#not graphic non-con

[tadalyme]

whumptober, day 2

There are many things Finnick Odair is good at. He's good at swimming, good at fighting, good at making knots. Good at baking decently tasty bread. He's also very good at pretending.

It's a skill he's honed throughout his whole life, ever since he was a little child. Pretending that he likes his mother's vegetable casserole. Pretending that he's completely fine when his father leads him to Mags’s house, his hand held in a forceful, painful grip, and proclaims in his booming voice that it would be the greatest honour for his son to train for the Games, right, boy? Pretending that he isn't scared to die and to kill.

Pretending that all the things that are done to his body on a regular basis aren't happening to him.

It’s somewhere past three at night and Finnick is sore and extremely dizzy and in the backseat of a car, coming back from his client. He’s in a car, because despite being just a District whore, he's an expensive one. President Snow doesn’t want anyone else to harm his investments. At least, not anyone not paying.

He’s just glad that it was the only appointment for today, because the guy, a flamboyant man in his thirties, a grandson or a nephew or a step-son of one of the influential Gamemakers, wanted to spice things up a bit in his sex life and made him swallow some colourful tablets before the act itself.

Well, it certainly spiced things up for Finnick, though probably not in a way the man intended to. He spent the whole time hearing the colours, and tasting the sounds, and seeing the images from his past and present all mixed up together.

The man was pounding into him and moaning and exclaiming something animated and probably over-the-top sexual in his shrill voice, but all Finnick could think about were the glistening in the sun tridents and spears and knives, and faces of the dead children, and his late father and ill mother and disappointed sister, and, for some reason, the Capitol's latest obnoxious vogue of inserting precious gemstones into their skin.

He desperately wanted to cry, so he laughed frantically, and he wanted to push the man away from him, too overstimulated, so he willed his muscles to relax.

The lights of the never-sleeping party area of Capitol fly by dizzyingly behind the window and Finnick has to lean onto it in an attempt not to puke. It's got a bit better in the past half hour, but the thoughts are still floating around his brain like dozens of little brightly-coloured butterflies. It’s hard to properly grasp any of them in a sticky daze of disorientation, though.

The car stops near the entrance to the Tribute Centre and he staggers out, swaying on his feet and almost ending up on the pavement. His limbs finally rearrange themselves in the correct order after a few moments and he musters a lazy salute with only some of his usual flourish to the back of the driving away car.

Still performing, even now. Gods, what a mess.

He doesn't know how exactly he reaches the elevator, but he does and the numbers swirl a bit in his eyes before settling down properly on the buttons.

He remembers well the first time he was here.

The thing is, he wasn’t even supposed to participate in the Hunger Games that year. That questionable honour was supposed to go to Jacob Maren, not yet eighteen, but the oldest among the trainees.

Instead, Dorothea, their escort, gracefully put her powdered hand with baby-blue nails, that matched her enormous wig, and pulled out his, Finnick's, name. There was a bit of a standstill after that - Jacob locking eyes with him across their separate pens. Should he volunteer, should he not. Finnick was too young yet but still a Career. In the end, Jacob stayed silent.

Just as well, thought Finnick, pushing through the crowds to the stage and already putting on a brilliant wide smile, I've trained for this, I can win, it'll be easy.

He knows now what his dumb, arrogant younger self didn’t understand back then - that even if you manage to become a victor, the only one who ever wins the Games is the Capitol.

Jacob did go the following year and died to a back-stabbing One girl. And Finnick has spent three years cursing that day and all that led to it.

Gods above, it has only been three years, hasn’t it? It feels much longer than that, so far away, so long ago. Almost like ancient history.

He did kind of make history with that one, didn’t he? The youngest Victor ever. A fat lot of good that did for him.

Fourth floor. He practically falls out of the elevator, only managing to catch onto the wall at the last moment.

Mags, curled up on the couch, perks up at the sound of sliding doors. In the dim lighting of the lounge her silver hair looks like a halo above her head. Ironic.

It makes him burst out in a fit of hysterical high-pitched laughter. One would have to completely lose their marbles to call the woman an angel. An angel of death, at best. Some forget it, but she also killed in her Games, the same as all of them. And she's led enough kids to their deaths in the following years. He loves Mags with his whole heart, but she's no saint.

Mags always waits for him on appointment nights. He wishes she didn't see him like this, wishes no-one saw him like this and often snaps at her, but she only tuts in disapproval and keeps doing it. Despite his temper tantrums, he's glad she does.

Mags looks him over and frowns and he's sent down the rabbit hole of memories again.

They approach him the next day after he turns sixteen. The two of them look grim and apologetic and he doesn't know what to make of it.

‘I’m sorry, Finnick, I’m so sorry about what's probably going to happen,’ Mags says and lets out a sigh, sorrowful and tired and world-weary, and he, in a rare moment, is reminded of how old Mags really is, ‘Just… Remember that you can always talk to me, no matter what.' She inclines her head a bit, gesturing at her companion, ‘Or to Delia, if you need someone who truly gets it.'

Delia, who is wringing her hands half a step behind Mags, and looks like she’d rather be anywhere else, glances at him and gives him a bleak, perfunctory nod. He doesn’t know why he would need to or want to talk to her, but anyway it’s quite unlikely that he will take her up on this offer.

Finnick knows Delia, of course he does. Delia, a constantly nervous, twitchy Victor in her forties, teaches knife-throwing, and knife-stabbing, and other knife-related skills to the trainees and has never seemed to be a particular fan of long conversations. She's communicated with them mostly with sharp nods and half-aborted, jittery gestures, always looking on edge and shaky.

Her hands have never ever shaken with a blade in them, though.

Then, he gets the summons to the annual post-Victory tour party and President Snow asks to speak with him in his office after. He's told in detail what he's expected to do, now that he's finally sixteen, and what will happen if he doesn't.

Oh.

Oh.

That's what that meant.

His first appointment with a client is the next day and it's the beginning of the end.

His sister screams at him a few months later, when he returns from one of his trips to the Capitol, ‘They don’t care about you, you stupid boy! Why won’t you understand that! Why the Hell do you keep going there?���

But it’s her who doesn’t understand, who could never understand. He can’t tell Carolyn, he can’t, not just because he doesn’t want her to know what he does, but because he’s not allowed to.

President Snow was quite straightforward about what would happen to his ill mother and his sister with her husband and their baby twins, if he were to tell anyone, even them, anything. So he keeps quiet and let them think the worst of him. The same thing that everyone else does.

(Other than his fellow victors, who are all aware of the work he and the ones like him are made to do, the only person who doesn’t look at him with badly concealed disgust, or jealousy, or fake friendliness, or lust in Four is Annie Cresta. Her eyes (also sea-green, though a few tones lighter than his own) only ever look at him with sympathy and pity these days. He would have absolutely hated being looked at like that not long ago, but now it’s just so goddamn refreshing. He used to find her annoying with her righteousness and softness when they trained to be careers together, thought her weak and kind of cowardly, but maybe there is actually nothing wrong with gentleness and timidity, he ponders.

Of course, it’s hopeless, getting used to even such a small thing. Annie Cresta is a Career. She will go into the Games soon. In a couple of years she will likely be dead.)

Mags approaches him slowly, telegraphing all her movements clearly, trying not to spook him. He must look bad, because she checks his temperature with a hand on his forehead. From her pursed lips and scrunched eyebrows he gathers that it’s not very good.

'What, doctor, am i dying yet?' he ironizes.

'Well, you certainly don't look too lively, boy,' she snaps back,'Sit down, I'll be right back.'

She lets him settle on the couch and leaves to fetch her first-aid kit. They’re not allowed to bring any pills to the Tribute centre, so as to not let tributes get anywhere near them, but she has some other basic supplies. Luckily, today they are no flesh wounds to patch up.

She comes back with a thermometer in her hand. And that’s what sends him over the edge and into hysterical tears, the goddamn thermometer. It’s an old-fashioned but trusty mercury thermometer, very common back in Four, but considered obsolete by Capitol standards.

Finnick, having been many times in the local medical over the past year and a half to get patched up after rough encounters with clients, is intimately familiar by now with Capitol’s high-tech, reliably produced in Three.

She waits a bit before his sobs and shaking subside, finally takes his temperature and asks,'You're burning up. What on earth happened to you?'

'He gave me something, I don't know what,' Finnick replies reluctantly and watches her face twist and her arms cross on her chest. She's staring at him pointedly.

'Do we really have to?' he groans,'I'm almost fine by now. You're only wobbling a bit in my eyes.'

'Come on, up you go,' she pulls him up, surprisingly strong for a seventy-year-old, and leads him to his room, to the bathroom. She walks out again and returns with a glass and a closed water bottle.

She fills the glass with tap water and makes him drink it again and again and then throw up, repeating and repeating it until there's nothing left in his stomach at all.

Then she hands him the water bottle, lightly shoves him in the direction of the needlessly overcomplicated shower and exits.

When he finally emerges into his room he's almost feeling like himself again. Mags is still there, leaning on the frame of his bed. He finds some clothes to sleep in and drops next to her. She hums softly and smooths his hair out, running her fingers through his wet curly locks.

She's been much gentler with him since his Games, but she's taken a fancy to him a long time ago.

He was a bit of a troublemaker as a child, like little boys so often are, always sneaking away to the creek to play on the wet rocky shores, or trying to catch fry with his bare hands, or diving from the pier to see how long he could hold his breath, generally making his mother exasperated. He showed up at home in the late afternoon tired but joyful after a day of exploring with a wide toothless grin, seaweed in his hair and damp dirty patches on his knees.

His father didn’t like that much. So at a ripe old age of seven he’s dumped on Mags’s doorstep, who looks at his father weirdly over Finnick’s head and then takes a look at him, slowly lowers down to his eye-level and grasps his tiny hand with her veiny, old-woman one.

‘Well, well, well, what are we going to do with you, little one?’

She's never been cruel to any of the trainees, definitely not, but she wasn't particularly warm-hearted either. She was kind, but also stern and strict, like a proper trainer. He knows that it's because, despite all the preparations, most of them would die in their Games. She didn't really believe that he would win his Games either.

But he survived and she became more willing to show her affection for him after that. And to him, she, the person who practically raised him, instead of his distant mother and constantly angry father, has always felt the most like a real family, even when she acted all grumpy.

He drifts to sleep, relaxing under the silent watch of the only person in the world he fully trusts.

[pheavampire]

THE RADIO IS BROKEN: PART 5

Looks like this part will be actually two parts. And to think at first I planned to do only three in total... lol.

EXTRA WARNING:

This part involves more serious SA than the previous ones. Decide if you want to deal with such topics in fiction before you read it.

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

[aziraphales-library]

HELLO LOVELY PEOPLE!! this might be too specific of a trope so if it is i’m sorry ab that but do you know of any fics where crowley is cursed or controlled in some way to hurt aziraphale? thanks and have a slay day!!!

Hi! Here are some fics in which Crowley is forced into hurting Aziraphale. Mind the tags and warnings on ALL of these ones, folks!...

Hell's Greatest Punishment by evilwriter37 (E)

Hell possesses Crowley and makes him hurt Aziraphale as a way of punishing him.

F to pay respects (I swear this isn't a crackfic) by satiricalScythe (NR)

In which upon failing to destroy the traitors to Heaven and Hell themselves, Gabriel and Beelzebub realize what they much do - if they can't destroy Aziraphale and Crowley, they'll make them destroy each other. Idk if this really earned the graphic depictions tag, but better safe than sorry. It was originally far more bloody but I cut a lot of parts out to make it work.

The Night Of Time by NuriaSchnee (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley are about to take their relationship to the next level when Gabriel and Michael's wrath falls on them. To punish them, they implant a fake reality into Crowley's memory in which he becomes a proper demon for a while and hurts Aziraphale several times. However, they leave Azirapahale untouched and aware that none of it has been real.

The Uncanny Valley by mozbee (E)

“Oi, Crawley.” He freezes, then turns, because you should never turn your back on a Duke of Hell. He sees the woman leering at him, and kicks himself for not paying attention before, to her blank eyes, the slightly sour smell wafting off her now he’s looking for it. “Have a nice night,” she rasps, and suddenly lifts her hand and blows a palmful of black powder into his face. Crowley coughs and stumbles back, out of the elevator, dropping to the floor, eyes watering. Its gone up his nose, down his throat; he can feel it, cloying and irritating. “What the fuck—” he tries, but suddenly he’s gripped with a new, urgent thought: angel. He pauses, mind perking up at the thought. Angel. He stares up at Hastur, who’s giggling and tossing long blonde hair over his borrowed shoulder. “That’s right, demon: you smell an angel.” “I—” It’s important, this bit about the angel, but it’s harder to put his finger on why. “You smell the angel,” Hastur says, and reaches out, to grip his chin in harsh fingers. “You want to kill the angel, don’t you, Crawley? Don’t you, demon?”

Fire in the Blood by Lurlur (E)

Heaven and Hell are in disarray, Earth is feeling the consequences. Crowley is hit with a lust curse from a rogue incubus which triggers a series of events that he'll never be able to undo. This fic features explicit rape and the aftermath. It is emotionally ugly. Look after yourselves.

Branded by Bookwormgal (M)

The mark on Crowley's face was not a tattoo. When Lucifer, still furious and his pride damaged, took out his frustration out on the first thing to catch his attention after the Fall. Rage, possessiveness, and a need to prove that he was not as weak as he felt when he was cast out spurred him into action. He claimed the broken and fallen creature in every way, relishing the confusion and fear. And he left a piece of his power tangled up in the former angel's essence, the only easily visible sign being a shape manifesting on his eventual corporeal body. But rather quickly, Lucifer found other things to occupy himself and the demon was sent up to Earth to cause some trouble. Six thousand years later and newly-enraged by the betrayal and halted apocalypse, Lucifer finally decides to make use of that power that he left behind. The devil is not one to surrender something that he'd claimed so easily. And the traitor would pay. He would make Crowley suffer.

- Mod D

[acourtofladydeath]

SJM Villain Week '24 Day 4: Behind Closed Doors

When Adriana agreed to marry the youngest Vanserra brother, she had no idea what she was getting herself into... How will she and Beron survive the initiation when his family wants to break them?

In this fourth installment of "To Become A Vanserra," we see a glimpse of where it all began. How was Beron changed behind the closed doors of his own ritual? It's time to find out for @sjmvillainweek day 4.

Thank you to @secret-third-thing, @jules-writes-stories, and @climbthemountain2020 for being my hype women. Thank you to @pippsmcgee for being my beta!

This fic involves rape/non-con, coerced sexual acts, and descriptions of graphic violence. Read a snippet below, or the full fic on AO3!

Twisting her hands in the folds of her simple dress, Adriana stared down at the intricate gown laid before her, golden vines embroidered across the deep maroon velvet. The colors were gorgeous, if not slightly off-putting. Adriana hated wearing red of any shade. A trail of blood careened through her memories, never too far from her mind. She was often able to remove the murder of her father from her mind, but only if she could avoid the color red. This marriage was her chance to support her family, to take some of the load off her grieving mother and sisters. Pushing the memory aside, Adriana ran her hand across the smooth fabric, her fingers along the raised thread as it trailed delicately along the lines that most accentuated her body. She stopped at the high collar, feeling the cuff that would surround her throat like a restraint. “This seems a bit formal for lunch, does it not?” Adriana’s words were directed at no one in particular. There were so many servants in the room Mrs. Vanserra had directed her toward that she figured one would know the answer.  “Tis what the High Lord picked for you, m’lady,” the youngest girl said, her voice soft and slightly hesitant. But Adriana noticed a pair of older servants by the vanity share a look, one that sent apprehension shuddering down her spine.  One of the older servants, a stern woman with her apron tied tightly and an even tighter bun gestured for Adriana to come over. “Sit, girl, we haven’t got all day, and your hair just won’t do.”  Adriana’s hands tentatively touched her hair, the flowing curls she’d tirelessly done herself the night before still soft and voluminous. “What’s wrong with my hair?”  “The better question is what’s not wrong, dearie. No matter, you’ll learn the expectations in time,” the other servant by the vanity added, her hair braided and piled at the base of her neck. “Come sit so we can fix you.” 

Finish the fic on AO3.

Please let me know if you'd like on or off the taglist! @pippsmcgee, @born-to-riot, @chunkypossum, @bubybubsters, @queercontrarian, @yanny-77, @fieldofdaisiies, @iftheshoef1tz, @secret-third-thing, @jules-writes-stories, @the-darkestminds, @climbthemountain2020, @amalhe-kofee, @molcat07, @nocasdatsgay

[justyourtypicalwriter]

Hi guys I have to sort through my 6 million open tags so send me your most soul sucking, leg trembling fic recs. I want to be blown away and sobbing. We all know I am a FREAK and will read just about anything. My only request is no minor NSFW (OBVIOUSLY), and no illegal ships

[samanddean76]

A Fistful Of Sammy's

An ancient grimoire has been searching for the man that is destined to wield it for the good of all.  With the power that was imbued upon it, Lux gained sentience and hid herself away, appearing as nothing more than a smoothly polished rock.  Now she waits.  The problem?  The Stanford-Era Sam Winchester that the grimoire meets is not the only Sam searching for it.  And thanks to a little time travel the list of those seeking her is growing longer by the minute.  Once Soulless Sam and Demon Dean are added into the mix?  Things start to go sideways.  But then a couple of Hollywood actors trapped in Canada, who happen to look just like them and know everything about them, turn out to be crucial to Sam and Dean being able to save the day. 

Will an Apocalypse World Bobby (no, not that one) and a battle ravaged Castiel help or hinder?  Will the all-too helpful Gabriel guide Sam to the truth, or lead him astray?  And will Sam ever get the happy ending he so desperately deserves? 

Come along on a wild ride, with Metallica as the soundtrack, and an ending that hinges on one impossible choice.

Fandoms: Supernatural and Supernatural RPF

Rated: Explicit | Word Count: 44,276

This is what happens when you have four Sam's, four Dean's, two Castiel's, two Jared and Jensen's, one Gabriel, one John, and one Jack in the same story.

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, Demon Dean/Soulless Sam, Sam Winchester/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Dean Winchester, Gabriel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, John Winchester/Sam Winchester

Major Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Additional Tags: AU, Time Travel, Will Reference Events From All Seasons Plus Prior To Series, Jared & Jensen from Season 6 - The French Mistake, Stanford Era Sam, Dean, & John, Soulless Sam, Demon Dean, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Dubious Consent, Non-Graphic Violence, Unorthodox Demon Healing, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Sam & Dean Being The Best Of Brothers, Castiel Gets A Power Up, Sam Gets A Power Up, An OC For The Ages, Literally

Chapter One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven | Eight on AO3

Hey! How about we turn it into The Samstraveganza Verse? Mmmm, okay, I'm sold.

Tell Me Something I Don't Know - Soulless Sam/Demon Dean one-shot on AO3

Art Post on Tumblr | Art Post on AO3

@xpurdyglambertx @wipbigbang

Excerpt from Chapter Six under the break....

Sam could see himself through Dean’s eyes.  From the moment he was the baby lying in the maternity ward.  Later when he played in his crib in the nursery of his only real home.  How scared Dean felt as he raced out the front door with his little Sammy held tight.  Through more dingy motel rooms and abandoned houses than either of them ever wanted to think about.  On the first day of middle school, when Sam had been so scared, Dean had looked down at him with pride, assuring his kid brother that he was going to be better than any of his classmates.  Helping Sam to get ready for his first dance, pinning on the boutonniere that he had stolen from the flower shop.  Wishing how it would have been him to escort his Sammy. 

“I would have danced with you, at least once.  Spun my big brother around the floor.”  The words echoed across his mind, and when Dean tried to deepen the kiss that they were sharing, Sam knew that he’d heard it, and shared the sentiment.  He thrust harder into the willing flesh before him, finding untold joy as each thrust was matched by Dean pushing back with his own hips.  Trying to help Sam sink in even deeper. 

[excelsiorfics]

Vengeance Drives For Uber

Date: April 20, 2019 Author: rokhal Rating: Mature Word Count/Status: 115,292, complete Dynamic: Robbie Reyes & Eli Morrow, Robbie Reyes & Gabe Reyes Characters: Robbie Reyes, Gabe Reyes, Eli Morrow Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Emotional manipulation, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Angst, Family feels

Summary:

Last year, eighteen-year-old legal guardian Robbie Reyes made a deal with the ghost of the serial killer possessing his body: together they will unleash their rage on those who endanger Los Angeles, and when they find someone truly evil, truly deserving, they will kill them. Since he made the deal, they've maimed plenty, but killed no one, and the ghost is getting impatient. Robbie gets a side-job driving his Ghost Rider car for Uber. This goes about as well as one could hope: he doesn't attack any passengers, but he does stumble upon a murder victim. Robbie wants the killer to pay, for reasons he does not understand. Eli wants Robbie to finally fulfill his end of the deal and kill somebody, anybody. To avenge the innocent dead, Robbie is finally willing to cooperate. They work together to identify and hunt the killer. Meanwhile, Lisa takes Robbie to meet her parents, Robbie plans for his future, Ramón Cordova pays it forward, Guero Valdez adapts, the woman who got slipped a pink pill puts her apartment back together, a cop from New York comes out west hunting Ghost Riders, and Gabe understands more than Robbie knows.

[lifblogs]

Fandom: The Bad Batch Rating: Explicit Pairings: Royce Hemlock/Tech (Non-Consensual Pairing), Tech/Phee, Tech & Crosshair & Wrecker & Hunter & Omega & Echo Word Count: 3632 Summary: Tech is facing his first mission since Tantiss with trepidation. A word said to him in comfort is enough to bring repressed and forgotten memories to the surface, and he feels like he's being torn apart inside. WARNINGS: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, PTSD, Flashbacks, Attempted Self-Harm, Near-Attempted Murder-Suicide, DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. Author's Note: I'm so sorry.

[greenapplespider]

Happy STS from the Creators Club. I hope you're haing a wonderful day. What drew you to your chosen genre?

Having an okay day ;p- hope you’re having a good one too <3 and thank you for the ask.

For this we’ll talk about my story ‘Second Class Citizen’- which is a BL dark erotica and thriller. (Hopefully be publishing it by July of next year)

What drew me to writing it- being far too.. invested (horny) in the presenters of my favorite news/current events podcast- one thing led to another, I was possessed by the devil, and I started writing an RPF- but then I met the dude I was writing the RPF about and felt kinda weird (we get on well and are in a couple discords together- he likes my memes and art).

So I decided to make it into its own thing cause I was reaching advanced levels of parascoial and it wasn’t healthy.

[vera-king-hrfl]

Absolute!Zevlor

CW: Violence, Non-con.

Avoid if it's going to make you uncomfortable. I felt a little icky writing it, but it's just one of those things you have to get out of your system. There will probably be 3 parts, but I have other stuff going, so I can't estimate a timeline.

[mara-xx217]

Ending H (Fear & Hunger) Ch. 4- Hidden in Plain Sight

It looked like a monster yet it put up an act innocence. Monsters come in all forms in this gods forsaken place and they were close to you from the very beginning...

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Noncon, Broken Bones, Fisting, Monster, Monster Biology, Blood, Death, Necrophilia

You stood in utter shock at the monstrosity before you. What the fuck was it?! What even was this place?! There was an entire other country below the dungeon, as far as you could tell, and with this new country there were brand new monstrosities that defied all logic and understanding. This place shouldn’t exist. That thing shouldn’t exist! But they did, and while you were standing in the midst of a stinking, rotting, impossible city standing before you waited yet another creature that would surely mangle and maim you in much the same way that your less fortunate comrades have been murdered before your eyes. Only one of your shield brothers remained and he incessantly pulled on your arm in an attempt to wake you from your stupor.

“What the fuck are you doing?! We’ve gotta move! NOW-!” His harsh tone was quickly choked back as the gangly creature began to walk it’s too long, one too many limbs in a disjoined and very unsettling pattern right down the narrow alleyway they stood it. 

You both were frozen in fear. The closer it got, the more you could make out the nearly human features of its face. Nearly… but not quite. It was grotesque in every sense of the word, almost… effeminate but also distinctly masculine. Androgynous but it was somehow at both extremes of either gender and somewhere between them both, a concept that was alien to you and left you feeling deeply unnerved. Yet you couldn’t take your eyes off of it. Your eyes flicked down its bare body and you immediately regretted it.

“W-Wha- t-the fuck…?” He saw it too. Your companion, Frederick muttered under his breath. He saw it too, that… thing between its legs. Not a penis, certainly not a vagina, it was a… sagging sack of- Oh God you think you’re about to be sick. 

The creature’s lips seemed to have an ever present smile ghosting its full lips. Its eyes were slightly sunken into its head, giving it the illusion of having dark coloured eye makeup around its sockets. An almost healthy dusting of flush covered its cheek, and from its face alone you could have mistaken them for an odd human being, but the spikes about its head and… everything else made it so there was no mistaking it for anything other than a monster of a time long forgotten. It fluttered its eyelashes at you (if the thing even had any-) and blinked at the two of you. Slowly. Regarding you two as it began to hum softly to itself. 

Frederick tugged on your arm again, though it was significantly weaker than from before. Your sword was loosely gripped in your hand, loose enough that its tip landed on the ground with a near deafening thud as the noise ricocheted off the empty streets of the dead city. It startled you enough that you and Frederick both regained your composers but it was already too late. This thing was already a mere few feet from where you both stood and now there was only one of two things the two of you could do:

Run or fight.

You raised your sword with a trembling hand and weakly called out “S-Stay where you are! D-Don’t come any closer!” Frederick backed you up with his own sword, his more steady but still had the same trembling quality that yours did. The creature didn’t move any closer but it didn’t move away, either. It softly giggled to itself, something gentle, like a bell, and nearly childlike though there was something terribly sinister hidden underneath its tone. 

“Didn’t you hear them?! They said ‘FUCK OFF!’ We’ll kill you where you stand, monster!” His voice is loud enough to echo throughout the city and your gut suddenly twists in fear. What if something else heard him?! The gangly thing seemed to pout a little, its shoulders slumping and its limbs going limp. A soft whine escaped its throat and for the briefest of moments… you actually felt sorry for the unfortunate being. 

It picked in between the crumbling mortar that was wedged between the paved tiles of the alleyway. One of its three feet began to tap against the ground, a rhythm that was totally unfamiliar to you. It looked up at you and smiled again.

“Teeheehehee~” A long, multi joined arm reached for you. Frederick pulled your arm again, much harder than he did in the first moments this creature appeared before you two. He managed to force you a step back but you yanked your arm free of his grasp. 

“What the fuck are you doing?!” He hissed under his breath. He took two steps back and you remained in place. You blinked as you stared down at the three legged creature that sat with its legs splayed in every which direction.

“I… I don’t-” It reached for you again and Frederick took another step back.

“You… You have lost your mind!” It wasn’t said like a question but rather like a factual statement. 

It touched your leg. Gently, as though you were made of glass. Something stirred inside your chest once more. What if… as monstrous as it was… What if it wasn’t a monster? It tugged on your shin guard curiously, not hard enough to pull you off balance, not hard enough for you to even feel it. You only knew it was touching you because you were watching it with your own eyes. You could hear Frederick shuffling away more, muttering quietly under his breath.

“-fucked up. This is fucked up- We’re gonna- They’re gonna-” The creature giggled softly once more as its long fingers shifted away from your shin and towards the back of your calf. A part of you could almost smile. Maybe it wasn’t so bad… You were about to lean down so you could get a better look at its inquisitive eyes when suddenly.

SNAP!  

It took you an entire second to realize what just happened. Your face twisted in agonized horror as you watched your leg bone snap in half. A deafening scream pierced the stagnant air of the lost city, accompanied by the sound of rushed footsteps retreating in the opposite direction. Before you fell flat on your back from standing on painful and unbalanced legs, your other limbs were snatched and you were pinned flat against one of the alleyway’s walls. 

Hysterical sobs were pulled from your chest as your broken leg was still held in a bone crushing grip. The way it pressed against your armour-! Your eyes darted around, wide and bloodshot from tears and stress, desperately looking for someone, fucking anyone to hurry up and save you…!

“F-F-FREDER- AAAAHHHH!!!” A strangled scream left your throat as your arm was twisted until the bone was wrung in half. It shouldn’t- It couldn’t fucking move like that! The raw strength of this creature was otherworldly and was impossible for its size! In between screams and dry heaves, you looked for Frederick, expecting him to already be behind the creature and preparing to strike it down-!

But he wasn’t there. You didn’t know him that well- you didn’t even know his family name- but here in the dungeon of Fear & Hunger, normal social boundaries and understanding was shattered into a thousand pieces. There were so many times that he could have left you for dead but chose to protect you and you did the exact same for him. So why… Why…? Why?! Why why why why WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY-?!  

CRUNCH!  

The only sound that leaves your throat is a gargled groan. The tips of your other foot now faced the wrong direction. Your head hung low as you stared at your broken and mangled body. From the corner of the street, someone peeks out into the alleyway where you were being brutally assaulted. 

You barely felt your fourth and final limb snapping in two. Bile, saliva and tears dribbled down your chin and ran down onto your armoured chest. Breathing was becoming more and more difficult the more pain and trauma you were subjected to. One of your legs was released but it provided no relief to the agonizing pain that you were in. Even the simple pull of your legs hanging limply caused enough pain to make you believe that you would die at any moment. You wish you were already dead. You wished it now, even though the worst was yet to come….

The blinding pain in your mangled limbs masked the feeling of pressure building between your legs. The cold air against your nether regions was barely a whisper in your mind when compared to the white hot numbness that shot through your body. Even the feeling of something cool and hard pressing between your legs didn’t elicit a reaction from you. It was only when the creature all but punched into your body cavity did another tortuous, ear piercing scream rise from the depths of your soul. 

It only took one, forceful motion for it to sink all the way up to its first elbow. Blood gushed from the wound, coating both your trousers, the creature’s arm and the ground below you. It began to pull away and your screams followed it, rising in pitch before it was choked away as you began to vomit uncontrollably. 

Your flesh was being pushed away- Your organs were being fisted deeper and deeper up into your chest cavity. Blood rushed up your throat and streamed down your chin as your body began to shake. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t breathe. You were dying…  

The creature- The Harvestman- gingerly removed his arm from the new hole he has made for himself. A rush of warm, scarlet blood followed in its wake and painted both the ground and his legs in its beautiful pigment. He released your legs and gently moved to lower you to the ground, careful to not jostle your bent limbs or your loose, churning insides before he had the opportunity to have his fun. 

Your breaths came out in short, gasping breaths. Your face was pale and your eyes were unfocused, staring at the dark blankness of Ma’habre’s sky. The Harvestman giggled to himself as it leaned over your broken body, the sack of skin that contained his genitals unfurling and doubling in both length and girth until it bobbed and swayed with the Harvestman’s slightest movements. 

The bulbous, weeping head of his cock easily pushed its way into the slick, soft tissue in between your legs. It was nearly twice as thick as his fist and arm, so the Harvestman had to put genuine effort into the thrusting of his hips as he raped your batter body. You weren’t quite a corpse yet but you were hardly alive, either. You made no sound as your insides were defiled, not so much as a wheeze or a whimper of pain. You were fading fast but you still had the remnants of your fleeting consciousness and you were at least partially aware of your finality and the manner in which you would die. 

Your perspective constantly shifted as though you were on a boat in rocky waters. Wetness soaked your legs and your back, an ever growing pool of your life force that was only leaking more and more with each passing second and with each new violation the monster that forced itself upon you administered upon your ruined body. Somewhere in the haze of pain and blood loss, you had a moment of recognition. 

At the end of the alleyway, peering in from the corner, a familiar set of eyes watched your brutal end. You already looked dead, with your limbs twisted at impossible angles and your ash grey skin and the lake of blood that encompassed your body that grew every time that thing raped your battered form. It was sickening… But Frederick couldn’t look away. 

The Harvestman stroked your blood and sweat soaked hair, an eerily sweet and loving gesture in the face of the evilness that it was currently inflicting onto you. Frederick watched as the skin of your abdomen shifted and moved in unnatural fashions, following the slow and nearly gentle rhythm the creature had set for itself. The sellsword shifted in place, feeling as though he was on the verge of vomiting yet… 

His cock was rock hard. Every small movement on his behalf was heavenly against the painful throbbing of his manhood. The longer he watched your rape, the harder he became. Frederick’s eyes met your glossy and seemingly dead ones, a shiver running down his spine as he considered was the creature was experiencing as it fucked your bodily cavity. Was it still warm? It had to be soft, right…? His palm found his erection and he made no attempt to hide the depraved act he was partaking in as he watched his comrade’s slow and torturous death. 

Ever since he entered the dungeon, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. The moments where you were in need, that you were nearly assaulted and those monsters nearly forced themself upon you, the times you would rest your eyes for a brief moment as he kept watch… Every single time he considered what it would be like to simply take what he’s wanted from the very beginning. And now he doesn’t have to pretend that he has ever cared to keep his morals and actions in check…  

Through your blurred vision, you saw the rushed, jerking movements of Frederick’s arm about his pelvis. A few stray tears streamed from the corners of your eyes. You were damned from the start… Your comrades- they all met their ends when they would scout ahead with Frederick. It was so easy to believe that it was rotten luck- they met a terrible fate while he barely escaped to live to tell the tale. It was all bullshit. You were the one that he wanted from the very beginning, and when the opportunity arose where he could save you for the very last time-

-he didn’t.

He watched as this thing broke you to pieces and violated the sanctity of your being. And he liked it. You cursed him with your final gasps for air. You moved one of your mangled arms, unable to control it, it simply stretched out at an awkward angle in his direction. You couldn’t move your mouth, you couldn’t even speak from the pain and the blood that drowned you from the inside out, but you cursed him and cursed him with every fiber of your being with the remaining life you had left. You would fade, knowing that you were betrayed in the worst way possible and knowing that you would never be able to exact your revenge onto him in this life. But you could hope he would face his end in a fitting manner, and you would hope, until you croaked your last breath and the light left your eyes long before the Harvestman would finish with your limp and mutilated corpse.

The Harvestman played with your dead body until it grew cold. With one last stroke of your hair and your frozen face, he left you, laying in a pool of your own blood and bodily waste and covered in the gore and cum that he pulled from your corpse. He shuffled away, whistling to himself a jolly tune, as though the horrifying act he just parktook in never happened at all. Frederick watched the creature lumber away and waited until it turned the corner and its whistling had faded into silence before he slunk back into the blood and gore soaked alleyway.

If he wasn’t so much of a coward, he could have had you when you were alive. His boots splashed in your blood as he approached your still body. Even dead and drained of blood, you were exactly what he wanted. His belt was still unbuckled and his hand was still in his trousers, idly pumping and stroking his shaft as he crouched between your legs.

You wouldn’t mind anymore, right? You’re dead, anyway…  

There was a single, gaping hole where your genitals once were. Again, a wave of nausea washed over him but the thought of finally sticking it in you and doing as he pleased overpowered the human part of him that revolted against the beast inside of him. Frederick pulled his trousers down around his thighs and leaned over your corpse. He stroked himself a few more times before he lined himself up with your new hole.

Your insides were cool and wet and sticky and so soft… Frederick didn’t know exactly where his dick was going or what he was thrusting into but he didn’t really care. Any apprehension that he had immediately vanished as he sunk up to the hilt into you. You were almost too cool for his liking but the thought of fucking you- alive or dead- pretty much midigated whatever unpleasantness that he felt in the moment. 

“Haaa… F-Fuck-” Frederick moaned your name as he straddled your broken legs. Your body rocked and bounced limply every time he thrusted his hips. He grabbed your side with one hand and wrapped his other hand around your throat. Cold, dead- It didn’t matter. He had fantasized about how you would cry and scream and beg him to stop as he forced himself upon you… or how you would submit to him and allow him to do as he wished, sobbing and moaning you took him over and over again…

When he pulled away from you, his cock and trousers were caked in blood. Frederick didn’t bother to clean himself off, instead he simply tucked himself away and re-buckled his belt. He was still panting, the aftershocks of his final orgasm still resonating from his core to the tip of his dick. His seed spilled out from your body and he stroked your ice cold face with the tips of his fingers. 

Ah, well…  

Frederick took a lock of your hair and cut it off. It wasn’t much but it was you, and that was all he wanted. He placed it in his pocket and readjusted himself once more, his cock still feeling painfully hard. He left you where you lay, corpse defiled and already showing signs of decay in the dead city hidden underneath the dungeon of Fear & Hunger. There wasn’t much left for him here, so he decided to leave as quickly as he could. No one would know what transpired here… He could go back to his old life and he can leave this all behind him. 

He fingered the hair in his pocket, his fantasies still playing in his head interlaid with the moments he spent with your dead body. Frederick could almost laugh a little, his mouth salivating and his cock throbbing with enough intensity that it nearly crippled him. He rubbed at his clothed cock. The sharpness he felt didn’t seem out of place to him, for whatever reason. The need to fuck- to defile as he just did to you- grew more and more prominent in his mind, until it was nearly all consuming and took control of his being. Somewhere in the midst of the memory of watching and jerking off to your torture and rape and engaging in relations with your corpse, your voice rung out in the hollow streets of Ma’habre, clear and biting.

“Was it worth it…?”  

Ending H- Hidden in Plain Sight  

@prettycutebunny, @infinitewhore, @kennbb, @slutwithadegree, @dead-bxxxtch-walking, @space-arsonist, @pink-soft-shadow, @sinlessdesire, @hoemine

[aziraphales-library]

Hello! First off, your blog is amazing, and you're really helping all of us extraordinarily! 😭 anyways, do you have any angsty fics where Gabriel tortures Crowely and/or Heaven tortures Crowley and Aziraphale has to help him? (other than the obvious fic choices, Reposession and That Hopeful Feeling) thank you!

2/2: Oh and also, sorry I didn't mention this in my last ask, so just feel free to combine them. I rather prefer longer fics - 90,000 words at least (or else I get sad that I don't have enough Fic to cry over 😭😂) anyways, just any angsty and/or hurt comfort fics you can give me about Crowly, Gabriel, and Aziraphale would be so amazing!

Hi. We have #torture and #kidnapping tags you can check. But really, with requirements as specific as this, your best bet is sorting and filtering on AO3. Here is a search for angsty hurt/comfort fics which feature Gabriel, sorted by word count. I did the same thing, but with the torture tag, and here are some of the fics I found. Obviously, mind the tags and warnings on all of these!...

Tossed and Torn by Fire_Traveller (M)

Disclaimer: major character injury (he'll be fine, though, I promise) Disclaimer Number 2: This is part of my Per Aspera verse and will likely only make sense if you've read the other stories... When Crowley is forcefully summoned right from the sofa of the South Downs cottage, this does not only put the demon in a very dangerous place, out of which Aziraphale will need to save him somehow, but it also causes both him and Aziraphale to develop serious doubts concerning their seeming safety from Heaven and Hell. While they do have friends on their side (from both Above and Below), it seems that, despite all the promises, they are still not without very determined enemies...

Totality by rowenablade (E)

Crowley and Gabriel have a history together. Gabriel is the only one who knows about it.

A Memory of Eden by ImprobableDreams900 (M)

When Crowley gets captured by angels and dragged up to Heaven, Aziraphale knows he has to rescue him—no matter the consequences.

Another Time, Another Place by indigo (E)

What if? Two words - so powerful. A slight divergence from canon sees a very different life for Aziraphale five years after the world didn’t end. Ostracised from Heaven, he now lives in a world with bookshops and Afternoon Tea, but without Crowley; a world in which he believes Crowley gave his life to save him. However, it’s not quite that simple, and maybe they can somehow get a happy ending after all??? (They can, and they do. But let’s not tell Aziraphale that just yet. It’ll spoil the fun!)

Dark Our Woes by EdosianOrchids901 (E)

Aziraphale and Crowley's pleasant life together is thrown into disarray by captivity and torture. Heaven doesn't know how to kill either of them, but the angels have found plenty of ideas for punishment from the Earth Observation Files. After all, humans come up with the most inventive ways to make other humans suffer. Unsure what their captors really want, Aziraphale and Crowley struggle to resist Heaven’s manipulation, to find a way to escape, and to help each other survive.

- Mod D

[nickelkeep]

Conversion

Story by @bleuzombie, Art by @nickelkeep.

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 12,000

Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depiction of Violence, Non-Con, Medical Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Sexual Assault, Conversion Therapy, Psychological Horror, Trans Dean, Gay Castiel, Waterboarding, Religious Trauma and Abuse, Strip Search, Misgendering, Homophobia, Transphobia, Medical Neglect, Medical Neglect resulting in death, First Kiss, Abused Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Exorcism, Drowning, Reality-based Horror, Man-Made Horror, Modern Setting, No Supernatural

Summary:

In order to avoid a jail sentence trans man Dean agrees to attend religious-based residential treatment for 90 days. Dean fights to maintain his sense of self as he is attacked mentally, and physically, and fights to protect his new friends Charlie and Castiel. Soon the treatment turns to torture. 

Jail would have been preferable.

Snippet:

The back of his chair falls out from behind him, bringing a startled yelp from his Dean. A cloth sack is shoved over his head and before he has time to react he feels a cold wetness fill the bag and his mouth. He can't stop himself from screaming for help as the water fills his surroundings, choking him, plastering the sack to his face. Distantly he hears voices as the water continues. They are waterboarding him. Dean struggles against his restraints as the water fills his lungs. He sputters, struggling to free his hands to pull himself free of the sack. Dean can’t see much in the wet darkness of his prison but still his vision starts to darken. This is it. He’s going to die in some bullshit psych ward with a bunch of religious zealots praising a god that isn’t there. And then Charlie will be next. 

Dean can’t let that happen. He does his best to stop struggling breathing out until he’s out of air. His lungs burn and he feels like he’s going to pass out when blinding light fills his vision. That first full breath burns. Dean pants as he pulls in air too fast, making him lightheaded. 

“God…” Dean pants as he tries to speak; the room is still too bright, and Dean feels high from all the oxygen now flooding his system. “... is.”

“Yes, Sister Deanna!” Metatron cries, hands raised in exaltation. “Praise our Lord and Savior as you see the light!” 

Dean’s chest heaves. He rolls his head back and smiles at Metatron. “Dead.” Dean starts to laugh, now that he can fully breathe. His laughter fills the room as he stares at the horrified faces of the orderlies. “Is that the best you got, you ugly bitch?” 

“Oh, I think you’ll find we are just getting started, sweetheart,” Metatron slaps Dean’s face lightly before nodding. Dean sucks in a breath and holds it as the sack is put over his head again and water poured over him. He tries to turn his head to the side but strong hands hold him in place. He feels fingers searching from the outside of the bag to pry his mouth open. Dean shakes his head as much as he is able but a finger splits the seal of his lips, wet, rough material scraping his lips. Dean reluctantly releases the breath he was holding, water filling his mouth as he bites down as hard as he can. He feels warmth spread around the finger and he bites harder, trying to thrash his head to the side.

Coming to @deancashorrorfest this October!

[samanddean76]

A Distant Memory - DWBB 2024

Title: A Distant Memory

Ship: Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester

Word Count: 10,329 | Rating: Explicit

Major Warnings: Rape/Non-Con (non-explicit)

Tags: Alternate Universe, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Dean Winchester Whump, Protective Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-Con, Fallen Angels, Confusion, Magic, Punishment, Revenge, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Knotting, Mating Bites, Soulmates, Visions, Top Sam Winchester, Bottom Dean Winchester, Zachariah Gets Punished, Everything Is Not As It Appears, Size Difference, Sam Winchester Has A Large Penis, Written for the Dean Winchester Big Bang 2024, Original Art by QueenSilber

Summary: Dean is an Omega on the streets, just trying to survive. He is picked up and taken back to an opulent condo, where he is told to clean himself up and await his Alpha. The problem being that Dean can barely remember who he is, let alone who his mystery Alpha might be. And he is being plagued by alternating visions. He is either a desperate Omega, half-starved and filthy, or he is dressed for success in a tailored power suit. Every time he catches a glimpse of his reflection, his reality alters.

Sam is trying his damnedest to save Dean, his soulmate who defended himself after Zachariah assaulted him. But the punishment rendered has left Dean unable to distinguish his true reality. Together with Castiel, Sam works to save Dean and punish the monster who led to them being cast out of heaven.

~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~

I am so thrilled to finally be able to present this story to all of you! It is a twisty, mind-bending adventure, where not everything is as it appears to be. Written for the @deanwbigbang, awesome art was provided by @queensilber and I would like to thank them for all of their hard work! And I also want to thank @jld71 for betaing the story! I hope you all enjoy the story!

Story on AO3 | Art on Tumblr

[lifblogs]

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Hemlock/Tech | CT-9902 | CX-2 Word Count: 1936 Summary: Hemlock is aggravated by the slow pace of his projects, and he masturbates to thoughts of CX-2 to try and relieve some of his feelings. WARNINGS: Surgery, Brain Surgery, Human Experimentation, Medical Experimentation, Blood and Gore, Gore, Blood, Major Injuries, Rape/Non-con Elements, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat

[rexsokaficquotes]

"I can't make that shot from here!" she hissed. She rose from cover to Force-push a pile of crates over to block the hole, then ducked out of the way of fire from a third squad arriving.

"Then what did we waste all that time on the roof of the barracks for?" Rex yelled and ducked behind the crate as more blaster fire rained overhead. "I'm the one who taught you sharpshooting, Commander, I know you can do it. Echo can't fly in here until those shields are down."

— lamaenthel, from Jackness