#con collective

[little-spoon-izzy]

I’m trying to review every entry of Con’s filmography and I’ve got a few to choose from. I’d like to wait on Izzy since that’s going to need to be more than one entry. I’ll be reaching out for fanart to showcase for that one.

[carrymelikeimcute]

I just...

https://www.theladykillers.co.uk/cast/con-oneil/

[pyrotechnicdarts]

decepticon high command + favorite earth animals

[thewisestdino]

Getting back into junk journaling, here’s some recent spreads

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 185

No one could get into contact with Constantine. 

Now usually that wasn’t that big of a deal, the man constantly disappeared for a few days at a time doing something or other, but he’d been completely silent and unseen for months. Usually he’ll at least answer a call to tell them to fuck off or something. 

And they really need his expertise and are getting incredibly worried for their grumpy team member. Yes he’s an asshole, but he’s their asshole, y’know? And he has a habit of getting into Situations (sure he also usually gets out of them, but what if he didn’t this time?!) 

So they’re desperate. Kind of really desperate. Desperate enough to use the summoning sigil they found on his fridge. They’d checked it, multiple times, and it should summon the hellblazer. 

“You’re not Constantine.” . 

The white-haired teen in the circle yawned, stretching and blinking at them blandly with familiar blue eyes before sighing. “Actually I am,” he stuffed his hands into his hoodie as he looked down at the summoning circle. “Well, technically just one of the many Laughing Magicians currently in the Realms.” 

He gave a grin, looking more amused than annoyed. “Pretty much every one of us is in the Realms right now for family reunion lol. (Did he just say lol out loud??) So like, you’re gonna have to specify which of us you’re tryin’ to summon. Honestly perfect timing for me thanks, the fruitloop keeps flirting with John and it’s horrific so.” 

… That was probably their John, wasn’t it…

[nelkcats]

The List

Danny knew he couldn't keep the existence of the ghosts a secret forever. The GIW was a clear example of that, they had managed to disband the organization but there were always traces left behind that made him anxious.

Times had changed, and while Amity was hiding behind his "small town" reputation, the world was changing. New protectors, heroes, as well as new threats were appearing. And as much as the halfa wanted to, he couldn't transport his entire town to the Realms on every occasion of danger, that would definitely be suspicious.

So he made a list. He gathered information on the heroes that had come forward and categorized them according to how easy they were to approach, or how open they would be to the existence of ghosts.

Unfortunately his "safest" choice was John Constantine, someone he wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole, so he decided to settle for the second one: The Flash.

Danny had weighed the pros and cons, but as he walked through Central City he wondered if it had been a mistake. Although it was probably too late to regret it, the speedster had already noticed him.

[buckets-and-trees]

Welcome Home, Pumpkin [smashed]

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 1.9k Summary: Bad ethics. Zero impulse control. This is what everyone says about him. What will it mean for you tonight?

Content/Warnings: NON-consent / r*pe, dark story, use of pet name "Pumpkin," explicit smut (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), filming, taking pictures, hair pulling, choking, humiliation, kidnapping

Notes: This is the last AND DARKEST of three in a set of short stories with Lloyd served three ways - soft, soft!dark, and dark. The three feature the same setting, overlapping themes, shared thoughts, and bits of dialogue. Spiced is the soft!dark version.

sugar pumpkin | spiced pumpkin | smashed pumpkin

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You shut the door behind you and sigh, happy to be home after a long day - a long week, really. 

You slip your shoes off, drop your bags on the counter, and turn on some music before making your way down the hall to your bedroom. You want to change your clothes from the more pedestrian to something a little more tempting with lingerie beneath before your husband gets home. You’re expecting him back tonight. 

You jump when a deep, serious voice you aren’t expecting says, “Welcome home, Pumpkin.”

Your heart rockets into your throat, hand flying to your chest. “Who are you?”

He chuckles, rising from the spot he’d been perched on the edge of the bed. 

“Lloyd Hansen,” he answers, and makes a show of bowing slightly. 

You hesitate in the doorway, studying the face of the man whose name you’ve been warned about. The steel blue eyes, the sharp jawline, the ridiculous mustache you hoped to avoid indefinitely. 

He looks you up and down slowly, then sits back on the bed. “I see why your husband decided to commit himself to matrimony. I’d almost do it to lock down a sweet thing like you. Almost.”

You widen your eyes slightly and chew your bottom lip. His eyes study you as much as you’re studying him, and you don’t want to give away how terrified you are. 

“Your wonderful, dreamy husband is supposed to be back soon, isn’t he, Pumpkin?” he says, question rhetorical, voice dripping in saccharine sweetness. 

You nod, hoping against hope it will deter this man. 

“Oh,” he coos, “I have a good girl on my hands, don’t I?” 

“Please, please, just go,” you venture a plea, trying to keep your voice as even as you can. “You can leave without any trouble.”

“You’re so sweet to offer, but here’s shit of the situation: your husband took something I really wanted, caused me a lot of trouble, so I’m here to take something from him.”

“Take whatever you want,” you offer, desperate to satisfy and send him away if you can.

“Dangerous word choice, Pumpkin,” he says, stalking forward, “because the plan is you.”

Your breath catches in your throat as Lloyd Hansen approaches, his predatory gaze never leaving yours.

"Me?" you choke, your voice barely audible. You take an involuntary step back, and your body presses against the door.

He places his hands on either side of your head, effectively caging you in. Lloyd's lips curl into a cruel smile. "Oh yes, you. The most precious thing Nick Fowler has. I'm going to enjoy watching him suffer, knowing I have you."

Your mind races, searching for a way out of this nightmare. You glance towards the hallway, wondering if you could make a run for it.

As if reading your thoughts, Lloyd's hand shoots for your wrist, gripping tightly, and he drags you toward the bed. In one swift motion, Lloyd hefts you up, flips you around and has you on the bed pinned beneath him, body pressing into yours. He growls into your mouth as he claims you in a filthy kiss. 

You push against him, but it’s futile. Nick has this much strength, but he never uses it against you. Your eyes prick with tears of humiliation and fear. Lloyd’s rough hands shouldn’t be on you at all, but they’re everywhere and touching you in ways that are far too intimate - ways that your mind is vehemently reeling against but that your body doesn’t know how to do anything but respond to.

"Now, now," he purrs, leaning in to speak directly in your ear like only a lover should. "No need to be frightened. I'm not going to hurt you… much."

Your mind races, searching for a way out of this nightmare. You think of your husband, and wonder desperately if he might arrive home early, if there's any chance he could save you from this dangerous situation. But even as the thought crosses your mind, you know it's unlikely. Nick isn't due back for hours.

Lloyd's hands continue to roam your body, and you try to squirm away from his touch. "Please," you whimper, "don't do this."

He chuckles darkly. "Oh, Pumpkin. Begging already? We've barely begun."

He props himself up slightly on one arm, and his other hand reaches to tear the front of your shirt open, rending the fabric in two. You look up at him, terrified and trembling, waiting with bated breath. 

He unbuttons the top of your pants and drags down the zipper, all the while looking in your eyes. 

His fingers dip into your panties, and he goes straight for the cut of you, slipping a finger inside. 

You cry out, but your hips arch for more of what it usually craves, betraying you to this monster.

“Such a sensitive little thing,” he murmurs, adding another finger and thrusting them inside you.

You wriggle and writhe beneath him, unable to control your body’s response to his touch. He watches with dark satisfaction as you lose yourself in the moment.

“I knew it,” he whispers. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing in slow circles. “Knew you would be fun to torment.”

Your breath comes in short, ragged gasps as Lloyd's skilled fingers work their magic. You hate yourself for responding, but your body continues to betray you, growing slick with arousal.

"Stop," you beg, even as your hips buck against his hand.

Lloyd chuckles darkly. "Your mouth says stop, but your body is eager for more." He curls his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that makes you cry out. "That's it, let me hear those pretty sounds."

You turn your head away, ashamed of the pleasure coursing through your body despite your fear and revulsion. Lloyd grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

"No, no, Pumpkin. I want to see your face when you come undone," he growls, his fingers working faster inside you. His steel blue eyes bore into yours, filled with a mix of lust and cruelty that makes your stomach churn.

Yet your body trembles, teetering on the edge of release. You try to hold back, but Lloyd is determined to hurl you over the edge. His thumb increases pressure on your clit, circling relentlessly.

"That's it," he encourages, a ghost of a smirk on his face. He pulls out his phone, aiming the camera at you. "Let's give your husband a little show, shall we?" Lloyd says, his eyes glinting with malice.

Your eyes widen in panic at the sight of the phone. "No, please don't," you beg breathlessly.

Lloyd just grins wickedly. "Oh, but I must. Your husband needs to see what he's missing."

His fingers continue their merciless assault on your most sensitive areas. You're helpless against the onslaught of sensation, your body betraying you as waves of pleasure build.

"Come for us, Pumpkin," Lloyd commands. "Let Nick see how much you enjoy another man's touch."

You shut your eyes and cover your face with your arms.

Lloyd's fingers curl inside you again, and with a strangled cry, you fall over the edge. He keeps torturing you for a few more moments, making you buck and try to push him away. He laughs, letting you finally have one small victory.

But the reprieve is brief.

He yanks the clothing completely down and off your bottom half, and then he’s between your legs, cock out, and pushing his thick, blunt head inside you. Your scream is weak, but it breaks out of your throat as you beat against his chest.

Lloyd growls, grabs your wrists, and pins them above your head in one of his giant hands.

Then he proceeds to fuck you.

Slowly.

Lloyd's pace is agonizing, each thrust deep and deliberate. You try to disconnect, to retreat into your mind, but he won't allow it.

"Look at me," he demands, voice rough. When you don't comply, he grips your chin, forcing your gaze to meet his. "I said look at me while I fuck you."

You don’t realize you are crying until you hear your breath hitching against the backdrop of the music you had turned on when you got home. Tears stream down your cheeks as you stare into cold, blue eyes. Lloyd's mustache twitches as he smirks, clearly enjoying your distress.

"That's it, Pumpkin. Let me see that pretty face.”

Your tears only seem to spur Lloyd on, his thrusts becoming harder, but not faster. You try to stifle your cries, but each powerful movement forces small whimpers from your lips.

"Such sweet sounds," Lloyd murmurs, his breath hot across your face. "I wonder if your husband makes you sing like this."

You turn your head away, unable to bear looking at him any longer. Lloyd growls, displeased, and grabs a fistful of your hair, yanking your head back.

"I don’t need to fuck you," he snarls. “I’m doing it because I can. I’m doing it because I want Nick to know how thoroughly I’ve violated you here, in his bed, and then I’m still going to take you and make him come find you.”

You sob and it only fuels more of Lloyd's cruel desire. He releases your hair, his hand sliding down to grip your throat. The pressure isn't enough to cut off your air, but it's a clear threat.

"Shh, shh," he coos mockingly. "Feel every inch of me. Remember this moment, because it's going to haunt you for a long, long time."

You try to block out his words, to focus on anything else, but it's impossible. His hips continue their relentless pace, each thrust sending jolts of unwanted pleasure through your body. You hate yourself for responding, for the way your walls clench around him involuntarily.

"That's it," Lloyd snarls. “Fucking come around my cock, Mrs. Fowler.”

He releases the pressure from your throat, and the rush of oxygen back into your lungs combined with the pleasure assaulting your cunt pushes you into another orgasm. Lloyd groans as you squeeze him, and you feel him twitch inside you, but he pulls out and shoots hot ropes of cum across your chest and your face, pumping his fist furiously up and down his cock, one short cruel laugh of triumph ringing out.

Lloyd kneels above you, and snaps pictures with his camera this time. He lets you curl in on yourself while he tucks his cock back into his boxers and zips up his pants. He gives a low whistle, and two men appear in the doorway to your bedroom. You choke back another sob.

“Get up,” he orders. “You can either walk out to the van or these two will haul you out.”

Desperate not to have anyone else touch you, you scurry off the bed. You reach for your discarded underwear and jeans, but Lloyd barks, “No, leave it. You’re coming just like that.”

You look up sharply, opening your mouth to protest, but it dies when you see the gun in his hand pointed at your head. Fresh tears streaming down your face, you straighten up, and walk, humiliated, out of your bedroom in only your bra and your torn shirt, Lloyd’s hot, sticky cum still on your skin, and it’s all you can do to hold back your sobs until you’re curled in a ball in the dark of the trunk of a car.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

all Welcome Home, Pumpkin stories

...

And so it ends.

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[petetoxiclover]

James Prolongo

I love that guy

[suddenly-stickmin]

Actually the reason they're called 'stickmen' is because if you think of them even once, they will stick in your head forever. Here's some Macbeth and Mayor doodles cause I couldn't get them out of my mind LOL [I like to imagine they used to rob a lot of places and people together........]

[random-lil-illing]

been on a maria drawing spree lately <3 maria my beloved

[little-spoon-izzy]

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins - Red Ties

[stick-by-me]

Funky lil fellas 🐀

(From @coatsinkleaf and his shop here!)

New follower sticker for: @grassen!

[sendmyresignation]

i think there's really something to be said about how there has never been a record i've encountered where people wanted justification or excuse to refuse to acknowledge the intention and seriousness of the project itself like danger days by both defenders and haters. i find it so incredibly bizarre and strange and partially fascinating.

[witchofthesouls]

I'm surprised there wasn't a language barrier between Cybertron and the Lost Colonies! I mean, there should have been some differences or a linguistic drift, especially since the Titans left Cybertron before the Quintesson occupation and the rise of Functionism?

Like, what if the Lost Colonies were time capsules of extinct or dead Cybertronian languages? As in modern Neocybex of Cybertron was their version of modern English? Sure, each region has its own dialect, but it's all English...

And then, Windblade and Chromia rocks up to the planet, and they're straight up speaking Latin/Ancient Greek.

The closest Cybertron equivalent to said living time capsules are Primal Vernacular speakers, and those are ridiculously few in the factions, and that's not even a straight shot because of the regional influences that happened.

I think we need a fic where there's a Giant Big Bad that united everyone to the point that the Council of Worlds was started far earlier, but now it's Decepticon Justice Division being interpretors since Vos is the only fluent Primal Vernacular speaker and the other D.J.D. members are stuck in the new role playing charades with the Colonists' delegates because they figured out how to parse out a few phrases.

Their translation work isn't as shoddy or inaccurate as expected, much to everyone else's worries considering what's being said...

[nicomoon69]

having free will means I get to have stupid headcanons (Bernard owns a concerning amount of superrob merch for someone whose other personal belongings can be counted on one hand)