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cherry-pop-elf · 1 month ago

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Your Own Happy Ending

Mouthwashing gang X Reader

AN: Can be read as platonic, and can be implied to be any/multiple characters. Except Jimmy. Fuck you Jimmy

Sum: Enough was enough. Time to get off this stupid Rock

Warnings: 18+, violence, sexual assault, revenge fic, talks about rape, gore, happy ending don’t worry, trauma, mouth wash, graphic violence, written by a victim of sexual assault and giving all of us that need to get revenge on our abusers. I see you, guys gals and nonbinary pals. I see you

This had to stop. He was going to just hurt more and more people. There will be more victims. You can’t become a victim, you can’t have the ones you love be under his hands. No. No one deserved this.

No one except him.

Curly was at deaths door, Anya is going to reach a point of no return in her pregnancy, Daisuke is on the edge of a mental break down, and even Swansea is shattering apart. One bottle of mouthwash at a time.

You didn’t know what will happen next. You were crashed in god knows where, but maybe there is a chance of hope. Maybe there is a way to get home. Maybe. Maybe maybe maybe.

The cockpit is full of foam, but who says you can’t just cut away at it enough to access a transmitter? What’s else is left to do? Not like waiting and praying is helping.

Would explain why Jimmy refused to let anyone have the keys to the pit.

He didn’t want his sins to escape.

You’ll make them escape out of his damn body.

There was no way Anya was going to tell you where the gun was. Guess that means you’ll need to improvise. Had a ax. A ax can do it, but getting it away from Swansea is going to be troubling. He was keeping it as much for self defense at this point as you would have to.

You needed a weapon.

Your hands couldn’t handle it. Jimmy was able to do so much harm already. Anya was most likely not his only victim. He’s certainly done this before. Meaning he knows how to fight, and get someone pinned under him. There to do whatever he wanted.

You had to get him before he got you.

What else could be a weapon?

A knife? A knife!

You ran into the kitchen, much to the confusion of Swansea and Daisuke, only to start tearing the drawers out. Utensils flying everywhere as you tried to find something. Anything sharp.

To your horror there was no knives.

“He took all the knives….”

You looked over, same for Swansea, as it had been Daisuke who said it.

Daisuke said it.

“They are all in Curly’s old room. Since he’s the new captain now he has the ability to lock down that door. No one gets in, and no one gets out. Whatever he wants to hide is there. Noticed him hoarding things there. Was so confused…..Now I’m not anymore.”

Swansea looked ready to start swinging his ax at the nearest body of organs. He couldn’t believe this was real. That this was some shining bullshit.

This couldn’t go on.

“Swan, Daisuke, you guys gotta grab Anya and hide out in the med-bay. I’ll find something. I’ll find something-“ You rambled on, before Anya had poked her head in. Seeing Swansea holding Daisuke, and trying to keep that ray of sunshine from finally snapping.

“What’s going on?” She would whisper. Ever afraid if she spoke to loud that Jimmy would find her. Find her and do something else. Didn’t matter where she was. He was always breathing down her neck. One way or another.

“Little junior adventurer over there wants to finish the job.” Swansea would grit his teeth, as you still kept hunting down for something. Willing to tear apart cushions. You had to find SOMETHING. Maybe you could break a chair leg, maybe you could use some wires. Maybe maybe maybe-

That’s when Anya held your shoulder. Her tired eyes pulled you away from the incoming insanity. Brought you back to reality, and had you listen. Listen for just a moment.

“This is where the jugular vein is-“ She begun, as she pointed to her neck. Then started to name off more vital arteries, before pulling a scalpel from her pocket. Into your hands they went, as she kept listing off every vital vein possible. Weak points every body had.

Even a man like him.

“Last I saw him he was exploring the lower decks. Please…..Just make it quick.” As much as she hated him, she just could only bring herself to be only so cold. She could never be as cruel as Jimmy. To wish death onto someone. Never would she.

That’s what made her forever better than him.

“Come on, kid. You ain’t gonna wanna see this. Get over here, Anya. Come on. Let’s go have a sleepover with Captain Curly.” He would motion her over, and she would snuggle under his arm. The two safe in his arms, as he would walk them to the med-bay.

Was wise for him to keep the ax. That thing was what kept Jimmy from doing his own finishing of the job. You can’t over power him. No you can’t. There was also the fact Anya made sure to keep the gun hidden. You wouldn’t deny the idea it was in the med-bay somewhere. Just more protection if anything.

They’ll be safe. If you didn’t make it, at least you’ll make sure Jimmy is too weak to try anything more to hurt them. Weak enough for someone else to finish the job. What mattered now was them staying away until the job was done, and for you to figure out what to do next.

You needed that damn key.

You would stuff your hands in your pockets, grip tight on the scalpel, and started walking. Walking, thinking, listening. Eyes glued to anything that could offer an opportunity to be jumped. You had to be vigilant.

As you walked you would notice the door that was once Curly’s. How Jimmy didn’t deserve the luxury of what a Captain gets. Made you wonder what else he was also hoarding in that room. Maybe he was hoarding resources that should have been shared with the rest of you. There could be the slimmest chance that he was hiding away a transmitter even. Not having the guts to destroy it, and maybe even as far as to what for the rest of them to kill each other before he called for help.

That coward.

You had to get his keys. You needed those keys for those you love. They deserved to live. YOU deserved to live. No way in hell will Jimmy keep getting away with this. Never again. Never more.

Your nerves were getting tighter and tighter now. Even the sound of your own heart beat was painfully loud in your head. The sweat on your skin, the itch of your skin being too tight, the pounding of drums, the feeling of air pushing at your ribcage. So much as your eyes blinking was to loud.

Everything was to loud.

That’s when a bang of metal hitting metal alerted you. You spun around, and was just met with nothing. Just an empty, dark, hallway. No source of the noise. Maybe there was none to begin with. Just your nerves.

“Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You know you have to do this. There is no other option. You can do this. For Anya, for Daisuke, and for Swansea.”

A wipe to your brow and you returned to hunting him down.

Felt like an eternity. Just endless hallways in red lights of emergency. Hallways blocked off by foam. Was a scarlet bouncy castle of horror. Never did the ship feel so endless yet so tight. Maybe the ship itself was breathing to.

Never did you think you would be happy to see his ugly face.

He was down in the lower decks, seeming to be trying to access a door that Swansea had managed to block off. Swansea was stronger than he looked, and was a mechanic no less. Jerry rigged a makeshift lock for the door. If you recall correctly that was where the cryo-sleep pods were. He had been working to try and fix them up, but you doubt they survived. Guess it’s better to pretend you are doing something useful than do nothing at all.

“Hey Jim, whatcha doing?” You tried your best to act casual, as you watched him trying to get the lock off. A mixture of locking mechanics and bent metal that kept things in place. Jimmy just didn’t have the body weight to unbend them. Who ever said being fat wasn’t useful?

“Trying to get into this damn room. Be useful and help me, won’t you?” He grumbled, as he kept trying to pull the metal.

This was your chance.

This almost felt to perfect. He was distracted, hyper focused on something, and was crouching. You would have the upper hand. You can pull this off. You just had to fight your nerves.

“Yeah yeah yeah. I’m coming.” You would say, as you would walk closer to him. Flashes crossed your vision with each step. Was like blurs of a shadow puppet show. Visions of his talle outline pinning Anya to the ground, another of him pinning Daisuke to a wall. Even Swansea wasn’t free from the concept of being pinned to a surface and abused.

No one was safe with Jimmy still around.

You would soon be standing behind him, as he focused on the lock. He was right there. You just had to do it. Do what Anya showed you. His neck was exposed. It was right there. You just had to do it.

You pulled your weapon out, and took in a deep breath.

Just as you brought your arm to swing, Jimmy turned around.

Happened in a flash. You made contact with his skin, but it was his cheek instead. He would tumble over, and was quick to kick your legs out from under you. Had you slam your back to the ground. Knocked the wind out of you.

“I fucking KNEW IT-! YOU GOD DAMN BITCH-!” Was like he wasn’t even human anymore. Just as much of an animal on the outside as he was on the inside. You had to run. You had to get out of there. You fucked up your perfect chance. Your messed up and he’s going to remind you that you did.

You attempted to get up, but Jimmy was just that much faster than you. Your ankle was grabbed, and he was yanking you closer. You couldn’t stop yourself from screaming, as he would try and pry the medical tool from you.

“GET OFF OF ME YOU RAPIST PIECE OF SHIT-!” You nearly sobbed, as he stared down at you. Your wrists pinned above your head, as he just gawked at you. Was like he never even heard the word before.

“Rapist? You think I’m a fucking rapist? You little fucking bitch. I’m no such damn thing. What happened between us was nothing of the sort. It was just what happens when someone gets in my way. Reaching your goals isn’t a crime. Is it?” He asked you, as you kept struggling under him. Trying to get away.

“Fuck. YOU-!” And you slammed your face into his. Gave you a blinding headache instantly, but the shock of contact was enough to make him let go. You were soon crawling, and now running, away.

“IM GOING TO KILL YOU! IM GOING TO KILL ALL OF YOU LIKE IVE BEEN TRYING TO DO WITH CRASHING THIS STUPID SHIP!” His voice echoed like the demon from hell he was.

You never thought such fear like this could be in your body.

Your vision was a blurry mess from the head bang, but you just used the walls to offer you guidance. To try and find a place to breathe, and wait. To try again. You won’t give up. You refused to give up.

“COME BACK HERE-! YOU CANT RUN FOREVER! THERES NOWHERE ELSE FOR YOU TO GO-!” He would threaten you. His voice just seeming to be coming from everywhere. Was like he was inside of your own head. Like he was all of your insecurities crawling through your skull, and turning your brain into a mushy puddle of doubt and fear.

You still kept going.

You would find yourself back into the dinning hall, and took your chance in hiding in the kitchen area. Ducking down and hiding yourself by the elevated counters. If he kept running he shouldn’t notice you.

You would hold your knees, recollect yourself, and breathed.

The echoes of his running foot steps were like alarm bells in your ears. To hear them get closer, more distant, then closer again. Clearly having lost where you went, but still keeping up chance. How did he have so much energy? He must have been indeed hoarding resources. No way should someone surviving off mouthwash have this much stamina.

Your confused thoughts were cut short by the quickening pace of the foot steps. From banging on metal to proper flooring. He had entered the kitchen. He was breathing hard, and just boiling in anger.

“Where’s that fucking bitch? Where did that fucker go?” He would pant, as you would hear something sharp run over the counter marble. Must have grabbed a knife from his bedroom. Maybe that meant he left the door unlocked as well.

That could be your chance to get a proper weapon.

You just had to wait. Wait and pray he didn’t look over the counter.

You couldn’t tell where he was looking, but you needed to risk it. You would grab for one of the spoons off the ground, and threw it as far as you could. Into the hallway to the next part of the ship. You managed to get enough distance. The sound of metal hitting on the grates was loud. You swore you could feel the head thwip of Jimmy turning towards it.

“Found you-!” He shouted cockily, as he ran into that direction.

“Dumbass.” You muttered, as you soon ran the opposite way. Trying to find his room before he realized he was had.

You even went as far as to take off your shoes, so your feet made much less noise. Harder to be tracked and followed. Never did you think listening to Daisuke ramble about horror movie logic would come in handy. Gave some weird morbid hope that maybe Anya will be a final girl and make it out of here alive.

You would hear the foot steps echoing around you, as you tried to stalk quieter towards the dorm hallways. Was so hard to make out where they were going and coming from. The distant shouts of annoyance weren’t helping either. Was just making you more aware of your own mortality.

Luckily you managed to find the door. He snuck inside, and closed the door. Maybe he would think he locked it behind himself and not even think of checking in there. Maybe he was dumb enough to be fooled.

When in the room you couldn’t help but be disgusted by the sight. He really was hoarding food! The knives were also laid all out on his desk. Organized like he was planning to use them. There was also a trans communicator. Just as you thought there was. You thought it was suspicious there wasn’t a means to transfer information in case of an emergency. Even Pony Express had to have THAT. Suppose believing it was just consumed by foam was easier. Maybe it was and he dug it out himself.

No matter. You had hope.

You quickly grab the device, and turned it on. By god it WORKED!

“Hello? Hello?! This is the Tulpar for The Pony Express! We’ve been crash landed for months! Pony express has laid us off and hasn’t sent any rescue by proxy! Can you hear me?!” You couldn’t help but shout, as the transmitter would crackle.

“We read you loud and clear. How many are on the ship?” You were sobbing. No way. Someone was actually hearing you!

“Five! We have five people here! One in critical condition! Captain Curly! He’s alive! Alive but having suffered the most from the crash. We are running lower on medical supplies, we have very little food, we’ve been drinking fucking mouth wash to survive!” You weeped, as the person on the other end was taking in the information.

You said five for a reason.

“Keep on the line with us as we track your signal. Are you in any immediate danger?” The person asked.

“YES YOU ARE-!” Jimmy would shout behind you, before stabbing you right in your shoulder. You screamed bloody murder, as the person on the line gasped. Despite the pain, you were keeping your grip on the communicator. You weren’t letting go. No you fucking WONT.

“STUBBORN BITCH-!” He shouted at you, as you used your body to protect that communicator with all your body and life. You didn’t care if he was going to kill you now. You were getting everyone home. You were and you fufilled your mission.

“Just get it over with already you coward! How many people did you rape?! Huh?! Was Anya the first?! Like hell! She’s your most recent! Was Daisuke next?! Was I next?!” You called out, as you had nothing to lose anymore. You were going down with your own ship, unlike him.

“If you have to know, Anya wasn’t my last at least. She really thought leaving me alone with Curly was smart. Dumb whore-“ He would yank out the knife, making you bleed and scream. The hot searing pain was just beyond words. You were seeing stars, and not the kind you wanted.

“Was figuring how many I could get away with. Didn’t think she would actually tell anyone. Didn’t think much about her at all. Guess you live and learn. You live and l-“

Bang.

Silence.

Silence, the crackle of a communicator, and the ever breathing ship.

With a thud to the ground you were able to finally gain some vision to look over. Over to see Jimmy was dead on the ground, with a bullet hole through his forehead. Those terrifying eyes were now glsssy and empty. Looked almost relaxed. The only time he seemed to rest.

He was dead.

Your vision was blurring, and noise around you was muffled. All you could hear was muffled noise. Was like you were underwater. Your vision was starting to blur again as well. Couldn’t make out shapes.

You thought you saw someone with black hair above you. Seeming to grab something and speak into it. Was there something yellow to? Yellow and shaking you? There was also this almost pinkish blur as well. Came to you, and you swore you heard someone saying ‘you’re a hero’ before it all went to black.

One Month After The Call.

“Morning sunshine.”

You would groan, as you rubbed at your eyes. What happened? Was it all some bad dream? Where were you? This place didn’t look like the med-bay. Was so clean and white. There were windows too. Holy shit was that daylight? REAL daylight?

“Over here.”

You turned your head, and you saw him. Captain Curly. Looked so much better than when you last recalled him. His skin wasn’t as red, proper bandages were on him, and his lips even seemed to be healing back. Skin graphs? Was still laying in a bed, but far more cared for. Proper bedding, clean, IV bags, and…Wait…..Did he speak?!

“Been out a while. Don’t worry not much to catch you up on. You kinda went into a medical coma, from what Anya tried to explain to me. Everyone agreed to put you in the Cryo-Pod until help arrived. Was the only way to keep us both alive. All the resources had to go to me, sorry about that, so they had to pretty much freeze you in time. Big Swan had managed to make it function enough to work until the rescue team came for us. Welcome to the land of the living, hero.”

Even with his messed up complexion, and voice so hoarse you thought he himself was speaking through a communicator, you smiled. A hero huh? Wait. That meant….

“Did Anya pull the trigger?” You asked, with your own voice rasp from lack of use.

“Yeah. Yeah she did. We heard you screaming and she just….Couldn’t let you be his next victim. You gave her some bravery. I already knew she was brave, but damn. Who needs a Captain when you have her?” His laughter was painful, but you knew it was worth it.

“How’s everyone else?”

“Anya has been working with staff here. They took her in to be a doctor with them when they saw that the likes of me was still alive and functional. They really didn’t want to lose someone as smart as her. Daisuke has been glued here as much as us-“ He would weakly raise his arm, what’s left anyway, towards the sleeping solider. Curled up on a spare cot that was brought in for him. The staff having been understanding that he deserved to be around you both. His parents most likely were the ones to bring in all the video games for him to play with and show Curly as well. Even after so much he was still taking care of the ones he loved.

“Swansea?” You worried the most, since you wondered where he could be.

“Sueing the ever living fuck out of Pony Express for whatever damn dime they have left. Daisuke’s parents, and him, have been at the forefront on it all. He will come visit us soon. Get some rest, sunshine. You’ve earned it.” But you couldn’t help but worry. A worry that one person wasn’t accounted for.

“He’s dead. I do mean dead dead. By the time help arrived he had already well started decomposing. Swansea even went the extra mile and cut his head off from his body. Kinda overkill, but hey….Can’t take risks with monsters. Right?” You nodded at that, as you were able to rest.

No more Jimmy.

No more space ships.

Time to finally be a princess and get your beauty sleep.

“Sleep well, sunshine.”

“You to, Captain.”

A deep breath in of that sterilized air, fresh cut grass, and clean cotton.

You were free.

1K notes · View notes

toxicanonymity · 9 months ago

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The Spread

PAIR: Thomas Hewitt x f!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3.5k | SERIES | MAIN MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: You hide and don't get slaughtered. Tommy secretly keeps you. He's kinda sweet if you're good.

WARNINGS: I8+ Canon-typical violence (implied) & setting, captivity, dark caretaking, manhandling, sleeper hold, oral f receiving, noncon unsafe piv, finger gagging, dark fluff, tommy has a praise kink, stockholm syndrome vibes. NO human skin mask: leather partial mask shown in photo. He is feral and naive due to his family. No use of Y/N. Divider by gasolinerainbowpuddles.

SIZE KINK - Reader is much smaller than Leatherface, can be carried and maneuvered. He is 6’5”, thicc and STRONG.

You barely escaped the so-called law man, and your friends weren’t so lucky. They got chased right into the lair of a chainsaw-wielding giant.

“C’mon, Tommy,” the Sheriff encouraged the giant, “Just like the slaughterhouse.”

Heavy chains thrashed, and one of your friends groaned.

“Attaboy,” the Sheriff praised.

While they were distracted, you ducked into a nearby woodshed. You didn't dare go far – you had encountered too many hazards on the property to trust your footing, and couldn't risk calling attention. Instead, you sat there in the shed, paralyzed, listening to your friends get butchered. One by one, their squeals turned animalistic until a wet thwack or rev of a motor cut them off.

Finally, there were no more screams.

Huddled in a corner of the woodshed, you tried to keep your wits about you. The shed was about the size of a small dorm room. There were stacks of wood all around–some freshly cut, some rotted–and hay covered the floor.

You were in a tank top and Daisy dukes with cowboy boots that made you feel like an idiot. You had sap on your knees from crawling over the wood. Taking deep breaths did nothing but fill your nose with cedar - it was only a matter of time before you’d meet your fate. You picked splinters out of your hands as you replayed the chase in your mind. You began to feel sure “Tommy” had seen you run into the shed. If that was the case, you didn't know why he let you go. You could only guess he already had his hands full.

“Think we got’em all, son?” The Sheriff asked.

Tommy grunted.

“That’s my boy,” the Sheriff concluded.

The door frame would’ve been tall enough for most men, but Tommy had to duck on his way in. He carried an ax. Each step he took shook the entire structure. His breathing was loud, his mouth hanging open below the leather that covered his nose. The partial mask didn't cover his mouth. It was fastened with two straps behind his head nestled in thick, chestnut hair that came down around his shoulders.

Dusk was approaching. Not long after the Sheriff left, heavy footsteps crunched louder and louder toward the woodshed. Your heart pounded harder with each step.

The rickety door busted open with a plume of dust. Tommy’s silhouette consumed almost all the daylight that remained.

He approached you cautiously and paused when he was an arm’s length away. You whimpered, knees held to your chest. He sniffed around like an animal. Then he brushed a stray section of hair out of his eyes, and you saw a glint of uncertainty in his gaze. You tried to compose yourself, wondering if your fear could trigger him.

He knelt down to get a better look at you. He reached for you, and you jumped. He grumbled and held up a massive finger less than an inch from your mouth, telling you to be quiet.

Something possessed you to reach for his hand. He let you move it.

You put his palm on your cheek and watched his chest heave in confusion.

He tilted his head and stayed crouched there for a moment, staring at you with his brown eyes softening above the leather.

“Attaboy,” you whispered, repurposing the Sheriff’s words.

Tommy huffed, then abruptly stood. He left the shed, ax slung over his shoulder. He ducked again on his way out.

He didn't return for a while. You finally dared to open the door just enough to look out, but not for long, startled by an older woman’s voice calling, “Tommy!!! Time for supper.” You shrunk back into your corner, afraid you had been spotted.

You sat there frozen, afraid to run.

Sometime later, you heard a squeaky wheel approach the shed. The door opened more quietly than it had the first time. The hulking silhouette was backlit by a buzzing floodlight in the yard. The man seemed to be more careful and quiet this time. He had brought a few blankets. One of them was tattered, pale yellow bordering what used to be white, and it had Care Bears on it. He put the blanket over your body, coming all the way up to your neck, and patted your head. Then he took a bundle of newspaper out from under his arm and handed it to you like an offering. It smelled like barbecue.

As he turned to leave, you whispered, “Tommy.”

He dropped his head and looked back.

“Thank you,” you said.

Looking at the wall, Tommy offered a short nod before leaving. Then he locked the door from the outside.

After he left, you opened the newspaper. It was too dark to see, but the contents felt like a charred bone with bits of flesh hanging to it. You weren't hungry anyway.

You wrapped yourself tight in the blanket, and to your discomfort, your heart fluttered at the man’s softness with you. You replayed the day’s harrowing events in your mind’s eye and saw him differently than you had at first. Maybe he was nothing but an attack dog. You began to doubt he would've hurt your friends at all if not for the older, more wicked man in uniform.

Maybe Tommy was as much of a prisoner as you were. You wondered if he could talk. You felt sure he could listen.

After sunrise, you awoke to some commotion and heard a vehicle drive away. After a period of silence, you tried to open the door to the shed, but it was securely locked.

Soon, Tommy came back and unlocked it. He moved swiftly toward you with purpose in each heavy step, crouching slightly. The mass of his body strained his shirt. You'd never seen forearms like his. He could surely snap you like a twig, but something told you he wouldn't. Still, your heart raced when he lunged toward you. He reached over a wood pile and used both massive hands to force you onto your feet. He wrapped you in the blanket, then put you over his shoulder like a potato sack.

He put you into his wheelbarrow, then nestled some firewood around you. He looked around furtively as he did it. Then he covered you with another blanket and wheeled you across the bumpy ground, onto a smoother surface. He rolled a garage door down behind you and left you covered in the wheelbarrow as he rummaged around the garage.

You peeked out from the blanket and saw him placing shackles on a table. Your heart raced. You glanced behind you. The garage door was still lifted by a small margin. Maybe big enough to fit through.

You watched in terror as he brought out a mallet. Finally, your body unfroze.

You lowered yourself out of the wheelbarrow as carefully and quietly as you could and crawled toward the narrow opening. As you began to wriggle under it, your ass hit the door, making a noise far too loud to go unnoticed.

Within a split second, his massive hands were firm around your ankles, pulling you toward him, dragging you roughly across the concrete.

He manhandled you like a doll. He forced you onto your back and shook you, then wrapped a massive hand around your neck. Your life flashed before your eyes, and you kicked him. He grunted and grabbed you roughly by the shirt, then sat back on his knees. He held you with your back against his enormous thigh. Your Daisy dukes did nothing to protect your ass from the cold concrete. You thrashed, and he put the crook of his elbow around your neck, then everything faded.

When you woke up, you were chained to the table, with cold, metal shackles on your wrists and one ankle. You were bottomless, and the air was cool between your legs. Your feet were bare. All you had left was your tank top, which you wore without a bra.

You didn't dare move. A foul dust in the air made you sneeze, then Tommy came into view. He was wearing a butcher’s apron, and the sleeves of his dingy, button-up shirt were rolled up to expose those big, hairy forearms. He held the mallet. His eyes were industrious.

“Please don't hurt me,” you begged.

He laid a heavy hand on your shin, and you flinched. He gently placed your free ankle in a shackle, then nailed it shut.

“Please,” you begged.

He laid a hand on your thigh and looked you in the eyes.

“What are you going to do to me?” You asked.

He huffed and put the mallet away.

You were relieved until he returned with a meat cleaver. You tensed and squirmed. He laid a hand on your stomach and his searing eyes told you to stay still. He slid the cleaver under your tank top, and you held your breath and looked at the ceiling. Your nipples hardened at the feeling of his knuckles between your breasts.

He violently sliced upward through the fabric, turning your wifebeater into a vest which burst open, freeing your breasts. He inhaled sharply at the sight and discarded the meat cleaver with a metallic clatter on a nearby shelf.

“Please,” you begged again, then he stuck his fingers in your mouth and peered in. His thick digits tasted like charcoal and salt. Three fingers were enough to stuff the orifice completely. When you stopped whining, he abandoned your mouth.

He cupped a breast, then cupped both of them. He hummed a curious “mm,” Then dragged his thumb down your sternum before stepping away to survey your body.

You felt like a cadaver sliced open for examination. As he slowly stalked around the table, it dawned on you that's what he was doing. He was studying you.

He stopped at a long side of the table – your left side. He brought his face–his leather mask–to your skin, just below your ribs. His hair fell onto your body, and the light brush of it tickled. He paused to loosen the strap at the back of his head. Then he dipped his face to your abdomen again. He turned his head and dragged his cheek, and the leather, over your bare stomach, to your breast. You could hear him desperately sniffing and wondered why he didn't take that thing off.

Lips, hair, and smooth leather dragged across your skin as he wiped his face along your chest. Then his face made its way into your armpit, where a dart of his tongue made you flinch and shiver. His tongue darted out again. He sucked the delicate skin slightly into his mouth before releasing it with a soft grunt.

He paused and pulled away. He pivoted to stand behind your head, then brought his hands to your breasts. Helowered his mouth to your neck and licked you. His hair fell on your nose and smelled like smoke and metal.

He seemed to savor the taste of your skin. He licked longer, harder, the strong slippery muscle of his tongue nudging your jugular. You felt a rush of arousal and shame. He tasted the other side of your neck and hummed in satisfaction. The throbbing between your legs made you wince.

He dragged his tongue down over your chest to lap at your breast. He flattened his tongue to lick your nipple, then began to suckle at it. One thing was clear - this was not for your enjoyment. He was entirely absorbed in what he was doing. He didn't even glance at your face. Whether it was for his pleasure or curiosity, you couldn't be sure. He moaned into your nipple and you knew you must have been gushing onto the table.

After a few seconds, he pulled away from your tit and began to sniff the air. He stalked around the table some more and paused at your shackled feet, staring up between your spread legs. He found the source. His hands dwarfed your thighs as he pushed them further apart. Then he dabbed a thick finger, only grazing your folds as he picked up just a taste of you from the table and brought it to his mouth.

“Mm,” he hummed quietly, staring between your legs. He licked his finger again and his eyes searched the air curiously. Then he grabbed your upper thighs and anchored his thumbs on your outer lips, spreading you open. His heavy gut rested on the table between your feet as he leaned forward. As he lowered his mouth to your cunt, you twitched and felt another rush of shame.

His breath was hot on your cunt, then he dipped his tongue, and you tensed.

He lapped at your entrance, and the physical pleasure made you exhale and relax, while your fear remained. He licked and sucked, and your moan echoed before you could try to cut it short. Your chest was hot with embarrassment, but if he heard the sound, he ignored it.

He fed on your juices like a starved animal. He sucked and slurped, and dug his lips and tongue in, searching for more. The squelching and gurgling sounds were obscene between your legs. He closed his eyes and dug his fingers into your hips as he feasted.

The leather mask nudged your clit and made your hips lift into his mouth. He brought a hand to your lower belly to hold you still. Then his tongue plunged into you. You whispered, “good boy,” and your whole body felt weak with shame.

He paused and glanced up, then repeated the action. It was true, some part of you welcomed this, as afraid as you were. In any case, the heat and pressure building in your gut would have to release at some point.

He fucked you with his tongue, nudging your clit with the smooth leather, and you had to remind yourself to breathe. You'd never been eaten so voraciously. He moaned into your cunt and the tension was too much to hold. You whimpered as you began to pulse and twitch. His tongue paused as you clenched around it. Then he continued. Your back arched as he sucked it all out of you, swallowing every drop he could find. As your climax waned, you took slow, deep breaths.

Finally, he slowed down. He looked flustered for a moment, then his hand disappeared from your thigh. He pulled his face away, and the leather mask was soaked and shiny. Then he took his apron off. When he stood to put the apron aside, the protrusion in his pants made your breath hitch and your asshole flutter.

Your cunt spasmed once around nothing, and your insides churned as though making room for a massive guest.

You couldn't peel your eyes away. He adjusted himself, then palmed the bulge. His shirt had come untucked. The bottom button wasn't fastened, and his midsection strained the other buttons as his whole torso heaved. He eyed the mess between your legs as he palmed himself.

He seemed to be considering the possibility of stuffing your cunt with whatever monstrosity hid in his pants. He could take anything he wanted, but he didn't look proud of it. This didn't feel like something he did every day.

You decided not to fight back. You told yourself it was for survival, but you also twitched at the thought of him wrecking you. You looked at his crotch, then down between your legs, still gushing at the sight of him barely contained by his pants. The way his whole body wanted to bust out of his clothes made you weak in the knees. He was so solid and strong. You looked again from his crotch to your own, as though your eyes were instructing where to put it in defiance of your better judgment.

He grumbled as he picked up a hammer and approached you, making your heart nearly stop.

He pried the nails out of the shackles, and you cursed yourself for the way your heart fell. Your disappointment was quickly replaced by relief. A man this size, with these capabilities – he could have done serious damage to your body.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You laid on the table patiently looking at the ceiling as he went down to your feet and unshackled your ankles.

Then he grabbed you by the thighs and yanked you toward the end of the table, making you yelp. Your naked crotch came to rest flush against the bulge in his pants, making you ache with arousal. Your thighs trembled in fear.

You looked down toward him and he forced your chin upward, making you look at the ceiling. You pinched your eyes shut. You were at war with your body’s desire. He might kill you. He might actually split you in two. The dying squeals of your friends echoed in your mind. But his hardness swelled against you, and oh, fuck.

His hips backed up and you twitched at the loss of his warm package against you.

With your eyes still pinched shut, you heard his clothes jostling, then he spread your lips apart while he notched his tip against you. It was too big. He held your thighs again and pulled you toward him with a forward thrust and a grunt.

Being impaled with his cock felt like being split open. The girth burned as it stretched you, and you whimpered as your body tried to accommodate him. He stayed inside, and he sighed. You'd never felt so stuffed. He leaned forward, and the contact with your clit provided some relief as your body spread itself more. But still, your heart raced at the prospect of him moving. You prayed he would be gentle.

When you didn't stop whimpering, he stuck his fat, smokey fingers in your mouth again. He placed his other hand on your chest to hold you still, with the crook of his thumb close to your throat. You gagged on his fingers and he removed them. He wiped your saliva onto your nipple before kneading your breast.

Thankfully, you were wet and getting wetter. He held you down and slammed into you. The fullness pushed your thoughts out of the way along with your guts. You kept your eyes shut as he speared into you again.

His breathing and grunting seemed to echo through the room with every snap of his hips. His unholy girth twitched against your walls. He grabbed onto your hips and brutally pounded you. He used you like a sleeve until his moans were drawn out and his breath became ragged. He pulled you back hard and leaned forward, the weight of him resting on your lower abdomen. Your cunt fluttered in anticipation of his climax, but he paused. Your hips lifted, seeking friction for your front.

He pulsed once, making your chest flutter with pleasure, but then he swiftly slid out. He left you twitching for more as he finished coming outside. His cum painted your folds and inner thigh, and he grumbled and turned around. You lowered your chin to look just in time for him to release onto the wheelbarrow and floor. Then he stood there with his broad back heaving as he looked around.

You closed your eyes again and opened them when you felt fabric on your inner thigh. He was wiping you off with the bottom of his shirt. His face and neck were blotched pink, and he had fixed his pants. He was looking at you, chest still heaving when his ears perked up at the distant sound of tires on gravel.

He quicky put your shorts back on and gathered you off the table, nestling you in the wheelbarrow once more. He swaddled you in the old blanket, now wet with his cum, and opened the garage before quickly wheeling you back to the shed.

He placed you in the corner where you had been, just in time for the truck to park. As he turned to leave the shed, you said “Tommy. Can you bring me some water?”

He hesitated then gave a short nod before locking the shed again behind him.

He came back later with a jar of water and a metal bucket. You were shivering in the corner when he came in. He set the bucket down next to you, then placed his hand on the crown of your head and gently moved his fingers as he looked around. Then he abruptly began to unbutton his shirt. He pulled you up from the corner to put the shirt on you. His chest was hairy and broad, and his entire torso was thick, just massive.

“Good Tommy,” you said as he finished putting the shirt on you.

He paused and left it unbuttoned. His eyes were big. He held you by the sides, looking you up and down in the oversized shirt and Daisy dukes. Then he put you back where you were and locked the shed behind him.

The shirt was filthy, cumstained, and reeked of sweat, but it didn’t smell as bad as it should've. It didn't make you sick like it should've. When he left, you wrapped it tight around yourself, then looked in the bucket. There were apples.

Thank you for reading and engaging! Love you guys 🖤 please consider commenting even if this is old. It helps to know what you liked.

If you want more, good news - I have more thots! Feel free to send yours, too.

#thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #leatherface smut #thomas hewitt smut #slasher smut #slasher fucker #tommy hewitt #leatherface x you #thomas hewitt x you #slasher x you #slasher x reader #tw noncon #dark fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#slasher fandom #tw rape #texas chainsaw massacre #leatherface #leatherface x reader

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couldtransitionsaveher · 4 months ago

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If you're unfamiliar, I suggest you read up on it. It's a serious issue affecting trans women. (TW for prison rape, mistreatment by prison staff, and abuse)

(Reblog for larger sample size)

#transgender #polls #tw sa #tw prison #tw v coding #tw rape

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manilovescp166 · 1 month ago

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Made another one, but this one is less funny.

#mouthwashing #mouthwashing anya #mouthwashing jimmy #mouthwashing curly #it follows the perspective of two men #that doesn't mean they are good people #“bUt wHaT AbOUt mY gAYs-” anya x female self insert oc #i actually usually like toxic yaoi #but ignoring an important woman character to ship her rapist and his best friend together isa infuriating #tw mention of rape #tw rape

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t-girl-breeder · 2 months ago

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Reblog if you love tgirl rapists!

#transfem supremacy #transfem perv #tw rape

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ithiliensmenagerie · 19 hours ago

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Part 2:

So, Arthur is fighting his neighbours and his council, re-introducing magic and raising his daughter with Merlin's support. Merlin's magic is mostly still kept secret. When Arthur rides to war, sometimes Merlin shows up to help, but usually has to return to take care of Ygraine.

When Ygraine is three, Arthur returns home to find Merlin with her and a one-year-old called Melisandre. Turns out, the last time Merlin returned from the front, he passed by a village and found a woman mistreating a small child. He quickly found out that the woman was not the child's mother, but had taken her in (reluctantly) after her mother had killed herself very recently. The father is most likely a passing saxon; Melisandre is a child of rape. When it became very clear that the woman is not interested in raising the child, Merlin decided to adopt her.

He brought her home and introduced her to Ygraine, and the two immediately became fast friends and started sharing a bed - for a year now, Ygraine has her own bed. Merlin still has to share Arthur's. Just in case something happens.

So Arthur comes home, sees Merlin with their daughter and a cute baby, and gets heart-eyes. He immediately drags Merlin and the girls into council and announces there that he intends to marry Merlin. He already gave him two heirs, so he fulfilled that part, and Merlin can do every other part of being Queen without issues; he's already doing several.

The council is not given opportunity to object, neither is Merlin, who had neither been warned nor asked. It's not that he objects, rather that he thinks Arthur is joking.

He basically believes that until their wedding half a year later, at which point their relationship had already taken a turn for the much more physical.

Arthur tries to make Merlin court sorcerer, but he objects, wanting to reserve that role for Morgana, who they are trying to reach out to.

They actually do manage to find Morgana in the next years, together with Aithusa, who becomes Ygraine's and Melisandre's favourite pet.

That last addition to the family comes seven years later, when Arthur and Merlin find out that Melisandre and Ygraine have been keeping a secret: they found a five-year-old orphan girl and tried to hide her in their chambers. The girl is seeemlessly adopted when it turns out the only people who would want her are abusive.

Her name is Sophia. Merlin teases Arthur endlessly that Arthur named his youngest daughter after the Sidhe he "fell in love with" and who tried to drown him, and no amount of reminding him that Dophia came already with a name helps.

I'm currently on Merlin season 2, impatiently waiting for Gwaine, Elyan and Percival to show up and Lancelot to return, and in the mean time thinking about my (fanfiction-informed) dream ending:

Uther dies. Shortly afterwards, during one of his trips through the forest, Arthur and his knights find some bandits attacking a young couple. They manage to kill the bandits, but the couple is already dead. They do find a very young baby hidden in the bushes though. Arthur takes the baby and sends Sir Leon to find the baby's next of kin.

In the meantime he declares himself responsible for the baby's survival. He finds a wetnurse, makes Merlin responsible for changing the diapers and taking care of her when she screams, and in the meantime carries her with him absolutely everywhere. She even sleeps in his bed, and to make sure someone else is there in case something happens during the night, Merlin has to sleep in their bed, too. It's fine, it's big enough.

A week later, Sir Leon returns. He found the village the couple came from, but nobody wants the baby. Turns out, the couple was driven out after being accused of magic and now noone wants anything to do with it.

Arthur is remarkably fine with that and immediately declares that he's adopting the baby, naming her Ygraine and making her his heir. The council is shook, what if it's a witch? Arthur is confused, magic is a choice, after all. You can't be born with magic, then it would be something natural. If people did magic not hurting anyone without choosing it, then it can't be inherently evil, can it?

The council admits that people can be born with it, but magic is power, and power corrupts, so killing everyone with magic, even if they aren't evil yet, will in the long term defeat evil. So it's for the greater good. Arthur absolutely disagrees. He immediately declares that in that case he is legalising magic, tasks everyone with developing suggestions for how to police it until the next day, and sweeps out, baby Ygraine in his arms.

In his rooms he finds Merlin and asks him without any introduction "Did you know people could be born with magic?". To which Merlin blurts out: "I did magic since I was two months old!"

The resulting argument is thankfully interrupted by Ygraine starting to scream before Arthur can find his voice again.

In the coming years, Arthur has to juggle raising a child with his magic manservant who kept his magic secret for so long, legalising magic, withstanding the council members who really don't want him to legalise magic, and, to top it of, the neighbouring countries have decided that there's no better time to attack Camelot than now, with a new, inexperienced king and all the chaos brought by reintroducing magic.

Luckily, he now knows about Merlin's magic and they can work together.

Also, of course Merlin has to keep sleeping in his bed.

#bbc merlin #merlin #merlin bbc #merthur #plot bunny #plot bunnies #arthur pendragon #arthur #tw suicide #cw suicide #tw rape #cw rape

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tra-archive · 3 months ago

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The 30% of men who turned down that French guy’s request to rape his wife are NOT innocent. Because absolutely 0% of those men turned him in. They were complicit in this horrific crime.

I think one of the things that fills me with rage the most is people who know that a woman is being abused (or about to be) but don’t speak up. This includes women too, because I’ve unfortunately seen women turn their backs on other women in situations like this. This has to stop. People need to speak the fuck up if they know something like this is going on.

Gisèle deserved so much better and I hope that man gets the shit beat out of him in prison.

#tw rape #rant #male violence

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r4trave · 24 days ago

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mouthwashing getting this popular during a particular era of anixety and crisis over reproductive rights in america and the world as a whole has created a kinda unfortunate storm where you can really tell where some peoples' priorities lie. you can say "its just fiction" or "it fits the narrative" (it doesnt), but if your first thought upon seeing a character who is a victim of rape (who might i remind you, canonically committed suicide over carrying the baby to term) and deciding that your "good ending" is her keeping the baby because its "her responsibility" then i really need you to take a step back and think about what you are implying here.

#mouthwashing #i dont like addressing “fandom drama” because its just not really worth my time #but this specific thing has been really getting on my nerves lately #like im begging yall to be normal #rambling #tw rape #tw suicide

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theoihalioistuff · 7 months ago

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ARES IS NOT THE PROTECTOR OF WOMEN IN GREEK MYTHOLOGY.

He is never presented as such in any source, there is no evidence such a role was ever assigned to him in any account, and as far as I'm aware this popular yet unattested assertion is born from the echo-chambers of tumblr. In fact quite the opposite could be argued. TW for sexual assault.

This baffling claim seems to originate from a sort of shallow examination of the way Ares "behaves in myth", and the following arguments are the most frequently presented:

1. Ares protects his daughter Alkippe from assault, and is therefore morally opposed to rape. (Apollodorus 3.180, Pausanias 1.21.4, Suidas "Areios pagos", attributed to Hellanikos)

Curiously this argument is never applied to, among other examples: Apollo for defending his mother Leto from Tytios, Herakles for defending Hera from Porphyrion (or his wife Deianeira from Nessos), or Zeus for defending his sister Demeter from Iasion (in the versions where he attacks her), etc. The multiple accounts of rape of the previously mentioned figures did not conflict with these stories in greek thought: they're defending family members or women otherwise close to them. This sort of mentality is not uncommon even in contemporary times, e.g. a warrior may have no ethical problem killing men, but would not want his own family or loved ones to be killed. The same goes here for sexual assault.

2. There are no surviving accounts of Ares sexually assaulting anybody.

The idea that the ancient greeks pictured that, among all the gods, Ares was the only one who shied away from committing rape is baseless and borders on ridiculous. In this case absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.

The majority of surviving records regarding Ares' unions are presented in a genealogical manner, and do not go into details on their nature. This is the case for most works of mythography, where specifics of sexual encounters are to be found elsewhere. However, common motifs present in other accounts of rape also appear in stories concerning Ares' relationships, e.g. tropes like shape-shifting/the use of disguises, the victim being a huntress, secrecy, and the disposal of the concieved child, are to be found in the stories of Phylonome and Astyoche respectively:

Φυλονόμη Νυκτίμου καὶ Ἀρκαδίας θυγάτηρ ἐκυνήγει σὺν τῇ Ἀρτέμιδι: Ἄρης δ᾽ ἐν σχήματι ποιμένος ἔγκυον ἐποίησεν. ἡ δὲ τεκοῦσα διδύμους παῖδας καὶ φοβουμένη τὸν πατέρα ἔρρι��εν εἰς τὸν Ἐρύμανθο

"Phylonome, the daughter of Nyktimos and Arkadia, was wont to hunt with Artemis; but Ares, in the guise of a shepherd, got her with child. She gave birth to twin children and, fearing her father, cast them into the [River] Erymanthos." (Pseudo-Plutarch, Greek and Roman Parallel Stories, 36)

οἳ δ᾽ Ἀσπληδόνα ναῖον ἰδ᾽ Ὀρχομενὸν Μινύειον, τῶν ἦρχ᾽ Ἀσκάλαφος καὶ Ἰάλμενος υἷες Ἄρηος οὓς τέκεν Ἀστυόχη δόμῳ Ἄκτορος Ἀζεΐδαο, παρθένος αἰδοίη ὑπερώϊον εἰσαναβᾶσα Ἄρηϊ κρατερῷ: ὃ δέ οἱ παρελέξατο λάθρῃ: τοῖς δὲ τριήκοντα γλαφυραὶ νέες ἐστιχόωντο.

"And they that dwelt in Aspledon and Orchomenus of the Minyae were led by Ascalaphus and Ialmenus, sons of Ares, whom, in the palace of Actor, son of Azeus, Astyoche, the honoured maiden, conceived of mighty Ares, when she had entered into her upper chamber; for he lay with her in secret" (Homer, Iliad 2. 512 ff)

In neither of these cases is a verb explicitly denoting rape used, though it is heavily implied by the context. The focus of the action is on the conception of sons, the nature of the interaction is secondary.

Other examples are found among the daughters of the river Asopos, who where (and here there's no confusion) ravished and kidnapped by different gods to different parts of the greek world, where they found local lines through children borne to their abductors and serve as eponyms. Surviving fragments from Corinna of Tanagra tell us:

"Asopos went to his haunts . . from you halls . . into woe . . Of these [nine] daughters Zeus, giver of good things, took his [Asopos'] child Aigina . . from her father's [house] . . while Korkyra and Salamis and lovely Euboia were stolen by father Poseidon, and Leto's son is in possession of Sinope and Thespia . . [and Tanagra was seized by Hermes] . . But to Asopos no one was able to make the matter clear, until . . [the seer Akraiphen reveals to him] 'And of your daughters father Zeus, king of all, has three; and Poseidon, ruler of the sea, married three; and Phoibos [Apollon] is master of the beds of two of them, and of one Hermes, good son of Maia. For so did the pair Eros and the Kypris persuade them, that they should go in secret to your house and take your nine daughters." (heavily fragmented papyrus. Corinna fr. 654)

"For your [Tanagra's] sake Hermes boxed against Ares." (Corinna fr. 666)

It seems that, similar to the myths of Beroe or Marpessa, the abducted maiden is fought over by two competing "suitors", and though we can infer that the outcome of the story is that Hermes gets to keep Tanagra, apparently by beating Ares in a boxing match, we don't actually know what happened or how it happened. In any case, Ares does mate with another daughter of Asopos, Harpina, who bears him Oinomaos according to some versions (Paus. 5.22.6; Stephanus Byzantium. Ethnica. A125.3; Diodorus Siculus 4. 73. 1). There is little reason to suppose that this encounter wasn't pictured as an abduction like the rest of her sisters.

The blatant statement that each of his affairs was envisioned as consensual is simply not true.

3. He was worshipped under the epithet Gynaikothoinas "feasted by women"

This was a local cult that existed in Tegea, the following reason is given:

"There is also an image of Ares in the marketplace of Tegea. Carved in relief on a slab it is called Gynaecothoenas. At the time of the Laconian war, when Charillus king of Lacedaemon made the first invasion, the women armed themselves and lay in ambush under the hill they call today Phylactris. When the armies met and the men on either side were performing many remarkable exploits, the women, they say, came on the scene and put the Lacedaemonians to flight. Marpessa, surnamed Choera, surpassed, they say, the other women in daring, while Charillus himself was one of the Spartan prisoners. The story goes on to say that he was set free without ransom, swore to the Tegeans that the Lacedaemonians would never again attack Tegea, and then broke his oath; that the women offered to Ares a sacrifice of victory on their own account without the men, and gave to the men no share in the meat of the victim. For this reason Ares got his surname." (Paus. 8.48.4-5)

As emphasised by Georgoudi in To Act, Not Submit: Women’s Attitudes in Situations of War in Ancient Greece (part of the highly recommendable collection of essays Women and War in Antiquity), "it is not necessary to see the operation of an invitation in the bestowal of the epithet Γυναικοθοίνας on Ares". The epithet is ambiguous, and can be translated both as "Host of the banquet of women" or "[He who is] invited to the banquet of women". In any case no act of divine intervention occurs, and the main reason for the women's act of devotion lies principally in recognising their decisive role in the routing of the Lakedaimonians. It's they who preside/participate in the feast of war, the men are excluded.

Also this a local epithet that isn't found anywhere else in Greece. As such it would be worth reminding that not every Ares is Gynaikothoinas, in the same way not every Zeus is Aithiopian, not every Demeter Erinys, and not every Artemis of Ephesos.

4. He was the patron god of the Amazons

He was considered progenitor of the Amazons because of their proverbial warlike nature and love of battle, the same reason he was associated with other "barbaric" tribes, like the Thracians or the Scythians. In this capacity he was also appointed as a suitable father/ancestor for other violent and savage characters who generally function as antagonists (e.g. Kyknos, Diomedes of Thrace, Tereos of Thrace, Oinomaos, Agrios and Oreios, Phlegyas, Lykos etc.). Also he was by no means the only god connected with the Amazons (they were in fact especially linked to Artemis, see Religious Cults Associated With the Amazons by Florence Mary Bennett, if only for the bibliography).

Similarly, Poseidon was considered patron and ancestor of the Phaiakians mainly because of their mastery over the art of seafaring (and was curiously also credited in genealogies as father to monsters and other disreputable figures).

On another note I have found no sources that claim he taught his amazon daughters how to fight, as I've seen often mentioned (though I admit I'd love to be proven wrong on that point).

5. Finally, the last reason Ares could never be portrayed as a protector of women is because of his divine assignation itself

The uncountable references to his love of bloodshed and man-slaying don't just stop short of the battlefield, but continue on to the conclusion and intended purpose of most waged wars in antiquity: the sacking of the city. The title Sacker of Cities as an epithet of Ares (though it is by no means exclusive to him) is encountered numerous times and in different variations (eg. τειχεσιπλήτης or πτολίπορθος), and the meaning behind the epithet is plain. Though it is hard to summarise without being reductionist, the sacking of a city entails the plundering of all its goods, the slaughtering of its men, and the sistematic raping and enslavement of the surviving women (to name only a small few of the literary references see The Iliad, The Trojan Women or The Women of Trachis). There is little need to emphasise that war as concieved of in ancient greece, especifically the brutal aspects of war Ares is most often associated with, directly entailed sexual violence against women as one of it's main concerns. The multiple references to Ares being an unloved or disliked deity are because of this, because war is horrifying (not because his daddy is a big old meany who hates him for no reason, Zeus makes very clear the motive for his contempt in the Iliad (5. 889-891): "Do not sit beside me and whine, you double-faced liar. To me you are most hateful of all gods who hold Olympos. Forever quarreling is dear to your heart, wars and battles.")

Ares was only the protector of women inasmuch as he could be averted or repelled (e.g. surviving apotropaic chants):

"There is no clash of brazen shields but our fight is with the war god, a war god ringed with the cries of men, a savage god who burns us; grant that he turn in racing course backward out of our country’s bounds, to the great palace of Amphitrite or where the waves of the thracian sea deny the stranger safe anchorage. Whatsoever escapes the night at last the light of day revisits; so smite him, Father Zeus, beneath your thunderbolt, for you are the lord of the lightning, the lightning that carries fire." (Shophocles, Oedipus Tyrannos, 190-202)

"And let no murderous havoc come upon the realm to ravage it, by arming Ares—foe to the dance and lute, parent of tears—and the shout of civil strife." (Aeschylus, Suppliant Women 678)

~~~~~

All that being said, this is a post about Ares as conceptualized and attested in ancient sources, made specifically in response to condescending statements about how "uhmmm, actually, in greek mythology Ares was a super-feminist himbo who was worshipped as the protector of women and was hated by his family for no reason, you idiot". It is factually incorrect. HOWEVER, far be it from me to tell anyone how they have to interact with this deity. Be it your retellings, your headcannons or your own personal religious attachments and beliefs towards Ares, those are your own provinces and prerogatives, and not what was being discussed here at all (I personally love art where Ares and Aphrodite goof around, or retellings where he plays with his daughters, or headcannons that showcase his more noble sides, etc.)

~~~~~

I've seen that other people on tumblr have made similar posts, the ones I've seen were by @deathlessathanasia and @en-theos . I have no idea how to link their posts, but they're really good so go check them out on their pages!

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syoddeye · 1 month ago

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kinktober - day 23 - breeding & cnc

price x f!reader | 2.6k words cw: cnc, piv, breeding, abduction, gun mention, piss mention (not depicted), spanking, aftercare, implied kink negotiation a/n: the aftercare is fairly glossed over due to the word count. jsyk. summary: welcome home, sweetheart. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Turn right—here. Good girl.”

The hand kneading your shoulder squeezes in approval. John mutters the next instructions so low you barely hear them over the gravel road and the radio static. You keep straightening in your seat to maintain perfect posture, pressing your skull into the headrest just to hear him. He warned you against him finding reason to doubt your compliance.

You met John roughly two hours ago, and he’s had a gun trained on you for the last hour and fifty-five minutes. Wherever he’s taking you, you assume it’s either the end of the line or for keeps. With every curve and bend you take, your heart sinks further and further.

The shape of a cabin eventually appears between the trees. He leans over the shoulder of your seat, the smile in his voice clearer than the view outside.

“Can’t wait for you to see it in the daylight. Old, old growth. Dense. Sound doesn’t carry quite right.”

Subtle, you think bitterly, fighting off the tears needling behind your eyes. You can’t afford to break down again, not with what must be your prison in the headlights.

You park, kill the engine, and hand him your keys. The drill is the same as when he stopped to piss on the side of the highway. Stand, clear the door, and do not move five feet beyond him. The sound of his stream hitting the dirt next to your foot will haunt you.

The muzzle juts into your mid-back as he marches you up a footpath. You try to commit the details to memory. If you escape and somehow navigate the forest long enough to find help, every piece of information will help catch this psycho.

All pine with burgundy trim and shutters. Hand-painted house numbers. A wooden wind chime. Picturesque if not for the circumstances.

He crowds you against the door to unlock it, bullying you through it once it opens.

“Shoes and coat, off.”

The switch flips as you toe off your boots. It’s nothing like you expected. There are no shackles on the wall. No standing cross in the corner. The table isn’t stained with blood, but covered in a gingham cloth. There’s a stack of wood waiting to be fed into the fireplace. Quilts on the couch.

Somehow, the normalcy—the coziness—is worse.

John’s hand curves around your nape, and he stoops to kiss your head. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

He’s fucking with you.

Making you sit like this, the door ten steps away.

The fire roars, blanketing the cabin with its heat. You split time between watching the flames and the deadbolt on the entrance. Your eyes are puffy and stinging with tears. They slip out in bursts, riding the waves of panic and nausea roiling your gut. You started crying into your dinner and haven’t stopped. The spanking he gave you for refusing to eat didn’t help.

A breeze catches the chime out front. It beckons. You need to get out of here.

Behind you, another page turns.

“Face me.”

The thin, worn cushion beneath your knees is the only mercy he’s shown so far. You’re sure he thinks otherwise. You stiffly do as he says, grimacing from the dull ache of your rear and at the angle. From the ground between his spread legs, he appears even bigger. He’s relaxed, unworried by the woman kneeling at his feet. His broad chest rises and falls steadily, the cheap readers perching on his nose. His thick forearms slightly flex where they extend from his rolled sleeves, and his hands dwarf the book they hold.

He licks the pad of his thumb, staring at you over the book’s edge, and turns another page with an expectant look.

“Take it out.”

Acid blots the back of your tongue. It twists and untwists, apoplectic and souring.

You’re suddenly too aware of it, the bulge testing the tailoring of his jeans mere inches from your face. It’s in your periphery, like a shadow on the edge of the light. If you look, it gives it form. Makes it real. Makes all of this somehow more real.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Although the rational part of you knew this nightmare would eventually escalate and spiral to a point where you couldn’t strategize or disassociate your way through it, something compels you to refuse. You ignore the soreness under your skirt.

“No.”

John lowers the book, revealing the grim flat line of his mouth, then claps it shut. Disappointment rolls off him as he sets the text aside, plucks the glasses from his face, and folds them.

As he gingerly places them atop the book, he sighs, exasperated. “Maybe you need something firmer than an open palm.”

The second he reaches for his belt buckle, you bolt.

Surging up from the floor as if on springs, knees be damned, you launch toward the door. The entire couch scrapes on its feet as he propels himself after you. In an instant, hearing him laugh, you know it’s all for naught.

A hand curls in your shirt, yanking you backward. You collide into his solid chest and stumble over your feet to burst away, only for a foot to hook yours.

“No!” You barely catch yourself before John’s all over you.

The wrestling match is quick, brutal, and humiliating. You’re a mess of limbs running off of adrenaline, but every punch you throw and kick you lash out is easily deflected. From the blurred glimpses of his face in the tussle, he looks almost bored, so calm in subduing you.

“Special forces, love,” he grunts as he pins you on your belly. “You’re not gettin’ away, so save your energy for what matters.” He grinds against your ass, chuckling breathlessly at your pitiful attempts to twist away.

“Stop—stop!”

He wrangles your wrists with one big hand at the small of your back and sinks his weight into securing your legs. You yowl in pain, his kneecap digging into your thigh, and it spirals higher when he starts to rip your skirt off. The fabric gives with a few firm tugs, shredding in two over your ass. Your panties follow suit.

You sob and shake beneath him. Spit and tears commingle under your chin and cheek.

Hands as rough as sandpaper descend upon your ass once more. Gone is the perfunctory nature of his earlier discipline. Any measure of restraint. He cracks his palms over your cheeks wildly, with no pattern or predictability. “That hurt?” He asks in a low rumble, patronizing, the way you’d talk to a frightened animal that didn’t understand. His hands smoothing briefly between strikes like he’s doing you a favor by even trying to soothe.

At the sound of his belt loosening, you thrash. A thumb slides right over your puckered hole and taps the ring.

“Stay fuckin’ still, or I’ll take this dry.”

The prospect of him fucking your ass unprepped has its intended effect. You sniffle and seethe as he slips off his belt, a single distressed wail breaking through your lips when the leather touches your wrists. He mutters about your poor behavior while he fastens makeshift cuffs.

John drags you back to the fireplace, half-walking you on your knees when they catch the floor. There might as well be a scorching trail in your wake from the heat of your humiliation. He maneuvers you over the rug in front of the hearth.

Fear bubbles like an unchecked pot seconds from boiling over. You can’t keep a lid on it.

“John, please–please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone, just–just let me go!”

Your babbled pleas bounce off him like bugs on a window. Flatten against his resolve. He sits his body weight on you again, ignoring your cries, and his shirt lands in a pile beside your head. Then the pressure lifts completely, and you watch his silhouette cast by the firelight yank his jeans and pants down. A gasp sputters out at the bobbing shape of his cock.

He chuckles, clearly amused, and shifts to better show his shadow. He fists the base of his cock. “All for you, sweetheart.”

Lowering to a knee, he lets his cock slap against you as he guides your ass into the air, deepening your arch to his liking. He hums, keeping one hand busy on himself while the other pries a cheek open. Mortification snaps your eyes shut. You practically feel his gaze drilling into you.

“Look…at…that…” His hand slides, and his thumb strokes through your lips. You barely gasp an inhale before it probes, dipping into where you’re shamefully wet. The discovery surprises the both of you, though while you freeze in terror, John moans. “Knew I picked a good one. Too pretty to not be desperate for it.”

He nudges your knees further apart and spreads your cheek wider to the point where it starts to hurt.

“Nonono–no please!” You screech.

His knuckles bump against your cunt as he guides his cock through your exposed folds, coating himself in what moisture’s there. It doesn’t feel like enough when the head of his cock notches at your hole. You know it’s not enough when he pushes in, stretching you over his length, and every inch burns. Pain and heat radiate from the inside out. Blunt and heavy like one of the iron pokers hanging out of reach on their rack.

He tuts at your crying and squeezes one of your clenched fists twice. “Hurts doesn’t it? If you had only listened, been a good girl, you could’ve wet my cock and made it easier on yourself.”

John snaps his hips forward, claiming the last few inches of space and bludgeoning your cervix. It knocks a scream from your lungs and another when he starts to move. His grip remains on your hands, forcing two of his fingers into the tight curl of your fist. “You’ll come to learn, I don’t speak to hear my own voice.” The slap of his hips on your ass hurts almost as much as the drag of his cock along your walls. A punishment twice over. “When I give an order, you fuckin’ follow it. Understood?”

“Yes, yes, I-I understa–fuck, it hurts–”

“What was that? Do you understand or not?”

He accelerates briefly, jackhammering into you so hard you’re afraid you’ll tear. Your knees scrape the rug.

“I understand! I understand!” You shriek, face mashing into the rug. Your fist reflexively pulses around his fingers, drawing a breathy chuckle from above. He slows and snakes his other hand around to play with your clit.

“Good girl. Earned yourself some comfort.”

You blubber, and one pathetic sound bleeds into the next. The ‘comfort’ he coaxes out of you gradually builds. You grow wetter and more ashamed, both relieved and horrified that the push and pull of his cock starts to feel better. Feel good. He winds your stomach tight through the title circles he draws, stealing involuntary gasps from you as he thrusts.

“Feels good, hmm? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Just as the first sparks of an orgasm burst, his attention diverts to your swinging tits. He tries to grab them both in one hand, pinching the skin meanly before settling for one. He presses it in on itself, rolling the nipple over his damp thumb. “I’ve seen you strugglin’ for a while, love. I knew the moment I saw you that you needed someone like me. Knew I could give you somethin’ better.”

He releases your tit, slowing to grind his hips in a circle, deep and slow. A new rush of fear shoots down your spine, threatening to claw out of your chest when his hand cups your stomach. He hums the first few notes of a lullaby.

“W-What?”

“Told you to not play dumb.” He kneads your belly, then glides his palm to your waist. “Gonna knock you up. Take you just like this,” He thrusts harder, patting your flank for emphasis. “‘Til it takes. You’re gonna be stuffed by the time I’m done.”

The last pieces of your dignity grind to dust beneath your cheekbone. The new wave of tears is like vinegar in a cut.

“J-John, I can’t–w-won’t–”

You shudder and yip from another harsh and bruising snap of his hips. He speaks with chilling certainty. “Yeah, you will. If you’re on those silly pills, I’ll dump ’em. You got an implant or one of those rings?” He laughs low in his throat. “Well, I hope you don’t.”

He finds your clit again, groaning at the sopping mess of your cunt. A pinch makes you whimper, the sound seemingly fuelling him to return to that steady, unforgiving pace. “My pussy,” he declares with each punishing drive. “My lovely cunt that will bear my children.”

Deep down, you know it isn’t a conscious thing. The twinges of pleasure amidst the fear. Emotion competes with chemical. He banishes the words from your mouth and purges them entirely from your mind with a slight shift and a renewed effort from his fingers.

“Yeah, yeah–come f’me–”

The warmth that builds is insidious, a pressure demanding release. A coil tightens, winding further with every plunge until it’s unbearable, and you feel nothing but your impending unraveling.

“C’mon, make it take–”

It breaks. With a scream, a shattering orgasm tears through your body. Your walls flutter and spasm around his cock.

“Yesss, that’s a good girl–good fuckin’–” John swears loudly, squeezing your fist. He abruptly shudders, following suit so quickly you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s dribbling out from around him and down your thigh. His hips move uncontrollably, shallowly rocking into you as the last of his cum spills.

Your whimpering fades into shaky breaths as he stills.

A moment of silence passes. He wiggles the fingers locked in your fist.

“Sweetheart?”

You squeeze the digits, releasing them as you quietly slur. “‘M’okay.”

You lose time after John carefully pulls out, frees your hands, and helps you slump belly-down entirely on the rug. You were down deep, fully immersed that now it feels as though you’re surfacing from a dive. You register a shiver from a cold, damp cloth and then the sweeping warmth of a quilt. You promptly stick your feet out, given the fire burning mere steps away.

“Thought once or twice you’d end it,” John finally speaks, rolling you to your back once he’s dressed. He peers through his cheap glasses, inspecting your wrists and elbows. The faint irritation on your face from the rug. You’ll remind him of your knees later.

“I squeezed your fingers, didn’t I? I’d’ve tapped out if I wanted to.”

The smile John gives you brims with affection. He kisses the backs of your knuckles. “Yeah, you did. Good girl, checking in like that.”

“The lullaby bit was insane, though. God, you missed your calling as a horror actor.”

“Don’t encourage me.”

He helps transfer you to the couch with a couple of more questions, then sets your water and phone within reach.

“Solid? I’m going to unpack the car while your food heats up, alright?”

“Yeah, okay…” You mumble sleepily and doze. You’re dimly aware of John in the kitchen fixing you a new plate, your body and consciousness taking their time to fully come down. But your reentry is interrupted by the sudden memory of what inspired all this. You sit up, eyes wide as you glance around the cabin. John’s in the kitchen, fixing up a new plate. “John?”

He swivels.

“This place is perfect! God, I can’t believe I was upset with you for buying this place! The shutters, the house numbers…That chime has got to go, though.”

He grins. “I was wondering when you’d realize. Now stay put. I’ll take you on a tour once you’ve rested and we’ve debriefed.”

You ease back down into the cushion and languidly stretch. On the edge of sleep, you watch John bring in your things and start to unpack. Big lug’s smiling to himself, oh-so pleased. You suppose that makes two of you.

#tw rape #tw noncon #sy kinktober #kinktober #price x f!reader #price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader

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