#Doom Torment And Torture

[m39]

Doom WADs’ Roulette Bonus Round: UTNT's Fury of Fire

Welcome back to the world of pretentiousness known as Ultimate Torment and Torture. Today we will be taking a look at the separate episode of this WAD titled…

B15: Fury of Fire

Main author(s): Daniel Gimmer (Tormentor667)

Release date: September 9th, 2007 (original release)

Version(s) played: 1.07

Required port compatibility: GZDoom

Levels: 1

Not enough of the weird Tormentor667 stench that he puts in his WADs? Don’t worry, you can play another episode that is (technically) not connected to the main part of the WAD. And yes, it does have moments of unintentional cringe and laughter, including the cutscene; you know, like the rest of the WAD. Now with stopping alien-looking creatures from leaving hell or something.

Now, like with the previous, bonus review, do me a favor and read the original one on this WAD before reading this review.

Are you done? Good! Let’s take a look at the final piece of UTNT.

Like the rest of UTNT, Fury of Fire looks great. The demonic cave with outposts coupled with the more grassy tops, while looking kind of boring in the first half (without counting the secret areas), still looks at least good in my eyes.

The music is… I don’t actually know. Just when I started hearing Matrix music again, after what I experienced with the fourth episode, I thought NOPE! I CAN’T TAKE THIS SHIT SERIOUSLY! and just turned it all off. Like I said in my original review, the Matrix soundtrack might fit great when it comes to the movies themselves and some laugh-inducing media that doesn’t take itself seriously, but it all falls down when your work takes itself as seriously as possible and sniffs its own farts in return.

I probably skipped some really good bangers in the process, but can you really blame me?

This map isn’t really complicated, it’s just really annoying in some places. Particularly the demonic cave section, where there are many instances of backtracking from one far place to another just to press the switch or grab a key.

There are two optional sections in this map. One references Wolfenstein, and the other references the original E1M1. I’ll get to them more later when I’ll be talking about the difficulty of this map.

Speaking of which... Fury of Fire is at least as tough as the rest of UTNT. It might be the hardest map to play due to the Wolfenstein section, which sucks; it’s full of hitscanner enemies that fire the moment even one, tiny pixel comes out of the cover; sometimes I feel like the enemies could deal a shit ton of damage while surviving so many bullets/pellets that you will run out of them before reaching the teleporter back to the main section of the map.

The other optional section isn’t that bad; it’s just a mirrored E1M1 with much tougher enemies that aren’t as annoying as the previous one (at least almost all of them) and with different textures.

There are some additional enemies that weren’t in the other episodes. There is Snake Imp (a tougher variant), Zombie Marine (even worse than Hoovy; no wind up), Railgunner which shoots orange projectiles rather than red ones, and the final boss which is Duke Nukem’s Alien Queen and her Protector Drones (or how they are called, I can’t remember). Of course, there are Wolfenstein enemies in their dedicated section.

And... that’s basically all I have to say about Fury of Fire. It’s just more UTNT in all of its glory and cringe. It kind of fits as an epilogue, not gonna lie.

And that’s all for the bonus WADs of 2007. In the next week I’ll be finally tackling the 2008 roster of Cacowards, starting with, surprise, surprise, a gameplay mod (I’ll have to come out with an award to it because these things are different from conversions (booger sugar... something; I don’t know at this point)).

Anyway, thank you all for reading my filth, and I’ll see you next time.

Bye!

[thegreatyin]

:)

[springismss]

ᱬ⛧ toying around ~ s. gojo

sum: when a dare you gave your boyfriend ended up biting you in the backside - now you’re a mess and he’s loving it.

pairing: satoru gojo x girlfriend! reader

content: 18+ - mndi. toy play, implied exhibitionism, fingering, unprotected p in v, implied c warming, gojo is a cocky mf, implied multiple rounds, reader gets called sweets/good girl, general swearing.

a/n: i’m back after being away for a bit - enjoy some toy play/kink with our favourite white-haired sorcerer. originally wrote with another character but it's time to shake it up. as always likes, comments and re-blogs are deeply appreciated!

word count: 1.3k

links: jjk masterlist | masterlist

rubbing your legs together, you chewed on your bottom lip as you attempted to relieve some of the pressure you felt within your core as the knot in your gut tightened slowly with each passing second.

unfortunately, the more you pressed your legs together, the more the pressure and pleasure increased. why did you have to be a smart mouth and give a dare to your boyfriend? you were sure he wouldn't take you up on it, mainly due to him not wanting to draw attention to you both, but to your dismay, he did. glancing up, you took in the mass of snow-white hair before letting a small whimper pass your swollen lips.

placing your head down on the table, you let out another soft moan, only to be met with a chuckle as blue eyes took in your current state. "you know i’ll only turn it up if you keep acting like that, (y/n)". the obvious glee in his voice made you growl, mentally debating whether you should punch him for being so cocky.

after a few moments, a small gasp slipped past your lips as you lost your train of thought to your soon-to-be impending doom. "h-ah, fuck, t-toru, please, this isn't f-fair". you whined out a little more than you intended at the pleasure you felt building as you lifted your head, the smirk on his lips adding fuel to your fire despite wanting to now connect your hand with his head - in a slap of hate or a grip of lust, you didn’t know which at this point any more.

you were going to make him pay for this next time, even if it killed you.

"well, you shouldn't have dared me to do this, then you wouldn't be in this situation now would you, sweets?”. satoru leaned his head on his hand as he looked you over, a small smirk appearing at the blush spreading across your face before he clicked another button on the remote he held under the table. his smirk widened at your reaction as you lifted your head and let it fall back, sucking in a breath as you tried to steady the pounding in your chest.

a few seconds later, a moan louder than you intended passed your lips as you let your head drop back down, causing people passing you both to look, raising their brows in questioning. “oh my, you're such a naughty girl aren't you, (y/n)?". his eyes racked over your somewhat dishevelled state as you bit your lip in an attempt to stifle the moan you could feel clawing at your throat.

you’d be damned if you gave him the satisfaction again, but it was so hard not to give in. after a few more agonisingly slow moments, satoru decided you'd had enough torment for the day. lifting his hand, he motioned for you to sit beside him, your body moving slowly, you manoeuvred around the round booth seat until you sat directly beside him. “as much as i like to tease and torture you with our little toys for a little while longer, i think you've endured enough for now".

his words were soothing as he lowered his hand, fingers caressing your thigh, drawing patterns for a moment before slipping under your skirt and into your underwear. taking a moment to press your clit, you sucked in a breath as you felt skilled fingers rub circles. the same fingers that were toying with you moved further down your wet pussy, slipping past the small ring of resistance with ease before reaching deep inside, savouring the feeling of your slightly pulsating walls, pulling out the soaked love egg vibrator much to his amusement.

a small moan of relief and loss sounded from you as you shuffled a little more, the fire deep within you never ceasing as your walls tried to clench around something that wasn’t there anymore. "t-toru, it's still too m-much for me”.

your soft whimpers lulled him slightly as you closed your eyes, taking in deep breaths in an attempt to calm the raging urge to jump him. you had been so close to that beautiful high that would have you seeing stars but it was cruelly ripped away.

soft fingers brushed against your neck while moving some of your hair, your eyes opening as you tilted your head slightly looking over your boyfriend. you were distracted and he took that as the perfect opportunity to drag a moan of both surprise and pleasure from you, before muffling any further sounds that dared to come out. the oh-so-familiar feeling of being stretched by long fingers made your eyes roll slightly, fluttering shut as the feeling of your end began building again.

amid your distraction, satoru had managed to slip two long fingers into your slick cunt, stretching your walls to the shape of his fingers as he began moving at a slow and almost painful pace. sure it wasn't the pace you had hoped for from him but to feel a part of him inside you, instead of the toy, was fair play.

pulling back from you slightly, hot breath ghosting against your lips, satoru tilted your chin and smiled softly. "you know, maybe we should take advantage of being in this booth. after all, you handled my little toy extremely well, sweets and i think we both know you’d much rather have something else inside you. something that you can really grip onto and lose your mind over".

scanning your eyes over his, you pulled his lip between your teeth and wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers slipping into his hair at the base of his neck, fingers scratching at his scalp slightly. now it was your turn to enjoy the quiet moans from deep in his throat before he played his hands on your hips, nails pressing into your skin. you didn’t know if you were trying to beg or demand with the way you were moving, but either way, he was right and you were impatient as fuck. hands guided your body to sit on his lap, facing away from him as you felt the welcome stretch of his cock pushing into your pussy, covering your mouth as you muffled the moan that slipped out.

“f-fuck, that’s it, my fucking sweet girl~”. tender kisses were peppered on your neck as you felt his hips begin to lift, pressing the head of his cock further into you, your insides moulding once again to the shape of him as you clenched around him, your body not wanting to let him slip out so easily this time around, unlike the egg vibrator from earlier that now rested in his pocket.

“~let’s see how many times i can make you come before our food arrives. if you’re quiet and good, i’ll make sure to rip those sweet sounds from your throat later on tonight when i have you pinned beneath me in bed”.

his words hit you as you let your head fall down, clenching around him once again as you moved your hips slowly, making sure to not draw too much attention to the fact you were being stretched open in pure bliss for anyone to see.

of course, you were a good girl for him, legs trembling as you came undone on his cock, your slick dripping over his lap and your thighs and you panted into your hand, eyes closing as you felt him pat your thigh.

and of course, he was true to his word, having you come undone once again, this time beneath him as he ripped sweet moan after sweet moan for your throat as he filled you up until he had nothing but blanks left to give you as he pulled you into every possible position he could.

© springismss 2025 - don’t repost, copy, translate, steal or modify.

[orphiclovers]

I laugh when people make happy nothing hurts fluff aus of orv and everyone is living their best life and doing what they love hsy a writer kdj at some company yet YJH is still a gamer, a job which he absolutely hated, cause fuck this one guy in particular I guess. but also very very typical of YJH to still be stuck in the torment nexus in a world where the apocalypse doesnt happen hes the most torturable guy in the world you can take the angsty edgy protagonist out of the gritty apocalypse but hes still doomed to be defined by the one character trait his god gave him for a backstory. its still his only defining feature even fanfic authors cant save him and concieve of a universe where hes found his own purpose in life. meta

[jazeswhbhaven]

The Most Profane & The Most Beautiful | Leviathan Torture Card | React | Spoilers

So, from my understanding the week of all Saints Day (after Halloween) the devils get weak and the angels are stronger (this lasts for seven days)

Prior to MC being summoned Levi was having hallucinations of his old peers that were with him in the Devil Camps in heaven

Levi's condition is getting worse, and the nobles talk about it. A funny thing is Glas assuming Foras tends to Levi's bed (meaning he's instigating that they bump uglies) and I was like….Glas pls. It's almost like you're jealous

So his final dream before his disappearance, is of Orias and the other devil children from the past during the fire at the camps, Orias doubting that Levi would save them and Levi is convinced he can

A note I wanted to add is maybe MC forgot or this story is different from the Bloodshed Card lore, because if ya'll remember Barbatos explained that each devil would hang themselves if something happened to Levi and I'm sure this is mentioned in other cards too (his Bath one iirc) but them being thrown off by Glas reminding them of that and why they can't reveal he's not in Hades atm had me shaking my head but yeah I guess the devs don't carry over certain details from the other cards for MC to remember and treats each card story as if MC is hearing it for the first time.

Us finding out Levi doesn't sleep well because he's too busy thinking about who MC is fucking is wild. Pls sleep Levi.

SO we get some Selaphiel content! He went after Orias to lure Levi to Heaven. Odd, since I figured Orias could handle a cherubim but I guess not.

Oh he's hot.  (sry, Levi)

So Selaphiel here is literally getting off on the thought of tormenting Levi. His strategy is to keep him there and eventually Hell will crumble due to his absence. Why? Because Levi is the most strict when it comes to the rules of Hell, without that structure everyone else is doomed. (Huh. Never thought of it that way but I guess Levi is in fact the glue that holds everyone together strategy wise. He did train Sitri after all)

Beleth calls Foras "Cotton Candy boy" btw and I think that's funny as hell

So we're in Niflheim meeting up with Beleth because MC and Foras need his help. They're discussing the details in Belphie's room is knocked the fuck out lmao. Ofc they are nervous that he'd overhear but yeah nah he out out. Ni ni.

Two things: Beleth likes snacks if you come to him with something to do, Second…apparently he claims Lucifer wouldn't of been able to help. Now that's interesting. The fact that Foras and MC didn't go to Lucifer either was probably for "avoiding the kings" reason. But this leans into my "Lucifer is an anti-hero" theory. Stayed in Hell because he didn't agree with his brother's methods, but doesn't go out of his way to mess up Heaven either. Some of us saw this in the preview for the new area of Dark Sanctuary where the Kings were explaining that Lucifer wouldn't show up to help them take care of the Seraphim.

Now with Beleth's help, MC can learn how to act like an angel and infiltrate Heaven to rescue Levi. He is unable to do it himself and any other devil for that matter because of their weakened powers. Apparently MC ain't getting' no sleep either.

Important thing to mentioned about what I said about certain lore carrying over. They did in fact mention Levi's bath story and that MC remembers that. I guess it slipped their mind about the other details. This leads me to believe that this Torture card happens right after his Bath Card > Bloodshed > Torture. I say Bloodshed because that event happens on Halloween.

????????!!!!!!??!?!??!!?!??!??!?!?!??!

I would so be down to swallow Foras cock and take backshots from Beleth a n y d a y (Foras ofc is very possessive he ain't sharing it seems. Not nicely anyway)

B e l e t h

*screams, throws something, punches the air* S TO PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP he call me sugar.

So sweet.

(that is a reference to a song…a song probably I only listen to in this fandom lmaoooo)

Something is purring, and it ain't Beleth.

So after some training, dang it MC you and your one track brain memorizing porn stars…(idk what that's for tbh but if Beleth said it's good enough it is) we meet one of the 72 which I can't wait to get a formal introduction to him. Zepar! He's going to turn MC into an angel as a disguise

Zepar has rules: Don't take off the talisman on his forehead. Don't ask questions about where he's from. Don't use the word master around him. Don't touch any joints on his body. He has more rules but it's too long to recite them lmaoooo I hope we get the full list later cause I wanna know the rules of interacting with him.

Funny thing again: Beleth cut open his skin to give angel's blood for the ritual needed for MC's disguise. Zepar said one drop was enough and Beleth is like "damn you should have said that" and then Foras does the same, knowing a drop is enough but he just wanted to one up Beleth. (he's been acting catty this entire time lmaooooo he really is such a diva when it comes to impressing MC)

It took goddamn 14 hours to complete the ritual with Zepar and he made Beleth and Foras stick around. Not because they were needed but because he didn't want to be alone. I would kick his ass lmaoooooo (Beleth was about to)

So they mentioned MC's skintone changing…..I don't like that LMAO ya'll ain't taking my melanin hell nah. It better stay there during the transformation.

Damn. Hold up let me slide in your DMs….

This angel's name is Jophiel. Due to the sprite placement next to Beleth it was assumed that he's either floating or flying but in the CG he looks shorter than Beleth so idk what his height is. I just know he's fine too like hey hey quick threesome before I go? Yeah? In the open is fineeeee

No threesome though. Apparently there's a thin barrier between Heaven and Hell where either can't cross. Sitri explained it to MC  once.

MC is rank 9, the lowest angel that no one remembers. I wonder if that means the little creature lookin' ones are part of that lowest rank or just familiars that help the humanoid angels

And Jophiel caught MC btw fucking up already. They walked instead of using their wings. Angels don't make a sound when they walk, ONLY using their wings. The fact that he let it slide and whispered this to MC means that he knows what's up and is doing Beleth a solid. It's intriguing how Heaven bends rules like that. This would be considered double-crossing. But I mean he came down to Hell to speak to Beleth anyway so….YOLO

MC manages to find Levi before the execution ceremony but seeing him in anguish and hung up by chains on display as he replayed his traumatic past in his head made them rage with jealousy. Their disguise drops, feathers and all. All Saint's Day is over…so devil powers are back in full throttle! But it's not enough….Michael shows up.

But it's Orias to the rescue! Yeah the path to Heaven for him wasn't easy but he got two angel souls out of it so let's go.

Orias attacking Michael wasn't enough though, it takes MC enticing Levi to snap him out of his state. Ya'll…this part was just me being like "Ah classic MC." Nothing too out of the ordinary just them being themselves as per usual.

So a personal thing for me is the transition from deep angst lore to horny. I was in the zone seeing action and thrill and then suddenly "Damn I'm getting wet from looking at that outfit Levi is in." Which…idk to me maybe that transition makes sense for MC but for me since I was in the moment I was like ?????? Why are we horny? Oh yeah this is a 18+ game okay ._. LOL

All this damn commotion and MC just lickin' and suckin' on Levi.  I'm not sure if I'm allowed to show his nips on here full monty but phew they were something else….it's because of the chain and nip rings not sure if that would trigger anything for the flagging bot.

I'm sorry ya'll but something throbbed.

Anyways.

A new monster Levi can summon btw. New to us but most likely not new to the powers he has. I hope we get more lore on this monster in the future.

Yay Levi is saved, takes MC home and fucks them for hours. Let me tell ya'll a little secret about my thing with Levi….

I like it when he gets mad and puts us through the mattress asking if we're going to do things with other men and being possessive during. Because antagonizing him makes him more rough and I personally call myself a theoretical brat. The way I'd tell him "Yeah I'm gonna shake my tits and ass for everyone even if you've fucked me to mush" and see what he does. That's when I don't mind that envious attitude of his.

BUT YEAH that's it ya'll. For the story. Those are the summarized parts without giving the entire thing away. These were the important points for me. Personally the story being 90% angst, training, and lore with a dab of sex at the end was really what I personally think is worth paying $60-$75 dollars for in terms of a exclusive card. Yes, it's the Kings…and it sucks that good stuff like this is paywalled…but at least they gave us something different other than 5% story and sex sex sex sex. I know ya'll were here for that but phew does it get tiring after it being so one dimensional, ya know what I mean?

MC does a thing for X King, they meet, they fuck, MC is either dominating or dominants at first then switches. Cum everywhere. End. I'm sorry LMAO that's how I've been seeing most of the sex with the L cards so far…like at least with this card I had plot with porn. Finally…

Story rating: 9.5/10!!!

I didn't give a full 10 because the abrupt transition to horny and the mention of MC's skintone changing to what I assume is a paler tone when there's literally Beleth and Jophiel that have at least some melanin to them.

 I'm now wanting Satan's Torture card story to see how they write that one. Which I am HOPING TO FUCKING ALL IS GOOD IN THE UNIVERSE that we get some more in depth Satan lore. Like please. 

Small tidbits from his chats and date story btw:

Levi kept the disguise outfit that MC wore to heaven, MC is only allowed to wear it for him, vise versa with his outfit he got from Heaven

Levi was upset that he was "lied to" because MC told him they'd sleep in the other kings beds and he's been waiting for them to do that (okay??? LMAO)

Foras reports everything to him.  E v e r y t h I n g. You can't even take a piss without Foras reporting it.

There's dildoes weren't originally called that in Hell/Heaven which is why no one knew what MC meant by the word dildo (HA I WAS RIGHT)

109+ is considered an adult in Hell and is a valid age restriction apparently for sex websites in hell….

I think Levi's threats are mostly empty based on how he speaks with everyone. Because if he truly wanted to kill anyone for sleeping with MC he would have done by now. Lol

He actually thanks MC and made them custom sex toys to remember the event by…we got a whole thank you from him. Praise be.

MC and Levi discuss jealousy, especially when they are particularly jealous of how whenever someone looks at them they see Solomon, their ancestral grandfather instead of them. They feel Levi is amongst the few who truly see them separate from that. Also, apparently MC can't even look at the ceiling without Levi accusing them of thinking about someone else. I find that hilarious.

And fin~

Now if Levi isn't your fave, I think Satan is next? So I'd stay tuned and expect the story format to be the same! I ofc didn't share the full story here as per PB's warning so there are things I intentionally didn't bring up that someone else may reveal or share. (shoutout to my mootie moot for sharing this story with me!!)

As always, thank you for reading, stay awesome and lovely. -your lovely adminnn ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

Oh to be taken to pound town by these two.

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 9

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: As you try to figure out a plan and try to understand the machine used to control the Winter Soldier, you're hit with the fear of disappearing. Longing to be known, you share a kind moment with the Soldier.

Warnings: Captivity, angst, mention of torture and death, longing, helplessness, mention of Siberia, and more angst. Sad Bucky.

Authors Note: Please enjoy, comment and be kind! I love the comments and interaction. ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Song Rec: Sailor Song by Gigi Perez

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

The cold glint of steel. 

A faded red star. 

Painfully blue eyes. 

Calloused fingers that twitched when you pulled too far away. 

Cold skin marred with scars. 

A gentle frown, pressed together softly by blushed lips.

You wanted to burn every small detail of the Soldier into your brain. You wanted to remember it, remember him. You feared you didn’t have long. You tried to draw out your research as you worked on the indefinite cure to his degeneration, but your captors grew impatient. 

You didn’t want to go.

You didn’t want to disappear. 

“My favorite color is red.” You blurted, your gaze following the line of wires across the back of the Soldier’s chair. 

He shifted, turning his head slightly to signal he was listening. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, biting on the soft inside of your cheek. “I like red.”

What you were doing was dangerous. You knew that. But you couldn’t stop. 

“I like a lot of things.” You huffed, trying not to shake under the sudden burst of anxiety you felt. You moved behind the Soldier, eyeing the power box behind his chair.

In the days when you were sent to clean up the Soldier- cleaning his suit, his wounds, basic care- you tried your best to investigate the machine he sat on. 

From what you’d seen, it was some sort of electroshock therapy on steroids. The technology was foreign to you, but its intention was clear. It was built to restrain and torment. It was designed to suppress memories and induce a state of pliancy. 

It was the perfect tool for mental conditioning. 

There were several monitors that you had become familiar with, each reflecting the Soldier’s vitals and scans. Beneath the monitors were several switches and dials, meant to control the flow of electricity. 

“I like a lot of things,” you repeated. Between the fear you felt for your charge and the doom you felt hanging over your future, you felt the need to be known. “I hate a lot of things too. I can be really opinionated.” Your voice trailed on, fighting against the shake in your body. 

The Soldier watched you inspect the mechanics and tangle of wires, listening silently as you trailed on anxiously. He knew as well as you did that there was little hope in what you were doing. You knew this. You knew there was no point in him believing that you could help him. Why would he? He’d spent decades helpless under their torture. 

You tried to feel confident in yourself, but ultimately your only hope of making a difference was breaking the high tech machine. The only solid plan you had was giving the soldier a window to escape. A window to regain some sense of understanding of his own mind. 

But even then, they still had those trigger words. The ones used so easily that day when your throat had been the victim of the Winter Soldier. 

“I used to journal a lot, back home. I always had so much to say and- and nowhere to put it all.” Usually, spilling details about your life to a man after a long bout of silence would be embarrassing, but not with him. Not here. Not now. 

Not when he knew why you were doing it. 

“I like music- I really like music. My friends and I were hoping to go to a music festival in the summer, before all of this.” You went on, holding yourself up on the mechanical device in front of you. “I had good friends.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you nodded. 

The Soldier looked over his shoulder at you, dark hair framing his tormented expression. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t want you to. He wanted to listen. He wanted to hear about what a life could be like outside of all this pain and death. He wanted to know who you were before this. 

“What else?” He offered, the low timber of his voice soft and gentle.

You blinked back ill timed tears. “There’s- There’s so much.” You whispered. “I had so much life- before.” 

“I know,” his throat bobbed, his lips tugged into a frown. 

And he did. He knew someone like you must have lived a good life. A life of laughter and tears, of good and bad in all the right ways. He knew you must have been happy. 

A part of him wished he could reach into himself and find that. He knew he must have been something once. He must have laughed. He must have been happy.

He must have been someone once. 

But it was too far, too dark and too easy to slip through his fingers. He could try and try, but he couldn’t touch the warmth he must have once felt, years ago.

“I always wanted to travel. I never did though, stupid, right?” You huffed, sinking into your chair at your desk. “Did you? Do you know?”

His gaze shifted to the space between you, his head slowly nodding. “Yeah.”

“Where have you been?”

“Siberia, Russia.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head at him. “I bet it's nice there. Watching the sun peak over the snow caps. I bet the air tastes sharp there.” You whispered wistfully.

He didn’t agree. His shoulders sank as he stared at you pick at your nails. “I didn’t see much of the sun.” He whispered, a cold shiver trailing down his back. 

“Oh.”

You couldn’t help the bitter, dry sob that clawed its way up your throat. Of course he didn’t see it. They would never let him experience something so innocent. 

Your eyes met, and for a moment you both were silent. 

The two of you shared a fragile second of understanding. All you wanted was to be known. To be remembered. You didn’t want to disappear. You didn’t want to fade into the unknown, with nothing left of you.

And he, who was already gone, already lost to the world, wanted to be known. He wanted to be something. Someone. He wanted to have something for himself, something to hold and cradle and call his own. He wanted to be alive. 

But you both knew it was fruitless. 

It was impossible. 

So together you sat, sharing a second of understanding.

A/N: I'm sorry for sooo much angst :D But I hope you enjoy. This is the tipping point. Let me know if you wanna be apart of the tag list!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05

[0bticeo]

lurk | feyd rautha

part 3 of five. (part 1.) (part 2.) (part 4.)

summary:

the baron is chuckling. you feel it coming, the sense of doom, in the way the court holds its breath, in the flash of uncertainty in the na-baron’s eyes.

“i have another gift for you.”

“her.”

you.

wc: 4k.

tw: blood, gore, possessive feyd rautha, bene gesserit shenanigans, determinism but make it sexy, bit of knife play, blood play, wound fucking, fingering, oral (fem recieving), somewhat sub feyd, breeding, inkpie, brief mention of cockwarming.

you’re kneeling. or rather, two guards are forcing you down on your knees, fingers digging in the meat of your shoulder until they reach the bone. you hold back a wince. 

you fail. 

your breath is heavy, stuttering little gasps leaving your lips with droplets of blood. your left side is on fire, each inhale pure, agonizing torture. use the voice and they’ll kill you.

you’re kneeling before baron vladimir harkonnen in his personal chambers, in a tattered robe. it’s filthy, the way he looks at you like you’re prized meat.

you bare your teeth.

“such defiance, atreides.” from the murky depths of his bath, he tilts his head. volutes of smoke escape his parted lips, slithering towards you. “tell me, why should i let you live?”

careful. 

plans within plans within plans. you can’t let your feeble control over the situation escape you. inhale. choke on your scream - like hell you’ll show him your pain.

“if i weren’t useful to your plans, i would be dead.”

an image flashes in your mind’s eye. a spider woven out of human flesh, the mangled bodies of harkonnen prisoners frankensteined together. barely alive. an eternity of torment.

the baron laughs, a deep, cavernous rumbling. it fills the penumbra, fills you with dread. your shoulders tense - nervous impulse. you’re not in control.

“fair enough.” he inches forward, the gigantic mass of him rippling through filthy waters. “where is your brother?”

pain. it ripples through you, sinks its claws in your chest and freezes there, a sinking weight. you can’t breathe. you push through.

“he’s already given his last breath to the sands of arrakis.”

“how would you know?”

“dreams.”

the answer escapes your gritted teeth with frightening rapidity. good. let him think pain clouds your judgment. let him see you as weaker than you really are. 

one of the guards tightens his hold, forces you to stand straight. blood drips down your lip. you will not scream.

“dreams?”

the subtle narrowing of his eyes. a quirk of his lip. disbelief. intrigue.

“i’ve followed my mother’s footsteps.” 

“ah, lady jessica.” 

keep her name out of your mouth. 

he leans back in the bathtub. silence settles. stretches. stretches. he’s pensive, the baron. his lips wrap at the end of the pipe, mouth like a maw swallowing it, releasing acrid smoke that burns you. spice.

(visions. shai hulud deemed your brother worthy. on they go. march south or die. maybe the sands haven’t consumed him yet.) 

nervous exhaustion settles in. they haven’t treated your wounds. it takes every ounce of energy to remain conscious, every inch of pride to will your muscles to stop trembling. your vision blurs at the edges.

“i’ll ask again, atreides. why should i let you live?”

bastard. you’re on your last legs. he has you cornered. 

“because you’d have to kill your heir if you don’t.”

now that catches his attention.

“go on.”

careful. there’s a thin line between usefulness and danger. do not step on the wrong side.

“he’s recognized me in the arena."

the ghost of his touch against the wicked scar of your forearm. the flash of a grin, black teeth like a promise inked at the back of your skull.

you fought well, atreides.

behind your back, your nails dig into your palms. 

“he’ll ruin you.”

“is that so?”

skepticism. amusement.

“do you think it wise to try and find out, baron?”

silence. fate looms over you. spins its web in the calculated gaze of the baron, gaze like cold steel cutting through you. 

your life is in his hands and he relishes in it. in having you, half bare before him, chest heaving with each stuttering breath, red darkening the black of your dress.

you watch him lick his lips and shiver with disgust.

“do you think it wise to threaten me when i have wiped your house from the surface of the known galaxy?”

oh, right on a silver platter.

your mouth drips shadows as you bare your teeth in a grin.

“only because you were backed up by the imperium and its sardaukar.” you cough. blood drips on the ground. “you were a pawn, and that scum of an emperor could deem you a threat, too.”

a beat.

he’s smiling.

“you’ll be of use, atreides.” 

a wave of his hand.

the guards move. drag you up until you’re standing on faltering legs. defiant, still. breath ragged, panting, blood pooling at your feet. you feel soiled, with the way the baron looks at you, eyes dragging down to your womb.

there’s a commotion behind you. you still. in your state, you’ve neglected to analyze your surroundings, only focusing on the biggest threat in the room. you didn’t take into account the harkonnen court behind you. atreides. the baron practically signed your death. 

shit.

your vision is darkening in the corners.

“i ought to drown you in that tub.”

feyd-rautha, voice a low growl borne out of primal fury. feyd-rautha, in dark robes, shadow among shadows. you catch the slow twitch of his pale hand, the instinctual gesture of nerves calling for a familiar blade. to kill or protect, you do not know.

the guards freeze. you’re left there, struggling to stand, sweat dripping down your back with the effort of staying upright. how utterly humiliating. 

“do not be hasty, my dear nephew.”

a ripple. the baron is chuckling. you feel it coming, the sense of doom, in the way the court holds its breath, in the flash of uncertainty in the na-baron’s eyes.

“i have another gift for you.”

“her.”

you. 

one step, two, until he’s facing you. 

he snarls at the guards. they let go of you. you collapse, only stopped from slamming upon the marble floors by two strong arms. 

he’s pulling you in his chest, arm wrapping around your waist. you shudder, nerves alight with the instinctual need to get away from this place, from the baron’s lecherous’ stare, from the court’s bloodlust. 

i must not fear. fear is the mind killer. fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. i will face my fear-

you don’t realize you’ve been shaking until a hand settles at the back of your head. warm. comforting. rubbing small circles in your scalp until you relax, if only by a fraction. he won’t let them harm you - you know it, deep in your soul. 

“yes, her.” dismissive. “and a bigger one. arrakis.”

you feel it, the way the na-baron’s body tenses, the ripple of the hard planes of his chest under the soft silk of his clothes. anticipation. unease. you press your cheek to his heart, listen to the erratic pulse of it.

“what about rabban?”

“he has failed to protect the spice production.”

paul. your fingers clench in your palm, piercing the skin.  

“tame arrakis feyd. free the spice, and i’ll make you emperor.”

you still. he who controls the spice has ultimate power over the known galaxy. power is power. knowledge is power.

“how?”

“use me.”

they still. rapt attention falls upon you. your fingers dig into the na-baron’s forearm like a vice to remain upright.

“if the great houses were to learn that the emperor ordered an entire house to be wiped out, they would question his authority. rebel. wage war until one comes on top.” you swallow blood. “you’ll have me as a living witness and weapon.”

“a weapon, huh?”

feyd-rautha looks down at you. there’s something awfully calculating in the way he assesses you, in the way his fingers curl over your hip - possessive. protective.

the baron rises by a fraction, mephistopheles bargaining.

“will you side with us, atreides?” 

you let out a shaky breath. laughter. you’re laughing at him, at the absurdity of the situation - you, last of your house, striking a deal with the devil for revenge.

“i will. i only ask for one thing in return - the emperor’s head.”

the baron’s gaze is riveted to you. he nods. bargain sealed.

“this must not leave this room.”

feyd-rautha springs into action, blades drawn out of their sheaths before the baron finishes his sentence.

bodies fall. 

carnifex. the butcher. oh, he’s gorgeous, feyd-rautha, twin blades slicing through gaping throats, droplets of blood landing on his pale cheek. 

the baron immerses himself in that wretched bath, until it’s only you and the apex predator that is him.

you take a step forward. two. three. until you’re facing him, slowly raising your hand. the motion alone has you gasping for breath. still, you persist, until your fingers settle on his cheek, thumb wiping away at the gore sprayed there. 

he leans into your touch, eyes half-lidded, nuzzling in your palm. his own hand cradles yours, warm, smearing blood on your skin. his lips press against your palm, against the many half-moons your nails have left in their wake. 

“come, my little atreides,” he mutters. “you need medical attention.” 

his eyes sink into yours, magnetic, all consuming. they dart to your parted lips, to the blood coating them. he leans in, breath like fire upon your soul, upon your awaiting mouth. 

your breath stutters.

oh.

“catch me, feyd.”

you fall. 

.

.

.

fall until you stand in the desert of arrakis. paul has his back turned to you, silhouette burning bright in your retina. corpses. they’re burning, all of them, and with the stench of sun-charred flesh rises a litany. lisan al gaib. 

lead them to paradise.

you want to scream. you want to reach out for cruel fate and rip her asunder with your bare hands until that twisted future is no more.

you do not know whether your brother is the kwisatz haderach. you do not know if there is a kwisatz haderach, what’s with the missionaria protectiva’s wretched tale.

warmth seeps in your womb, the gentle press of a lover’s hand. you do not know if the child you’ll bear will be the one. 

desert sands slips from your fingers.

you just want your family back. 

**

feyd doesn’t expect it, the moment you collapse in his arms with a whispered plea. still, he catches you. slides his arms under the back of your knees and pulls you close, where he knows no harm would come to you.

who would possibly dare to cross him? 

warmth spreads across his hand. blood, he realizes. your wound, that vicious strike of his hasn’t been treated. fury washes over him, gaping maw sinking in his heart. it is vicious, too, that fury.

it tells him of blood and death and destruction. death to the baron. death and misery upon those who’ve wronged you - doesn’t matter if he has to face the sardaukar, for he is legion. 

the hallways are empty. servants have long deserted the baron’s quarters, knowing not to disturb him. good. no one must know of your presence here. 

he looks down at you, at your wan face, at the blood dripping down your chin, spreading, spreading down your throat. 

he cannot let you die. 

he cannot compromise himself more than he already has by threatening the doctors to kill them should you die in their hands. he leaves you in their care and strides back to his own chambers. they’ll notify him of your condition. 

you, last atreides left standing. you, with your sharp wit, sharp blade and sharper smile. you, feral, snarling at him in the arena. you, hands dipped in ink darker than black, spreading it over his back. 

he had felt your warmth, back then. felt the softness of your skin on his, shivered as you ran over his deltoids, down to the rib - lower. each and every one of his nerves, raw, exposed, yearning for your touch. 

there had been a beat, a split second of hesitation on your part. blood calls for blood, and his house has spilled so much of your blood. it would have been easy for you to take a hold of his blade and sink it in his exposed back. 

he almost wanted you to do it.

(he had tilted his head, back then, a low growl leaving his lips at the mere thought of it. he could almost taste it, your sheer want.)

he, na-baron feyd-rautha harkonnen, lets his guard down, as if waiting for you to strike. why is that? 

his steps do not lead him to a place of honor. too much blood has been spilled in this palace - a tribute to harkonnen nature, really. verses upon verses of hymns interwoven with gore and the acrid scent of enemies torn asunder by their blades. hellish epics to those who died bloody.

retribution is second nature - and he expects it from you.

then why is he so soft around you?

you’re still an atreides. your only worth to his uncle as of now resides in this precise fact - that you remain a witness to your house’s demise. a hidden blade, ready to be sunk in the emperor’s back. 

his steps slow. 

there’s something.

you, standing in the arena, raising your head, voice distorted and hoarse, thousands of your foremothers screaming in righteous fury.

you will not perceive me as i am.

he hadn’t, not until his fingers met the jagged ends of your scar. 

a bene gesserit trick.

“are you lost, my lord na-baron?”

a silhouette in the shadows, shrouded in veils. he can only make out a smile - sweet, charming. not enough to conceal the sharpness beneath. witch. 

he remains silent. 

“what will you do with lady atreides?”

his resolve weakens. here, in the dead silence of the hall, he speaks:

“she will be mine.” a beat. the nervous twitch of his fingers, aching for a blade. “is it not what you intended, witch?”

he knows she is smiling, the bene gesserit facing him. 

plans within plans within plans. atreides, harkonnen, corrino, dozens of great houses and they’re none the wiser.

“it was.”

**

none of it is real, it is all an illusion - your touch is wrong, your judgment unjust, faltering. dreams have meaning, this must be one. you can still taste the sands of arrakis, hear the screams of the billions of people starving, begging-

you rise in your bed - information flashes.

a bed. bandages wrapped tightly around your side. harsh, cold walls. antiseptic. blood - a medical wing. 

feyd rautha.

you startle. he’s watching you, head slightly tilted to the side. assesses you still, gaze raking over the thin fabric of the covers.

his gaze is free to roam the expanse of your bare throat, to trail down to the dips of your collarbones, to the swell of your naked breasts. you shiver.

“is the sight to your liking, my lord na-baron?”

a chuckle like a rattlesnake. he steps closer, until he’s all but hovering above you, hand lightly pressing down on the mattress below.

“will you have me, my wife?”

you blink.

“we’re not-”

his fingers run up your wrist, press against the long scar marring your forearm. 

“does it truly matter? you were made to be mine.” slowly, he sinks to his knees, glacier eyes smoldering in the penumbra. “and i was made to be yours.”

generations of prefect planning for this - you, last atreides left standing, and him, feyd rautha harkonnen, alone in the same room, bred for one another, for the kwisatz haderach to be conceived.

you raise your hand, cradling his cheek.

“have me, feyd-rautha.”

he presses a kiss to your palm, your inner wrist. he grins, black teeth like a gaping maw ready to sink into the marrow of you. your pulse jumps at that, rabbit-quick against the thin skin of your wrist. he feels it, with the way his thumb presses down on the delicate flesh. 

his hand slithers under the covers, drags them down, until your side is completely exposed. he presses a kiss there, too, on the stitched up wound at your side. it’ll scar. a living, breathing reminder of him, of the kiss of his blade on your skin. the weapon is in his hand before you know it, slicing through bandages.

you feel his breath before you feel the press of his lips on your side. you gasp, fingers reaching for him, digging in his nape.

his tongue meets raw flesh, teeth worrying at the stitches until they snap. his nail rakes the cut, spreads its edges apart until liquid warmth blossoms at your side, trickling down your ribs. 

you scream.

his lips slam against your own. warm. scorching. bruising. he presses himself to you like he wants to sink in the marrow of you and taste.

your hand raises to his chest, a meek press against his heart, fingers weaving with the velvet shadows of his jacket. 

closer.

he growls. low, primal, needy. pushes his fingers in the gaping wound at your side - white hot pain surges through you. your mind grows blank. agony never felt so sweet. 

your lips part in a cry - he swallows it down with greedy laughter. 

you feel him smile against your lips, tongue reaching out for yours. heavy. you bring him closer. his hand twists, index curling up. you think he wants to reach your heart and never let go.

“feyd-”

he stills. nips at your lip one last time, backing away. a spider-web string of saliva links you both. he brings his fingers to his mouth, tasting you with a low hum. desire curls inside your lower belly.

“more,” you beg.

“where?”

you take his hand, bring it between your thighs, face heating up. he’s laughing, feyd rautha, the tip of his blood-soaked fingers brushing your cunt. 

you gasp at that, at the way he spreads you apart, sinks into you with shameless abandon. you whine as you feel his fingers curl oh so sweetly.

he’s watching you. leaning closer and closer, until you can feel his breath on your inner thigh, until- 

until his lips press against your heat, tongue lapping at you. you mewl, hand pressing him closer, nails sinking into his nape. you feel him growl against you, a low, needy sound as he tastes you, consumes you, tongue flicking against your clit.

something’s building in you, agonizingly warm, blistering fire spreading over your skin. a low vibration.

he’s purring, you realize, eyes closed in bliss as he laps at you, tongue delving into you, your essence running down his chin. you bite your lip until you taste blood. 

it’s all too much.

the way his fingers have you keening his name like holy prayer. the way his tongue burns a path of desire over your slit, skilled little licks having you thrash in his grip, the low vibration of his purr having you squirming in his grasp. his free hand tightens around your thigh, pulls you closer. 

his gaze flits to yours, glacier eyes melting under the weight of his desire. 

you cum with a whine of his name, a plea for him to stop, to give you more, to please please please, keep touching you. 

his eyes roll in the back of his skull at that. at the sight of you, lips parted in sinful euphoria, head thrown back under a tidal wave of pleasure. more. he needs more.

he grasps your hand, presses it against the length of his clothed cock, hard, throbbing, yearning for your touch.

“will you have me?”

“yes.”

as it was meant to be. him and you, bodies pressed so close nothing could come between the two of you, your nails digging in his back as he eases himself into you with a low hiss of pleasure.

him, pressing his lips in the crook of your neck, teeth nibbling at the tender flesh as his hips slowly rock into you.

“mine,” he growls, forehead against yours, picking up his pace until you’re gasping for breath. “mine.”

you close your fingers around his. press a kiss to his lips - you’re so full, so delectably full, your legs crossing over his lower back, driving him closer still.

his teeth break your skin, your lips painted over in blood. the sight has him moaning, reaching out between your legs to rub at your clit until you’re keening his name.

his release follows yours - he groans your name in the crook of your neck, hips stuttering madly against yours. 

your breaths mingle - two pieces of the same puzzle slotting against one another. complete. you’re whole, pressed against the broad expanse of his chest, his cock settled snugly in your pussy.

you can almost feel it, the satisfied smile of the reverend mother. an heir has been secured, deep in the confines of your womb, growing, second after second. a boy - the kwisatz haderach.

that wretched eons long plan doesn’t matter. not now, not when you run your knuckles against the sharp edge of his jaw, marveling at him.

“mine,” you mutter.

taglist: @kpopnstarwars @jaiuneamesolitaiire

[peariote]

first meetings ⌬🧬! victoria neuman x reader

this is a completely self-indulgent fantasy for me myself and i. perhaps when i am (hopefully) also getting my PhD in genetics, many years in the future, there will be a beautiful woman questing to possess me when i present my research. 1.3k words.

"So, how'd you two meet?"

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

God, there was no reason for her to be here. 27, riding the high of her first election into the House, representing her state of New York? She didn't have time to be at Columbia's Annual Science Showcase. She had work to do, an office to prepare.

Yet, here she was, pushing through crowds of academics. Every shoulder that checks her and every hand guiding her absentmindedly by only seems to further aggravate the fine fabric of her blouse, wrinkling the silk immaturely.

At least she had excuses, things to say to the press if they did catch her here at the most inopportune time. 1, Columbia's her alma mater. 2, she knows Professor Peterson well—for no other reason than her repeated frequenting of his office hours. No one's good at genetics.

Yet, someone must be good at it, given the buzz she'd heard.

A study many were eager to get their hands on, a newly-awarded PhD who's work was partially funded and supplied by Vought themselves.

The effects of Compound V on the offspring of those afflicted with it.

Using mice, of course.

A particularly unexplored topic. Most focused on the Supes—not what could happen to their children. It's what no one expected to have to worry about when super-powered individuals started popping up. What about their children?

Well, she had to know. Would Zoe, her beautiful, vibrant daughter be cursed the way she would? Would she, herself, be doomed to an early death just like her parents?

She couldn't let that happen. The fact that Sameer was unafflicted should be a genetic safeguard, if it was bound to a recessive gene, but still. Being idle wasn't worth the risk.

She'd have to figure it out—without spilling to the researcher that she had powers herself.

She just didn't expect the researcher to be so damn cute.

She had expected that (like the floor of Congress, the one she would soon frequent) the presenter would be some old, white man, bribed and biased.

No. The young, plucky student that walked across that expansive stage, hands shaking around the clicker yet breaths relatively steady, was anything but what she expected. She's just realizing that her overactive daydream of a frizzled, greying goof was rather archetypal.

She wasn’t expecting to be distracted by the pushing-up of thin, wire-frame glasses or the shy little quirk of lips at any and all applause from the audience. The sweater and mused hair were apt to her imagination; yet they seem purposeful and inherently distracting. The involuntary turning of her gaze from informative slides to sweetly framed wrists was unpleasant to say the least. Wrists of all things.

She should've known this might happen, given her past fling. Yet, she thought the days of the passion-filled thumping of her heart were past her, replaced instead with a familial tenderness and a business-like disposition.

No such luck.

Her luck, wonderful, torturous luck, continues to torment. The wonderful lecturer? A student of a most familiar professor.

"Hello. Professor Peterson!" Whew. The last time she sounded that strained? Her debate against that imbecilic oaf of a Representative, right on the floor. She's speaking through clenched teeth, smiling like she doesn't have a care as she's tugged into the group of intellectuals.

"It's been forever, hasn't it?"

She's greeted to a chorus of hums and one gentle nod. It's not as if they don't know who she is. She'd been paraded around on the news, plastered in the streets and on thick newspapers. Hotshot, they called her. Bold, a new face. Her opponents just called her brash and opinionated.

Nevertheless, the publicity stuck. So soon after the election, she's sure to turn some heads. Even at an event focused on a completely different discipline.

"Victoria! Have you met my protege?" And oh, who does the professor proudly present but you. The keen researcher, wrapped in a sweater and topped with thin-framed glasses. Your smile is much easier off-stage, curling completely as you reach to shake her hand. Those wrists, the ones who unfairly drew her eyes, skim the tips of her fingers. She shivers.

"I have not yet. It's nice to meet you... Doctor?" Her chin lowers as she addresses you. Her dark eyes peek through her lashes, meeting yours intently.

"Yeah, it's Doctor now." You preen under the title, smile brightening. Her hand lingers in yours, but you certainly don't make any move to pull away.

The tension crackles, a low simmer between you. Despite their aloofness—having returned to a conversation about another presentation—they seem to notice. The moment between you two makes Professor Peterson smile wider. A gleam appears in his keen eyes.

“Why don’t you two go walk around together? See everyone else’s work.” He sends you off with an indulgent smile, the feeling the same as being sent to the kids table at thanksgiving. After being shooed away, you really can do nothing but roam together—the walk awkward.

You peruse the crowded convention hall silently. The press of people around the both of you forces shoulder-to-shoulder contact a number of times. Soon, an ease starts to build. You stumble, and she cups your lower back. She gets bumped and you take her hand to steady her. It all feels so juvenile, being shoved around and forced together like two Barbie dolls.

She starts to notice how your hands twitch. Every once in a while, when you both stop at a booth, you start to fidget with the hem of your sweater—brief smile spreading. She realizes you’re excited; her own lips ticking up, endeared.

“…you can talk, you know. I’d sure appreciate someone talk me through these concepts. I struggled through Bio 101.” She quips, huffed in your ear to combat the constant hum of chatter around you. It makes you laugh and smile, and spurs your voice as well.

Now she’s treated to your wonderful quips, little huffs about contaminated controls and insufficient trials. Your words curl in her ear, the heat of breath leaving her exhaling roughly—even though you’re explaining things like CRISPR and DNA replication.

She always did have a soft spot for the science-y types. The easy intelligence seemed to make something curl pleasantly in her abdomen.

At one booth, she finally surrenders to the feeling. When you lean in, giggling a quip about how hard mice are to work with, she exhales. One of her hands curls around your wrist, tugging you with her and throw the crowd with a mumble about needing the bathroom.

You attempt to be polite, promise to wait for her by the sinks—but you’re cut off when she tugs you into the stall with her. The tile wall is cool against your back, but her breath is hot on your lips.

“Tell me you want this.” She pleads lowly, pupils blown and hands boxing your head.

At your frantic, short nod, she leans in and devours—hands pushing up your sweater and nose bumping against your glasses.

The professor smiles smugly when you say quick goodbyes. He surely spots the blooming, dark mark on your neck, eyes flickering to it. He barely gets to tease you, a laugh of “good luck!” echoing behind you as Victoria tugs you away. A woman on a mission, she is. She’s applying to you the same relentless drive she gives to her work; you’re a bit frightened (and increasingly excited) at what that entails.

As you pant into the plush pillow, eyelids fluttering at the aftershocks and legs twitching against hers, she curls a possessive hand around your waist. Her warm, sweat-damp form intertwines with yours.

When she mumbles “you’re mine” against your hair, you only respond with a breathless huff of laughter, tucking your face into her neck.

[m39]

Doom WADs’ Roulette (2007): Ultimate Torment And Torture

My brother in Christ!

Another partial conversion that uses a shit ton of enemies from the Monster Resource WAD that first appeared in 2007 due to KDiZD! All three of these partial conversions that won Cacoward in 2007 and all use this roster at least partially!

...

I don’t really have anything else to say; I just wanted to point that out.

G9: Ultimate Torment and Torture

Main author(s): Daniel Gimmer (Tormentor667)

Release date: September 11th, 2007

Version played: 1.07

Required port compatibility: GZDoom

Levels: 10

If you suddenly feel like you are playing KDiZD’s distant cousin, then you aren’t wrong, for this WAD is another project made by Tormentor667; although, this time it’s more like a one-man project rather than a community one.

Now you might be wondering What in the actual fuck is “Ultimate Torment and Torture”? To put it simply, it’s a remaster of the series of WADs under the same title (without the ultimate of course), now sprayed all over with Tormentor’s ZDoom’s features obsession, including background noises, a shit ton of new enemies, and other ZDoom stuff that may or may not be completely worthless on the long term.

Now since I didn’t play this series in any capacity, I’m gonna judge this WAD by its own merits. And if you didn’t already notice, do not expect this review to be completely positive; I’m not really a fan of Tormentor’s overly-designed WAD slop.

And although there isn’t really any plot in the text file in the WAD itself, there are text screens that describe what’s happening at the moment you are playing this map. But it all boils down to this – there is a hellish pentagram or something that summons demons and you go after it to end it all... again.

The plot, despite being rather simple (it’s a Doom WAD after all), takes itself too seriously in my opinion. It feels like it wants to sniff its own farts thinking it’s deeper than it thinks. The pretentiousness is especially high as you reach the final episode, with an unskippable monologue from the main character (who, by the way, sounds like Diet Caleb from Blood) rambling some kind of generic shonen anime hero speech filled with never give up this and da people I love that shit. This thing is funnier than most of the Mockaward winners that I played for crying out loud; for the wrong reasons, yes, but still.

But at least you can skip most of the textscreen stuff with the use key... after a small delay.

Now with the basics known, let’s take a look at another Tormentor’s projects.

You might probably know by this point, but if there is one thing that Tormentor is really good at is the visual aspect of his WADs (solo or community-made). And UTNT doesn’t disappoint in this. The oppressive foundry facilities in the second episode; snowy areas surrounding the base in the third one; the bastion with the demonic portal that acts like a bridge between episodes three and four; the mountain that you climb in the final episode; these are some of the highlights in this WAD.

It might be a little bit overboard with the details that aren’t just tiny objects lying around that are not some random debris from the wall, but it’s still amazing for the WAD from 2007.

Oh, and by the way, you can turn off some of the weather effects in most of the maps. Just remember to bind the key to it.

The music is a mixed bag for me. While half of the music tracks fit surprisingly well, the other half has a chance to make you laugh with the WAD sniffing its farts of pretentiousness again. It’s like the same problem as the plot; it gets a pass in the first half, but it gets ridiculous in the second one.

The final boss track is the worst case of unintentional laughter. No matter what you think about Revolutions, when it comes to the final battle between Neo and Agent Smith, the music fits really well. It doesn’t fit at all when you are flying around like a madman trying to destroy a satanic pentagram that protects itself with a demonic energy cylinder while dodging/trying to kill Cycloid Emperors that protect these things! IT JUST DOESN’T!

...

sigh

It does get better gameplay-wise at least.

I don’t really think this WAD is complicated. After the first playthrough, it didn’t really feel that tiring (at least for me). It does have backtracking sometimes, but honestly, I have experienced worse cases than UTNT.

What’s really cool about this WAD is that you can start from any of four episodes. If you are a Pistol-starter, you will enjoy this option (at least partially since you can start like this only at the beginning of an episode instead of in its middle).

You can also play as three different classes. I don’t know what are the differences aside from the starting weapon and the maximal amount of health since I played as only one class to not waste my time, but still, I’ll describe what I know:

The Marine starts with the Shotgun and 100 HP;

The Scout has 75HP and the Pistol (that shoots slightly faster from what I’ve seen);

And the Commando starts with 150HP and the Minigun; NOT the Chaingun mind you, but a Minigun. I’ll get to that weapon later.

There are two variants of the final level. The regular one takes place at the bottom of the mountain, where you climb it up while fighting the entire demonic army. There is also a graveyard with tombstones of people behind this WAD (like many other WADs before this one). This one is more of an epic type.

The secret variant (AKA the Director’s Cut) is hidden in the second part of the final episode. In this case, there are three areas full of monsters, where in the first two you have to kill a specific amount of Mancubi and Arachnotrons respectively (kind of like in Dead Simple) and in the third area you must press two switches to unlock the elevator to the final boss.

I’m not really sure which one is better. The hidden variant feels easier and has a lesser amount of annoying monster variants for the cost of a smaller amount of terrain to maneuver, while the regular variant feels like one last stand of the demonic army that fits perfectly well in a Doom WAD while having more bullshit moments.

UTNT is somewhere in between when it comes to how hard it is. It’s rather challenging, but I don’t think you will end up completely destroyed if you were playing WADs for a while before playing this one.

Every episode ends with the boss fight, where you fight up to four tough enemies depending on the skill level. It’s kind of a neat idea with the health pool showing up at the top of the screen, although I would like it more if the second boss fight had a larger area because I don’t think it was tested enough to be fun (or at least not as fun as the other two).

The final boss is... kind of stupid, I guess? You have to kill one of its guardians to make it vulnerable and fire at it (preferably with BFG). If you don’t realize it in a minute, you will end up with no ammo to blow it up. And again, the music doesn’t help.

Oh yeah, there is also stealth filth once in a while. -_-

I know it’s at worst one enemy per map, but still. What is it with these people keep adding this garbage to their WADs?

There are dozens of new enemies in this WAD. I’m fine with some new enemies to spice things up, but UTNT goes way too far with them. Some of these appear only once in the entire WAD! It’s like Tormentor didn’t know what to do with some of them and just slapped them in random places on the random map.

I don’t have time to ramble about every single one of them. Besides, I already talked about many of these in my previous reviews (like ZDCMP1, KDiZD, and Cheogsh among some of these). So instead, I’ll do quick rounds for every class of these bastards.

Without any further to do – the monsters of Ultimate Torment and Torture ladies, gentlemen, and others:

In the Zombie section we have Rapid-firing Trooper (Wolfenstein SS as an actual Doom enemy), Mutant Marine (tougher Shotgunner variant), Chaingun Major (Hoovy from KDiZD as a tougher variant of the original Hoovy), Bazooka Boy (from Obituary, shoots rockets), Plasma Zombie (‘nuff said), Railgunner (‘nuff said too), and Suicide Bomber (basically Headless Kamikaze as a Doom enemy; my personal favorites).

In the Imp section we have Catharsi (Cyberdemon if Imp; volley of projectiles, leaves a bomb when the die (if he didn’t gib)), Dark Imp (homing projectiles), Skulltag Imp (faster projectiles), Void Imp (Undead Warrior reskin), Soul Harvester (much more annoying homing projectiles; some of them are semi-invisible), Shadow (weaker Arachnotron, for some reason uses stock Imp noises despite having original ones in the past), Devil (tougher variant that can shoot constantly; uses Doom 64 Imp noises), Imp Warlord (has a couple of different attacks), Nightmare (can be hit when attacks and is constantly invisible before doing that), and Stone Imp (Imp if melee).

In the Hell Noble section we have Satyr (melee), Hell Warrior (has a shield), Hell Guard (no idea if he counts here but, whatever; shoots a volley of three projectiles), Hell’s Fury (tougher Baron), Lord of Heresy (tougher Baron but with wings), Belphegor (tougher Baron but with the volley of three projectiles), Afrit (flying, tougher Baron), and Bruiser (basically if the Bruise Brothers were actual bosses).

There are two new Cacodemon variants – Enhanced Cacodemon which shoots three fireballs and has slightly less health, and Cacolantern which shoots faster projectiles.

Same with Pain Elemental – we have Plasma Elemental (‘nuff said) and Tortured Soul (toxic clouds among other projectile).

There are also other enemies, which are Arachnophyte (Spider Bitch but flies), Blood Demon (tougher Pinky), Death Incarnate (hitscanning Revenant that has a small chance to not resurrect), Rail Arachnotron (‘nuff said), and Terror (Lost Soul that has a gigantic blast radius after it dies).

There are also the Source’s Guardians that I mentioned earlier. Look like Cycloid Emperors, kind of annoying to fight, and when they die, they leave their heart or something that functions as stronger medikit

We can’t forget about the bosses too. Aside from Bruiser Demons and the evil pentagram that function as bosses of episodes 2 and 4 respectively, we have Hectebi in the first episode (which are tougher Mancubi) and Giant Spiders in the third episode (Maulotaur reskins that burst out smaller, annoying to kill, regular spiders).

You collapse on the floor.

...

Phew...

Now with the demonic army described (apologies for the information errors if you notice one), let’s talk about new weapons.

Surprisingly, compared to the hegemony that are new monsters, you only get three new weapons. The first one to talk about is the Minigun that I mentioned earlier. It’s basically a much faster Chaingun but with a long break before firing again, meaning that it’s better for close encounters rather than sniping.

You have a flamethrower called... Flamer (how original). It’s your typical WAD flame thrower; don’t get burned by it yourself.

The final weapon is actually hidden in the secret in the first episode. It’s called Pyrocannon Prototype, and it feels like a napalm launcher that shoots mini-nukes. Perfect for bosses, so don’t use it (nor flamethrower) in any other circumstances.

I encountered some bugs while playing UTNT. The most prominent one was when Hell Warriors were completely invulnerable to anything until they raised the shield (something that didn’t happen in the previous WAD when these hulking cats appeared). Another bug that I encountered was in the second episode, where after exiting the secret area, the music from there was still playing; I had to enter and exit it again to properly change back to the original track.

The worst time was with some stability problems. There was one tiny moment in the first part of the fourth episode when there were some framerate drops due to the large amount of enemies and allies fighting each other, but there was a much worse one in episode two, during my secret-hunting run, when after the area with the blue key, the framerate started dropping like crazy, down to around 1.5 FPS.

Gee, maybe it wouldn’t happen if not for the gargantuan amount of shells, bullets, blood chunks, and gore chunks that appear everytime you kill at least one enemy (at least that’s how I think). I wonder if Tormentor ever thought of that situation.

The Ultimate Torment and Torture... makes me sad. I genuinely feel this WAD had the potential to be one of the best WADs ever created but the Tormentor’s obsession with (G)ZDoom features, many enemies that were slapped on this WAD without any reason for nothing but a small cameo, and the pretentiousness that pores out to the surface of the WAD’s plot makes it impossible to reach that status. It’s yet another WAD of its time that by modern standards feels outdated.

There is also another map known as the lost episode. I don’t know how to reach it without warping to it (if it’s even possible to get there normally), so I’ll leave it for the bonus round.

As for me, my break from Doom WADs might end up longer than a week, since I’m planning to buy a new PC that has SSD Hard Drive. So I’m going to move all important files to it once it arrives.

But until then, I’ll see you next time.

Have an early, happy 30th Doom anniversary.

[just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace]

Moonlight

-> a self-indulgent little Thomas Hutter x fem!vampire!reader drabble

Warnings: reader watches Thomas sleep and contemplates biting him; mentions of mind control

He is so terribly beautiful in the moonlight.

Your undead heart, it seems, is still capable of aching in the face of beauty. It is a curious feeling you have not experienced in lifetimes, and are not sure you ever had, even when you walked still amongst the living. Your infernal nature urges you to sink your teeth into your unsuspecting prey, bite into his heart as you have done countless others... yet you are oddly compelled to preserve the sight before your eyes, caress it with your gaze as you would a most precious painting.

Thomas stirs in his sleep as you ease yourself onto the bed, but it’s not the slight motion of you sitting at his side which disturbs him. His dreams are tortured, leaving his skin aglow with perspiration. There is a shroud over his mind, equal parts his own terror and your dark influence crawling around within, ever since he set foot inside your ancient castle.

Slowly, you raise your hand, and his ragged breathing is soothed into a sigh as soon as the shadow of your fingers caresses his cheek. Your knuckles soon follow, an icy graze upon his feverish skin. Yet he leans into your touch, still fast asleep, lips slightly parted and—rosy, plump with blood you could bring rushing to the surface with but a press of your deadly sharp nailtip.

You shut your eyes, shuddering as you fight to keep at bay the hunger ravaging your senses. You must not give in now. You cannot. For if you do, if you were to throw yourself upon him and kiss his lips, and bite them open, there would be nothing in the world of the living or the dead that could stop you from draining him of every last drop he has to give. And if he were to die, the sweet torment of this desire he has awakened in you would die with him.

“My lady?”

His eyes have opened, you find as his murmur draws your gaze to him. Your fingers linger at his jaw still. They drift upward, sinking in his hair as you cradle the apple of his cheek. His breath quickens once more, lashes fluttering as though he is torn between remaining transfixed by your eerie beauty or hiding behind closed lids from a touch he feels to be his doom.

“My Thomas,” you whisper in return, overcome with an achingly tender craving. You watch as your other hand finds his chest, palm flattening over his heart. How quickly it beats beneath your fingertips. How strongly.

One bite, and it is yours.

You envision it—the tearing of flesh, the gushing of blood, the gasp torn from his throat—as Thomas brings his hand over your own. You raise your gaze and find his pleading. If there was any doubt left in his mind that the evil he feels in this place was you, it is now gone.

You could make him forget. You could make him do anything you wished, but it is of his own will that he turns his head into your hand that is cupping his cheek, brushes his lips against the heel of it. Then, lifting his gaze to yours, he breathes into your skin:

“Are you Death?”

You could be. You are.

Devourance is all you can think of as you lean down, your shadow falling over him as you bring your lips a breath away from his. They brush, not quite a kiss. Thomas releases the softest gasp. Shuts his eyes. Tilts his chin ever-so-slightly upwards.

More.

“No,” you rein in the craving in between you, as well as give the answer that he seeks. “Not tonight.”

When Thomas next opens his eyes, breathless and trembling, it’s as though you were never there. But he knows, by the ache of his need and the ghost of your touch, that indeed you were—and when the coming day has passed and night returns, so shall you. And though every inch of his being quakes with the certainty that you will bring utter ruin upon his body and his soul, he can’t help but think...

You are so terribly beautiful in the moonlight.

Next part -> Devourable

[gatheringbones]

If you’ve read the book, what did you think of A Little Life? I am in two minds about it because on the one hand it was, for me, the most accurate portrayal of the consequences of childhood trauma I’ve ever read in a novel — incredibly tragic statement, but as an adult who is genuinely terrified and intolerant of intimacy because of my past, Jude was actually the first and only really relatable fictional character I’ve ever come across. Seeing my own experiences reflected like that for the first time ever felt almost revolutionary to me. But on the other I hate the idea (expressed in the quote from the author that you posted) that he was always doomed to die by suicide because his trauma left him too broken to recover. That feels to me like a fundamentally wrong idea, but I’d love to hear your thoughts.

that’s what Yanagihara thinks of you. Once that happens to you, you’re irreparably broken and can only drag down others into your pit of despair and it’s better for all involved for you to quietly kill yourself and spare everyone the inconvenience of your tormented existence. Her father was a eugenicist and she carries his beliefs. The backbone of American eugenicism is to make the lives of the Unfit and Unwanted so miserable that they remove themselves without having to involve the state. Jude’s so relatable because his voice is intentionally written to agree with and stoke your worst and most suicidal feelings because Hanya Yanagihara wants people like him (and you) to kill themselves. Suicidal thoughts are not especially creative; they follow very similar tracks from person to person. All of his woe is me I’m broken forever guess I’ll eat worms and die shit is entirely that. She wants you to kill yourself and she wants all your friends and loved ones to give up on you faster so it will happen faster.

I wish you had access to real survivor narratives by people who actually give a shit and who don’t see you as a cockroach that needs to be flushed, especially by queer survivors of rape, captivity, and torture. Our culture gives us incessant eugenecist messages that we need to remove ourselves from society and that our lives are nothing but waste and ruin. There are so many real voices countering that.

[askoverkill]

The Overkill Trigger Warning Master Post

Making this into a separate post for those who need it!

death!!! That's the main theme!

gore (NEVER SHOWN in detail. sometimes described tho)

suicide discussed, suicidal ideation NOT performed past canon typical timeloop usage

canon typical Siffrin self-hate (AKA it's bad!)

murder, threats of murder and harm, elaborate death traps that lead to murder, discussion of murder etc. very video game-esc!

threats of torture, ACTUAL torture, the Labyrinth and the timeloops themselves can be considered torture!

extreme timeloop bullcrap, canon typical pushed to 11

cannibalism discussed (never enacted on screen! it's metaphorical)

dead bodies. (shown but not in graphic detail!)

gummy goo-style head explode

poison

rock deaths

drunk off alcohol

suffocation

burning alive

toxic relationship <- onesided romance, other half is manipulation

emotional torment /abuse

love bombing, gaslighting (all relating to that relationship)

Death game involves the forge. Burning alive.

Loop 6. That's where a lot of that happens.

Loop 8 too.

body horror (duplicated director is incomplete and unstable)

said duplicate is killed (and depending on your interpretation, it's left vague on purpose) partly eaten

There'll be more added as we go along, please be mindful of the warnings!

And reminder, while this story is overkill with the dark themes, it is NOT a doom fest. It's got a mix of dark comedy and regular ISAT comedy. Despite everything, there's hope and love.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

I love the at a canes length story.

The power dynamic of him just reclined back watching his partner in their knees for him just does something yk?

Any ideas for him bossing around his partner like that? Or him being able to do what he want and they are not allowed to touch him, even if they beg? (All consensual ofc!!)

we’re all into our darling tease viktor, aren’t we? btw, i’m naming this drabble after my favourite am song.

cw: gn reader, smut, dirty talk, nipple play, i got too carried away and wrote a poetic filthy little thing.

word count: 700~

Normally you wouldn’t dare to complain about your lover’s hands — deliciously nimble, they never failed to tame you with the length of each cautiously curious finger, the callousness of them tortuous, yet professionally precise — just the right spoon of tar in a barrel of sweet honey. They were the hands of a pianist, attached to those lanky, just as much fitting for a musician arms — had your brain stupidly doomed whenever their defiant owner rolled up a ruffled sleeve just high enough to tease you with a sight of a pointy elbow or a weave of cerulean veins under the translucently pale skin. 

However, tonight — they became the hands of a jeweller, short nails the figurative tweezers gently piercing into each pretty bud of your nipples, restraining you with the unbearable thoroughness of Viktor’s most sensual touches — all lazy tugs and languid circles besieging the aureoles. Pure torment — nothing more and nothing less, increasingly intricate considering the utter complacency in the pair of amber eyes ogling your naked chest — not a single bead of sweat left unnoticed or unkissed away.

And this tactic — although insanely efficient — made you hiss numerous pleas into the softness of a dump pillow, back an impatient arch above the clinging to your sticky skin sheets. Because jewellers are impeccably methodical — most importantly, slow, and slow was never your pace of choice, despite all its charming offers of savouring. You wanted him now, invariably inside, shirtless, with spitslick lips and open against the curve of your shoulder mouth: fast, and deep, and eagerly frantic — something a pianist might allow, but a jeweller must strictly avoid. How truly devastating. 

Or, perhaps, not?

His tongue is an unexpected tool — it gently soothes the pinched nipple, dripping with generous, thick moist onto the awakened goosebumps — a welcomed diversity, most perfectly combined with the dexterity of his skilful digits, and you meet it with a string of breathless curses — grateful for the little mercy, yet still not nearly satisfied enough. 

The ‘no touching’ rule effortlessly slips your mind when Viktor’s mouth lingers there — wrapped around the relentlessly teased bud, sucking at it so gently you might just melt into this very bed. You impatiently clutch his tie, clumsily pulling him forward into a pathetic attempt of stealing an open-mouthed kiss, and Viktor instantly regrets he didn’t free his slender neck off it earlier, silently remorsing the missed opportunity of tying your wrists together. 

He sighs, reluctantly peeling his right palm off your covered in saliva chest, and it insistently nudges you off the tie and leads right back where your hands belong — nailed into the pillow right above your head. 

“Was I not clear enough when I kindly asked you to avoid touching me?” his voice is soft — raspy and gentle, not upset with you in the slightest — just genuinely curious, ludicrously polite for a man so eager to torture you. “Or, perhaps, patience is simply not one of your virtues?” 

He offers you a smile — a chaste one, oh that specific stretch of thin lips into an unbearably handsome line — worthy of whatever foreplay-durations he wishes for. 

Now it’s your turn to sigh. 

“It’s just that… I’m afraid you might not be done with me even until dawn,” you mumble sweetly, fingers already itchy to intertwine with his hair — and you wonder if he might be willing to consider this compromise. He simply arches a thick brow, humming with a playful half-turn of a head. 

“I was not aware we were in a rush,” he chuckles, and — oh heavens, finally! — hovers above your flushed face for a split second, picking a feature to award with a long-awaited kiss. 

You’re not surprised when his warm gaze drifts over your lips, evidently recalling the irresistible softness of them. No matter how much into denying it Viktor might be, he is a needy man in the very depth of his heart — and these rare occurrences might just be your favourite moments of his vulnerability. And when you’re almost ready to release an ardent tongue into the blissful heat of his mouth — your precious inventor smirks, cruelly changing his route. 

“Besides,” he whispers — cheeky, and so unbearably hot, brushing the tip of his sharp nose against your earshell. “You’re underestimating me. I intend to proceed until at least next noon.” 

[kaeyeahsworld]

A real pussy pleaser.

Synopsis:

Toji was out on business trip and you thought you could have a night for yourself. But things never go according to the plan do they?

Tags: toji fushiguro x female reader, smut, dirty talk, masturbation, body worship, mirror sex, suit kink, orgasm edging and denial, toji has a big dick lol, pet names (mama, baby, doll)

18+

Cross posted on Ao3

MDNI and do not interact if uncomfortable

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•••~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Being Toji’s woman was the sweetest torture.

There would be days when he would drill his cock into your sweet cunt for hours together, his kisses and actions making you see stars. 

But there were also days like these where all you had was an hour's worth of video call with him at the end of the day, with him being away on his business trip. 

It had been almost a week now and you had to survive only 2 more days before you would be back in Toji’s arms. 

But then again it was one of those nights. Fresh out of the shower, the music playing on the speaker in your shared room, is tender and sinful. The lights were soft golden and ambient and you were here smelling like petals on a calming summer night. 

Waking up late in the evening, the doom scroll session had somehow turned into a soft porn marathon. With a man like Toji around, porn was the farthest thing to get you going but today was different and you had the whole night to yourself anyway. 

Sexy kisses, lustful outfits, funny dialogue writings and concepts in some and no dialogues in others and all of them ending in delicious torment of the actress’s cunts either with filthy sloppy mouths or bliss-inducing vibrators. There was one video that caught your attention though, a simple one of a man eating his woman out, but the sultry build-up of the video, the man almost as big as yours’ and the unadulterated ecstasy on the woman’s face as he pulled one orgasm after another from her which had clenching your thighs together and almost giving into the temptation, but instead you decided against it and hopped into the shower to freshen yourself. 

It would be worth the wait once Toji’s back. Right? 

But as things never go according to plan, while cleaning the room you found an unwashed office shirt of Toji, large enough to engulf you comfortably

God you missed him so much. Could the trip get any longer?

His scent was a mixture of cool rich cologne and a hint of the day’s sweat, which didn’t help the ache between your legs. Slow warm and as wet as it could get.

Imagining him at work, his cute little furrowed eyebrows as he concentrates be it when prepping for a presentation, which was quite the same when pleasuring you out. His passionate green eyes that harbour a mischievous crinkle every time he unleashes an attack of kisses all over your face.

Just this one night you decide to take care of yourself.

Minutes later, here you were in front of the full-length mirror of your room admiring your figure donned with his shirt and only a wet, stained blue panty

Your own sight was enticing enough as you settled on the floor in front of the mirror, arching your back a little and putting out gorgeous tits on display.

The tips of your hair tickling your skin, the warmth spreading through your chest and tummy and your leaky aching cunt was too much to bear as dipped a finger into your panties

Gosh, you were so darn wet and this was the effect Toji had on you even if he was miles away.

Rubbing around the folds, in no hurry, you explored each sensitive little crevice with one hand and the other massaging softly over your nipple

“Ohhh- Toji…. I am so wet for you, mhhh-“You were as comfortably loud as you could be your finger now gliding over your clit, pinching it a little. As much you liked indulging in self-pleasure once in a while it was never enough.

It wasn’t Toji’s warm calloused hand teasing you like there’s no tomorrow. It wasn’t his long fingers pumping through your tight cunt just right.

“Tojiiiii….come backk… uhhmmp-“ you were so close to an orgasm, wet slick sounds echoing all about the room when-

“Missed me doll?”

An all too familiar deep voice.

Here was the man in question, in all his black suit, and grey tie glory leaning against the bedroom door watching you like a predator does its sweet prey

If you were an impatient one, Toji gave a tougher competition. Finishing up with his work as early as he could and skipping on the last two days of drinking fun with his office mates, Toji was on the earliest flight back.

What he was expecting was his girl to jump onto him and smother him with sweet kisses on opening the door but the site before him was well…

An even better surprise.

Hands deep in your panties, flushed skin covered by a dirty shirt he had left a week ago, eyes all glorious and teary-eyed.

“Toji! When did you come back.. I didn’t mean to-“Before you could even finish your sentence, Toji was kneeling and grabbing your chin

Slowly licking and nipping at your bottom lip, he whispered “Your pretty pussy couldn’t wait a week darling?”

“Hmmph!” His warm tongue was now sliding over yours, as you grabbed and pawed at his chest while his other hand was at your waist pulling you closer.

Knees buckling from the sheer dominance of the man, you couldn’t be more happy he was back. “Missed you so much…love, don’t leave me” you desperately whined out to him almost straddling him

“Leave you?” Toji chuckled handsomely “I ain’t going nowhere, mama. Even in another lifetime, I will find my way back to you”

As he shoved a finger into your panties, the wetness had him groaning into the kiss. He was sensuously pleasing the sensitive spot on your neck, biting it softly to leave a reddening hickey.

“Come on mama, I worked so hard on this trip. Put on a show and reward me” he said as he flipped you both around, your back to his chest and both of you facing the mirror. His hands parting your legs and with your glistening cunt on full display you couldn’t help but let out an embarrassing moan into Toji’s ear.

“But Toji… this is too..mm” You were blabbering shy mess out of nowhere and Toji was enjoying this.

“Show me your pretty cunt” he demanded as he put a hand over yours and guided you back to resume your ministrations. The pleasure was twofold now with Toji moaning darkly in your ear, his warm minty breath raising the hairs all over your body.

“Look at the sight of you. Such a gorgeous fucking thing you are eh? Those delicious tits and your glossy pouty lips, gosh wish I could have them around my cock all day, drooling all over it huh girl?”

His fingers had replaced yours now and with his middle and ring finger caressing your velvet walls, you were so close, rocking and thrusting your clit against the palm of his hand.

“I am so close Toji…. Uhhh! Fuckkk… right there!”

“How close baby?” Toji asked “A bit-..more” and just as you could feel the warmth in your tummy unravelling he pulled his fingers out

“What the fuck Toji?”

“Who said you could come tonight doll?” Toji replied, his gaze intoxicating in the mirror

This was going to be a long night and his reward was going to be your punishment. Albeit a sweet one

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~•••~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N : Expect a part 2 lol

I named this one after an edit audio

I tried editing it for the most part but its 2 am so ignore any typos pls

lemme know how you like it.

take care sweets

[saintstars]

Tragedy and Doom @russingon-week day six

Fic below the cut with warnings for gore, death, trauma, non con kissing, or read it on Ao3

Maedhros was being pulled away, fleeing. With his company, his brothers. And Fingon was an aching hole in his soul. He reached out for it and the merciful emptiness swallowed him whole.

He went away from himself for a while, aware his body was moving, being led places, but not connected to it in any way, unseeing.

He was tether-less as a dead spirit unwilling to seek Mandos. Not that he knew if he would be able to seek Mandos when he died, he might be casting into darkness, be claimed by Morgoth, or be tethered by his Oath to roam Arda as an unclothed spirit.

Had he thought his death salvation he would have thrown himself down on the field and let the enemy crush him into the same dust, the same mud. Let their blood, their bones be one with the dirt and their souls free, together. Such happy things were not for him.

His fëa was a maelstrom of loss and shock and rage.

It exposed him.

The mind that had scrabbled against his walls for days at last found purchase in his sorrow and threw open the doors that had been held shut for centuries.

He fell. Or floated. Or hung suspended, as he was drawn into familiar surroundings made unfamiliar. He stood in Himring, in that great fortress that had held for so long between Morgoth’s forces and Eastern Beleriand, within his own bed chamber.

Morgoth did not speak at first. He did not need to, his smugness radiated through their connection, crashing up against Maedhros’s desolate fury.

He cut a dark figure against the window over Anfauglith, a red ruin of the land, smouldering with battle fires, littered with wreckage. This dark hair swept loose down his back, his ragged, scared, broken-nosed, profile showed dark skin and an aspect more Mannish than Valarin. Despite the mild appearance, he radiated the uncanny sense of his power, a raging storm caught in fragile glass.

‘I would have thought you would look down upon Beleriand and all you strove so hard to protect. Instead you face north, gazing ever towards my fortress.’ Morgoth turned from the window to him, a smile snaking across his face like channels of flame across the land. His eyes were the pure black of a hunting predator. ‘Should I be flattered, Maitimo?’

Maedhros lacked the fight to move, he had poured it all out on the battlefield and still they had failed.

‘How are you here?’

‘I can still craft illusions when I wish to roam my lands unseen. Or perhaps I am not here and only draw on it as source of torment for you.’ He was beside Maedhros in a thought, running his dry, cracked, blackened hands over the matching scar of his face, relishing them. ‘Oh, I am not so shrewd as my sweet little Lieutenant at the work, but I know fear better than any, do I not?’

How quickly Maedhros was undone again. All the years of freedom from Angband unravelled beneath his desperate fingers as he grasped for his sense of self. There was only Morgoth, there was only Thangorodrim, an endless sky and his own failures glaring into his broken spirit.

He stared up at the hated, awful, familiar face of his torturer and realised very late what was missing from the picture.

‘Where are the Silmarils?’

Morgoth hissed as though wounded, he dropped his hands and paced away to the far wall. He tore a tapestry of the Fëanorian star from the wall, tearing the threads apart almost lazily.

‘Safe in my fortress.’ He glanced back at Maedhros. His smile twisted like a knife in the back. ‘If only there were one more readily available to you and your merry band of brothers.’

Maedhros glared at him. He would not be made into a blade for his enemy to wield in wickedness, not again.

Morgoth abandoned the tangled mess he had made of the tapestry, opened a drawer, drew up a golden ribbon. His eyes met Maedhros’ knowingly, the slender ribbon curling into his fist.

It was as though Maedhros stood on the battlefield again, too many bodies between them, as brilliant, bright Fingon charged forward into the awful mass of shadows and flame they fought. He was too little, too late, too useless.

‘Will you take up Kingship of the Noldor now?’ Morgoth asked, letting the ribbon fall from his hand to the dirty stone floor. ‘Avenge yourself upon me for the failure of your little alliance?’

‘I cast it aside.’ Maedhros snarled. ‘I cast it from me still. You will find no thrall for your evil deeds with me.’

‘Yet here you stand, your mind bared to me.’ Morgoth cocked his head, his manner winding flirtatious, ‘It is almost as though you missed me.’

Maedhros choked on hatred and bile and fury, unable to make words of it.

Morgoth was upon him in a moment, pressing him down against his own bed, clutching his head with so strong a grip Maedhros was almost convinced he was there in hröa not held only by his mind.

‘Tell me Maitimo, when you take yourself in hand, do you think of me?’

Morgoth kissed him and without thought, or only with thought as it was, Maedhros gasped into it utterly appalled and horrified and needing Fingon, his Fingon not his enemy there.

And as if he willed it, Fingon appeared before him, leaning back from their kiss, smiling his kind, brilliant, joyful smile down at Maedhros.

A sob caught in his very fëa.

Fingon rocked, restless as always, his fingers tapping a playful rhythm on Maedhros’ chest. As Maedhros watched, unable to protest or through him off, a liquid line of bright red appeared at his forehead. Mesmerised, Maedhros wanted it trail through the centre of his forehead, down his nose, through the dear, beloved, lips, colouring the gold ring he wore, dripping off his chin.

Maedhros gasped at the pain of it touching his chest, as though it cut through his chest, rending flesh and organs and heart. Upon Fingon the line grew, a crack, a cavity into darkness, his face splitting to either side.

He fell upon Maedhros, as he had many blissful, beautiful, better times before, his blood staining Maedhros red, red, red.

‘He died because of you.’ Morgoth said softly, almost pityingly into his ruined ear. ‘Why is it that those you love the most are so eager to burn, Maitimo?’

Maedhros knew it was because of him, he tormented himself with the thought. That if he had not arrived late to the field Fingon would not have been bolstered and charged into danger, that if he had only cut down those between them faster, that if he had seen the betrayal sooner, if he had not given the kingship to Fingolfin’s line, if he had never brought Morgoth’s attention down on the one he loved more than anything in all Eä.

Morgoth took Maedhros with him to the window, forcing him to stare down at the wasteland below, the wretched battlefield of his utter defeat.

Morgoth’s voice was seductively smooth in comparison, as he crooned against the crown of Maedhros’ head.

‘The Noldor are lost, little prince. Come to me, return yourself to Angband, bow before me as your master and spare those left further suffering.’ His hands were at Maedhros’ waist and throat, his evil caressing his spirit; a more inescapable manacle than the one holding him to the Thangorodrim.

‘You would swear their safety for my surrender?’ Maedhros closed his eyes and leant into it, let the greater spirit envelop him, drawing him deep into darkness.

‘I would reward my willing liege lord, allow his merciful rule over our dutiful Noldor.’

Maedhros gathered all that was light and good in him, all that was Fingon’s memory, his nobility, his kindness, his wrath against injustice. All his fiery spirit held as a blade, shining silver and blue and, as he drove it deep within the spirit about his, bleeding black, black, black.

Morgoth howled as Maedhros wounded him where he let few tread, and slipped from his grasp.

Maedhros woke achingly alone, the splinter of his goodness left lodged within his enemy, and none spare to bear him forward in his own shattered life.

[cool-girl-lies-alot]

My favourite thing about the Slayer is that he is explicitly not an agent of heaven. People say that Doom is a christian game because you kill demons, but in Doom, demons aren't sinners, they're the ones torturing sinners. He starts his rampage after the murder of his rabbit, but he continues because it's what he can do to help people. The Slayer is so against people's suffering that when he learns that literal heaven is exploiting human torment for their own gain, he shows up just to send a big fuck you and kill the Khan Makyr. Even when Novik, the leader of the sentinels, tells him to stand down and that humanity is no longer his responsibility, he just ignores him and keeps going because saving humanity was always his mission and to him nothing is above that. And the way he's so gentle with other humans is so cute. He doesn't have the time to talk or be polite, but he makes damn sure he does nothing to hurt them