#electric shock baton

[only-shadows-dwell-where-we-are]

Redwood Pyschiatric Institute - Part 6

MASTERLIST - PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3 - PART 4 - PART 5

CWs: mention of ECT, mental hospital whump, mental health gaslighting, force used against patient (electric shock baton), forced psychiatric care

Matthew Cooper pulled up in front of a small house on the end of the street, pulling out his phone to send a quick text that read 'I'm here.'

On the screen were a series of previous, unanswered and unread messages he had sent to his friend Rowan.

'Hey Rowan. Just checking in.'

'Rowan, it's me. What's up bud?'

'Where are you?'

'PICK UP ROWAN'

'Fine. If you won't talk to me, I'm not going to try anymore'

Then, from today. 'Rowan, I'm coming over.'

Matt sighed as he dropped his phone into his pocket and clambered out of the car. He walked up to the front door, and rang the doorbell. He waited a moment, and when there was no answer, he rapped on the door with his knuckles. Still, nothing. The whole house seemed to be silent and still. He pressed his face to the one of the windows, attempting to peer through.

"Rowan!" He called.

No answer.

"Crap." Matt murmured. "Where the hell are you.."

He strode around the back of the house, searching for any signs of life from his friend. Finally, he spotted a back door, slightly ajar. It struck Mathew as strange. Rowan was not a careless person - in fact, quite the opposite, he could be rather paranoid, in Mathew's opinion. So it was completly out of the ordinary for his friend to leave a door unlocked, and Mathew also had no idea how long it had been open or if Rowan was even in the house still.

Cautiously, Matthew entered through the door, calling Rowan's name as he went. There were no traces of recent life - everything was put away neatly as Mathew would expect of Rowan, until he reached his friend's bedroom. This room was a mess - papers were scattered everywhere, on the bed, on the floor, on the desk.. Rowan's laptop was also still there, but Mathew wasn't keen to go trying to break into that. He pick up a paper sitting on the desk, and scanned through it. It was a newspaper article.

'Redwood Asylum patients claim gross mistreatment'.  The headline read. The article was dated 1964. The next article, from 1970, announced the closing-down of the Institute. The outdated facility had claimed around 1000 lives by the time of its closure, almost a hundred years since it opened.

All the other papers and articles were about the institute, why puzzled Mathew further. Why was Rowan so obssessed with this place? And more importantly, where was Rowan?

Mathew did a quick google of the place, finding that it had since been reopened and claimed to now be running as a more modern psychiatric hospital. Matthew was all out of options - his only remaining option was right in front of him. He hit the phone number listed on the web page, drew a deep breath, and hit the call button.

"Hello, you've reached Redwood Psychiatric Institute. You're speaking to Carol, how can I help you?"

"Uh, hi Carol, my name's Mathew Cooper. I was wondering if you recently had a visitor by the name of Rowan Murdock?"

"I'm sorry but we can't disclose information on our visitors. We have, however, got a patient by that name. There's a note on his file saying he can't have visitors, are you family?"

"Oh, uh.. no, I'm a long-time friend of his though. I was just wondering if I could get some more information on what happened." Mathew stammered, shocked at the news. Rowan was a patient?

"I can arrange for you to meet his doctor, in that case. Doctor Wilson. I'm sure he'd be willing to discuss Rowan's - well, yes. Rowan's recent weeks with us."

Mathew arranged a time for the meeting and then hung up the phone. He began to head out the room, when he turned back, picked up one of the articles on the psychiatric institute, and then continued on his way out of the house.

------

"Mathew Cooper, I'm here to talk to Doctor Wilson." Matthew announced to the woman at the front desk.

"Sign here, and then take this visitor pass, and it'll be the third door on your left." She smiled, a friendly but tired, 'I've been here all day and I'm just trying to be friendly to you but I could care less' kind of smile.

"Thanks." Mathew smiled back as he followed her instructions and then headed down the hall.

Inside the office, the doctor sat behind the desk, looking comfortable but composed.

"Hello Mathew, take a seat. My name is Doctor Wilson." The doctor smiled from behind his glasses.

Mathew sat in the chair across from the doctor, and extended his hand to the doctor, who took it and shook it firmly.

"Thank you for coming, Mathew."  Doctor Wilson greeted. "I understand these circumstances must be.. rather confusing, and I appreciate your willingness to discuss this in person."

"Thank you for meeting with me, Doctor Wilson. I understand you must be very busy." Mathew acknowledged.

"Indeed. Now, allow us to get right into it. Now, when did you last see your friend?" The doctor asked.

"Well, I must have seen him last a few weeks ago." Mathew answered.

"I see. Well, he came here as a voluntary self-admission on September 13th. He was incredibly unstable, and we immediately began his treatment. When we admitted him, we looked into his medical records and his personal records. Now, while I'm afraid I have some hard news to digest, there is no other way to say this - his name isn't Rowan Murdock. His real name is James Lawton."

"What- you mean, he's been lying to me this whole time about who he is?"

"No, not at all. James is a very mentally ill young man, not a pathological liar. We discovered symptoms of schizophrenia throughout the last few years of his life, but it was not yet diagnosed or treated. It has just since accumulated and worsened. He has been in dire need of treatment for years, but when he came to us, he was at the height of a schizophrenic breakdown, believing he was Rowan Murdock, a profilic journalist investigating the asylum before deciding to admit himself.  We've been treating him with medications and ECT. He has been doing better the last few weeks, however,  we are worried that a visit with you, an old friend of 'Rowan's may cause another setback." The doctor sighed.

"Oh..." Mathew's heart sank at the explanation. He couldn't comprehend the whole story, it was not anything he could have imagined. Of course, he had accepted there was some horrible series of events that had led to Rowan- or, James - being here, but not like this. "I.. I'll do anything you need, I'll say anything, I just- I need to see him, I need to talk to him."

"Alright, I'll arrange a visit." Doctor Wilson conceded. "But you mustn't encourage any of his delusions relating to 'Rowan Murdock'."

"Understood, Doctor. Thank you very much."

------

"James, I have a visitor for you." Doctor Wilson stood in the doorway, ushering Matt ahead of him.

Matt entered the room hesitantly, his eyes scanning around until they landed on a small figure, hunched up in white in the corner of the small room.

"James?"

The figure Matt had once known as Rowan did not acknowledge the presence of anyone in the room. He simply muttered something under his breath.

"James. I've brought you a visitor." Doctor Wilson repeated, mild annoyance already in his voice as he approached James and bent down, waving at his patient to try and gain his attention.

James blinked, several times, slow and sluggish, as if drawing himself out of a trance. He glanced around the room, eyes landing eventually on Mathew.

"Who.. whoareyouu-" James slurred softly, as Doctor Wilson grasped him by the arm and helped him onto his feet, bringing him over to the small bed in the centre of the room.

"He's on a lot of medication right now. He may be suffering some short-term memory loss right now, so remember that this will pass. Just remind him who you are." Doctor Wilson said to Mathew.

Mathew nodded and approached the bed, kneeling in front of his old friend. Rowa- James, he reminded himself, looked pale, and his usually-thin frame looked even thinner than usual, or maybe that was the ill-fitting hospital gown. The circles under his eyes were dark, and his face was pinched and gaunt.

"Hey, James. It's me, your old friend Mathew." He said softly, reaching out a hand.

James didn't take the hand, instead, he sat there, staring blankly at it as Matt continued talking.

"We've known each other since university. You used to come and 'study' at my house. I'd steal your notes, and then we'd play video games together until 3am, even if we had class the next morning at 9." Mathew chuckled slightly at the memory, his heart aching a little to see his friend of five years in this situation. They'd been very close through university, but in the last two years they'd drifted apart slightly as both adjusted to their adult lives. Still, he cared for his friend.

Matt drew himself out of his own thoughts and looked up to see James staring at him with an.. odd expression.

"James, are you alright?" Matthew asked gently.

"That's.. not my name." James said flatly.

Shit.. He'd triggered James. His friend began to cry - no, more like tears were slipping down from expressionless eyes.

James suddenly stood and lunged at Mathew, knocking him to the ground as he began to scream at Matt.

"HELP!"James screamed as he shook his friend. "THEY'RE TORTURING ME, LET ME OUT YOU HAVE TO LET ME OUTYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETOYOUHAVETO-"

Mathew was so shocked, he couldn't react. James screamed himself hoarse until suddenly, he gave a suprised shout, and collapsed onto his back, convulsing in agony at the hands of orderlies who had appeared in the room.

"Are you alright?" Doctor Wilson asked as he extended a hand and helped Mathew to his feet, pulling him away as the orderlies descended upon James' form, brandishing a syringe. Quickly, Doctor Wilson escorted Mathew out of the room, away from James' dreaful shrieking protests.

They returned to the doctor's office, where Wilson handed Mathew a glass of water. Matt graciously accepted it, ignoring the odd drop spilling out from how badly his hands shook. He downed the glass, wiped his face, and finally spoke. "What- what will happen now?"

"We will have to change his medication, and I'm going to perscribe another course of ECT." The doctor replied, calm but with a hint of frustration.

Mathew realised that clearly, James' treatment had been quite a difficult process that was now far from over.

"Shock therapy?" he asked.

"While that is the outdated term for it.. yes. It is now quite safe, and often used in quite severe cases of mental illness. Clearly, his schizophrenic hallucinations and paranoia are not yet treated. We will have to increase our efforts to stop these delusions that he is being trapped here."

"Will I be able to return and visit him again, Doctor?"

"Maybe after the next round of ECT. Thank you for coming, Mathew."

As Mathew drove away from the Redwood hospital, he wondered what fate he was leaving his friend to.

Tags:

@jazatronasmr @onthishamsterwheel @bumpthumpwhump @bloodsweatandpotato @whatiswhump @jancameforthewhump @dream-whump @ratking-whump @inkstainsonmyhands12 @halstead-shaw13 @sparrowsage @sowhumpful @whatwhumpcomments @caspersdelusion

[raccoon-crown]

Tails adventure 2: The Bahamas Triangle

I'm not sure if I'll manage to make this one digitally someday, so at least here is the sketch of the two Trouble makers of the Bahamas Islands!!

[akela-nakamura]

DPxDC Prompt

Summoning is an imperfect art, mispronouncing a name or having an incorrect symbol can lead to unexpected, and sometimes explosive results. Summoning can open unexpected doors. No one's prepared for what--or who--steps through when a rising gang tries to summon backup.

My little ficlet for this is below the cut:

Smoke. The acrid slam of it in the nose, brought on by the screaming wind. Chanting. A chorus of voices, steady and thrumming. Pain. Everything is hazy, and it’s equal odds on it being from the smoke or the potential head injury. 

Bruce stumbles to his feet, body throbbing. 

This was not how he’d planned this night. 

Of course, he hadn’t planned for Gotham to suddenly be overrun with a new…gang? They claimed to be a government organization, but Bruce has his doubts. He hadn’t had a chance to go through the GIW’s information, but according to Barbara, their claims were sketchy at best.

The shouting about ghosts and waving around sci-fi weapons with no trigger discipline certainly didn’t help their claims. 

Government organization or not, they had no right to raid homes, to drag people out onto the street, or overall threaten his city.

His ears ring, and the chanting rises in volume, impossibly. His chest reverbes with the sound. It’s steady enough to feel like a second heart. His blurry vision locks onto the center of the summoning circle. Because this night couldn’t get any worse, of course. 

First the GIW had rocketed up his list of threats with one simple move. 

They’d gone after Jason.

Jason, who even now was laid out in the middle of the summoning circle, eyes bright, bright, bright green through the haze. 

First they’d taken his son. 

Then they’d used him as a sacrifice. 

Bruce bared his teeth, locking eyes with the closest GIW agent. The man held up his weapon, a glowing baton. His form is weak. 

The baton gord flying, Bruce’s armored elbow slamming the man to the ground. The agent curls up, groaning. Nightwing’s escrima sing electric in the background, followed by the whip of Tim’s bow staff. Damian’s sword glints through the haze, and purple flashes through the crowd of white, white, white. 

He can’t see Cass, but he doesn’t expect too. 

The ground rocks under his feet, and it takes several precious seconds to regain his balance. There seems to be an almost endless flood of agents, with more and more meeting his fists as he tries to make it through the gauntlet. 

Suddenly, the air shifts, the scream of it heading for the circle instead of out. 

The circle glows toxic green, and Jason’s at the center, frozen in the light. 

“No!” Bruce shouts, the sound ripping from his soul. 

It’s echoed by Dick, who stands just outside the circle’s boundaries. His hands are pressed against the light, his blue eyes a shock against the green. 

It’s a confusion of people - GIW white and the summoner’s black. The GIW is here to end whatever it is they need Jason to summon to them. The summoners themselves seem to have broken away from the “agency” and want power from the being they’re calling. It’s a fight on multiple fronts, with the GIW fighting the summoners and Bruce and his family fighting them all. 

The temperature drops. 

“HOOD!” Dick screams, as Jason is swallowed by the green. 

The chant is all he can hear, even as he shoves towards the circle, even as he slams against the same wall Dick’s against. 

The world goes bright and he can’t keep his eyes on Jason. On his son. 

When the light fades, Jason’s not alone. 

A being sits six feet in the air, Jason collapsed over his lap, somehow hovering with the - what is he? He looks human, but there’s something wrong. Off. Bruce can’t quite pinpoint his age. A crown glows on his head, an ever shifting cape spills down his back, dragging close to the floor. His eyes are green as Lazarus, and just as deep. Jason is breathing, Bruce notes. The being’s hands curl in Jason’s hair, playing with it idly. 

The air is *rigid, and everyone’s stopped fighting. No one can draw their eyes away from the being. 

“You dare to summon me with one of my own?” The being speaks, and it’s like crackling glaciers. Someone whimpers. 

“We - wanted to give you a gift,” One of the men in black says, his voice chattering. 

It’s like breathing in ice. 

“A gift?” The being says and the sound is fury, banked in a waiting avalanche. “What kind of gift is this? A denizen of my Realms, trapped and tortured? Used to summon his king, against his will? This is no gift.” 

“B-but we didn’t know,” another speaks, and then obviously realizes he shouldn’t have. 

“Ignorance will not save you,” the being says, and it - he’s? - still holding Jason like he’s something precious. “And I am not the only one you have infuriated. 

“I am not the only one you have awoken.” 

To a man, the GIW agents cry out in panic. Bruce turns, looking for the threat but - the agents are buried to various depths in the cracked concrete floor. The ground is decidedly solid beneath Bruce’s feet but the agents would obviously not agree. They flounder, like the concrete is quicksand. The summoners are next, but it’s ice that gets them, crawling up their bodies until they’re locked into place. 

“My lord!” One cries and promptly finds himself gagged. 

Bruce can’t stay silent any longer. “Hood was used against his will to summon you,” he starts. The being’s eyes meet Bruce’s. “He didn’t want this. Is he alright?” 

“Your son is fine,” the voice is rough, but feminine, and obviously not from the being. It’s around him, dancing through the steel beams and pushing through concrete. “You are mine, my knight. You and yours are mine. The little king will not harm him, nor you.” A figure forms off to his right. 

“Holy shit,” Dick whispers. Bruce has to agree. 

She’s made of concrete, of broken brick and dust, of bone and police tape, of twisted metal and more. 

“Gotham,” Bruce breathes, and he doesn’t know how he knows but he does.

“Hello, my knight,” she says, her form shifting. She turns slightly, and there’s something sharp in her movement. “Hello, little king.” 

“Lady Gotham,” The being - the king? - returns. “You look well,” 

Lady Gotham laughs, a ringing sound - it’s bells and gravel, fresh air on a summer day and rising wind. “How you flatter me, little king. Do you fear me?” 

The being grins, mischief dancing around him, white hair floating high. “I respect you. It’s good to see you awake, Milady.”

“What is happening?” Tim asks no one in particular. Dick shrugs and Steph just leans harder on Tim. Cass holds Damian’s shoulder firmly, watching carefully. 

Bruce wishes he had an answer. 

“It is good to be awake,” Lady Gotham says, and she shifts closer to the circle, fingers skimming against the barrier of light. “How long do you intend to keep my reaper from me?” 

Reaper. Bruce thinks, and it’s a gut punch. 

It makes sense, to describe Jason. Jason can go where Bruce cannot, do what Bruce cannot. 

The king laughs lightly. “The summoning harmed him, Milady. I’m just keeping him safe. I’m not here to undermine you,” the king’s eyes glow. “But remember who is king.”

Lady Gotham smiles. “I’m aware of hierarchy little king.” 

“My son,” Bruce says, because there’s no point in pretending Jason is anything less. He’s talking to - the embodiment of gotham and a king of - something. “He’ll be okay?” 

Lady Gotham sighs. “He will be fine, my knight. The little king cares for his own.” 

“What - what are you the king of?” Tim asks, bold. 

The being smiles. 

“I am Phantom,” he says. “I am the Ghost King.” 

Jason stirs in his lap, and the implications crash over Bruce. Maybe Reaper has more meaning than he’d thought.

[satellitebroadcast]

Israeli troops are torturing Palestinians from Gaza, including through the use of electric shocks and anal rape using M-16 rifle butts, according to the testimony of a Palestinian medic published by Human Rights Watch (HRW) on 27 August.

Walid Khalili, a Palestinian paramedic and ambulance driver, was abducted by Israeli soldiers in Gaza in November and taken to the Sde Teiman and Negev (Al-Naqab) detention centers in Israel.

Israeli troops abducted Khalili after he was dispatched to the Tal al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City to rescue four wounded men.

When he arrived, he saw Israeli troops execute the men on Mughrabi Street, near the Labor Ministry building. “I saw the four men being executed in cold blood,” Khalili said. “I saw it with my own eyes, I was three meters away. When they were shot, I hid under the ambulance, and next to it there was a building, so then I ran inside the building. The Israeli forces raided the building and started yelling at me to raise my hands.”

Soldiers kicked and beat Khalili with their rifle butts, breaking his ribs, before transferring him to the Sde Teiman facility in southern Israel.

HRW writes that Israeli soldiers dragged him on the ground, removed the cuffs on his ankles, and dressed him in adult diapers. They then took him to a warehouse where dozens of detainees, also in diapers, were suspended from the ceiling, with the chains attached to their square metal handcuffs.

Khalili said he was suspended from a chain so his feet would not touch the ground. The soldiers dressed him in a garment and a headband attached to wires. They shocked him with electricity and threw cold water on him every second day.

He told HRW, “The world was spinning around, and I fainted. They hit me with batons. I kept fainting and hallucinating. He kept asking me about the hostages, and moving Hamas hostages, and where I was on October 7. With every question I was electro-shocked to wake me up. He told me confess and we will stop torturing you.”

Every three days, he was taken to a new location and given an unknown drug in pill form before being interrogated further. “The pill made me feel weird, it was the first time I have felt like this, as if my inner mind was speaking what was in my heart, not me. I felt like I’m flying. I saw hallucinations.”

An Arabic-speaking Israeli guard interrogated him, asking him about the captives taken by Hamas to Gaza on 7 October. Khalili said the interrogator knew “how many children I have, all their names, my address,” and threatened they would be killed if he did not confess.

Khalili was later taken to the Negev base in southern Israel. He was held there with another Palestinian detainee from Gaza who was visibly “bleeding from his bottom.” The man told Khalili how “three soldiers took turns raping him with an M16 [assault rifle]” before he was brought to the detention center. “He was terrified. His mental health was awful, he started talking to himself,” Khalili said.

The sexual assault of Palestinian detainees gained media attention in Israel after five soldiers were detained earlier this month after raping a Palestinian man with a cell phone in Sde Teiman. CCTV video of the rape was also published by Israeli Channel 12.

[asterias-record-shop]

thinking about you (d.g)

“Hey angelcakes,” Dick grunted when he kicked the man straight in the chest, sighing as he fixed the comm over his ears. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking about you,” you giggled as you twirled the rubber coil that connected the phone in your hand to the main console, giggling. “What are you doing?”

“Breaking up an underground drug trafficking ring,” he grunts again as he pushed the switch of the electric baton to shock a man with thousands of electric bolts. “What are you doing?”

His words make you pout. You had gotten all dressed up in some blue lingerie that matched his suit, garters and lace covering your thighs and torso, the crotchless panties sealing everything together.

“You’re on a mission without me?”

He couldn’t help but laugh, grunting when he felt someone slam a chair into his back before he grabbed a broken leg of said chair and thrusted it into the man’s chest. “Didn’t know you wanted to come, angel.”

“I didn’t,” you say, then sighed. “Thought this was our night in. I got the blue ropes out and everything.”

Dick paused. “You got the blue ropes?”

You hummed, tilting your head as you held the phone with your head to your shoulder, letting your fingers trail down your chest. “Mmhm,” you hummed in confirmation, smiling. “The blue lingerie, too.”

Dick groaned, the thought of you wearing that perfect lingerie and waiting for him almost distracting him from the fact that he was held at gunpoint now.

“Fuck, are you fingering yourself?” He breathed, ignoring the barrel of the gun at his temple and the man gaping down at him as you let out a soft, breathy moan.

“Starting to.”

He swallowed, looking up at the man pointing a gun down at him. “I’ll be home soon.”

The man cocked the gun. “Yeah. Sure you will.”

“You better,” you spoke as he took the baton and slammed the electric staff straight into the side of the man’s head, effectively disarming him and taking the gun from the ground. He slammed the grip of the gun into his head as you continued to speak through breathy moans. “Or I’m going to cum before you even get here.”

“You better fucking not,” he growled out, taking the men and pulling them all into a line before tying their legs and wrists into a hog tie. He was skipping a little bit, tying the knots instead with BDSM knots. “Or I won’t let you cum at all.”

You groaned, slowly flexing your fingers inside of yourself as you rolled your hips. “You better get here quick before I don’t let you fuck me at all.”

“Oh I’m going to fuck you alright.”

This makes you giggle as you held the phone to your ear, whining as you roll your hips desperately. “What’s taking you so long?”

“I’m going angelcakes,” he grunted as he swung around a stoplight pole, landing smoothly on a roof as he ran to your apartment. Your moans fueled him, his cock getting hard under his Nomex and Kevlar suit. “God, are you close?”

He knew you were, your moans always went into a higher pitch when you were about to cum.

“Yes, so close!” You whined, desperately moving your hand faster inside of you as you thrusted your fingers roughly into your cunt. You had done this before, but you always got too desperate when you were close, and it sometimes led to spots of blood staining your fingers through your cum. Your nails always scratched a little bit inside of you and how fast you went trying to cum desperately made crimson shine through translucent essence.

You never bled when Dick fingered you. No matter how hard or rough he went, no matter how fast or passionate he went, you never bled.

“Hey now angelcakes, why’d you stop?”

Your eyes snapped up when you heard double of his voice, pulling your fingers delicately out of your cunt with a giggle, quickly hanging up the phone as he pressed the center of his suit so it would fall off.

“Dick!” You were about to jump into his arms before he caught your wrists, letting out a loud, wanton moan falling from your lips as he kissed you.

“Where’s that blue rope, hm?”

When your wrists were tied above your head with that blue rope, that’s when Dick thought you looked the hottest that night, spurts of cum covering your pelvis.

It stained the royal blue lace and cotton-spandex blend, a whine falling from your lips as you desperately trying to rut your hips against his cock, all while his bright red tip slid up and down your wet slit.

He had already came inside of you — many times, actually — the milky white substance leaking out of your cunt was a result of that, but you still wanted more.

Your wrists were tied with royal blue silk rope at the headstand, your skin red in irritation as you desperately tried to tug out of the intricate knot. Your wrists weren’t the only thing tied up though, as your ankles were tied at the lower two bed posts to keep your ankles spread apart, only allowing you to rut your hips up to his for him to keep you still as he fucked into you.

The bouncing of your body made the metal chain over your tits clink and bounce, the clamps on your nipples softly getting tugged as he played with the chain. A whine fell from your lips as his other hand slowly guided his bright red tip to push against your cunt that fluttered around nothing.

A sob left your mouth, a pleasure filled sob as he stretched you out, with every thrust as he kept pushing into you and exploring every new area inside of you at the new angle from the rise of your hips, a whine following the tears that streamed down your cheeks as he held your hips with both hands.

He leaned down, kissing against the chain before covering his teeth with his lips and leaning down to softly tug on the chain to force you arch your back and push your chest up.

“R-Richard!” You yelled out, groaning as he ducked under the chain and softly kissed against the plush mounds on your chest.

“Fuck, you’re so pretty, angelcakes… so, so pretty…” he cooed against your skin, pressing his lips against your skin before dragging his teeth against the side of your nipple. “Mmm, so thankful you’re all fucking mine.”

“R-Richard-!” You sobbed, the knot in your stomach getting tighter. Your hips bucked almost automatically, a whine leaving your mouth as your wrists tried to tug at the blue rope. “I-I’m gonna-!”

“Nuh uh…” Richard whispers back, biting his lip as he came out from under the chain, turning his thrusts into slight rolls of his hips that made you go insane. “I just came. Do you think I’m close?”

A sob came from your lips. “Oh please…”

“Well I am,” he chuckled, his hips getting faster all over again. “And I’m going to make you cum so many times that you’ll fucking pass out.”

Also, what do you think of my new kind of Drabble-banner? I think this is how I’m going to keep the ones that I write on tumblr!

I do not ever give consent to my work being published on other platforms or being translated at any point, even if it is a request. If my work is on any other platform, it’s without my permission. Your media consumption is not my responsiblity.

© asterias-record-shop

[corazondebeskar-reads]

of rage and ruin - chapter one

of rage and ruin series

chapter one

series masterlist | next chapter

werewolf!alpha!Joel Miller x f!omega!reader

word count: 3.1k

summary: Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He turns into a much different kind of monster than he expected, though.

chapter warnings: dark, dead dove do not eat, a/b/o, alpha/omega dynamics, omegaverse, captivity, torture, canon-typical violence, genre-typical violence, horror themes, graphic violence, suicidal ideation, gore, abuse by captors (not by either joel or reader), death, murder of innocent people, typical raider/hunter behavior, mention of cordyceps, angst, no y/n, reader is able-bodied and afab with no specific descriptions, viewer discretion is advised

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

This is a werewolf omegaverse fic that uses traditional and non-traditional elements of the genres. It largely ignores TLOU canon.

DISCLAIMER: A plotline of this story involves unethical medical care and human experimentation re: vaccines. It may give anti-vax vibes. This is NOT an anti-vax story and I do not want any related discourse please and thank you. This is about FEDRA being the absolute worst, not about the real world in any way.

In a rare moment of lucidity, he thinks he used to be human, once. 

He’s partially transformed more often than not. Almost never fully, unless he’s under the sway of the moon. His real keeper. 

These raiders may think they own him, but he knows the truth. 

But lucidity is rare, and most of the time, Joel Miller is more beast than man. 

Most of the time, he doesn’t even know he’s Joel Miller.

No matter what, though, he’s a nearly uncontrollable force of nature. 

That’s why they keep a shock collar around his neck and tasers at their waists. That’s why they never turn their backs or leave him unrestrained. He fought like hell for a long time until he broke. 

No shame in it, he knows. Everyone breaks eventually. 

As the years have gone on, though, he’s been getting restless and snippy, less cooperative. And the pain doesn’t really matter anymore. 

Nothin’ really does when you’ve given up.

On the last new moon, when the wolf was quiet and the man was loud, he’d tried to refuse. He sat, buck-ass naked, on the gritty wood floor of the house they were raiding. 

He did not sniff out treasure like some fucking metal detector. He did not tear the humans limb from limb. He did not feast. 

He paid for that night and had the receipts to prove it, laid into his back from the silver-tipped whip. 

He should have tried harder to die at the start. 

He hadn’t understood right away, when they took him. It, frankly, didn’t even cross his mind that they’d know. Laura, the woman in the woods, had been so sure it was secret. 

He got it when they shot him in the leg with a BB gun, though, and the silver shrapnel burned. They were prepared. Silver-coated chains and cuffs, silver-tipped batons and whips and knives. Cattle prods and electric collars. 

They’d been hunting him. 

They tried to break him easy, first. They were looking for a wolf; didn’t know they’d find Joel Miller. They left him chained in an abandoned suburb, giving him just the minimum food and water to keep him alive. 

It worked to weaken him, but they didn’t want him weak forever. Not a very good guard dog or weapon if he can’t lift his head. So when that didn’t work, when he didn’t beg and plead or bend the knee, they gave up and bulked him back up slowly. 

So they tried pain next. 

He came to know the healing as a curse. They avoided the silver, at least at first, since it’d leave damage. But when they found out they could break his bones over and over and over?

That’s when he started to wish he was dead. What was the point, anyway? He couldn’t go back to Boston. Couldn’t risk himself around Tommy and Tess. 

Couldn’t kill himself if he tried, but they could, with their arsenal. 

Didn’t matter what he wanted in the end; his brain wouldn’t give in. It overrode his silent pleas, and it fought and fought and fought.

So they took him on a raid. Starving, chained under the full moon, and they waited. He couldn’t go far, but he didn’t have to. 

They brought the food to him.

“You’ve no control over it, huh?” Cheryl said after, leering into his “room.” They send her to play nice, but he knows she’s the worst of them all. They just think he’ll smell pussy and roll over. “We didn’t need you to kill them. You just need to scare them and help us find what we’re lookin’ for.”

They had him. He knows, he knows, he knows. He’d have done anything to stop it from happening again. From devouring tied-up families who dared to say “no” to Jim and his crew. From throwing up blood and bones and bows. 

He can’t kill himself. They won’t kill him. He had no choice. 

He broke.

This new moon, they don’t take him out to scavenge. No, instead, they drag him outside and spray him down with the hose. This, in itself, is not unusual. But when they force the muzzle over his snapping teeth to scrub at his skin with precious lye soap and a rag, he starts to get concerned. 

His suspicions are confirmed when they take him back inside. 

The only time he’s left unbound is here, in his room. Well. It meets the vague requirements for a room, but it’s also reinforced with silver-plated steel and concrete. Cheaply so, but enough to mute his senses and hopes. 

Usually, they wait until the grate is shut to unclip the lead. They wait until he kneels and offers his hands to unlock the shackles. When he’s been good, of course. 

But not today. Today, they chain him tight to the wall at the far end of the room. 

They’ve had this theory that he hates to admit is not without merit. Looking for another way to control him, they’ve tried to find him an omega. 

The first few times, they just forced him on them out wherever they’ve raided. Usually, he’s too out of control, and they don’t survive the encounter. 

The most recent time, they dumped one in his cell. But the poor thing still smelled of his alpha, having only lost them hours earlier. 

Joel didn’t react well. 

They’re trying something new, now. 

That he’s here while they clean his room is deliberate. He knows this. They’re purging all his scent from it, and they want him to watch, want him unsettled.

He growls when they remove his mattress completely. It’s a pathetically small, thin, hole-ridden thing, but it’s his. 

Before they drag in a new one, a flat pack of grated metal is tossed in the corner. Two of his captors go to work on assembling the contraption, and another leaves for a while, only to return with a sawed-off portion of his mattress. 

It fits neatly inside the cage. For that’s what they’ve constructed. It’s silver-coated, of course, but pathetically weak otherwise. If he truly desired, he could snap the bars as easily as bone. 

He’s not keen on having burnt hands, though. 

Just inside the front of the cage, they clip up a bit of cloth. He doesn’t need to be told what it is, knowing immediately after it’s extracted from the airtight glass Tupperware. 

They tell him anyway. “Got a new toy for you to try, if you’re good. For now, this is all you get.”

The heady scent of omega soaked into the panties permeates his room. 

He’s salivating a little by the time they finally release him, but he waits until the heavy footfalls echo from down the hall to give in. 

They smell divine. He can’t resist tasting, lapping at the tiniest hint of musk and omega under his elongated tongue. 

“Told ya he would have shredded her,” Jim says to Cheryl when they come in the morning with his breakfast. Joel’s in his mind enough to feel a little shame, back of his neck burning, when they see the tattered fabric. 

It’s clear they anticipated it because, along with his tray, he’s given a new pair. 

They’re not so appealing this time. The sweet scent is cut by acidic fear like vinegar through molasses. He ignores them in favor of his meal. 

He eats better here than he ever did out there. He’s worth more rations to the raiders than to FEDRA. Robust meals full of meat and eggs and potatoes. 

They need him strong, after all. 

It’s not until a few hours later that he’s drawn back in by the underwear. It’s not so acrid anymore. Or maybe it is, and he’s just in the mood. Either way, he buries his face in them while he strokes his cock and uses them to catch his cum when he finishes. 

There. That’s better. The mix of him with… whoever you are. 

When they bring him lunch, they make him put the panties on his old tray before pushing it out to them. He doesn’t burn with shame this time; no, he almost feels proud. Like a peacock fluffing out its feathers. They know now. They must. 

Whoever you are, you’re his. 

The next day, they bring back the same pair. He wolfs out a little at the fresh layer of you over his cum. It’s all fear and tears and disgust, but it doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter at all, not to him, not to the wolf. 

All that matters is how his head fills with static when he licks across the gusset and howls. 

Cheryl’s looking pretty smug on the other side of the door, but for all that she’s pleased with the results; they still threaten to turn on the collar if he doesn’t eat quickly.  

He’s nearly fully wolf, gobbling down the food and returning to his treasure. He snarls as he strokes his cock, the head angry and purple as he tugs. He doesn’t spill onto the panties this time, not wanting to cover up the perfect combination of your scents. In the end, they’re shredded anyway, as his fingers stretch and break into claws. 

In his full glory, his senses are even sharper. Sharp enough that he can hear a faint sobbing across the building and Cheryl’s sharp laughter. 

“I don’t know,” she’s drawling when he tunes in. “He sounds pretty excited to meet you.”

The soft sobbing turns raw and cracked. He can smell the salt and phlegm, can practically taste it in the air. He’s aware of Cheryl, but nothing is louder than the way your heart is tripping over itself.

When Cheryl’s words sink in, when he realizes he might actually get to have whatever delicious creature they’ve gotten him, he howls again, a long, aching sound that creeps down your bones like frost.

Later, when he’s a little more present, he realizes they didn’t shock him either time he howled. It’s usually a guarantee. 

Whatever game they’re playing, it doesn’t bode well for you.

Joel Miller made it twelve years into the apocalypse without getting bit. He wasn’t even worried when it happened. They’d been heading back to the QZ, him and Tommy and Tess, when a wild dog attacked them. 

Or, well. A wolf. 

Tommy had gotten a bullet in its head, but it had Joel’s arm in its jaw at the time. Its teeth had rent through his jacket like a spoon in a banana split. 

FEDRA would shoot him without a second thought, so they doubled back to the little cabin and hunkered down. Figured they’d lay low long enough for it to be hideable before sneaking back in. 

Tommy went out at daybreak for the carcass—it’d be leagues better than what they had in their bags. When he came back, he was faint and empty-handed. 

“...don’t make any sense,” he kept muttering, pacing the tiny kitchenette. 

Joel and Tess exchanged a glance. 

“Probably a bear took it,” she suggested.

Tommy ran his hand through his hair, shook his head, and did it again. When he looked up at them, it was through wild, unpredictable eyes. “Wasn’t a wolf. It was a man.”

“What’re you talkin’ about?” Joel said.

“C’mon.”

They followed him through the thicket, and sure as shit, in the same place the wolf’s corpse had lain was a man with a bullet through his skull. He was completely nude. 

“Gotta be a coincidence,” Joel muttered.

Tommy turned to him, eyes wide and hands shaking. “What kind of fucking coincidence is this?” 

There was a rustle, and they all turned, guns raised, as a woman peeked from behind a tree. 

She put her hands up and waited. Tess jerked her head to one side, and they lowered but did not stow their weapons. 

The woman was in a ratty cotton dress with no shoes; autumn leaves crunching underfoot. 

“That’s, um. That’s my husband,” she said softly. 

“Apologies, ma’am,” Tommy said, his face soft and sad. “But—I think he attacked us.”

Her green eyes grew wide, pupils dilating and breath catching in her chest. “Did you get bit?” 

Tommy and Tess instinctually looked at Joel. 

“What’s it to ya?” he said.

“Did you get bit?” she repeated.

“Was he Infected?”

“Not with cordyceps, no,” she says. She avoids looking at the body but flinches when she brushes a foot against a blood-soaked leaf. 

“What does that mean?” Tommy said. 

“I think it’s best we go someplace and talk.”

Against better judgment, they follow her through the words to her home. She claims to have two kids alone there, four years and six months. 

It turns out to be true. She gets them both down for a nap and serves hot stew. They try to refuse, but she insists. 

Tommy feels a little sick eating the food of a man he killed. They all listen, rapt, as she begins to speak.

“It happened a year ago. But it wasn’t an accident.”

When the full moon is two days away, Joel is nearing the furthest from himself. Same shit, different month, but his reactions to your scent are getting, well, feral. 

They’re bringing him strips of cloth, now. He gets a new one with each meal. He doesn’t destroy them anymore. Oh, no. When he’s clearer, he wishes he did. 

But no. He smells and licks and then jerks off with them. If only that were the worst of it. He’ll come to be mortified during the waning, but he starts to add them to the cage. It’s fairly saturated with the smell of him from his old mattress, but it pleases the beast within to line it with the sweet mixture soaked into the torn sheets. 

You’ll understand, then, the wolf thinks. You’ll know it’s safe for you. Somewhere he’s made, a den all your own where he can keep you. 

But you won’t know, because what you know is very little. 

When FEDRA started asking for volunteers to test vaccines, you didn’t hesitate. You knew the risks. And the rewards—room and rations for the length of the observation period, anywhere up to a year in length. You knew there would be a catch—probably many, but given that you rarely had a room or rations, it wasn’t a hard choice.

But this was the end of the world, and “informed consent” was not something that survived the outbreak. 

They worked in batches. A truckload of live bodies at a time. Sterilizing showers with the barest trace of privacy, dressed in stiff starchy scrubs, and led into little cubicles where nurses with needles sat in wait. 

A quick jab to the upper arm, and then you were off. The hospital was an old correctional facility, but again, for someone who hadn’t had a bed on a reliable basis, you felt only relief. 

Until the deaths started.

They didn’t even try to hide it. Within 24 hours of arrival, a fourth of your group was gone. Carted out in black bags marked with β and nothing more said. You watched through your window like everyone else. 

Someone came around the next day and drew blood from every remaining subject, and the tagging began after that. You could see the symbols on other’s doors, but not your own. α or Ω. What they meant, you couldn’t begin to guess. 

It started not long after. 

The changes.

At first it was so subtle, you may not have noticed, but a nurse came by each day to ask you a series of increasingly embarrassing questions. 

What do you smell? What do I smell like? What does your sweat smell like? How sensitive are your breasts? Describe your vaginal discharge. How aroused are you on a scale of 1-10? 

They began weekly tests. Blood draws once a week and daily urine samples, of course, but also hearing and vision. They made you run on a treadmill hooked up to wires. 

And then, one day, after six months of intensive observation, they moved you.

Or. They tried to.

You were exhibiting a specific set of side effects, they said. You were to be transferred to another facility for subjects with the same side effects for further observation. 

Raiders took out the truck halfway through the ten-hour journey. It was… it was a bloodbath, actually. For the FEDRA officers, anyway. 

When they had you all lined up, grippy socks soaking in the ankle-deep mud, well, that was when you all learned which symbol was on your door. They couldn’t keep the word out of their mouths. Omega. 

Not that it fucking explained anything.

One by one, a short blonde with a bob went down the line of you and shoved something up to each omega’s face. That’s it. It seemed to have no greater purpose.

But for some reason, when she pressed the cloth against your nose and mouth, she smiled. And they separated you.

Whatever that was had a deep, oaky musk, like the illicit brewery operating out of the warehouse you often slept in before the trials. 

They tell you nothing.

They make you sleep on strips of cloth, so you roll around in the pile as you toss and turn, rubbing your sweat and slick and pheromones all over. 

They don’t bring you anything of his, but you catch faint whiffs of him (him, always him, they never call him by a name), of those aged, liquor-soaked barrels, but all it does is make you nauseous. You don’t understand how you know it’s him; you still don’t understand any of it. 

You learn very quickly not to ask questions. 

They take him out on the night the moon is full and bloated, hanging over him like a searchlight. See, it whispers, I can find you anywhere. Anywhere. It doesn’t matter. If it didn’t, the wolf would find it anyway. 

He is not himself.

He is his truest self.

He is two or one; neither yet both. A monster movie mashup of fur and teeth and roughshod science experiments conducted by a doctor who wasn’t a doctor at all. He’s the monster’s victim. He’s the monsters’ monster. 

He’s the wolf and the wolf is him. 

He’s The Wolf and he’s swallowed Joel down. 

He’s the man, the weak link, buried so deep he can’t see the light of his celestial mistress 

He’s Joel Miller. Sometimes, sometimes. 

Tonight, he is gone. There is only the Wolf. 

And the Wolf knows. As soon as they cross the threshold, he knows. 

Dawn is rising, the hunt is over, but he’ll be the wolf for a while longer. And he knows that fuckin’ smell. 

It’s the saccharine sour mix of you. Heavy on your sweet apple undertones, and oh, he knows. 

You’re in the cage.

next chapter

*title from "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival.

😬 I've been working on this baby for a long, long time, so I will be drinking your likes and comments desperately. thank you for reading and i love you.

[eat-limes-bitches]

Love After War

PAIRING: Female Reader x FATWS! Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: The mind has a way of playing tricks on you, images you thought to be real are just a figment of your past. But how to get back to the present?

WARNINGS: Angst, nightmares, PTSD, panic attack, cannon-level violence, torture, smidgen of fluff at the end

Word Count: 1239

A/N: soooooo this was supposed to be the start of my Febuwhump challenge but with the way my life is going right now I won't be able to finish all the prompts by the end of the month, BUT I will post the ones I have done, and I will keep working on some prompts as well but don't expect them to be in order at all.

Prompt: Helpless

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

The first thing Bucky realized as he came to was how incredibly cold he was. A shiver wracked his body, causing him to try and pull the flimsy material covering him closer to his skin as water poured down on him. Wait- water? He looked to find the source and realized he was in a shower. The cold water turned red as it ran across his body from all the blood there. Was it his or someone else's? Bucky couldn’t tell. 

“SOLDAT.” A voice boomed from behind, causing him to flinch aggressively. He knew that voice, it was one of his handlers, and by the sound of the rapidly approaching footsteps, he wasn’t happy.

“Poydem s nami, soldat. Dok khochet tebya videt'” The voice growled and Bucky froze. 

His frazzled mind still trying to work out where he was and what was going on. His hesitance must have been seen as resistance because the next thing he knew, a rifle butt was flying towards him. 

Confused, Bucky blocked it with his arm, the clash of metal reverberated around the room causing more handlers to pour in, each one with a gun all pointing in the same direction. His pulse was starting to quicken, and every muscle in his body tensed. 

He was so focused on what was going on in front of him that he didn’t notice the guard coming up behind him with a stun baton. The guard struck, causing Bucky to fall to his knees as he hissed in pain, the electric shock causing his arm to fall limp at his side he clutched the useless appendage in his right hand as he looked on in terror as they all started moving in on him. Two of the guards grabbed him and began to drag him out of the room. He knew where they were taking him and as those rusted double doors came into view he began thrashing as wildly as he could to get away but it was no use.

“Bucky?”

They flung open the doors, his senses on hyperdrive as the blinding lights of the room burned his eyes. Noise. There was so much noise, nurses scrambling around, guards shouting, and doctors preparing for whatever horrible things they had planned for him that day. 

“Bucky!”

He tried to fight against them as they strapped him into the chair, but it was no use, he felt utterly helpless as they began tying him down. His metal arm, although useless, was cuffed in 4 different steel brackets to keep him from moving, the rest of his body bolted into place as the panels of the machine began to lower over his face and just as they were about to connect to his skin-

“JAMES!” 

He sucked in a large breath bolting upright in bed and scrambling far away from where he was until he managed to situate himself in the corner of the room. His chest, slick with sweat heaved up and down as he tried to get oxygen to fill his lungs, but his heart was beating too fast for him to do anything but hyperventilate. There was a quiet sound from the other side of the room that made him realize he wasn’t alone, and he let out a whimper as their footsteps got closer, curling in on himself to appear as small as possible. 

“Bucky?” This voice was soft and full of concern, a complete contrast to the voice he heard just moments ago. This intrigued him slightly, but not enough to make him uncurl himself to see who was speaking to him. There was a sigh from the other person and the floorboards squeaked as they moved their entire weight to the floor, sitting on the ground near him.

“Bucky? It’s me, baby.” The voice cooed gently, and with the next breath he took, the familiar smell of cedar and lavender invaded his senses. He peaked his head out from behind his knees and saw Y/n sitting on the floor looking at him with concern coloring her features and sorrow clouding her eyes. She noticed the small movement and smiled gently as her eyes caught his.

“There he is. Hello, my love.” She whispered, a gentle smile decorating her face. Bucky blinked owlishly at her, still not realizing who he was looking at, but still Y/n smiled. 

Progress she thought before she started speaking again, “It’s just me, love. You are safe. We are in our bedroom, in our apartment, no one is going to hurt you.” 

This made him cock his head to the side before looking around the room. There was no one else besides the two of them. Instead of the gurneys, there was a dresser. Instead of blood-stained floors, there was a soft, grey plush carpet. Instead of that chair, there was a bed, and her. Bucky took a deep breath, finally able to fill his lungs and when he did, his body began to shake. He would shake violently for a moment before his muscles would give out and relax before contracting all over again. Y/n watched him carefully and scooted a little closer. 

“Can I sit next to you?” It was a simple question, and it might seem trivial to ask someone you were just sleeping next to if you could be in their space but it was important for Bucky to feel in control of his situation, if he was in control, he was no longer there.  Bucky looked at her and gave a small nod and Y/n moved to sit next to him, her back plastered against the wall. Although she wasn’t touching him, Bucky could feel the warmth radiation from her body, another piece of proof that he wasn’t in the basement of a bunker in the Siberian mountains. The pair sat in silence for a moment, Y/n watching Bucky, and Bucky staring straight ahead at the wall. Y/n shifted, causing Bucky's eyes to leave the spot on the wall and look at her. 

“Can I touch you?” She asked softly. Buckys hesitated for a moment, before nodding again. Y/n scootched closer to Bucky so that their bodies were pressed against each other and she reached over with a hand and ran her fingers through his shortened chestnut locks. That simple action seemed to bring new life back to Bucky and he began to uncurl, leaning into her touch. Y/n began humming a soft melody as she continued to massage Bucky’s scalp. His tremors became less and less until they were all but gone. 

After some more time passed, Bucky wasn’t sure how much, Y/n stopped and gently stood up, offering her hand to him. 

“‘C'mon love, let’s get back in bed. Your back isn’t going to thank you if I let you sleep in the corner.” 

Bucky placed his hand in hers and allowed her to lead him back to bed. Y/n folded back the covers in a more orderly fashion before sliding under the soft grey sheets, motioning for Bucky to do the same. He did so, snuggling back into Y/n’s side listening to her steady heartbeat, reassuring him that he was safe.  She began humming that soft melody again. Feeling warm and safe, his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a dreamless sleep. The last thing he remembered was the whisper of an “I love you,” in his ear.

[outlastrabbit]

I can't even begin to tell you how many times I find myself revisiting your blog just to savour your writing once more.

If you have time, could you maybe do Leland with a female smoker? Do as you please SFW or NSFW both sound good. Merci beaucoup.

Thank you!🥹💖

Leland Coyle with a Smoker!Reader

SFW💕

We all knew that smoking killed. But in your case, it actually saved your life.

You were being chased by Coyle relentlessly around the police station. Due to your constant smoking, you couldn’t run for as long compared to the other reagents. You were lucky though that Coyle almost smoked twice as much as you, with him only power walking to get to you.

He panted heavily as he sped after you, the embers of his last cigarette slowly burning out. You had a cigarette in your own mouth as you ran, it burning bright while lodged firmly between your lips.

“Perverted fink!”

Coyle slashed his electric baton through the air, effectively striking you across your back. You cried out in pain as the electricity coursed through your body, knocking you down. The very little wind you had got forced out of you as your sore back hit the floor.

“Guilty.”

Coyle pressed his boot down onto your belly, squeezing a wheezy cough from you. As he was about to lower his baton down to shock your ESOP, the glow of his cigarette died out completely. He sighed and grumbled, plucking the cigarette butt from his lips and examining it. You looked up with wide eyes as he ignored you for a moment, his boot still on you but his attention elsewhere.

“Ain’t shit.”

Coyle usually had dozens of cigarettes on him, but this was his last one. He flicked the butt away with a huff, clearly addicted as it turned him to a grouch. You could relate to that though, and it gave you an idea…

“Need another?”

Coyle’s fierce gaze snapped back down to you as you shakily spoke. His eyes narrowed and sized you up behind his sunglasses, his expression unreadable to you. You rummaged through your pocket for a moment, hesitantly pulling out one of your cigarettes.

“Could give you them all if you let me live. They’ll be all fried and ruined if you shock me again.”

Coyle stared down at you for a long moment, his face cold and stern. He grumbled a small sound of consideration before groaning, taking his boot off your stomach. You sighed in relief and pulled yourself up into a seated position.

“Thank you. You won’t regret this. I only got the best.”

Coyle crouched down to your level, holding his hand out expectantly. You handed him a cigarette then pulled out your lighter, but he was already using his electric baton to light it. You took a drag of your own, and he sighed in contentment whilst he savoured the taste.

NSFW💕

On your second trial with Coyle, he was all over you. Something clearly had him worked up, with him pressing his groin flush against yours. He pushed you against the wall outside the courthouse, hidden away in the dark from everyone else.

“Oh, sweetness.”

Coyle took your cigarette from your mouth and held it in the same hand as his own. Before you could protest, he was slamming his lips hungrily onto yours. He moaned into your mouth as he tasted your smoke, lapping at your tongue. He moved it with yours sensually, licking all over to savour the taste of tobacco.

You moaned back, wrapping your arms around Coyle’s neck. You kept your hands closer to the back of his head and scarred cheeks, careful not to touch the crackling car battery strapped to his back. His damaged skin sung at the contact of your gentle fingertips. It had been so goddamned long since he’d done anything like this.

“Fuck, I missed you.”

Coyle’s raspy voice was a deep purr against your ear, his smoky breath puffing over your flesh. You shivered in delight and moaned a little. You couldn’t believe how riled up you got him.

“Really…? I missed you too.”

Your chest heaved under your ESOP, another moan escaping you when he pressed his erection harder against you. He began to unbuckle his belt, slobbering and kissing all over your neck.

“Gonna fuck you so good, darling.”

Coyle unzipped his pants and pressed a wet kiss to your cheek. He then yanked your own pants down, rubbing you through your underwear. You whimpered and begged, throwing your head back against the wall as he moved his hand along the damp fabric.

“The slicker you get, the better it feels for me.”

Coyle tore your underwear down your bare legs, grinding into you a final time before sliding in. You clung to him and mewled, clenching around his length. You both let out long moans, and he pressed his forehead lovingly against yours.

He thrusted up into you at a steady pace, your moans growing louder the deeper he went. Leland was quite vocal himself, grunting and panting heavily whilst he fucked you so good. Just like he said he would.

[supercap2319]

Dick had seen some crazy shit in his time as Batman's sidekick and as Nightwing, but what he saw tonight; he couldn't prepare himself for it. He was out on patrol. All the other Titans were moving on with their lives, but Dick was still Nightwing. He still had a mission to protect people. And tonight was no exception as he saw a sight that was weird, even by his standards.

He saw a bunch of thugs pretending they were badasses, up against someone who was dressed very differently. He knew superheroes dressed in colorful costumes, but this person definitely took the cake. He'll, he took the whole fucking bakery. He was dressed in a bright blue costume with black and gray. He wore a dinosaur shaped helmet that resembled a triceratops.

The thugs unloaded their guns on him and for a moment, Dick was worried that someone who tried to play the hero, got shot dead. But apparently his suit must have been bulletproof because he charged them without a care as his sword glowed blue like a lightsaber and cut all their weapons in half. They stood shocked at what he just did.

Dick heard his voice, an amusement in it. "Well, fellas, what's it gonna be? Turn yourselves in? Or do we continue this dance?" The thugs, of course, chose to fight. The person, who was clearly a male underneath that visor, made quick work of them. Dick was impressed. A fellow martial artist. He jumped down from the rooftop he was perched on as he walked towards the mysterious hero, his batons at the ready in case this guy decided to start something.

The helmet of the dinosaur turned towards him. "Who are you supposed to be? The Masked Rider? One of the Beetleborgs? Or are you working for Void King?"

Nightwing frowned at that. He's never heard of those things before. Especially not this... 'Void King.' He took a cautious step towards him. "The name's Nightwing. And you're trespassing in my city." He didn't want to sound like Bruce. So mean and cold, but something about this guy made him feel uneasy. He just finished saving the world from Brother Blood. He didn't want another war on his hands, especially since he was the only one left.

"No need for hostility, Nightwing. I'm just protecting the innocent like the Power Rangers should." The guy said.

"Power Rangers? Who the hell are you?"

"It doesn't matter."

"I think it does..." Dick trails off as he brings out his Escrima Sticks, charged with electricity. "Put your weapon down. Now!"

This Power Ranger character raised his sword as it glowed blue for a moment. "Tell Void King that I'm never going to let him or Void Queen take over my home. The earth belongs to the Rangers and the people who live here." He pointed his sword at Dick.

Dick smiles. "Finally, some excitement."

Dick and the Power Ranger charged each other as they traded attacks of their weapons back and forth.

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello! May I request RoR reacting to One Piece Nami!Reader power? If you are not familiar with it, Nami from One Piece have a weapon name Clima-Tact or Climate Baton. Through it, she able to manipulate weather and combine with her intelligent especially on meteorology and weather system, her skills and powers is quite... Deathly. How will Gods Fighters react if they want to take her weapon away only to find out reader creates it and doesn't care(because she can just create a new and much stronger version of her weapon)? And how will the Humans Fighters react? Also, will be cautious of her and who will fall for reader, in your opinion?

-You stuck your tongue out at your opponent, winking one eye, “Don’t underestimate me, ‘kay?~” as you easily dodged a blow, back flipping and landing with ease.

-You twirled your Clima Tact with ease, showing your skill with your bo-staff shaped weapon, blocking a blow from your opponent with ease.

-He tried to grab your weapon again and electricity was quick to flow through, electrocuting your opponent, once again but he ripped it out of your hands, sending your weapon flying.

-You took a hard hit in your side, sending you flying with a sharp cry, rolling several feet as the humans in the crowd cried out in anger, seeing you get hit, booing the god for hitting a woman.

-You glanced upwards, and a smirk appeared as you rolled to your feet, lifting your hand to the sky, “Weather Egg! Thunder Tempo!!”

-A massive dark cloud appeared above the arena, and your opponent was quick to look up only to see a massive lightning bolt shoot down and hit him, illuminating his skeleton as he screamed out in pain.

-The other gods were quickly yelling at you, demanding to know how you were able to do this, your skills were similar to a god!

-You clapped your hands together and another lightning bolt shot down as you stretched out your hand, and another, stronger looking, Clima Tact, appeared in your hands as you winked again, teasing your opponent again.

-Kojiro- Chuckled warmly, seeing you toying with your opponent, showing off your flexibility and combat skill, but he was impressed with your knowledge over the weather, and even the ability to control it! He couldn’t help but grin, watching your fight with great interest, wanting to see more of these skills.

-Raiden- Cheering loudly for you, hyping you up! You controlled lighting with such ease, you controlled Raiden himself with such ease, you had quickly gained his attention due to your stunning looks, but it was your command over weather that shocked him, impressing him even more. He wanted to ask you out for a drink later!

-Nikola- Had to be held back by Adam, Raiden, and Kojiro as his eyes were so big, so full of stars, wanting to study your weapon and study your abilities! He had never seen someone able to control weather before, and you made it look so easy, using your Clima Tact as a guiding force. You heard him cheering for you and you turned, while waiting for your opponent to shake off your electrical attack and you gave him a wink, making him fall back, clutching his chest as his eyes turned to hearts.

-Thor- Your lightning was very strong, not as strong as his own, but you did impress him, even more so when you redirected his own lightning back at him. He gave you a smirk as he shook it off, “Turning my own attacks against me, interesting.” You smirked lightly, twirling your baton around before charging at him again, preparing another Weather Egg.

-Loki- He had to admit, although not as strong as Thor’s lightning, as he had been struck by that a few times, yours were quite strong, but more dangerous, as you could control their trajectory. He managed to grab your Clima Tact again and tried to flip you, but you managed to ground yourself, straddling his waist as you smirked down at him, “That’s gonna cost you extra~!” he instantly grinned at your flirtation, finding you more and more interesting!

-Shiva- Your fight with the Hindu god was almost like a dance, dodging each other’s blows with ease, flipping and ducking, Shiva quickly found you an interesting maiden. He shouted up at his wives as they were cheering for you, “Hey what about me?!” you laughed, finding it funny as you managed to hit him with lightning, throwing him back from you as you grinned, “Only pay attention to me at the moment~!” his wives couldn’t help but grin at your flirting, finding it funny while Shiva scowled for a moment before he grinned, charging at you again.

-Zeus- Was scared of you, mainly because he tried to hit on you backstage while you were walking with Brunnhilde and Goll, an electrified Clima Tact slamming between his legs was a good deterrent to make him leave you alone after he tried to grab your ass.

[opencommunion]

"A Palestinian paramedic based in Gaza has shared horrific details of his detention and torture including threats of rape at the hands of Israeli forces.

Walid Khalili, 36, was arrested after being dispatched to the Tel al-Hawa neighborhood of Gaza City on November 10 to rescue four wounded men, according to a Human Rights Watch (HRW) report on Monday. But when his ambulance reached the location, 20 meters from the Labor Ministry building, he saw the men surrounded by Israeli forces.

'I saw the four men being executed in cold blood,' Khalili said. 'I saw it with my own eyes, I was three meters away. When they were shot, I hid under the ambulance, and next to it there was a building, so then I ran inside the building. The Israeli forces raided the building and started yelling at me to raise my hands.' Soldiers kicked and beat him with their rifle butts, breaking his ribs.

HRW said Khalili’s subsequent ordeal – including deportation from Gaza to detention facilities in Israel, torture, and denial of medical care – was consistent with the abuses in Israeli detention described by seven other healthcare workers who were interviewed. His account is also consistent with reports by other rights groups, the United Nations human rights office, and journalists, the report said.

Khalili said the soldiers forced him to strip naked in public, zip-tied his hands behind his back, blindfolded him, and took him to another location. 'They kept telling me, ‘Say you're Hamas,’' he said.

The father of three recalled the bitter November cold, the report said, when soldiers placed him in an open-back military vehicle, hit him, and drove him to an open area, where he was forced to lie face-down on sandy ground. Soldiers repeatedly shoved his face into the sand with their boots and threatened to kill him, Khalili said.

He was even doused with gasoline, as a soldier threatened to set him on fire, and others drove a military vehicle quickly toward him as if to run him over apparently to terrify him into confessing to being a member of Hamas, said the report. This was a tactic that another former former detainee separately described to HRW.

At the notorious Sde Teiman detention facility, about 30km from Gaza, in southern Israel, Khalili described being held in a large building 'like a warehouse' with chains hanging from the ceiling. He said Israeli soldiers dragged him on the ground, removed the cuffs on his ankles, dressed him in adult diapers, and removed his blindfold.

Dozens of detainees, also in diapers, were suspended from the ceiling, with the chains attached to their square metal handcuffs. Khalili said he was hung up, dressed in a garment and a headband that were attached to wires, and shocked him with electricity.

'The world was spinning around, and I fainted. They hit me with batons. I kept fainting and hallucinating. He kept asking me about the hostages, and moving Hamas hostages, and where I was on October 7. With every question I was electro-shocked to wake me up. He told me confess and we will stop torturing you,' he told HRW.

Khalili said he was given electric shocks every second day in addition to being suspended in stress positions and having cold water thrown on him. At three-day intervals, he was taken from the 'warehouse' for interrogation and before each ordeal, a soldier administered an unknown drug to him in pill form. 'The pill made me feel weird, it was the first time I have felt like this, as if my inner mind was speaking what was in my heart, not me. I felt like I’m flying. I saw hallucinations.'

An Israeli official who spoke fluent Arabic 'told me how many children I have, all their names, my address,' and threatened they would be killed if he did not confess. Khalili shared the abuse and torture of other detainees as well, saying one 'had his leg amputated' apparently as a result of prolonged shackling and exposure to cold.

He saw a detainee in the 'warehouse' experience what he believes was cardiac arrest; a soldier brought in an Israeli medical worker who confirmed the detainee was dead. Israeli forces brought the dead body of another detainee into the warehouse, Khalili said.

After 20 days, he was transferred, in a wheelchair and unable to stand, from Sde Teiman to a detention facility he called 'al-Naqab' prison. He was cuffed and blindfolded and said soldiers threatened him with rape while he was being transported.

The other detainees at al-Naqab were also sick and wounded, he said, and a man who was visibly 'bleeding from his bottom' was brought in and placed next to Khalili. The man told Khalili that before he was placed in detention, 'three soldiers took turns raping him with an M16 (assault rifle). No one else knew, but he told me as a paramedic. He was terrified. His mental health was awful, he started talking to himself.'

After more than 30 days at al-Naqab, Khalili said, he signed release papers at the prosecutors’ office and was given back his Palestinian ID document, but not his phone or cash (the equivalent of US$1,250) taken from him during his arrest in Gaza. Four days later, in late December 2023, he was released without charge at the Kerem Shalom (Karam Abu Salem) crossing. He had weighed 80 kilograms when arrested, and now weighed 60, he said.

The World Health Organization arranged for permission for him to be transferred for care to Egypt in May, but Israeli forces closed the Rafah border crossing on May 7. HRW said Khalili was sheltering in the al-Mawasi area near Khan Yunis, and still awaiting possible transfer to Egypt for medical care, separated from his family who are in northern Gaza.

'I cry every day without my family,' he said. 'I’m alone in the south, I have no one. I swear I don’t need anything but to be with my family.' He has not yet met his youngest son, who was born in Gaza while he was in detention.

HRW said he still loses consciousness and feels 'something in my head like microwaves, a loud sound,' and his hands cramp up. The pain from his broken ribs makes it difficult for him to sleep, and when he sleeps, he has nightmares, the report said."

28 August 24

[worstloki]

alright lets go. opinions on the s2 trailer

the idea that Loki will 'finally get to be powerful' is how they got everyone in s1

Loki's expressions/behaviour still seem exaggerated to me

"You are a man of action, which is fine. I take a more slow, deliberate, cerebral approach." <- No Comment.

the outfits........ no

KE HUY QUAN!! HIIIIIIIIII

'time slipping' 🤝 spiderverse glitching

if Loki's little monologue in the trailer winds up in an actual scene i believe it's just going to sound cringe

something about the way the magic is animated is unsettling in a 'looks like they're underpaying people again' way

im not going to talk about the posters, im going to let you look at them yourself

why are they trying to make loki the word 'smarmy' personified

great 'reveals' in the show will be very heavy handed if the electric-baton-shocking-to-reveal-a-giant-Kang's-face is any hint. it almost reminds me of season 1, even

sylvie seems to be doing well :)

sick and tired of the MCU's quarter-baked attempts at being 'deep' without the writing to back it up. go back to the 'we're just aliens' setup because this didn't work for Ragnarok, it didn't work for Thor 4, it's not working for Loki.

sylvie and loki have to hold hands to make a cloud of green that pushes everyone back :\

THE CHOREOGRAPHY LOOKS BAD AND THEY HAVEN'T EVEN SHOWN A FIGHT SCENE FOR 3 SECONDS

every comment on the trailer could be a satire

surely media literacy rates have not dropped so low. surely society is not this desperate. surely.

new writer and director than s1 tho

the setting and Kang's vibes have me thinking of Where Mischief Lies

ooooooo Loki staring at a ye olde pockety wockety watch ooooo what mystery many question hoW wonDEr

hopefully there'll be actual time travel this season

remember when they CGI'd Sylvie out of the scenes in the s1 trailer lol

remember how in Thor 1 they CGI'd--[GUNSHOT]

[topazy]

Inside, outside

Pairings: 10k x reader, Addy Carver × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing, usual violence towards Z’s

Chapter: 5.05

People. Zombies. Bombs. Chaos.

Altura still hadn’t recovered from the bombing, and survivors were still scrambling to try and find their loved ones. You felt a sense of guilt knowing that some had lost everyone and everything, while you still had 10k and Red. Red was more concerned than either of you that Doc, Warren, and Murphy were nowhere to be seen, but you had a gut feeling they were gone but not dead.

“I’d bet any money the three of them will turn up soon. Murphy, no doubt caught up in something dangerous, he’ll drag the rest of them into.”

10k suddenly jolts up in the cot; it takes him a moment to gather his bearings. Once he realizes his place in your shared rent, he leans his head back, using his hand to grip the bedsheets before feeling for you.

“Do you feel any better?”

“A little,” he confirms. His voice was raspy from being in a deep sleep less than a minute before. “I had a dream we were still living out on the road, still on the mission to get that dickhead to California, and we kept encountering the same issues as before except this time we had a baby... I was useless. I could hold my own child or even take out a z; everyone had to do it for me.”

You lean forward and kiss the crown of his head. “You will be able to use your gun again; it will just take time to adjust.”

“You don’t know that.”

Seeing the doubt in his eyes, he said, “Yes, I do. Because I know the second you sense danger, your fatherly instincts will kick in, and protecting this baby will be the most natural thing in the world.”

He closes his eyes. “I hope so.”

You stand and offer him your hand. “Come on, once we’ve had breakfast, I’m going to help you practice.”

—

Behind the main buildings in Altura is a wooded area in which Red has set up a shooting range for 10k to practice his aim. So far, he has missed the tin can with every shot he has taken. The part of the hospital that had prosthetic limbs was destroyed during the bombing, and Sun Mei said it would be a while before new ones were made. He was given a leather pouch to cover his stump with a hook on the end of it, which was causing him to struggle to keep grip on his weapon.

“Just take your time,” Red says, reassuring him.

When 10K misses the target again, he lets out a hiss of pain. You motion to his stump and say, “Let me take a look.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine if you’re in pain.”

Knowing you wouldn’t let it go, 10k pulls down the leather pouch for you to inspect his stitches. The swelling was going down, but infection was weeping from the stitches. “You need to show Sun Mei and get more antibiotics.”

“Maybe you should take a break or use your left hand,” Red suggests.

“Just forget it.”

Red looks upset as 10k walks away. You place your hand on her shoulder and say, “Hey, thank you. It might not seem like it, but I know Tommy really appreciates everything you’re doing for him.”

She pulls you in for a hug. “I’m really scared; we are lucky we survived the first bombing. What if there’s another?”

“Then we do the same thing: keep each other safe.”

—

When you can’t find 10k in the medical bay, you go looking for him in the woods, but he spots you first. He puts his finger to his lips, signaling for you to remain silent, then waves you over. Crouching down beside him, you watch as two men shock a z with an electric baton, forcing it into one of the buildings, which looked empty aside from a few vans.

“What do we do?” You whisper.

“We gotta know where he’s taking it.”

You stay close to him as you make your way into the building. You jump back and grip onto his shoulder when Z's fingers peek through the crack underneath a large metal door, with metal chains covering the door as an extra precaution. 10k presses his ear against another securely locked door.

Quietly, you say, “It sounds like wild animals behind the doors.”

10k says nothing and leans back. Seconds later, a beeping sound fills the room, followed by the sound of a door opening and footsteps. 10k points to a large shipping truck, and you both crawl underneath it to avoid being seen.

From the spot you’re in, you notice Florida license plates on the back of the van in front. The man paces back and forth before eventually leaving the building.

You crawl out first, being careful so your stomach doesn’t rub against the concrete ground. You help 10K up and begin to dust yourself down, noting the fresh trail of mud tracks with traces of blood on the ground.

10k whispers, “We should go before—oh shit.”

A man’s voice comes from the opposite side of the truck. “Let’s get this shit over with.”

Not knowing where to go, you run to one of the other shipping trucks and climb into the back of it. When it starts to move slowly you ask, “Do we jump?”

Before you can make a decision, the back of the truck is facing the large metal doors, which are now unlocked, and a large ball made up of Z’s clutched together comes rolling towards you.

With no way of escaping, 10k points to the panels on the ceiling of the truck. “Whatever you do, don’t let go.”

—

You feel physically sick watching as 10k struggles to hold onto the wooden panel, which was the only thing keeping him from being devoured by the Z’s below. He was too far away for you to help him, and if you made any noise, the driver would hear it and most likely shoot the both of you.

When the truck comes to a sudden stop and the doors at the back open, allowing the Z’s to roll out of it, When the engine is turned back on, you both let go of the panels and jump down just as the truck starts to move off again, leaving the both of you deserted in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but trees. You sigh, noticing the pouch 10K had covering his wound was gone.

Even though you land on your feet, 10K is beside you with a worried look on his face. “Soon as we get to safety, we are done; no more adventures for either of us.”

You place your hand on your stomach and say, “As happy as I am that we have Doc and Warren back in our lives, I sometimes wish we never left the treehouse.”

—

“How far along do you think you are?”

Because of the bombing, you never got your scan. You tried to work it out, but since you didn’t track days, it was impossible to actually know. “Since I’m not showing, I’d say I’m still in my first trimester. Maybe in five or six weeks, what do you think?”

When you don’t get an answer, you look back and see 10k crouching down, looking at some footprints left in the dirt. “These are Doc and Warren's footsteps.”

Noticing a small hill, you run up it and see newly dug graves. Seeing a fairly clean bandana on the ground, you kneel down to get it. You wipe it off and give it to 10k; he ties it around his stump to keep it covered.

You study the graves and are thankful you don’t know any of the names carved onto the wooden crosses above each one. Hearing a faint, snarling noise, you turn to see a Z coming up behind you.

You stumble backwards, “Tommy!”

He grabs one of the wooden planks sticking out of the ground, snaps it, and then stabs the Z in the head.

“Eight thousand six hundred and nine.”

While getting to your feet, you notice a red mark on a wooden sign. “It looks like spray paint. Do we follow it?”

He nods.

While following the road, you notice a few more of the red marks left behind on trees. Luckily, it was only the odd Z you came across; 10K was trying to shoot and was swaying on its feet, walking in your direction. After several failed attempts, he uses the opposite hand and manages to shoot it in the head.

“Eight thousand six hundred and ten,” you smile.

—

Soon as you make it to a small town, you take cover behind a car with the same red markings on it. It was parked outside a building with distant music coming from it.

“Are you sure about this? What if it’s a trap?”

“I’ll go in first,” 10K says. “You keep a good distance behind me; if it’s safe, I’ll wave for you to follow.”

You plant a soft kiss on his lips and say, “Okay.”

A side door is open, so it’s easy for you to get inside.10k enters the building first, checking it was clear before waving you to follow. When you reach the room the staircase you’re walking down leads to, 10k goes in first. Sweat drips down your brow as you wait to hear his voice call out, and you let out a sigh of relief when you finally hear him again. “Oh my god,” he calls back to you. “Astra, it’s safe to come in; it’s Doc!”

The room is filled with red lights, giving the impression that it was a seedy nightclub. Soon as you walk in, you see 10k and Doc hugging, and you rush over to join them. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Doc; we've got so much shit we need to tell you! Are Warren and Murphy with you?”

“I’m glad you kids are safe.”

10k steps back from the hug first and taps you on the shoulder. “Uh, it’s your sister.”

You open your eyes, and for the first time in years, you see Addy standing before you. Her hair was much darker and longer than you remember, and from the glaze in her eyes, you could tell she was drunk.

“Hey sis.”

You stare at her speechless; nobody has ever broken your heart like she did, and seeing her again, smiling as if nothing happened, opens up the old wound you tried so hard to heal.

Hearing more steps approaching, your hand goes to a glass bottle sitting on the table next to you.

“Oh my god,” Warren says when she notices you. “You two have no idea how worried we were after hearing about the bombing.”

Warren sees your struggle to hold back tears and pulls you in for a hug and whispers, “I’ve got you, baby girl; I’ve got you.”

—

You look at Murphy suspiciously as he pours out drinks from behind a bar. He was dressed in a red suit, which matched his red skin. When he offers you a cup, you push it back and say, "No thanks.”

He grunts, “Not good enough for you, princess.”

Rolling your eyes, you walk over to join the rest of your group, sitting around a circle table. It felt weird to be with 10K, Doc, Warren, Addy, and Murphy at the same time again. George was there as well, but it still felt like old times.

You sit beside 10K, who was explaining what you saw. “Those vans are being loaded up deliberately. Somebody’s shipping a truckload of zombie tourists.”

“So you think it’s Altura?” Warren asks.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s where we saw the vans, but it could be anybody.”

While the conversation continues, Addy tries to make eye contact with you, but given the amount of alcohol you witnessed her drink, you pretended not to notice.

[writingintheshadowsforever]

I Have Overprotective Girlfriends

You don't remember being knocked unconscious one minute you were taking down agents left to right. Hitting them with electric shocks, a blow to the head with your baton, and just good old-fashioned punch or kick to the face. The next thing you knew you were waking up tied to a chair with metal wire wrapped around your arms and legs. The bindings were definitely going to leave marks with the way they dug into your skin.

You let out a groan lifting your head to take in your surroundings only for a fist to slam right into right cheek. Your head snapped to the left as the bruised cheek exploded with pain.

"Hey boss the Avenger is finally awake" an unfamiliar gruff voice said.

You looked up to see a man with a large frame and a bald head dressed in a forest green T-shirt, dark pants, and combat boots. Standing in front of you with his arms crossed over chest. He regarded you with a sneer.

"Easy with the shots buddy I got overprotective girlfriends" You warned him. It earned you a blow to the stomach making you hunch over as the breath left your lungs.

A low chuckle came from behind along with approaching footsteps. "A battered face should be the least of your concerns Sparky."

"Wow really clever nickname I've only heard it a few hundred times" You gasped in a raspy voice still bent over trying to get your breathing right again. Of course the comment just caused the henchmen to attack again.

Black spots filled your vision when the back of your head made contact with the cemented floor with a sickening crunch. Your mind went blank as pain took over, and for a second you nearly lost consciousness again. The burly man had kicked you right in the chin so hard your chair went flying backward to the floor.

"Got anything else to say" The henchmen asked appearing in your line of vision cracking his knuckles.

You kept your mouth shut this time had already taken too much damage. If you were going to find a way out of this the little strength you had left needed to be preserved.

He nodded his head in satisfaction and proceeded to lift the chair to stand you upright again. His boss was waiting locking eyes with you as soon as you were facing forward again. A short stocky man with a mop of dark brown hair, and a matching goatee. He wore a dark green-white striped suit. It was as if he stepped out of some bad old gangsters movie.

You fought off the urge to grin at the getup, and cursed yourself for getting bested by the likes of this man.

"Now that you're in a listening mood let's discuss terms" The man said.

You pretended to listen to his demands but you didn't really need to. For you already knew what he wanted and the second he got in. His promise to let you live would go out the window like they always did with bad guys. He had every intention on killing you knowing you would come for him. Once you were free and all of this would end with him and his men in jail.

The metal binds on your wrist wasn't giving or loosening no matter how much you twisted your wrists. The familiar power of electricity running through your veins wasn't present. Which could only mean one thing they put some type of power damper on you. Your neck was collar free so maybe it was something smaller.

Worry started to settle in when the burly man took his boss's spot again. This was a solo mission so none of your fellow Avengers were coming to the rescue any time soon. You could take a beating but that didn't mean you wanted to.

More of his henchmen had poured of rooms you couldn't see, and started to surround you. Some were equipped with weapons from brass knuckles to chains even a few knives.

This was going to get bad if you didn't come up with a plan soon, but then a chirping noise filled the air. One you recognized all too well and your heart was overcome with joy. The chirping of the kimoyo beads were your salvation. The bracelet weren't on your wrist but resting on a brown table a few feet behind the burly man. He was looking back eyes zeroing in on the beads.

"What did you just do?" He demanded to know turning back to you. Eyes filled with rage with a hint of fear behind them.

"I have no idea what you're talking about buddy." You played dumb with a smirk shrugging your shoulders. He struck you in the nose knocking your head back.

"I'm not going to ask again"

"And I'm not going to tell you again watch the face I have overprotective girlfriends." You replied grinning despite the agony and blood running from your nose to your lips.

"You had your chan-" His words were cut off as the warehouse was thrown into darkness. Immediately a terrified scream came from your left but it was cut off just as fast. More yelps filled the air around you along with the distinct sound of steel clashing against steel. Sparks lighting up the surrounding area a few times. Giving you and the burly man a few glimpses of what was going on.

Two black streaks weaved through the warehouse taking down henchmen after henchmen. A flash of gold and silver here and there accompanied with the view of a sharp point of a spear. The burly man began to hyperventilate whirling around trying to anticipate. When the intruders were going to come for him. After two minutes the lights came back on welcoming him too. The sight of Ayo and Aneka standing on either side of you spears resting at their side. Neither of them looked too happy. The bodies of his comrades laid scattered on the floor unconscious, and his boss was slumped against the wall with his hands locked in a pair of heavy duty handcuffs.

"My love would you be so kindly to tell us who marked up your beautiful face? Ayo asked. Her tone was dangerously calm.

"The idiot standing in front of us" You answered with no hesitation. Not hiding the glee you were feeling at all.

"Wait I give up" The burly man pleaded holding up his hands while backing away. "Okay I surrender you win."

Ayo raised an eyebrow "there will be no surrendering for you."

Aneka laid her spear on the floor and crouched down behind you, and started working on freeing your hands. The burly man saw his chance whirling around to run.

Ayo let out a tsk sound stalking forward. He never stood a chance and a few seconds later. His cries of agony reached your ears.

"She's not going to kill him is she?" You asked Aneka almost feeling sorry for him. She had worked you completely free by now, and was examining the extent of your injuries.

"No Ayo knows how to show restraint even when she doesn't want to." Aneka told you pulling a handkerchief from somewhere in her armor. She pressed it to your still bleeding noise.

"Its why she went after him instead of me" she added fury in her eyes.

Your eyes widened in surprise at the comment wondering if the wailing man was truly better off in Ayo's hands than Aneka's. From the sound of his ongoing screams maybe not.

You leaned back in the chair letting your body relax as Aneka continued to take care of your injuries.

It was his own fault after all you had warned him.

Tag List: @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @purple-nugget @kofforever @greek-freak101 @alistair-mooncrest @zhanylai @aiden-presscott @deliciousfestsalad @laurensmabel1 @letitias-fav @unreasonablysapphic @abbyeliza28 @zayswriting @inmyheadimobsessed @shinsousliya @justariellove @takeyaki @chaz-tish

[jumpywhumpywriter]

Vampire vs Werewolf Forced Fight for Human Entertainment part 1

Warnings: violence, blood, pain, forced fight, fantasy whump

Poor Felix, an innocent young vampire gets caught by some nasty humans who needed a new monster for their blood sports, dragging him into a world of cage fighting amd violence... Whatever will happen to him? 👉👈

The last thing Felix remembered was going for a nightly stroll down the street, before he'd been ambushed by hunters. He didn't have much fight experience, and was rather young for a vampire, so he was easily taken down and pinned by several strong humans. He thought he'd be killed on the spot, and when a tranquilizer dart hit his shoulder, he never expected to wake again.

But he did. He awoke cuffed and restrained being hauled through a thick crowd of people. He started struggling hard, trying to twist and wrench free from the iron grasp of the hand on his arm.

"Mff!" He tried to scream for help before realizing there was a cloth gag in his mouth, muffling his cries.

"Shut up, freak," a harsh voice barked, and Felix instantly stopped fighting. "You're going to be the center of attention today. We lost our best fighter last minute from a medical emergency, so you're the replacement. Lucky us."

Felix's stomach churned with dread as chaos roared all around, excited conversations and cheering coming from the crowd he was being dragged through. But the worst part of the ruckus had to be the shrieking. Something was in excruciating pain. And the crowd seemed even more excited by it, growing ever louder.

"Round three winner is... Diego!" The crowd roared.

What was happening? Felix had barely gotten his bearings when he found himself being hauled up to his feet and shoved forward, the gag ripped out of his mouth. "What's going on? What are you doing to me?!" He shouted, his voice pitched high with fear. It was the first thing that tumbled out of his mouth.

"You're in the underground fighting rink," a man laughed cruelly, uncuffing his hands. "We catch monsters like you and pit them against each other. Good luck!"

"Wait--what--?" Felix tripped and fell clumsily forward after a rough shove from behind, finding himself in an arena completely caged in by thick chain-link fencing. He gaped with wide eyes to see the hundreds of people surrounding the fence, all watching him with bloodthirsty, eager expressions.

"No--T-There has to be some mistake! I'm just a kid from town! Not a monster!" He pleaded.

"Nah, we all know you're not human," another man sneered. "You're not fooling anyone, bloodsucker." He and his friends laughed at the shock on Felix's face. How did they know his secret?!

Felix didn't have time to ask as his attention was snatched by the sound of scraping metal coming from the opposite side of the arena, where he saw a group of men working to slide a large metal cage to the door. The cage was made of thick metal sheets, so Felix couldn't see what it was holding, but he could tell that something alive was in it, judging by the growling and snapping of teeth.

One guard jabbed an electric baton into one of the cage's breathing holes, and a bellow of agony split the air. "Behave, you useless mutt!" He barked angrily. The others worked to open the arena and push the entrance of the cage up flush against it with no room for escape... before sliding the metal door of it up and out of the way.

Adrenaline flooded all of Felix's senses as he watched something truly massive and covered in white fur come staggering out, towering at least eight feet tall and wearing a large muzzle. It almost looked like a wolf, with a long snout and tail, but it stood on two hind legs like a human. Its limbs were lengthy and muscular, its hind legs shaped more like a wolf, but with arms that were slightly more human-like.

Werewolf. The frightening word rang in Felix's head. He'd read about werewolves in kids books, but seeing one in real life was bloody terrifying, all fur and teeth and claws... and muscle. The kind of strength of an apex predator nature designed for ripping things apart.

"You--You can't expect me to fight that thing!" He cried and banged on the door he'd been shoved through. "Please, let me out! That thing will kill me!"

"That's the point, freak. One lives, one dies. Bets are already placed, and unsurprisingly they're not in your favor," a burly man laughed cruelly from the outside of the cage, and the vampire sprung back as a buzzing electric baton was pushed through the chain link, jabbing at him. "Get back over there and give us a show!" The man prodded.

Felix jumped out of his skin as a loud speaker crackled.

"Gooooood evening, folks! For our next fight we have werewolf against vampire, another classic fight like many we've hosted before! Vampires are known to have the winning streak, but we found a fresh bloodsucker tonight and paired it with a beast who's already seen its fair share of violence. How fun!" A bell rang. "Let the fight begin!"

Felix's blood went cold as his eyes darted to the hulking beast of a wolf on the other side of the cage, watching in horror as the muzzle beeped and fell off, revealing razor-sharp teeth and powerful jaws. The monster was set loose.

Felix was frozen to the spot, paralyzed with fear as the enemy charged and slammed into him, driving every ounce of breath from his lungs as all five hundred pounds of muscle crushed him into the chainlink wall of the arena.

He choked and wheezed as he tried to suck in air, before sharp claws sliced through his side, tearing a strangled shriek from him. It was enough to snap him out of the trance. He dropped to the floor and rolled, narrowly avoiding the blow as the wolf took another vicious swipe at him with its giant forepaws.

He immediately lurched to his feet and ran to the other side of the arena, pressing himself against the furthest wall away from his opponent, trembling so hard he could barely stay standing as he wrapped an arm protectively around his injured midsection.

"Aww, don't be a chicken, vamp!" The announcer's mocking voice sounded.

The werewolf swiveled around with a snarl, ears pinned back and lip curled.

Oh man. I am dead. I am SO dead. Felix squealed and dodged as the werewolf charged him again, barely scrambling out of the way in time while the human crowd cheered and jeered at him. He just focused on staying as far away from those dangerous claws as possible

In his mind he knew he wasn't getting out of here alive unless he fought for his life. He was pretty sure he would lose, but he had to at least try.

Felix darted in at an opening and punched the werewolf in the side, making it roar in pain as a rib or two cracked. But the beast whirled around impossibly fast before he could get away and clobbered him on the side of the head in retaliation, sending him flying with an agonized scream. He hit the ground hard, jarring every joint in his body, and let out a ragged wail as sharp claws scooped him up a second later and tossed him to the other side of the arena. Like a plaything. A predator toying with prey.

Felix moaned as he dragged himself back to his feet, shaking all over, absolutely terrified. His eyes were wide with fear as he forced himself to rush toward the monstrous werewolf, diving to the floor and aiming for its hind leg. He grabbed it and sank his vampire fangs in as hard as he could, holding on for dear life.

The werewolf yelped, and brutally kicked him off, and Felix's head exploded with pain as his teeth ripped away from warm flesh. He spat out a mouthful of white fur and blood when he landed, before lurching to his wobbly feet to try again. He feigned a dash to the right before going left, hoping the beast would take the bait, but the werewolf was there to block him, snapping its powerful jaws down on his forearm and shaking its giant head, tossing him around as though he weighed no more than a leaf.

Felix shrieked in pain as the teeth latched on, but a tiny part of him felt like it should still hurt more if the bite was at full-force. Maybe adrenaline was numbing it. Or maybe the monster was intentionally drawing out the fight for the crowd. It felt like his arm might be ripped off his body at any second from the strain.

The wolf finally threw him to the ground, and he rolled onto his back, ready to spring up, when a huge front paw hit his chest and roughly pinned him down on the floor.

"NO! I don't want to die!" Felix cried, hyperventilating as he helplessly struggled beneath the heavy weight crushing him. Scared tears slid down his cheeks as he whimpered and groaned.

The werewolf's head leaned down, close enough that hot, rancid breath gusted over Felix's face, bared teeth inches away from his nose, and he screwed his eyes shut, waiting for the final blow.

"Play dead."

Felix's eyes flew open in shock as a gravelly female voice rumbled, barely coherent in a scratchy growl.

He stared up into blue lupine eyes, which were dilated with adrenaline -- but he also saw a flicker of... sympathy? Pity? The werewolf's face was twisted with aggression, but its eyes were softer, desperate and urgent.

"Play dead and I won't have to kill you. Faint." The voice spoke again, almost too warped to understand. Mercy. He was being offered mercy.

"Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!" The crowd was chanting, riled up by the hesitation. All eager for blood and death.

Felix couldn't believe what was happening, his mind reeling. But some part of him distantly registered what the she-wolf was saying, and he closed his eyes, going totally limp and lifeless. Putting his life and trust in the enemy.

"Stay down." The weight on his chest lifted, but he didn't dare crack his eyes open for fear of ruining the illusion.

"Out already?" The speaker crackled. "Looks like we got another fainter on our hands. Disappointing." The human crowd groaned and booed in annoyance, some shouting angry curses.

Felix's sensitive ears picked up on the sound of the arena doors scraping opening, footsteps approaching. He almost flinched when his hands were grabbed and metal cuffs were clamped on, but he kept himself limp. He was being dragged away... but to where? He tried to piece together his surroundings with his ears alone, hearing his captor's voices arguing.

His whole body ached with excruciating pain, but he eventually felt himself being tossed carelessly on the ground, before a door slammed shut. He was left hopelessly alone, wounds singing with agony.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

Masterlist #2

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump @otterfrost @sausages-things

[brandwhorestarscream]

For your TFA OP is Megatron's child, what does he do when he realizes? Does he tell anyone, does he deny it? Does he go and hide from the world for a while? Or does he pretend not to see the resemblance and start "tracing" what happened to "the sparkling" (it'll give him more time)? Or is it more like he does several of these?

He's in a state of shock at first. He doesn't believe it, this can't be true! He- His first memories are of waking up with his batchmates when he was first brought online as a protoform, this is impossible! He was constructed cold, just as everyone was, he- he isn't... he's not a...

But the evidence is right there in front of him. He quietly shuts off the datapad and deletes his trail of research. This can't be happening! He leaves early that day, hurrying home to his apartment and locking the doors + windows. His servos are shaking and by the time he realizes it, he barely has time to plop down into a chair before a full blown wave of panic crashes over his body. His vents spin out of control as he struggles to cool his rapidly heating frame, optics taken over by tinnitus as he curls into himself.

He was so little when they took him, sparklinghood amnesia took care of most of the pesky memories, and he had a memory blocker installed. But now that he knows, the old software does little good, and there's already cracks starting to leak through the blockade. It's like a dam has suddenly broken in his kind and he's assaulted by an ocean of memories.

Suddenly 🥺 he remembers the warmth of his carrier's love. Remembers a huge, gentle hand on his face, a voice speaking in a language that's now extinct on modern day Cybertron, calling him a name that's achingly familiar. He remembers being held close and warm to a giant spark, pulsing so intensely he could feel it thrumming through his whole body, washing him with waves of endless love and affection. He remembers... strange people, suddenly storming into the mineshaft where his mother worked. He remembers stun batons and electric prods and screaming, so much screaming. Remembers seeing blood spill as his mother tore someone's helm clean off their body, roaring at them to get their hands off his sparkling. He remembers being grabbed and thrown into a cage of some sort, turbohound kennel for transport, crying and holding the bars, rattling them with his tiny chubby hands and braying hysterically for his mother. He remembers seeing his carrier fall, stunned unconscious, and being hauled away despite his pleas.

He remembers all of this while his body is in the clutches of an intense panic attack, the memories overwhelming and threatening to consume him. He lays there in the dark of his apartment, all lights off and curled up in the corner as if he could hide from the war going on inside his helm, crying brokenly into his arms. His spark aches in his chassis, throbbing as it expands and contracts in a desperate bid for another. How long has it been? When did that happen? When did they take him? Why did they take him? If he's not cold constructed why did they pretend he was, why put him in boot camp and make him an autobot prime? Questions swirl around his mind faster than even Blurr could speak, and he's honestly not surprised when he suddenly crashes

Optimus wakes up on the floor of his apartment hours later, in the dead of night, when everything is still and silent and so, so dark. Sitting there staring at the ceiling, he can feel panic already gnawing on him again, but he stubbornly tries to push it away. He needs to figure out what to do.