#noncon mention

[creatureintheaffinicompact]

listen, the noncon aspects of HDG are hot as hell. but there will be nothing more attractive than your owner making you beg for them to touch you. their vines sliding across your body until they suddenly stop and make you ask for what you want. forcing you to recognize this isnt being forced onto you, you want this

[just-antithings]

ex-anti here. let me shed a little light on the experience of being an anti for those of us fortunate enough to never have been one.

the primary driving force of anti-ism for a lot of people, not everyone, but a lot of them, is fear. thats why they all have that weird talking point about "well i bet you wouldnt tell your family that you like media about incest/noncon/lolisho/whatever-morally-outrageous-ficition-theyre-upset-about-today. its not that theyre actually morally outraged by the existence of "problematic" fiction, its that theyre personally afraid of being ostracized/attacked/disowned/etc for liking it.

i read noncon and underage smut all the fucking time when i was an anti. i felt no guilt or shame for reading it. but i knew my friends would hate it and me for reading it, so i always pretended to be morally outraged at the right moments when outrage was demanded of me in order to fit in and then i kept reading my noncon and underage stuff because i knew good and well that fanfic about teenage anime characters noncon-ing each other wasnt doing any actual harm to the world. but if i didnt keep up the semblance of moral outrage, my friends could and probably would do harm to me.

someone who was a friend of mine back in my anti days liveblogged an entirely satirical and mocking review while watching boku no pico (a shotacon anime for those who dont know). this person was a pretty popular anti blogger (at least in our corner of the internet), had all the "right" opinions, was public with their identity as a csa survivor (which they weaponized against proshippers and kinksters, as the anti-sphere encourages and praises people for), was a minor THEMSELF... and i watched the anti-sphere that we were involved in completely and utterly tear them apart. they pretty much left tumblr after. it was sickening.

so yeah. when you see those 15 year olds hand wringing about underage smut and whatever the fuck... just know that theyre scared to death of the people they call their friends, every single day.

.

[running-with-kn1ves]

How about a nsfw yandere cannibal butcher x fem reader? Absolute unit of a man that has a feederism kink and likes to have her cockwarming him (with occasional thrusts) while she is forced to eat his human meals. He likes groping her thighs, breasts, and belly envisioning her weight gain because of him. He's cooing, telling her she's finally eating some good quality food.

A/N: I have been wanting to write this for SO LONG, I hope I did it justice, I think there’s a specific niche for this kind of story but I enjoyed writing it out~

Synopsis: Anon pretty much said it all

CW: NSFW, NON-CON, dead dove do not eat, AFAB Reader, yandere themes, cannibalism (reader consumption), feederism, penetration, groping, objectification

The hazy brown-orange glow of the moon, so far away and yet bigger than you had ever seen it in your hometown, to the old radio humming across from you-- it all was a meaningless distraction away from the sinewy fiber between your teeth. Focusing on anything other than the chewing was better; your eyes searched for cracks between the old renovated farmhouse across from its grandfather clock, running down to the unlit fireplace. The seasonings on your tongue reminded you of herby chicken, maybe something you’d end up cooking and partly burning at your cruddy old apartment. An apartment hundreds of miles away from here. The man beneath you seemed to hum along to the radio, your body sitting atop his as he leaned back in a wooden chair, watching you from behind. 

Another finger-full of meat came up to your lips, pressing against them and waiting for them to open once you finished swallowing. You tried to eat it as quickly as possible, faster than he could put the next chunk up to your mouth, but you always failed. 

“In we go,” He mumbles, a slight groan following as something beneath you twitches. 

You nearly gag as you open your mouth again, the meat resting in between teeth and at the back of your throat as you have yet to finish swallowing. 

It almost reminds you of the barbeque you had at your friend’s bachelorette party, which seemed ages ago. Why she picked to have her wedding hours away from where you two grew up, you didn’t know. Maybe if she had chosen somewhere closer to home, you wouldn’t be where you are now, trying to numb your taste buds and the sensation of a thickness your panty-less self was swallowing from below. 

“Right there..” He sighs, watching you chew, your cheeks puffing out just slightly from how much food he kept shoving for you to accept. 

You wished he would give you a bite of something else, at least a bite of peas or a sip of ice tea to drown out the flavor of something… wrong. Even if it showed resemblances of familiarity in flavor, you knew it wasn’t something you had ever tasted before; something you would have thrown up at the thought of if it weren’t for your survival depending on its consumption. Maybe if you hadn’t seen the chopped forearm in the fridge, the blood trailing to the basement, you'd have an easier time pretending.

He rocked just slightly inside you, enjoying the way your thighs squished against his, how when he thrusted just slightly up, the bottom of the table stopped you from going anywhere-- a wonderful source of friction. 

“You’re going to get so pretty; not like you aren’t pretty already, of course… but with me cooking for you… oh baby.” He seemed to stutter, unusually so from how careful he was when he usually spoke; but the grip of your inner cunt’s walls squeezing around him in almost everything but pleasure, it took him to a different place. “I won’t stop until you’re full. And even then.. Well, we need to make sure you’re nice and healthy, all soft with never a moment where you’re hungry. Isn’t that right?” 

He seemed almost breathless as he asked, a warm hand snaking up your T-shirt.

 He loved to rub the flesh of your stomach, from below your navel at the roundness of your belly, nearly reaching to the depths of where he was comfortably pushed inside, to the top of your abdomen where your skin grew smooth and the round bottoms of your breasts rested, heaving with each shuddered breath. 

You nodded compliantly, taking the excuse of a full mouth from having to respond verbally as he had expected you to do so. You hated the stuttering nod of your head, the obediency-- but you were well versed with the potential consequences.  

He leaned his chin on your shoulder, sucking through his teeth as you minutely adjusted on top of him, your thighs forcibly spread and squeezing against his. Your ankles could have wrapped around his own if you had dared to do so; but you were afraid of touching him anywhere you didn’t have to. He was a bulging creature, arms large and taut from years of slinging butcher knives and de-gutting anything that was once alive. Maybe if you were with anyone else, you would’ve appreciated the touch of a strong man, stroking you and holding you so close you felt like there was a warm safety net surrounding you. 

His hand, far too warm and calloused, rested against your chest as his other grabbed one of your thighs. He readjusted you on top of him by lifting up your upper thigh, thrusting just a teensy bit to tease you-- only to lower you at a painfully slow pace. His hot breath hit the back of your neck, released from a long sigh and a groan between his teeth. It wasn’t nearly as slow as the first time he entered you, only preparing you with slow curls of his index and middle finger, barely wettening you enough to take him. 

This time, he had aroused himself enough and hit your sensitive, begrudgingly lustful walls to make a smooth entrance, one that made you clench your eyes shut and swallow so hard you coughed. It felt so deep, now that your tailbone was angled backward, the butcher leaning up to completely indulge himself inside of you. You couldn't help but clench, all the way up to your fists at the new stretch. 

He patted your back as you continued to cough, your throat hoarse from layers of dryness. 

“You’re okay baby, cough it up,” Pulling you toward him he rested your back against his brick aproned chest, using his free hand to grab the tall glass resting on the table. “Take a drink, nice and slow.”

 With its pretty little plastic blue straw, he put the glass up to your mouth. You drank as much as you could, grateful for the mere seconds you got to stop eating. 

It wasn’t until you let go of the straw with a great inhale did you feel the warmth cradling your breast, smoothing its underside with wide fingers and running a thumb over your nipple. He teased it, just enough with the scratchy fabric of his T-shirt he made you wear, causing it to perk up and bring goosebumps to your skin. 

You would have stayed as far off of him as possible if it weren’t for that hand cradling at your breast to lock you against him, his other putting down the glass only to go right back to your naked hip, running over the wrinkles in your flesh and squeezing gently at the muscle of your thigh. 

“Need a break, hm?” He looked at you from behind, nearly putting his cheek to yours as he came close to your ear. “That’s okay, we can enjoy each other’s company for a moment.” 

You pretended to cough again, hoping he wouldn’t try to get you to speak. His hands did enough talking for the both of you. 

You didn’t know how anyone could stay this hard during the entirety of your long, long meal, and yet he was still a warm rock inside of you, twitching and enjoying the uncomfortable little movements you did to get adjusted. But most of all, he liked to watch you take a piece of meat from his fingers, to have your tongue just slightly lick at his index finger as you graciously accepted it. It was as if he could envision it becoming a part of you already, your body growing pliant and soft and willful for him to meld to his whims, for him to grope and caress as roughly or as soft as he desired. 

He would never hurt you though; not unless you needed to be put in your place. And even then, he’d make sure your beautiful body was intact and your willingness towards him ever pliable; still as malleable as he could control. He needed to take care of you, to fix the damage the outside world had caused.

“I’m sure it feels good to eat some real food, hm? Not that garbage they were feeding you at that poor excuse of an event…” The butcher inhaled at the nape of your neck, enjoying the way you perspired from the hot summer night and panic that dominated your body. “It’s hard to come by, you know. Not everyone is as lucky as you are, getting treated like a princess and fed by my hand; all of that preservative trash you’ve had to eat will be replaced with some real, quality, grade A meat. Isn’t that right?”

He waited for your answer, pressing his forehead into your hair and inhaling above your ear.

“...Yes.” You whispered, so faint that he might not have caught it if he weren’t so close. 

“Mhm…That’s right.”

Your compliancy, the illusion of your willingness and ‘equal desire’ drove him mad. The butcher put a knuckle to your chin, turning your despondent face toward him, ready to be consumed. He kissed you sloppily, a needy tongue making its way to explore your mouth and taste you; He wanted a part of him inside you, and you within him-- he would never feel satisfied otherwise. The wet echoes of his kisses to your slack jaw resounded around the living room, a place that made you feel transferred back in time, completely out of your element. 

You were just a stuffed doll, limp and holding on to the possibility that your disappearance would be noticed eventually, for someone to realize you hadn’t gotten home after your friend’s wedding ceremony, that you were nowhere to be found. With each passing second, that hope seemed to diminish. 

The butcher gave a lasting open-mouthed kiss to taste the saltiness of your neck, resting his lips against it as he scoured your half-eaten plate again. He picked up a slivered piece of cooked meat, large enough that you wouldn’t be able to finish it in one bite. 

“You won’t ever understand how long I’ve waited so long for you, to find you and fill you up like this.”

He slipped a piece of what you had given up on convincing yourself was chicken in between your hesitant lips, letting his thumb rest against your tongue. Your mouth was so full, you had a hard time chewing, but the butcher didn’t care; he pressed the meat further down your throat, enjoying the texture of saliva and teeth on his fingers. 

The electric current of watching your salacious figure, the image of you obeying what he desired-- it ran through him, making him groan at the arousal, running down to his cock pulsing inside of you. It nudged at your G-spot, as if it were actively seeking out your sensitivity with each stuttered thrust upward he made against you.

But you thanked your stars that he was beginning to pant, so transparently getting closer to his finale and would soon be done with you-- at least, you hoped. 

“Just getting to see you sit here and eat…My fucking soulmate, my darling…hah... It makes waiting to finish all the more worth it--!”

[way2manyusernamez]

I've been noticing a lot of people in the radqueer community hiding behind vague harmful identities. Here is a short dictionary of what they really mean, with sources:

Xenosatanism

abolition of age of consent

pro bestiality

pro 'real cp'

believes in "non-consensual but harmless sexual interaction" and its legalization

also, this paragraph: "Destigmatization and desacralization to some extent of rape, molestation, sexual abuse (bcs of a priori and retrospective harm induced by internalized social norms. Tho, we don’t want harmful rape to be fully legal)"

Basedqueer

pro nonconsensual abuse

pro "cisharmfuls who arent seeking recovery / want to get worse"

pro real cults, harassment, self harm and eating disorder encouragement

pro contact

pro "minor made porn / minor sexual material"

Lacedqueer

pro rape and noncon abuse

meant to be a combination between basedqueer and LSDqueer

Noxiaqueer

pro bestiality

pro CP

pro xenosatanism and basedqueer

"neutral" and "flexible" about stalking, harassment, suicide baiting, cults, rape, and non consensual activities

LSDqueer

pro rape

pro CP

Alternatefreak

pro harassment, abuse, cults, and murder

see also: "Pro abuse terminology on Tumblr", and my screenshot of what "MSM/MMP" means (minor sexual material / minor made pornography) (edit: hyperlinks broke in this paragraph, edited to fix)

[kairithemang0]

wait wait wait there's a hatchetfield smut week???

why do i kinda feel

idk gross?

no hate to the event or those participating other than the fact one of the prompts is noncon????

[crowdemoninkinkyboots]

“ciel can’t consent” actually it’s sebastian who can’t consent. ciel has complete control over him

[paingoes]

Rubies - Snowstorm

not really nsfw but pretty intimate i guess???

this is set a bit further into delta’s recovery!!

(Content: caretaker POV, recovery, fever, nonsexual nudity, sickfic, platonic intimacy, past trauma, discussion of past abuse, crying, brief discussion of noncon, vampire caretaker???, brief discussion of self harm)

~

The white mountains went on for miles in every direction. In the past weeks, they’d been broken up only intermittently by the wildfire smoke, but today the sky was clear and bright. Even in the dead of night, the atmosphere had a brightness about it. The surrounding woods would darken, but overhead the clouds remained luminous. Still, they hoped not to take so long on the trek that they’d be forced to travel by it.

They were making good time, all things considered. The rebel group was only thirteen strong — it was a lucky number. Large enough to function as a single organism at times, but not so much as to become unwieldy. Two dogs jet back and forth between the party members — only one of the hounds had been brought on purpose, the other had simply found them and tagged along. 

Apollo once again scanned the frozen landscape — all bitterly cold and pristine, made to destroy things like him. But he was not immune to its beauty, and he could not help but be mesmerized by it. After all, there was little else to focus on.

Galatea stretched its medics thin. This time was no exception. Again, he was the only one to the group. They were protective of him for that. It was mutual, pleasant. It felt nice to be needed. He never balked from it.

Delta moved a few meters to his right, skirting the edge of the canyon, the abyss below. Apollo clicked his tongue a bit, beckoning him closer. Delta came away from the border and did not seem to resent the summons.

One hand against the nape of his neck proved he was freezing, but he always ran cold. Apollo replaced the scarf around him, relinquishing the contact. Delta peered up curiously, much of his face still obscured within the fabric. 

He didn’t need to be here. The only reason he’d tagged along was because he’d asked. If Levon had his way, Delta would never leave the fortress. All the time, he’d been making himself invaluable there, in a way Apollo could ungenerously describe as calculated. All the same, he understood the impulse.

“Are you cold?” Apollo asked. It’s a dumb question, but he liked that Delta indulged him with it.

“Nah,” he answered back anyway. “I like it more like this. The lake isn’t frozen through all the way, even though it should be by now. There’s vents at the bottom. We’re on a volcano.”

There was a soft gravel to his voice that immediately caught Apollo’s attention. He was getting sick. He might not have even realized it yet.

“Do you think that’s what’s been causing the smoke on the horizon? Volcanic activity?” Apollo asked. 

Delta considered this.

“No.” He said finally. “I think that’s just because of the bombs.”

Apollo nodded in understanding.

~

It seemed to really hit him just as soon as they’d reached the safe house. To be sure, there were places for it to have hit him. But there were also places much, much better.

Delta struggled valiantly through it anyway. The arrival was when the hivemind really seemed to kick in — and each of them present moved like one consciousness, unpacking, drudging water and electricity up from the ancient system. Apollo caught sight of Delta amidst a mess of wires, willing the radio to work. He was tireless. All of it was up and running by the time the pale moon was directly overhead. It was only then he’d let himself be tended to.

Delta coughed terribly, the congestion in his chest now fully audible. Apollo listened closely, in search of something worse.

“You picked an awful time to do it,” he tsked in mock disapproval. “Going to need Balto to carry it all the way up the mountain.”

“Who’s Balto?” Delta asked blearily.

“Nevermind,” Apollo shook his head. “You’re going to be fine. Bacterial, though. It’ll put you out for a couple of days.”

Delta looked up at him pleadingly, as if this was a sentence that he could adjust.

“Gonna be fine,” Apollo repeated, petting his hair. Delta nudged his hand back, leaning into the touch, though he still looked resoundingly unhappy with this verdict. He still let himself be led into the quarantined bedroom, collapsing down onto the cot the first second he was able to.

~

One night later, Delta half-stumbled out of the doorframe. He shivered, visibly, little pinpricks forming all up and down his bare arms. Bare arms, even in the cold climate, because he’d been tucked beneath the blankets and too many layers would make him feel trapped. When he got like this, his eyes turned to sea glass, all soft and cloudy.

“Do you want me to help you?” Apollo asked. Before he could answer, he’d already moved to steady him. He placed one hand against the soft cotton of the tea shirt, feeling at the fragile shoulder bone beneath. Delta let himself be leaned back against the wall. The offer had not been merely to steady him.

Delta nodded yes. He had gotten so much better about receiving it.

They both sat on their knees against the cool tile of the bathroom as the old clawfoot tub gradually filled with mountain water. Delta rested his forehead against the edge of the porcelain. He had a migraine, on top of everything else. When he got anything, the migraine tended to come with it.

Apollo dipped one hand tentatively beneath the surface. It was colder than he would’ve liked, but he knew he was an abnormality in that regard. Delta voiced that it was perfect. He said “perfect”. He was always more agreeable with Apollo, more insistent, strategic to counter the other’s nervous fussing.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the old house still held the soap for a bubble bath. Apollo had taken liberties with it in the interest of privacy, and because the lavender scent had made him nostalgic. A family had lived here, once upon a time. He felt a soft twinge of sadness as his attention turned back to Delta, who still lay oblivious with his head down against the ledge. It would not mean to him what it meant to Apollo.

The issue of privacy turned out to be of little concern. He’d have offered to turn away, but Delta had already placidly stripped the shirt from his back, then all the rest. Used to it, he’d said the first time, and Apollo’s heart had sunk all the way into his stomach until he’d clarified. There’d been maids. His dignity had been denied to him constantly, or it had never even been considered, but at the very least it had not come to that. Nevertheless, Apollo remained cautious and tentative as he moved to touch the bare skin.

Delta only leaned into it. Apollo had wondered once how much of it was trust and how much of it was simply obedience. He did not wonder so much anymore. All of his movements were slow and controlled, still doing his best now to startle him. He poured the plastic cup carefully over his head, letting a gentle stream of water pour down over the black locks. His hair was longer now. Not as long as it had been, but getting there. It had grown back fast.

He felt the way Delta tensed when his hands brushed over his scalp. The touch was soft. It was the placement. He uncurled his fingers, undoing the hold of his hair.

“Still okay?” Apollo asked quietly. 

“Mm,” Delta agreed at the same decibel. 

He had tensed, though. And his eyes now seemed to study only the surface of the water.

“…You know he tried to drown me?” he said. By the end of the sentence, all the words were only mouthed shapes. No sound came out.

Apollo’s hands froze, given way to still shock. He didn’t know why it surprised him. He’d seen what they were capable of. Nothing should have surprised him anymore. 

“One of the last nights,” Delta added quietly. “It’s why I had to leave.”

He’d wondered all the time what the last straw had been for him. 

“Do you want to get out?” Apollo retracted his hands back to the ledge, lowering his body slightly as if it might make him less intimidating. 

But Delta didn’t look scared, really. His eyes hadn’t left the surface of the water, but they were all half-lidded. He was just sad, in the way he tended to be. He shook his head slowly, slightly.

“No,” he said. “I know you’re not going to. I was just…”

He sunk further into the water without bothering to finish the thought. Apollo cautiously resumed washing the shampoo out from his hair, extra careful not to run his fingers through it too hard. Extra careful so as not to pour the water into his face, so as not to obstruct his breathing. He moved his hands through his hair dutifully, working the conditioner and jojoba oil through the ends. 

When he looked up, he was surprised to see that Delta had started crying. With all the water, he could not be sure if they were really teardrops. Delta’s expression was more or less unchanged. There were no other tells. He wiped his eyes as if he nothing had happened, but his shoulder blades cinched together in a silent sob at the same instant.

“Sorry,” Delta said first, sensing the way his eyes had fallen upon him, “It’s not…”

Again, he didn’t bother to finish the thought. Apollo frowned. He ran his knuckles back up by Delta’s scalp, moving them in soft circles. He leaned into the touch, the crying seeming to slow for a moment.

“I love you,” Delta said.

A small, discontented noise. Apollo sighed as he drew him in a bit closer, kissing him gently on his temple.

~

Though it was deep into the night, the living room was still alive when they emerged into it. It still glowed with the warm orange light. One of the dogs snored atop of the rug just by the fireplace. The scout sat cross-legged next to it, headphones on as she played with her weighted carry-on computer. In the kitchen, the voices were indistinct, but pleasant all the same. 

Delta followed him readily onto the couch, curling up at his end of it. His hair was still wet at the edges. After a moment, he brushed it away, tilting his head to the side to expose the skin.

Apollo stared at him, unsure of what he was seeing. As the silence endured without any movement from Delta, he knew it was what it looked like.

“What’s this?” Apollo’s tone was gentle. “Are you baring your neck for me?”

A soft blush rose up in Delta’s cheeks, not just flushed with fever. Apollo shook his head. Delta straightened his neck back out and — blessedly — did not seem too distraught over the denial.

“Why don’t you?” Delta asked. He let his hair shield his skin again, but leaned closer, pressing his head to Apollo’s shoulder. “Can’t you?”

“I can,” Apollo answered, though for a second he really thought about lying. “But I don’t need it.”

“Lun does,” Delta pointed out. “They need it. If you don’t need it, what does it feel like for you?”

“…Heady.” Apollo admitted. He brushed his nails along the side of the boy’s head. There was too much heat there.

“It gets you loaded?” Delta asked incredulously.

“Not quite,” Apollo said, mostly because he sensed the alarm in the other’s voice. “Just dazed. I don’t like the feeling.”

Delta frowned anyway, but he did not question further. He rearranged himself, asking if he could place the pillow down in Apollo’s lap. He did so. He did not take the blanket and he did not need it. The fever was startling. It would peak tonight.

“You like me more when I’m like this. You just want a patient.” Delta accused, but the tone was teasing.

“I like you all the time,” Apollo said, though he didn’t deny it. Delta sighed discontentedly, exhausted. The skin of his neck was still bare then, unguarded. Apollo pressed two fingers to it, checking the pulse. Steady.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

@jumpywhumpywriter

edit oops forgot taglist sorry

[vladdyissues]

Seriously, there are more than enough fanfics and rule34 art of Danny getting raped by Vlad till he's bleeding, but the second the reverse is suggested you clutch pearls.

You Peppers ship a 14 year old with and adult who wants to kill him, at least don't look down at me like you got a moral high ground. And just to not sound hypocritical, of course I ship them too.

Vlad can be the cruel, brawny, tall, big dicked man and Danny has to be the catamite, but an alternative can be great too, a bit divergence damn it,

"Enough of this thing exists already! I want everyone to stop making this thing they enjoy and instead make the thing that I want to see!"

Anon, you sound like a screaming, tyrannical toddler.

You're the one throwing a hissy fit about there not being enough Tall Strong Big-Dicked Danny content while the rest of us mind our own business. You're the one spamming our inboxes with asks—sometimes very graphic, distasteful, and definitely unwanted asks—about ship dynamics that we have repeatedly explained don't appeal to us. And yet you keep sending them.

This isn't even about shipping or dynamics, really. This is about you not respecting our boundaries and trying to force us to cater to your personal preferences.

Metaphorically, you're going to every ice cream parlor in town and having a tantrum because they're not serving cheeseburgers. "There's too much ice cream in here!" you scream—in a restaurant called We Love Ice Cream And Serve Nothing But Ice Cream. "I want a cheeseburger! Why don't you serve something other than ice cream!? You're all a bunch of pearl-clutching snobs who look down at me because I like cheeseburgers! Well, the ice cream you serve is gross, anyway!" (As if there's only one flavor of ice cream, and its the flavor of Pompep that you mentioned.)

You're being an ass, anon. This is not how you ingratiate yourself to your fellow fans or shipmates—especially not when you imply that some of us are shipping Vlad and Danny the """"wrong"""" way and your way is somehow better or more interesting.

How about the next time you feel like sending someone another ask about Big Tall Strong Danny wrecking Vlad's anus with his 16-inch monster cock, you instead pick up a pencil and learn to draw art and write fic of the things that you want to see? Because that's what the rest of us did.

Be the change you want to see in the world.

[xieliansbignaturals]

Fereal (a super cool TGCF fic author) just came up with a new idea, and someone shared it in one of my Discord servers: https://x.com/Fereael/status/1817313893078679850

Copied and pasted from the tweet, so you don't have to click through: "What if WuLian with amnesia Hua Cheng who gets it into his head that Hua Cheng must be mistreating Xie Lian because Hua Cheng is a supreme (like BWX was) and because Xie Lian is liming and has bruises on his wrists so Wuming decides to kidnap Xie Lian in order to save him"

My response:

*Saw trap voice* Hello, Xie Lian. Slinging you over his shoulder right now is a mentally regressed version of your beloved husband, at a time in his life when you feel you failed and hurt him very badly. He is convinced that you are being abused (by a person who is actually him) and need to be saved from your happy, consensual sex life. To convince him otherwise, you must explain that despite his image of you as the most chaste person ever, you have now learned that you love indulging in rough, kinky sex. Good luck.

[just-antithings]

Bluesky, in addition to banning people over liking a sfw dragon main gif that was on tenor and accusing them of being complicit in spreading CSAM for that, has now banned noncon, fictional gore and violence, and feral x human. That really, truly didn't take long at all.

ugh

[angstymdzsthoughts]

(Tw for assault) pre canon, pre kids (or at least pre-jc and wwx being born) YZY gets attacked by WRH at a party. He drugged her and caught her off guard. Afterwards she tries to summon all her usual rage but he just sneers at her and says if she tried to do anything to him in retaliation, the Wens will come down on Meishan Yu AND Yunmeng Jiang. And she can't exactly say what he did to her, can she? She'll be shamed. It's her word against his and people would happily believe her cheating on JFM in a fit of drunken rage, and there would be no case anyway because she didn't fight him off - the famed violet spider not putting up a fight, her golden core not taking care of the drug? How weak. She must have wanted it...

Afterwards she returns home with JFM and tries to put it behind her. She's Yu Ziyuan and won't crumble because of this. But. It's hard. She doesn't feel safe anymore even with her handmaidens. Even in her home. She tries to act as she did before but she feels like she's falling apart - how can she whip the disciples into shape, lead Lotus Pier, when she can't even fight off a simple drug, a simple man, even if it was Wen Ruohan? Before she would express all her emotions through rage but now... she can't summon any of it. She has nightmares. She feels his hands on her, undressing her, tugging her hair, even slipping zidian off her finger and leaving her defenseless... she's falling apart and she's terrified everyone can see it.

the truth is everyone is fooled.... except for JFM who, somehow, notices cracks in her armor and wants to know what happened to his wife.

"Don't touch me!"

It's not the first time his wife had said it to him. She has snapped and hissed and growled the words too many times to count. Had once screamed them in his face when he touched her hand after Cangse and Changze visited.

But she had never been afraid.

Fengmian had honestly thought she simply wasn't capable of it. He had always admired the strength his wife carried, even when it was turned against him. He couldn't recall her ever being anything but fierce and proud and standing tall.

He felt rattled seeing her like this. Small and trembling and flinching away from him in fear.

"Please," she begged, her eyes weren't focused on anything. "Don't touch me."

Fengmian felt his own hand shake. He had reached out to fix the crooked hair pin- a perfect excuse to touch her hair- when she flinched like he had tried to strike her.

"I... Whatever my wife wishes," he assured her. "I would never- You know I would never..."

His words seemed to ground her enough to start gaining control of herself again.

"My lady, did something happen?"

The glare she gives him is venomous.

The tongue lashing she gives is short and harsh and she retreats to her rooms immediately after.

Fengmian is left with a cold, heavy feeling in his stomach.

-

YZY would be so, so worried about JFM finding out. She thinks he won't hesitate to take the opportunity to divorce her and ruin her reputation.

[glitch-after-dark]

Mer formers dratchet finding a sparked Rodimus who was abducted from his home and can’t go back because it was destroyed?

Now they have a sparked distrusting & traumatized mer they are slowly falling in love with

oh yes

The way this idea just gripped ahold of me and I love this idea but got a little caught up in plot and it got pretty long.

I've got another related ask, too. It's probably a bit less horny than intended, but I'll do more in a bit. Happy mermay!

Rodimus grew up in the Nyon shoal and was very social and comfortable and happy. Their shoal was settled around an uninhabited island from which they took their name which spent most of the time submerged and has complex reef system around it. It was considered one of the most beautiful places on Cybertron with pink sands and fiery colors mers matching the reefs surrounding it. It was Preserved and people weren't supposed to travel there but that didn't stop an occasional wealthy mech from hiring someone to go there as they considered fees to be "entrance payments" more than punishment. While wary most of the people who came regular, marine biologists who studied them, were friendly and the shoal was a much more social and less aggressive one than most.

At least partially due to the fact the island used to be inhabited and they had a shared community until a disease that the mers were immune to wiped out the island population. They still passed down stories and remembered them. The "strange" rituals that the biologists studied are the ones passed down to honor their former friends. Rituals that look religious in nature because it was as their former neighbors worshipped Primus.

All this adds up to Rodimus seeing Tyrest, who was slightly obsessed with it since he recognized a long defunct religious gesture in one of the videos a Senator showed him of "visiting" the island and believe it to be a sign, and swimming right up to him. Rodimus sees him do the gesture and returns it enthusiastically, swimming much closer than he would normally and even perching up on the boat's edge which led to him getting snatched.

Rodimus suffers during his time with Tyrest, who treats him like a pretty toy, and punishes him when he "acts up". It only gets worse the more time passes and Tyrest gets handsy. Rodimus becomes incredibly hostile to all mechs and Rodimus starts to get drugged daily to keep him placid.

Then he has his first heat and Tyrest is eager to take advantage of it to arrange for artificial insemination. It required getting him out of the tank though. The drug burns out quicker than Tyrest realized and Rodimus begins to become more lucid and once Tyrest dismisses his guards and staff for the day, Rodimus rips out his throat. Tyrest kept Rodimus in his private island, letting him look out at the sea but never touching it.

Rodimus drags himself through the house and across the sand into the water. He's hurt and bleeding and exhausted but he's free even if he's somewhere new.

Rodimus is not a very sturdy breed of mer or one meant for long distance or deep ocean travel on top of still smelling like heat. He encounters a lot of dangers from predators and other mers, reacting with almost feral aggression not allowing anyone, even friendlies close. He follows old stories and constellations to eventually find Nyon, or where it was. There was an accident and a ship carrying oil wrecked and the leak destroyed Nyon. There are mechs working to try and clean it, but the reef and shoal are dead and the pink sands stained.

Rodimus now heavily pregnant and strained with grief wonders blindly, avoiding the large stretches of territory or inhabited areas he goes through, and finds an island that looks mostly untouched, no mechs or mer shoals obvious and just falls asleep exhausted in one of the underwater caves.

The reason it is untouched is it is neutral territory where the "sea witch" Ratchet and his mate Drift live. Who find Rodimus, so exhausted he doesn't even wake up when they touch him, clearly having starved himself, undersized and with poorly healed injuries. They take him back to their cave and Ratchet quickly cleans his long neglected wounds and treats them, while Drift helps him feed Rodimus via mouth-to-mouth until he has enough strength to respond and swallow when they put it in there. He sleeps for days with their tending, tense and curled up even in his sleep until on the fifth day he wakes up.

Rodimus is incredibly wary of the two other mers when he wakes up. He is hissing and bristling and ready to fight, though instinct has him pushing himself back into the back of the cave and curling around his swollen belly. He is full and healthier than he has been in ages, and everything is screaming to nest.

Drift and Ratchet are soft. They've never managed to carry more than duds despite their long courting. They suspect they are wither infertile or incompatible. They have more than enough to support a carrier, and both have gotten a little attached while carrying for him.

They give Rodimus space, leaving him food and not forcing themselves close. Slowly, warily, he creeps out. They both freeze when he does, letting him make the first moves. When he creeps out further, Drift trills at him hopefully, which startles him and sends him rushing back into hiding.

It's slow progress with Rodimus watching them warily from where they've tucked him into an inner cave, and their instincts are acreaming to take care of him more and barely sated by glimpses and food and occasional glimpses of him sleeping and smelling content. Both are patient though.

One day, when it's just Ratchet, Drift, having gone out to hunt and patrol to settle some of his "expecting babies" instincts, Rodimus finally creeps out. Ratchet's own instincts to prepare have led to him overprepping in medicine and gathering a bit. He's been trying to prepare for any eventuality. He doesn't freeze or react when he feels Rodimus moving behind him and forces himself to remain calm letting him approach and watch Ratchet curiously.

Rodimus, meanwhile, has gotten curious about his not-captors. He has become absolutely certain they don't want what most have wanted from him and don't appear to be a threat. Mostly, they seem to want to feed him. He's been listening to them interact and talk but still doesn't understand why. He doesn't feel safe, but he also doesn't feel actively in danger.

So he's decided to approach the safer looking one alone. Drift may be smaller, closer to Rodimus’s size, but he's all predator with prominent fangs and claws and spines. Ratchet, meanwhile, is bigger than him but has duller claws, practically just nails and grinding teeth as well as non-prominent fangs and eats kelp as much as any fish. Rodimus is pretty sure his main defense is his thick hide, size, sharp tongue, and Drift.

They talk, and while it is tense, it soothes things. Ratchet explains how they found him, what he is doing, and briefly a bit about himself and Drift. He also offers Rodimus safety in their home as long as he wants to stay. When asked why Ratchet nods to his swollen belly and says he can't just let a school less first timer go at it alone when he can help and that Rodimus will need suport and be unable to hunt for himself soon enough. Rodimus has bee filling more and more the instinct to den down and prepare but is still suspicious.

Rodimus demands what exactly Ratchet wants in return, and he says for Rodimus to let him treat his wounds and make sure he and any pups or healthy before Rodimus leaves. If he wants to leave, that is. He also confirms Drift feels the same way. Rodimus still doesn't trust it, but Ratchet hasn't lied so far and had plenty of time to take advantage.

Drift comes barrelling in, freezes, and gets excited, sending Rodimus back into hiding. Dratchet talks about taking things slow. Or at least that's what they think until the next day. Rodimus is nervous at first but gets comfortable very quickly, and by the end of the day, he is acting like he owns the place. Which is at least 65% bravado, but he is forcing himself to be comfortable in order to convey confidence. Drift, of course, is thrilled and very friendly and readily spoiling him, eager to show off their home and area, and Ratchet is very tolerant and fussing at him to eat or drink.

Rodimus is surprised how quickly it turns to genuine comfort with them. He swims with Drift acting as sentinel, but always gentle and cooing as he shows them small wonders and races and dances around him in warm shallows that look perfect for pup. He hangs around Ratchet on his tired days lounging and pestering him when Ratchet makes medicine, and Ratchet huffs but explains or tells stories about his travels, which are interesting and pretty wide. Other times, they go to gather medicinal things. It's further than Drift usually takes him but Rodimus stubbornly demands to come and inevitably ends up dozing on Ratchet's back being gently carried home between them

He realizes as his room (den) becomes filled with pretty rocks and decrotive plants and soft sponges for a bedding and fine sand perfect for burying eggs and carefully selected rocks that both have given him that they've been acting both as sire and community and he cries and realizes he may be rwally and truly safe.

He starts being more open with them and laughing and smiling, and things get warmer and affevtionate as all three start falling for each other. Now that Rodimus is safe and his body isn't stressed he enters a new stage of his carrying and finds himself curling up against Ratchet in the cave not wanting to leave and purring or dragging Drift to his berth to cuddly and clunsy try and wrap his tail around him. Both of them pick up on it and smell it, but after what Rodimus said, they are reluctant to force the issue. Finally, after he half tucks himself under Ratchet and just vibrates while chirping, they do, and Rodimus realizes he's been making moves and decides rather than be embarrassed to go fully in.

They start assisting him, and when they do, they can't stop. It's a near constant pausing what they are doing to push him down and gently fuck into him while he purrs and clings to them, long pretty tail wrapping around them and clinging as much as possible. Both becime reluctant to leave him and he is firnly in the den napping most days and rarely venturing far. They prepare in earnest not to leave for awhile and the last two weeks of his carrying is just slow fucking, cuddling and constantly rearranging things to be perfect.

By the time Rodimus lays the eggs, they are all thoroughly mated and pleasantly surprised to find they hatch a mix of Rodimus's broght colors and white and red patterns.

[whumperofworlds]

No one:

Not even me:

My fucked up brain: WRITE STARDEW NONCON. HERE HAVE A DREAM OF IT.

Me: What the fuck, brain.

[justplainwhump]

Over

Dany is captured by WRU.

A part of Angel's story.

Written for Whumpmas in July @whumpmasinjuly-archive , day 12, Caught.

Content / warnings: Abduction, betrayal, character death, whumper pov, thoughts about noncon, vibes of unhealthy relationship dynamics (m/f).

Had it been up to Frankie to choose the last day of this life, it defined wouldn't have been a Monday. The Hammonds' weekly security briefing was tedious and dull. Especially today. Especially when the sun was shining, especially when his flight to the Caribbean was -

"Frankie." Peter snapped his fingers. "Focus. Look at these photos. Anyone on these shows up near her, you get her away. The Chernovs are pissed because of the boss' latest move, and they won't hold back."

Especially when Frankie knew in detail what - no, who the biggest threat to Dany was today. He had to bite back a smirk.

"The Chernovs won't get to her," Frankie assured, peeking at the clock in the corner. "I'll keep her close."

Josie leaned back and chuckled. "Yeah. We all know just how close she keeps you."

Peter clicked his tongue. "We don't talk about the junior like that, Josie. She's an adult, she's a professional, and so is Francis. When he's listening."

"Yeah. I've got her," Frankie repeated and peeked at the clock on the wall. "And she's going to insufferable when I'm late to pick her up. So. Excuse me."

"Watch out for these guys."

"I will."

He'd been even more attentive than usual, lately, Frankie thought as he jogged towards her office. He knew WRU was scouting them, and he'd clocked some of their agents. Whom he he'd been truly on the lookout for, however, was the principal. The person behind it all. Who paid hundreds of thousands of dollars, to make Danielle Hammond his.

It scratched his professional honor that he couldn't tell. Sure, Stuart Hammond pissed off many powerful players, many of whom would go great length to take it out on his only daughter and designated successor. But none of them would use WRU as a middle man.

And Dany's own surroundings? She certainly came after her Dad, in both business sense and annoying attitude, but Frankie usually managed to keep up with a list of her enemies.

Nobody matched.

Frankie sighed, before he knocked at her door and entered right away.

"You're late," she said, not bothering to turn around from where she stood in front of her cabinet, changing from her elegant business suit into a white summer dress. Frankie was a pragmatic man, but he suspected there was some sort of poetry in that choice on a day like today. "Just in time to zip me up, though."

He stepped in behind her and carefully brushed her blond hair aside, before he reached down for the zipper.

She was gorgeous. Sun tanned, soft skin. The freckles over her shoulders. The fit body, with just the perfect mixture of curves and muscle. His hand rested on her ass just some moments, mapping her shape to keep her in his memories.

All of this would belong to someone else, soon.

"Frankie." She raised a brow at him through the mirror. "We're past this, remember? Focus."

His other hand searched for her hip, too, and he pulled her back against him. She didn't fight it. Fuck. She felt too good, her body pressed to his, just like the many times before. "Come on," he whispered into her hair. "One last time?"

Dany turned her head, and it made him shiver how close she was, how her soft breath caressed his skin. "You don't call the shots, babe," she whispered back, her hand on his cheek. "I do." She twisted her hip out of his grip. "Not today."

He wondered, how it would feel to just take her, right here, in her office. What would happen, if he just grabbed her, hand in that blond locks, tossed her over her own desk and fucked her. She was feisty, but he was stronger than her. Paid to be. He could easily overwhelm her. He'd thought about this, more than once. Never done it. Always let her call the shots. Always let her be in power. What a meek little power that was, though. All deduced, from family, from wealth.

And someone out there was about to do what Frankie couldn't. Strip that off her. That power. That name. That arrogance. All of it. And make her into a submissive little fucktoy.

Oh, he fucking hated them for getting what he longed for.

"Focus," Dany said sharply.

He took a deep breath and nodded. And he did focus. On the smell of her shampoo, on the way her hair tingled over his skin, on the curve of her ass under the zipper.

Focus.

Frankie would become a rich man today. Rich, satisfied, free. He'd just have to make it through this.

"Sorry, babe," he mumbled.

He wasn't.

~

"Why did you say that?" Dany asked, when they were going down in the elevator, looking at him through the huge mirror. "A last time? You usually don't give up that easily."

Frankie had to hide a flinch. "I... Did I really say that?"

She stared at him from honey eyes, eyebrow raised. Expectant. "Yeah."

He hated her. For being gorgeous, for that white dress, for being in charge, for looking right through him. Fifteen minutes. He just needed this to not blow up in his face for fifteen more minutes. Just needed her to trust him for fifteen more minutes. "I... I think we should end this," he said. Improvised. It felt hollow. It sounded real. "It's... It's sort of getting nowhere, right? And I... I think I deserve better."

She paused for a moment, searched his face, before she shrugged. "Okay. Yeah. I guess." She smirked. "It's really been a bit of a cliche, anyway."

The doors slid open towards the lobby, but he couldn't move.

"That's it?" Frankie asked in disbelief. "That's how simple you think this is?"

"Wasn't it always? Come on, Frankie. We fucked. It was fun, it was good, and not gonna lie-" She winked at him. "I did like spanking you. But I mean. It's just sex, right? When it's over, it's over. No hard feelings." She held out an arm to keep the elevator door open for them. "Now. Are we leaving or do you want Peter to cover your shift?"

He really considered it. For a second or two, Frankie imagined going home, having a beer, calling his parents, telling them he'd come back to work in their repair shop. Imagined a life without Dany Hammond.

No.

He'd close this chapter of his life in a much more rewarding way.

"I'm good." He gave her a sharp nod. "Yeah. No hard feelings."

He pushed past her into the lobby, took the room in with a sweeping glance. For a short moment, someone locked eyes with him.

Alex Nadler. That short, awkward WRU client satisfaction manager, dressed just like a businessperson passing by. They weren't awkward now. Their gaze felt like steel.

Frankie shivered.

Move, their lips formed as they tilted their head towards the street.

Focus, Frankie thought.

Focus.

He guided her to the door, just some steps after Alex.

By his side Dany, utterly unfazed by their past conversation, had pulled a stack of index cards from her white purse and skimmed through them, mumbling to herself. She was invited to give a speech at some charity's summer event, just two blocks south.

She wasn't scheduled to arrive.

He walked half a step behind her shoulder, as always, shielded her from behind and towards the street. And as always, his gaze constantly flicked from the surroundings to her. Her long legs, short white dress, perfectly curved ass, blond strands dancing in the wind. People made space for her on instinct, looked at her, jealous, admiring, greedy. And herself - she didn't even notice, deep into her notes, trusting the man behind her to keep her safe.

The man she'd let into her bed, but nowhere else. The man who'd been good enough to guard her, but not to be more than an affair out of dozens. The man she'd led him on, made feel special, and then proved over and over that to her, he was anything but.

A van closed in from behind them. In front, Alex slowed their steps to down to fall back to Dany's side.

Everything was in place.

Dany had no idea.

Frankie smiled grimly.

For someone as savvy as she was, she was pathetically naive.

Then, Alex raised their hand.

~

It happened in seconds. The van slowed by the curb, its door sliding open. Masks. Machine guns.

Dany's index cards silently drifting to the sidewalk. Her white dress still dancing around her thighs, while she stood frozen in shock.

Her first move was for him. A hand, reaching back, to where she knew her protector would be.

Frankie grabbed her waist, a move so familiar he could almost laugh. "I've got you, babe" he mumbled. He could swear that he felt her relax the tiniest bit.

Then he hefted her into the van, right between the armed men.

He jumped in, Alex followed, and the van accelerated, sped off, before Dany had even said a word.

She didn't, still, even when one of the captors took her purse and passed it on to toss it out. Even when another pulled back her wrists and fixed them with zip ties. Even when they forced her to her knees and bound her ankles as well.

Even with a stranger's hand in her hair, a gun to her head, she stayed silent, attentive, aware. Her gaze was on Frankie alone.

And oh. He could drown in those eyes.

When someone touched his wrist, disturbed the image, he angrily flinched. "Sit," a masked man next to him said. "It's getting bumpy."

"I'm -" Frankie grabbed for a hold on the side, just before the van sped around a corner.

"An asshole," Dany said flatly. "I should've known."

Somebody chuckled. But apart from that, nobody spoke.

She didn't say anything more either. Smart girl, he thought. Just as him and the security guys had talked through with her dozens of times. Don't give them anything. Stay calm. Stay alert. Don't fight. Could even have helped, had this been what she probably assumed it to be.

A kidnapping for ransom, for information, for leverage. A kidnapping that matched her worldview. Matched her self image of being the centre of the world.

He idly wondered, what they'd do with that cute white dress. Trash it, probably. Too bad. He'd have liked to fuck her in it.

The van hit a speedbump, another one, and Dany let out a short gasp when the man behind her yanked at her hair trying to keep his footing. The outside noises changed, grew dull, and the van drove into a long, spiraled curve. Parking garage, Frankie thought.

The door slid open, and without spoken commands, their captors emerged into the dark, boots echoing on concrete.

They were alone.

Frankie and Dany, his charge, his lover, his boss. He'd have given his life for her, a long time. Now, he'd sold hers.

She tried to push herself off the ground, get onto her knees again. Under the dim inside light of the van, her dress seemed to emit light. He saw her eyes skim over the inside of the car, the door, back at him, assessing the situation. It was hopeless.

She knew.

"Why?" she whispered. "Why, Frankie?"

"Money," Frankie said with a shrug and crouched down in front of her. "A new life. Seeing you on your knees. Actually, mostly the latter." He reached out and gently traced her cheek. She did flinch now. Cute. "Because you're a bitch, Dany." He grabbed her chin harder. "Because I get paid to see you destroyed."

She stared at him. He wondered if her lip was trembling, or if it was just the light. "It... You know it doesn't make sense, right?" she said.

Frankie pulled back from the kiss he'd just wanted to press on her lips, irritated. "What?"

"That story. You're a loose end. No mobster in their right mind would just let you walk. You betrayed me, you sold me out to be destroyed, but they'll kill you first." She let out a low chuckle. "Oh Frankie. You've always been a fucking idiot."

Fucking bitch tried to belittle him, even at her lowest.

"Oh no, babe." He shook his head. "You have no idea. They're not the mob. They're something else. They just planned to make it look like-"

Dany raised an eyebrow.

Fuck.

Something cold pressed into the back of his neck.

Frankie froze.

"She's right," Alex said behind him, their voice even. "We're professionals. At WRU, we don't leave loose ends."

Dany's gorgeous, brown eyes widened with sudden understanding, her mask of smug confidence finally shattered. "No," she breathed. "No, no, not WRU, not that, not -"

Dany Hammond looked lovely, he thought, when she fell apart.

He held on to that image, as he took his last breath.

---

[Next]

- --

Angel tag list (ask to be added or removed): @whumplr-reader @there-will-always-be-blood @whimpers-and-whumpers @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @risk606

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

the thing about Marius wanting to fuck Sandro Botticelli in Blood and Gold is that it feels pretty earthshattering until you remember that show!Armand actually fucked Palma Vecchio and got featured in one of his paintings. specifically because Marius made him do it. so really this is all just part of a natural evolution.

[brandwhorestarscream]

*see Mimi's new post*

Can we have Orion (and others) beating the living shit of sentinel?

Nyehehehe >:3 I intentionally left the ending right there, so we could decide if things still go to shit or if they salvage their relationship. Seems you're rooting for the latter, so let's explore what happens after Orion and friends hit Sentinel with the train

He's thrown off of D-16 and his body goes flying, D dropped and collapsing to the ground with a yowl of pain. His valve aches and throbs with every little movement, blood dribbling down his thighs. The pain is so great it's pulsing throughout his entire body, making his pulse hammer out of control and his vents struggling for air. He gags and nearly throws up again, and is trying to get his feet under him when Orion comes stumbling out of the train.

"DEE!" He calls, practically tripping over himself as he scrambles to the other’s side, hitting the polished metal on his knees and sliding in next to him. "Dee, are- are you alright?! What did he do to you?!" He reaches out to grab his friend's shoulders, and D-16 practically bellows at him.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" He all but roars, more tears flooding down his face as he slaps Orion's hand away. He backs up, crab walking away, one arm cradled over his chassis and the other sneaking down between his legs, trying to cross his knees and hide. Naked fear paints itself across his face. "Don't touch, d-don't look-" another sob flies past his lips and he crumples in shame, curling over his ruined body and weeping brokenly into his lap. "Don't look... pleeeaaase, don't look...!" He wails and begs helplessly, unable to face his best friend. Sentinel has taken everything from him. Everything. Even his body, his most intimate and private parts of himself, Sentinel just took them. Violently. Viciously. Without a care in the world. Orion is the last person D-16 wants to see right now: he can't stand the thought of his best and oldest friend, most trusted and beloved companion, seeing him so broken and ruined. "Just-" he flounders helplessly, struggling for words as his mouth trembles and he continues trying to drag himself away from Orion. "Please, just... go aw-way-!"

Orion is nothing short of horrified by what he sees. D's panel is missing, torn aside forcefully if the bent metal is any indication. He can't see it anywhere when he glances around, likely buried under the rubble. His EM field is steeped with the worst physical and emotional agony he's ever witnessed, and his thighs are splashed with blood. His own blood, leaking from his valve.

Nearby, Sentinel Prime suddenly rises, hovering in the air outside the destroyed window, and Orion, just, sees, red.

Screaming what can only be described as a warcry he charges the false Prime with reckless abandoned and they collide with such force they go careening into the open sky, and Orion isn't thinking aside from beating his fists into the miserable, slagsucking rapist as hard as he can, again and again and again.

"I'LL DEACTIVATE YOU!" The promise is roared as he rips and tears at the mech's face. "I WILL! YOU'LL PAY FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY DEE!" Completely overcome with rage at the horrible crime committed on his best friend, Orion is a force to be reckoned with.

When Elita arrives with the others she tries to stop him, but he's not willing to listen, shouting at her that, "He's a MONSTER! A monster that rapes other people that can't fight back! Don't tell me to stop! I won't stop until he's gone!"

B-127 remains in the tower with D-16 even after Soundwave manages to free them. The high guard goes out to join Optimus, but Bee scrambles over to D-16 who's still collapsed in a miserable heap. Bee rambles and babbles helplessly, "Oh my Primes oh my Primes what do I do, wh-whaddo I- oh oh, y-your panel, I'll find your panel, he threw it o-over this way, whatshouldIdo, oh my Primes-"

He does manage to dig it out of the rubble, dented with the mark of Sentinel's fingers and covered in dust, but D-16 still takes it back and does his best to reattach it, though the latches are broken. He sobs as it presses over his torn valve, but as much as it hurts, he's glad to have it back. Glad to cover up again. Shame burns in his chassis as Bee helps him stand, offering himself as a crutch so the silver mech can limp over to the window to watch the carnage. The seekers are hard at work in the sky combating Sentinel's drones, and... Orion is down below on one of the bridges, beating the slag out of their false Prime while the crowds cheer and chant, "DOWN WITH SENTINEL! DOWN WITH SENTINEL!"

It takes five little miners to drag Orion off of Sentinel, and even then he's kicking and screaming and promising to end the miserable mech's life.

"Pax, STOP!" Elita grabs the top of his helm and forces him to look at her. "Stop it! He's down, you got him."

True enough. Sentinel's face has been dented and shredded to scrap, barely recognizable from the mess of energon smeared about his plates, Orion's broken all but one of his limbs and his body is twitching and whirring pathetically, as if trying to transform in order to escape. But it's not enough. He hasn't suffered enough, not nearly as much as the suffering he caused D-16! He snaps as much to Elita, demanding she let him go.

"Is he really the one you should be focusing on right now?!"

Her sharp response jars him, and he finally looks up, past her, to the tower where D-16 still resides. His optics zoom and enhance, and he can see his best friend standing shakily, knock-kneed and being heavily supported by B-127. He looks miserable, and exhausted, and haunted. Broken. Orion's spark shudders with worry, and tension drains out of his body.

"Dee...!" He yelps, suddenly desperate to see him, and sweeps right out of the miners' hold. "Dee, oh stars, I- I'm coming Dee, stay right there!"