ʜᴀɪʟ ᴍᴀʀʏ ᴘʟᴀʏ

AGENT VENOM ʀᴇᴘᴏʀᴛɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ   ᴅᴜᴛʏ—— "never let them see you shit your pants."

[musingxmemes]

I was never w e a k ;        I just decided to let you play out your little fantasy          Of being the one                  “ in control ”

[dracarysnoir]

Lincoln Campbell - Bouncing Back

↖ is now accepting curious anons.

[failed-mad-scientist]

[ieerroo]

[foundedusa]

From one Veteran to another, Thank you. To all my brothers and sisters who served. Let’s honor all of our brave veterans that defend the dream. #veteransday

[firstmostdangerous]

To call this man angry is too temperate a word, he was volcanic.

Edna O’Brien

[corporalvenom]

regeneratiiive:

@corporalvenom

It was a SLOW night. There wasn’t anyone to shoot — or at least no one that he deemed had it coming anyways. Sure, Wade was trigger happy, but he had some self control when no one was there to provoke his murder sense ( But that happened a lot anyways ). SO. After snooping around his regular haunts, leaving Clint a ‘call me xoxo’ note under his door, Wade had managed to keep himself occupied for a grand total of twenty minutes before he found himself in a pickle. What to do now? It was only after he had finished a burger and shake snatched from In-n’-out that he got it: Spidey hunt.

It was a solid plan. He had been looking high and low for acharnae boy when he wasn’t being held down by work. It was fun chasing that nimble little spider anyways. Kept him on his toes. Being around spidey also gave him a good pick-me-up and in a city like New York with a face like his — Wade was good with something to brighten is spirits while the boxes were going through one of their silent spells.

It didn’t take long for him to find a trail either. The merc was a crafty son of a bitch and a spider symbol plastered across someone’s chest was kind of a dead give away. “Sweetums!” Wade chirped as he chased the dark figure he had tracked down, “Daddy’s home!” Launching himself towards the other, Wade snorted slightly as his chest came into contact with the other’s back. “Oh my. What big arms you have. You been working out spidey boy? Is that why you are back in black?”

The army had taught Flash a lot of things. It had taught him teamwork, various ways to kill, how to truly work under stress. Years of training had prepared him for the worst, two tours of duty had shown him worse. None of it, however, had prepared him for this. 

Of course. It happens to everyone. You mistake one person for another, you wave awkwardly, some make a valiant attempt at covering the shame with a hand through the hair, you move on. At least, this was the case normally— and, like everything in his life up to this point, nothing ever went by ‘normal’ standards, and it was always in the worst way. Where any other heavily armored guy would have expected to be able to mind his own business in the middle of the night, Agent Venom was unexpectedly forced into the position of ‘little spoon’ in this surprise, vertical spooning. 

             Just that kind of night. 

Maybe it was a bad sign of bonding with a symbiote, maybe it was an excellent example of just how well he had come to work with the alien, but the spikes covering broad shoulders flared at an instant, growing in size and overall pointiness within the blink of an eye. It was only after the attempt at shrugging the... ugh... ‘big spoon’ of the situation off him that something had sunk in. Did this guy just refer to him as ‘Spidey’? While flattered, Flash couldn’t help but wonder what the hell kind of crap his idol had gotten himself into. 

“You should consider a safe word.” He’s embarrassed the second the words leave his mouth. “What’s your business with Spider-Man?” Head in the game, Thompson, back to business. This guy seemed like trouble, and if he was after Spider-Man, the mission could wait. It wouldn’t be the first time he put the needs of Uncle Sam in second place. 

[ofgunsandhoods-blog]

you owe me dinner —

[corporalvenom]

ofgunsandhoods:

Jason pulled off his helmet as he got to the rooftop, lying down on the gravel that covered the top of the building. He set his helmet down next to him, feeling a deep sigh leave his body as he spread out. He barely even flinched as he heard a noise from behind him, the telltale sounds of Flash’s suit shifting as he moved across the rooftop. “You owe me dinner,” Jason said, without even looking at him. He was too busy staring at the stars. “You owe me dinner because of that one time you knocked my chili dog out of my hands and I was left without dinner when we went and fought the dirtbags on 152nd. I hope you have a chili dog with you, otherwise, I’m leaving your ass to go it alone.”

@corporalvenom

Forty-eight hours. It was all that he was given for every mission Project Rebirth would assign him. Two days. Back when he was just corporal Thompson, two days seemed like an impossible deadline for the missions he was given, but that was when he had a squad of all human, all flesh and blood, allies. Lately, the missions barely took him a few hours. Man and symbiotic beast working together like a team that had known each other for years. Project Rebirth didn’t need to know how close he had grown to Venom, nor the fact that by the time he’d send in the request to be picked up, he was usually long done with the mission. 

The black, organic substance parted, crawling back until Flash’s face and neck were revealed by the time the soldier reached the rooftop. Funny, how the rooftops of such high buildings provided such a strong feeling of safety. Maybe it was just the fact that Jason was the only person who knew about his dual identity that he could actually call a friend. The white, plastic takeout bag rustled softly as the wind got a hold of it, the second black goo slipped off the bag to reveal it. He hated swinging around the city with a noisy bag on him, and keeping it in a make-shift backpack within his suit allowed for hands-free traveling.

“You get a burger and fries,” Flash commented, barely taking his eyes off the bag as he sat down, only to reach a still heavily armored arm into the thin bag. With his own dinner looted from the bag, he threw the bag over to Jason, shamelessly aiming for the bag to hit his partner in the stomach. 

[infinity-comics]

[lalalaluljetablah-deactivated20]

I am so sorry to all the people I hurt while I was hurting.

(via deathnoteoflove)

[corporalvenom]

stillablackhawkx:

Zinda was a woman out of time, and that meant she’d left plenty of her comforts of home way back in 1944. She didn’t completely glorify the past; there were plenty of things that could stay back in the good old days, thank you very much. Like the sexism that kept her from even being a Blackhawk until she staged a woman mission to save their asses from the Nazis. Or the racism that kept Chop-chop from getting equal pay or her from dancing the lindy hop with a black man on Friday night without there being a big hoopla over it. But you know what Zinda was perfectly fine with keeping? The milkshakes. That’s how she discovered Penny’s.

Penny’s looked like any other crappy little diner on a crappy side of town. But the owner was old as dirt, which meant they knew a thing or two about real fine American cuisine, thank you very much. Zinda had become a regular there since arriving in New York, and the only thing she liked more than eating there was introducing someone else to it.

She barreled in after a mission. She was in her uniform, black knee high boots and the miniskirt that wasn’t regulation until she told Hendrickson to kiss her ass, in which case it became regulation. Sure, she’d gotten shot at and almost crashed her helicopter, but that was no reason to walk around looking sloppy, so her hair was neatly pulled back and her lips were perfectly red.

“When I tell you I’m BEAT!” she said, taking her hat off out of respect and waving at the cashier, a nice girl named Sarah. Zinda went ahead and slipped a twenty in the swear jar (that they’d set up just for her) just to be ready, and when one of the cooks tried to peek his head out to talk to her, she shook her head.

“Sorry, but I’m already late for a meetin with a handsome fella…Oh! There he is,” she strode over to him and plopped right down, leaving her hat on the table. “Sorry I’m late sugar, you didn’t get mugged on your way here didja?”

@corporalvenom

Growing up, Flash often wished he was born in another household. Some place with parents he wouldn’t have to lie about in school, somewhere without the empty bottles and the fist sized holes in the dry wall. It had taken the boy, who was so much like his father, some years of maturing, but somewhere in his high school years he learned to stop wishing to trade places with other people. He didn’t have to like it, but his old man was his problem, no one else’s. Growing up had meant learning that it was his job to clean up messes of his own; his family, his mess, his job to clean it up. Yesterday night had been interesting, to say the least. When his mother had called him again, that kind of panic in her voice had told him just what kind of night it was, before she even had a chance to say the words; it was time to pick up his father from a bar again, before the police did. The night seemed like the same old routine as before, until he had guided his wheelchair through the door of a bar he used to know so well. 

Right by the bar, his father, loud and angry as usual, but last night it seemed he had finally pissed off the wrong person. Maybe he should have broken up the fight as soon as he arrived, but who could really blame him for keeping his wheelchair still and enjoying the show? The woman, attractive, loud, and very capable of holding her own, was giving old Harrison Thompson exactly the right taste of his own medicine, and Flash didn’t have to know what his father had done to prove the lady right. Thinking back, he probably should have let her do her thing a little while longer before he actually swooped in to take the old man off her hands, ignoring every roar about the man’s ‘cripple son’. His dad, his mess, his job to take care of it, though exchanging numbers with the woman was definitely not a bad idea. She seemed fun. Fun had been a while ago, and he could definitely use company like that. 

He had been surprised when she actually contacted him this soon, but it didn’t stop him from agreeing to meet at this diner he’d surprisingly never heard of. It had been a while since he’d been at a greasy looking diner like this, after having been in a bar the night before, and not being hungover. He liked the feel of this place. Not too clean to take away from the sphere, the staff seemed more like family than anything, and honestly, this place had a certain warmth that he could definitely get used to. Not much time had passed since he had replaced his wheelchair for a booth seat. He spent so much time in that chair, he’d take any opportunity to sit someplace else. No one had offered him assistance in moving himself onto the new seat, no sideways glances or quiet whispers. Thank God. He was convinced he could just sit down at a booth in peace, problem free— he wondered when other people would figure that out. 

The door swung open and there was no mistaking the woman who had just come through the door for anyone other than the one he had met last night. She was loud, and social, and there was a kind of enthusiasm about her that he wouldn’t know how to copy even if he tried. There had been a time where he had known exactly how to get every eye in the room fixated on himself, just like she had shown to do, and maybe he still knew, but ever since the end of high school, the desire to do so had shrunk with each passing month of lost glory. A small bit of smile crept onto his unshaven face as his eyes followed her to his booth. He bet no one here had expected this loud presence to be meeting up with the cripple in the corner. “Don’t sweat it,” he shot back, with just a short shrug. “And please, I know better than to bring my purse to these ‘sketchy neighborhoods’.” Sarcasm evident in his voice, he moved what little was left of his legs into a more comfortable position on his seat. While having grown up in the comfort of Forest Hills, Queens, Flash sure was no stranger to the less than friendly neighborhoods of this city, especially since Project Rebirth. “You didn’t tell me you were a superhero, though. Wow.” He gave a short nod at the hat she just gave its place on the table before glancing back at her. The world had her heroes that refused to wear a mask, but Agent Venom just wasn’t one of them. 

[symbiotesoldier]

[corporalvenom]

you were made ｗｒｏｎｇ.       because in your chest they will not find a beating heart,    but a ⟨ loaded ⟩ gun.

                                  ⎨ and ɢod have mercy on those                                       who tried to love you ⎬

[league-of-extraordinarycomics]

Venom #1

[corporalvenom]

boyisallheart:

It felt like hours had passed before he managed to slip away from the businessmen and bureaucrats, 90% of which were his father’s age. Just another reminder that he had stepped into way too big shoes. His one comfort was that he’d been meant for this, but that didn’t make the evening much more exciting in their company. There was a reason he kept inviting his friends to these things, after all. Well, that, and they really deserved some pampering.

He’d been looking for a red head swimming in the crowd for a while now, knowing that searching for Peter was hopeless in almost any situation. MJ must’ve found someone and wandered off, though, because she really wasn’t hard to pick out from a crowd. He had no idea how directors even managed to overlook her. He wasn’t bothered, though. She was here more for business’ sake than himself. Harry exhaled, set a foot out to turn around – and immediately regretted the decision.

The cry died in his throat instantly, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth instead. He was ready to round on some retired politician and apologise for being in the way, but all that came out of his mouth when he turned was a stunned “Wow.” He wasn’t entirely conscious he’d even said it, and when his eyes flicked up from Flash’s decorated military uniform to hear his dumb comment, the brief, stunned admiration ( appreciation? ) was swept under the carpet. “’Whoops’ my–” Harry cut himself short, eyes darting briefly to the people around them. A slightly sardonic smile twisted his lips as he looked back to the hunk in the wheelchair, “Is this your way of getting attention, Thompson? ‘Cause it’s working.” 

Then any bitterness seemed to dissipate, smile genuine as he pulled the leather shoe back from harm’s way. “Looks like someone’s shaped up. Is it ‘corporal’ for the rest of the night, then?”

And no, his heart hadn’t skipped a single beat.

Honestly, he hadn’t intended for the toes to fall victim to his wheels to be those of a friend, but in hindsight, he couldn’t have wished for a better outcome. Strangers had given him sympathetic glances, and he had heard several ‘thank you for your serve’s spread evenly over the time he had been here, but he knew friends wouldn’t treat him differently, disabled vet or not. He didn’t need anyone’s sympathy, or their pity.

With all the Osborn’s riches and experiences, he never thought to see Harry Osborn himself stunned. With the crowd of people surrounding them having faded to nothing but a blur to the veteran, he caught a grin spreading across his features. Adjusting the position of his wheelchair, Flash came to face his friend, the rubber wheels no longer dangerously prepared for another assault on Harry’s toes. He shifted his weight onto one arm that was resting on one side of his chair, eyes looking up to meet his friend’s. “You know, I figured it would…” he agreed, softly nodding his head. “Thought that with these old timers around here you’d be pretty tired of polite gestures.”

His eyes darted down at the suit, the shiny medals an easy eye catcher. Sometimes it has hard to believe he earned all of those with just two tours of duty and one quick decision. Thinking back, he had seen a lot, experienced a lot, that these old, rich people in the room, spoiled rotten, would never even have to worry about. But New York was a strange place, an exception to his previous thought maybe. New York City was a war zone of its own entirely, with the threat of super villains right around every corner.

“Oh yeah, but ‘sir’ will do if you throw in a salute.” His voice was nothing but tease, his face displaying a smile that hadn’t been there in quite a while. The expression, however, didn’t last. He could hear the crowd fall silent, and smooth jazz— a song he recognized, his dad liked this song— taking its place as most dominant noise. From his lower position in the crowd due to his wheelchair, it was hard to see just what was going on until a BANG silenced everything for a while.

After Iraq, twice, and the bombings just a few months ago, you’d think army veteran Flash Thompson wouldn’t blink at a situation much like this, but god, he was speechless. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this was supposed to be easy. How the hell had explosives gotten in here? He almost had gotten trouble smuggling in a symbiote and a tracking device, and this clown had somehow brought explosives. Panic rose among the people, and it barely took Flash a second to try and shield Harry. Moments like these were those in which he truly hated being tied to a wheelchair, and in no position to effectively help out. Instincts and training kicking in, he tore his eyes from his friend to scan the area, get to the bottom of this. He knew he had the power to fix this, he had, and that alone made it his problem, his responsibility.

The man of the hour had arrived on stage. The same guy who had caused the massacre on Times Square, it seemed. His speech hadn’t drawn Flash’s attention right until the mention of vigilantes, which was a mistake, honestly. His head had shot up at an instant, only for his eyes to fall on a suspicious red button. Was that another detonator? ‘You do not want to see what this does.’ Whatever that meant, he had a feeling it wasn’t a surprise he was willing to see.

While the words hit him, they had a hard time sinking in, but it seemed he had no time to let it. Before he could even turn back to see how Harry was doing through all this, the Joker seemed to be on his way out, and there was no way Flash was going to let this guy get away like this. No way. He reached up to softly grab at Harry’s arm, his breather quick and short. “Jesus, man, are you okay?” He looked around another time, a quick scan for a way out before turning back to Harry. “Look I…” fuck, how was he going to word this? “I’m not feeling so hot, I gotta’…” He shook his head, hands shaking. “I gotta’ go outside, get some air. I dunno’ if we can, I think these guys locked some doors, but—” Smooth, good job, Thompson. God, he felt horrible, but he had to do this. If he couldn’t evacuate the building, he had to find the guy responsible. “I’m sorry.”

Without even a last glance at Harry, he pushed his way through the terrified jungle of gala guests. The rate at which his heart beat would almost risk the organ breaking his chest as he took the turn into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms. He’d only seen one other wheelchair user at the gala, so he figured the disability bathroom should be free. A spark of guilt from the way he left Harry behind still haunted him, but wasn’t this why he was here in the first place? The mission came first, always. After all, maybe he could later excuse it all by telling him it reminded him of Iraq? It was a lie, a horrible one that would leave the gang worried, but it would have to do. It took merely a glance or two around the area to check for security cameras, before he wheeled himself into the bathroom, and locked the door behind him. 

[corporalvenom]

Surrounded by all these important people looking their best, the fancy looks of this place alone, and the cars out front that were more expensive than everything he’s ever bought combined, it was easy to mistake this mission for pleasure rather than business. However, with just how he felt wearing his dress uniform again— this time with the Medal of Honor he had earned, alongside the various medals that came with his service neatly pinned to his uniform— maybe this mission didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy himself. Project Rebirth 2.0 had played this smart though, just the amount of sneaky he had come to expect by now. They were wary of Fisk, as they should be. Ever since the man was put in the position of mayor, Flash had been given various orders to keep tabs on him, but so far his missions regarding Fisk had been unfruitful. 

Flash was no stranger to undercover missions in the name of Project Rebirth. The symbiote was perfect for making the wheelchair using amputee look like any other able-bodied Joe, and this secret section of the military was not above using it, just not tonight. Agent Venom had a personal life, and happened to know some of the guests, who would certainly notice if the war hero had suddenly grown back his legs. So today, he wasn’t undercover, not exactly. Despite his mission, he was here as the war hero he truly was, corporal Eugene Thompson, veteran with a Medal Of Honor to his name. The mission seemed simple, on paper. Get close enough to Fisk to make good use of the symbiote, and Project Rebirth’s technology. With merely a prick of his finger he could insert a tracking chip right under the mayor’s skin, making it real easy for the government to spy... well, within the government. 

With the alien snugly posing as the watch on his wrist, Flash uneasily eyed the crowd. He had never been comfortable in formal situations, let alone around all these rich people seeming to know exactly what they were doing. This hour alone he’d already been offered four drinks, and every time it had been a process of saying no. When he had made the decision to stop drinking for good, about two years ago now, he never though he’d wished there was a bar in this room, just so they wouldn’t have to keep offering him drinks. He had almost risked it. One glass at a special occasion like this wouldn’t matter... right? He didn’t even have to drive, because, well... he couldn’t. The thought alone had made him sick. Guilt had spiked him like nothing else, and his jaws had clenched together tightly in a helpless attempt to numb the anger he felt towards himself. No more alcohol. That was the deal. No excuses. Especially while carrying the most dangerous weapon he’s ever held in his hands, this mind controlling weapon that just happened to be drugged, neutered. He was done with alcohol, for good.

The veteran idly fiddled with the sleeves of his uniform’s coat, letting his eyes scan the crowd once more. The gang had to be out here somewhere, right? MJ had mentioned that Peter and herself would both go as Harry’s platonic plus-ones, and honestly, it was hard to miss any of them. After all, he had years of experience picking out Peter from any crowd, except this time minus the cruel intentions. A deep sigh was pushed from his lungs, irritation slowly building as he had still not found anyone he even remotely recognized. Sure, he was supposed to be here with the V.A. Office, but even they seemed to be another needle in this haystack of people, after he had left them a little while ago. He barely threw a short glance around before pushing his wheelchair forward, with a single, controlled stroke. 

He almost didn’t care when he felt the chair roll right over someone’s foot— hell, maybe he meant to do it. One of the advantages of wearing a military dress uniform, and sporting the kind of medals he did, was that people were easily distracted once they saw and noticed. The smug little smirk tugging just softly at his mouth just couldn’t be helped as his eyes darted up at his victim. Okay, it was a little funny.

“Whoops.”