#the venom brand co

[aces-and-kings]

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Construction Dog Co.

Each one of these dumb brutes belongs to me! They once had their own lives and careers, but I replaced all that with the blind obedience of a dog. My words dictate their reality, so they'll believe anything I say. That's why it seems perfectly normal for them to wait like this every morning. They'd kneel there all day if I let them, but they need to work eventually!

"Get off your knees, dogs! Hop to work! It's the only thing you're good for!" I yell it with venom, but I relish seeing my words soaking in into their minds. With just a simple command, I've convinced them all that they are animals, good only for hard work and manual labor.

The men rush to their feet, scrambling to pick up where they'd left off yesterday. I don't bother understanding the minor details of their day to day responsibilities. I have different boys programmed to manage all that crap for me. I really only bother watching them sweat their days away.

Being the supervisor can get a bit boring, especially after hearing, "Thank you, boss. I love you, boss," for like the seventh time in a day. It kind of loses it's meaning after awhile.

That's why I often use them for entertainment. Watch this!

"Hey, you two!" I call, pointing at two sweaty workers nearby, "You're in love with each other. Make out!"

Despite being hot and exhausted, the two men drop their tools and perk up. When they meet each other's eyes it's like they're seeing one another for the first time. They practically slam their bodies together in a race to each other's throat, and within seconds the two guys are lost in a world of dirt, saliva, and lust.

I do this with my men often, but who could blame me! I handpicked each one of them because they were strong and hot. If they're going to be hypnotized work slaves, then I need to enjoy how they look.

"You too aren't doing anything else but each other for the rest of the day," I command with a laugh, "Got it?"

"Yes, sir," their replies are moaned out between breaths.

A lot of my laborers were straight before they met me, but these two were creeps about it. I think I found them at the gym, hitting on girls between every set. I obviously enjoyed erasing their raunchy personalities. I find it even more enjoyable watching them grope and slobber over each other, knowing that those bodies would've never done that before I came along.

Those jagoffs are just the beginning of my day! I leave them after they've tumbled to the ground, humping each other like the dumb animals they are.

"You there!" I point to a different guy, quietly stacking blocks nearby, "Get over here and clean the floor as I walk. These Timberlands are brand new and I don't want mud on them."

"Yes, sir," the worker answers and rushes over, throwing himself to the ground before me.

I chuckle and study the poor loser in front of me. With just a few short words, I have him scrubbing a place for me to walk like I'm his king. I scoff in disbelief when I finally recognize who the guy was.

"Wait, are you that jerk from the bank?"

"Yes, sir," he admits quietly, keeping his head lowered towards his work.

"Well shit, you've come a long way! Can you believe that a week ago you were some fancy banker who tried to deny me a loan?" I give his head a little nudge with the toe of my shoe, "This is a much better place for you...uh... Robert...or was it Roger?"

"Reggie, sir," he quickly corrects me.

"Well, it doesn't matter anymore," I scowl at him, "Forget your name. You're just a construction dog, now. Understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Who are you?"

"I'm...I'm just a construction dog." I can tell he believes it now, too. I'm probably the only one here that knows his real name, and I'll definitely forget it within a few days.

"Good boy," I pat him on the head, "Now, you're going to stay ahead of me and keep clearing the floor for me to walk."

Reggie mumbles "Yes, sir," and crawls forward to scrub away the dirt in my immediate vicinity. Continuing on my tour, the poor guy struggles to keep up on all-fours, but a good work animal must get used to that position.

By the end of the day, my entire pack of men is sweaty and exhausted. I usually make them all work the maximum shift with no breaks, so it makes sense for them to be tired. Still, they are programmed to come and kneel before me, waiting to be dismissed. They're all a bit antsy for a rest, but I like to test their patience.

"Alright, boys. You're dismissed for the night."

With a collective groan, they climb back to their feet, marching off to the bunk house.

The bunk house is where I keep them when they aren't working. It might seem tight but each guy has enough room to sleep; although, I make them share because I don't want to purchase anymore bunk spaces. I don't really like to spend any money on them. They have access to the porta-john out back, but otherwise they aren't allowed to go anywhere else. I also only gave them the clothes they work in, so they sleep in them too.

Needless to say, it stinks in there. Between the heat, body odor, unwashed clothes, and lack of showers, they've created quite the stench. I avoid their home as much as I can, but sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me. This is the first time I've seen it in weeks.

"Come on boys, don't look so glum!" I chastise them, "Smile! Act like you're happy to see me!"

I watch as a switch goes in each of their minds. Slowly, they snap out of their foggy eyed depression, and light up. The energy of the room transforms as reassuring smiles spread across each of their manly faces.

"That's better! You boys are a tight-knit team! You love each other!" I add, "You don't mind the back-breaking work, or the smell, or anything as long as you're together."

The men become even more at ease, relaxing into the arms of their coworkers. My heart is warmed a little, seeing them getting along with each other so well. They're acting like energetic little puppies now.

I'm ready to leave them for the night. It's time for me to return to my luxury condo down the street, but before I do, I catch sight of one of my workers. An idea springs into my head.

"You, there. Come with me."

"Yes, sir," he answers, though he seems genuinely disappointed to be leaving his buddies.

I lead him outside and hose him off to remove at least some of the mud and sweat. We walk all the way to my apartment. Luckily, he's mostly dry by then so I take him inside.

"Is this going to take awhile, sir?" he asks nervously, "I'm pretty tired and my bedmate is going to sleep soon."

"Shut up and get on the bed," I command.

His mouth snaps shut and he obediently approaches my soft king bed, crawling onto it like I told him to. I sigh when I notice that the stupid oaf still tracked a lot of mud in. I'll have to make him clean it all up later.

"Now, you aren't going to speak or move unless I tell you too," I instruct, "But you will realize that anything I do will be exactly what you want: no matter what I do..."

He gazes back at me numbly.

"Tell me you understand."

"I understand, sir," he instantly repeats.

Tonight is going to be a long night for him. Too bad he still has to wake up early and report to work. I'm already planning on sleeping in. I don't mind keeping my workers waiting for a few hours while I rest. It's my company after all, and they're just dogs for labor...

[redvexillum]

@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.  

Finally.  

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.

[disneytva]

Disney Branded Television Gives Series Order To “Iron Man And His Awesome Friends” Slated For A 2025 Release On Disney Junior and Disney+.

Heroes assemble ❤️💜💚

Disney Jr. has ordered a new animated preschool series Iron Man and his Awesome Friends, the series comes as part of Disney Branded Television and Marvel’s expanded strategy to introduce the iconic Avengers characters and stories to a new generation of fans. The series is currently in production and slated for a summer 2025 premiere on Disney Jr. and Disney+.

Iron Man And His Awesome Friends follows the adventures (and misadventures) of best friends and super geniuses, Tony Stark, Riri Williams and Amadeus Cho as they work together to solve problems both big and small and protect their city. To help them in their Super Hero endeavors, they each have their own Iron Suits that allow them to fly and give them each enhanced super-strength. In addition, Iron Man has a Nano-Shield; Ironheart has a Heartbeat Bubble forcefield to protect people, and Iron Hulk has his strong Iron Boom clap and Iron Hulk Stomp. They work out of their beachfront base, Iron Quarters (IQ), under the supervision of their superpowered android, Vision, and their furry pup, Gamma, who has her very own Iron Pup suit and accompanies the Iron Friends on many of their adventures. The series stars Mason Blomberg (Shameless), Kapri Ladd (Danger Force) and Aidyn Ahn (Kids Say the Darndest Things) as the voices of Tony Stark (Iron Man), Riri Williams (Ironheart) and Amadeus Cho (Iron Hulk), respectively. David Kaye (Transformers) voices the role of Vision, and Fred Tatasciore (Marvel’s Moon Girl and Devil Dinosaur) voices Gamma. Additional characters and casting will be announced at a later date. Marvel’s Iron Man and his Awesome Friends is executive produced by Sean Coyle (Puppy Dog Pals) and Harrison Wilcox (Marvel’s Spidey and his Amazing Friends). James Eason-Garcia (Pupstruction) is co-executive producer and story editor, Alex Cichon (Lego Marvel: Spider-Man: Vexed by Venom) is supervising producer; Ashley Rideout (Marvel’s Spidey and his Amazing Friends) is producer, and Michael Dowding (Hello Ninja) is supervising director. The series is produced by Disney Jr. and Marvel Studios in association with Atomic Cartoons.

“We’re thrilled to introduce Marvel’s Iron Man and his Awesome Friends to preschoolers on Disney Jr. and Disney+, expanding their connection to the iconic Marvel universe,” said Ayo Davis, CEO of Disney Branded Television. “Partnering with Brad [Winterbaum] and the Marvel Studios team on this series allows us to bring the incredible legacy of Iron Man to a whole new generation, sparking young imaginations with characters that embody courage, teamwork, and creativity.”

“Iron Man is the character that launched Marvel Studios and will always be especially beloved here as the hero that made the MCU possible.” said Brad Winderbaum, head of Streaming, Television and Animation, Marvel Studios. “That’s why we’re so excited to partner with the incredible team at Disney Branded Television and bring Iron Man to a new audience. Together we are building a series that introduces the most brilliant scientists and inventors in the Marvel Universe as they share in fun armored adventures.”

[possessionisamyth]

How would you rate resident evil storytelling and it's characters, esp remakes?

Di you think that's their main selling point and whatnot?

Well RE storytelling isn't good so jot that down-

Okay, but seriously, before I get into this let me tell you I have never really been into the zombie narrative as a horror connoisseur the same way I'm not into "white guy kills everyone" horror movies. The white guy kills everyone story is just as easily found when I turn on the news, but zombies?

With zombies the ending is the same. Find the cure or everyone dies eventually. It's the sub genre that relies the most on jump scares with mascot horror recently sliding in alongside it. I couldn't pinpoint the exact decade where the zombie narrative switched to being more character focused in order to keep the genre fresh for people who enjoy it, but we are currently in the aftermath of that decision.

That said, RE storytelling isn't good. It can be fun! I put fun and good on two different graphs when I judge the writing in the piece of media I partake in. For example? The Venom movies are so much fun! They have nothing to do with spiderman which is the symbiote's literal origin story for finding eddie brock later. This is a facet many comic fans find blasphemous, but if you have half a brain or aren't a dick about canon requirements, you'll still get so much enjoyment out of the movies themselves. They stand on their own without spiderman, which I think is a feat well done. Very fun and entertaining.

So yeah, RE storytelling and the characters can be fun. There is a potential for it to be good, but in order for that potential to be reached Capcom has to do something they forever avoid in their writing.

Commit to the characters' in-game relationships.

:)

Put your shipping hopes down. I don't mean romantic. I mean commit to Leon and Claire being friends who shared a horribly traumatic event together. Commit to Ada's mixed feelings about Leon and her job. Commit to Leon's mixed feelings about Ada and LYING about never seeing her to Hunnigan, a woman and co-worker he can actually trust. Commit to showing Jill's unhealthy reliance on Chris just as much as we see Chris' unhealthy reliance on Jill. Show Barry as a family man who's made mistakes with his wife and kids and tries to work things out. WHERE IS HIS WIFE CAPCOM? Show Rebecca reminiscing on her time from RE0, and IDK place a letter she sent out to someone from a strange address who's speech style looks vaguely familiar. Show Sherry's trauma from her constantly healing body and make her have a weird relationship with doctors. Show that Sherry got to interact with Claire at the very least?????? REDFIELD SIBLINGS?!?!?! REDFIELD SIBLINGS SURE DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE SIBLINGS. WHAT THE FUCK WAS DEATH ISLAND? IM GONNA-(cane drags me off stage)

"Oh, but people will take those things as shipping purpose and we don't want to imply that."

Idk, it's apparently already in the damn trenches in spaces I never go to (tiktok, twitter, insta, etc), and I don't think the people making MLP aus give a shit regardless. Plus, this game series is so old they're making money strictly off the brand name like every other AAA game series.

I genuinely mean that. Capcom could do the exact same shit with RE4 that Bethesda did with Skyrim, and they'd make bank every fucking time. Oh wait, they did with constantly have to port it to new systems!

Let me see Leon and Hunnigan laughing and sharing coffee in the break room. Let me see text message chats from Claire and Chris ribbing each other. Let me see Jill shopping for clothes with Chris being forced to hold all the bags. Let me see old photos of Barry with his wife and daughters at an amusement park before "the incident". Let me see Rebecca and Jill trauma bonding while spending the night together. Let me see Chris and Leon awkwardly make eye contact on a job neither of them expected to be on at the same time. Let me see Ada sneaking into TerraSave, and let Claire send a selfie of them to Leon only to have Leon freak the fuck out. Claire and Rebecca going to cafes? Jill helping Chris fix up his car? HELLO CAPCOM?! COMMIT! COMMIT! COMMIT! COMMIT! COMMIT! FOR FUCKS SAKE-

These don't even have to be big moments! Just 20-30 seconds of animation? Painted illustrations? An option to read a report in game stating these things happened? Anything! Anything! Is anyone in here?! IT'S SO DARK!

[raelhbishop]

Snapdragon's

“Are you sure about this?” she asks skeptically.

“We’ll be OK, I promise.” In truth, he didn’t know if it was safe. He’d been second-guessing himself since they entered the mountain. But he had faith in where they were going. He looks down once more at the strip of paper in front of him. An address he can barely make out, with a very clear drawing of a flower taking up half the page.

The couple works their way through the district’s winding streets and alleys. Being built, quite literally, inside the mountain, the district grew darker and darker as they ventured further. Flashing neon signs and halogen lights abound, the locals too poor to afford the holographic displays seen downtown. A few storefronts are entirely candlelit. Signs outside the buildings are written in many alien scripts, a stark contrast to the Three Universals seen downtown.

This mountain, located on the outskirts of a bustling spaceport city, falls into a legal loophole which landowners took advantage of to create extremely low-rent housing. In the years since, the district has housed all manner of creature and culture from across the stars. Locals aren’t dressed in the business suits and flashy garb of the tourists. They wear their native clothes in varying states of dishevelment. They speak their native tongues, sell the wares they made on their home planets, and pray to their own gods and divinities. They go about their daily business - but not without commotion.

A catfolk vendor and a rocklike customer argue over the sale of a melon. They speak in a language neither of our couple understands, though the lady can make out a few swears here and there. Frustrated, the customer smashes the melon on the ground. The vendor screams and leaps out at the customer, claws exposed. Further down, a huge amoeba purchases groceries from a six-armed grocer, absorbing the produce in vacuoles and carrying on. A crab-like creature with a broken leg plays an erhu for tips. A ferocious sculpture is repaired by an avian outside a temple, resembling something like a cross between Jesus, an octopus, and a twelve-armed bloodthirsty warlord.

The two search the crowds and storefronts for the flower, but can’t find it anywhere. Florists, grocers, co-op gardens, even clothing stores and wallpaper prints. None of them have that exact flower. They ask any and all locals they run into for directions. Of the ones they talk to, none of them seem to recognize it - not the writing, nor the design inside.

But they didn’t let the city pass them by. The two also used the chance to explore the district’s exotic amenities, to have a little fun in-between. They stopped for beverages at a stall and watched a worm drummer’s performance (which had been going on for five days prior). They spent some credits at a dance-machine with options for up to eight limbs. They stopped by an arcade and, mesmerized, watched a molluscan play Tetris for… much longer than they should have. They skimmed the various shops of the district, even if they couldn’t make out most of the signs and prices. Small trinkets of varying toxicity and beauty here and there, books and tablets and drives of any and all knowledge, knock-off brands alongside relics - and, of course, folks peddling them at each and every corner.

“Buy some alum-venom! Fresh alum-venom!” A naga merchant peddles the couple in a raspy voice, flashing a brown vial in their faces. “Does wonders to a mammal’s skin!”

“Isn’t that stuff toxic?”, she responds.

The snake vendor hisses, and the couple hurry out of the vendor’s reach, clasping each other’s hands and running for dear life.

❦

Now out of sight of the vendor, the two end up lost. This part of the district is dark and damp, and nobody else seems to be present. They see a series of pools, water filling them from the ceiling and draining below. The fun and joviality they experienced not too long ago now fills with a lingering sense of unease.

“Maybe we should ask someone for directions,” she says.

Reluctantly, he obliges. They keep walking until they spot a storefront with someone sleeping outside. It’s a stout figure, wearing an officer’s cap, bearing two turquoise arms and legs attached to a turtle-like shell. Underneath the cap is a single shut eye the size of a basketball.

“Entschuldigung?” He cycles through a few more languages before the figure acknowledges. “Excuse me, sir?”

The eye opens, and the figure awakes. The eye rises from the shell, revealing a mouth and a neck that slowly extend to a height nearly twice that of the lovers. A low-pitched gurgle resounds from the figure’s shell.

Our Romeo gulps, swallowing his fear.

His Juliet gasps, but stands her ground.

The figure’s eye wanders for a minute before spotting the couple. The figure gurgles once more, then speaks. “Oh! Yes. Sorry. Forgot I was on dry land. Can I help you?” Its voice is shrill and hoarse, like an out-of-tune violin.

He composes himself. “I need help finding this address. Do you know where it is?”

The figure bends its neck and reads his page. “Yes, I know where this is.” It thinks for a minute, then motions its nightstick to its left. “Go down that alley a few blocks. Take the staircase up…” it counts on its fingers “…four levels. You’ll see a store with votive candles directly to your right. Go right and continue that way until the lights turn blue.”

He takes a minute to note the directions in his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime.” The figure gets up from its seat, gurgling, and descends into a nearby pool. As it submerges, the gurgling turns into the baritone humming of a foreign tune.

❦

After taking the (surprisingly long) staircase up and walking past the votive candle shop (made from skulls), the two end up in a small back-alley filled with rugged housing. A couple of the streetlights are out. There isn’t a single flowerbed or touch of green anywhere. “This is supposed to be the place.”

The two of them look around for any signs of the flower, but the badly lit corridor makes figures hard to discern. Dejected, they turn around to look for someone to help them. Due to the dim lighting, she trips on a loose stone in the road, and he leaps on the ground to break her fall. Tending her wound, he spots something out of the corner of his eye. It’s a sign. There’s nothing written on it, just a graphic hidden under a dead streetlight. He approaches the sign. It’s got that same drawing of the flower on it.

“This is it! This has to be the place!”

She walks over to the sign. “Are you sure this is it?”

“It has to be.”

“But are you sure this is the place?”

There’s a moment of tense silence. “No.”

A wooden door with a doorhole sits next to the sign. He knocks on it thrice. They await a response.

The doorhole opens. Two steely eyes stare from it.

“Hi, I was invited here by a friend?” He puts the paper in view of the doorhole. “This is Gabriel Lennox.”

The figure reads the paper. “Ah, yes, we’ve been expecting you. Come in.”

The door opens, revealing an ashen-skinned waiter with cobalt hair and two ram-like horns. They enter the building and find themselves directly beside a kitchen. “This is the staff entrance. I’ll take you to the host.”

The kitchen itself seems as diverse and bustling as the rest of the district. An elephantine sous-chef prowls the kitchen, keeping it running like a well-oiled machine. Actually, ‘well-oiled machine’ isn’t a bad analogy for the rest of the restaurant, either. Giant cogwheels, some moving, some stationary, line the walls and make up some of the chairs. Steam can be seen emanating from pipes in and out of the kitchen. The whole place is lit in warm colors. Unlike the rest of the district, the fact you’re inside a mountain is made very well known here. The walls proudly display their stony texture, with a few ores exposed here and there for decorative effect.

The group travels upstairs. The air seems to be easier to breathe now. More tables are visible, some already being seated. The waiter leaves them on a platform near a giant axle in the center of the place. The axle rises from a rather large hole in the ground, burning embers lying many meters below. The hole is stagnant at first. Then, a gust of hot air emerges, sparks from a newly lit fire below barely missing the couple’s feet. Seconds later, a dragon emerges. The girl is horrified; the boy grips her hand and the two take a huge step back.

“Hey, you made it!” The dragon speaks in a surprisingly soft, almost comical voice. “Welcome to Snapdragon’s. It’s great seeing you again, Gabriel.”

“You know this dragon?”, she asks Gabriel.

“We go back a bit.”

The dragon turns to her. “Ah, this must be your ladyfriend. What’s your name?”

“Ruby,” she responds hesitantly.

“Pleasure to meet you.” The dragon whips his tail around and slowly places its tip in front of her. “Don’t worry, it’s prehensile.”

She stands there, a little bewildered. Gabriel motions for Ruby to shake it like a hand. She does, and the dragon smiles.

“I’ll take you to your seats. I saved the best in the house for you two.”

The dragon walks them further through the restaurant. The place is surprisingly spacious, and the dragon isn’t too large - about the size of a minivan - so he walks ahead of them with little discomfort.

Gabriel and the dragon do a little catching up, while Ruby follows and takes in the scenery. She notices a piano played by an octopus-like creature in the distance, playing a calming and somewhat jazzy tune. A shadowy, almost fluid character stands by with a saxophone in hand. Parties made of smoke and scale, fur and feather, plasma and precious gem, sit at the other tables dressed in their best. She sees old friends re-uniting, family junctions, business dinners, and other couples out enjoying themselves.

“I got this whole place for cheap”, the dragon says. “It used to be a warehouse. The company folded a while ago and left some of their machinery behind. A dozen weeks later, I refashioned it all into Snapdragon’s.”

“Why a restaurant? In this part of the port, nonetheless?”

“Same reason as everyone else. The rent’s cheaper. The neighborhood is… variable, sure. But you can prosper here in a way you can’t downtown. You’re not under the microscope.”

“How’s it working out for you?”

“Pretty well so far. But, you know how restaurants are. Most of them close within three years of opening. Very few survive more than ten.”

“Have you tried advertising the place?”

The dragon scoffs. “I’m not the best at advertising, but we seem to do alright with the word-of-mouth we get.”

“Could you have made the invitation a little less cryptic, at least?” Gabriel laughs a little saying this.

“Yes, I suppose I could’ve. But then it wouldn’t have been as fun for you two to find.”

The dragon turns to look directly at Gabriel. Gabriel can see anguish in the dragon’s eyes, betraying the smile just below. He’s covered in a number of obscured bruises. The dragon’s voice softens further, and he moves in closer. ”I’ve lost a lot these past few years.” He looks to his side, then sighs. “A lot of things have gone wrong. Things I’d rather not think about. Things that keep me up at night. You’ve seen sides of me I’m not proud of.

“But through it all, you’ve been there. You’ve always been a shoulder to cry on, someone to look forward to talking with.

”There’s an old Earthlander saying: ‘Friends are like the stars; you can’t always see them, but they’re always there.’ I’d like to think that holds true with you. Our friendship has changed, but I’m glad to have it.

”You’ve done more for me than you can imagine. Now,” the dragon says, motioning to the balcony, “it’s time for me to repay the favor.”

The couple ascends the staircase to the balcony, and the dragon readies their table. Ruby and Gabriel take their seats, and are taken aback by the view. As it turns out, this warehouse was built close to the surface of the mountain. Our dragon friend broke through part of it and made a balcony with a view of the entire spaceport caldera. The digital and holographic displays of downtown turn into brilliant pastels on an otherworldly canvas. High-rises soar and show their lustrous designs. Even the advertisements, once a pedestrian’s eyesore, now seem like gentle brushstrokes of some greater beatific mural. Spaceships can be seen flying through the sky, reduced to the size of birds by their distance. And encapsulating it all are the other mountains of the caldera, rising like Fuji over the Tokyo horizon, painted shades of pink and purple by the setting sun’s light.

The couple is entranced by the view. Ruby reaches her hand across the table toward Gabriel’s. He notices, and reciprocates. The two’s eyes catch, and they both smile at each other in a way only lovers can. They turn once more to the landscape before them, taking it all in.

It was their landscape now. Theirs to share, theirs to enjoy.

❦FIN❦

I wrote this story a few months back as a gift for a friend. You can see it with some (temporary) assets and custom formatting on my website.

[scienceninjaturtle]

VENOM: LETHAL PROTECTOR II #1 (OF 5)

DAVID MICHELINIE (W) • FARID KARAMI (A) • Cover by PAULO SIQUEIRA

WRAPAROUND VARIANT COVER BY PAULO SIQUEIRA

TIMELESS VENOM VIRGIN VARIANT COVER BY ALEX ROSS

TIMELESS VENOM VIRGIN SKETCH VARIANT COVER BY ALEX ROSS

VARIANT COVER BY PEACH MOMOKO

BROCK VS. DOOM. 'NUFF SAID!

Venom co-creator DAVID MICHELINIE returns with a brand-new story set in the sinister symbiote's past when brains — and Spider-Man — were still on the menu! This time, he's uniting with rising star FARID KARAMI to weave an epic, blockbuster story that will take Venom from the streets of NYC to the kingdom of Latveria as EDDIE BROCK is challenged like never before! What (or WHO) will Venom need to overcome the fiercest foe in the Marvel U? One thing's for certain, this monster's bringing the mayhem!

40 PGS./Rated T+ …$4.99

[mlobsters]

supernatural s14e14 ouroboros (w. steve yockey)

these pre-ep recap music selections are all over the place the past two seasons. always keep em (me) guessin. we're on music selection #3 within this one recap! and the pace of them is all dissonant. lol. this one is alexander bornstein (marked co-composer) and christopher lennertz

(putting in my request for an episode where i don't cry please and thank you. talking about the god forsaken box and showing sam fully crying in that moment in 14x12 does not fill me with hope.)

appreciate using someone with good knife skills for the closeups. had to go look up an anatomical diagram because that seemed awfully high up in the chest cavity to be yoinking a liver out of, but i guess it's not that far off. it's right below the pecs. like the cw version of nbc hannibal

no clue what the exchange (would say flirting but to what end, to make cas uncomfortable or actual flirting) between rowena and castiel was about. very much don't remember when they were last in the same place together. rereading the summary of the last ep they were in together (14x07) and i am none the wiser

SAM Maybe it's his pet. I mean, no pictures in his phone. And, uh, this place doesn't exactly scream "snake guy". ROWENA Not enough Pantera posters, for one.

LOL what do you know about pantera rowena

DEAN You know, I've got to say, I got a pretty good feeling about bringing Rowena in on this one. I think her and Sam have a chance of cracking it. CASTIEL They do have many books. DEAN Yes, they do.

laughed out loud, thanks cas. followed up by that stinkface

CASTIEL Are you really fine? DEAN I don't know, Cass. But that's what I'm supposed to say, right? "I'm fine," keep on moving? That's what we all say. CASTIEL No, Dean. DEAN Okay. There's this pounding in my head. It never stops. Michael's in there, and he is fighting hard to get out. And I can't let my guard down not for a second. I'm barely even sleeping. CASTIEL Well, that's not sustainable. DEAN No. No. It's probably not. But no point in complaining about it. It's on me. CASTIEL No. It's on us. We are here to help you. DEAN I know. I know that. And I appreciate that. I do. Look, before the kid gets back -- I know I agreed to give you guys time. CASTIEL Hey, Dean, and we will find a solution. DEAN Okay. But if -- if you don't we still have Plan B. CASTIEL Dean, come on. DEAN Coffin. Ocean. Done

#we're fine #everything's fine! no coughing up blood here and needing to burn off my soul to heal it, no siree (me contemplating the logistics of getting lucifer back into nick, stabbing dean with the archangel blade real quick to heal him, then getting jack's grace back [???] from lucifer)

DEAN This is like an A.V. Club presentation. JACK What's an A.V. Club? CASTIEL It's a special group for people who do not play sports. DEAN Yeah, him. He's A.V. Club.

we know sam did soccer iirc, did dean do any school sports? otherwise he's just a no sports no av club guy

gorgon dude using sex to pick up dude at the truck stop, all righty

looks like they had fun with this

ook, that was a choice. good old thermometer up the ass while spelled into a dog

was side eyeing the whole generic snake venom thing because i know some are specific to the type of snake, but i also learned that there's an antivenom that covers: North American pit vipers (all rattlesnakes, copperheads, and cottonmouths) called Polyvalent crotalid antivenin (CroFab - Crotalidae Polyvalent Immune Fab (Ovine))

*shakes head*

i really enjoy how they switch up her makeup looks and they're very like. full glam and playing around with colors. and i love her hair color right now, it's shocking! and it's also good to see her in a different hairstyle

ROWENA Fine. Don't tell me. But using dangerous, mysterious magic, regardless of the cost, that's a very on-brand me thing to do. SAM Well, thank you. ROWENA Of course Samuel, until very recently, I was the villain.

i thought she should have stayed more the ambiguous villain type with crowley, but alas. they seem to enjoy bickering

i had just convinced myself that they're just gonna have au people off on hunts perpetually and never in the bunker

are we treating a concussion like the serious injury it is now? or is this just michael drama

SAM What do I do? ROWENA Clean his wound. Make him comfortable, then we'll see.

if this is just about the traumatic brain injury, TAKE HIM TO THE HOSPITAL.

jesus christ him seizing on the bed as sam's about to ineffectively dab at his head with a dry cloth startled the shit out of me, thanks

JACK I-I can't think about losing him or -- or Sam or you. I-I just -- I hate -- I hate thinking about it. CASTIEL Yeah. So do I. But, Jack you know, Sam and Dean, they're human, and they're very extraordinary, brave, special humans, but they're -- they're still humans. And humans burn bright, but for a very brief time compared to, you know, things like us. And eventually, they're gone, even the very best ones, and we have to carry on. It's just -- It's part of growing up. JACK Losing people? CASTIEL Yes. JACK What's the point? CASTIEL The point? JACK What's the point of being a cosmic being if everyone I care about is just gonna leave? CASTIEL The point is that they were here at all and you got to know them, you. When they're gone, it will hurt, but that hurt will remind you of how much you loved them. JACK That sounds awful. CASTIEL It is. But it's also living. So when Dean wakes up -- and he will wake up -- we just have to remember to appreciate the time that we all have together now.

laughed at the agreeing it's awful. but like i mentioned in the previous episode, when you know for a fact that these people are gonna be in heaven after they die, and there are means to get to heaven, or be in heaven, then it's not so bad? ah the great devaluing of real world living

dude. did they just kill off all the generic apocalypse people??? lol ok. so now rowena gets a turn with michael, all righty

JACK I'm not a child! I'm the son of Lucifer. I'm a Hunter. I am a Winchester!

ook. i dunno if it's the writing or what but not really feeling the acting sometimes with him. and this is just. goofy

LOLOL i very much did not see this coming, here i was too busy scheming ways they could use the archangel blade and jack just had to use his soul magic to zap michael like sam burning out demons when juiced up on demon blood. and he got grace again - but it's michael's grace?? but without a soul (i assume)? does that make him just like. just an angel? was he able to flex wings before this? i can't remember

rip generic au people i'm glad you're gone, royally sucks you had to die to michael after all though

[dispatchdcu]

Venom: Lethal Protector II #1 Preview

Venom: Lethal Protector II #1 Preview #venomlethalprotector #venomlethalprotectorII #lethalprotector #MARVEL #marvelcomics #comics #comicbooks #news #mcu #art #info #NCBD #comicbooknews #previews #reviews #venom #spiderman #Amazon

Venom: Lethal Protector II #1 Preview: BROCK VS. DOOM. ‘NUFF SAID! Venom co-creator DAVID MICHELINIE returns with a brand-new story set in the sinister symbiote’s past when brains — and Spider-Man — were still on the menu! This time, he’s uniting with rising star FARID KARAMI to weave an epic, blockbuster story that will take Venom from the streets of NYC to the kingdom of Latveria as EDDIE BROCK…

[capricorn-season]

Anonymous Letter From a Terrified Lesbian

JULIA DIANA ROBERTSON

May 1, 2019

Letters

"I've never felt as shouted down, ignored, and targeted as a lesbian *within* our supposed GLBT community as I have over the past couple of years."

The “LGBTQ” has become an abusive parent with a wicked backhand. It’s a brutal force—a well-funded superpower—that’s created the illusion of unanimity… But this illusion of having respect, only comes through instilling fear.

When I received yet another letter from a scared lesbian, a few days ago, the words and sentiment expressed were all too familiar. I’ve been receiving letters like this from the lesbian community for years now. She said she was afraid to “follow” me or “like” my posts, because she was “terrified” that if her job found out, they’d fire her. The letter was anonymous, but she gave me permission to share it.

She works for a “Pride-happy” company… The kind that asks its employees to use a pronoun specific sign-out on their company emails. She’s not comfortable with it, after “years of hearing that lesbians aren’t ‘real women.'” Lesbians have made it abundantly clear that we’re not okay with the “ask my pronoun” shtick. But when lesbians are statistically the most underfunded and unrepresented group within the house of rainbow, who cares what we think? When lesbians are by far the most misrepresented and dehumanized group within the ever-expanding alphabet, it’s easy to get allies to bully, threaten and censor us, to gain our “compliance.”

The “LGBTQ,” its institutions, publications, and affiliates, not only sanction the dehumanization of lesbians, they contribute to it. They see no qualms with posting to social media, headlining articles etc., with a slur strongly affiliated with violent threats against lesbians (simply for being exclusively same-sex attracted).

Threaten to punch us, tell us to die in a grease fire, wear t-shirts stained with our metaphorical blood, carry bats wrapped with barbed wired to remind us to stay in line—It’s all copacetic, so far as the powers that be are concerned. As long as it shuts us up. Yet lesbians are regularly chastised by the dictatorship… just for being lesbians.

“I’ve never felt as shouted down, ignored, and targeted as a lesbian *within* our supposed GLBT community as I have over the past couple of years.” —Sad Lez

Sad Lez is “terrified” that she could lose her job over a “like.” And although I wish I could say her fear is irrational, it’s not. That’s where we’re at. This is where we’ve arrived.

“LGBTQ” and co., have demonstrated such venomous retaliation toward lesbians, for crimes as simple as a “like” or a “repost,” or for being openly same-sex attracted (something we’re told we’re no longer allowed to celebrate with Pride).

The house of rainbow has become more like a carnival house of horrors… A powerful propaganda machine, fueled by big corporate bucks. Nothing is off-limits anymore. Not even toddlers. So drunk with power, so cocky in their grip, that on multiple occasions, non-lesbians, who now run Dyke Marches, have told lesbians not to attend… The Dyke March.

The male-dominated “LGBTQ” has no problem slinging slurs, revising history, or threatening those of us who dare to call out the lies. And its media redacts the word “lesbian,” as though we’re a bad dream and they wish we’d just disappear. They have no moral qualms when it comes to enforcing censorship and controlling the media on the left—Controlling what information readers on the left may and may not have access too.

“I’m actually afraid to follow either of you…or like most of your posts because I’m terrified someone will brand me [and] take it back to my Company.” —Sad Lez

Lesbians have organized and moved underground in droves—Vetting, secret passwords and all. We’re among the most vocal in our opposition. But so many, like the “terrified” lesbian behind this letter, have fallen silent out of fear.

There are a handful of vocal figures (who “identify” as “lesbians”) that back up the “LGBTQ,” even though its become dangerously anti-lesbian and pro child abuse. They’ve not only backed it up, they’ve lead virtual homophobia parades that specifically and exclusively target lesbians. It’s hard to say what motivates them… Perhaps they crave validation in the way of “likes” (and in quantities that only the non-lesbian majority can provide). Perhaps it’s greed or a desire to be seen… Maybe they’re just bad people. Perhaps they’re damaged, or maybe they’re just not playing with a full deck.

“… I follow your feeds closely. Please feel free to share this; I’ve made it anonymous enough to feel safe, I think.” —Sad Lez

When did it happen, that someone like me, a lesbian on the left, would need to actually start a new publication, on the left, just so that a young lesbian desister could tell her story and get it published (through a publication on the left)? When did it happen, that lesbians, like Sad Lez, came to fear the organizations and publications that once promised to protect us? That lesbians, like Sad Lez, felt so intimidated, so targeted, so terrified that they could lose their jobs just for clicking “follow”? When did it happen that someone like me could be seen as even remotely controversial simply for being a lesbian?

The gesture of an anonymous letter, in the current climate, is a small act of bravery. As is going a step further, giving consent to publish that letter anonymously. And if we take a moment to understand the justified fear this lesbian feels—the possibility that this letter could somehow be traced back to her, that if it is, she will quite possibly face consequences—then we understand that this small gesture, isn’t quite so small.

That said, I want to thank all of you who’ve taken the time to write. Know that this small act means something. Each of your sparks, ignited in the blackness of despair, contribute to the fire that is my fight.

Without further ado, I’d like to share this woman’s voice, this seemingly small, yet significant, act of bravery:

April 27, 2019, “Love mail from a sad lez”:

“Just want to say that I stumbled across your Twitter (and SisterOutrider) by complete chance and it’s been like finding water in a desert.

I’ve never felt as shouted down, ignored, and targeted as a lesbian *within* our supposed GLBT community as I have over the past couple of years.

I work for a very Pride-happy company, and I’m actually afraid to follow either of you on Twitter or like most of your posts because I’m terrified someone will brand me… [and] take it back to my Company.”

We’re strongly encouraged to label our preferred pronouns in the display name fields of our email addresses at my job (for ex niceperson@thispridehappycompany.com shows in your inbox as From: Nice Person (she/her) ) something I wasn’t comfortable with due to years of hearing that lesbians aren’t “real women.”

I felt that having to overtly label myself with gender pronouns of she-her put me back in that space though I’m completely fine with anyone who chooses to add their preferred words; I just didn’t want to do it myself — and I’m still very nervous that not having those pronouns there is going to bite me hard soon.

Long story short, even though I’m too chickenshit to interact with either of you much on Twitter, I follow your feeds closely. Please feel free to share this; I’ve made it anonymous enough to feel safe, I think.”

Sad Lez,

The relentless bullying we’ve endured as a community is exhausting. It’s meant to wear us down. To make us so tired, we have no fight left. It’s exactly how we ended up with no voice in the mainstream, and only a handful of lesbians bars remaining in the U.S. That’s why we have to fight back.

When you say, “I’ve never felt as shouted down, ignored, and targeted as a lesbian *within* our supposed GLBT community as I have over the past couple of years,” it breaks my heart… Because it’s something lesbians have been writing to tell me in astounding numbers, and I’m worried it’s causing us all heath problems (emotional and physical). So just know, lesbian leaders have organized underground. We’re all fighting to fix this.

When you describe adding “she/her” to your email as “something I wasn’t comfortable with due to years of hearing that lesbians aren’t ‘real women,’ “ know that lesbians have expressed that sentiment, time and time again. You have every right to express that without fear of backlash. It’s terrible that you have to work in an environment where that’s something you’ve been made to feel “very nervous” about.

Lesbians have a long history of refusing to ‘conform’ to sexist ‘norms,’ so, out in the real world, we’re receiving the brunt of the ‘ask my pronoun’ abuse (from both the right and the left). It’s only served to put a target on our backs, and it cements the idea that there’s a wrong way to be female. So when you say “having to overtly label myself with gender pronouns of she-her put me back in that space,” know that it’s put a great deal of lesbians in a bad place. And let’s face it, in real life it reinforces the sexist idea that ‘butch’ lesbians are “incorrectly female.” If that weren’t the take away, why isn’t anyone asking ‘femmes’ to clarify their pronouns?

When you say, “I’m so tired of being made to feel that I’m a monster,” please know, you’re anything but. People who make you feel like a monster, just for embracing your own truth and honoring your own reality, aren’t your people. A true ally would never ask you to deny who you are. An ally would never ask you to sacrifice your own needs. An ally would never ask you to give up your own happiness or demand that you compromise your own comfort, safety and health. And while we’re on the subject, anyone who thinks lesbians should just shut up and play along while lesbian youth are harmed, is the furthest thing from an ally… Steer clear of that vile brand of evil.

I’m so happy to hear that stumbling across my Twitter has “been like finding water in a desert”… Drink up! I’m so glad you found us. We’re still out here. Please do all you can to help others find us too. Since you’re feeling scared, kick it old school for now: Word of mouth is our friend. Our lack of visibility is especially dangerous for young lesbians right now and it’s causing permanent scars. Lesbians have been excluded (in the name of inclusion) from the few lesbian publications we had remaining, and non-lesbians—with their “Lesbian sex” advice headlines screaming, “Newsflash: We should be using condoms” for “PIV sex”—see no moral dilemma in doling out advice to baby dykes under the guise that they’re lesbians. It’s leading to severe trauma (emails I can’t share).

This feeling you have—that you have to hide—is everything lesbians saw coming from miles away, as our voices and our autonomy were being stripped away. When you say, “I’m actually afraid to follow either of you on Twitter or like most of your posts because I’m terrified someone will brand me…” and “take it back to my Company,” know that this Stockholm-like grip that “LGBTQ” has on lesbians, is exactly what’s led us to the point where emancipation is our only option. The irony of #droptheL is that we’ve already been dropped. While the letter L itself, is being held hostage, it’s strictly for optics at this point. As far as lesbians are concerned, the alliance is so over.

You took a step, you wrote and you gave me permission to publish your words, so when you say, “even though I’m too chickenshit to interact with either of you much on Twitter, I follow your feeds closely,” know you’re braver than you think. I’m sure that second step isn’t far behind. And keep following closely, that’s what we’re here for. The important thing is you found us, and you can low-key help others find us too. We’re even expanding our mentorship program, so The Lesbian Leadership Alliance (LLA), Sister Outrider included, can expand our work with young at-risk lesbians.

Lesbians have gone grassroots. We’re rebuilding. When you’re up to it, we could use the extra hands. And this time, we’re not letting anyone huff and puff and blow our houses down. We’re building steel-gated fortresses.

[aces-and-kings]

🏋️ - do they own a secret place for their most prized possessions?

Answering for Alex because he's my only not homeless character. Behind the counters in The Hourglass Bookshop (and cafe) there's a murphy door built into the shelves. When you open it you find the entrance to his studio apartment, which just happens to make for a really well hidden safe house for his friends as well. So inside this apartment within the shop Alex has a chest built into his bed. You access it by lifting the mattress, but otherwise it just looks like any other bed frame. He keeps a few very valuable books in there, as well as some sentimental mementos. The rest of my characters might keep things on their person or in a satchel, bag or nightstand, but no one else currently has a "home", much less a place to keep important things. In fact, the majority don't put much stock in possessions at all. It tends not to vibe well with the wayward traveling types I guess? Think the closest that exists is Red's old distillery which might have a few special items laying around collecting dust.

Thanks for asking @lookbluesoup!

[sotirisdeleora]

@amala-thevar​​

local time: monday 31 october 2022, 11:00 location: city center. leoran consulate. referencing: @tiagoixora​‘s post

One of the city’s white robots arrives with a package for the Leoran Council. This, in and of itself, is not unusual; though the amount of time it takes to reach Gloria Gallo is. Thanks to prying from the Collective under the guise of checking for bombs (Gloria does not believe for a single solitary second that anyone would bother to bomb the Leoran Council, no matter what happened yesterday), it is hours after she first learns of the package that it finally arrives on her desk.

Already irritated that the co-investigation headed by Starfleet and the Hunters has gotten absolutely nowhere, she is in a foul mood when she unwraps a painting of a woman. Snorting, she props it up in one of the plush blue chairs in her office and takes a step back to scrutinize the piece. Is that supposed to be Amala Thevar? 

Emotions duel within Gloria. On one hand, Amala has long been a vocal mouthpiece for the Collective. She has no sense when it comes to politics on an interplanetary playing field, and has been starstruck by the Collective’s fancy gadgets and shining promises. Gloria may not be familiar with the particular brand of bullshit the Collective weaves, but she’s headed political movements since long before the other councilor was born, and she knows a venomous snake when she sees one.

Yet, recently, Thevar had shown much more sense than Gallo had given her credit for. Faced with a drugged population, including that spriteling of a nepotic Starfleet General, she’d had the wherewithal to immediately alert the rest of the council so they could showcase a united front. Leora was strong-armed into the alliance with the Council, but showing their population they could get along was more important now than ever. They had decided months ago peaceful incorporation was better than brutal war. That decision had to be right, so they needed to showcase their cooperation.

No matter how much it grated.

Lips pressed into a thin line, Councilor Gallo snatches the painting off her chair and strides out of the office. Her slippered feet are silent against the Consulate’s reclaimed wooden floors, but her presence alone is enough to send anyone in the hallways scurrying out of the way with bows of respect. When she arrives at Councilor Thevar’s door she knocks twice before entering, hardly bothering to listen for a reply before the door is swinging open.

Plopping the painting down upon Amala’s desk, Gloria begins. “Well, I imagine you’ve seen the complaints about you pouring in over the feeds. They’re a little much but I think venting online is healthier than sending deranged caricatures to the council through our robots.”

She pauses, eyeing the painting again as she smiles. “Though I suppose you can take solace in the fact that even though most people want your head on a spike, there’s at least one person who wants to fuck you.”

[1ddotdhq]

🎊 Wed 13 Jan ‘21 👾

Zayn had a party (in a storage unit?), Liam has a podcast, Niall still likes golf, and Louis is calling out shitty politicians! Meanwhile, Jason Sdksksks is trying his damndest to win back his lady love from the nefarious Mr. Styles’ wiley ways. Yes, yes, it’s all very dramatic, so let’s get started!

Alright, clearly Zayn had the zarty of the YEAR last night as we got oodles and oodles of pictures of, uh, Zayn-themed party decorations that would be very on brand for any twelve year old stan but honestly I CANNOT imagine him wearing party hats with...his face on them cut out Mishapocalypse-style. I mean, he would still look like a ting, of course, but a very odd ting, especially when mixed with his own personalized Bode jacket that matches Harry’s personalized Bode Vogue pants, with their own twist: the Nobody Is Listening cover art, weed, Star Wars, 993, and some others! We know it was at Gigi's apartment building thanks to the many pap pics of the games and balloons being brought around (trust Zayn to find every way to get papped other than his actual face) but wow does it look like the whole thing was set up in some kind of....industrial storage unit? Odd, but points for social distancing, I guess? The party mastermind, Gigi, bought him a FIFA-inspired birthday cake (more on FIFA later), and they played retro video games that I haven’t seen since *I* was twelve, and drank orange juice looking cocktails. She also posted a picture of herself and Zayn all dressed up as some video game characters, captioned, “Team No Sleep! Happiest of birthdays to our Zaddy baba. So special. Love you long time, and thank you for making me a mama to the best girl ever”. Well, it looks to me like they’ve been getting plenty of sleep - they look bright eyed and bushy tailed and ready for a playground party. Honestly, thinking about it, maybe the theme *was* “twelve year old who likes zayn and video games”....And there’s still MORE news, party people! Apparently, ZAYN is taking on the role of host for three virtual album listening parties. There’s no zoom, and no video, but on Jan 15, 19, and 21, we can all sit in a chat room and listen to the album together. It’s free for everyone, and hopefully he shows up, so see y’all there!

So onto the FIFA section of the update, of which I know nothing about, but give me a few months and Liam will teach me all about it in his NEW FIFA PODCAST! What??? What happened to that Sabbatical Leeeyummm???? Clearly, it’s gonna have to wait for a bit because for the months of January and February, he’s going to be hosting an eight episode podcast (co-hosted by SkyHost sports broadcaster Jaydee Dyer and in collaboration with Universal Music Group), which premiered TODAY! Surprise!! Someone get *this* man a FIFA cake! The podcast will pair star players and musicians and aims to “make football truly global, accessible and inclusive”, which to me just means we’re gonna get a bunch of fun bts stories from Liam and other artists like we did today! He tells us some pre-show 1D rituals (‘making Harry say funny shit in silly voices’ and ‘throwing gummy bears in each others mouths’) and about his own relationship with music (“amazing how music can lift your mood out of anything”) and songwriting (“it can come many ways”). Also, he has a huge crush on Tom Hardy, but that’s not special, I, too, watched Venom and fell head over heels for that Man!

Another man I’m head over heels for: Louis! He showed up on twitter INCENSED about the Health Secretary of Britain and his evasive tactics on the question of free school meals. Piers Morgan (ugh) took on the Health Secretary (UGH) and asked if he regretted voting against the extension of free school meals in Britain, noting that, had it not been for Marcus Rashford’s excellent campaign, this would have gone unresolved and children would have gone hungry. The Health secretary, gusano ligoso that he is, just said, “I’m really glad the situation has been resolved”. Louis clearly feels the same way I do about that cockroach that is unfit to call himself a man, and said, “This is disgusting. What an evasive coward! Hold your hands up and take responsibility!” Louis then retweeted Marcus Rashford’s tweet calling for a full review of a Free School Meal system across the UK. One more FIFA cake for these two, please!

And the Fauxlivia saga continues (sans astrologers today, sorry!) Elle magazine printed that Jason Sudeikis (Sdksksks from here on out) is “desperate to win Olivia back to repair their family” and is “hoping that...Harry will get bored and move on before too long”. Mhmmm, well, don’t worry, darling! The stars say that you’ll have your family back by June (apparently! but COVID related delays may apply) so just hold on for a bit! Harry, meanwhile, is...MIA but liking Arlo Park’s cover of Watermelon Sugar, which was, frankly, captivating and gorgeous, and Lizzo’s gorgeous post captioned, “the bar is high when you’re the reference”. And, discourse would like you to know she made a mistake yesterday, Jeff's quote about how soothing someone's presence was was about Kid Harpoon, not Harry, though we’re sure H has a soothing presence, too! I mean, just look at the power his text messages hold!

[monicawoe]

2021: Writing Year in Review

In 2021, I wrote just over 300k words. This was the first year my original writing count greatly outweighed my fic wordcount, largely because I finished one novel draft and started a second (unrelated). About 4/5 of my words were original writing.

Fic-wise it was another multi-fandom year for me. I wrote fics for 7 fandoms! The brand new ones for me this year included Lucifer (which I mainlined over the course of 4 weeks right before the second half of season 5 dropped), Shadow and Bone, and Wandavision.

My favorite fics I wrote this year were:

Fiat Lux (and Chocolate) - a crossover where Eddie Brock goes to Lux in Los Angeles and interviews Lucifer Morningstar because the moment I thought of it, I had to write it!

Still Driving - what will likely be my last Supernatural fic, since I think I've finally said all I have to say about it; but this particular fic was one last late season 4 Sam POV, my very favorite season of Sam.

Oh God, You Devil - written before season 6 aired, this fic runs with the premise of Lucifer as God, and yeah, that was really fun to imagine.

Under the cut are all 14 fics I posted in 2021 grouped by fandom:

Venom (movies)

Fiat Lux (and Chocolate) - Eddie Brock goes to Lux in Los Angeles for an interview with Lucifer Morningstar, and Venom is hungry for chocolate.

Life Is a Honeymoon - Eddie and Venom in bed at the hotel on the beach.

Like Algae for Chocolate - Missing scene with Mrs. Chen and Venom from Venom Let There Be Carnage

+ 2 mystery fics written for the Venom Holiday Exchange 2021 (reveals tomorrow, I'll update the list then!)

Lucifer (tv)

Fiat Lux (and Chocolate) - crossover with Venom

Oh God, You Devil - Lucifer is God now. It’s what he wanted, and with Chloe by his side, nothing can go wrong. Right?

Imagine Dragons - With Trixie's help, Lucifer creates dragons.

Beelzebub's Patsy - A damned soul in a therapy session with Lucifer.

MCU/Wandavision

A New Life - How Wanda brings Vision back

Shadow and Bone (tv)

Into the Fold - What happens to Aleksander in the Fold, and where he goes after.

Supernatural

Between Hell and the Hunt - Dean's deal is due, but Sam has found a way to save him. He's made a deal with someone else - someone Lilith can't touch.

Still Driving - Dean is driving the car. That’s all he’s doing. He’s got his eyes on the road, and hasn’t spared a glance at Sam for a solid forty minutes.

Sanguinem Sacrificium (co-written with @zara-zee, art by @cassiopeia7 for @frontierlandproductions SPN Season 16): When Jack shook things up in The Afterlife, some things literally shook loose. Hunter turned Vampire Gordon Walker has landed back on the mortal plane and after centuries in Purgatory he’s strong, he’s pissed and he has a plan: Find Sam Winchester and drink the Boy King’s blood.

The Witcher (netflix)

Give to You My Penance - After the adventure with Borch, Téa and Véa, and Geralt's horrid dismissal, Jaskier is on his own—brooding and writing his new song. But it seems the witcher isn't quite done with him yet after all. Jaskier has longed to share Geralt’s saddle for so long, but won't—not until Geralt makes an apology. One grand enough to put all other apologies ever made in the history of man and witcher-kind to shame.

[1000-directions]

ao3 tag game

tagged by @themarshalstale (omg i just tried to tag you as nightwideopen sdlkfjs) thank you!!!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

87       .            .

2. What's your current AO3 wordcount?

343,005

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

lots of overlapping shit, so i’m folding all of the marvel movie and tv fandoms into MCU, here we go:

Marvel Cinematic Universe (62)

Hawkeye (Comics) (36)

One Direction (Band) (34)

Bebe Rexha (Musician) (4)

BBC Radio 1 RPF (2)

Aquaman (2018) (1)

Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF (1)

Endings Beginnings (2019) (1)

X Factor (UK) RPF (1)

The Last Full Measure (2019) (1)

Destroyer (2018) (1)

dear lord i’ve spent a lot of time writing words about dudes who look like sebastian stan

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

they are all winterhawk

ever fallen in love with someone (winterhawk punks)

Aw, Telepathy, No (round robin fic)

on target (my first ever winterhawk fic!!!!!!)

(do you know who you are?) (codename: the clinter soldier)

i don’t have a choice (but i still choose you) (fake soulmates)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not.

i respond in my heart, always. i am pretty overwhelmed by how many unanswered comments i have, to the point where it is just...beyond my capacity to remedy at this point. i occasionally respond to a comment that just hits the right way when i’m in a shitty mood, or if i can see someone working their way through my fics and leaving comments i try to acknowledge that. but i am Not Good At Replying To Comments. but i love them and they make me happy.

6. What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

i mean...i do not generally consider myself to be an especially angsty writer, and i try to end on a high note. but ever since new york, my sole phlint fic, is a bit of a downer.

7. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've ever written?

lol uhhhhhhh i mean my most popular pairing is these two dudes:

and i think i would count that as a crossover considering one of them is literally an illustration.

my craziest crossover is pretty obviously harry style/venom symbiote, and i regret nothing.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

not outright, and certainly not in marvel fandom. there were some people in 1d fandom who were pretty infuriated by things that i chose to ship, so i got the usual anons telling me they hoped i would die or whatever, but that was more in reaction to my general existence than like a specific fic. just one of many reasons i am not in that fandom anymore 🙃

9. Do you write smut?

i mean, do i write anything? to the extent that i “write,” then sure, i write smut.

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not in total. i’ve read prose in other fics that felt familiar, but i try to give people the benefit of the doubt about that kind of stuff.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i generally do not play well with others, but i participated in the winterhawk round robin!

12. What's your all time favorite ship?

bucky barnes/happiness

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

on ao3, it was 1d. prior to ao3, mind your business lol

14. What's your favorite fic you've written?

currently very partial to my bucky/sharon fic you feel like a holiday, which is just a whole fic about sex and food and gentle domestic intimacy, My Brand. also very partial to the bucky/sarah fic that pretty much only exists in my head.

tagging stresses me out but here we go, no pressure, follow your bliss: @ticklefighthockey @violsva @mollynoble @loonyloopylisa @alexenglish @anactorya @cyclogenesis​ and anyone else reading this who wants to talk about fic please feel free to say i tagged you

[abookishdreamer]

Character Intro: Tithonus (Kingdom of Ichor)

Nicknames- The Bug Whisperer by Hermes

Jitters by Aphrodite

Crawly by Chelone

Age- 19 (immortal)

Location- Hearthwood neighborhood, New Olympus

Personality- He's a shy introverted guy of a few words. He's generally non confrontational and is more open & honest through texts than face to face communication. He's currently single.

He has the standard abilities of a god. As the god of insects, he can summon/shapeshift into/communicate with all species of insects. Other powers/abilities include web generation, wall crawling, web breath, silk generation, pestilence manipulation (locusts), parasite creation, honey generation & manipulation, compound eyes, antenna protrusion, becoming a living hive (transforming his entire physical body into a swarm of insects), and being able to adopt features of any particular insect to his physical form (like being able to produce venom and having four extra legs- like a spider, or generating stingers from his fists- like a bee).

Tithonus lives in a spacious house in the Hearthwood neighborhood of New Olympus. There's a few acres of gardens as well as an apple tree. He has a wide array of different species of insects as pets- including a tarantula named Webster. Inside, the color scheme are shades of cream, blue, green, light brown, & yellow. He's a fan of using humidifiers and there's decorations of golden ornate bugs along the walls. There's lots of bug shaped furniture (including a caterpillar shaped bed in his bedroom).

His favorite color is light green.

He's also a great ukulele player and he can play the mandolin.

Tithonus loves snacking on kiwis, pears, & green grapes!

Tithonus started his life as a young mortal guy living in Troy and working on a small farm. Things changed when he got swept up in a relationship with Eos (Titaness of dawn). Their time together was short, fiery, & passionate. They once spent a month on a private beach on Shimmering Tail Island & he had sex with her for the first time in a nearby cove. Word of the relationship made its way back to Eos' father Hyperion (Titan god of heavenly light). To spare him her father's wrath, she went to Zeus for help & he ended up turning Tithonus into a cicada- where he remained as such for a few hundred years before he was offered the chance at immortality and to become a part of the pantheon. He and Eos ended things not too long after he was officially made into a god.

His go-to drink is a honeydew smoothie. He also likes sparkling water, cucumber infused water, beer, the grasshopper (a drink made with heavy cream, creme de cacao, & creme de menthe), lemon-lime soda, cucumber martinis, and pineapple-coconut margaritas.

In Olympius, Tithonus has his main business- a few insectariums (live insect zoos). He also has his own merch which includes bug themed T-shirts, sweatshirts, & rubber phone cases as well as a bug spray brand called Ecoshield, which is non toxic to beings and insects.

He usually gets around in his teal VW bug (which is environmentally friendly) or by riding his bike.

His favorite frozen treat is the salted honey ice cream. He buys a few pints of them at the supermarket.

He's a fan of the cleaning products brand Pure Clean Co., started by Hygieia (goddess of hygiene & cleanliness)- which are all natural, plant based, and most importantly, non-toxic to bugs & insects.

His favorite meal is the breakfast burrito (added with sharp cheddar cheese, spinach, potatoes, & guacamole). He also likes the wheat bread veggie sub (made with a chive and onion spread, mashed avocado, spinach, cucumbers, kale, lettuce, sprouts, and tomatoes) along with the split pea soup and mighty greens salad (topped with walnuts & pomegranate seeds) from The Bread Box.

Tithonus has very few friends in the pantheon. He's friendly with Matton (god of meals), Techne (goddess of arts, crafts, & invention), Eurus (god of the east wind), and Chelone (goddess of tortoises)- having become quite close with her, as they share many similarities.

He sometimes finds himself looking up Eos' profile on Fatestagram- being more than surprised when he discovered that she was dating Ares (god of war).

Tithonus used to have huge crushes on Hestia (goddess of the hearth), Aegle (goddess of good health), and Livádi (goddess of meadows).

His official mentor was Gaia (goddess of the earth).

Some of his favorite desserts include hummingbird cake & carrot cake from Hollyhock's Bakery. He can also make peanut butter chocolate chip cookies made from cricket flour.

In his free time Tithonus enjoys bike riding, gardening, surfing, beekeeping, yoga, acupuncture, painting, reading, and doing pottery.

"Bugs are the real individualists of the animal kingdom."