#fandom: killjoys | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

redvexillum · 3 months ago

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@crackrodent...YOU. AGAIN? But in all seriousness, thanks for challenging me. I've never written about an irredeemable main character before...or torture.

TAGS/WARNINGS: m/m, non-con, blackmail, drug use, tom is a psychopath/pervert but this is also hell so like not surprising, s☆unding, mutilati☆n, an☆l penetration, bottom!val, fr☆ttage, pins in c☆ck, blood as lube, b☆ndage, s☆x toy, no comfort, ☆verstimulation, begging, crying, torment, dead dove: do not eat, psychological, val had a really bad time, writer took a huge liberty of her head canon on tom trench, sadist!tom, s☆xual torture, unhinged!tom, dark, crack treated seriously, all the characters in this story are in hell because they are incredibly awful and despicable mofos, not kinktober or flufftober just horror

🙏 please mind your mental health before you read 🙏

Worthless. Trash. Nobody.

Tom Trench had heard it all, every demeaning spiteful word carved into his soul like jagged shards of glass. Back when he was alive, those words clung to him, branding him as an outsider, a weirdo – a man too peculiar for the world.

His tastes, his quirks, all things he embraced were sneered at, laughed off, cast aside. He didn’t belong. He was an outsider lurking at the edges of every group, too strange to fit in, too proud to bend. But even then, buried under layers of bitterness and rejection, he had a dream.

A dream to stand before the world, larger than life, bathed in the spotlight. His magnificent hair slicked back in perfection; his smile wide as fans would bow to his feet.

Fame. Riches. Accolades.

He had pictured it all, the roar of approval swelling in his ears as eyes would be all on him – he would be a star.

The world would see him as a somebody.

But life, cruel and fickle, dealt him a dog’s death.

Scorned. Forgotten. Alone.

His dreamed withered, trampled by those who never saw him for anything more than the peculiar man in the corner.

He died as nothing.

And it burned.

Yet here, in Hell, things were different. Down here, he mattered. Hell didn’t care about quirks or strangeness; Hell embraced it. And Tom, with his gas mask forever fused to his face like a grotesque second skin, had found something he’d never had before: recognition.

Tom Trench.

The name burned brighter than the flames licking the underworld. He was co-host of 666 News, one of the most-watched shows in Hell. Here, they knew him. He had status. All eyes were on him, on Tom Trench.

A somebody. He was a somebody.

At least, that was what he told himself every time the camera crew or makeup artist glanced at him with blank indifference, their eyes flickering over him as if he were nothing more than an inconvenience.

“Uhm, sir,” his assistant’s hesitant voice broke through his thoughts, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. “We’re ready for you.”

Tom’s jaws clenched. That damn look again, the one that screamed she forgot my name.

Again.

“It’s Tom,” he bit out, his voice a sharp, jagged edge.

Her eyes widened, the fake forced smile twitching on her lips. “Right, of course, Tom.” She repeated it like she had to convince herself, taking a shaky step back. “You’re ready for the stage.”

Her gaze slid past him almost immediately, gravitating toward his co-host, that bitch, Katie Killjoy. It was always the same – her and everyone else – eyes trailing longingly toward Killjoy, as if Tom were just a mere shadow in her spotlight. He could see it in the way his assistant’s lips curled into something softer when she looked at Killjoy, how her body relaxed as if being near her was a privilege.

Tom forced his fury down, letting it simmer beneath the surface. Killjoy was a co-host, just like Tom. That was all.Nothing more. Yet, as the two of them sat side by side in front of the camera, the venomous reality slapped him across the face with every word that left her smug lips.

She humiliated him. She did it effortlessly, tossing insults like they were second nature. A scalding cup of coffee spilled “accidentally” onto his lap, her sharp laughter ringing out as he flinched from the heat. Then came the string expletives, words flung at him like daggers in front of millions. The denizens of Hell loved it. They adore her viciousness, drank in her venom as if it were sweet wine.

Her ratings soared.

And Tom? He sat there, swallowing the bitter, sour taste of bile that surfaced from his rage, that threatened to choke him as they all laughed at him, never with him. Even in Hell, where he had clawed his way into a position of recognition, he was still just a stepping stone for someone like Killjoy. She was the woman everyone adored, while he remained the pathetic afterthought.

The air was thick with whispers, swirling around the room like vultures circling a dying beast. They weren’t subtle – the gossip, the sidelong glances, the smiles aimed at her. The world of entertainment was all about her, the extravagant life she paraded in front of Hell’s masses, basking in the endless attention. And every second, his spotlight dimmed just a little more.

Tom could feel it slipping away, like sand through his clenched fingers. His hand tightened into a fist, knuckles white as he fought to keep control, then slowly loosened. He had to breathe. But with every breath, memories came rushing back.

Horrible memories.

Scrubbing floors under the sneers of radio stars who barely acknowledged his existence. A janitor. A nobody. The disgusted glances, the whispers behind his back, the way they treated him like he was nothing. He had clawed his way up from that pit of humiliation, only to find himself teetering on the edge once more.

But with the anger came something else. Something dark. Something...delicious. The perverse satisfaction that had always come when he exacted his revenge. Oh, how sweet it was to see the terror in their eyes before their blood painted the walls, before their lives were extinguished so easily as they had tried to snuff out his.

The thought made him giddy, almost light-headed. That bitch, Killjoy...How he longed to wrap his hands around her throat, feel the delicate bones snap beneath his fingers, rip her trachea out and leave her lifeless body dangling in front of his house – strung up by her cunt.

It was only a fantasy. For now.

“...and back to you, Tom,” came that sickenly sweet voice, dripping with condescension. Katie Killjoy flashed her blood-red smile, her ghastly pale face stretching unnaturally, her long neck bent at an angle that made her look more like a grotesque puppet than a woman.

Tom blinked, snapping out of his dark thoughts. He cleared his throat, fumbling to gather the papers in front of him. His voice was just about to break the silence when–

The world tilted. His body hit the floor hard.

Killjoy had shoved him.

Laughter erupted. Hers, shrill and wicked, echoed by the snickers of the camera crew. His ass was planted on the cold studio floor, his notes scattered like the worthless thoughts they were, fluttering around him like discarded dreams.

Words that had meant something – his words – now crushed underfoot, ground into the dirt like they weren’t even worth reading aloud.

He sat there, frozen, the uselessness of it all swallowing him whole. Every time she shoved him, every time she spat venom in his direction, each moment she treated him like a worthless bug, something deep inside of him broke apart just a little more.

Tom had always considered himself patient. He had always prided himself on being able to bide his time, to let the insults roll off his back, knowing that, when the time came, he would take care of his problems in...unorthodox ways. But now, the anger simmering just beneath the surface was growing hotter, more volatile, like magma threatening to erupt from the depths of his soul. Until, one day...

One day...

He...

He laughed.

The sound was hollow, echoing off the cracked walls of his dingy one-room apartment. The flickering lights barely illuminated the Hell critters scuttling through the walls, the electricity only working half the time – if that.

He sat on the edge of his sagging bed, a wild itch spreading across his face. That damn gas mask. The curse that had fused it to his skin, forever making him a monster and incapable of showing a wide range of emotions. His fingers dug beneath the edges, nails scraping at his own flesh, tearing at the seams, trying to rip it off. But no matter how hard he clawed, it wouldn’t budge.

The mask was a reminder. It was a part of him now, just like the hatred that grew and festered inside. No matter how much he wanted to tear it away; to rip off the facade and scream at the world, it clung to him. Just like the memories.

The mask was a reminder – a cruel, suffocating reminder of his own stupidity. His fatal mistake. He hadn’t set the gas mask properly that night, hadn’t secured the mask tight enough before he drugged his victims – no – enemies. In his eagerness to play with them, he got careless. He remembered the sudden burn in his lungs, the bitter, acrid fumes filling his throat, choking him on his own vomit. The last thing he felt before death claimed him was the searing shame of his own failure.

And now, that same mask – the mask that failed to protect him in life – was fused to his flesh in death. A permanent scar, a mockery from Hell itself. A joke, courtesy of the damn Lord, who seemed to take twisted pleasure in reminding Tom of his fall from grace. The mask clung to his skin, melded into his very being, a symbol of his downfall.

It was as if Hell itself were looking down on him, laughing at him, calling him...

Worthless.

Trash.

Nobody.

Just like her. Just like Killjoy.

His hands trembled, raw and bloodied from his earlier attempts to rip the mask off, to tear away the part of himself that was forever tainted by his failure. Shreds of skin hung loosely from his face, sticky with blood that dripped steadily onto his pants. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.

As he bowed his head low, his eyes caught sight of the pristine white card – the invitation to a party tonight, an exclusive event for Hell’s celebrities to mingle and gloat.

They hadn’t even bothered to invite him.

He had stolen the invitation, filched it from Killjoy’s purse when she wasn’t looking. He’d rifled through her things countless times, savouring the small victories of taking what was hers. Knowing your enemy was critical, after all.

His gaze drifted toward the small shrine in the corner of his apartment – a twisted, obsessive display of trinkets he had stolen from her like a scavenging magpie. A half-used tube of lipstick, condom wrappers, a mini bullet vibrator, a cheap pen. All arranged neatly, each item a piece of her that he kept close. A constant reminder of the enemy.

But even as he looked at the shrine, something darker stirred within him. His cock twitched at the memory of the hot-pink vibrator, the way he had rubbed it against himself, imagining it was tainted with her disgusting touch. The fantasy that she hadn’t cleaned it properly before discarding it. He had gotten hard thinking about it, the idea of licking it clean crossing his mind more than once. But he couldn’t. The mask wouldn’t allow it. The thin slits were just wide enough for a straw, nothing more.

Blood oozed down his hands as he stood, but the pain was distant, drowned out by the fury simmering inside him. His eyes lingered on the stolen items as dark glee radiated within him. She would be at the party tonight. She never missed a chance to flaunt herself, to show off to the world how perfect she was. This would be his chance – the perfect opportunity to ruin her in every possible way.

His rage bubbled up, hotter and hotter, until it consumed every thought, every fibre of his being. The anger had always been there, simmering just below the surface, but now it boiled over. All he could think about, all he could imagine, was fucking her lifeless throat in the ultimate act of triumph. The way he had done to others in the past. The thought made his cock throb, the desire so strong it nearly consumed him.

But in Hell, killing wasn’t as easy as it had been in life. Here, death was temporary, a mere inconvenience. Killing her would be too easy, too quick. No, what he wanted – what he needed – was to humiliate her. To break her, to strip away her power, piece by piece, until she was nothing more than a quivering, broken shell below him.

After all, she always called him a...what was it again?

Ah, yes, a limp-dick jackass.

A small chuckle escaped him. It was only polite to prove her wrong, wasn’t it? His hand drifted down to the front of his pants, clutching the throbbing erection straining against the fabric. His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, desire thrumming through him. He hadn’t fucked anyone since coming to Hell – hadn't indulged in his darker urges because it required a specific set of circumstances to...perform.

But tonight?

Tonight, would be different.

The thought of forcing her to choke on his cock, to make her gag and squirm as he held her down, made his blood pound with sick anticipation. He could already picture her tear-streaked face, the horror in her eyes. Fuck. He was going to make Killjoy his bitch tonight.

Hell was a beautiful place. There were substances here, powerful enough to bend even the strongest wills, to strip away control and leave a person at the mercy of their darkest desires. Tom had nearly drained his entire bank account to get his hands on a potent love potion, an almost magical concoction that would ensure his plans went off without a hitch. He patted the vial in his pocket, his fingers brushing against the mini camcorder tucked safely in the other

He would record everything. His glory, his victory.

Tonight, Katie Killjoy would regret ever crossing him.

He had realized belatedly that tonight's party was a costume party. He quickly went to the bargain store and purchased a costume that was the cheapest in stock.

The costume was a joke, a cheap, pathetic imitation of the infamous Angel Dust – a popular porn star known for his exaggerated style and body. Tom stood in front of his cracked mirror, smearing pink glitter around his eyes to imitate the porn star’s extra set of eyes.

His fingers clumsily mussed his hair forward to mimic Angel’s wild hairstyle, and he stuffed clumps of fluff into the front of his shirt, attempting to simulate the porn star’s chest fluff.

But it was a miserable failure. The glitter clung to his sweat-slicked skin, making his gas mask look even more ugly, and the fluff drooped awkwardly, highlighting his lack of finesse. He looked nothing like Angel Dust, not even a distant shadow. He looked like one of the coked-up sinners that haunted Hell’s back alleys - dirty, unhinged, and desperate.

It didn’t matter. The costume wasn’t for mingling or fitting in. He had a purpose tonight, a goal far glorious than simply attending a party for clout.

The moment he stepped into the club, the assault on his senses was immediate. The air was thick with the stench of alcohol, cloying perfume, and the unmistakable musk of sex. Strobe lights flickered wildly, casting shifting shadows across the room, while the pounding music reverberated through the building, vibrating in his chest like a second heartbeat.

Bodies writhed together in an unholy dance – mass orgies on the dance floor, groups of sinners tangled in a mess of limbs and moans. Some engaged in conversation, but the real action was the chaotic display of hedonistic desires playing right in front of him.

Tom had never belonged to this world. Never been invited to these kinds of exclusive gatherings. But tonight was different. He had to be here, even if he stole the invitation. He belonged among the rich and powerful, didn’t he? He wasn’t just anyone; he was Tom Trench, co-host of 666 News, one of the most-watched channels in Hell’s entire pentagram.

He mattered.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he stepped deeper into the fray, heart pounding in time with the music, head swimming with thoughts of what he was about to do.

“Like fuck, I can’t believe I lost that fucking invitation!” Killjoy’s shrill voice cut through the din like a knife, and Tom’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. He froze, scanning the crowd, his pulse racing as he spotted her near the bar, surrounded by a gaggle of sycophants in miniskirts and plunging tops, all hanging on her every word. She was in her element, laughing cruelly, her lips smeared with that garish red lipstick she always wore.

Without thinking, Tom ducked behind a couple in the midst of dry humping, their bodies pressed together, tongues tangled in an intense display of public lust. The sinner’s underwear was yanked down, their exposed cunt rubbing shamelessly against their partner’s thigh. It was disgusting, but it provided just enough cover for Tom to hide, pulling out his phone to pretend he was preoccupied. It was an old, outdated piece of junk – still paying it off, of course – but it gave him an excuse to eavesdrop without looking suspicious.

“Like, the fucking bitch at the door gave me such a hard time just because I didn’t have my invitation on me! But you know what I told her?” Killjoy’s voice dripped with sadistic glee, her laugh high and piercing as her entourage leaned in. “I told her if she didn’t get me in, I’d get my buddies to fuck her! Hahaha!” She snorted as she placed her fingers against her chest. “And trust me, that bitch nearly killed herself after the last time they did!”

The surrounding women cackled, their laughter cruel and shrill, tears of mirth streaming down their perfectly made-up faces. They clung to her every word, validating her, admiring her. Tom’s stomach churned with a mix of bitter envy and anger.

He knew exactly who she was talking about – the girl at the door was her assistant. The poor girl had always looked frazzled, terrified, constantly on edge around Killjoy. He’d heard about the incident when the assistant accidentally spilled a latte on Killjoy’s suit. It had been hilarious at the time, watching Killjoy’s face turn an unnatural shade of red, her eyes blazing with fury.

But he hadn’t known the full story. He hadn’t known just how far Killjoy’s cruelty had gone, punishing her assistant in ways too vile to even imagine. Her assistant wasn’t an animal, but Killjoy was. The standards were held different for bitches like her.

A sense of delight buzzed in his veins. Killjoy, always so perfect, always so untouchable, reduced to tears. Black mascara running down her pale cheeks as her carefully constructed mask of control shattered.

The weight of the drug in his pocket felt heavier with each passing moment. His fingers twitched, itching to take action, to make his fantasy a reality. He could already see it – the way she’d crumble, the way her pristine image would be ripped apart in front of everyone. He’d tear that tight little nurse outfit right off her, make her scream, make her sob, until she was nothing but a broken shell of herself. His cock stirred again at the thought, the heat of his anger blending with a delirious sense of arousal.

Tonight, he’d make her remember his name.

He’d make her fear it.

As Tom surveyed the area, he noticed the almost empty drink in her hand, and he could almost see the perfect opportunity forming in his mind. The bar was just steps away from her – so easy, so simple. He could order her a drink, instruct the bartender to hand it over, and watch as his plan unfolded. He could already imagine her glossy lips parting, taking a sip, and then–

His thoughts were shattered by a sudden invasive pressure – fingers pressed right up against his asshole. Tom jolted, spinning around in shock, his body stiffening as he came face-to-face with someone far more dangerous than he’d anticipated.

Valentino.

The moth demon towered over him, dressed in his usual flamboyant attire, pink smoke curling lazily from his pipe held between his lips. The scent of his hung heavy in the air, wrapping around them, the haze seeming to draw Tom deeper into his humiliation.

“Angel!” Valentino’s voice slithered through the noise, loud enough to grab the attention of the surrounding sinners. His hand still lingered near Tom’s rear, possessive, like he owned everything in his reach.

“It-it’s Tom, sir,” Tom stammered, the earlier confidence draining from him like the smoke from Valentino’s pipe. He felt small. Insignificant. The weight of Valentino’s presence crushed his resolve.

“What?” Valentino’s eyes narrowed, peering through his pink sunglasses as he bent lower, inspecting Tom’s face. A look of disgust flashed across his features. “Ugh, fuck, you’re an ugly thing, aren’t you?” He sneered, his lips curling before a soft gag escaped his throat. “Didn’t the invitation say sexy costumes?” Valentino turned to one of the curvaceous sinners by his side, her barely there bikini leaving little to the imagination. She gave a playful smile, batting her long lashes as she nodded.

Tom’s heart thundered in his chest, a chaotic mix of fear, awe, and admiration. Valentino – one of the Vees, one of the most powerful Overlords in Hell – was standing right before him. His earlier scheme to ruin Killjoy seemed to fade like smoke, replaced with a sharp, aching desire.

He wanted to be them.

The Vees were somebody.

They were the apex, the ones everyone else either feared or envied.

And Tom? Tom was just another face in the crowd. Just another nobody.

“I-uh-” he stammered, his mouth dry, eyes wide as another stunning beauty approached Valentino, draping herself over his other arm. Tom could barely think straight. His heart raced, not just from fear, but from longing. If he could impress Valentino, cozy up to him, maybe he could be more. Maybe he could become the sole host of 666 News, instead of living in Killjoy’s shadow. The Vees controlled every channel in the Pentagram; if anyone had the power to make him a somebody, it was them.

But Valentino wasn’t interested. Before Tom could finish his pitiful attempt at flattery, Valentino raised a hand, cutting him off with a look of pure indifferent. “Who are you?” Valentino asked, the question hanging in the air, icy and rhetorical. Tom’s mouth opened, but no sound came. He didn’t have a chance to answer before Valentino’s lips curled into a sneer, his voice dripping with contempt. “You’re some nobody.”

The words hit like a slap to the face. Valentino’s posture oozed arrogance, his hips jutting out in lazy dominance. “Run along now,” he drawled, waving Tom off like a bug he’d grown tired of swatting.

“You’re dismissed.”

The two girls at his sides giggled, their eyes dancing with malicious amusement. They didn’t see him as anything more than a joke, a small man playing dress-up, trying to fit into a world that didn’t want him. Their laughter stabbed at Tom’s pride, each giggle a reminder of his insignificance. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms as he tried to steady his breathing, but it felt like his chest was collapsing in on itself.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, everything warped. His vision blurred, and suddenly, he wasn’t in the club anymore. He wasn’t under the judgmental gaze of Valentino and his entourage. No, he was somewhere else – somewhere familiar yet distant, like a half-forgotten dream. A memory surged forward, unbidden, like a hidden shard of glass surfacing from the depth of murky water.

The memory, once a distant blur, came rushing back with brutal clarity, its edges sharper than a razor, slicing through his mind. Tom could see it – his brown, ratty, tattered shows, the leather peeling away like his last shred of dignity. Each step left bits of himself behind, dirt smeared across pristine floors that were never meant for the likes of him. His hands trembled, rubbing together compulsively, desperate, as if he could conjure up a miracle if just tried hard enough.

Back then, he had been a janitor at a radio station. His cousin, always grinning with false hope, had promised him that if he worked hard enough, kept his head down, and grinded, maybe – just maybe – they'd give him a shot at stardom. A chance to be somebody.

But that chance never came.

Instead, he was left cleaning up after the real stars, scrubbing their messes while they laughed in the spotlight. His heart raced, a bitter rhythm that beat against the weight of the world collapsing around him.

The Great Depression was in full swing – people starving, families dying in the streets. But Tom? No, Tom was going to be fine. He had been told to believe in the American dream. He had been told that hard work would pay off.

So, every day, despite the mocking laughter, despite the whispers behind his back, he pushed forward. He had banked everything – his life, his hope – on the promise that effort would make him rise above the filth of the working class.

But it was all a lie.

“You’re dismissed,” his cousin had said, not even sparing a single glance up from his newspaper.

Those two words echoed through his skull, twisting his stomach in knots. Those words were his ticket to eternal damnation, his invitation to the gutter. The world crumbled around him as they shattered the fragile dream he had clung to for so long.

Those two words broke him.

He had walked out into the street, the stench of death and rot filling the air. Those two words had stripped him of his humanity, left him hollow, a walking corpse, just another forgotten piece of garbage.

He had stood over his cousin’s broken body, blood bubbling from the man’s lips, his last words choking on the truth that had haunted Tom his entire life: you’ll always be a nobody. Useless. Trash.

Tom had once considered himself patient. A man who could endure. But now? As the anger from Killjoy’s mocking laughter seared into him, as Valentino’s cold dismissal stabbed through his chest, the final thread of sanity snapped.

Valentino was long gone, already surrounded by his entourage. However, Tom stood there, giggling – a high-pitched, manic sound that rattled though his skull, masked by the pounding bass of the music.

It was funny, wasn’t it? How life continued to fuck him, even in death. Every twist, every turn, the universe seemed to take pleasure in making him its joke. Always at the bottom, always overlooked, always discarded.

His fingers brushed against the drug in his pocket, the weight of it pressing against his side like a reminder of what he could still do. His eyes, once burning with rage at Killjoy, shifted now. Slowly, they turned toward the tall, lanky figure lounging on a couch as if he owned the entire damn club. Valentino, with his heart-shaped glasses and that broad, sickening grin. His tongue flicked out, licking at the women draped over him like accessories, his arrogance oozing out from every pore.

Valentino sat there like a king, surrounded by whores, drenched in the illusion of power. To him, everyone else was just a shadow, a worthless nobody.

Just like Tom.

It was disturbingly easy, how effortlessly Tom managed to slip the entire brew of the drug into Valentino’s drink. A drop or two was all it was supposed to take, but he didn’t care for caution. He dumped the whole flask, watching the light pink hue dissolve without a second thought. Maybe Valentino thought no one in Hell had the guts to spike his drink. Or maybe the Overlord was too arrogant to even consider the possibility.

When Tom approached with the glass, Valentino barely spared him a glance, eyes glazed over with disdain as he reached for the drink. He gulped it down in one, not bothering to acknowledge Tom’s existence. But soon, his expression changed. Slowly, his head began to sway, and the surrounding whores giggled nervously, their hands caressing his arms as if their touch could stabilize him.

Tom moved closer, stepping into the Overlord’s line of sight. Valentino’s eyes struggled to focus, a strange mix of clouding and desire clouding his features. “Angel!” he cried out, his voice slurring as his arms looped around Tom’s waist.

It was laughably easy to guide Valentino into one of the club’s private rooms, the kind reserved for hard-core BDSM plays. Tom locked the door behind them, a metallic click that echoed through the dim room. Chains and leather straps adorned the walls, while flickering flames cast ominous shadows across the cold stone floor, licking the walls with an eerie glow. It was the perfect setting for what Tom had in mind.

Valentino, completely unaware, had already begun undressing, his clothes falling in a careless heap on the floor. “Angel, baby,” he groaned, his voice heavy with lust and delirium. “I’ve been wanting to fuck your tight ass for weeks...how dare you make me wait, you ungrateful fucking whore.” His words slurred, muting the malicious tone. His body collapsed onto the bed with a graceless thud.

Tom’s stomach twisted with a dark, sick pleasure. He didn’t care about the sex of his victims, never had. The only thing that mattered was that they were helpless. Weak. Prone. His arousal surged as Valentino lay before him, drugged and limp, a pitiful sight. His breath quickened, his pants already tightening around the hardness that pressed painfully against the fabric.

Without a word, Tom moved to the restraints hanging on the walls, fingers brushing over the cold leather. He wanted to grin, to laugh, but the mask that had fused to his face, mocking hi for all eternity, prevented it.

No matter.

His actions spoke for him.

Stripping out of the gaudy Angel Dust costume, he began to tie Valentino’s arms together with practised ease. He bound them tightly to the hook above the bed, pulling just enough to leave the Overlord’s body slightly suspended. Valentino’s lilac-shaded cock twitched pathetically with each touch, though it hung limp, his mind lost in the overwhelming effects of the drug.

The apothecary had warned Tom – one drop was enough to drive a demon into mindless heat, to have them writhing in desperation. But a full vial? Tom’s pulse quickened, a thrill racing through him. He was going to find out.

Valentino’s pink drool dribbled slowly from his parted lips, his head hanging uselessly as his arms stretched above him. The once-powerful Overlord now reduced to a puppet, limp and helpless. Tom’s breath hitched, his hand flying to his own hardened cock, slick with pre-cum as he gripped it tightly.

Flashes of old memories flooded his mind – victims, squirming in panic, tied up in his gas-filled room. The smell of fear, the way their eyes widened when they saw him in his gas mask, breathing heavily as he watched them. The way they begged for mercy, their words cut off as the gas took over, silencing them just as they had silenced him when they mocked, dismissed, and belittled him.

Those were the glory days.

Short, fleeting, but glorious, nonetheless.

And now? Now, here he was again, a nobody with the power to make someone else feel the same helplessness he had endured for far too long. Valentino would suffer, not through fear but through humiliation. He would be just another victim in Tom’s long line of revenge.

“Augh,” Valentino moaned, his voice thick with lust and confusion as his cock slowly stiffened, pink drool spilling from his slack mouth, rolling down his chest in a glistening trail. His body, once the epitome of control and power, now hung limp, betrayed by the very pleasure coursing through him.

Tom set the camcorder up at the foot of the bed, his movements methodical, driven by the sick sense of satisfaction. This recording – this proof – would be his victory. Even if it didn’t serve a purpose beyond his own personal gratification, he knew that watching Valentino’s humiliation again and again would feed him, satiate his hunger, for a very long time.

Slowly, he stripped off his clothes, his cock hard and throbbing, standing proud as he climbed onto the bed. The feeling of control, of domination, filled him, and it was intoxicating.

It was magnificently glorious.

“So, who’s the powerless, weak nobody now?” Tom sneered, his voice low as he hovered above Valentino, his cock bobbing just in front of the Overlord’s face. The rush of power was exhilarating, a heady feeling that made him feel invincible.

But then, Valentino stirred, his body twitching before a sputter of laughter escaped his lips, deep and mocking. Tom’s confidence wavered as Valentino’s grating laugh pierced through his triumph, hitting the nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“What the fuck is this?” Valentino squinted up at tom, a wide, sloppy grin spreading across his face. “Angel, when did your dick get so tiny?” His laughter grew louder, more malicious. “Unless...is that your pinky finger I’m seeing?” He leaned forward as if trying to get a closer look at Tom’s erect cock, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement.

Shame and embarrassment coursed through Tom as he stumbled backward, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced down at Valentino’s half-hard cock, massive even in its lips state, and a wave of humiliation crashed over him. Five times bigger, Tom thought, feeling the sting of comparison tear at his earlier bravado. His own erection faltered, the shame creeping in like poison, each pulse of Valentino’s laughter eroding at his fragile sense of ego and power.

Clenching his fists until his nails dug into his palms, Tom fought to steady himself. “Size isn’t everything,” he spat bitterly, but the words tasted hollow. Valentino groaned, his head lolling from side to side as more saliva dribbled from his lips, the effects of the drug thickening in his veins. His cock, now fully erect, throbbed, pre-cum leaking in thick ropes down his shaft.

“Fuck,” Valentino slurred, his voice barely coherent as his body twitched, trying to regain control. “What the fuck is going on?” His arms, bound above him, were the only thing keeping him from collapsing entirely, his strength drained by the overwhelming pleasure and the drug burning through him.

Tom’s gaze flicked toward the drawer by the bed. His fingers grazed over the various sex toys within. His eyes landed on a thin metal rod with a circular-shaped handle at the end, its surfaced pocked with rust and decay. He had seen it used in some of the darker porn he’d watched – sounding, they called it. A flutter of amusement pulsed within him as he pulled it out, running his thumb over the rough, ridged surface.

“Let’s just stop that little leak of yours, Val,” Tom muttered, his tone mockingly sweet as he returned to the bed. “I can call you that, right?” Valentino only groaned, lost in his delirium, and Tom chuckled darkly. The drug had Valentino completely at his mercy, his once-mighty form reduced to a quivering, incoherent mess.

Tom’s fingers trailed down the length of Valentino’s shaft, feeling the heat radiating from it, the way it pulsed under his touch. The second his skin made contact; Valentino screamed – an animalistic sound that bounced off the wall. His hips jerked upward, pre-cum splattering everywhere, coating Tom’s hand and chest in sticky droplets.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Valentino cursed, his voice breaking as his body writhed in overstimulation, muscles tensing and flexing uncontrollably. His thighs quivered, his breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The sound of his whimpers – those small, pathetic cries – sent a shiver down Tom’s spine. He had never seen someone so powerful reduced to this, lost in a haze of pleasure so intense it bordered on agony.

With a sadistic thrill pumping in his veins, Tom gripped Valentino’s cock in one hand, holding it steady. Valentino hissed at the contact, his body arching as if trying to escape the sensation. Unexpectedly, Tom positioned Valentino’s cock, the gaping slit already covered with pre-cum.

And then, without hesitation, Tom drove the metal rod in, all at once.

The scream that tore from Valentino’s throat was primal, a raw howl that reverberated off the stone walls. His body convulsed violently, arms straining against the restraints as he thrashed in pain. Blood mixed with the clear fluid, dripping in thick rivulets from the slit of his cock, staining the sheet below them.

As Tom shoved the metal sounding deeper with brutal force, he disregarded the way Valentino’s cock strained and trembled under the intrusion. The tension, the sickening resistance of flesh yielding and ripping to cold steel, sent a thrill through Tom’s spine.

Valentino’s pure, pained cries echoed like music to his ears, and for the first time in ages, Tom felt a rush of arousal so fierce it made him light-headed. His body thrummed with sadistic excitement, the sound of his own hissing breaths the only counterpoint to Valentino’s sobbing gasps.

Tom’s hips jerked forward in short, uncontrolled strokes, his cock twitching as he focused solely on driving the sounding to its limit, down to the very hilt. His eyes roved over the sight with a ravenous hunger, his lips parting in a soft groan of pleasure as crimson droplets continued to well up from Valentino’s tip, the blood slowly trailing down the length of his shaft like delicate ribbons decorating a sacrificial altar. The contrast of the vivid red against the pale lilac skin was picturesque – it was art.

Panting heavily, he finally released the device, sitting back on his heels as he admired his handiwork. Valentino’s face was a portrait of agony – tears streaming freely down his flushed cheeks, mixing with the pink drool that spilled from his slack mouth. His hips jerked in weak, pathetic thrusts, as though his body still sought relief despite the pain, fucking the air with an almost automatic, broken rhythm.

“F-fuck...fuck...” Valentino’s voice cracked, a barely coherent string of words that failed to form any real protest. His expression was glazed, trapped somewhere between torment and lust, his mind a shattered mess.

The sight of the powerful Overlord reduced to this wreck of a man – a trembling, crying, pathetic mess at Tom's mercy – sent a dark wave of satisfaction within him. His cock, already aching, hardened even more, throbbed in time with his racing heart.

Without thinking, Tom’s hand flew to his shaft, gripping it tight as he began to stroke with wild desperation. His moans mixed with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the wet, obscene noise heightening his arousal. His gaze stayed on Valentino’s cock, still leaking blood in profuse streams, the tip a monstrous, crimson, puffy spectacle that fuelled the fire roaring in Tom’s gut

Faster.

Harder.

His breath hitched, muscles tensing as the coil in his stomach tightened, winding tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable. He could feel it – the edge drawing closer, and with a growl, he pushed himself to his feet, staggering forward to position himself above Valentino’s tear-streaked face.

“You should know this routine, Val. You fucking love money shots,” Tom growled through gritted teeth, his hand a blur as he pumped his cock furiously. The slick sound of his strokes filled the room, building with every desperate gasp.

His mind went white-hot as the climax finally crashed into him. With a pure, unfiltered, guttural moan, Tom let his head fall back, hips jerking as ropes of thick, hot cum shot from him, painting Valentino’s face in sticky white streaks. The droplets splattered across his cheeks, some landing on his pink-tinted glasses, smearing across the lenses like a filthy mark of ownership.

But it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

Tom stood there for a moment, chest heaving, his hand still loosely wrapped around his cock, but the hunger in him refused to face. His cock still twitched, still begged for more. He wasn’t done yet. He couldn’t be done. Not with Valentino laid out before him like this, vulnerable and broken. This was an opportunity too good to waste – a chance to push Valentino past the edge of despair and into true ruin.

He turned toward the nearby box of toys again. His eyes, scanning the contents, glittering with sadistic glee as they fell upon a box of sharp acupuncture pins. Ideas blossomed in his mind, twisted, fragile, and beautiful. He grabbed them without hesitation, already envisioning the next stage of pleasure.

When he stood and looked back, his grin only widened. Valentino was trembling, his body spasming uncontrollably as thick white cum, tinged with red streaks, leaked from the tip of his still-throbbing cock. The sight of it sent a rush of heat through Tom’s veins – Valentino had come despite it all, despite the pain.

The bastard had found release, however fleeting.

“Fucking hell, Val...you already came?” Tom muttered, amusement lacing his words as he stalked closer. But no matter – it wasn’t over yet. The drug coursing through Valentino’s veins would ensure that he stayed rock-hard, no matter how much he came. His body wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t find release, not until every drop of that drug was purged from his system.

And Tom planned to take full advantage of that.

Sitting back in front of Valentino, Tom let a slow, dark hum escape him, the haunting melody echoing a distant memory from his past. Valentino’s broken murmurs finally reached his ears, soft, slurred words that barely made sense. “Please...no more...please,” followed by a hoarse, trembling, “it fucking hurts.”

Tom’s breath grew ragged, his heart hammering in his chest as excitement spread through his veins like wildfire. After years of being stepped on, spat on, and treated as less than nothing, here, presently, with Valentino sobbing and powerless before him, Tom had never felt so alive, so untouchable, dominant.

“Val, you’re disappointing me,” Tom taunted, his voice dripping with mock sympathy as his fingers hovered over the sharp pin. The beaded end reflected from the dim light, each end adorned with a bright array of blues, reds, and yellows. Slowly, almost reverently, he positioned the pointed end against the side of Valentino’s shaft, savouring the way the soft skin quivered beneath his touch.

Then, mercilessly, he pushed.

The pointed edge pierced the delicate flesh easily, sinking in like a hot knife through butter.

“Ah-ah-ahhhhhhh!” Valentino’s scream tore through the room, his body convulsing weakly, as if trying to escape the pain. But it was futile – the drug coursing through his veins kept him paralyzed, a prisoner to his own body, left to writhe under Tom’s sadistic whims.

Tom’s high-pitched giggles burst out as he pushed the pin further, watching intently as the sharp glinting metal disappeared, blood welling up around the wound before spilling into crimson rivulets down Valentino’s cock.

The bead rested at the base, nestled against the taut skin, a small, bright mark of Tom’s handiwork – his – ah – gift. Valentino’s agony was palpable, his cries a broken record that sent shivers of pleasure down Tom’s spine.

“We’ll play a little game, Val,” Tom purred, his voice low and dripping with dark intent. His cock throbbed, standing fully erect, aching for release again as he admired the sight before him. Valentino’s tear-streaked face, the faint glimmer of cum still clinging to the rose-tinted lenses of his glasses – it was a masterpiece of suffering.

“Tell me what my name is, and I’ll stop decorating your cock,” he groaned, his gaze fixating on the sounding protruding from Valentino’s urethra, the tip slowly oozing out fresh blood.

Valentino’s breath hitched as his swollen, tear-filled eyes flicked up toward Tom, but his mind was a haze of torment. “I...I don’t know...” His voice was broken, his words thick and heavy, each syllable a struggle to form as his tongue lolled out between each breath.

“Well, that’s a shame,” Tom replied brightly, a cruel smirk tugging at his lips. Without hesitation, he reached for another pin, this time a bright blue one. With practised ease, he slid it into Valentino’s flesh, revelling in the fresh wave of agonized cries that filled the warm, musky air. The cries fuelled Tom, his hand drifting back to his own cock, stroking slowly, deliberately, as he watched Valentino’s face contort in suffering.

“I - fuck...Paul?” Valentino sobbed, weakly thrashing against the binds. His body trembled like a leaf in the wind.

“Wrong again,” Tom whispered, voice drenched with satisfaction. His arousal mounted with every scream; every helpless sob, Valentino gave. It was intoxicating, the way each pin drove Valentino further into the depths of agony. “Ah, fuck...” Tom groaned, his grip tightening around his cock as he pushed the next pin in, his mind lost in the perverse pleasure of it all.

It was almost tragic – really, how easily Valentino had forgotten his name, as if the pain had burned away every memory. Tom’s gaze darkened as he picked up the last pin in the small pouch, a red one this time, and drove it deep into the only remaining space into Valentino’s shaft.

The result was hauntingly beautiful. The pins, bright beads of colour, embedded deep into his bleeding cock, turned the once-proud organ into something...festive. The crimson blood oozed from the wounds, staining Valentino’s balls and the sheets beneath him in a macabre display.

“For being such a good boy, how about I reward you, Val?” Tom cooed, his voice sickly sweet, his heart beating frantically as he heard the faint, hoarse whispers of “no” spilling from Valentino’s lips. But Tom had already made up his mind. His eyes couldn’t tear away from the oversized sparkly pink dildo standing proudly by the bedside table.

It was a monstrosity, the size of Valentino’s forearm, a brutal weapon of destruction that could easily tear someone apart. The girth alone was enough to ruin anyone permanently.

Straining, Tom grasped the oversized dildo, the artificial scent of manufactured plastic sharp in his nostrils. With a firm shove of Valentino’s shoulder, his body was forced forward. Valentino hissed in agony as his raw, bloodied cock made contact with the rough bedsheet, another strangled cry of desperation filling the room.

“Please...no more,” Valentino whimpered, his voice a broken whisper lost to the air.

Tom, unmoved, set the dildo down on the bed beside them. He leaned over, pressing a finger to Valentino’s trembling lips, shushing him softly. Without warning, he gripped Valentino’s narrow waist, lifting his limp, rag-doll body off the bed. He positioned Valentino’s trembling form over the massive toy, resting the tip of the monstrous cock right against Valentino’s tight ring of muscle.

“Fuck, no! No!” Valentino’s cries were frantic now, his voice hoarse with panic. “I’ll do whatever you want, anything – please, I’ll give you anything, just – please,” his spittle flew, and drool leaked into a stringy goop of mess.

But Tom didn’t care. His mind was lost in the ecstasy of the moment, the thrill of control that made his pulse quicken and his cock throb. The sight of Valentino’s body trembling on the brink of being impaled, the helplessness in his eyes, only heightened Tom’s desire. His urge to stroke himself into oblivion gnawed at him, but he forced himself to savour this moment.

With deliberate calm, Tom stood behind Valentino, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder as though he were offering comfort. He took a slow, deep breath, leaning close. “Relax, Val...it’ll feel good,” he whispered, pressing the side of his face with Valentino’s. “For me, that is,” he finished with a cruel laugh, before he suddenly slammed Valentino down onto the dildo.

The reaction was immediate. Valentino’s screams were ripped from his throat, his voice breaking into a guttural wheeze as his body convulsed in agony. His ass, unprepared and unable to accommodate the sheer size of the dildo, stretched obscenely around it. Tom’s grip on Valentino’s hips was unrelenting as he forced him lower, ignoring the frantic, incoherent pleas spilling from his lips. Valentino begged, over and over, but Tom’s focus never wavered.

Slowly, inch by agonizing inch, Valentino’s body was pushed further down, the monstrous toy rearranging his insides. Tom shivered with sick satisfaction as he watched the bulge begin to form in Valentino’s lower belly, the outline of the dildo distending his thin frame. The sight was glorious, obscene, the kind of thing that made Tom’s cock throb with unbearable need.

With a hoarse, broken cry, Valentino’s cock spasmed violently. A messy burst of semen erupting from the tip, spraying onto the sheets as his lolled backward in a mix of unbearable pain and cruelly forced pleasure. His entire body shook, trembling like a newborn calf, but still, Tom paid no mind to his suffering. His only focus was on forcing Valentino to take the full length of the dildo, every, damning inch.

“Aren’t I such a generous partner, Val?” Tom’s voice was light, almost teasing, as Valentino’s body finally sank to the hilt, his entire lower half impaled on the dildo. “You told me my cock wasn’t enough for you, so I got you something better. Aren’t you grateful?”

“Anything,” Valentino muttered weakly, tears streaming down his cheeks, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll tell you anything...anything...” His words were slurred, trembling, lost in the haze of agony and fear. His lower half was a horrific mess of blood and cum, staining both his skin and the bedsheets.

Tom scoffed, shaking his head. “Sure, Val. Tell me something...something no one else knows.” He knelt down in front of Valentino, his cock hard and leaking, pressing the length of it against Valentino’s mutilated, beaded shaft. Valentino let out a sharp hiss of pain, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through him as Tom slowly rubbed his cock along Valentino’s smearing the mix of blood and cum across his skin.

Gripping the sounding still embedded in Valentino’s urethra, Tome began to move it with a slow, deliberate motions, tugging it up and down as Valentino’s sobs grew louder, more pitiful. “Go on,” Tom panted, his breath hitching as he felt the edge of his cock brush against the smooth end of the beaded tip. “Tell me...” he moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure build inside him, the sensation of Valentino’s mutilated, swollen shaft heightening every stroke.

Valentino could only sob harder, his body trembling uncontrollably as Tom’s cruel, taunting touch brought him closer to the edge of madness. Tom’s breath quickened, his moans becoming louder, more guttural, as he lost himself in the feel of Valentino’s bloodied flesh pressed right up again him.

“We-we’re planning to a-attack the Princess of Hell’s hotel next w-week,” Valentino stuttered, his voice trembling with fear and pain. “W-we have an army...ngh...equipped with...hah...” His words faltered as Tom recklessly pulled the sounding halfway out of his cock, before thrusting it back in with a sickening squelch. Valentino gasped, choking on his words as a thick bubble of blood oozed from the tip. “A-angelic s-steel,” he finally managed to wheeze, his mouth hanging open, drool and snot mingling and dribbling down his chin.

Tom’s hand paused. The words barely registered – he couldn’t care less about some redemption hotel. It held absolutely zero interest to him. Still, this was information the Vees clearly kept close to their chest, and it might be useful later. He could figure out how to capitalize on it later tonight. For now, his gaze fell back on Valentino’s wrecked face, streaked with tears and fluids, eyes wide in terror and agony. The moment of truth was upon him.

It was time to burst through the cocoon of suffocating oppression, and chase his own glorious release.

With a sharp, brutal yank, Tom pulled the sounding free. Valentino’s body convulsed, a violent spasm wracking him and his pained moans barely audible.

Tom groaned, feeling his own need swell within him. He gripped both their cocks, pressing them together, his hand sliding up and down their lengths as he ground against Valentino’s swollen, purple shaft.

Valentino let out another broken sob as the pin buried in his cock shifted, the pressure causing his member to turn an even deeper shade of purple. His cock pulsed painfully as Tom quickened his pace, chasing the edge of his orgasm.

“Oh fuck...fuck,” Tom panted, the wet squelching sound of their cocks sliding together filling the room alongside Valentino’s pitiful, broken whimpers. With one final hard thrust, Tom let out a low, guttural moan, his body seizing in pleasure as thick ropes of cum erupted from his cock, painting Valentino’s limp, bloodied body. His seed splattered across Valentino’s sweat-slick chest, mixing with the blood and cum staining his swollen cock.

Panting heavily, Tom finally collapsed backward, his body spent, his cock softening as the heady, addicting sensation of pleasure washed over him. He hadn’t felt this kind of pure, unadulterated pleasure in decades. His body felt light, like a weight had been lifted from his soul.

He glanced down at Valentino’s face – his red eyes were blown wide open, but they had lost all focus, glazed over in shock and exhaustion. His tongue hung limply from the side of his mouth, his body completely still, suspended from the ceiling by the ropes binding him. Even now, after countless brutal releases, Valentino’s cock remained comically hard, the veins bulging angrily against his abused skin.

It looked like the moth Overlord had finally reached his breaking point. Valentino was hanging their unconscious, barely breathing, his body slack and lifeless. Tom couldn’t help the satisfied smile that tugged at his lips.

Valentino made such a handsome, tragic painting like this – strung up, covered in a mixture of blood and cum. Tom took a long moment to admire the scene, grateful he had captured every beautiful detail with his camcorder. This was a memory he would savour for a very long time.

It was a show he would watch over and over again.

With a final glance at Valentino’s broken, beautiful form, Tom took his time getting dressed, slipping his shirt back on as he pocketed the camcorder. As he exited the room, he could still hear the pulsing beat of music from the club. No one would notice what had transpired – everyone was far too lost in their own indulgence, high and drunk, as the sound of moans and cries of ecstasy filled the air from the mass orgy happening just down the hall.

Tom slipped his hands into his pockets, humming a small, contented tune as he left the clubroom, felling more alive than he had...ever.

Once the haze of his high started to fade, his mind sharpened, and he remembered the information Valentino had spilled. Taking out a burner phone, Tom extracted the audio of Valentino’s confession, his broken voice detailing the Vees’ plans to attack the hotel. With a smirk, he sent the audio file to the head of Voxtek with a brief message:

“It would be a shame if this got leaked to the public.”

It didn’t take long. Within seconds, a reply appeared on his phone from the head-honcho himself:

“Name your price.”

Tom stared at the neat, blocky text on the screen, his mind racing with unlimited potential. He knew the power the Overlords held – one wrong move, and they could easily snuff him out like a flickering candle. But if he played his cards right, if he handled this just carefully enough...

A small, manic laugh bubbled up from his throat, his fingers digging into his mask – his face – as the realization hit him.

Finally.

He was going to be a somebody.

Follow #vexitober 2024 to read my questionable kink/fluff stories!

End Note: This was by far the darkest piece of fanfiction I've written with explicit sexual violence. I generally stay away from writing this genre because it is emotionally draining and I wasn't sure if I could write it well - or handle it with care.

The main point of this story isn't for sexual gratification - it was about Tom who had been beaten down all his life and finally found some semblance of control and power through the act of despicable sexual acts/torture. I wanted to convey that feeling and my intention is not to fetishize it.

All in all, it was a cathartic experience to write someone crazy and unhinged and let my imagination let loose.

59 notes · View notes

mulders-too-large-shirt · 3 months ago

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s4 episode 13 thoughts

before we begin: i’m gonna be upfront with you. this is another episode i did not like. this was scully’s 3, if you catch my meaning.

but i made a post announcing that i did not like this episode after a mere 10 minutes of viewing, and received some comments saying that others were big fans. as always, this is a place where i welcome discussion! PLEASE tell me what you think. you can try to talk me into liking it! tell me how you see it, and how it makes sense to you, and why you enjoyed it; maybe you’ll sway me. maybe not. maybe i’m cool and different for not liking things other people like, or maybe i’m basic because other people don’t like it as well. i have no frame of reference, which makes this blog so fun!

frankly, there are some things that i as a viewer just don’t want to see. i am not a fan of misogyny or watching THE hetbait of all time kiss other people.

here we are! so, i have been informed that in the timeline of canon, this episode i’m about to watch actually takes place BEFORE the last one. which i have noted. although it will be hard to distract myself from knowing what i do know now, i’ll do my best.

(author's note: yeah i see why that clarification is important)

okay, the episode description. mulder? vacationing? i don’t believe it for a second.

oh god, i don’t wanna see scully pine for some random guy. maybe there will just be an intellectual attraction here. i just don’t want to see it. i’m not sorry!!!!

okay. let’s go. still not believing in vacation mulder, but i’ll give it my best.

some guy named jerse is getting divorced. wait. wait no. i recognize that name from a fanfic i read. NO.

i couldn’t remember what the hell this dude’s name was (jerve? juss?) because he only popped up BRIEFLY in a fanfic i read that had no seasoning relevant warnings. but because of this, i know what he is here to do. DAMN IT. let this be a lesson: read fic that is marked by the season!!!!

jerse is getting divorced. he is kinda handsome, i won’t lie. but he looks like a sick freak and he’s being weird to this bartender

oh god, he has kids. scully STAY AWAY FROM THIS MAN- I’M NOT GONNA ASK AGAIN. pulling out a photo of him and the kids at the bar. a pathetic individual.

he burned himself out of the picture with a cigarette?? this is clearly well-adjusted behavior

now he’s drunk outside a tattoo shop. in the rain. looking at a tattoo of a cartoon woman. and now he’s home? he has a tattoo he doesn’t seem to remember. ah. the cartoon woman. drink can do this to a man.

now he’s crawling on all fours? what do you want me to do about that.

gooood, i know what’s coming because of that fanfic that accidentally spoiled me, and i’m gonna be so pissed. has my hater energy been distracting you lately? is this blog still enjoyable? be honest. but not too honest. i will cry.

mulder and scully are talking to someone about a UFO sighting, someone who is talking about explosions but no sound. she’s busy looking at the vietnam war memorial. NO there’s a little car that someone left for their dead brother :( she picks up a leaf and takes it with her…. i bet she is thinking about her own brothers and the sister she lost

back to jerse. he’s on the phone trying to sell stocks to a random woman who is fighting with her kids.

oh. a disembodied voice calls him a loser. well, do it again for me. so he’s hearing things, including laughter.

OH no….. he’s blaming some random woman in the office for calling him a loser and confronting her. she was LITERALLY BUSY! leave her alone. he’s throwing stuff around. very professional (heavy on the /s). and he gets sent home which is good because i was scared, they were scared, we were all scared.

scully is in mulder’s office, holding his name tag. awwww.

oh, my suspicions about mulder were correct- he did not want to go on vacation, but he was forced to! he is taking piles of x files with him. and he’s suspicious that they’re trying to get rid of him.

“gotta pay the rent” <- your dad had like 3 fucking houses i do not believe that for a SECOND you need this job to put food on the table mulder

“why don’t i have a desk?” she asks <- LMAOOO... i miss you s1 scully desk we saw that singular time that i always assumed still existed but i guess no longer does

(this seemed like a funny throwaway line to me at first, hence my lmao, but i later understood that this line was said with a Seriousness. however, i like to leave things as they were so you can really get a feel for my mind, all the wrong conclusions included)

AWWW he says we can get a desk and they can be really close and we can play battleship... LMAOOO i think….? i can’t tell if he’s being genuine and wants to help, or catty because he’s pissed he has to take a vacation

OH! he’s pissed. what does he want her to keep an eye on? “that contact that we met last night at the wall, who had the distinction of being present for a first- that being you abandoning me during questioning” OHHHH he went there!!! damn! slim to no empathy when he is in alien mode.

“in the future, i’ll make sure that all those people being interviewed provide you with a multimedia laser show to keep your interest maintained” <- WHAT THE FUCK MULDER? DO I LAUGH OR WANT TO SLAP YOU? she looks so gagged. clearly something is on her MIND, you insensitive dolt.

so this guy they were talking to is named pudovkin, he’s from russia, and he has a doctorate in astronautical engineering, which is a term i have never heard before.

scully still seems distracted… but she asks if pudovkin’s reports on UFO crashes are for sale. which mulder confirms, but they are at a high price.

mulder tries to give her the assignment, and he made all these arrangements, but she says NO!!! LMAO (?) she says that russian guy they spoke with was recounting the plot of a cartoon. okay, queen is well-versed in her cartoons! i see you

oh my god, what is the tone of this episode…?

“so you’re refusing an assignment based on the adventures of moose and squirrel” “refusing an assignment? that makes it sound like you’re my superior”

oh, that pissed him off… “do what you want, don’t go to philadelphia, but let me remind you that i worked my ass off to get these files reopened. you were just assigned. this work is my life” <- HEY BUCKO. let us take a deep and calming breath. let us choose our words with kindness when talking to our friends.

“and it’s become mine” <- oh my GOD... that motif.... her getting pulled further and further into this...

so i can tell you right now, with confidence: i do not like this episode. why is he being mean? she is clearly thinking about something. i thought he was teasing at first, but clearly now he isn’t. if i were him i would say “hey, you seem distracted. is everything alright?” IS THAT HARD? IS THAT SO FUCKING HARD TO DO?

and it would still make for compelling TV!!! hey listen, i hear you saying "if they didn't have problems, there would be no plot" to which i say: there has been plenty of plot in the past when they have treated each other with kindness, no?

she says she is losing sense of her life- “this isn’t about you, mulder, or maybe it is in an indirect way”- and he says “maybe it’s good that we get away from each other for a while” <- WHAT IS GOING ON???

he seems so shocked to hear that the x files aren’t her whole life……… baby boy, let’s use context clues... yes, he is in ahab mode....

he says he’s going on a spiritual journey to discover something about himself…. and she sets the leaf she found from before on his desk. hmm. hmmmm.

back to jerse. he’s on the phone again. begging for his job back. doesn’t seem to be going well. oh my gosh, he just beat the phone. smashed it over and over again. i am frightened.

the evil tattoo is taunting him. so he is crawling on all fours to see if it’s coming from the floor below, which simply has a lady and some birds! those poor birds!

(is this tattoo supposed to be a representation of mental illness? if so, which one? is it supposed to be insecurity? placed upon him by society? toxic masculinity?)

he’s talking to some missionaries who are trying to tell him that his downstairs neighbor is not involved in a plot to drive him insane…..

oh my god he broke into the bird lady’s apartment. OH MY GOD???????????

soundtrack this episode is killer though, i’ll give it that. put more music in my monster of the week content.

oh my god he’s like. dragging something. hard to tell because the screen is almost ENTIRELY BLACK. yes. he is putting a box in an incinerator. that presumably contains bird lady. real charming fellow, this jerse.

(this is kinda like if little shop of horrors involved a tattoo instead of a plant. the tattoo says no one will hurt him again. sure, man. i’ve seen how that musical ends)

mulder is wet. on the road, outside his car. very wet. calling to see how scully is doing. he wants to know where she is!!!! but there is no answer.

scully is in philly, looking at the files about the russian space guy, watching him. she’s tailing him now into some convenience store. he is fighting loudly in russian and exchanging money……. hmm. that’s not promising.

is he going into the tattoo shop? so goes the scully, in that case.

oh no. jerse is in there. he’s asking a separate russian guy who is the tattoo artist to cover up the cartoon tattoo….

oh god, he gets scully involved. “you like this, on his arm?” and now it’s winking. it has changed its design.

she says the coloring is nice (very thoughtful response to being sucked into a strange situation), and the russian tattoo guy is talking about how he learned how to tattoo in prison, while the creepy voice in jerse’s head is commenting on his new undying love for scully. but the actual russian space guy is in the back!!!

god, i don’t want to watch thiiiiiiis. but i must. i am a journalist, after all. she lies and says she’s visiting her aunt. and that she wishes she was impulsive sometimes.

she says she’s leaving- but he gives her his number. god, is this gonna be a multi-episode thing???

OH MY GOD, MULDER IS CALLING FROM GRACELAND “i’m at that special place and i wanted to share it with you…. did you know elvis bought all of his furniture in just thirty minutes?”

wait. hold on. that’s cute. he wanted to share it with her. but also how DID he know where she was? it’s their usual spot… “i knew you wouldn’t abandon me” <- AWWW why were you mean earlier!!!!! you are being sweet now :(

(again, i ask: what IS the tone of this episode?)

she says there’s no case, no x file, the russian guy is involved in gangs and fraud and whatnot. she's handing it over to the philly bureau and that is that.

she is very pissed that he is ordering her around as always (well, i support that!) and he pulls his “what, do you have a date or something?” card. and then CONSPICUOUS SILENCE.

oh my god he’s STUTTERING “you’re-you’re kidding” (he sadly returns to graceland and makes some elvis moves) (we can hear the sound of his heart breaking)

jerse’s tattoo is still talking to him while scully looks at his business card. she says her flight is cancelled and that she can pick him up!!! oh my god. oh my gooood.

jerse is huffing his cigarette and also trying to burn out the tattoo with it. more concerning behavior. it's like when seymour throws the rat poison in audrey ii.

the jehovah’s witnesses are strategically knocking on the door of the now dead bird lady. and scully is here with jerse. she’s entering his apartment.

you know what? this motherfucker looks like jeremy jordan. just an observation. sing, newsie boy.

she’s saying she doesn’t go out much…. but she noticed he’s bleeding. and also she says she’s a doctor. feels like that is relevant information to reveal before a date. don’t you want to know what a potential date does before you go out with them? well, i guess that is highlighting her desire to be impulsive.

oh god, she also finds the photo of him and the kids…. while he’s in the bathroom bandaging his wounds.

she wants to go to the crummy bar??? okay. get out your inner rebellion i guess.

he says that this is a good place to go when you’re down, because everyone here looks like they have worse problems than him. fair enough. except for also NOT fair enough... because he killed a woman!

scully says she goes around in a circle when an authority figure comes into her life, and part of her wants it, needs the approval, but then…

(it seems she is making a pointed reference to mulder here...? is that what he is to her? an authority figure?)

now she’s talking about her dad…. she would sneak out of the house and smoke the cigarettes. yes, i remember this from beyond the sea!!!! she did this because she knew that if he found out he would kill her.

he says the tattoo marked him never going back. SHE TRIES TO SEE IT AND HE GRABS HER???????

what the fuck what the FUCK. are we going to witness violence.

SO NOW SHE’S GONNA GET ONE TOO?? on her back???? the ouroboros she was looking at before! yes, the never ending cycle.

what the hell… i am deeply uncomfy. he’s watching her get a tattoo and it’s like erotic or something??? to him. and she’s breathing all weird. and then. there is a tattoo.

(this scene only reinforced my previous conclusions from earlier today looking up "am i asexual" quizzes)

god, is she gonna stay here with him? he says the weather is bad and he wants her to be safe and that he’ll sleep on the couch.

she says she feels different now after the tattoo. and he’s taking off the bandage. says it looks alright. but he’s bleeding again. and she’s taking off his shirt…..

the tattoo starts TALKING??? “you kiss her, and she’s dead” HEY WHAT

oh god……………………. the door shuts

pause. y’all. i don’t think i’m cut out for this.

okay, back to the FBI. mulder is here. trying to find scully. and he cannot reach her!!!

he sees the leaf she left on his desk…. and these two are waking up the next morning. his tattoo is still bleeding. dude, you should probably make some sort of appointment about that.

scully’s in his giant shirt as she shows the detectives at the door (!!!) her badge. they want to talk about the disappearance of the bird lady. they are not taking her seriously, because she is in some random guy’s shirt in some random guy’s house. but she’s jotting some stuff down.

things are clicking in her mind, about the disappearance. oh my god dial up noises! wow, that’s loud and annoying. shoutout to people who had to deal with that in the 90's.

she seems to be realizing that she has made a grave mistake.

THE STUFF THE RUSSIAN GUY MADE THE TATTOO INK OUT OF WAS IN THE KILLER’S BLOOD????!!!

she grabs her tattoo because like. now it’s in HER blood too. oh my god the tattoo ink had DRUGS in it????

scully is trying to call mulder…. who runs to his phone. but she hangs up on him!!!! now why would you do all that? oh, because jerse approaches.

she tells him to sit down. very seriously. and she straight up says she thinks the blood the detectives found was his. well i guess honesty is sometimes a good policy.

so they might hallucinate stuff now from the ergot. and they might be dangerous. they need to get to the hospital now.

he confesses to hearing things now…. “she talks to me. she hates women. my wife, my boss, you” ohhhh my god. i wonder how she is feeling....

she says they need to go to the hospital now. together.

the tattoo's voice is talking to him about who she called…. and he presses the redial button…. and….

HOLY FUCK, HE’S ATTACKING HER. i mean, i knew it was going to happen eventually, but like. doesn't make it any more enjoyable to watch.

oh man, they are really going at it…. he knocks her out….. and he wraps her up to take her to the incinerator……………. ???????

but she stabs him with the scissors… and she’s trying to tell him to take control. so he BURNS HIS ARM OFF???!? to get the tattoo to shut up.

BUT NOW THE MUSIC FLOURISHES OVER HER TATTOO???

girl if she has a demon in her now............. i need a cigarette

she’s coming back to the office with bruises on her face. “congratulations for making a personal appearance in the x files for a second time” says mulder. well, that’s gotta be a record. and that is exactly what he brings up next!

he’s trying to make a joke, but she’s grabbing the leaf on his desk………

he thinks this is his fault…… “not everything is about you, mulder. this is my life” “yes, but it….” (sighs)

end episode.

okay. so. what am i thinking.

well. i am thinking many things. first of all- what is that tattoo supposed to represent? was it supposed to represent how misogyny poisons men’s minds? and turns them into people they aren’t deep down? is it about male insecurity, and how it turns into violence? and if we are taking that interpretation- doesn't that kinda just blame women for the scourge that is misogyny? like "look how you divorced that guy, guess you can't blame men for hating half of the population" because if that was what they were going for. i find issues with that.

second. i’m glad scully had her growth moment. if i were her, i would have told off mulder a long time ago for being too domineering. i don't think he intends to do it- i think he gets too caught up in his own quest for answers- but intention does not make his actions any less hurtful. and she clearly needed to have that rebellion moment. i’m glad she had it, even if it went terribly, at least she survived.

but the agents' dynamic felt… mean-spirited. i couldn’t tell what was joking and what was below the belt, and i’m not sure i’m supposed to be able to. he does take advantage of her, and i certainly don't oppose her pointing that out. i oppose him being mean to her- or at least, i find it hard to watch. i understand that the whole project does mean the world to him because maybe, just maybe, it will bring his sister back- but still. it is an infuriating characteristic of his, how little attention he pays to others.

and i don't necessarily think that aspect of him is written consistently, either. what about that time they were so incredibly close to answers and he let them go because he wanted scully to be able to see her sister again? what about every single time he's risked his neck for her?

i guess what i'm saying is, his fury at the start of the episode felt like it came out of nowhere, and was directed at her questioning his authority- and was over nothing beyond her tuning out one time. i find that idea of mulder as this authority figure that scully is chasing approval from in a manner akin to her own father (!!!) hard to reconcile with the mulder who held her in irresistible, who pummeled the doctor who maybe possibly might have hurt her in one breath, who runs every theory by her, and so on. you see what i'm saying? it felt as if this episode cast the whole series in the retrospective light of him only wanting her around so he can have a loyal henchman, and not that he valued her as an actual person- which we know he does. she zones out one day and he snaps on her? she goes on a rant about how she is always chasing authority's approval shortly after? i'm just not buying it. it felt like the rift era again. you could argue that it is scully's grief that is distorting her view of him, but even entertaining that possibility from a narrative perspective made me feel like i needed a bath. so... sleazy.

bullying aside- for an episode about breaking free from mulder’s influence, he seemed to really care for her and try and reach her, if we ignore the terrible things he said and just focus on his actions. on vacation and at work, he wanted to make sure she was okay. and it was sweet, but when cast in the light i mentioned earlier- in comparison to her father- it felt, like, paternalistic, which made my skin crawl. which is an understatement.

she needed to have that important character development, don’t get me wrong. it seems she’s worked so hard her whole life and has never made time to break some rules, except for when she was a kid. she needs to rebel at some point- but it was the framing of their dynamic that icked me out. and maybe i'm interpreting something in a different way than everyone else does. honestly, i hope i'm misunderstanding something. please feel free to correct me.

there was clearly something on her mind that distracted her from one interview, and the episode is trying to show us that her life isn’t just the x files like mulder's is. they’re different. maybe they spend too much time together. maybe they needed time apart, and maybe she needed to do the things she never let herself in the past. but… you can tell from reading this post that while i agree with some of the character choices- scully confronting him for being too controlling, letting herself let loose for once- i think they made sense in theory but less so in this particular execution.

and yeah, there’s me the viewer who doesn’t want to see that shit happen, be it scully being attacked or sex outside the slowburn that gave us the term "ship". you can’t blame me there. i am a mere mortal. but also…… damn. something about the way jerse said he hated women and grabbed scully made me feel sick.

i think that scully has a lot of grief and anger, and i think she reached a boiling point in this episode. and i think she won’t do the things she did ever again. but it still felt so out of character to see her do those things. and was she implying, with her whole speech about her father, that she seems mulder as this controlling force in her life? that their dynamic has been entirely unequal from the beginning? that he acts like a boss to her, and whatever the fuck it is they have going on (because it can’t be described in words, we both know that) has been an imbalance of power this whole time? that makes things feel…….. less warm and fuzzy, in retrospect, don’t you think? the idea that mulder only keeps her around as a foot soldier and doesn't really give a damn about her?

(again. it could be her grief talking. grief is not rational. but i had never seen it like that before, and it casts everything in a different light)

i think this episode had clear commentary on misogyny. the way that jerse’s thoughts were poisoned to hate women, how we explore mulder inadvertently taking the upper hand throughout their relationship, the way the detectives wouldn’t believe scully at her word when questioning her about the blood. i think it explored scully's frustration in being in a male-dominated field, and feeling like she always has to be perfect. but other than that, i'm not sure what i'm supposed to take away from the whole thing, unless i am to think that whatever relationship it is they do have is nothing more than one of uneven control. because that's the vibe i was getting from this one.

it felt out of character, and not just in the purposeful subversion of how we normally see scully- their whole fight felt off. and the tone was all over the place. first we're joking, then we're arguing nasty style, then we're joking, then sexy, then fight time violence against women, then joke? unresolved ending feeling i cannot explain? what do i make of this?!

idk. i don't feel like i'm wording my points well, but i'm not sure i want to really keep trying either. and i feel that if i did my usual thing, which is watch an episode, take notes, think it over for a day, and THEN edit the notes, i might be able to have a more coherent thought process- but given potential controversy, i want to get this out tonight.

i want to really hear your thoughts- if you ride or die for this episode, walk me through it! did you also not like it? is it mid to you? i'm listening. i want to know. i have no ill-intent, and i feel bad that i've been a bit harsh lately. let us discuss. it is all peace and love over here.

#(gestures vaguely) you can't tell me that their relationship is that of a boss and an employee or i will need to call HR now #but also! it has not been like that! for the entire series!#and like i said her grief can distort that but. it felt. reductive. at best. and character assassination at worst.#not sure if i'm just a hater or of s4 isn't doing it to me but please be kind (sobs)#i don't wish to be a killjoy- it just didn't do it for me! but if it did do it for you- tell me why!#i won't argue; i just want to know. i promise i do not come online to start fights. i am simply to busy for this!#everyone in txf fandom has been so kind i worry i'll poke a sleeping bear and end the goodwill LMAO #juni's x files liveblog #4x13 #txf #the x files

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