#andrey

[dumb-bitchass]

Goncharov 50th gonchiversary bash !!!!!! 50 years with the greatest mafia movie ever made, crazy how fast time goes.

[clarkkantagain]

andrey by alexandr fedotov

[fanaticartisan]

Goncharov, 1973

[unforgivenn]

Masterlist

Noah shuddered, the tears welling in his eyes mixing with the blood and sweat on his face. He tried to pull away, but the strings only tightened, biting deeper into his flesh. Andrey laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down Noah's spine.

"Struggle all you want, slave.," Andrey murmured, his lips brushing against Noah's ear. "You'll only hurt yourself more. Accept your fate, and perhaps, just perhaps, I'll show you a mercy."

But Noah knew there would be no mercy. Not from Andrey. The prince's touch was as cold and unyielding as the chains that bound him. Nevertheless, he was too ensnared in his thoughts to make out Andrey's words. He felt as if he was teetering on the brink of insanity. There was just pain, pain, and more pain.

Every moment in this hellish place was a relentless assault on his mind and body. The constant pain, the fear, the humiliation—it was all too much. Noah's thoughts raced, a chaotic whirl of memories and nightmares. He remembered his life before this, the freedom he had taken for granted, now a distant, cruel dream. He remembered his mother making rhubarb pie for him. His sister running around the house lighting it up with her talkative nature.

Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this? The questions had been echoing in his mind ever since he came here but now he heard them ring in his ears louder than before. He felt his grip on reality slipping, the edges of his sanity fraying with each passing second.

Noah's heart pounded in his chest, each beat a drum of panic. He tried to focus on something, anything to ground himself, but all he could see were the s, the blood, the darkness.

I'm finally losing it. I'm losing my mind. The thought was like a dagger to his heart. A part of him wanted to laugh at himself, at this whole shitty situation while the other wanted to just sob at his helplessness. The fear of what he was becoming was almost worse than the pain itself. He was no longer just a captive; he was a broken man, teetering on the edge of madness.

Andrey's voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, a chilling voice in his head that repeated again and again. "You're mine, Noah. Mind, body, and soul. There's no escape for you. No hope. No mercy." He wanted to help him to shut up but it felt as if he couldn't open his mouth anymore.

Wait.. What was he doing here again..?

Noah's vision blurred with tears, his body trembling. He wanted to scream, to beg for release, but he knew it would only bring more torment. He was trapped, not just physically, but mentally, emotionally. The shackles that held him were more than just physical restraints; they were the bonds of his shattered will, the chains of his despair.

I can't do this. I can't keep going. The thought was a desperate plea, a cry into the void. But there was no one to hear it, no one to save him.

The room seemed to close in around him, the walls pressing in, the air growing thin. He was suffocating, drowning in his own fear and pain.

Help me. Someone, please, help me. Please help me please help me- The plea repeated in his mind like a chant thought it went unanswered, lost in the abyss of his despair.

He was just a puppet, and Andrey was the puppeteer. And in this twisted game, there were no strings that could be cut to set him free.

(THIS WAS NOT A PART OF THE MAIN SERIES)

Taglist: @miireux134 @nuriiz134 @ash-reh @noeul-whumpppss @morning-star-whump

@parasitebunny @anutz1234 @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumped-by-glitter @someoneoninternettt(let me know if you want to be added or removed :D)

[crimpyff]

Bringing out another doodle dump ! The gays and their left facing profile picture/ref (i will bring first cashier and andrey fanart in the public)

[ttime-aand-sspace]

Ok, I know we don't like to talk about it because of the scene context, BUT that scene with Andrey and Goncharov in the art museum where Goncharov tells Andrey "In the Bible Judas kisses Jesus on the mouth as an act of betrayal yet most artist portray it as a kiss on the cheek, I wonder why that is" and Andrey replies with clear confusion "I don't recall reading this in the Bible" and Goncharov goes "No no, I'm pretty sure it happened" and then later during Andrey's betrayal scene, Goncharov tells him "Are you portraying this kiss or are you a coward?" as a way of saying "I understood you were gonna do this long ago, but I can no longer run from my destiny, I can no longer run from time" and then Andrey kisses him right before shooting him in the heart it's just so good and it's even better when you know that mobs and people in the mafia in general kiss others on the mouth as an oath to be loyal to them till the very end and it's so good this movie makes me wanna eat glass I swear to god help me I'm obsessed

[milenayamektup]

“Ne acı bu denli geç rastlamak sana

Ve böylesine erken ayrı kalmak sonunda.”

[roughridingrednecks]

Anfrey

[invaderlynx]

Some Ice Pick Joe memes because no one ever talks about all the shit this guy went through

[helpfulhellhounds]

Andrey and Goncharov from Goncharov (1973).

[Image Description: A digital painting of Andrey and Goncharov with an abstract, colorful background. Andrey’s body is turned away, but he is looking back at Goncharov. Goncharov’s hand is curled around Andrey’s arm. Andrey wears a light green blazer, and Goncharov’s suit jacket is dark blue. End ID.]

[guys-moments]

[leona-florianova]

Sketches of Andrey and Ice Pick Joe.. 

[toxicsludgeyaoi]

Toxic Sludge Yaoi Tournament: Goncharov/Andrey (Goncharov) Vs Kawoshin (Neon Genesis Evangelion)

(No image provided for Goncharov/Andrey. Vote for whichever ship you like more.)

Propaganda under cut. Note: spoilers for these medias may be below.

Goncharov/Andrey propaganda

"It's like the original toxic yaoi sludge??????? They're obsessed with eachother but they're literally enemies. It's perfect."

Kawoshin propaganda

"One of the most iconic toxic yaois. They can't both live. Either Kaworu kills Shinji and the rest of humanity, or Shinji kills Kaworu and saves the rest of humanity. Shinji is so thoroughly affected by the loss of Kaworu. He regrets it, he wants to go back and let Kaworu kill him. It's the last straw for Shinji in all honesty."

[unforgivenn]

Yes the feverrrr! Be a shame if he were tortured in the main au where he's already begging and broken... with this added on

I am so sorry this was literally lost in my drafts but well here it issss

MASTERLIST

CW: torture, physical abuse, extreme suffering, degradation, cruel whumper, violence, knives

The body that had once been so full of arrogant poise and nobility now lay crumpled upon the stone floor, a weak remnant of himself. The fever had taken him days ago, a fire in his veins voraciously consuming him from the inside out. His breathing was shallow and labored, and every breath he took sounded like a death rattle in the cold silent room. Sweat drenched his skin, plastering his hair to his forehead, and his limbs twitched uncontrollably, as if fighting a battle even in his broken state.

He wasn’t used to this. He wasn’t supposed to be weak. He wasn’t supposed to beg.

Yet here he was. Reduced to nothing.

The door creaked open with a slight metallic groan, and the sound reverberated off the gray, barren walls of the room. Andrey's eyes flew open, and his lips let out a small gasp as the fevered haze momentarily cleared. His heart hammered in his chest, but his body was too weak to move. He knew what was coming. It had become routine by now-the torture, the breaking, the fucking agony.

But something was different this time.

The figure entering the room carried nothing usual in the way of punishment tools-no whips, no chains to clank together. Rather, in the poor light, there was a single glint of metal, and Andrey's bloodshot eyes traced its progress with a dawning fear.

The figure dropped to its knees beside him, its shadow pouring over him. "You've begged already, haven't you?" The voice was quiet, almost gentle, with the scarier blade of something else underneath. "I wonder if you have anything left, Andrey."

Andrey tried to speak, tried to plead, tried to say anything that would spare him the fresh wave of pain he knew was coming. But his throat was parched dry, his voice hoarse from days of screaming, from pleading for mercy. A pathetic croak was all that escaped.

The man laughed, a sound which made Andrey's skin run cold. "Nothing to say? No more of your noble arrogance?" He leaned in closer, his hot breath dancing across Andrey's fevered skin. "Don't worry. You can scream all you want today."

It came down slow, tauntingly, and the point of the blade danced across Andrey's fevered skin, cold-so cold it seared like fire. Andrey whimpered; his body arched to pull away instinctively, and there was nowhere to go. He was trapped. Helpless. "You deserve this, you know," the voice whispered, almost gentle. "After everything you've done. after everything you thought you could get away with."

It was a shallow cut, merely a thin line drawn across Andrey's chest. But the pain-oh, the pain that was so sharp, visceral, it tore a ragged scream from his throat. His body bucked. The fever pulsed through him, intermingling with the pain until he could not tell where one ended and the other began.

"That's it," the person cooed, staring with sick satisfaction. "Scream. Scream for me."

The second slash, deeper this time, cut across his side. Blood flowed freely now, warm and sticky, oozing onto the cold stone beneath him. The sharp tang of it filled the air, mingling with the smell of sweat and sickness. Andrey's vision blurred; black spots danced at the edges, but he fought to stay conscious. He had no choice.

"Does it hurt?" The voice was mocking, playful even. The knife pressed harder, dragging across Andrey’s skin, carving patterns into him like he was nothing more than a canvas for their cruelty. "I want to hear you beg again, Andrey. I want to hear you really beg."

Andrey gasped and choked on his own saliva, fighting for speech. His voice came out as a broken whisper, "Please. s-stop.."

But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

The blade bit deep into his arm, in a twisting motion that made the flesh separate, and Andrey's scream reverberated off the walls, raw and animal-like. His body convulsed with the effect, nerves lit with a torment that was impossible to bear. Tears streamed down his face, mingling with the blood and sweat, and his heart throbbed so hard in his chest, as if it might burst at any instant.

"Good," they murmured, almost sweetly. "But we’re not done sweetie."

The knife withdrew, dripping with his blood, and before Andrey could even catch his breath, the person reached into their pocket and pulled out a small, coarse packet. Andrey’s heart stopped when he realized what it was.

Salt.

"No..." The word came out as a broken sob, but it did nothing to stop them.

They started sprinkling salt over open wounds, their movements very slow and deliberate, watching with sadistic delight as Andrey's body reacted violently. His back arched off the ground, a scream so raw and desperate tore from his throat that it seemed to shake the very air in the room. The salt was burning like fire, like a thousand needles piercing every nerve in his body. His skin felt like it had melted, dissolved away under the constant sting.   He clawed at the ground, his fingers scrabbling against stone in a useless bid to be gone from the pain, but there was no respite. There was only agony.

"Stop!" he sobbed, pride in pieces, will broken. "Please, God, stop!"

Andrey's body shook now, wracked between the fever searing through him and the unimaginable agony of salt burning his open wounds. The metallic scent of blood mixed in with the acrid sting of pungent sweat and raw, biting salt. His skin felt as though it had been flayed alive; each granule of salt digging into his exposed nerves sent his agony spiraling higher with each second passing.

His once-proud figure-the nobleman who always looked down on others from his high pedestal-had been reduced to nothing more than a quivering mass of pain and desperation. He would have rather died than be reduced to this state-but death was far too kind.

“Beg harder,” the voice urged again, sounding almost bored. "Do you really think a pathetic 'please' is going to save you? You’re nobility, right? Let’s hear the noble way of groveling."

Andrey's face was streaked with tears, his chest heaving, his body racking with shallow, ragged breaths as he fought for oxygen. His mouth opened and closed in spastic attempts to form words which searing pain had ripped from his grasp, leaving him helpless at the mercy of his tormentor. The concrete floor beneath him was wet with his blood, slick with fever sweat coating his skin.

“I... I’m sorry...” he croaked, barely more than a whisper, his throat too raw from screaming. The words were poison on his tongue, his pride screaming even louder than the pain in his body. But the pain won. It always won. “Please, I—I'll do anything. Just... just stop..."

A twisted smile curled on the lips of his tormentor as they crouched down beside him again, leaning in close enough that Andrey could feel their breath on his ear. “Anything, huh? Interesting. We’ll see about that.”

The knife returned, tracing lazily across Andrey's shaking chest, his skin crawling from the cold touch of the metal. His breathing hitched and he tensed instinctively, but too weak to offer any real resistance, his body too far gone, strength sapped by fever and agony. His mind fought desperately to hold on to reality, but it was slipping, slipping into that dark, cold void where nothing was there but suffering.

The blade hovered above his chest once more, and he steeled himself for the sharp sting. But it didn't come. Instead, there was a pause—a deliberate, menacing pause that made Andrey's heart race with dread.

Then, a sudden, burning sensation.

The knife hadn't sliced into his flesh. No. It pressed down, slowly, deliberately, and twisted.

Andrey's scream tore through the air, raw and feral, his skin opened to the knife-but not to cut, rather to grind into the wound with the cruel twist of fate itself. His vision blurred and he could feel himself slipping further and further away, lost in darkness, black dots swam in and out of focus.

"Shh, shh." the voice crooned softly, mockingly, as if comforting a crying child. "We've only just begun."

The knife pulled out, and Andrey gasped for air, his chest heaving, his body going into spasm from the brutality of the torture. But the reprieve was not to last. His torturer clutched his hair and tugged his head backward so he had to gaze into the frigid, calculating eyes.

Do you know why this is happening to you?" they asked, low and menacing. "Do you really think you are some untouchable noble, so far above everybody else? Look at you now." Spittle flew with the words, venom in their tone that cut deeper than any blade. "You're nothing. You're less than nothing. A broken, pathetic animal.

Andrey's lips quivered while his body convulsed in great sobs that he could not restrain. He was past the thought of dignity, pride. All he felt was this overwhelming need for it to end, the pain to stop.

"Please.. Please..." The word was letting out in broken gasps, his voice hoarse, nearly gone. He wasn't even sure anymore what he was begging for-mercy, death, an end to the suffering. Anything. Anything to make it stop.

But mercy wasn't coming.

And then the wave of pain came: swift, vicious, and strong-the freight train that was his tormentor pressed the salt deeper into his wounds, rubbing it in as if savoring every scream, every tear that fell from Andrey's eyes.

"Do you feel that?" they hissed, voice dripping with sadistic glee. "That's what it feels like to be beneath someone. You think you're special? Think you're better than everyone else? You're nothing without your title."

Andrey's body bucked and heaved, the salt burning on and on, every nerve in his body alight with agony. His hands clawed at the stone floor, nails scraping against it until they cracked and bled, but he couldn't get away. He couldn't do anything but scream, and scream, and scream, until his voice was nothing more than a rasp, until his mind teetered on the edge of unconsciousness.

And the tormentor got up, retreated a few steps, and contemplated his work with almost the pride of an artist who has just completed a canvas. Andrey lay on the ground, semi-conscious, his body shuddering irrepressibly with the torturing pain. His skin was red, raw, bleeding, and full of the burning sting of salt.

"Good. You're learning." Their voice boomed in the room as they moved toward the door, leaving Andrey to his torture.

But just before they did, they turned around, their voice smooth and almost gentle.

"Don't worry. I'll be back tomorrow."

The door slammed shut. Andrey wanted to beg, plead for some sort of mercy, but his voice was gone. There was only pain. And cold.

It was hours later, when his body finally succumbed to the cold, that it had numbed over. Even then, however, the fever still managed to burn, quietly reminding him that no matter how much he suffered, there was more in store.

Because in the end, that's all he deserved.

Taglist: @miireux134/ @nuriiz134/ @noeul-whumpsss/ @morning-star-whump/ @parasitebunny/ @anutz1234/ @whatwasmyprevioususername/ @whumped-by-glitter/ @lordcatwich/ @someoneoninternettt/ @natthebatt/ @noeul-whumpppssssss1234/

@electrons2006/ @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees/ @lolrpop/ @yassifiedinformation(let me know if you want to be added or removed or be tagged just in the main series :D)

[crimpyff]

drew them as a lil break after trying to finish an art that surprisingly took me a week!! it is my duty to spread their propaganda and yes you'll be seeing more of them from me 🫡🫡🫡

[thecommunalfoolboy]

Ok I know Goncharov and Andrey are supposed to be having this whole “will they, won’t they” thing going on, but like let’s be honest. They definitely fucked like 3 times and we all know after what scenes