#splatter master

[bonnibelboo]

A última hora como siempre pero yeii (⁠人⁠ ⁠•͈⁠ᴗ⁠•͈⁠)✨🌈💕

Porqué todos mos dibujos se ven diferentes? Jjaj ಠ⁠∀⁠ಠ

[suokumi]

The Troupe Master

a thingy for @kaz0ey

[madd-nix]

I decided I'd try out the drawing meme that's been going around! I don't have access to digital art though at the moment and I haven't for like over a year now since I lost my stylus pen, so I just drew up the meme template in my sketchbook!

Gotta say, the original style for the twins was a difficult one to replicate with how many angles they have, and I'm more used to rounder shapes, but it really showed how many triangles they incorporate based on their design theme. But yeah, I had fun with this! Might try some other characters or even Warden Ingo at some point!

[keepscrollinghun]

[schlock-luster-video]

On January 11, 1990, Puppet Master debuted in Mexico.

Here's some new Blade art!

[ybcpatrick]

nobody suffers worse than me (song i've been obsessed with for months is an ancient fansong for a wrestler that's only available on youtube so i can't slap it in my little playlists)

[maraeffect]

pt got canceled today bc of technical issues, so i spent the day deep cleaning. let me just say i did SO much that i haven't had the energy or motivation to do in MONTHS. i am so fucking proud of myself ahhhh

[jenuinely-speaking]

A Family Tail Master Post

Behind the scenes, I have so many AUs and stories planned and in the works it's not even funny. I do plan on posting about them because they're all heavy with information, not just what I'm going to post on A03. At this point, my friends and I are convinced I'll be writing beyond the grave lol BUT! Focusing now on a fluff related AU, on that is on-going as I write it as a buffer while writing my AHON AU. It all started with a random thought one late summer afternoon during work: Why is there a lack in Splinter love stories? The guy deserves it. Having gone through a life-changing mutation, raising four boys that also went through the same life-altering changes, and ensuring not only theirs but his own survival and safety? Bruh. Having a friend that is going through single parenthood with 2 boys in life, Splinter deserves medals, spa days for the rest of his years, and love. Being a single parent to four boys, let alone mutant boys, is no easy task. But that's just me and my thoughts. This AU, however? It's not just a love-letter to the best Mutant Dad, but to four brothers and a small family that has gone through hell and back in order to find their peace and loving found-family. Which amped up the original thought to the following: What if the brothers had grown up with a mother/mother-figure? One that not only accepted and loved them, but accepted and loved their dad?

Enter Genevieve "Gene" - A head nurse for an exotic animal clinic, on-call for the local area zoos, and volunteers her time at the reptile sanctuary the clinic runs for rescues and surrenders.

In story, Gene "meets" (more like catches sight of) Splinter first when he sneaks into the clinic to 'borrow' some medicine for his sick, young sons (we're talking toddler ages here). After she left a note with her number and willingness for extending help, some time passes, and she receives a call from him requesting that aide. She does not physically meet him until a few months later, their conversations strictly having been by phone calls. He arrived at night when she's leaving the clinic, to properly thank her for saving his sons. After a tense conversation, they begin a shaky friendship/acquaintanceship, but neither push for regular in-touch basis (though Gene does make regular weekly calls to check up on the boys', and subsequently Splinter's health). She doesn't meet the boys until sometime afterward, but it doesn't take long after the meet that Gene becomes a regular in their lives--providing healthy groceries, presents, furniture and utility updates, and even providing a teaching of some modern hobbies the boys obtained that Splinter was open for them to learn, but lost on providing that type of teaching for his boys. Needless to say, she becomes a staple within their lives that it becomes difficult for all involved to imagine life without her, and vice versa for her towards this small mutant family. Some notes on this AU:

There is no set universe for this story; most likely will be an amalgamation with different cameos and easter eggs, just for the funsies.

An out-of-sync chapter story (attention span is too short due to other projects to figure out a proper timeline); some chapters will be shorter than others, and some will be marked as parts if I decide there is an arc to them.

Splinter in this AU will be a Human-turned-Mutant, Hamato Yoshi, because of plans.

The lair is 100% based on the '87/'90/'03 animation lair design(s) with how big, vast, and multi-room use it is, but with the grittiness of the 14/16 movie set designs.

The boys still learn the art of Ninjutsu -- they wouldn't be Ninja Turtles without it, after all. Gene also learns an impressive amount of self-defense combat, training under Splinter separate from the boys.

By the time the boys are teenagers, Gene is in her late 30s and Splinter is in his late 40s and they are in a solid relationship by that point

How the boys meet April + Casey will be different compared to the other iterations (that's honestly becoming a theme in my AUs, now that I think about it...What is wrong with me?)--April's meet is figured out, but still working on Casey's.

Even though majority of this will be Contemporary Life type genre, there are action scenes planned with Oroku Saki/Shredder and the Foot Clan (kinda hard to stay away from that).

I will be completely upfront: I don't normally write anything fluff related. But my brain has been craving this while I write scary angsty stories. Thus, having me fall to the dangling fruit that is contemporary 'what if's for these guys (including this, I have 4 planned stories within that genre), and I couldn't shy away from thinking up scenarios with turtle tots involved.

Here are the chapter summaries for two of those very scenes (centering around Mikey, because I've been very hard on the guy in my other story):

When the boys are around 7-8 years old: During the time when Gene is making it a good habit to visit the Hamato family during her down time, she is caught painting her toenails in the lair. Mikey gets inquisitive and asks her questions about the process and the 'why's. She is patient and lighthearted with her answers, but stalls when he ends up asking if she'd paint his nails. Instead of answering, she looks up to Splinter, who had been drinking his tea in the kitchenette; he had already been watching the exchange and after a moment, he gives his nod of approval. With the silent permission, Gene tells Mikey that she will prettify his nails, and while she finishes up and lets her toes dry, he can pick out a color, or colors that he'd like to have. When he grabs a handful of colors and asks if she could do a rainbow, they start to plan on how to do this project without making a whole lot of mess. Mikey ends up stealing borrowing a role of tape and paper from Don's rooms so they could tear small strips to make stripe patterns to test out. When Mikey finds one he likes, it's another hour or so of the two of them spending time together of her painting his nails (hands and feet) in striped rainbow. When Don comes out to see what's going on with his 'borrowed' materials, he asks if he can have his done too, but in shades of purple. The lair smelt of nail polish for at least a day after that afternoon/evening.

Sometime after Gene and Splinter begin their relationship: Michelangelo is having nightmares, and normally he'd go to one of his older brothers to pile up on, however he finds that he is wanting the comfort of Gene; her hugs are the best, and her extra squeezes and flop of her body makes him feel loved and safe. On one night she decides to sleep at the lair (it's a rare treat for her to sleep over that's slowly becoming more common), Mikey wakes up from another nightmare and immediately goes to seek out Gene. Only he doesn't see her on the couch or cot in the living room space she normally sleeps in--he hunts her down, doing his best to see it as a game of hide-and-seek to keep his panic down, and finally finds her in dad's room. The two are snuggling in slumber on his mat, with Gene having her back to Splinter and arms splayed before her, while Splinter has one draped over Gene's side and the other cradled under her neck. Mikey almost doesn't want to disturb them (in the back of his mind, he remembers that his brothers owe him their pot of treats), but only almost. He ends up going in the room and when he tries to figure out how to only wake up Gene, she startles awake from feeling his stare on her. He tells her about his nightmares and before he asks if he could have one of her hugs, she smiles and opens her arms for him. When he snuggles into her arms, they both feel Splinter wrap his arms closer against the both of them as they fall back in slumber; Mikey doesn't have nightmares after that (and crows at the breakfast table that his brothers owe him the winning pot of treats).

[adispit]

a short drabble of a sickly (?) master and you, his beloved bodyguard

bttm male reader, feminisation, age gap of 10 years, dubcon, cream pie, overstimulation

note: this is unedited and I’m so tired so uhhh enjoy

He has been pampered since young due to his constant bouts of illnesses, hence his parents, both successful CEOs of a huge corporation hired you when you were 20 to take care of their precious heir who was barely 10.

You just turned 20 back then, desperately looking for a job after your military service and thankfully they hired you! You were rather huge, having gained quite some muscle and beefed up during your time in the army,,,,

When you first saw his sniffling and fragile form in bed, you felt your heart melt! So adorable, you simply just had to protect him! Always catering to his whims whenever he pouts, those big, sparkling eyes turning you soft…Soon, you were more than his bodyguard, always picking him up from school, cooking for him and taking care of his every need.

When he turned 20 and took over his family's business, you were so proud of him. Watching him slowly grow up from a small and frail boy to a capable man, you swore he could almost make you swoon! Unfortunately you were in your thirties now and this job was rather taxing and laborious on you…you were no longer youthful anymore, so you decided to resign and go work a bakery you had been eyeing for quite some time.

He was furious. Demanding that you never leave him no matter what, calling you his "wife"? What was that all about? You had never seen him so angry, absolutely seething with fury…Stuttering out your apology and blabbering, you tried to explain and quickly leave…not before he grabbed onto you with almost inhumane strength.

His grip almost bruisingly tight as he shot you with a gaze that almost seemed to devour you on the spot. Although you towered over him, he seemed to overpower you! Pulling you to a bed in his office, wait, when had been there? He crouches on his knees on the floor, pouting and begging for you to not leave, his eyes shining with a sheen of unshed tears.

Maybe you should stay- No. You had to be firm! He was an adult now and didn't need your protection, you tried to patiently explain. You see him silently shaking as tears run down his face and on cue, your heart softens and you pull him into a hug, trying to comfort him. He chokes out a sob and asks if you could at least let him do one final thing before you leave and you nod. One last time anyway, right?

The waterworks stop suddenly and immediately you’re flipped on your back, the world whirling around you disorientedly. He has an almost feral grin on his face, muttering darkly to himself that you weren’t allowed to leave him as he tears your clothes apart. Confused, you blink at him as he fondles your flaccid cock. You did agree to one last thing…but this was so embarrassing! You were a virgin…never really having done anything sexual since the past few years were spent on taking care of him.

Hot breath brushing against your sensitive tip, you feel blood rush down to your cock as it stiffens up, erect. His pretty face adorned in an amused smile, when had he become so beautiful? Before you can even comprehend what happened, he swallows your member in one gulp. A ragged keen leaves your throat as you involuntarily buck your hips up into his warm mouth. His tongue experimentally swiping over the length as you feel him sucking with a force that leaves your knees weak. You come undone strangled moan, your ropey cum splattering all over his face.

Shame immediately paints your face as you immediately rush to wipe his face, flushing at the obscene sight of his expression. When had he learnt this!? He says nothing, pushing you down against the bed as he peers down at your naked body like a man starved. His warm hands come and fondle your chest, satisfied sighs leaving him as he teases and pulls at your nipples, making you shiver. He calls your pecs, “tits”. An address that leaves you both embarrassed and highly aroused. You try to correct him but only to be cut off by the circular motion of his fingers at your rim.

They push inside immediately, coated with a cold substance, most likely lube. It’s an invasive feeling almost, as his fingers prod inside, unpleasant but full. Suddenly, stars flash before your eyes as your breathing quickens and a tight knot forms in your stomach. His eyes narrow into slits as he relentlessly pushes and pokes at your prostrate, leaving you breathless. Another orgasm overtakes you again as you’re left reeling and trying to collect yourself as you pant wetly. It should be enough for him right? However the telltale bulge that grinds against your twitching hole says no.

He strips, his body pale from staying inside all day long and a lean but muscular physique from both your workout sessions together at the gym. You catch yourself staring a tad bit too long, his body like the starry night, dotted with stars that are his freckles against the canvas that is his naked form. Noticing your piercing stare, he lets out an amused huff, asking if he looks good. You don’t respond, attention now drawn to the pretty cock that lies stiff against his stomach, slightly curving to the right and you swear you see a freckle mischievously peeking out.

It’s thin, not particularly girthy but yours pale in comparison to his in length. You almost forget the boy you raised is now going to fuck you when he grabs your waist, snapping you from your train of thought before thrusting into your waiting hole in one go. You barely register the thin ropes of cum that immediately splatters onto your abdomen as he begins to snap his hips against yours. Loud slaps of skin against yours is accompanied by your hoarse cries and momentary sobs as he mercilessly pounds your prostrate over and over again.

Your walls clench around the burning cock that seems to sear his shape into your hole with his repeated thrusts. Your cum is almost water now with your mouth agape as you wheeze at the tandem of his length driving into you. You’re barely conscious, the burn of the pleasure seems almost discernible as you cry for him to stop. He doesn’t. Hot cum taints your insides as he continues to thrust into you, fatigue no where to be seen, his pace never stuttering.

Soon, you’re just staring at the ceiling with glassy eyes as a momentary twitch or squeal is incited as a response from you from the constant stimulation. You’re gonna die! You cry out in a rare moment of clearheaded despair. He stops and pulls you into a sweaty embrace as you feel hot tears slide down your tear-stricken face. You feel him crying too. Shouldn’t you be crying?! He asks again if you’re going to leave him. Exhausted and out of your mind, you make a mistake you will regret. You nod. His lips pull into a delighted smile and you fall into the welcome embrace of sleep, last thing you hear is the promise that you can’t run anymore. Oh boy.

note: this is my basic indulgence of the trope pretty top x buff bigger bottom 😰 let me know if I should make this into a fic

reblogs are appreciated!!! ^^/

[yandere-daydreams]

tw - nsfw, physical/psychological abuse, wildly unhealthy relationship dynamics, and derogatory language.

Most days, Bailey struggles to decide whether you're an idiot or a masochist.

He’s leaning towards the former, but it wouldn’t take much to sway him towards the latter. That doesn’t make you special on its own, though – no, most of the stupid brats in his orphanage have shit for brains and the survival instincts of pre-splattered roadkill, but you manage to make your peers look like shining pillars of intelligence and caution and all the good, important, necessary traits that you were tragic enough to be born without. If he didn’t know better, he might think that you’re doing it on purpose, that your behavior is just the product of some misplaced cry for attention. You should count yourself lucky that he’s a hell of a lot smarter than you’ll ever be.

He should’ve gotten rid of you the first time you failed to pay your rent. He should’ve, and he tried to – selling you off to the highest bidder, leaving you blindfolded in alleyways and restrained on the edge of town, but like a beaten dog too stupid to acknowledge that its master left it for dead, you always seem to drag yourself back, always bruised, most often bloody, and occasionally soaking wet. More than once, you haven’t made it all the way back, and he’s had to go out of his way to pick up ‘his precious ward’ from the intensive care unit at Harper’s request. He would leave you there, if he thought his reputation would survive giving that freak of a doctor a free lab rat.

 You can’t hold down a job. That part, he can’t entirely blame on you. If going outside is risky, then trying to earn a living is all-but a death sentence in a town like this. He knows you have a few minor gigs, pick up odd jobs every now-and-then around the wealthier neighborhoods, but it’s never more than petty cash, and having to watch you drag yourself through the orphanage halls with torn clothes and that distant, glazed-over look in your eyes almost makes what little rent money you can scrap up not worth it. You’re wary enough to keep your head down in school, so you don’t have a lot of friends, either. Most of your time is spent at home; toiling in your weed-infested garden, trying to pretend you aren’t hiding in your room, and when he lets you, curling up in the smallest, darkest corner of his office – your legs pulled into your chair and your eyes fixed on the floor. He asked, once, why you thought you had to waste your time sulking in his peripheral like some poor, attention-starving kitten. Despite help from the better half of a bottle from his vintage stash, he can still remember your answer.

“I don’t know,” you mumbled, with a smile so delicate, he was almost tempted to see how easily it shattered. “I guess I just feel safe around you.”

He stopped asking for rent, after that.

He tries not to think about you. It’s a constant effort, but he tries the hardest when he’s standing in your doorway hours after midnight, fucking his fist as you pretend to sleep less than a full ten feet away. He still hasn’t made up his mind about the masochist part, but you have to be an idiot. A pretty, empty-headed idiot.

His pretty, empty-headed idiot.

He decides, as he finishes to the sound of your muffled sobbing, that he’ll soak it in while he can. Even if he does his best, even if he keeps his distance, even if you never come to your senses and run far, faraway, he knows he won’t have long left to enjoy this.

He knows that, no matter how hard he tries to hold himself back, you’re not going to feel very safe around him for much longer.

[the-dumpster-fire-of-life]

Hey chat...

I literally have so many scenarios in my head it's killing me

Could you do a scenario where the reader shields Isha from the blast (or whatever) which results in her on the verge of death. How will jinx deal with it? And how will she save her

(I'm trying to cope with the loss of my baby Isha 😞💔)

Sure! Here ya go but probably sucks, haven’t wrote one of these in a while! Enjoy!

Heading photos made by @diana-foggy-master !

Sacrificial

You could only process what the girl was thinking when her small feet started running past you helping Jinx off the ground.

The familiar act was so hard to miss. It was like watching Powder all over again all those years ago the night everything went wrong.

You couldn’t handle it again.

“Jinx? Jinx- I’m so sorry.” You apologized to your lover on the ground. Jinx looked at you, confused with her face having splatters of blood drops. But she was so confused. What were you sorry for?

It only clicked when she saw you running after Isha into what she knew she would never get you back from.

“No- no!” Jinx cried out, getting up with the look of horror on her face when you ran. She tried reaching for you like you did her all those years ago, only to fall short. She lost you.

She lost you before you even got to the girl.

Isha was right within your grip, tears falling from your face as you knew you wouldn’t be coming back home to your lovers and your bed.

“Isha!” You yelled, reaching for her as she kept running, shoving gemstone after gemstone into Jinx’s gun.

“(Name)! Isha! No!” Jinx cried, trying her best to get to the both of you as Isha slid to the ground, moving just like Jinx taught her to as she finally got to Vander.

Jinx was caught by Vi, crying and blubbering as her heart and chest constricted at the thought of you leaving her with her mind.

What was she gonna do? She couldn’t fix this once it was done.

Isha had barely mimicked Jinx back at her, the little finger gun motion breaking your head. Isha wasn’t dying. This wasn’t how she was gonna say goodbye.

Isha lifted the gun to Vander, and by the look on his face as he saw you nearing you could tell he had no control over this. Just like back then.

Isha had barely closed her eyes, and you saw the smile on her face. She looked almost content to die. Like it was a release. You felt bad for taking it from her.

She barely pulled the trigger when you grabbed her, pulling her to your chest and curling around her.

Isha’s eyes shot open, panicked for a split second as she tried to push you away and out of there. But you were older. Stronger. The way you wished when you were younger to be like Vi.

You barely managed a smile to Isha as you held her, and even years later she could still hear your voice and see your smile as you whispered in her ear.

“You’ll be okay. Take care of her for me, will ya?”

The gun went off.

And you were gone.

The reaction was immediate. Isha didn’t feel you anymore. She was cold, your arms around her gone as she finally opened her eyes after praying to whatever god there was that you were okay.

Nothing.

Not anything of you was left behind.

All she heard was Jinx’s wailing, and her little heart dropped to her stomach at the realization.

You were gone.

Because of her. Isha took you from Jinx.

“Isha! Why- why would you do that?!” Jinx cried, even though she knew you’d hate to hear the words coming from her mouth but she couldn’t stop herself.

She pushed Vi off of her, running to Isha out of relief and anger as she searched for you to come up with nothing.

She grabbed the girl by her shoulders, crying and blubbering as she sobbed.

“Why would you- (Name)?! (Name)!” Jinx cried, yelling it out as she searched for you.

Isha had no idea what to do with Jinx’s anger but cry with her as she felt your absence.

Jinx wasn’t able to process this, and Vi could only watch as the one thing her sister held dear to her heart from when they were kids, you, was gone. Just like that.

Jinx’s sobs turned to wails as she felt her heart being ripped from her chest. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

You were supposed to be okay. Vander was supposed to come back. They were supposed to stay and be happy. Vi could even be there.

Jinx had her family back, and now it was all gone.

Her wails kept going, she gripped onto Isha cause she would be damned if she let her out of her sight for her to be taken to.

Her head fell to Isha’s shoulder, the girl's cries mixing with her own as Isha’s little fingers gripped onto her.

Jinx and Isha crumbled together on the floor, crying and sniffling and sobbing. What happens now? What comes next?

How can anything come next…when you’re gone?

[veltroxx]

Anyone else have a partner who's surprisingly good with a knife? I'm honestly impressed and a little bit nervous! 🎃🎃

While many celebrate fantasy and fun, let’s not forget those who suffer in Palestine. 🎃🎃

Please take a moment to read @falesten-iw Falastin’s story and consider supporting her family. Even the smallest donation can help rescue them and give them a chance to survive in Gaza. Together, we can make a real difference in their lives.

This campaign shared by 90-ghost [here], and verified by el-shab-hussein [here]. #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here] and #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]

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[katakaluptastrophy]

Imagine being the Cohort soldiers from the Erebos who were sent respond to Judith's distress call.

They land to find a dead Lyctor, run through with a Cohort infantry sword, and two new Lyctors, one freshly missing an arm. I doubt either of them were particularly coherent by that stage.

And then they go to clear the inside of the building. In the room the transmission came from, there's a dead priest and an enormous pool of blood, but no sign of captain Deuteros. Her cavalier is missing an eye and seems to have been blown open from the inside.

A room down the hall is singed and splattered with blood and chunks of human flesh. Perhaps there are fragments of grey robes, or perhaps some poor psychometrist works out that they're looking at what's left of the Master Warden of his House.

Further into the building they enter a study with the words "YOU LIED TO US" daubed across an ancient and beautiful mural. The Third House cavalier lies dead on the floor, stabbed from behind. The Master Templar of the Eighth is lying dead, his throat slit, apparently by his own cavalier's sword. And his cavalier... His eyes are gone, there is something wrong with his mouth. His wrist and neck are broken. The whole room is dripping and sticky with blood and human fat.

Searching past the kitchen, they find the morgue. There's a bowl of ashes (two people's, dead before the pilgrimage even began, confirms the by now very shaken psychometrist). One of drawers lies open and the sheet has been roughly pulled off the body inside: the utterly shattered body of the Fifth House necromancer is lying there, her blouse rolled up to her ribs, a fist sized hole in her abdomen.

Neatly lying under sheets in the other drawers there are more bodies, and the preserved severed head of the Seventh House cavalier. There is no sign of his body. The Fourth House cavalier has been impaled through the chest, shoulders and legs, precisely, like an insect for display. Her necromancer...it might be easier to list the places where he hasn't been impaled. The Fifth House cavalier is just as destroyed as his necromancer: limbs broken, body horribly mangled.

Later, they find the bloodsoaked bed with "sweet dreams" daubed on the wall in blood. If they get as far as the facility, they discover the outlines of two horribly broken bodies surrounded by necromantic diagrams drawn on the floor in pen. One unremarkable room is splattered in blood and singed with spirit fire.

The building is full of collapsed skeleton constructs, seemingly mid task, as if all struck down simultaneously, and as they explore they find more dead priests. They find no sign of the Sixth or Ninth cavaliers, or the Crown Princess of the Third, or of Captain Deuteros. And from what they've already seen, this can't feel encouraging.

It's clear that this building has witnessed necromantic horrors beyond their comprehension. What were the scions of the Houses doing, or what was being done to them? What could possibly cause what they have seen?

And I can't imagine that after seeing the truth of what happened at Canaan House, that John would have taken the risk of those soldiers revealing what they had seen. After all, he's a very careful guy.

[bluebeary-jay]

A promise softly sung

Astarion x f!Reader/Tav

Summary: before the battle that will decide his fate, Astarion is terrified of losing you to Cazador. you comfort him after a nightmare. (set at the beginning of act 3)

Tags: hurt/comfort, BIG angst and some fluff, poor boy doesn't believe he's deserving of love :( let's hold him until he changes his mind

Warnings: mentions of trauma, self-deprecating thoughts, memories of past abuse and torture, c*zador, being unable to move (briefly), tadpoles mention (idk if that's a trigger)

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: hiiiiiiiii my darlings <33 soo this is something else from what i usually write but i finished bg3 recently and i LOVED IT but i'm on a trip rn so in the absence of my pc i found some inner inspiration to write something again. honestly i missed writing very much but i had the biggest block for almost a year now but maybe it'll get better now that my classes are starting again and i'll be needing a distraction lmao. anyway comments and reblogs are always greatly appreciated and don't be shy to send in a request! and as always, happy reading!!! <3

He was there again.

Astarion loathed those hard, stone walls as much as he feared them. It was here that he once spent an entire night, having infernal script meticulously carved into his skin. It was here that he was punished every time he disappointed his master, every time he didn’t do well enough on his mission. It was here that he was reminded time and time again how worthless, pathetic and meaningless his existence was. It was here he returned in almost all of his nightmares.

But now you were here, too.

Astarion couldn’t believe this, but no matter how much he blinked or willed himself to wake up, the view before his eyes didn’t change. It was you, chained by the wrists to the ceiling where he was hanging so many times before, your toes just barely scraping the ground that was already splattered with your blood. Your clothes were ripped to shreds and cuts and bruises covered almost every inch of your skin. Astarion wanted to run up to you, to get you somewhere safe and far away from this place, but he found that he was unable to move. It wasn’t shock seizing up his limbs, but magical paralysis which he had experienced a couple of times during combat. Even though he knew it was a spell that was holding him in place, he still fought against it with all the strength he could muster – but to no avail.

Your eyes, full of tears and fear, met his briefly before you looked past him at someone else.

“Ah, my sweet, insolent boy,” whispered a voice straight from Astarion’s deepest, darkest nightmares, causing him to tense up in terror. A hand – pale, all too familiar in its deceptive tenderness – brushed his jaw from behind before grabbing his hair roughly. The vampire spawn could do nothing but watch as his head was tilted back and he came face to face with his master.

No, it can’t be… How was Cazador here? How were you here?!

“You’ve been a very bad boy, Astarion,” Cazador tutted, shaking his head. “Running away like that, not returning home for months… It’s no way to treat family, isn’t it?” Astarion felt a sharp sting of his master’s quarterstaff at his back, digging into the scars made by the same hand, but he couldn’t move, couldn’t even scream. “But I’ll forgive you… eventually. After all, you brought me this delectable treat…”

Both him and Cazador looked up at you when Astarion realized what – or rather, who – that bastard was talking about. He tried shaking his head, tried begging for him not to hurt you, but he still couldn’t move, his voice was still stuck past his throat and no word or sound came out. In the meantime, Cazador stood up, walking around his spawn to stand in front of you.

“His own survival was always the most important thing to him,” Cazador said almost pitifully, and only after a moment Astarion realized that this time, he was speaking to you. “He’s a selfish, contemptuous creature, after all. Say, did he tell you he loved you before he lured you here like so many others before you? Did he lie, swearing how much you mean to him?”

“Yes, he… he did.”

Astarion prayed to any higher being that it was just the power of another spell compelling you to say that, and not what you were really thinking. He tried to struggle against his own magical restraints, but whatever scroll or verbal command was used, it was far too powerful for the vampire to beat it with sheer willpower alone. He was helpless again – but worse than that, he was forced to watch you being at Cazador’s mercy, too, all while he couldn’t do anything to save you.

“I honestly didn’t think poor Astarion had it in him,” Cazador continued calmly, gliding gracefully around you and disappearing behind your back. Your own eyes, now full of hurt and betrayal, were trained on Astarion’s. He couldn’t turn away, but in the corner of his vision the elf saw a flash of a blade against your bare skin. ��To give away one person who, for some strange reason, saw good in a filthy worm like him… But I’m so very proud of you, sweetling.” Cazador looked at him over your shoulder and licked his lips, so, so dangerously close to your neck. “You’ll live to serve me for centuries to come, and you can watch your lover take your place in my ritual… You did well, Astarion.”

No, Astarion cried in the prison of his own body, unable to reach you or to even stop Cazador from spilling lies into your ears. Not her, no, no, please–

“No!”

Cazador smiled widely and sank his teeth into your fragile neck, and you screamed, still looking at Astarion with this horrible hatred in your eyes…

“No, no, please! Take me, please, just don’t–”

“My love, it’s alright, you’re safe…”

“Stop! Please, just–!”

His body suddenly jerked painfully and his eyes shot open, darting around in confusion and trying to figure out where he was. Astarion wasn’t feeling the cold frigid air of the kennels anymore – instead his skin was almost hot, and damp from sweat, but there was something smooth and soft under his back… the sheets. He was in a bed, at an inn. Still panting heavily, he looked around, noting the details in his surroundings: the crooked chandelier, a little window with curtains drawn shut, his shirt hung neatly over the back of the chair… and your shoes right next to it.

At the memory of your battered and tortured body in Cazador’s dungeon, Astarion shot up with a belated sob, almost knocking you over in the process. Only when your warm hand left his cheek did he notice your presence. You were kneeling next to him on the mattress, expression worried and sorrowful, with the last traces of sleep just leaving the edge of your vision. His red eyes scanned your body, but there were no bruises, no cuts made by Cazador’s wretched blade, no burns on your wrists from the manacles he saw you in mere moments ago.

And there was no hatred in your gaze. Only love and care he didn’t deserve.

Astarion’s eyes filled with tears, but before he could run out of the room or hide under the bed, you opened your arms, gently offering him the solace within. And he, being the selfish, contemptuous creature that he was, didn’t deny himself what he wasn’t worthy of.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, petting his hair softly, while the other hand was – as always – mindful of the scars on his back. “It was a dream, my love. You’re safe here with us.”

His body shook with quiet sobs as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the soothing scent of your skin and your blood singing to him just beneath. He saw again before his eyes the way Cazador looked at him before he bit you, right in this place he was now so close to…

To give away one person who, for some strange reason, saw good in a filthy worm like him…

“I’m sorry,” Astarion choked out, finding his voice at last, which made you pause in your ministrations. “I’m so sorry f-for not doing anything… He…”

You were quiet for a couple of seconds, but then Astarion felt the most tender touch of your lips on the crown of his head, and he buried his face more into your chest.

“I’m here, darling,” you whispered. “Whatever you saw, it wasn’t real.”

He didn’t answer, instead lifting his arm and tentatively brushing his fingers just underneath your shirt. He didn’t feel any scars mirroring his own, but could still see the blood flowing from your back and down your legs, could still hear your painful scream… It brought fresh tears to his eyes again.

“I… I swear, I would never do that,” he attempted to explain himself, but his words came out in a pathetic sob, and he shook his head again, curling in on himself. “He– he was lying. I’d never…”

A fresh wave of tears wetted your shirt, but you didn’t seem to mind as you gently rocked him back and forth, cradling him safe in your arms. Old Astarion would probably scoff at the condescending action of being treated like an infant, but he knew better now. He still found it difficult, but with you at his side he was learning what true care and affection looked like, and how to accept it. You were always so patient with him, so gentle, never rushing or angry when he couldn’t give you the closeness and intimacy you deserved. Astarion loved that about you – even if he wasn’t ready to say it out loud just yet.

“My star…” you hesitated, but ultimately asked, “what did you dream about?”

The vampire took a shaky breath, unable to open his eyes or speak about what he saw. Instead, he called on the tadpole in his brain and nudged your mind with it, wordlessly asking for permission, which you immediately granted. There was at least one thing the tadpole was good for, he thought as you lived through the nightmare his weak, broken mind had conjured. If by the gods’ grace all of them managed to get rid of the tadpoles and survive this whole ordeal… and if by some miracle you still wanted to stay with him after all was done… Astarion knew he would have to learn how to communicate his feelings on his own. But not tonight. Not tonight.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, only continuing to hold him close to your chest. In this position he could hear the soothing beat of your heart, proving that he didn’t lead you to Cazador, that he didn’t turn you into a monster like him…

“We’re gonna kill him,” you finally said with your throat tight from emotions. “I promise you, as soon as we get to the Baldur’s Gate, we’ll find him and end him for good.”

Astarion knew what he should say – he should agree, or maybe jest that this is the most romantic thing you’ve ever said, or even argue that it’s not going to be that easy.

But all he could do right now was to continue clinging to you like a child, too afraid to face you.

“I’d never give you away,” he breathed, so quietly that he wasn’t sure you heard it, but he didn’t care. “Even if I had to suffer another two hundred years. I’d never–”

“I know, my darling,” you whispered back, and Astarion felt your own tears disappearing in his white locks. He still couldn’t believe why someone like you would waste your tears on him of all people, and it caused a new kind of pain to bloom in his chest. “And you’re not those things he told you. You’re… you’re everything to me, Astarion. Everything.”

Astarion wondered if he’d ever believe that. You proved to him time and time again that you can make anything possible, even change the worldview of someone like him… but with Cazador’s threat still looming, he didn’t have it in him to try and convince himself of your words.

Maybe after the bastard's dead, he concluded. Maybe then it’ll get easier and he can finally start becoming someone deserving of you.

You stirred slightly, breaking him out of his musings. Astarion hugged you tighter, sharply stopping you from moving away.

“Please. Don’t go.”

You just leaned back on the pillow and kissed his head gently again. Astarion felt the tension in his body melting away just a little, but the tears welled up again in his eyes.

“I won’t. Promise.”

And you kept your promise. Astarion didn’t fall asleep again, but your constant heartbeat under his cheek brought him some semblance of peace as he waited for the sun to rise. It didn’t feel right to let you care for him so much, to gift and envelop him with your love that he didn’t deserve… But it’d be even more wrong to take that choice away from you. He knew all about that, after all, and he'll be damned if he ever treats you the way he was treated.

So Astarion decided that he will let you love him and he will love you in return, for as long as you allow it.

Because, truth be told, he was nothing if not a selfish, contemptuous creature.

[allfearstofallto]

You are Made to Greet them When they Return Home

Yandere! Forced marriage x fem! Reader head canons

Ft: Childe and Scaramouche

Synopsis: Your yanderes require the domestic pleasure of being greeted by their wife when they return home.

Word Cound: 1k

TW: yandere, obsessive themes, forced marriage, NSFW themes, mentions of previous abuse/punishment

Childe

“Master Childe has arrived home,” a maid said after knocking gently on your bedroom door. A notice to anyone else, but a warning for you. A warning telling you to be your most joyful and happy self, to be ready for your husband that had a temper that could change like the flick of a light switch.

Your nicest dress hugged your body, a satin slip in his favorite shade of blue. It barely went past your plush thighs, something too cold for the typical Snezhnaya air, but perfect for the inside of the estate, which he kept warm for you.

Scurrying down the stairs, your heels clicked against the floor. No matter how many times you'd done this, your heart wouldn't cease beating like a drum. The fear and the worry all sat deep inside your chest and made you tremble, but you tried to not show it on your face.

Arriving at the door to the home, you stood there obediently, as you'd been told to do time and time before. You and a few of the house maids. And almost right on cue, it opened.

For the briefest moment while the door was open, you could hear the sound of the wind howling outside, like screams of the night. A little snow blew through the door, and tickled your toes, but it melted as quickly as it showed up. All that stood there now was him.

Snow covered his coat and frosted the tips of his orange hair, but he still had a beaming smile on his face, overjoyed to see you. “My angel,” he said sweetly at the sight of you.

You were pulled into an embrace, his gloved hands still wet from the elements. He kissed your cheek, his cold red nose tickling you, and you tried not to notice the blood splatter near his neck that he didn't clean off. No matter how domestic he tried to make your life together seem, he could never truly hide what he did for work.

When he pulled away from the hug, you began to take off his cape. No maid was allowed to do this, as he said that undressing him was a job for his wife and his wife alone. It was a heavy, white piece of clothing, with black fur on the nape. He'd always smile at you as you undid the clasp, his height dwarfing over you to the point where you had to reach up to touch his neck.

“Was work okay today…” you gulped down saliva nervously as the cape fell into your hands, the weight of it making your arms sag just a bit. He had a questioning look on his face, raising his eyebrows while his smile began to falter ever so slightly. He wanted you to say the rest. “Was work okay today, m-my love?” you barely managed to force yourself to say those words. You could already feel the bile rising up from your stomach, but the content look on his face told you that he was happy regardless of how strained you sounded.

His large cape was handed to a maid to be cleaned and she ran off without word of orders. You weren't the only one scared of Childe in this house, you were just the one who had his attention.

You didn't even get the chance to completely turn and face him again before he was wrapping his arms around you and resting his body against you in a dramatic display of his fatigue.

“Work was tiresome!” He groaned while placing many unwanted kisses on your cheek and neck, “But my beautiful wife will make it all better, won't you?”

Scaramouche

Such a beautiful, vibrantly colored kimono was nice for special occasions, but it only weighed you down in these instances. The multiple layers piled on top of each other were a pure sight for eyes, but absolute hell to wear. Especially for someone who wasn't native to Inazuma.

You struggled to drop to your knees in front of the door. It felt like all of these layers were swallowing you whole, and with one wrong move, you wouldn’t be able to get up. Not without assistance at least.

The lighting outside illuminated his silhouette through the translucent white, paper of the sliding door and you hurried to make sure you were in position.

The second you heard it click and slide open, you bowed your head down before him. Your palms against the floor, thumbs in the shape of a triangle, and your forehead pressed against the ground. You'd practiced this position a million times before, with him studying your figure to make sure you got it right each and every time.

“We welcome you home, my lord, Scaramouche,” you said with your head still angled towards the floor. He merely hummed at your greeting. A hum was good, it meant that you hadn't displeased him yet.

You were to stay in this position until he told you to rise. Some days he did it immediately, so that he could begin to kiss and undress you like an animal in heat. Other days, he would leave you there to see how long he could keep you on your knees before him. Those days were hell, the weight of the kimono made it feel as if you were suffocating, drenching yourself in sweat. But you knew better than to move an inch. Being crushed by heavy fabric was better than any punishment he'd given you before.

You could hear the sound of him shuffling, taking off his shoes and putting away his jacket, then finally, you heard the familiar jingles of him lifting his ornate hat off of his head, and handing it off to a maid who also stood beside you.

“You may look upon me,” he ordered.

You rose up, but still stayed on your knees in front of him, finally meeting his gaze for the first time today, “Greetings, my lord. Did the day treat you alright?”

“My day was the same as usual,” he muttered while stepping past you and up the stairs, “Meet me in the bedroom, and bring tea as well.”

When you heard the familiar click of the bedroom door closing, you breathed a sigh of relief. You'd made it through another moment with him, but still rose to your feet with hesitance. Making it through the greeting was the first part, now you'd have to manage in the bedroom.

[jaythes1mp]

Your secrets are ours, kid

Yandere BatFam x Reader — CH10 -> CH9 -> CH8 -> CH7 -> CH6 -> CH5 -> CH4 -> CH3 -> CH2 -> CH1

2048 words, 11528 characters, 130 sentences, 69 paragraphs, 8.4 pages.

With the absence of light and the sudden onslaught of heavy rain, you realise you've stayed out here for a dangerously long time.

You turn around to meet Dick’s gaze, the man standing tall, holding you up an umbrella, wearing a soft grin. His bag, stuffed with clothing and trinkets that miraculously fit your size perfectly that were conveniently "free" from the fair, slung over his shoulder.

"Tired already, little one?" Dick queries, a hint of amusement in his deep voice as he extends his hand out towards you.

"You're going to catch a cold, you know," he noted with a tone of care in his voice. "We should go back before you get sick."

You let out a sigh, taking hold of his hand with a begrudging smile. "I am not tired, thank you very much," you retort, feigning irritation despite the exhaustion evident in your eyes.

With the grip of your hand, he gently pulls you close to him, sheltering you from the relentless rain. His eyes softened at your display of weariness, though he had a feeling you were just being stubborn.

"You don't have to deny it, you know. You look beat."

He chuckled lightly, wrapping his free arm around your waist, his hand resting comfortably on your hip as he guided you along.

“You really should take better care of yourself,” he added, his tone slightly concerned. “Can't have my little bird falling sick on me.”

You raise an eyebrow at the nickname but opt not to mention it, well aware that his concern is the driving force behind the choice of words.

The soft pattering of rain filled the silence as you walked. The rain and chill caused you to press closer to him. He found himself drawing you further into him almost subconsciously — seeking to protect you from the elements and the cold, as though the closer you were, the more shielded you’d be from harm.

"You’re freezing," he noted, feeling the coolness of your skin against his, frowning upon the slight tremble he felt.

“It’s raining.” You reply blankly, snickering softly.

He chuckled at your blasé response. "Ever the master of observation," he retorted, rolling his eyes in feigned annoyance.

"You're also wearing a thin sweater in an icy downpour," he added, glancing down at your attire. "You're practically asking to get sick with that combination."

You raised a brow, nudging against his side. “If I remember correctly, you were the one who chose this sweater.”

He let out a low hum of acknowledgment. "And I stand by my choice," he said, his voice dripping with teasing confidence.

"It looked cute," he explained with a slight shrug, a sly grin tugging at his lips. "The cute factor outweighs the obvious risk of hypothermia."

You shoot him an unimpressed glare. “Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere, prick. I’m dying.”

He feigned surprise, hand resting over his heart in mock offence.

"Flattery? Who said anything about flattery?" he retorted, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. "I merely stated a fact. That sweater is adorable."

He chuckled but his tone took a more serious turn, a hint of concern seeping in. "And you're hardly dying.. You're just a bit cold. You'll be fine."

Despite his casual tone, you could tell he was worried. He tugged you a little closer, as though his silent way of reassuring you.

"And if you do get sick, trust me, I'll nurse you back to health in no time," he added, his soft smirk returning.

You rolled your eyes, a smirk of your own forming. “Oh, how romantic.” You sarcastically comment.

He chuckled. "Hey, I have many talents," he shrugged, feigning offence. "One of which is being a damn good nurse."

You raised a brow at the comment, leaning back as you felt the rain splatter against your calves. “Aren’t you supposed to be a professor?”

"Assistant." He corrected, his smirk widened into a full-fledged grin. "And what makes you think I can't be both an assisting professor and a damn good nurse, hm?"

He shook his head, a soft sigh escaping his lips as he glanced down at you, the rain dampening your hair. "You look like a wet dog."

You shot him a glare, smacking him half-heartedly. “Well, whose fault is that? If you didn’t drag me out here, we wouldn’t be in the middle of an icy downpour!” you retorted with a scoff.

"Oh, so now it's my fault that the sky decided to piss down today?" he teased, raising a brow.

You were just about to retort, but a loud crash draws your attention away. Both of you turn to see a woman stumble out of the bar, clearly intoxicated. She loses her footing and crashes into the nearby trash can, the loud clamour cutting through the pitter-patter of rain.

You snort, then step out from the umbrella and towards her, moving to check on the woman, but freeze mid-step as you catch a glimpse of her face. The moment you do, your shoulders inadvertently tense, muscles constricting tight instinctively.

Your heart rate spikes as recognition kicks in, and before your brain can fully register what’s happening, your body automatically reacts. You quickly take a step back, only to collide into the solid, unmoving form of the eldest Wayne brother — who you realise, with a hint of surprise, had moved to shield you.

You whirl around, eyes widening in a mixture of panic and disbelief as you grasp the older man’s sleeve. The words spill out of your mouth in a rushed, urgent plea.

“Dick–" you start, voice breaking on the name, "get me out of here, please." Your knuckles turn white from how hard you're gripping his jacket. "Now- now."

He looks from you to the woman then back at you, his jaw tightening. As you grip his jacket tighter, an almost desperate look in your eyes, he nods silently and tugs you closer under the umbrella.

"Alright," he responds, his voice steady and comforting. "Alright. We're going."

You feel like you're drowning, lungs burning as they fail to take in air. The world blurs around you, nothing making sense. Your fingers involuntarily dig into his arm, hanging on desperately as if he’s the only lifeline you have, the panic swelling inside you like a storm. You don't know what’s happening to you.

You're vaguely aware of him saying something, his voice a faint buzz in a sea of noise. But it’s distant, too distant. A rush of adrenaline courses through your veins, and every instinct is screaming to run, run, run.

Your entire body is tense, muscles coiled as if ready to pounce at any moment, the animalistic need for survival kicking in. But the world blurs around you — colours bleeding into each other, sounds and shapes melding together, the only thing you are distinctly aware of is him. His presence, his solid figure, his anchoring grip on your body. It’s the only thing grounding you, stopping you from falling into the panic.

He says something again, his voice louder this time, but you can't make out the words. Your heart is thundering in your ears, the roar of the blood rushing through your veins drowning out everything else. He tries to pull you along, gently tugging you away from the woman, and your body follows obediently, feet moving without conscious thought.

As you let him guide you away, a part of you is distantly aware of the look the woman gives you. It’s a look that sends chills through your body — a look that holds no recognition, only a cold, unnerving blankness in her eyes.

Your legs mechanically move one in front of the other, blindly following where he leads. Every step feels like a mile, the adrenaline still pumping, your heart still racing. The rain, previously a monotonous backdrop, now feels like a violent spray of needles against your skin.

“W-whats.. What’s happening? Dick– Dick I can’t- I can’t breathe.”

His jaw tightens further as he feels you stumbling against him, your words breaking out as panicked gasps. He glances down, seeing the sheer terror etched on your face.

"Hey," he says, voice uncharacteristically soft. "Hey, hey, look at me, look at me. It's okay. It's okay.”

His hand goes to your cheek, gently cupping it, his thumb tracing over your skin in an attempt to soothe you.

“I’m here, I’m here. Listen to me, just breathe, alright? Just breathe.” His hand drops down to his pants pockets, shimmying out his phone.

He keeps his other hand on you, fingers gently rubbing at your cheek, grounding you as he taps the screen of his phone.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, eyes never leaving your face. “Just breathe for me. In and out, nice and slow.”

You try to focus on his words, but it’s difficult. Your mind is still racing, your breath coming in short, sharp pants. You’re fighting against your own body, trying fruitlessly to force it to calm down and listen to him.

But your lungs burn as they struggle to draw in a full breath.

Time seems to move in a blur. Everything is a mass of sensations that you can barely register — the cold rain that seeps through your clothing, the cold touch of Dick’s hand against your skin.

You find yourself being ushered into a long, black vehicle, Dick gently guiding you into the back seat before sliding in beside you, shutting the door with a soft click.

He's never seen you like this before. He's seen you cry, seen you angry, seen you determined, but never, *never* has he seen you so terrified, like this. You're pale, your hands shaking, breath coming out in sharp gasps.

His heart aches as he sees you struggle for breath, fighting against your own body. As he sits beside you in the backseat of the car, he gently grabs your hand and intertwined his fingers with yours, squeezing it gently. His other hand pulling you close and tucking you into his side.

He murmurs in a low soothing tone, “Just- just breathe. Just focus on my voice. You're safe. If I'd known she'd be there I never would've brought you here, I'm sorry, baby bird.. I'm so sorry.." He presses a kiss against your temple, his hold tightening around you.

Your body is trembling uncontrollably, the panic attack refusing to subside. His hand finds purchase on the back of your neck, fingers massaging the tense muscles there in an attempt to calm you down.

"You're safe. I've got you," he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're safe.."

Outside, the rain continues to fall, the sound of raindrops hitting the windowpane providing a strange background track to the situation. He keeps you tucked in against his side, his grip firm but gentle.

Dick's mind was on overdrive. His focus was solely fixated on you, comforting you and trying to bring you back from the brink of your panic attack. But underneath that, there was a simmering rage that threatened to boil over.

His mind went back to the woman — your mother. She wasn't supposed to be here. Tim had promised to keep an eye on her. You were supposed to be safe here.

All that went out of the window the moment he saw you step out from under the umbrella, your body tense and eyes narrowed. He could see you were trying to hold it together, but the moment you realised who it was, everything in you shattered.

A flash of anger ignited in him knowing that the woman caused you so much pain, so much terror.

You were supposed to be safe. That was the whole point. He had given Tim the sole responsibility of keeping your mother at bay, to ensure you never saw her or heard from her again. And yet, here he was, watching you fight a panic attack brought upon by her unannounced presence.

He clenched his jaw, the anger towards her, towards himself, burning bright. You were his little sibling. His baby bird. He was supposed to protect you.

He clenched his jaw, eyes meeting the soft grey ones of Alfred’s through the rearview mirror. His gaze murderous.

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