#Matron

[sonsieandthematron]

[maestache]

Emhira watching over Ayden. Though he cannot save everyone, he will still try

For @artists-guild-of-exandria Calamity Project

[morablackbird]

card 3 the empress, wittober prompt: family

sincerely

Dove

[soaring-trash]

I love the Matron SO MUCH OMG LIKE ANNFNFNSJJFUVHSNKAI she’s so 😳😙😍🤭😘😋😋🙂😍😳🤭

I also love her because she probably plays with her crows like puppies, she also girl bossed her way to god hood!?!? HELLO?!!?! HOW DO YOU TOP THAT!?!

[aunt-bridget]

“Now, let’s be a brave little gurl shall we? You want to lose all of that nasty male toxicity don’t you? I’ll administer all those beautiful feminine hormones and ease your transition. Matron does know best.”

[fieriframes]

[What they created was a family story no one will tell. It's a photo album too terrible. But the pride and the pallor continue to swell. As the matron silently prays.]

[abybweisse]

Ch205, Spoilers part 1

Despite the cover/title art, we don't get flashbacks, yet again. However, we might get some coming up pretty soon. Since Snake has a big choice to make, we might focus on his backstory more than Finny's.

So, now Snake knows that Doll is one of the "people" benefiting from the blood collections... and presumably from organs, too.

Then the two main staff ladies stand in front in a move to protect Doll, I assume.

Theo questions them and directs a lot of his anger towards Doll, it seems. Understandable.

Oliver and Mabel are still holding jars with organs from orphans inside. The head matron pulls out a gun and shoots!

Finny, sweet Finny. He lunges to save Theo and the others, and he catches a bullet to the shoulder.

EDIT: Finny throws the jars at the two ladies; that's why they try to shield themselves!

But throwing the jars hurt his shoulder even more. Poor Finny.

Other half will be posted soon.

Yeah, it's a short chapter again....

[nighhtwing]

DICK GRAYSON, HELENA BERTINELLI, and MIDNIGHTER in GRAYSON #5

[womenwithwhipstoo]

[karniss-bg3]

Worthy

"Kar'niss!" He snapped out of his trance, the echoing sound of his Matron bellowing his name quick to motivate him to rise. He scrambled out of his cobbled together bedding, nearly tripping over himself as he climbed the staircase so quickly he did so on all fours. His body ached, exhaustion his constant companion under the demanding nature of his keeper.

He rushed through the door of his Matron's chambers coming to the side of her lavish bed dripping in opulent dressing. Kar'niss dropped to his knees and bowed until the tip of his nose kissed the marble floor beneath him. "M-Matron, tell me your desire." Lounging in a sea of red and gold trimmed silk sheets was the lady of their noble house, Kyrzhal. Her white locks spilled over dark shoulders, scantly garbed in a sheer black night dress that did little to conceal her feminine form. Red eyes darted to peer at the cowering creature at her beside, her upper lip curling into a less than impressed sneer. "My desire? For you to be useful, just once." Her voice was melodic and alluring yet the deadly venom behind every syllable was baked in, permanent. She sat up and turned herself so her legs dangled over the bed's edge, leaning back on the palms of her hands. Despite her lithe build she towered over him upon her luxurious perch, her shadow cast over him like the looming threat she was. "I-I don't understand, mistress. I live to serve, live for you. My only purpose is to satisfy your every whim." Kar'niss's muscles tensed as he spoke, seeking to bow even lower though such was hardly possible. Kyrzhal tipped her chin upward indignantly, her thin fingers curling into the thick nest of bedding surrounding her. Her leg snapped forward in order to step on the back of his neck, applying a great deal of pressure which forced his face harder into the floor. He cried out from the sudden assault able to sense the threat of his nose breaking against the surface of the floor. "But my whims aren't satisfied!" She snarled. "Do you not understand? You continue to draw breath because of my mercy, my protection."

She applied more pressure to the back of the drow's neck causing him to claw at the floor in pain, trying to move out of instinct but finding himself held in place. "P-P--hrk! Please!" "You'll have to beg better than that if you desire my forgiveness. You'd still be shoveling rothe shit if I didn't pull you from the dung pits. Here I thought I had found a reasonable consort but instead I ended up with a sniveling child." She rolled her eyes and gave her fingers a curl until the knuckles popped one by one. "I'm ss--sorry! You're right mistress, I am l-lower than filth, unworthy!" His voice muffled against the floor, his lips now coated in the blood oozing from his impacted nose. The Matron exhaled a slow, frustrated sigh as the man begged for his life, a common occurrence in this household. Her foot soon relented the battery, lifting her leg to relinquish her hold. He jolted upright and clapped his hands over his nose, lines of crimson smeared across his lips and chin. She watched the display with a blank stare, as if annoyed by the reaction of her punishment. "The next time I tell you to make my bed properly, no lumps, no creases, no sheet out of place, I trust it'll be performed correctly the first time." Kar'niss nodded quickly while continuing to wipe the blood away now limited to breathing through his mouth, resulting in a nasally reply.

"Yes mistress, the first time. No mistakes, no creases, it will be perfect for my Matron. I promise!" "Good. Because next time you anger me, I'll remove your cock. It's likely the most useless feature you have. There are many drow men who are far superior fucks." Her eyes narrowed. "Now piss off. The mere sight of you disgusts me." Kar'niss grimaced at the threat but knew better than to argue. He'd bow to her once more and then slink free of her presence, crawling out of the room. He returned to his chamber rattled and on edge. His legs were still healing from the last time he displeased her, bound in bandages caked in dried blood. There was never a moment of reprieve, never a time he could so much as breathe without attracting her ire. He grabbed a rag to press to his nose which was now tender to the touch. He felt the biting sting of moisture collecting in his eyes threatening to escape. He bit them back despite the pain, despite the anguish, determined to be stronger than his Matron believed him to be. Retreating to a corner in his room he tucked himself away as far as he could manage, hoping the sparse darkness in the space would be enough to protect him. His luck would change one day he was certain of it. This was merely a test by Lolth, a rite of passage for him to become more than a plaything for a sadist. He had to do one thing first, the only thing that could ensure his freedom, his ascension. "Worthy. I. Will. Be. Worthy!"

[noirgasmweetheart]

Violet Crawley in the 1920s

[sonsieandthematron]

[tiruffmisu]

Since the winners have been announced for the dark deception fanart contest, I decided to post the thing here too! I had a bigger Tarot spread planned but decided to restrain myself a bit. BUT I do have some WIPs of some nixed concepts if you wanna see what could have been

[postcard-from-the-past]

Matron from Eastern Pondoland, South Africa

British vintage postcard, mailed to Rotterdam, Netherlands

[madelineserenity]

Matron Angst

for fredthemosquito

lord i am so tired but writing this wasn't actually that hard, it was just getting started that i was dragging my feet on

also i decided that instead of writing present-day matron, i wanted to delve into her past instead. that was purely out of interest and realising i haven't done that yet, and has nothing to do with a lack of ideas with the former timeframe. yup. nothing to do with that at all siree.

i love friday afternoons 🥳

Her life was perfect.

She was certainly no trophy wife; she wasn't much younger than her husband and didn't have the ideal feminine figure, too muscular after her years of constant housework and maintaining the veggie garden. She wasn't the prettiest lady either by society's standards, but she didn't mind. After all, he made her feel like she was, and that was all she needed. She had been a working woman, too, until she lost her career to the Depression. Her son was 1-and-a-half-years-old then. It was hard, very hard, but she managed to find joy regardless of the struggles she and her new family faced.

After losing her job, she, like other newly-unemployed women, returned to being a housewife. She didn't miss work all that much. She wrote to her old co-workers, looked after her son, and soon her daughter as well, she planted the garden for when food was expensive or completely unavailable, she sewed, and she looked after the household.

At 5:30 sharp every afternoon, she stopped watching the stove briefly, carrying one child on each hip, to greet her husband as he arrived home from his work as a car repairman. Often, it was with a kiss before he took their son off her hip to tell him about his workday. Her daughter sat on the kitchen floor watching her mother cook instead.

They'd have a hot supper as a family before the children washed up and begged their father for a story. She was better at coming up with them, but she couldn't deny his talent for storytelling with such emotion in his voice. They sat by the kids' beds, with her brushing her daughter's hair out as the three of them listened closely to his exciting tales. Sometimes, there was time for a slow, candlelit dance together in the living room after the children were put to bed. They went to bed, and repeated it again the next day.

Her life was perfect.

As time wore on, her children grew and grew until they themselves had married and forged families of their own. The Depression finally came to an end. The motor repair industry had only found more and more success, but her husband never worked more than a 9 to 5. His evenings were dedicated to being there for his children, spending time with his wife, and indulging in those late-night slow waltzes. That was, until the kids were no longer kids and they left the nest. He came home one night excitedly announcing a promotion at work. It meant more hours per week, but he assured her it'd be worth it. They would retire comfortably, in a cozy home, together.

So, she continued on with her usual life. She never returned to work, believing she'd never need to with her husband's new, higher salary. She didn't write to many of her old co-workers anymore, friendships having slowly faded over the years. She called her son and daughter on the telephone at least twice a week. The veggie garden was replaced with flowers and bushes that required less labour to thrive. She took up knitting, and she took care of the household. She had a lovely, hot supper on the table by 7 now, instead of 6. She soon found herself wrapping up everything spare her own portion to put in the fridge and reheat for him whenever he got home.

She missed the cheeky pecks on the cheek. She missed the dancing, the heated, passionate nights in bed and the time spent together. She missed the compliments. She missed feeling beautiful.

That was alright. She was in her later years now, her hair greying steadily. She didn't have the energy to get on her hands and knees in the garden, harvesting potatoes and beans anymore. Who was she to wish her husband paid more attention to her, when he came home exhausted every night after putting food on the table?

She never complained. She listened as he vented about his frustrations with his superiors. Whenever he'd let her, she'd massage his tense shoulders and light a cigar for him before bed. She never mentioned how much she missed waking up next to him in the mornings, only for him to lie down and rest on the sofa after work, instead of next to her.

He wouldn't be having supper with her tonight. Another important dinner with some superiors, he'd said. She made sure his shoes were polished and clean, ironed one of his best shirts, and was pulling a blue suit jacket out of the closet to iron next when she noticed a white box tucked right in the back. Some shoeboxes had formed a slight layer of dust on top, but this one was pristine, presumably recently disturbed. What was it? She couldn't remember what the box was, although she assumed her memory was just failing her these days.

She pulled it out, suit jacket discarded on the neatly made bed as she opened it to find countless letters. Some were addressed to him, the others to some woman she didn't know. Why were they hidden from view was her question. The first few seemed perfectly normal after all.

Only, they didn't stay normal. Invitations to late night rendezvous and lustful professions of attraction signed with a lipstick marks. Increasingly explicit and detailed descriptions of... of what he would do to this woman. Or what she would do to him. She became increasingly desperate for answers and disgusted by what she read.

"See you tonight." signed off by him was the last straw before she threw the box into the opposite wall, one corner leaving a hole in the wallpaper and drywall. The letters scattered across the floor. She gasped for breath through her choked tears, lowering herself onto her bed slowly.

When he opened the bedroom door opened that afternoon to get changed for his "dinner", he was met with his wife raging and crying, mascara ruined and dripping down her cheeks, and the perfectly sharpened blade of a kitchen knife.

She thought her life was perfect.

For how long had it all been in her head?

[leatherlover12]

Get him on the trolley and straight into theatre number one. Well start with his permanent chastity for now possibly castration depending on my mood. Then we can begin our criminal re education procedure. These individuals need to be monitored after gender reasignment so make sure the implants are functional prior to insertion