adam is a douchey greaser out of his armor

Army of Righteous commanders get power armor, rank and file have something between Brotherhood flightsuits and Enclave hazmat suits

They have a tradition of etching the X onto the helmet after their first dozen kills as a status symbol

[weirdsatellites]

Update #666 from Topaz 3 (TOP SECRET) 1. Vault of Bouquets 2. Coven of Space

[instantn00ds]

Heyo! I’ve been posting kinda frequently? lol We’ll see how long that lasts. For my Felinette POTO people! Here’s a little preview of what I’ve been cooking up. I’m thinking I’ll post on ao3 when I’m done with all of it, but tbh we’ll see what I’m feeling. Hope you guys enjoy!

“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen: a set of silver studs, in the shape of simple, delicate circles. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theater, is still in pristine condition. May I start at twenty francs?”

There was no movement in the crowd gathered at the dilapidated opera house; the jewelry looked plain– of no value to those hoping to resell or show off. But Adrien was entranced by the way they glimmered, hypnotized by the memory of her.

“Fifteen, then?” the auctioneer questioned, “Fifteen I am bid.”

This seemed to motivate the spectators, as slowly, but surely, they began to liven. As the bidding continued, Adrien snapped out of his trance long enough to buy the studs.

“Sold, for thirty francs to the Vicomte de Agreste! Thank you, sir.”

The earrings, placed in a small velvet box, were handed across to the old man. Now, he could study them– focus with a closer view. They felt foreign in his aged hands, heavy almost. As if they carried a weight far beyond that which they should. If these were the earrings– her earrings– Adrien supposed it would make sense. Afterall, Marinette often carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Quietly, half to himself, half to the box, Adrien smiled, “A collector’s piece indeed– every detail exactly as she said.” He began thinking of his dear, old friend as a smile broke upon his lips. She often spoke of them, her earrings, their hypnotizing gem and shiny, polished metal. What became of them when she’d been gone?

Adrien’s attention returned to the auctioneer, as he resumed with the next item, “Lot 666, then: A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of Chat Noir: a mystery never fully explained. We are told ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster.”

“Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination. Gentleman?”

The auctioneer switched on the chandelier. There was an enormous flash as the bulbs came to life, shining and blinding those who looked directly at them. Adrien remembered a time, not long ago, when those bulbs were instead candles– each requiring its own attention to light. He recalled what it looked like when the wax would drip down, milky and hot, as smoke would rise from the small flames. He remembered the stage hands and how they would complain each night the chandelier was to be lit– how hot it made the room, especially when the crowds packed in, a sea of people. It was like he could see the opera house restore itself before his very eyes.

[zamgoods]

The Flash - Official Trailer 2

July 20, 2023  201st day of the year in the Gregorian calendar; 164 days remain

anniversary of 1969 moon landing . 7 percent illuminaiton

I can see you in the camera exhibit f (6) surveillance security camera footage proof.

The flash interception points with Sza Kill Bill video, Bad Blood, Aaliyah album commercial 2001 and why the Flash represents Barak Obama.  Barak means lightening and his nick name is Barry.  The flash’s name is Barry Allen.  Kara Kor El is Face magic like Irene Cara’s death mystery relating to Artemis around the moon remember, remember the Fame star also the Koreline character. Koraline, Kora avatar.  Im in so much pain typing this right now.

The movie release June 16 which is 616 another mark of the beast quote from the bible in revelations lesser know to the 666 Gematria.  But in sense of time same on 1010 on the clock.  The movie like in Dr. STrange, Spiderman trying to go back and change time and a Latina comes out in some way.

The Ted...Indiana jones, Sza and the spagetti tomato sauce 

even in Clockwork Orange.  and Luca.  Eating those noodle feverishly.  Strands and string theories abounding.

Kill bill sos for August 2023.  in Sza video   Bad blood, cora lines, blood like DNA or Kor El needed for ZOD to rebuild Superman’s planet. 

They ven made a Barbie feference which releases tomorrow.  Looks like that have to kill billions and terraform earth, so the bill dollar will form for Zod’s Crypton....Crypto currency CBCD.  FED NOw and more in play for August.

Walmart settling all of a sudden.  What does that mean? the money is about to do somehting crazy.

what’s the swiss currency? Krohn? Franc.  TAylor SWIFT being rescued from the Vault in I Can see you  video, during her Eras tour.  Recall Malia Obama wearing the New Eras TSHIrt making such a big stank back in the Day.  New Era, New time order.

 how can this be updateed before it even happened.  The time is 9:25 pm.Trying to go back in time Even Indiana Jones.  And the new National Treasurer is Indian/ Mohegan Tribal Chief.  

Bacl tp Flash the MOnkey Tede was darted, like the Dart Program and the Alien INvasion Defending the earth will be in 3 more days in Times square.  We need a Resolution and Bad blood.  I can see you.  the surveillance, cameras, skibidi. 

scrotum Superman inside.  Yet its a girl.  X chromasome.  Dead parentts Batman.  Flash dead mom.  Superman. last of his kind, except the girl has the mots.super surveillance, big bro watching saved the day in the super markets.  Tomato sauce can hmm.  137,  two cans neede to make And mom’s hugs.  xox. x is hugs. Pomodoro...golden apples.

[rodimissliveblogs]

me to my roommates as they come into the room: "I can't believe Raphael only has 666 gold in his vault. Broke-ass bitch."

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

Dean Winchester's Perfect Wasteland Survival Guide

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Y4RwJ0p by ravenetric 2077 was the year that the world ended. Nuclear warfare broke out all over the world on the 100th anniversary of the Geneva Convention outlawing mass nuclear weaponry. Nobody is really sure of which country launched first, but any country that had nuclear weapons used them. Nobody held back, there was no mercy. This warfare did not come as a surprise to most people though, as nuclear fallout shelters, underground vaults, started popping up all over the world. The Winchester family was known for their military service and that granted them access to vault 666 in the event of nuclear fallout. 278 years later, year 2355, Dean and Sam Winchester are the only remaining Winchester's inside the vault. Dean works in vault maintenance just like his father did while Sam is one of the few teachers that teach children about the history of the world, and why they grow up in a hole in the ground instead of above ground. Overseer Ellen has decided to shut down the vault for good. Technically, the vault doors were supposed to open 178 years ago but each Overseer kept denying it, until now. Opening the doors and sending the dwellers out into the real world was their only hope for survival. Words: 3300, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, M/M Characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel (Supernatural), Sam Winchester, Gabriel (Supernatural), Lucifer (Supernatural), Michael (Supernatural), God | Chuck Shurley, Eileen Leahy, Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Rufus Turner, Bobby Singer (Supernatural), Garth Fitzgerald IV, Benny Lafitte Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fallout (Video Games) Setting, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Dom Castiel/Sub Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester Has a Praise Kink, Post-Nuclear Warfare, Vault Dweller Dean Winchester, Maintenance Technician Dean Winchester, Vault Dweller Sam Winchester, Teacher Sam Winchester, Vault Dweller Bobby Singer, Retired Maintenance Technician Bobby Singer, Vault Overseer Ellen Harvelle, Vault Dweller Jo Harvelle, Vault Dweller Benny Lafitte, Maintenance Lead Benny Lafitte, Vault Dweller Garth Fitzgerald IV, Maintenance Lead Garth Fitzgerald IV, Wasteland Bounty Hunter Castiel, Wasteland Bounty Hunter Eileen Leahy, Wasteland Military Michael, Wasteland Military Lucifer, Wasteland Trader Gabriel, BoS/Minutemen/The Enclave/The Institute/Vault-Tec/etc. does not exist in this fic!, Yes there will eventually be a dog companion, Chuck Shurley is an irradiated asshole, One of your favs previously mentioned is also secretly irradiated, I'm bad at tagging and summaries bare with me please, Light Dom/sub, Gentle/Soft Kink Only, Stoner Castiel, Cas spends all his caps on weed, Also it's Cas not Cass get it right, Dean has undiagnosed anxiety read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/Y4RwJ0p

[kwanisms]

please note that I am no longer actively writing for bts and that by putting this groups in the 'archive' does not necessarily mean I will stop writing for them entirely. Any series originally planned for any members in the archive have either been put in the vault or recasted.

🔞 many of these works contain sexual content (18+ mdni) 🔞 ♤ — angst :: ♡ — fluff :: ♧ — smut ✍ — ongoing :: ⊝ — hiatus :: ⊗ — discontinued :: ✓ — completed

— oneshots

»» Broken Promises ♤ m. yoongi

➥ 2k; Y/N's strained relationship with Yoongi finally reaches a breaking point and some words can't be taken back.

»» Sleepless Night ♧ p. jimin

➥ 7.5k; Y/N's first business trip was supposed to be easy. She and her co-worker, Jimin, were to deliver a presentation for a client then return to the airport to catch a flight home but no one expected a blizzard to roll in. After having their flight canceled on christmas eve due to the storm, Y/N & Jimin are forced to share the only remaining hotel room with one king size bed.

»» Warmth ♤ j. jeongguk

➥ 4.1k; Jeongguk wants another chance at happiness with Y/N but is she willing to give it to him?

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

— drabbles

»» Is This Love? ♡ k. namjoon

➥ 664; Namjoon comes over to Y/N's after a long day in the studio to find that she's gotten a new tattoo inspired by his lyrics.

»» I Wasn't Scared ♡ p. jimin

➥ 666; "I'll protect you," he said. 'Yeah right. You are one big liar, Park Jimin.'

ⓘ DISCLAIMER :: MONSTER/ALIEN FUCKER ENTHUSIAST ⓘ ©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.