#tw: mentions of torture

[deadsetobsessions]

Spider in Gotham AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1]

Peter’s no stranger to memories that comes as nightmares. There’s something different to them, the taste of terror that’s tinged with a feeling of “that’s happened.”

Flashes of Aunt May, dying as he stood next to her while choosing the city over her? Old hat. Inky darkness surrounding MJ falling as Peter reached for her, over and over again? Been there, seen that, didn’t even get a sick scar out of it. Racing against the clock to defeat some bad guy or an unknown threat? That’s his Thursday.

But this?

This isn’t his. It’s real, Peter could tell that much. Sure, it’s wrapped up in silk hisses and heart crushing terror, but Peter could always tell whether a nightmare was a nightmare or whether it was a memory.

This was a memory. Not his. His. It’s complicated.

“Your father, papito, he-,”

Then, it’d be the ruffle of his hair, brown eyes. It reminded him of his mom. But the crease of these eyes were different. Hardened, mean. Even towards him.

“Well, he said no, but I knew what he really wanted.”

The base of Peter’s neck always crawled when he remembered that line. His spider-sense warned him that whatever he’s remembering, he would not like.

“Ey, Peter.”

“Huh?” Peter blinked, looking up from where his arms were elbow deep in wires.

“Don’cha need gloves with that?” Frank asked, munching on some jerky. They were sitting in the living room, repairing a TV and a washer Frank had somehow managed to lug back to the apartment. It’s a toss up between Frank’s network of orphans (Peter included), street rats (these things are not mutually inclusive), or his own slightly higher than average strength. Not that they needed to thrift broken things, considering Peter’s funneling money from offshore bank accounts belonging to this America’s 1%. They just made it so easy! He and Ned had been hacking into government bases in middle school back on his world. This world? Not even a challenge. Regardless, this was kind of like… Frank’s version of those fancy sensory boxes for Peter.

“Oh, no. It’s not plugged in, see?”

“How’re ya gunna know it works then?”

“Plug it in after I’m done. Turn it off and on, you know?”

Frank stared at him, then rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

“If you burn down that portion of the house, at least we’ll be warm for a bit.”

“Thanks. Your confidence in me is astounding.”

“You talk like an old man.”

“I do not! Excuse you! If I’m old, you’re the expired knock off cup ramen in the back of a convenience store!”

“Yo, shrimpy, that’s rude, ya hear?” Frank snickered, impressed at the quip. The Alley kid turned brother stood up to plop next to Peter.

“So… you gonna go…?” Frank made a whooshing sound and held his hand in a web shooter position.

“Tonight? Prolly. Anything I should look out for?”

“You’re gunna get yourself killed, but yeah, heard the gang’s back up north.”

Peter flashed a smile, dimples coming out. “I’ll try not to. Thanks, Frank.”

“Anytime, Spidey.”

Frank, though little (to Peter), was a good friend. Then again, considering Peter saved his ass both in mask and out of it, it’s to be expected. One would think that after eight years of hiding his identity, Peter would be better at it. Then, he got punted into a different world and got made by a child.

To be fair, the circumstances all but screamed Parker Luck, so Peter’s not counting this instance.

See, the first few days of this sudden cohabitation, Peter had asked Frank to find them furniture. Both because he was getting real sick of eating on the floor and because Peter needed to fix his suit to match his much younger body. Then, once he readjusted the shrinking nanotech and the spider legs to fit him in a way that wouldn’t break him, Peter had promptly swung out of the building and went patrolling. He stuck with the wandering Frank, taking out muggers and robbers and everything in between and past that around the area where Frank is.

Looking back, Peter realized how lucky he was when he decided to go on the “helping joyride” at the beginning of the evening. His spider-sense activated way later in the night, the moment where he began seeing and sensing the cameras that kept pointing towards him. He ducked and dodged out of the way, and eventually, the feeling left. Somebody was watching. And he doesn’t know where they stood on the moral side of things.

Anyways, it happened after three weeks and a half of going out and just… settling into life in Gotham. He had already been struggling to find a way home, scouring the libraries around Gotham on any subject that would aid in his multiversal travel. Peter would like to know which emo kid named this city.

Eventually, Parker Luck decided to strike once more.

“Get back, freak!” The lady brandished a wicked knife.

Talk about deja vu.

“Oh no! Knives! My greatest weakness!” Spider-Man yelled, sticking to the shadowed windows as he let his voice echo in the alley. Gotham had a lot of nice hiding places. Spider-man dropped down on her head like a bat out of hell and webbed the knife out of her hands. He webbed the mugger up onto the alleyway above normal reach, and told the man to call the police.

Frank screamed, just as Spider-man wrapped it up, loud enough to reach his enhanced hearing.

“Wait-!” The man tried to stop him, but Peter, small, trained, and having readjusted his reach, slipped away.

“What’s your name?!” The guy he saved yelled at his back.

Spider-man, distracted, yelled back, “SPIDEY!”

He shot webs upwards and used them to slingshot his way towards where Frank was. And… car! Peter used his webs to swing up, up, and let himself fall to gain momentum. At the last moment, Peter shot a web to the top of the car and pulled himself to it.

Shit, shit, shit. He’s stupidly attached to the kid, and he was stupid enough to let Frank go out into Gotham looking both well-fed and well clothed.

The world slowed as he locked eyes with a terrified Frank, who was getting dragged into a car.

The world narrowed to speed and Spider-Man landed on top of the car roof, sweeping his leg out and thankfully remembering his much shorter reach. His foot collided with the kidnapper’s face with the equivalent force of a grown up, slightly annoyed Peter Parker who’s letting his strength go a bit unchecked. Basically, they went flying, blood spewing out of the undoubtedly broken nose Spider-Man had just given them.

Standing on business, the shorter webster promptly flipped down wards as he all but glued the would-be kidnapper to the curb.

“You alright?”

“You’re- You’re that new mask.” Frank whispered, scuttling away from the car where he’d been dropped.

“Yeah, man. You okay?” His voice modulator came in clutch.

“Fuck. Fuck, I gotta-” Frank stumbled. The kid looked like he was one bad break away from snapping. Peter hated it when kids got that terrified look on their faces, it reminded him of himself, helpless as Ben bled out because they should never have to fear something that much.

Something’s wrong, though. As much as Peter wished otherwise, Frank was a Gotham bred and true alley kid, through and through. These kids don’t spook easily. Peter already stopped a couple of kidnappings and at least two of the kids had yelled at him to stay out of the way before unloading a rain of nut kicks on their kidnappers that left Peter wincing for days in sympathy. Frank being this spooked? Something’s going on.

“Woah, easy there, I’m not gonna hurt you,”

Frank shot him a half hysterical, half condescending look. Yeah, that’s more like it.

“Ob-obviously. I have to go before more of them comes,” Frank muttered.

“More of them? You know what they want?”

Frank stared at him, looking up and down at his blue, red, and gold ensemble.

“I can help,” Peter promised.

“What’re your thoughts on metas?”

Suspicious.

“Uh, they’re fine? Depends on the person, why?”

Frank sighed. The skinny teenager, barely 14, tugged at his hair. “They’re traffickers. Meta kids, mostly, so the Bats don’t do nothing. I- uh, I got caught.” He held up a thin wrist, showing Peter his new accessorie, a think metal bracelet that was beeping red.

Peter cursed in his head. Fuck, of course he’d stumble into a-

“Caught? You’re a meta?”

Frank nodded. “Strength. This is an inhibitor, illegal kind, you know?”

Well, that explained how he got all of those furniture without struggle.

“Right. Hey, don’t stress, kid, I’m a meta too.”

Frank blinked.

“What?”

Peter walked up the side of the car and did jazz hands.

“You’re a meta?! But- but you’re a mask operating in Gotham!”

“Yeah…? Is that weird?”

Before Frank could reply, Peter’s sense screamed and Spider-Man shoved Frank away from the spray of bullets.

“Move, Frank!”

Peter flipped away, vaguely aware of Frank’s gaping realization. He took down the shooters in quick succession, stopping the speeding car with his bare hands and some webs.

“Shooters, no shooting!” He yelled, liberally applying force he tended to keep under wraps. Frank was like a brother to him, and there is no universe where Peter Parker would hold back when his family was in danger.

When he got back to Frank, who had oddly stayed instead of running, Peter found out why the kid stayed.

“Peter?!” Frank hissed lowly, looking more pissed off than terrified. “Are you fucking insane?! Why are you running ‘round as a mask?!”

“Shhh!” Shit, he got made. “Come on, get back to the apartment and we can talk there. I’ll get rid of this-”

Peter casually snapped the bracelet in half, tearing the tracker out, and tucked it away to study later.

“Fuckin’- shit, fine, but you’re explaining everything, motherfucker!”

They split, Peter guessing correctly that he was in another lecture of a lifetime.

——

“Your vigilante name is Spiderman?”

“Hey, I can hear you say it without the hyphen! There’s a hyphen in there!”

“You’re not a man! You’re a twerp!”

“I’ll show you twerp, you-”

Five minutes of tussling later, in which Peter did not try to bite Frank’s arm off, thank you very much, Frank leaned back on the couch.

“Besides. People in the streets are calling you Spidey, anyways.”

“Spidey?”

“Some dude you saved from a mugging said you told him.”

Peter slammed his head on the floor where he was laying face down.

“Ughhhh.”

——

“He could have been great. I saw his potential.”

Anger. But he shouldn’t be afraid. The woman loved him.

“Hey, Peter. You’re up here again.”

“Hi.” Peter stayed curled up. His mind had refused him sleep for the last three nights, causing dark circles to appear underneath his eyes. The memories of what he assumed to be this world’s Peter was merging with his. What he’d seen so far did not fill him with confidence of a happy childhood. Flashes of wielding weapons, the sterile smell of a metal dissection table, and hundreds and hundreds of spiders crawling over him, getting startled into biting down. Plus, the stress of tracking down the meta trafficking circles in Gotham was no joke. He doesn’t know Gotham nearly as well as he knew New York, and he had to be extra careful running around and trying to catch every bit of the circle before making any moves. Frank was helping with his network of homeless Meta kids, but the traffickers were everywhere except for Crime Alley.

He should be dead. They sold his body to an organ harvester who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version.

“Everything all right?” Red Robin clambered down to sit next to him, cowl hiding the concerned scrunch of his brow. He’s never seen Peter like this.

Peter grumbled, staring down at another alleyway. He knows his alternate died. His shit excuse for another sold his body to an organ harvester, when he seized on the operating table, who dumped his venom filled corpse on the side of Gotham. At least he didn’t have to worry about killing his alternate version. He does, however, have to worry about missing vital organs.

“I… remembered something.” Peter remembered a lot of things. And pretty much none of them were good. This Peter suffered a lot in his short life.

Red Robin nodded. The issue of Peter’s spotty memories had come up in their discussions over the past month.

“Ah. Something unpleasant?”

Peter thought back to the voice who, despite all of the other, highly traumatic memories, haunted his brain like nothing else.

“He didn’t live up to it. He refused to kill. So I made the decision for him.”

“Yeah. Not for me, but unpleasant that I know about it.”

“Yeah, I get that. You wanna talk about it?” Peter hid a small smile. Even though Red Robin kept his tone light, the concern still bled through. Warm. It made Peter feel warm. Even if it appeared that the Bats don’t really care about the trafficked meta kids… maybe Red Robin would come save normal kid Peter if he got kidnapped. A backup plan to consider. For now…

“Sure,” he said. Red Robin waited patiently.

“I think, I remember someone. Maybe, maybe my…” Peter grimaced. “My mom? She… told me something. And uh, I think I’maproductofrape.”

“Oh,” Red Robin said, so awkwardly that Peter had to crack a small smile despite the gravity of the topic. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me too. Not myself, but for…” Peter waved a hand. “You know.”

“Yeah.”

“She wasn’t a good person,” Peter whispered and hated how he missed the browns of her eyes- her middle name was Marie, and god, Peter wished he hadn’t known that because he gets why her eyes reminded him so much of his own mother- and she besmirched everything Mary Parker stood for.

“You have our combined potential, Peter. Make sure not to be like him too much and live up to it, papito.”

“It’s okay, to love her even if she hurt other people,” Red Robin said, gently ruffling his greasy hair. Peter’s spidey-sense tingled and he ducked away. Red Robin withdrew his hand. “Because you can’t really help that. Trust me, I’ve tried. You just have to make sure they don’t get the chance to do what they did again.”

Cold, cold voices and his voice gave out from screaming. “You really are your father’s son. Never being able to do what’s necessary.”

And Peter wondered what happened to Red Robin and who hurt him. Peter would just like to talk. Red Robin reminded him of himself, way back when being Spider-Man meant finding out Harry became Green Goblin. Pained. Tired.

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. But that’s not really a problem, considering the last thing the organ harvester said before dumping him in an alley. “She’s dead in a ditch in Siberia or something. I’m not really worried she’ll do it again.”

“Uh.”

“It’s cool,”

“Right. Have you… remembered your dad?”

“Yeah. He’s in Gotham,” Peter unfurled a little.

“You want help tracking him down? I’m good at that kind of thing.”

Peter glanced at Red Robin. “I think you just admitted to being a stalker.”

“Vigilante,” Red Robin shrugged, like it explained everything. And yeah, it kind of did. Peter snorted.

“Nah, it’s okay. I don’t want to meet him anyways.”

“Why not?”

“He doesn’t know about me,” Peter ticked off his fingers. “I’m a literal walking, talking, breathing reminder of his trauma. And I don’t need a dad.”

Red Robin looked at him silently. Peter doesn’t think about it.

He never wanted to see his parents suffer. An alternate version of his dad, hurt so irrevocably by an alternate version of his mom?

Peter hated that this Catalina dirtied his mother’s name, and went against the most fundamental parts of what the spider symbol was meant for. And considering he’s been doing this longer than her, he had first dibs on defining it. He’ll look after his dad, as long as he’s stuck in Gotham. It’s only right.

“His name? Oh, my son, it’s Richard Grayson.”

——

Peter, who Trusts his instincts: no head rubs?? awwwww

Tim, who’s been trying to get a dna sample for the last month: how does he keep evading me?? He must be a genius or a spy or- *spirals down the conspiracy board*

——

Tim: I’ve connected the dots!

Peter: you’ve connected jack shit

——

Listen, the moment I learned Catalina Flores’ middle name, the pieces clicked, okay? Like legos. It’s like, former FBI agent in this one and former CIA agent in Peter’s home universe? Wow. Middle name Marie? Mary Parker? Incredible. Spider themes run in the blood apparently?? They both have brown eyes!! Trying to do good with no qualms about murder!! (I’m assuming since Mary Parker was SHIELD and I don’t think SHIELD cared much for the sanctity of human life if it threatened the country or something)

[nell0-0]

The dichotomy of T&I Obito at its finest

[nemmienimbus]

Protecting Mammon even when he's in the wrong because he still doesn't deserve to be treated so horribly 💕✨

[harleycao]

Idk if anyone would wanna write it, but I have a jason todd x reader fic idea that id love for someone to write. It's pretty angsty, though not completely.

So, I think this would probably be best for Arkham Knight Jason. It would be where Jason had a gf when joker had him and the joker also took her and eventually made jason think joker killed her. Except, unknown to jay, he didn't actually kill her. Maybe she escaped somehow, maybe she played dead, or maybe he left her alive because his twisted sense of humor felt it would be "funnier" if she was actually alive (whether he keeps her somewhere or lets her go is fine). And jason eventually finds her or something, so there is eventually a happy ending.

Also, while I used female pronouns, gender neutral would be cool. Idk of anyone will actually want to write this, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to find out.

[skymaiden32]

A Different Life

Read on AO3 here

Fandom: Thunderbirds

Tagging: @dragonoffantasyandreality @thundergeek59 @janetm74 @katblu42 @liseylou @amistrio @uniwolfcorn @idontknowreallywhy (Please ask if you would like to get alerts when I update or post new stories.)

Thundertober Day 5: Pilot

Scott’s memories of his last day in the Air Force.

Continuity: TAG

------

Scott breathed a sigh of relief when he was finally able to collapse onto the hard mattress of his bunk, careful not to injure his broken arm as he fell any further. His bunkmate, Alex Birch, sat on a nearby chair, raised an eyebrow. “How’d it go with the boss?” 

“I don’t know, Alex…” He sighed, running his uninjured hand down his tired face. “I don’t know what to make of all of this. I just feel so…” He paused, trying to find the right phrase. “...jumbled still.” 

It had been just a week since Scott’s miraculous return from the brink of death in Bereznik. Not long enough, if you asked Alex’s opinion. Between Scott losing Greg Hodge, his navigator, in the crash, being held prisoner and tortured, and somehow crossing the wilderness back to base after escaping on his own without help…

It was too much. “No wonder you feel that way.” Alex commented, not ashamed of the sadness in his tone. “You’ve been through hell and back.” He chuckled humourlessly. “I’d be a bit jumbled too.”

Scott sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The Commander outright ordered me to leave today. Take a break. Said he wouldn’t be surprised if I quit completely. Even offered to give me an honourable discharge if I did.”

“And?” Alex probed, turning his chair so he was facing his friend on the bunk. He immediately took notice of how exhausted Scott looked. “What will you do? After your leave I mean?”

His friend sat up slowly, staring ahead at the wall. “I… I don’t know.” He admitted. “A part of me wants to call it quits and stay safe for my family,” Scott explained. “But the other part of me loves flying more than anything.” He finally looked over at his friend. “Even after all of that, I can’t let it go just like that.”

“I know, Ace…” Alex smiled sympathetically, reverting to the squad nicknames for some sense of normality. He hummed. “Doesn’t your Dad’s company specialise in aerospace? Maybe you could get a job as a test pilot there?”

For the first time in what felt like years, Scott smiled. “The whole reason I signed up to the USAF in the first place was to avoid leaning on the family name, Spins.” He chuckled.

“I know,” Alex smirked, laughing. “Just throwing the idea out there.” He sobered up, looking seriously to his friend now. “But whatever choice you make, whatever path you’re on, I’m sure it’ll be your true calling in life.”

“Yeah…” Scott replied. “I guess it will be.”

------

He broke out of the memory, now staring focussed at what had reminded him of that fateful day. The base he had once been stationed at, now closed down due to ground subsidence in the area. International Rescue had been called to get to some officers who had been swallowed up by the very earth beneath their feet. On his right, Virgil stood faithfully, looking worriedly between Scott and the dilapidated base. “Are you okay, Scott?”

“Yeah.” He breathed out, a little too quiet for his brother to hear. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He repeated, louder this time. “The rescue’s over now, anyway…”

“Then,” Virgil began, puzzled. “Why are we still here?”

“The Commander of the base is Alex Birch, right?”

“According to John, yeah…” The pilot of Thunderbird 2 answered, before his eyes widened in realisation, watching the crowd of officers part to reveal the Commander himself, walking towards them. “Wait, wasn’t he in your-”

“My squadron? Yep.” Scott replied. “He was also the one who helped me the most after…” He paused, drawing himself back from those painful memories. “You know…” Virgil knew. He always did.

Alex stopped in front of the two brothers, giving Scott a respectful salute. One that Scott was all too happy to return. “Commander Tracy.”

“Commander Birch.” Scott replied. “I’d like you to meet Virgil, my brother.”

Alex’s eyes lit up in recognition as he shook Virgil’s hand. “Ah, so you’re the one I’d heard so much about from Ace here back in the day.”

Virgil chuckled. “In that case, I hope I lived up to expectations.”

“More than that.” Birch smiled at him. “You knocked them out of the park with that rescue. I can see Scott’s heroism truly is a family trait.” The grin turned melancholy. “You keep taking good care of him, you hear?”

“As much as I can at least” The younger of the two Tracy’s laughed. “He’s always going off somewhere…”

“Hey!” Scott frowned, but the little twinkle in his eyes still remained. “I don’t go AWOL that often.”

“Sure you don’t.” Alex commented.

“I don’t believe it either.” Virgil agreed. Scott groaned. “I’ll leave you two to chat for a bit while I finish packing up.” And just like that, Virgil was off back to Thunderbird 2, leaving the two men to catch up. Scott watched his brother go, smiling in fondness.

Alex’s voice broke into his thoughts. “I told you so.”

Scott looked at his old friend questioningly, although he already knew exactly what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“That you’d find your calling…”

Thunderbird 1 caught his gaze, gleaming a bright silver in the setting sun, a symbol of everything Scott Tracy was and what he worked for.“I did, didn’t I?” Scott answered, looking between his brother, his ship, and Alex. “It sure is a different life, but it’s one I wouldn’t change for the world.”

[snowywinterevenings]

Last Line Challenge

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many you like).

I was tagged by @oathkeeperoxas and @frostbitebakery! A little bit from an upcoming @sithobiwanevent fic. I will tag whoever wants to participate!

Below the cut for mentions of torture:

The cell door swings open with a wave of the man’s hand, and Cody makes a distressed sound very much against his will, wondering if it’s some Jedi come to claim revenge for his fallen brothers and sisters. It’s what he deserves. The noise he makes when the man draws his hood back is one of grief and fear and relief, but it dies in his throat when molten gold rather than sky blue eyes meet his own. He doesn’t have time to process the change or what it means, because the chains binding his wrists fall away, and he shouts as he drops, though the Force catches him, keeping him aloft.

“Can you stand?” Cody considers the question and nods, relatively certain he can keep his feet under him even if it’s a struggle. “Do you feel any lingering urge to murder me?”

Cody realizes that his fingers aren’t itching to close around Obi-Wan’s throat, and he quickly determines that it is because their order was to execute the Jedi, and though there is a lightsaber clipped to his belt, this is no Jedi standing before him. He manages a slight shake of his head, though the gesture makes the room spin, and he croaks out a hoarse, “no,” his voice ruined from screaming until he could not some nebulous number of hours past. He wants to say more, but he cannot make his mouth form words, and he stays silent, wondering why the ghost before him has come to his rescue.

[highpri3stess]

Regret - Manjiro Sano

Warning: Angst with no comfort, character death, nudity (not sexually), making out, gang violence, unrequited love, use of guns, body mutilation, mentions of torture, falling out of love

Pairing: Manjiro "Mikey" Sano

Word count: 0.7k

Masterlist || Taglist form

Minors and ageless blogs dni

Mikey loved you.

He's always loved you from the day you two faced off during a gang battle between Toman and your gang. He'd never seen someone as resilient or as stubborn as you before, never lowering your head even when you lost to him. Maybe it was your pride that made him want you - despite the humiliating defeat that ended in getting absorbed into Toman, you held yourself with dignity and prided yourself in not giving in to the tempting offer of friendship Mikey tried to extend to you.

Or is it your tough exterior that softened bit by bit with every act of genuine kindness he showed you? Mikey had heard casually from your only friend that you had an unloving home and it just made him want to whisk you away from such an unhappy life. Life came to Mikey when he felt your arms wrapping around his body while saying "thank you, thank you", before going to hug the teddy bear he had gotten for you in your arms.

Or is it the fact you never feared him or what he would become? Not even when he started Kanto Manji gang did you ever stop trying to see him again. You were going on the path of destruction with your eyes wide open, playing with fire when you kissed him for the first time. He was supposed to tell you not to look for him again when he came to your house, but he ended up kissing you back with much vigor and pinning you down on the bed, before attacking you with even more kisses and groping hands.

All the pent up feelings were bared as you two lay on the bed, breathless after making out; you would be by his side no matter what.

He loved you. He loved you so much it hurt both you and him, but it is you who takes the whole brunt of the pain in this relationship.

Because why else is he always the one hurting you? Why is he holding the gun to your head because of one silly rumor? He knows you didn't betray him but why can't he stop himself from ending your life?

"Mikey I didn't do it, I swear." Your voice cracks underneath the pressure of being bound with his gun digging into the back of your head. Sweat and tears mix as they roll down your face, wetting your blindfold and staining the floor of his expensive carpet with wet droplets. "All I do is stay by your side, I would never betray you. I can't betray you, Mikey."

You begging him should have gotten to him, but at this point, he's numb. Mikey knows you're innocent, everyone knows that too, because you live for Mikey. You left everything behind and endured seeing Mikey with multiple women, even to the point of over-hearing sinful moaning sounds when you stood guard in front of his door without shedding a single tear in public. You endured every task he threw at you, every moment where pretended he never knew you, just to be with him.

You endured weeks of torture just to prove your innocence to a man that has condemned you to death. You're stripped naked, bound, two fingers, three toes missing, welts decorating your skin and yet you can still -still call him "Mikey" in that tired tone of yours.

You've endured enough though, Mikey just wants to put an end to your long sufferring.

"Any last words, (name)?"

It's the last nail to your coffin. His voice is devoid of any emotion and he knows that it hurts you with the way your head and shoulders sag weakly. You only flinch when he cocks his gun and presses it to the back of your head forcefully, nudging it forwards. "I'm giving you one more chance to speak since we are old friends." An old friend. Not even his first love or the woman he lost his virginity too, just another old friend of his that has fallen from grace. "I usually don't do this, so be quick."

His words already killed you before you died.

"I'm scared." Your voice was tiny and your lips trembled with fear. "Mikey I'm so scared." You finally got out, fresh tears pouring down your face. "Don't hate me too Mikey, please. Not you too."

"Are you done talking?"

Before you could answer, a loud bang set off and your body fell forwards with a dull thud. It didn't take long for blood to pool around your head and the life in your eyes to go out completely. Mikey tucks his gun back in his holster and steps over your dead body, telling Sanzu to "clean up this mess" before walking out of the door of his office, slamming it shut.

It was bound to happen anyways. Just looking at you made him sick, a constant reminder of what he could have had if he didn't succumb to darkness. Seeing you standing by his side no matter how many horrible things he had done made Mikey sick to his stomach. You shouldn't have stayed with him, you should have just left him alone when he fell in knee deep into sin. He became disgusted by your devotion, the butterflies in his belly turning into pins stabbing his stomach whenever he saw you.

You should have run away when you had the chance.

Mikey knew eventually that he was going to kill you. It was just a matter of when, not why. Even if he let you go, what use would you be to him without a few fingers and toes? Can he even love you again after everyone had seen your nakedness? Won't that spur you to betray him after all the pain he put you through?

He wished he never loved you. Mikey regrets ever loving you in the first place.

Everything with you was a mistake.

"In your next life, (name), hate me."

monica©2022 do not steal or copy my works. do not promote my work on tiktok or any other site. likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

[duskoon]

Yandere!Pokèmon rankings:

❂) In this post, I will be ranking the yanderes within Pokèmon. Considering the large rooster, it will be edited multiple times as to include the remaining characters. ❂) It will be denoted by a ⭑. There’s five ranks, the first being the least intense whilst the fifth being the most intense. ❂) It will be based on the yandere’s presence in their s/o’s life, the length they will go to obtain their s/o, the danger they impose on others, and their possessiveness regarding their beloved. ❂) Character that have asterisk behind their name, may change ranking later on.

Tw: Yandere themes, Disturbing themes, Obsessive behaviours, Possessive behaviours, Mentions of torture, Implied murder, Stalking, Conditioning, Brainwashing, Implied Stockholm syndrome, Manipulation, Psychological abuse, Power imbalance, Unhealthy relationship, Blackmailing, Corruption, Sadism, Bribery, Criminal activities, Abuse of authority, Violence, Dead dove: do not eat.

⭑⭒⭒⭒⭒~Harmless, albeit uncanny.

Presence:Unnoticed. Possessiveness:Extremely low. Manipulative:Extremely low to none. Danger:Minimal.

Those within this category are slightly delusional, yet mild in nature. You might find some insignificant items missing, like a hair pin or brushes. Perhaps, even finding a sweet love letter and a gift on your nightstand from a secret admirer.

They are working hard behind the scenes to protect and serve their darling in any way they possibly can. And, would do so without inciting violence whatsoever or cause unnecessary bloodshed. They revere their darling and by extension their relatives, so long they aren’t abusive towards their beloved.

Most won’t initiate contact with their darling, and would prefer watching them from a safe distant as not to scare them away. If they did come out, they will wax praises and pamper them. Overall, the best yanderes to get stuck with seeing that they’re the least overbearing and manipulative.

Erika

Prof. Elm

Prof. Birch

Alder

N Harmonia(Game & Masters & Generations)

Kahili

Leaf/Green

Red

⭑⭑⭒⭒⭒~Supportive, with a wary streak.

Presence:Noticeable, yet somewhat amiable. Possessiveness:Low. Manipulative:Low. Danger:Low.

Unlike the previous category, these yanderes are more involved in their darling’s life. However, it isn’t with a malicious intent as they only seek the best for them. They are confident in their abilities to mask their obsessive tendencies, in hopes of supporting their beloved. All they want for their s/o is success and would ensure it occurs, even if they have to tweak the system in their favour.

Some would feel guilty, but would eventually delude themselves into thinking that is the best course of action. Most within this category, would try and sway their darling from other people if they personally felt their beloved was threatened. Which is almost, if not, always. If they happen to come across as manipulative, they won’t notice owing to how paranoid and/or delusional they are.

However, they refuse to use physical violence in their confrontation with the assailant. The weight of their words alone should be sufficient in getting them out of the picture. For the most part, they are easily manageable so long you don’t push them away too hard. You would still have your personal agency and autonomy intact.

Blue/Gary

Koga

Sabrina

Lorelei

Prof. Sycamore

Crasher Wake

Fantina

Burgh

N Harmonia(Pokèmon Adventures)

Flint

Elesa

Caitlin

Prof. Juniper(Game)

Guzma

James

Prof. Kukui

Prof. Burnet

Shelly

Matt

*Archer

Petrel

⭑⭑⭑⭒⭒~Danger under the guise of a protecter.

Presence:Overbearingly noticeable. Possessiveness:Medium to high. Manipulative:Medium. Danger:Fluctuating; with a preference to render the opposition defenceless.

Things start to take a turn from this rank and onwards. Yanderes from within this classification would limit their beloved interactions with the external world as much as possible. Mainly due to the nature of their work, or they had previously lost a partner pokémon and would prefer for history not to repeat itself with their beloved. Which makes them seem controlling and rigid in hindsight.

In contrast with the ranks above, they are willing to use violence if they deem it necessary enough to protect their darling. However, they won’t go too far to kill for that goes against their disposition and would cripple their image. In addition of using abusing their respective positions, to keep their s/o alongside them.

Also, they won’t shy away from framing any suspicious individuals for a crime they have not committed for the greater good of their darling. It shouldn’t be that hard considering they hold a significant amount of influence in their regions/organisations. Which would cements them as trustworthy figures. Your personal agency and autonomy starts to dwindle.

Lt. Surge

Bruno

Lance

Norman

Glacia

Steven Stone

Maxie

Archie

Byron

Volkner

Lucien

Cynthia

Looker

Jupiter(Game)

Saturn(Game)

Mars(Game)

Brycen

Drayden

Grimsley

Marshal

Prof. Juniper(Pokémon Adventures)

Malva

Olivia

Nanu

Jessie

Lusamine(Masters)

Ariana

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭒~Run, hide, disguise, and repeat.

Presence:Uncomfortably felt, but not seen. Possessiveness:High. Manipulative:High. Danger:Fluctuating.

They resemble the first rank in the manner they conduct themselves, completely blind from the public’s sight. Yet, their motives are wholly different. They are keeping tabs on you, so they could pinpoint your attributes and use it to their advantage later on. It might take months, even years to plan and execute their scheme. But, they are willing to wait for the right opportunity to do so.

They are self-assured that their efforts will not be for nought, because they will make sure of it by any means available to them. Yanderes within this grouping are elusive, deliberate, and pragmatic in their methods of collecting their beloved and aren’t susceptible to attempts of manipulation.

If there are alternatives that will not attract the attention of the Interpol toward themselves, then they will absolutely take it. Rather than resort to an avoidable murder out of abrupt jealousy. They will only kill, if their hands is forced. Granted that, it will be behind the back of their beloved.

They hold their darling in the highest regards, to the point that the yandere will most likely end up worshiping them. That is the main reason on why they start the process of isolating and conditioning you. So, that you can be receptive only to their affection after your “relocation”. Which is not a matter of if, but when. Escaping them is nigh-impossible, as they have vast resources to find you again. It will definitely not end up very well for you, once they do manage to find you.

Your personal agency -at this point- is very restricted, whilst your autonomy is threatened at best. A word of advise to follow is to run, hide, disguise while you can, and better hope that they do not apprehend you.

Proton

Courtney

Jupiter(Pokémon Adventures)

Saturn(Pokémon Adventures)

Mars(Pokémon Adventures)

Cyrus

Colress(Game & Generations)

Lysandre

Faba

⭑⭑⭑⭑⭑~ Arceus, have mercy on you.

Presence:Frightening, yet remains hidden to untrained eyes. Possessiveness:Extremely. Manipulative:Extremely. Danger:Do absolutely not engage with them at any point.

Kill, maim, torture, bribery, blackmailing, and all those just to get their darling. Do not be mistaken, despite that they remain strategic and level-headed in their means like the rank above. Yet, what separates them is their modus operandi. They’re far more selfish and crueller. No moral restrains to hold them back.

Some would murder to make an example of the people, who dared to leer their disgusting eyes on their beloved. They would even make so, that the murder are not directly traced back to them. Yanderes within this rank are likely to be lucid, save for few. They are notable for their shrewdness, controlling, sadistic, and machiavellian deception.

Their area of influence is substantial and much feared comparable to the third rank; it slithers down to the offices of politicians. Which gives them the perfect opportunity to offer them this wonderful “proposal”. They either choose to hand over their beloved, or else the blood of their own people will be on their hands. May-haps a humiliating scandal from their past will make them budge, if they were not concerned for the well being of their people.

Before that, they prefer to try their hands on subtler methodologies. Such as offering their beloved to live with them, if accepted then it will make the processes smoother. Otherwise, they will make sure that you throughly regret your choice. They will toy with your fears, dreams, and values until your mind finally crumbles and submit to their will. They will ensure that you can sense them, but be completely helpless against them. (Usually, by sending their underlings to observe you. It is obvious to you, but not to others. Which makes it harder on your part to seek help. The people you’re seeking help from either would accuse you of paranoia or they were bribed not to help you.)

Pleas of help are utterly useless, as they have absolute control in places where only your mind can imagine. Tis but a price for your disobedience, they say. Once you’re in their hold, they will addle your mind. So much, that the only thing left in your head is to venerate them as much as they do to you. After all, they are the only one who you can truly depend on and love. For they have sheltered and took care of you, in your time of need. Your sense of self has been fully compromised.

Ghetsis

*Colress(Pokèmon Adventures)

Giovanni

Lusamine(Game, especially S/M)

Sird

{Reblogs and feedback are much appreciated.}

[mean-and-rwde]

TW: suicide

Personal feelings rant about the recent episode.

If I saw this sort of episode content not even a few months ago (ESPECIALLY without a PROPER fucking warning), it would have honestly destroyed me. I was not in a good place then, and seeing how CRWBY has yet again written suicide like a good thing / solution / etc...

If they're gonna insist on writing such a heavy topic; one, they shouldn't treat it as a positive outcome; two, use a PROPER FUCKING trigger warning! Distressing themes could mean literally ANYTHING. And calling suicide a "distressing theme" is just. Awful. There's a way I'm trying to describe it, but basically, by simply calling it a distressing theme, it downplays how actually fucking serious and terrifying being / knowing someone who is suicidal.

I may not have cared much for Little, but on-screen animal death without warning? What the fuck. Not even gonna TALK about what the fuck was up with the cat and Neo. Holy fuck.

Add to all that the fact that WBY just stands there like "Oh no! Anyways, I can't do shit." and this is definitely the most insensitive writing of suicide yet. The fact that fucking YANG just STANDS THERE AND DOES NOTHING when she's Ruby's goddamn SISTER actually pisses me off.

I'm the older sibling, and let me just say that if I saw my brother depressed as fuck then outright suicidal, and I did nothing, I would literally take my own life if he were to actually do it and I just watched like :|

It brings back a thought I often had during that time: no one would care if I died, even if they saw me do it.

Which my family thankfully proved wrong, even if mom's solution was to drag my ass to the ER where they almost didn't let me go after one person talked to me for like 5 minutes when I'd been there for hours.

I can handle bloody stuff, but that's because the shows I watch often have such themes naturally. The disclaimer warning about disturbing content and the nature of said content makes the warning a lot clearer. You know you're likely gonna see some weird / fucked up shit.

RWBY isn't like that. Bloody on-screen injuries / deaths are not nearly as common. Clover's death was easily the most graphic.

Pyrrah and Penny's deaths were haunting, even if there was no blood. Penny's second death barely showed her - the only reason we know it happened is because we saw Jaune holding his sword, then there was some blood. Ironwood died as Atlas fell, without so much as taking one final shot at the main villian + Cinder. Pietro and Maria may as well be dead for all the fucks the show / mains give. I could go on, but you get the idea.

This has become a disturbing trend within the show, but this recent example has been the worst offender of not only the harmful idea that suicide is a solution / good thing, but also a vague trigger warning that does fuck all. Distressing themes does not warn of suicide, animal death, literal torture, whatever the fuck happened with Neo and the Curious Cat, etc.

I have not seen the episode(s) in question, and I don't think I will. In fact, I may drop the series altogether.

[End Rant]

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

I am hereby adding my own request into the Spicy spring fling lot💖

Being a notorious Bottom Melkor lover I would very much want to see our dear dark Lord have a lovely first time with his most trusted balrog Gothmog in the times of Utumno before Mairon was seduced💖💖

I possible I'd want to see these prompts/dialogues used: 29&12 from the first time list, "I like being close to you, you're warm"&"Don'tmind me, just enjoying the view" from the vanilla list and lastly number 23 "say my name" from the spicy list.

For the spiciness the hotter the better so bring on the INFERNO!🔥🔥🔥

I brought the inferno. I think.

“Take the reins”

Prompts: "I like being close to you, you're warm" & "Don't mind me, just enjoying the view" & "say my name"

Pairing: Melkor x Gothmog

Themes: Slowburn | Smut | Soft

Warnings: Mentions of prisoners being tortured | Monster fucking (Gothmog in an elf mixed with demon-ish? Fana) | Dom Sub aspects | First time | Bondage (hands)| Impact play (Spanking) | Biting / Marking | Blindfolds | Choking | Dirty talk | Explicit language | Penetrative sex | Cream pie | Oral

Word count: 3k words

Summary: Melkor finally understands the freedom that comes with letting someone else take control. (Or, the one where Bottom Melkor realizes he enjoys being Bottom Melkor.) 

Rating: 🔥🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 18+

Want to be tagged? Want to know the rules? Read all here.

The stream of silver light rose higher and higher, first cresting over the peaks of nearby mountains before spreading out all over the darkened sky. The silver light belonged to the tree many called Telperion, and the gold light that would come later belonged to the one called Laurelin. Gothmog cared not one whit what the others called either tree. His eyes saw no beauty in them and he decided to leave the ramparts. As High Captain of Utumno, he had other duties to see to.

As he descended deeper into the fortress, the noises from within grew louder. The sounds of artificers hard at work, the roar of furnaces, the shouts of orcs and goblins, and, beneath it all, the screams of new prisoners. Gothmog easily turned a deaf ear to the latter. He thought the Eldar were fools. If they had only recognized Melkor’s authority over them instead of resisting, they would have been among those like him instead of suffering unending torment.

Gothmog’s thoughts went back to the new lights. His lord had been wroth when his attempt to destroy the Lamps resulted in the two Trees. When they told him of the trees and the light they shed, Melkor’s fury had been a fearsome thing to behold. Oh, he had calmed, but only after he had taken his anger out on the first lot of prisoners that had caught his attention. And now he was in his private chambers, brooding as always. This was how Gothmog found him—seated by a table filled with food, staring into his goblet of wine.

They did not need to eat, drink, or even sleep, for that matter. None of the Ainur required such things, but they liked to indulge. Not just food and drink and sleep, but in other, more pleasurable pursuits as well. Oh, Gothmog eagerly partook, but from what he heard from the others, Melkor rarely did.

He found it all very interesting.

"What news?" Melkor continued to stare into his wine. After his attempts to destroy the Lamps only resulted in the creation of the Trees, Melkor found that what little he had indulged in had lost all flavour.

Gothmog stood to attention by the door, lest his lord turns and find him showing any sign of disrespect. "Many and more Ainur are joining your cause, sire. I received word Aulë’s favourite has been listening and is intrigued."

"Mairon. The artificer without peer."

"So they say, sire."

"So they say. What do you say, High Captain?"

Gothmog swallowed and considered his words. Melkor had never sought his counsel in such a manner and he had to tread very carefully. One wrong turn of phrase and he would be joining those rotting in cells deep within the bowels of the fortress.

"He is quite skilled; I have seen some evidence of it myself." He kept standing at attention, his eyes fixed firmly on the wall before him. "As for him being without peer, I would think the firstborn son of Finwë may have something to say about that."

"Fëanor," Melkor spat and slammed his goblet on the table, spilling wine all over. He rose from his chair and started pacing the room like an angry beast. "He shut the door to me, the fucking fool."

He had gone and said the wrong thing. Gothmog thought frantically and settled on playing to Melkor’s ego. "He is, sire," he said quickly, "A fool. You are wise to see it. Truth be told, I think most of them are."

Melkor stopped his pacing and studied his High Captain Keenly. As the leader of the Valaraukar he very much looked the part, all tall and terrifying with those leathery wings and curved horns of his. But there was a strange beauty to him, with his elf-like ears and elegant features. Melkor felt his very fëa stir by the image. He quickly found something else to look at, in case he gave himself away.

"Perhaps you are correct," He did not notice his captain’s jaw drop in absolute shock when he sat back down again. "The Eldar are all fools."

It was the first time Melkor had spoken so casually. Gothmog did not know what to make of it.

"So many burdens," Melkor sighed without even realizing it. "All of them growing heavier by the day. And my foes grow thick like weeds. Every time I rip them out more spring up in their place."

Such an exchange would never have happened before. More at ease, Gothmog felt a strange sense of courage surge through him, making him bolder. "You take too much onto your shoulders, sire."

"Perhaps," Melkor shrugged.

"Perhaps you should let someone else take the reins," Gothmog could not seem to stop himself. Something wicked and daring took root, something that seemed determined to take control of his tongue. "In some capacity at least."

Melkor turned his head. "What did you say?"

"What I meant is," the words stumbled out before Gothmog could even think them through. "It could be very liberating to hand over control to someone else and for you not to have to burden yourself, sire. Even for a little while."

He quickly bit his tongue. Melkor glared, his inky black eyes as cold as the winters that ravaged the region. His countenance was a mask, one that gave nothing away. Oh, but he was thinking, even if he did not wish to show it.

To let someone else take control for once. Melkor would not even dream of relinquishing control of his rule. That would never happen. But to let someone else hold the reins in other aspects...

His High Captain was one of those who partook in as many physical pleasures as possible. He had experience in ways Melkor could not even begin to fathom. 

He looked at the table, at the rich food, and at what was left of his wine. Nothing appealed to him and he was starting to understand why. There had been another hunger within him, one he had neglected for as long as he had existed. It had to be satisfied, he knew that, but he had no inkling of how to do it. His gaze slowly cut to Gothmog again.

It would be very liberating to hand over control to someone else, Gothmog had said. Perhaps this should be put to the test.

"Would you like to do it?" Melkor said lightly, "Take the reins?"

Gothmog turned and stared. "Sire?"

"Take control," Melkor said with a casual air even as anticipation grew. "Not when it comes to the ruling, of course, but in an intimate fashion."

There was that wicked and daring feeling again. This time it had grown stronger and Gothmog caught on to what Melkor was hinting at. Still, he wanted to hear the words spoken out loud. "Take control in what way, sire?"

"The way you said, with me allowing you to take control. Of me." Melkor looked over his shoulder and found Gothmog locking the doors to his chambers. He faced forward again, a rare smile on his face. "What do you think, High Captain? Is this possible?"

"Perhaps," Gothmog made his way towards the table, ready to turn and leave at a moment’s notice. And behave as if their entire exchange never took place. "But that would mean submitting completely. Can you do it?"

Melkor swallowed, feeling oddly bashful for the first time ever. Submitting completely. It may hurt his pride to do so, but the notion of submitting completely to another felt rather enticing at the same time.

"I think I can," he said and pushed his chair back. Melkor rose, not knowing what else to say or do or expect. All of this was completely new to him. "But how?"

"Leave it to me." Gothmog took his lord’s hand, giddy with anticipation. Until they were done he would be the master and Melkor the obedient servant, something he could not have imagined even in his wildest dreams. "Now, show me where the bed is."

It was not far, and it was surprisingly elegant. Gothmog expected something sparse and rather somber, but the large bed with its silk sheets, the polished stood floor and the exquisite furniture were all unexpected. And that bed gave him ideas.

"Your garments are too much," Gothmog said. "Relieve yourself of them."

Melkor complied. It was all oddly thrilling, letting someone else issue the orders and him obeying in return. His armour had to be undone, then his clothes, his boots. When his fana was fully exposed he found himself flushing.

"What now?" He mumbled under his breath.

"In bed." Having already gotten a taste for commanding his superior, Gothmog fully intended on making the most of it. Besides, he had to admit that Melkor was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He almost felt bad about the notion of wanting to ruin that beauty a little. Almost. That feeling went away quickly when he came up with his next order. "And keep your hands over your head."

The urge to submit grew easier now and made his very fana tingle. Melkor did as he was bid, watching Gothmog strip.

His second-in-command had skin like beaten copper. Eyes that were afire. Silky black hair that gleamed and his nails... Melkor found himself aching to feel those nails rake over his skin. When Gothmog came over, it was with his whip in hand. Melkor obediently lifted his arms and watched once more while his hands were bound at the wrists before they were secured to a bedpost. He tried to move them and found that he could not. It made him feel vulnerable. He loved it. When he looked around, he found Gothmog by the side of the bed again, his sash in hand.

"Do not mind me," his second-in-command said in a voice that had already gone rough. "I am just enjoying the view. Now. Keep still."

Melkor nodded, wondering what he was up to. Gothmog surprised him by coming over and blindfolding him with the same sash. It was soft and thick. Melkor could not see anything, could not anticipate what was going to happen next. It excited him even more. "What happens now?"

"You no longer get to ask such things of me," Gothmog was very much the one in charge now. "Not until I am done with you. Until then, you must obey."

Obey. Melkor never had it in him to obey. His every instinct was to go against the urge. "I cannot do it," he whined despite himself, all eager thoughts of submission forgotten. "Not complete..."

A slap stung his thigh, and he gasped. A second quickly followed on the heels of the first. "You do not speak unless you are spoken to." Gothmog's words had a steely edge to them. It made Melkor hard. "Is that understood?"

"Yes," Melkor whimpered weakly, even as he gave in to Gothmog's authority.

"Will you obey?"

"Yes."

"Fucking pathetic," Gothmog grinned wickedly, eyeing Melkor like a predator sizing up its prey. The greatest of them all was yielding to him, a mere Maia, and he could not get enough of it. "The greatest amongst the Ainur yielding so easily."

Bound and unable to leave the bed, Melkor could do nothing but agree. Truth be told, he liked being degraded in such a manner.

Another slap stung his thigh and Melkor moaned. Gothmog eyed his whip, feeling sorry that he had to use it to bind Melkor’s hands. It did not matter. There were other things he could do. Melkor, on the other hand, could do nothing but wait. His restraints and lack of sight meant he had to rely on what remained to him—touch, sound, and scent mostly. And the scent of iron and flames and the chill from the world outside clung to Gothmog’s skin like perfume. He wanted to say something about it, about how good it was, but then he remembered the role he undertook.

He had to submit. And obey. And only speak when spoken to, lest he ruin everything. With a frustrated groan, he bit his tongue.

Gothmog heard it and grinned. He got in bed, his large frame making the bedding sink even more from the weight. Melkor took a deep breath, readying himself for what could happen next. Gothmog said nothing and gave nothing away. He moved between Melkor’s legs and spread them apart. His hands were hot, not that Melkor felt any discomfort in them. His fana could tolerate far more than that.

A fourth slap made him moan Gothmog’s name. The sound was like sweet music to the Balrog’s ears.

"Say my name," he commanded before making Melkor’s thigh sting again. "Say it!"

The pain and pleasure and heat that came from the flat of Gothmog’s hand rendered him lightheaded and dizzy and willing to do anything. His High Captain’s name fell off his lips repeatedly, and Gothmog laughed triumphantly.

"Listen to you," he growled. "Crying out for me like a needy little slut already. I should make you do it more often."

He dipped his head to taste, running his lips over the insides of Melkor’s thighs and belly, his sharp teeth leaving bruises wherever they marked, his growls muffled against Melkor’s skin. Melkor writhed beneath him as Gothmog kissed and marked his way higher and higher, stopping at the crook of his neck.

"Kiss me," he craved one desperately and was willing to go against their rules to beg for it if need be. "Please." 

Gothmog’s growl was low in his throat. Once, he decided. He would indulge Melkor’s request just once. His kiss was demanding, hungry, and far from tender. He gripped Melkor’s face with his hand while they kissed, his teeth leaving his lord’s lips swollen and bruised, his nails digging into soft flesh. When his tongue slipped past Melkor’s lips the latter nearly sobbed.

How could a being that dealt out death and torment arouse such a fiery need? One that grew only stronger with each passing moment? Melkor did not know the answer. All he did know was that he was going to look forward to more of such encounters.

Nails started to rake down his torso, his thighs, making him arch his back. "By the time you walk out of these chambers," Gothmog hissed in his ear, "Everyone will know who you belong to."

"Yes," Melkor could not help but agree. Gothmog's nipping at his throat and making him moan with pleasure rendered him unable to do anything else. "All will see."

The spikes that went down the length of his spine right up to the tip of his tail grew heated; their veins of fiery red, yellow, orange, and gold slowly sparked to life, the air around them smoldering. Gothmog felt his wings shake and his need for more grow. He spread Melkor’s legs further apart, his hand gripping at his lord hip and lifting his back off the mattress. Melkor braced himself.

A slick finger penetrated his hole, slowly opening him up with careful thrusts. "Such an obedient slut you are," Gothmog groaned deeply when Melkor rolled his hips. "Taking me without complaint."

"Yes," Melkor responded eagerly as jolts of pleasure washed all over him. "I am an obedient slut."

"My slut, yes?"

"Yes!" Melkor’s back arched as a second finger joined the first. "Your slut!"

Gothmog growled again, his entire fana trembling when he pulled out and held onto Melkor’s hip tight this time. Holding his erection with his free hand he entered Melkor again, carefully, hesitantly, before finally pushing through. He was in him, felt him, all of him. He barely heard his name come out in half-moan, half-whimper.

His name. Just his. Gothmog savoured it and kept still for a moment, letting Melkor get used to having his cock inside him. He ran his hands over Melkor’s thighs, his flesh now scorching against Melkor’s own. Greed and lust soon became too much to bear and he started to move. Melkor felt his fana being pushed higher up the bed repeatedly. He could see nothing, all he could do was feel.

And he felt so much, from the heat radiating from Gothmog’s body, to hips slapping against the insides of his thighs, the nails that marred his fana every time they raked over his skin. The sensations that came with it all—the pain and the pleasure, especially the pleasure—were unlike anything Melkor had ever experienced. He thought he could easily become intoxicated by this.

Gothmog moved his hand over Melkor’s throat, applying gentle pressure every time he pushed back in. His grip would tighten and release, tighten and release. His own thrusts grew erratic, his fana tensing like bowstring, his moans matching Melkor’s. Soon. It was going to happen soon. His fana shivered and jolted. One last thrust was all it took. One last thrust, one deep, satisfying grunt as his orgasm ripped through him. His nails dug into Melkor’s silver-grey skin, leaving little gouges as he spilled his seed.

The weight in the bed shifted as Gothmog slowly pulled away. Melkor was still bound, his own needs unmet. "Please," he begged. "Do not make me wait any longer."

If not for the blindfold Melkor could have easily seen Gothmog’s wolfish grin. "I like you begging," he said. "Do it again."

Melkor pleaded without shame. "Please, please, please. Just finish me off. Make me come. Please."

"Needy sluts should not be rewarded so easily," Gothmog dipped his head and ran his tongue up Melkor’s shaft. The moan that followed was the most guttural he had ever heard. "But I suppose I can give you what you desire so desperately."

Melkor struggled against his restraints when Gothmog took all of him into his wet mouth. He groaned when Gothmog lay a hand over his stomach, to stop him from moving so much. It did not take very long; Melkor could not hold on for much longer. His fana shuddered violently as he climaxed, his warmth filling Gothmog’s mouth.

The haze he found himself in slowly lifted when Gothmog undid his whip and removed the blindfold. Melkor blinked his eyes as clarity slowly came to him.

Words could not describe what happened or how Gothmog made him feel. Words would not be enough, and he was unsure how he could even begin explaining. He looked up at his captain, utterly satisfied, and came up with one final request.

"Stay with me. I like being close to you, you are warm."

Tags: @cilil @edensrose @asianbutnotjapanese @fictionfordays

[holylulusworld]

I'm wondering, because I forgot.

When Sam wanted to deal with a demon but they all refused, wasn't because he was linked to Azazel or Lucifer and inferior demons were afraid to step on their way and to be extinguished ?

They needed Dean in hell. He broke the fist seal by saying yes to Alastair. (When he agreed to torture people.)

Originally, they wanted John to break and "say" yes. But he didn't - and he got out of hell when the gates opened after Jake used the colt.

Alastair tells him so when Dean tortures him...

TW: Blood under the cut

[liiilyevans]

I prefer hiding in plain sight

My fourth drink in my hand

These desperate prayers of a cursed man

Spilling out to you for free

Or, Draco spills his secrets when he's had too much to drink. (Thank you @cruelsummer-ficfest for giving me this song!)

TW: mentions of torture, mentions of suicide

Read on AO3

There was a reason Draco never got drunk, or at least, he’d gotten better at not getting too drunk. And it was because he talked entirely too much when he was drunk, his sarcasm out of control and what little filter he did have thrown to the wind. So, he’d taken to drinking in private after a disastrous visit to Blaise’s house where he’d not only questioned the sincerity of his engagement to Pansy, but also whether she would make it out of the first year of her marriage alive. Certainly not his finest moment. 

But how could he resist another drink when someone as beautiful as Astoria Greengrass was topping off his wine? 

Frankly, it was a miracle Astoria was even speaking to him. It was no secret that she had supported Harry Potter long before the Dark Lord’s return. She had been one of the few Slytherin purebloods who opposed the abhorrent treatment of Muggleborns. Despite her sister’s association with the children of former Death Eaters, Astoria had kept her reputation clean while at Hogwarts. From what he remembered, she had defended a Muggleborn who had been sorted into Slytherin while everyone else in their house had treated him as a social pariah. Astoria hated Death Eaters. Meaning she hated him. 

Or so, he’d thought. 

Since the war had ended, he had run into her a few times, and she had always been cold towards him, condemnation evident in her eyes. Her sister had also let it slip that she had a good working relationship with Harry Potter of all people. What would a war hero like Harry Potter like about a pureblood princess like Greengrass? Draco figured it had something to do with her brashness and her loudmouth. 

When he’d found her sitting alone at a corner table at the Goyles’ first ball of the year, he’d been prepared to piss off and find himself another hiding spot. Astoria had surprised him though with tired eyes and a small smile gracing her red lips. She’d nodded to the seat next to her, and Draco had felt drawn to her, perhaps because she looked as lonely and lost as he felt. 

Then she’d flagged a waiter down and demanded a bottle of wine. Red. Pinot noir not cabernet. 

When they finished the first bottle and Astoria was asking for another, Draco realized he should have stopped. He felt at ease for once, his stomach no longer tied up in knots of anticipation. His cheeks felt warm, no doubt a result of all the alcohol he’d consumed. Instead of drumming against the table, his fingers were relaxed, one hand resting on his knee and the other resting on the table. He was dangerous when he got comfortable.

Astoria didn’t look like the alcohol had bothered her at all, her hair still up in the elegant twist only one stray strand resting against her cheek. It framed her face nicely, showing off the angle of her jawline. Her lips were still painted that dark red as if that was the color of her lips all the time and not merely pigmented oil. When she wasn’t cold and aloof, Astoria was quite pretty. 

Not that he was allowed to think about that. She’d hex him if she could perform Legilimency. 

“Remind me why you still come to these parties, Greengrass?” 

He wasn’t drunk enough to call her by her first name. 

“Why wouldn’t I come to these parties?” She rested her chin delicately on her knuckles. Draco wondered if her hands felt as soft as they looked. 

“Because you stand against everything that these parties represent?” he said, waving his glass around wildly. It was a miracle none of the wine ended up on his hand. “Opulence? Luxury? Money?”

Her lips quirked up into a smirk. “I like expensive things.” She gestured to the satin gown she was wearing. “This is by Blanchet.”

The French designer. Draco was familiar with him only because his mother always raved about what a genius he was. And Astoria’s dress looked stunning on her. It was a deep red color, nearly the same shade as her lips. The halter top fastened around her neck, and a deep V traveled from her collarbone past her breasts to the middle of her stomach. The skirt flowed freely around her, nothing like the poofy monstrosities that some of the girls had chosen to wear tonight. The delicate skin of her back was on display as well. Draco tried to keep his eyes away from there, as well as away from her breasts, and it was proving to be more difficult as the night wore on. 

“Say what you really meant, Draco.” It was the first time she’d said his first name, and he thought it sounded more seductive than she meant for it to. Her voice had dropped a few octaves, giving it a more breathy quality. She was challenging him. 

Draco leaned toward her, anger spearing through his stomach. Her chin was resting on her hand while her elbow sat on the table, something his mother would have killed him for. When he leaned forward, he expected her to jerk back, like just being within a few inches of him would taint her, but she didn’t give an inch. Instead, the smell of jasmine and cedar invaded his senses like he was invading her space. 

“The ostentatiousness? The forced niceties? The hatred of Mudbloods?” It wasn’t something he would normally admit, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue. In the few conversations he had with her, she had made it abundantly clear where she stood before and after the war. Luckily for her, that was the winning side. 

“There you are,” she muttered as if she’d finally cracked the shell of an oyster to find a pearl inside. “Where was all that fire during the war, Draco?” 

It was like someone had doused him in the Black Lake in the middle of winter, his anger completely smothered. Draco reclined back in his chair, his gaze lingering on the couples on the dance floor rather than Astoria and her perceptive eyes. He thought he spotted Greg coaxing Millicent Bulstrode onto the floor. Astoria’s gaze was burning a hole into his head, her brown eyes alight with some emotion Draco couldn’t name. 

“I was too busy trying to survive my own home to really fight in anyone’s war,” Draco finally muttered, taking another sip of his wine. It had all seemed like some grand adventure, taking up his father’s mantle and restoring his family’s reputation. Then, he was told to kill his headmaster, and that fantasy had crumbled to ashes bit by bit. He rested his hand on the table. “My aunt lived with us, you know.” 

“Bellatrix Lestrange?” 

When they’d started talking so quietly, Draco had no idea. All he knew was that thinking about Aunt Bella made his head hurt, and he needed more wine if he was going to have this conversation. He nodded to the bottle, and Astoria topped off his glass. 

He took a sip. “I don’t know what she was like before she went to Azkaban.” His mother knew, of course, but he had never bothered to ask her. “But she was . . . volatile when she lived with us.” That was putting it mildly. “Sometimes, she’d be in a good mood, which for her meant obsessing over the Dark Lord, and other times she’d be agitated, snappy. Then, she’d take her mood out on the first person to upset her. And it depended on the day if she used her words, her wand, or her knives.” 

Astoria flinched. It satisfied Draco. She was always so self-righteous because her father was never involved with the war, like she was leagues better than the rest of their high society. While she might have briefly experienced what it was like to live with Death Eaters, that had been Draco’s hell for two years. Snape had credited Aunt Bella with teaching him Occlumency — and she had — but he had never bothered to learn the methods she used. She considered Draco to be a terribly bright student, but that meant her expectations of him were incredibly high. Whenever he wasn’t performing up to her standards, he was punished with gruesome images that ranged from his mother hanging herself to his father’s soul being sucked out by Dementors. Draco had quickly learned to block his aunt’s attacks and earn her praise. He’d been so idealistic at the time — so blinded by glory — that he thought she’d been making him better. 

“That’s awful,” Astoria breathed. 

Draco hummed in response. Ironically, it was living with Bellatrix and her penchant for torture that were partly to blame for his disillusionment with the Dark Lord and his cause. 

“Why didn’t you leave?” she asked.

“And go where?” Draco asked annoyed. As if leaving that house had ever been an option. His mother had kept him close the summer after his sixth year, terrified that the Dark Lord would send him on another ‘mission.’ By that time, regular meetings were being held at Malfoy Manor, which often included torture and occasionally murder. 

For once, Astoria seemed at a loss for words. She glanced down, her nail scratching against the mahogany table. Draco’s eyes raked over her again, and Merlin, she really was pretty. When she looked up again, Draco held her gaze, too drunk to care that he’d been caught staring. 

“I’m sorry,” Astoria said. “I didn’t realize . . .”

“That my life wasn’t as grandiose as you imagined?” he supplied bitterly. 

She looked away from him. “I thought you got a free pass. That because Harry testified at your trial, and you testified against other Death Eaters that you got off scotch free. I didn’t realize . . . what you went through.” 

Draco snorted. It shouldn’t have surprised him, and it really shouldn’t have hurt him, but it did. Of all the assumptions made about him, that one stung the most. It was easier to compartmentalize, he supposed, than to examine the realities of the war; that not everyone who was a Death Eater enjoyed the killing and the torture, that their souls weren’t completely black like that of his aunt, or that they might have suffered during the war, too. But no one wanted to hear those stories. 

“Well, my life certainly hasn’t been a jaunt in the woods.” It was more like a trip to the Forbidden Forest. 

Suddenly fingertips were wrapping around his forearm that rested on the table — the one where his Dark Mark was — and Astoria was leaning toward him, jasmine and cedar once again invading his space. Her hand was warm and soft around his arm, her touch gentle. There was a kindness in her eyes that chafed against him, like his regret for ever taking that mark did. 

“I am so sorry that happened to you,” she said softly. 

Draco snatched his arm away from her, and her brow furrowed in confusion. He’d said too much — let her see too much. Astoria hadn’t been touched by the war — not like he had. She’d only dealt with the regime at Hogwarts, which was a fucking walk in the park compared to the horrors he’d seen at his house. She didn’t know what it meant to be so bruised and battered on the inside that you didn’t even like yourself anymore.

“I don’t want your pity,” he sneered. 

She leaned away from him then, and he saw the wall shutter closed. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, and she gave a curt nod in understanding. Then, she stood up. Draco made no move to stop her, just watched her through narrowed eyes. 

“For what it’s worth,” she said softly. “I do feel sorry for you and for what you went through. If you ever want to talk about it, well, I’m sure you’re more than capable of finding my office in the Ministry.” 

And Draco was left with his wine and a cacophony of emotions that he would rather not sort through as he watched Astoria walk away from him. 

[longlivesteddie]

I need Steve to get tortured by Russians, Eddie finding him and going absolutely feral. Ready to kill anyone who touched the omega. (his omega)

[genavere]

February Whump Prompts – 2023, DAY 4: Knife to the Throat

Content Warnings: Mentions of Torture, SA, Blood, Semi-NSFW

Fandom: Fairy Tail - Natsu x Lucy

Knife to the Throat - Part 1 | 2 | 3

“Don’t!” The blade cut in deeper, a trickle of liquid slid down her throat. Briefly, a thought that it could be sweat from the summer heat, the lack of air circulation in the building, or from the situation Lucy found herself in brought some hope. But hope was fickle, and the rational part of her mind knew exactly what it was.

Hot, sticky blood.

“Don’t come any closer.” Her captor’s voice rasped in her ear. Spittle landed on her face and mixed with the sweat and dirt covering her. If she had the energy, she would have been disgusted, but there were more pressing matters at hand. Like the dagger at her throat.

In front of her, Natsu glared at her capture. Hands full of flames that symbolized his anger. Happy was no where in sight, but she reasoned that he might be bringing the others to their location.

The arm around her chest pulled her back against her captor’s chest and she let out a wail of disgust and pain. Her shirt lay in tatters on the ground where she had been. The skin of her back sliced and tattered, as well. For two days, the men they had been chasing had their freedom to do what they wanted with her. And for those two days, they had submitted her to tortures she never wished to experience again.

The only saving grace had been their lack of sexual approach to her. None had wanted to do anything in front of the others. The reason why was beyond her, but when the others had left earlier, the one that stayed behind had decided to try to satisfy himself.

Natsu had once again been her saving grace. Her dignity was still intact, but he had been faster than either expected and now her life hung in the balance.

“Let her go.” It was a warning, a threat, and a promise all in one. In the dark rumbling of his tones, she knew he promised this man no more sunrises. There would be at least one death between the three of them.

A warmth grew behind her, right on her butt cheeks through her torn skirt as she was pressed into him. The feeling grew, warm and wet, and then the smell hit her. A new layer of disgust sent shivers over her skin. The man must never have experienced the fury of a dragon slayer before since he pissed himself so easily.

If this man could only know the true nature of her dragon…

“This woman is mine—”

“No.” The voice echoed over the shack they were in, different from the cave they stay in the first night she was captive, and the cabin on the second night. “She will never be yours.” Natsu stepped forward. Heat spread around him, filling the small area.

Small bits of hay began to smoke and curl in as they burned. Down her back, she could feel the man’s sweat man his hold on her slick. Her arms were tied together, from wrist to elbow with them folded over each other. She could do nothing with them, but her legs were still free.

Brown irises met olive ones. His head shook in warning, telling her not to do anything stupid. Says the dragon slayer who always risks himself no matter what they tell him not to do! In answer, her lips pressed together, and he answered likewise.

“Stop that!” He pulled her back further, the blade slid a bit more and she stilled. Natsu stilled. Blood trinkled freely, but she was still safe…still alive. “I may be no wizard, but I can tell you two talk with mind flows.”

Natsu raised an eyebrow. “Mind flows?”

“Int speak,” he yelled. “Mind talk! Don’t make me regret you being here, y-you, uh, boy!”

Lucy closed her eyes, praying that it was not this lackluster man who took her life because of a simple dagger. Though, she tried to tell herself it was not just that.

One of the tools they favored to use on her had the capacity to sap her of any magic power and energy she had. When they thought she seemed lively again, another jolt of it tore through her entire being like a bolt from Laxus. Even if she had her keys, there was nothing in her reserves to call them forward. If she were honest with herself, the heaviness of her limbs and exhaustion she felt made her wary on if she could even walk on her own. Much less use any physical attacks she had trained in. Ones that her partner was not keen on her doing.

Being held hostage, once again, was not what she had wanted from this mission, but out of the circumstances, it had been a better outcome. It had been her and Wendy who had gone together to search for information on their targets while the others did their own investigating. Happy and Carla went off to survey the area, searching for any signs that might be missed from the ground. It was routine. Simple.

Compared to the wars and battles they had endured since the formation of Team Natsu, this mission was a piece of cake. Fairy Tail’s strongest team would take care of everything, destroy half of the town, lose part of their reward money, and go home tired and proud. Depending on their mood, they might even give in to their dragon slayers and walk home, taking time to camp and relax together.

That had been the plan.

The hand around her stomach shifted, bringing her attention back to the situation at hand. It caressed the underside of her breast, sending a curl of disgust through her. “S-stop…!”

Heat increased. Everything swam around them. Sweat dripped from her captor’s nose onto her shoulder and rolled down the front of her chest.

They would boil to death by the time this stalemate finished.

A rumbling filled the air, menacing. Terrifying. A spark of hope ignited in her.

“Let her go. Now.” Slow, drawn out, the words expressed his attitude over the situation. Natsu was done with this.

“S-she surrendered to us!” The man pulled her back, inching towards the back door. Towards the hope of escape and a touch of cool air. “That means she belongs to us!”

There was no lie in what he said. By the time she had surrendered, Wendy had been drained completely of energy and magic by a trap she had fallen in. Lucy had carried her for several miles as they tried to get back to the others. More traps had been laid out. Paths were cut off. Almost all of her own magic was used up when she realized if she did not do something, they would both be captured.

While the young dragon slayer might not like being treated differently, they all saw her as a younger sister. Someone they strove to teach, praise, and protect. So when it came to the point where they would have to either be captured together or one be willing to sacrifice for the other, Lucy made the call.

With the last of her strength, she called Loki forward, gave him her keys and told him to take Wendy as far as he could away from there. She knew if she ran out of magic power, that he could supply his own until he managed to get the girl to safety.

Before he could even argue, she told him of the strategy their pursuers had been using. Each time they set up traps or made them turn back, they set up parameters. There were only two areas left that she knew would likely still be open, and he had to use them while she distracted them.

She could utilize her star dress long enough to buy them time, and maybe open it so she could escape, as well. And with her whip, she had protection.

It had worked, well enough for Loki to get Wendy away, but she had been captured. That was fine, she had told herself. Natsu could track her easily and by nightfall, they would be back together.

What she had not counted on was being dragged behind a boat that flowed down river for half a day before she had been dragged, half drowned, out of the water, shivering and exhausted. Then they had started her torture.

Who would have thought being the pawn had meant her captors thought she was their property. If it had not been so ridiculous or the situation not so dire, she would have laughed.

Smoke rose from the piles of hay around them. Straw popping as it heated and began to catch on fire. The time had come.

She felt the blade fall slightly from her skin, giving her a bit of relief. The metal had begun to burn from the sweltering air. The sweat on both of their bodies mingled and soaked into clothes. When she got home, a long, cold shower would be needed to rid her of the feel of his body pressed against hers. His hands on areas that only her dragon slayer should be able to touch.

A shadow crossed the outside. His body tensed behind her, and she saw Natsu let out a targeted fire breath at the distraction.

Then the door in the back crashed open.

Her eyes flew open as he twisted, his arm pulled out of instinct.

“Lucy!”

A second later, the blood flowing down her throat shined as the line of fire smashed into her captor and engulfed him completely. Arms left her in a rush to put out what they could. In shock, her body fell, choking as she tasted blood in her mouth.

Familiar arms wrapped around her, kept her from falling to the soiled ground. A heated hand gripped the gushing wound on her neck as the heat intensified.

Through her tears, the last thing she remembered was the silent yelling from Natsu above her. His own tears mingled with hers and she thought, how sad it was that she would never see his grin again.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part 2

Not an original title, but I thought it made the most sense, lol. This prompt and the next one will be tied together, so there is a part two that will be posted tomorrow.

It has been strange that since I am out of town this weekend, I thought that it would be harder for me to get these prompts done. Yet, with trying to keep things calm in my head, it is nice to focus on writing and getting things out of my head.

This prompt came much easier than the flinching one, and I think flows better to.

Hope you enjoy!

@febuwhump @millennial-star-gazer

[five-nights-of-protagonists]

Despair family!Liz 🔪😈 to fox killer! Mike cause I’m in for some gory stuff between our psychopathic sibling

Michael giggled like a badman when the knife what jutted under his jaw in a threatening manner, some blood dripping from the corners of his lips with a mangled and partially eaten body behind him, the remains of a fire smoldering nearby.

"It's been a long time since someone had the guts to threaten me like this... I wonder what yours taste like." He told the girl, his insanity and the dark alleyway making it hard for him to see her clearly. "So, why'd you come after me? Did I kill and eat one of your parents or siblings? Or did I slowly torture your lover until they killed themselves to escape me?" He continued, showing just how insane he was. "To be fair, they would've done worse things to children, so, why not stop the problem at it's roots?!"

[askaeristheflower]

💉💉 Kunsel >:)

The door to the concrete cell opened and the flower girl didn’t dare lift her head up. It wasn’t like it would have done any good, they had her blindfolded as long as she’d been here. The only reason she knew it was concrete was because they had taken her boots and left her in her now blood soaked socks. They had taken her little red jacket too, not that it could have made her any more comfortable in the frigid room. Hells, who would be comfortable strapped to a chair and fitted with an electrical collar.

Maybe she should have listened all those years ago and gone with Shinra. Her mom would had been safe- Gods above she didn’t even know if her mother was safe or if she was even alive!… But Aeris wasn’t sure she would be alive much longer. She had made a big show of acting tough and keeping her lips sealed- as if she had any information for them. This was it… Whoever opened that door was going to try one last time to get her to talk- to tell them anything to save herself- that she would work with them- she would willingly let her body be studied before they killed her and did it anyway. They were going to dissect her, and if she was unlucky enough they would do it while she was still alive.

But they didn’t say a word. The dull thud of boots against the floor was.. Different this time, more urgent even. She could sense the person standing before her and he finally lifted her head, guessing where his eyes would be. Ass the could hear was the hammering in her chest and the persons breathing, barely, as if he was scared? Why should anyone in this room be more fearful than her? Aeris didn’t flinch when she saw the shadow of the hands come up to her head, maybe he was going to break her neck? Would that hurt?… Was she going to stay conscious long after?… She couldn’t help the gasp that escaped her mouth when the blindfold was removed with a tenderness that seemed foreign now.

An all to familiar helmet seeped into her vision when her eyes adjusted to the too bright lights and Aeris couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

“K-Kunsel?… Please be real or kill me- I can’t do this anymore- I can’t watch them kill my friends again.. Please.. Please be my Kunsel.”