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kunikuma · 10 months

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doll

oh, what a joy it is to be loved by you.

relationship | wanderer x gn!reader

synopsis | wanderer has a late night hobby he kept under the wraps. unfortunately and fortunately, you found out about it. content | fluff cw | none? wanderer kinda panicking. like rambling. a/n | take this appetizer while i focus on bigger fics. also, make sure you spend ur life with people who dont smother your hobbies! assuming it’s not legit bad. was real proud of this one back in march ahaha. it got polished tho. note the actual capitalization.

masterlist

A miniature version of the wandering ascetic finds a somewhat warm home in the sleeve of the wanderer’s clothes. Its sky-hued tear was permanently stitched onto its soft face as if alluding to the history of its owner.

However, the crystalline droplet on the soft fabric wasn’t entirely accurate these days, as the internal rage and agony that ate away at the wanderer’s soul were tamed. Not gone, not quelled, but the flames licking at the cavity in his chest didn’t burn as much as they did in the past.

Next to the doll with the tear sat another one. One with a familiar shade of hair and eyes to someone he would begrudgingly admit he held dear. This doll was very clearly well made; the immaculate, hand-sewn seams and hair looked crafted with deep care, as if many iterations were made prior before this version found its home next to the other doll next to it.

How many prototypes did the wanderer make himself before he settled on the current iteration?

A few.

But unlike another puppet maker in a land far away from his current abode, he kept the original doll and only polished it further.

Never did he toss it away to start anew.

The wandering ascetic usually had the real, warm person near him. But during the times he didn’t, he found peace and minor company when he felt the two dolls brush against his arm while he walked alone during his travels. The added weight in his sleeve reduced the heaviness in his chest. Even while he soared through the sky over the arid deserts of Sumeru, the additional mass in his clothes only made him feel weightless.

Currently, on the topic of dolls, this special doll was missing. And the reformed wanderer was frantic.

“Where could it possibly be?” He mutters, flipping off all the cushions on the couches. The room was in disarray; pillows were flung to the floor, and knitted blankets were unfolded and messily strewn onto the chairs and floors. The man clicks his tongue in irritation, tapping his foot on the ground with impatience as his eyes dart around the room over and over, hoping to see a sign of his lost treasure. His breathing was quietly and unknowingly erratic, not bothering to keep it at a rhythmic, human pace.

The wanderer wasn’t that upset that it was lost; he reasoned he could always make a new one, a better one that represented his lover even better than the current prototype. But a sudden guilt weighed on his chest as his eyes narrowed slightly. A shred of guilt when he thinks about the pain the doll might feel when it realizes it was discarded-

‘It is not alive,’ he grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Focus; where did you last see it?” Wanderer starts to retrace his steps, speaking aloud to no one in particular, mulling over his steps from the previous evening. Two nights ago, before leaving their shared home to aid Buer with a late-night task, he was resewing one of the buttons for your eyes. It had gotten a little loose from rubbing against him during his travels, but he had also picked up a better set that captured your shiny eyes.

The next time he remembered it was on Treasures Street. When on his way back home, he noticed a small blue gem that he felt would be a nice addition to a tiny doll's necklace. That night, the flustered man found himself using a bracelet clasp and attaching the gem to the metal. In the faintly candlelit bedroom with his pink tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, he wrapped it around the neck of the doll and secured it in place.

Sewed the clasp at the base of the doll’s neck to keep it in place, too.

But… he checked the whole house already and found nothing. Wanderer was growing agitated as he considered where to look next.

He starts for the door, ready to comb through Treasures Street; if the doll wasn’t at home, then... Treasures might be a good place to start; he always walked through there. He only sighed as he got up, brainstorming better ways to secure the dolls in his sleeves.

Perhaps two dolls were too heavy for one sleeve? But he did not want to split the pair, even if it balanced his body better when he walked.

The idea of someone finding you- err, the doll version of you, and mistreating his carefully crafted creation made him curl his fists. The idea of a child dropping you and muddying your face- ‘Doll. The doll’s face,’ he mentally chides himself.

Oh, Archons, the idea of you of all people innocently stumbling across a miniature version of you was horrifying.

Would you be disgusted?

Would you think it was silly? Stupid?

Would you think your lover made it?

Or some creep stalking you?

He pales as he grips the knob of the door, only to yelp when the door suddenly swings towards him, and oh god, you’re home and the house is a mess-

“Wanderer! I’m hom- Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you chuckle, seeing his reddened face. As you shut the door, you note his normally silky hair looked a tad extra tousled, sticking out everywhere; you also hum at the crimson hue painting his cheeks and ears, and the very slight haggard breathing. Behind him, the house looks like a storm blew threw.

Was… he the storm? His hat was missing, so maybe he flew around the house…?

“…Doll, are you okay?” You ask, stepping forward to grab his hands. You feel a flinch when you make contact and his eyes bolt to yours, his mouth opening and closing as if he was lost for words.

Internally, he froze when you said ‘doll’, even though it was a frequent flyer for petnames.

“…I-I’m fine,” he mutters gruffly, “just need to get some air. Do you need something from Treasures?” he finishes, giving you an impatient look as he releases your hands and steps towards the door behind you. You gesture to the mess of pillows and blankets with a laugh.

“Not from Treasures, but I do need you to tell me why the house is a mess…?” You request, snatching his hands tightly to prevent him from darting out the door. The sight behind him was very not Wanderer. The man was a clean freak; he would never have left the house in such a mess, nor be the cause of a mess that bad. Distantly, your memories replay about the time he scolded you for not folding and putting away the bath towels. Your eyes drift to your cup of now-cold tea from the morning and make a mental note to clean that up soon before he notices.

He seems to short-circuit at your ask, struggling to come up with an answer that didn’t reveal the whole, embarrassing truth. Carefully choosing his words, he explains, “I’m looking for something I must have dropped. Nothing too important,” he breathes, fixing the rise and fall of his shoulders and chest, patting himself on the back for the most natural response. “Quite annoying to misplace things.”

You give him a curious look, gingerly letting go of his hands when you confirmed he wasn’t going to race out the door. “Oh? Wanderer, you never misplace things. What would this item be? I don’t mind helping.”

Your kind look did not ease his nerves at all. In fact, he tensed up at the thought of you knowing what he lost. Your curiosity told him you didn’t know what he was referring to, but you could be acting.

Did you already know what he creepily works on in the dead of night when you’re fast asleep?

When he lays next to you in your small bed, a candle illuminating his handiwork?

Did you-

“…if this is about the doll, it’s cute, you know!” You finish cheerily, looking at him and waiting for a trademark grumble or dismissive wave.

Except, Wanderer was not paying attention to a single word you said.

His eyes were just wide, staring off to the side as his hand trembled.

The door behind you leading to the bathroom had a loose screw.

There was a dust bunny near the cabinet.

Your cup of tea this morning was still near the door, forgotten after you started to rush for work and he managed to make a note to scold you for that.

He was so lost in thought and you noticed.

Suddenly, a warm hand cradles his cheek and he snaps out of it, jumping back. “If you didn’t hear me,” you started to murmur, “I said if you’re looking for the doll of me, I found it in our room this morning.”

The midnight-haired main starts to stammer, one foot sliding back to create distance between the two of you. Archons, he was so embarrassed. He couldn’t even keep up the mask right now—

“I guess it fell under the bed after you were working on it.”

Oh, you knew and found it. Oh, you knew and he was so screwed. You’ve been hiding how silly you thought his hobby was. Hiding how creepy of him it was to meticulously craft a doll that looked like you. It’s not normal to make a doll of your lover to keep by your side-

“Wanderer. Please listen.”

His eyes dart to yours and you see a startled look get drowned by a mask of indifference. His dilated pupils seemed to facetiously relax. But you knew better at this point.

“You found it?” He repeats, his voice unnaturally steady, unnaturally calm compared to his earlier tension. But you could see his shoulders’ cadence as if he was struggling to remember to look human. His eyes flitter around your features as if frantically searching for signs of repressed repulsion or judgment.

“Yes,” you repeat and step closer. You ignore the fact he took a small, timid step back. “And, if you were listening, I found it cute,” you finish again.

Wanderer’s eyebrows furrow.

“Cute?” He scoffs, “it’s just a mere doll. A meaningless one at that,” he mutters, redness tainting his ears.

Meaningless? Considering who the doll was inspired by… that was so very far from the truth.

He decided if he played this all off, you might just let it slide. He wanted the floor to swallow him whole than have the current conversation you both were having right now.

If he didn’t let it fall under the bed, this wouldn’t be happening. In retrospect, it makes sense. He was working on attaching the little gem to a chain and onto the doll. He remembers gingerly wrapping the chain around the neck and putting the finishing touches to secure it nicely… and then laying on his back and slowly, almost shyly resting the doll of you closer to his chest. He even remembers rolling onto his side to cradle it close, resting his chin on the top of the doll’s head, and deciding he would sleep.

You sigh and grab his hand, leading him to the messy living room. You both hop and skirt around the chaos on the floor and sit on the couch together. His hands are stiffly placed on his knees, and now he’s redder than before when he realizes you were awake at some point and saw him work.

“Meaningless, huh? Are you embarrassed-” You chuckle and ask and he sputters, opening his mouth for a curt response, but you cut him off hastily, “because I don’t think you should be!”

Wanderer just slumps in his spot, leaning against the backrest of the couch. Honestly, he was just exhausted. After uprooting basically the whole house, spiraling and panicking, and now having to have this conversation was so frustrating, so draining. “Just… give me the doll. I don’t really want to talk about this,” he grits out and stands up, waiting for you to follow and show him where you had it.

“Darling, it’s just on the shelf,” you laugh, pointing at the mini version of you neatly sitting on the shelf of books, high in the room. “I thought it was very cute, as I have said multiple times, so I put it up on display. I didn’t know where you kept it. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

A quiet grumble slipped from your lover as he stormed to the shelf and snatched the doll. ‘How humiliating’, he thinks as he hastily shoves the doll into his sleeve. ‘All of this, just for it to be right in front of me-’

A loud ‘aww’ pierces through the air, causing him to whip around to see you clasping your hands over your mouth. Your ears have turned a little red too and he stares, waiting for yet another round of humiliation to kick in. Archons, just deal the final blow already…

“You keep me with you?” You grin, bouncing up from the seat to rush to him. He stammers, as you quickly wrap your arms tightly around him. “I’m so flattered,” you murmur into his shoulder.

‘What is happening right now?’ The man thinks to himself, his hands hovering over your back, unsure what to do with himself. His hands were shaking, fingers bouncing between opening and curling closed “… I always have you, err, the doll, with me,” he chooses his words carefully. Still didn’t want to creep you out, but trying not to just outright lie.

You suddenly grasp his face, squishing his cheeks in the process. You ignore his protests and stare right into his eyes. “I will repeat myself for the last time. This is cute. You are cute. Please continue your hobby and stop worrying about what I think,” you remind him firmly, “besides, you don’t have to worry. I am honored to be your muse.”

You sense his unwavering hesitation and disbelief in his wide eyes, so you reassure him more gently after a pause, “…Wanderer, I love that you do this. When I wake up at night and see you working at your desk, I am reminded how wonderful it is to be loved by you.”

With his warming cheeks still firmly under your control, he only stares at you. Again, his mind is racing, but this time with much less negativity.

You like the doll?

You’re not disgusted?

It wasn’t stupid?

You’ve found comfort in seeing him work on it?

You want him to continue?

He’d begrudgingly admit that he was half-listening to your reassurances earlier; it was so hard to let the chaos in his brain simply quiet his anxieties and accept your words.

The doubt and hesitation are still clearly shown in his eyes, but there was a distinct change with the storm in his eyes. You let go of his cheeks and press your forehead onto his. “I’ll let you process this and calm down. But in the meantime, please help me clean up the mess you made,” you giggle lightly, your eyes drifting to the pillows near your feet. His eyes also follow your gaze down to the floor before letting out a quiet huff followed by a soft nod.

Later that night, you were pressed against his side, fully awake and alert. You were nodding along to his words, carefully listening to his explanations. You watched his perfect digits weave the thread through the doll; not a single mark marred his skin. With a small smile gracing his relaxed features, the wandering ascetic was murmuring how he plans on sewing you a new shirt next week as he attached a new, tiny flower clip he made the other day.

#wanderer #wanderer x reader #wanderer x y/n #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x y/n #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #kunikuma’s fics

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coentinim · 2 months

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Never Land

- Hypodermic Sally

Cw: horror, gore, Sally literally mutiliates you (not permanently... I think), the dove is a little dead, suggestive. MDNI (?)

Request by: @fear-is-truth ! I hope it's not too disturbing since you just said grotesque... oh well.

The song choice for the title is not accidental! It's the song that plays when she first shows up and tortures a random guy. Banger.

Instead of saving to drafts, it published itself. So, I suppose, day 2 of 8 Women Game starts tonight.

You couldn't see a thing except for a few dim spots of light, and your eyelids were heavy and droopy. Your mouth felt like you just had a gallon of water poured down your throat, as if expecting not to have anything to drink for hours to come. Your whole face just felt disgustingly sticky.

You groaned. The drugs, you recall, she gave you some drugs. A sweet kiss, a puff of her strong, thick cigarette, an intimate touch, and you were ready to beg for the foreign injection. You could only curse your pathetic naivety now, but you were barely conscious, and your entire face felt so, so heavy... as if someone attached a stone mask to it.

You wondered if you have been blindfolded and gagged. Maybe restrained too, or maybe it was the substance that made your body stiff and hasn't worn off yet.

Suddenly, the bed you were on gave way to someone else's weight next to you. Someone sat there, and a cold, smooth hand caressed your sticky cheek.

You tried to wet your lips, but to no avail.

"Do you have any idea why they call me hypodermic Sally, sweetie?"

Her voice was coarse and cocky, yet pleasant. You leaned into the touch and shook your head; no, you had no idea why she was called hypodermic. You had no idea about anything. You tried to get a good look at her, but your eyelids felt too heavy to lift, so you just waited for her explanation.

"Well, my sweet..." the nickname rolled off her tongue decadently, "I am a true expert when it comes to needles. Injections or sewing. I am... amazing at those."

You started to rouse a bit more. This sounded concerning, and you wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but you couldn't. Your body was now free to move, but your face was still somehow out of commission. Something wasn't right. You couldn't open your eyes.

You couldn't open your eyes.

A muffled scream came out of your closed mouth, and you tried to touch your eyes. Her hands restrained yours, though, and you could only struggle in vain, her demonic cackle your only encouragement. She was much stronger.

You tried to make your eyelids open, and you realized it wasn't grogginess keeping them shut as the pain caught up with you. You wailed again, the same agony in your lips and eyes. All three holes were held shut by a tightly woven piece of thread.

The stickiness was from the blood, you realized, as tears flowed down your cheeks through the barely-there openings in the sewing work. You thrashed, mind overran with fear so intense, so all-consuming-

"You are just adorable like this."

You froze at the sound of her voice. Did she do this to you?! She clicked her tongue and leaned closer to give your dry, sewn lips a brief kiss.

"Don't worry, girl, I'll just keep you like this until... hmm...", you heard her light a cigarette, again, "until I am satisfied."

#ahs #american horror story #hypodermic Sally #sally mckenna #ahs sally #american horror story hotel #ahs hotel #sarah paulson #ahs cult #coentiwrites #horror imagine

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ensemblestarscafe · 1 year

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S. IZUMI > Blank canvas <

Gender neutral reader TW/CW: emotionless, reader changes for izumi in an unhealthy way Order type: 2 shot espresso, can be read as platonic or romantic

Word count: 466 Written by: Yeul Proofread: n/a Writer’s note: heehee

“Could you please shut up, (y/n)? You're being really annoying you know?”

“Yeah! Okay!”

Izumi sighs as he turns back to his papers on his desk, chair scraping the floor. You smile as you put some distance away from the grey haired boy to give him his privacy.

“I’ll be leaving then! Have a lovely day, Izumi!”

“Alright, alright.”

You walk out of the room as you walk somewhere else. Fidgeting with your sleeves, you arrive at a park. Sitting on the wooden bench, you sigh as you slump down.

Meanwhile, Izumi stares at his papers, starting to regret his harsh words towards you. But you left with a bright tone and with light steps. That meant that you weren’t really affected, right?

——

“(y/n)? Do you think it's okay like this?” Izumi asks. He flits through the photos taken on the camera, waiting for your opinion. He gulps nervously, as your abnormal prolonged silence wasn’t like the normal you. Did it look bad? Or were you just tired?

“...Yeah! I think it’s nice.” You finally reply. Izumi notices your lack of enthusiasm. It had slightly shaken him, but shook it off, thinking nothing about it. Nodding at your answer, Izumi walks off after thanking you for your opinion.

I wonder if they were just tired today…

Clicks and clacks of Izumi’s shoes were heard at the hallway as it got quieter, soon disappearing from your zone of hearing.

“...I think… it always looks nice… Izumi…”

——

“(y/n)? You listening?” He asks with both concern and annoyance laced in his voice. No, it was sewn to his voice. Izumi’s eyes narrow as he sees that you’re not really paying attention. Waving a hand in front of you, you shake your head slightly as you focus again.

“Mhm.” You mumble. Izumi was barely able to catch it, but he did. He sighs as his cerulean blue eyes scans your figure just in case you were sick. He couldn’t help but feel as if you were slowly starting to lose that light in your eyes. You were starting to scare him and worry him, slowly but surely.

——

“(y/n), I’m… I’m sorry. You don’t need to be like this, I swear…” Izumi apologizes when he finds out that you’ve been changing your entire being just so he wouldn’t get annoyed at you anymore. It’s clearly shown in his voice that he was regretful for his words.

You do not flinch when he suddenly holds your arms. You smile in such an eerie way that it sends shivers down Izumi’s spine. Your (e/c) eyes are dull, the scintillations that he adored nowhere to be found, instead replaced with a characterless and bleak glow. Your mouth opens to say, “No need to be. This is what you wanted.”

#yeul's orders #enstars x reader #ensemble stars x reader #ensemble stars #enstars #enstars angst #ensemble stars angst #izumi sena x reader #sena izumi x reader #izumi sena #sena izumi

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thetentaclecommander · 5 months

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Think I'm gonna christen this blog with a recent fic. (18+) 18+ ________________________________________________ a gosling only seeks the warmth of his mother Rated E; porn with twisted feelings (has squicky not typical of tentacle elements so pushed it up to DD:DNE) Fandom: Resident Evil Main Ship: Nemesis/Jill Valentine CW: Dubcon, Ovi, Tentacle Dick, Size Difference, Mouth Sewn Shut, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Fear Play ________________________________________________ Excerpt: The rain hits the window hard in its aggression. The storm outside brews and churns. And Nemesis lays, head to the side, hearing her heartbeat through her twin mounds of flesh. Jill’s chest moved in a steady even rhythm, soft flesh slightly rubbing against his, rough, patchy, and torn, exposing his muscles and underlayers of skin. She was near, too near, and he so exposed, and yet the Tyrant lay as a soft hand pet him. The sweat from an earlier intimacy coated their bodies, her finger trailing a moving droplet that rolled from Nemesis’ scalp. His body tried so hard not to tremble from the soft petting; to simply lean into the affection should be enough for her to see from him. (rest on A03)

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itoshi-s · 1 year

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ok ok so im a huge huge fan of alexis ness bc hes so!! ><

just going to dump a little of my ness thoughts here/// cw: dom! reader, power dynamics, mentions of the word 'dog' mentions of safewords

ness is so, so, loyal. he obeys commands to the point it's almost unsettling. one might compare him to a dog. after all, alexis ness would gladly follow your every whim, just to be called something along the lines of 'good boy' , or 'your loyal dog'. and of course, ness surely knows better than to disobey his owner-- right?

"s-sorry! 'm so sorry-" a disheveled ness babbles out semi-coherent words. however, they were cut just a bit short from the harsh jerk of his collar. in fact, the collar was his most prized possession. it was soft magenta in color, with his name sewn onto the leather material. when he'd received it, ness had been ecstatic to use it in the bedroom with you. he was so excited for you to gently kiss the nape of his neck, while whispering soft praises into his ears. oh, how wrong he was. instead, ness was dragged around with said collar, much to his surprise. you would use the leash strung to his collar to jerk his face up, all while barking out commands, such as 'look at me, slut.' and of course, who would he had been to disobey? ness would've been fine with anything you'd give him; in fact, he'd gladly accept it. but as you keep declining his orgasm every single time, he can't help but begin to tear apart at the seams. tears dribbled down his cheeks, as he silently pleaded you to let him cum. a strained whimper escaped his lips, before he'd realized his mistake. "what did i tell you about speaking, alexis? god, i can't believe i have to deal with a mutt like you." disdain oozed out of your cold words. ness couldn't bear to look up at your face. "and what did i say about looking at me? you're to look me in the eyes. had i not stated that earlier?" in a fit of frustration, you ditch his collar and entangle your fingers into his soft hair, before swiftly pulling up. with no other choice, ness had locked eyes with you. suddenly, your hands traveled to his slender waist, before scooping him up into your lap. your fingers trail down from his chest, wandering dangerously close to his thighs. and that's when you decide to strike. your lips clasped onto his cherry-red nipples, while your hands began to furiously fist his cock. if he hasn't been already, ness is a complete mess. unfiltered, almost whorish moans leave his mouth, as you continue to deliver pleasure after pleasure onto his body. and soon, ness can feel a tight knot begin to form in his lower stomach. "pleash- ah! i'm cumming-!" ness practically screams. he can feel sparks course through his entire body. you hum against his now over-sensitive nipple, before flipping ness over. your sweet little dog seems dumbed down to the point he can't even speak. it's so endearing, seeing his glazed over eyes. but right after ness cums, you started to slowly pick up the pace again on the poor baby's cock, the tip now an angry red. "wait- hah- 'just came! p-please, ah-" ness starts to spasm, flailing his arms about in a pathetic attempt to get you to stop overstimulating him. but his words were halted from the sudden grip your hands had over his throat. "fucking slut. do you ever shut up? you think i care about how sensitive you are? if you're not going to use the safeword, you're taking everything i give you. go on, thank me." you scoff at ness. he's so overstimulated it's almost pitiful. you'd feel bad for him, were it not for the fact that you knew how much of a whore your cute little pet was. "…thank you." ness chokes out. "what was that? i couldn't hear you." you squeeze his cock just a bit tighter, drawing out a yelp from the soccer player. "th-thank you- ah- for letting me cum!" the poor boy screams before cumming again. ness almost collapses onto the soft sheets in that moment, but a steady pair of arms catch him just in time. one hand unclasps the collar from the back of his neck. "you did so well for me, sweetheart." you coo at ness, who laps up all the praise happily. "come on-- let's go get you cleaned up, hey?"

sorry i got carried away bc i love this skrunkly man <3

UH OHHHHH :((((( PLEASE he's so sub coded it's literally INSANE. LIVES for all the praise </3 loyal as a dog - so it only makes sense you make him your good little pup !!!!! PLS the overstimulation too SOBS HE'S SO PRETTY........ dark curls falling into his eyes and u brush them away with your hand </3 cause he has to keep his eyes on you at all times. otherwise you've just gotta start all over 👀

#✧.* ✉ zari’s mail #★ ‧ ₊ after hours #alexis ness smut #blue lock smut #nonnie :( sniffle you're so right for this he's 1000% into this #SKRUNKLY MAN <3 it's him fr fr

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courage-doodles-blog · 3 months

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[CW⚠️ WEIRDCORE/DREAMCORE]

Courage The Cowardly Dog characters if they were in Weirdcore/Dreamcore AU.

This AU has their designs made morbid based on a type(s) of aesthetic(s)

Courage is a dog puppet with stitch marks all over his face and body. He can't talk since his mouth is stitched shut, he has buttons sewn into his eyes which are bleeding out of them. His design is based on plushies with button eyes and marionette puppets

Muriel and Eustace are faceless

Katz has spider features such as having six eyes and spider legs on his back. His design is based on cats, spiders and horror aesthetic

Le Quack is a duck accordion toy that plays his background music, based on those monkey cymbal toys

Cajun Fox's appearance is of an actual fox

Bunny and Kitty are both plushies made of cotton and wool. Kitty's mouse toy is a living mouse and appears on her shoulder

Banana Suit Dealer is faceless

Ma Bagge's face isn't shown but it only shows her glasses

Fusilli is a ventriloquist dummy with four crocodile eyes

Black Puddle Queen has a more monstrous siren appearance along with her outfit and hair covered in coral, shells and pearls. Design based on ocean academia

Clutching Foot's faces have hundreds of eyes

Shirley has a crystal ball head

Computer is a computer head

Weremole is more werewolf looking

Dr Zalost has rat features and Rat is a reanimated ragdoll plush

Benton Tarentella is a camera head

Errol Van Volkheim is a picture head

Courage's parents/Henry and Teresa are ragdolls

Mad Dog has chains around his arms. His design is based on hatecore aesthetic

Cruel Veterinarian's design is based on digital horror aesthetic

Freaky Fred's pupils are dilated and has a large unsettling grin. His design is based on analog horror and Sweeney Todd

Banana Suit Dealer is a faceless banana

Charlie's design is based on foodie aesthetic

General and Lieutenant are both faceless

King Ramses's design is based on horror and analog horror aesthetics with his slab attached to his chest and has scarecrow like features

Cat Thieves/Jim and Paul are conjoined twins

Schwick has a human body with beetle features

Di Lung has features of the Chinese lion

The Empress's design has features of the Chinese dragon

Goose God is a lightning bolt head

Storm Goddess is a cloud head

Hunchback's only facial feature is his eye

Bigfoot's face has hundreds of eyes

Newsman is microphone head

Duck Brothers are all conjoined together

Dorothy Bagge is faceless

Stitch Sisters are ragdoll puppets

Space Chicken's design is based on spacecore

Dr Gerbil has a human torso with rodent features

Dr Vindaloo's design is based on analog horror aesthetic

The Perfectionist Teacher's face is blurred

King of Flan is a flan head

Velvet Vic is a record player head

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batztrangem · 2 years

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Leather and Chains (Main Cenobites/Reader)

Author’s Note: Finally posting my most popular oneshot from Wattpad on here because why not? This was requested.

Honestly this is nothing special.

CW: Mentions of stalking, mention of canon typical Hellraiser violence

Also I don’t know why there are such big gaps between some of the paragraphs. No matter how much I tried to backspace Tumblr wouldn’t let me?? I don’t know what’s going on.

Crossposted on Wattpad (_queenofthefandoms_) and AO3 (leztrangem) . Hope you enjoy! 🖤

Being in a poly relationship with four demons was not the easiest thing. Being in a relationship with one human being was hard enough.

I admit, when I solved that puzzle box years ago, I did not understand what I was getting into. At the time, I had hoped that solving it would solve my problems. I knew what it held. I knew that if the demons that the box called to me didn't think I was worthy to become a cenobite, they'd kill me.

At the time, that didn't seem so bad.

But when I opened that box, that other world, it didn't go as planned. The Hell Priest and his posse believed I was worthy, yes, but in a way that didn't involve me becoming a deformed demon in servitude of Hell. I was worthy of something that they didn't offer any other human. I was worthy of their love.

That was many years ago.

I remember that night that the four of them appeared in my room. I was horrified at the time. The only reason I had initially accepted their offer of a relationship was out of fear. If I had declined, I probably would've died that night. But now, no fear lived in me when it came to them. Well, I didn't fear for myself.

There were four cenobites.

There was Butterball. He was an extremely large demon and had no hair and pale skin, much like the others. When I say large, I mean it. Butterball had multiple neck rolls and a large protruding stomach. Round sunglasses had been deeply embedded into his eye sockets and his eyes underneath, from my understanding, were sewn shut. I knew he couldn't see, but I never asked to what extent. His large belly was often exposed. Much like the other cenobites, he had an open wound. His was located on his stomach, pulled apart by hooks that were attached to his leather outfit.

Then there was Chatterer. Out of all the deformities of the cenobites, Chatterer was the more gruesome. Any other person would immediately run after seeing him. His skin appeared to be burned, and it twisted up his head. His eyes were nonexistent, or at least they appeared to be. Instead of eyes, there were two holes on his face where I imagine his eyes once were. His skin was not as pale as the others, and it was red and irritated in a lot of places. And let's not forget his mouth. His teeth were exposed and his lips were drawn back with metal hooks and wire. His lips were almost in the shape of a square. His gums glistened with blood all the time, much like the open wound on the back of his head. I had gotten used to kissing him on the cheek for obvious reasons. He didn't mind either. He could understand the reluctance.

DP was the third cenobite of the group. Over the years I had started to refer to her as DP. The initial name that she had been given in hell was nothing short of gross. Not to mention the fact that she didn't like to be addressed by it. So instead, I used the initials of the name she had been given. I understood why she didn't like her name, but I could also understand why it was given to her. Take one look at her throat and you'd understand. It was cut open. Pulled apart by a contraption that pushed out of her cheeks. Much like the others, she felt no pain from this laceration. Pain for them was entirely different from the pain that humans experienced. She also felt no pain when it came to the long screw that was pierced through the bridge of her nose. In an odd way, DP was extremely beautiful. Her skin was paper white with hints of blue in the lowest parts of her face. Her temples were deep and so were her eyes. For the most part, she was bald, but a couple of strands of blonde hair had survived her transformation in Hell. She looked the most human out of all of them. She definitely was more approachable at times. She was almost always the first one I went to when something was wrong.

Last but not least, there was Pinhead, the Hell Priest. His name was pretty much self-explanatory. Rows of small-headed pins were set deep in his head, sticking out pretty much everywhere. There were also rows of cuts that lined the nails. He was bald, much like the rest. And much like the rest, especially him, he was protective.

Honestly, protective is an understatement.

I had been in relationships before the cenobites where my partners were protective. The cenobites weren't just protective. They were rage-filled. If they suspected anyone even showed a slight interest in me, that person would be dead the next day. At first, it just seemed like a coincidence, but now it was obvious why they ended up dead.

That knowledge has been ringing in the back of my head for days as I approached my final year of college.

Normally, I just quietly worked through the school year. I barely talked to people unless I had to, I didn't go to parties, and I attempted to not draw any attention to myself. That was how college had gone until now. Now there's this guy. I can't even think of his name. Maybe it was Jacob? Jack? Who knows?

At first, I thought this guy in my advanced journalism class was just being friendly. But now, every day, this guy would come up with an excuse to sit near me in class and talk with me. Now he would show up to the same shop where I'd get lunch or seemingly be in the local library when I went to get books. The flirting had escalated to what I considered stalking. It was bad enough having my demonic partners breathing down my necks, but now I had this stranger from a class following me around everywhere. And it was only a matter of time before the demons would find out.

I drove down the long driveway. My house was tucked away in the woods, surrounded by towering pine trees and the faint chirps of birds. The scenery was beautiful, which completely contrasted what was inside the house. I pulled the car up to the front of the house.

I sighed as I turned the car off. It had been such a long, tiresome day. My thoughts were completely scattered. All I wanted to do was go get into some pajamas and sleep for the rest of the weekend.

I silently got out of the car, taking in a deep breath of the cool, crisp autumn air. I opened the back door to get my belongings out of the backseat. As I knelt down to grab my backpack, I felt eyes on me. My head shot up quickly, scanning the surrounding woods. I slowly pulled my backpack out of the car, lifting it up and letting it droop over my shoulder. I closed the car doors and walked towards the house. Stopping in my tracks, I looked up at the house. The windows in the dining room were open. And there sat the source of the eyes I had felt watching me. DP sat at the dining room table, looking out at me. I small nervous smile sprouted on my face as I walked up the stairs of the front porch.

Turning the knob of the front door, I pushed myself in the house, closing the door behind me and dropping my backpack and purse by near the door. The house was much more warm and cozy than the contrasting atmosphere outside. I took off my jacket and laid it on the back of the living room sofa, which was occupied by a sleeping Butterball. I glanced towards the kitchen. DP was still sitting at the dining room table, staring outside. She seemed to be deep in thought. It was either that or she was patiently waiting for me to come to greet her.

I leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on Butterball's forehead, which caused him to stir in his sleep but not wake.

I walked out of the living room and into the dining room, which was an open, shared room with the kitchen. DP stared out the window, seemingly deep in thought. The sunlight from outside lit up the room and caused a dramatic shadow to carve out the features on her chiseled face. I sighed as I made my way to the refrigerator.

"I wonder if she knows about the guy from my class," I thought as I leaned down and grabbed a bottle of water, "If she does, then they all know. And if they all know, then that guy is doomed."

I pulled out the chair across from DP and sat down, slumping in the chair as I opened my bottle of water. She didn't move, didn't even acknowledge the fact that I was sitting across from her. Instead, she faced away from me, towards the window, just watching the outside world. I took a sip of water and stared at the back of DP's head. I closed the water bottle and pushed it aside.

"Something must be wrong," I thought.

Anything could have been wrong, who knows? She could have just been plotting on how to rip that guy's throat out. For all I knew, one of them had probably read my mind if that was even possible. Maybe she knew.

I sighed loudly, hoping to get her attention. She didn't move.

Sigh.

Nothing.

Sigh.

Not even a flinch.

"Maybe she's trying to remember when she wasn't a demon. I know that's hard for her to remember. Or maybe she's messing with me."

SIGH.

"Are you okay?" DP asked suddenly causing my mouth to twist into a small smirk. She continued to look outside. Her shoulders seemed to lower, as if she had finally relaxed.

"Yes, I just had a rough day. What about you?" I questioned, trying to figure out why she had been silently staring out of the window. She knew what I was trying to ask, and she definitely wasn't planning on answering.

"A rough day? May I ask what caused it?" she asked, ignoring my question from before. She slowly turned around in her seat to face me, causing her leather-clad clothes to squeak.

"Just...things haven't been going my way," I answered as I stood up and made my way to the refrigerator once again. I leaned down and opened it, looking for a small snack.

"That's very vague, my love," DP stated. I shrugged my shoulders, although she couldn't see me because of the refrigerator door being in the way.

"Vague, indeed," a deep voice said, making me stand up quickly.

Pinhead stood at the large door frame, leaning on the wood. My mind went into a small panic as I shut the fridge door. I glanced over at DP, who was partially watching Pinhead. She seemed distracted once again, as if she couldn't get something off her mind. They both knew something.

"Have you been enjoying the house?" I asked Pinhead, walking over to him and placing my hands on his shoulder. His eyes scanned over my face.

"Don't try to change the subject," he said.

I sighed, slipping my hands off his shoulders and walking past him.

"It was a genuine question. You guys did just move in. I'm curious," I said as I entered the living room, plopping down on the couch.

Butterball, who was on the other side of the large couch, sat up. He looked at Pinhead and then at me, not sure what was going on. Chatterer also entered the living room, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. He sat down beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I couldn't tell if it was in a protective way or a comforting way.

"You're trying to change the subject," Pinhead said as he walked behind the couch, leaning on the cushions. I huffed as I stared at him.

"Can you make him stop?" I asked quietly, looking up at Chatterer.

He shook his head and clicked his teeth together a couple of times. DP emerged from the kitchen, walking towards the couch.

"He's just-we're just concerned," DP explained, standing behind Pinhead who hadn't taken his eyes off of me. I tapped my fingers on my leg, impatiently.

"I know you're concerned, but every time you guys get concerned about something you go...off the hinges," I explained.

And it wasn't an understatement. One time a girl got too handsy with me one day. The next day a news report was on the TV about how she had been murdered. Her skin had been ripped off by hooks and chains. If that didn't scream "my partners are jealous, murdering demons" then I don't know what will.

"Oh," Pinhead said, pausing and standing up straight, "so that's the problem."

"I didn't tell you what the problem was. Hell, there is no problem!" I exclaimed.

But there was a problem. I was being stalked. There was no denying it. The guy from my class was stalking me. But that didn't mean that Pinhead should have his way with the poor guy. He just needed to be confronted.

"I believe you, love," DP said, trying to calm me down.

She sat down on the opposite side of me and placed a hand on my knee. "If you don't see him as a problem then we won't do anything," she whispered.

"Wait...so you guys knew? About the guy from my class?" I questioned.

DP nodded.

"Your thoughts are loud, my love. I could hear your mind as you slept last night," she said, putting her hand up to my face, "It was only a matter of time before we found out. His name...is Jackson," she said.

"And we will happily get rid of him," Pinhead butted in.

"ONLY if you want us to," DP snapped back, almost hissing at the Hell Priest for interrupting.

I took her hand and put it into mine. "Please don't. I love the fact that the four of you care so much, but not everything needs to be solved by violence," I pleaded, patting her hand gently.

Chatterer nuzzled his head into my neck.

"I agree," DP said.

She looked over at Pinhead, waiting for him to say something.

"Not everything has to be violent," he said. He knelt down to my ear. "The option is still there though," he whispered, purposely poking the side of my face with his pins, causing me to laugh.

At the end of the day, I guess being in a relationship with four demons isn't all that bad.

___________________________________________

Author's Note: And that's it! Hope you guys enjoyed! 🖤

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yandereocs · 9 months

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Yandere horror train: Villian bonnie - Body horrorish + mind breakin

Sensory depravation, the worst kind of torture. After an escape attempt Vil decides to break this little streak. Now all poor sweet darling can do is curl up on her lap, praying they’re being good.

Basically Bonnie took out darlings eyes, burnt their mouth shut, and would force darling near extremely loud sounds for hours so that they’re basically deaf now (Still can hear slightly tho since yk…bonnie ain’t that mean :3)

* I love how Villain literally took away every single one of her darling's senses but you still say she isn't that mean HAHA

* You're really real for that

* ALSO THIS IS SO COOL I'M FOAMING AT THE MOUTH AT THE THOUGHT OF WRITING THIS

Yandere Villain taking away her darling's senses

* CW: Violence and threats against reader

'No, no, no! Please, stop it!'

Your thoughts were filled with desperate pleas as you felt your body being dragged against the floor. Your captor was many things, but she wasn't a mind reader. Which is unfortunate when you're trying to beg for mercy while your mouth had been welded shut.

You were bad. Did a bad thing. You tried to leave. Tried to leave HER. And she didn't take too kindly to that.

Villain is a brutal woman and you just wanted to get away from her. So you tried to escape when you thought she was asleep. Emphasis on thought. She had caught you before you could even get half your body out the window.

And now you're like this.

Eyes sewn shut and your mouth melted together. It hurt so, so much. The wounds were still fresh so your mind was foggy with pain and you could swear that you felt blood dripping into your eye sockets. You didn't even know where she was taking you but you were freaking out.

Your leg kicked out in a random direction and you heard something crash to the floor. Villain scoffed, her sharp nails digging into your arms.

"You're being incredibly difficult. This is all your fault."

She dropped you to the floor and your head hit the tile. Your head felt dizzy and you could barely process the hands gripping your ankles.

"Should I break your legs? Hm? Maybe chop them off so you can't leave or cause any problems?"

Her tone was sickeningly patronizing, like she was scolding a dog. You immediately shook your head as your throat made muffled whines and whimpers.

'No, please. I'm sorry! I won't do it again! Please don't!'

Pleading for mercy in your head was pointless, you knew, but you did it anyway. There was silence and you could feel Villain's fingers graze against your legs slowly, her gloved hands moving up and down.

Then she began dragging you again, by the leg this time. You wiggled around onto your stomach, trying to grab at anything to make her unable to move you. Yeah, you did just silently promise that you wouldn't do it again, but overwhelming fear and pain makes it difficult to think straight.

You grab at anything. Furniture, door frames, the floor. But it doesn't help in the slightest and Villain gets more and more aggressive the more you grab onto things. Eventually she drops your leg and you immediately try to crawl away but bump into the wall. Villain chuckles.

"Where are you going? I'm not done with you."

Her hands grab your shoulders and she yanks you into a sitting position before she starts cramming your body into something. A box? A closet? You don't know. All you know is that it's small and your body is squished uncomfortably.

The door slams shut. Ah, so it is a closet.

Then there's silence.

You're nervous. Why are you here? What is she planning? Surely just locking you in a room isn't all she's going to do.

And then it started.

You covered your ears as a loud a heavy noise boomed throughout the closet. Your head was throbbing with the pain from your wounds and now from the ridiculously loud noise. It hurt.

It didn't take long for your ears to start ringing.

And then soon after that, you felt a thick, warm liquid drip down the sides of your face.

And then nothing.

Well, not nothing. You could faintly hear the thundering sounds, but it was like you were underwater. Deep, deep underwater.

You don't know how long you were in there but eventually the noise stopped and the door opened, causing your body to slump down to the ground.

You were shaking.

Everything hurt so much. Your ears were bleeding. Your eyelids were sewn shut but you could still feel your eyeballs moving behind the flesh and irritating the wounds. Your mouth felt numb and burned and you physically couldn't open them.

Hands grabbed you again and you were once again being dragged to God-knows-where. Tears were leaking down your cheeks past your closed eyelids and your throat was producing strangled and muffled cries.

You're scared.

And you're hurt.

And you just want this to stop.

You can hear Villain speaking but you can't make out the words. Everything just sounds so muffled and like you're in a thick fog. It's terrifying and you don't know whether she's threatening or giving you an order.

Soon enough you're dragged over a slightly raised doorframe and you know you've been taken to another room. But which one? You don't know if it's a simple bedroom or one of Villain's freaky torture champers. Your heart is pounding against your chest, the sound booming through your head.

Your worries are slightly eased when you're dragged up onto a bed. A very comfortable one that unmistakably belongs to Villain. The matress dips slightly as you feel Villain shuffle next to you and your body is shifted and adjusted to her liking, which ends your head up in her lap.

She's rubbing your back slowly and you can just barely make out the sounds of soft cooing. Is she...being nice? How terrifying. But there's nothing you can do. Even if there was, you wouldn't have dared to do it. You need to be good. Just be quiet and curled up in her lap like a good little doggy. Just do that, and she won't hurt you.

You're trembling and you know that she can feel it because she'll occasionally dig her sharp nails into your back. Her hand slides under your shirt and you shiver at the feeling of her gloved hand on your skin, gently gliding back and forth.

You're scared out of your mind, but it feels nice in a way. She's always so cruel and ruthless, so it's a little nice to just lay here and accept her soft touches. She isn't being too rough, if you ignore how she'll give harsh scratches on your back every so often. You just need to be good. Just shut off your brain and be still and let her touch you however she wants. Like a good little lapdog.

"You're so cute when you're helpless."

Her warm breath tickles your skin and you shiver. She's leaning so close to you that you could feel her lips brush against your ear. Despite how close she was, her voice still sounded like she was talking through a pillow.

You whimper softly and nod at her words, mindlessly agreeing. Your stomach churned at how pleased she seemed at your situation, but it was to be expected. This woman was a monster with no remorse. She had just ruined your life even more than she had before and she's just sitting there, rubbing and scratching your back like nothing happened.

It's sickening.

And there's absolutely nothing you can do to change it. Nothing at all. Not just because your basic senses has been taken away, but also because she'll teach you another lesson if you fail to escape. Which, if we're being honest, you will.

So you lay on her lap with a trembling body and heavy breathes. With your sewn eyes and your welded mouth and your useless ears.

You lay there, so quiet and good for her, just like she wants. The only source of 'comfort' you have being your thoughts, which isn't actually all that comforting considering it's all just 'please don't hurt me, I'm being good. So, so good.'

You're scared.

And you're hurt.

And you just want this to stop.

But it won't.

#Villain #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere girl #yandere imagines #* Hoping this is good because I've been working on it for too long #* I would have gotten it done quicker but I kept going 'Eughh is this good??'#* It's been a struggle but it's okay because I like it

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whumpsday · 1 year

Text

some art @lost-in-labradorite-halls did of an rp we're doing right now! with my kane and her pup, intertwined by a particularly sadistic and creative whumper. the cuffs are silver, too. they'll be fine, they're vampires...

cw: extreme visual gore (SERIOUSLY), vivisection, body horror, mouth sewn shut, torture

#kane and jim art #whump art #gore #mouth whump #vivisection #vampire whumpee #sadistic whumper #torture #multiple whumpees

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artwithoutblood · 1 year

Text

the favourite poet. 1.2k words. cw for gore, death, and mentions of alcohol. a short aeron piece

The last thought you had was of Lawrence Alma Tadema’s The Favourite Poet. In this moment, you are the woman sprawled on the stone, head on a pillow, limbs thrown weakly in annoyance. She is bored of listening to her friend read poetry from a scroll whose length cannot be determined. The only difference is that you’re listening to the hums of another along to lost Parisian melodies, and your limp stature is not from boredom. It is from the way your body has been strung, each limb positioned for proper work in your rigor mortis. If you could feel it, you know it would be agonizing.

Underneath your cadaver is metal. The lights in the room are low, save for the ones which illuminate your body like a stage. Next to your head is a copy of The Favourite Poet on an easel as a reference. On a cart next to you sits a tape measurer and bolts of coral fabric. The only living soul in the room is a man decorated in red. You are unsure if the crimson is from the finite fluids from your body or from someone else entirely.

You both can and cannot feel the cuts. Nerves die faster than the stars when the sun rises again. Perhaps you can hear the blade that slices into your skin, or perhaps you can feel the vibrations and the movement of muscle. You understand it is happening, but there is no way to protest. He has already sewn your mouth shut, to replicate the woman in The Favourite Poet, silent in her observation of the woman who shares her space.

A funeral would be much better than this. A funeral would be much better than having him delicately pull each organ from your stomach, handling it fondly, putting it in a box to burn or preserve later depending on the mood, sewing up each hole in your body whether it was a pre-death wound or a postmortem incision, painting your skin with something too heavy to be daily makeup, dressing you in a dress just like the woman’s, skewering your body with rods and ropes both in and outside your skin and-

Even being buried in water would be much better than this. He is not your mortician, and your body is not a cadaver. Instead, it is a base for him to play with, to destroy and repair with needles and thread. It is now his to bend and shape.

He’s waiting for some paint around the wound on your right knee to dry. For a second, you can remember him smashing your legs in with a baseball bat, forcing you to fall to your knees, burdening the skin with asphalt. The thought disappears as fast as it came. From here, though, you can see him as he taps the back of a pen against his cheek. The head of your body may be lying horizontally, face to the ceiling, but he had made the switch early in the process. The sockets in your head are now filled with glass eyes, and the eyes which you have worn all your life now sit in their own glass jar.

He keeps a book of every piece of art in his gallery. You can read the entry he is writing for you, but you are unsure if you can process it in your state of decomposition. It starts with your name and a Polaroid.

You don’t remember him carrying a camera and taking a photograph of you.

The page reads like an obituary. It is an about of your life: your age, your occupation, your interests, your favorite food, your favorite song, your favorite season, your thoughts on the afterlife, what love tastes like to you, your location (though it’s not a city or a country. It’s 4138LE), your secrets, your regrets, the people you’ve loved and the people you’ve lost-

Your favorite painting. The Favourite Poet. You realize that these were all questions he had asked you on your first date. He finishes the last sentence and places his pen behind his ear. The ink dries quickly, and with a hum, he seems satisfied. His fingers creep over to the top corner, and he flips through the pages. For a few moments, you think that you might recognize some of the men and women with photographs like yours.

He sets the book on a countertop, seated next to half a dozen jars of paintbrushes waiting to be properly rinsed. Instead, he reaches for a small notepad, scribbled with numbers scratched over dozens of times. They look like measurements.

You recall your first meeting with him. You had run into him at a bar. He was sitting on a barstool, chatting up the bartender as she did her work. You could tell that they had known each other for a while, and you were to timid to interrupt their conversation. Even when his eyes were on her with upmost attention, you couldn’t help but shake the feeling of being watched. Eventually, he turned to you with a smile.

“Sorry, I can’t help myself sometimes,” he apologized, fingers tapping against the bar top. As compensation for making you wait, he offered to buy you the drink. You accepted, as long as he wouldn’t tamper with it. He swore on a dead lover’s life and laughed. You couldn’t help but stare at the geometric tattoos on his skin, which seemed to burn, wanting to be heard. Something about him mesmerized you, glued you to the spot on the floor between the hustle of the other patrons and the quiet of him. Eventually, you came to sit right next to him. You didn’t notice the disappointed glimmer in the bartender’s eyes.

This is when he asked you all about yourself. You only got a name from him. You know now that anything he said before was probably a lie. When he said he was an artist, you expected an oil painter and not the multimedia art of flesh, blood, and fabric.

You said you were feeling sleepy. He offered to walk you out and to the bus stop. For a moment, you were relieved that he wasn’t some creep offering to drive you himself. He rewarded that relief with fresh air in a new hole in your stomach. In your shoulder. In your chest. In your leg.

Here, your body is pulled apart like the Vitruvian Man, chest prepared for a vivisection that allows for the skin to peel like flower petals. You are an artist’s work in progress. Who you were is forever stored in a book that only he has access to. Your family and friends will never know what happened, where you went, what has become of your body as it is prepared to be displayed alongside other fashioned corpses. You are his secret. Instead of being the favorite poet, you are the favorite muse, only becoming more beautiful with each second you are supposed to be rotting.

The rot will never come. You will lay on stone, head on a pillow, listening to the wordless rambles of another corpse who you will never know.

#char: aeron #writing: aeron #wrote this for a class lmao

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shywhumpauthor · 1 year

Note

Love your writing, I'm just very bad at prompts ✨ here I go: Going catatonic? Mouth sewn shut? Carewhump with Mathias (therapy for Kaden's hands maybe)?

Oh yessss carewhump!!

Masterlist

[after the failed escape attempt, before isolation]

Cw: creepy whumper, noncon intimacy (not sexual, but mathias is ick), mentioned past torture, abuse, noncon touching (once again, not sexual)

Mathias sighed, his lips pulling back into a frown as he watched the pencil tumble to the floor with a small clatter.

Kaden cringed in response, their hand curling into a shaking fist as they quickly retracted their hands. Back to their lap, where they were safe. Safe from the stupid pencil and from Mathias’s own hands resting against theirs, prompting each agonizing letter. The floorboards creaked as the man swooped down, snatching up the pencil between two fingers and setting it back on the desk.

“Come on now, love, you know what you have to do. Just a little bit more.” Mathias’s voice slipped through their mind as he leaned over their shoulder once more, his chest pressing against their back. His mouth rested next to their ear, breath warming the side of their face as his hand rested against their arm, sliding down to their hand. The thick bandages had been replaced with thin layers of gauze, but the wounds still ached deeply with each movement. Rough scabs had healed to ragged pink scars, for the most part healed, but still painful. Kaden tensed under the touch, feeling their hands grow clammy as Mathias’s thumb brushed over the bandaging.

His hands were warm, but they might as well have been burning red as he pressed his fingers lightly into the wounds.

“That’s the third time you’ve dropped it,” He murmured, his other hand moving to their shoulder, before sliding down to rest just against their elbow. “You can do better than that, love. Perhaps I haven’t given you the right… motivation.” His nails began to dig into their skin and Kaden stiffened, a small sound dying against their tongue as they clenched their jaw.

“I’ll give you one more chance, darling, alright?” Mathias hummed, his grip loosening just as quickly as it had tightened, touch becoming ever so gentle as he picked up their right hand, guiding it to pick up the pencil. “Five more lines, then we can take a small break.”

Five more.

Kaden looked down at the paper in front of them, half covered in a messy scrawl. They had tried to stay along the lines, but with the motor function of a three year old, they could barely hold the pencil, much less write. Mathias didn’t seem to be caring much for quality, though, which they were grateful for. They had already written the same sentence fifteen times over on this sheet, thirty times the one before. To help them get better, Mathias said when he challenged them to the task. To help them heal, so they weren’t useless. The task had felt mundane at first, but now it was excruciating. Every letter sent sharp pains through their palm, little bolts of electricity down their fingers and up their arm, causing the muscles to contract and spasm.

With a deep breath, working up the will, Kaden shifted their hand away from his, and readjusted their grip on the pencil. Mathias smirked, but stayed quiet, resting his hand against the desk itself, still practically leaning over them.

Kaden wanted to snap at him to back up, that he was their main hindrance right now, only making this more difficult for them, but they were sure he already knew that. That’s why he was doing it, right?

With his breath creeping down the side of their neck, Kaden slowly began to write.

I will not run.

The page before had been “I will behave.”

The one yesterday was “I will not act out.”

Seemed kind of redundant, they thought. Didn’t “not acting out” fall under “behaving”? Kaden wasn’t stupid enough to voice the obvious flaw in the man’s orders, though. They would very much like to keep the remaining function in their hands.

This particular punishment seemed never ending. The branding, the torture, all of that after the first few days seemed acceptable. Well- not acceptable but—expected? Physical pain for misbehaving, or whatever Mathias wanted to call it. Defiance, stupidity, he had many names for their actions prior. This seemed stupid, though. Writing over and over rules, commandments he made them swear to never break. The same thing over and over, until they could no longer move their fingers.

I will not run.

Their hand was shaking worse with each letter. There was once a time where they wished they were ambidextrous, so they would be able to take most of the stress off the single hand, but their left hand seemed so much worse. They were barely able to twitch the fingers, though they didn’t like to think much about it, they prayed the damage was temporary.

I will not run.

God, how many more? Their eyes stung with exhaustion and pained tears, the words drifting free of the college bound rule. The stopped caring about neatness. If Mathias didn’t care, they didn’t. The letters grew to overlap old lines, falling into a deep slant, but Kaden wasn’t really looking at the paper. They blinked hard, not willing to let this man see them cry. Not over something as stupid and simple as writing lines.

I will not run.

Their letters now were barely comprehensible, indistinguishable from the next. They weren’t sure they were even writing the right ones any more, they just wanted to get it over with. One more. One more line, and a break. Mathias had said so, and Kaden liked to think he wouldn’t break his word. He was a liar, but for now they would pretend as if he could only tell the truth. They knew that if they even thought there could be more, they wouldn’t be able to finish. They would drop the pencil and accept whatever consequences, because at least then they’d have a new pain to distract themself from their burning hand.

Four more words.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One-

Kaden let out a shallow breath, squeezing their eyes shut for a moment as they tried to bring the tears back to bay. They were okay, it was over for now. It was over for now and they were okay. They did what he asked, what he demanded, and they were okay. He hadn’t stopped them. They set the pencil down, exhaling a shaky breath as they slowly flexed their fingers.

“Good job, sweetheart,” the man whispered in their ear, sending a disgusted chill creeping down Kaden’s spine. They could feel his lips, just barely brushing against their skin, so close and so.. wrong. Their hands burned, and they wanted nothing more than to shove him away, to push to their feet and yell for him to fuck off, but they were smarter than that. Instead, they stayed dead still, barely daring to breathe as he trailed his hand down from their elbow to their palm.

His hands were against theirs, holding them, working away at the inflamed nerves with gentle, smooth circles. Kaden winced, and his touch became lighter, so soft and caring and wrong. His touch was sickening, his voice dripping with a sweet, condescending tone as he pressed even closer to them. Kaden felt trapped, trapped within the cage his arms and chest formed around them, within their own body. They squirmed, a low whine building in the back of their throat that they suppressed before any noise could release. He just shushed them, shaking his head in a quiet warning.

“Calm down, darling,” Mathias murmured, the strong scent of his cologne flooding Kaden’s senses as he carefully worked away at the pained muscles, from their aching wrist to the center of their palm, to each finger, easing away the tension until the pain faded from a sharp ache to dull throbbing.

Kaden hated how they began to settle into the touch after a few moments. The breath that had been building in their chest released, and their posture relaxed, which made Mathias smirk softly.

“You see, love, things can be so nice when you just do what your told..”

——————————

I’m craving violence and defiance today hm

Tag list: @whumpasaurus101 @t0rture-me @suspicious-whumping-egg @whumpycries @pigeonwhumps @d-cs @whump-me-all-night-long @morning-star-whump @aethernorwood

#whump #whumpblr #whump community #its me coal #whump writing #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #creepy whumper #captured whumpee #kaden and mathias #coal hates kaden #kaden asks

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typically-untypical · 2 years

Text

Echoes of the Past - Day 21

Prompt: “Which is the true nightmare, the horrific dream that you have in your sleep or the dissatisfied reality that awaits you when you awake?”

CW: Torture, Dream Sequence, Neglect

The pain echoed through his body stretched out on an operating table, spread wide like some experiment. His wrists had long grown raw and Logan wasn’t sure when he had stopped fighting, it must have been hours, maybe even days. All he knew was no matter how hard he had screamed, no one came. However, it was only once he stopped fighting that the true pain started, a golden thread weaving it's way across his lips no matter how he moved. He let it happen, tears streaming down his face as his lips were sewn shut and his words were taken from him. No one would hear him again.

“This really is for the best,” he heard Janus’ voice echo throughout the room, but he didn't hear the deceitful side. Logan was alone in this sterile room. “Now that you aren’t such a nuisance they will listen to you more.” He could hear Janus walking around a linoleum area, each echo of his boot making more tears fall from Logan's face. “Honestly, I did this to help you. You want your family to love you, right?” Janus suddenly appeared by his side, leaning over him as he spoke. “They will after this, now that you are quiet, they will care, and you know that's the truth.”

The metal cuffs around Logan’s wrists snapped open and as he quickly reached up to touch his mouth, he realized he didn’t have a mouth at all. Fear ran through him stronger than any pain, terror that he would never speak again, never read out loud, or wrap, or sing with the others, no matter how begrudgingly he had done so before. Logan lamented his loss as fear tore through him stronger than any pain.

He shot awake in his bed, real tears still streaming down his face.

Logan was quick to feel for his mouth again, and when he realized it was completely intact and there weren’t any stitches, he began to relax. He wasn’t prone to nightmares, but the past few weeks of being ignored had been difficult on him. This wasn’t the first time he had woken in a cold sweat, terrified that his words had been taken from him. Each time was different, graphic, and it terrified him. Sometimes it was Janus, sometimes it was Patton, and occasionally it was even himself, taking away his ability to share knowledge and discuss the world he loved so much. Maybe it was time to tell someone, time to ask for help. He hesitated, not sure if any of the other would want to help, their relationships had all been a bit strained since the wedding, but he couldn’t keep going like this.

Even if no one would listen, he had to try.

Getting up, Logan got dressed, hesitating to put on his tie as he remembered another rather vivid dream where his voice was stolen, but after a few deep breaths he was able to secure the knot around his throat and leave his room. Patton would be downstairs cooking and if anyone was willing to listen it would be the fatherly side. Patton had been stressed lately, but he was always the most caring. He was the one who wanted to make sure the others were taken care of. Logan walked into the kitchen, knocking on the wall to get Patton’s attention.

“Oh hey kiddo, what’s up?” Patton was bustling around the kitchen, trying to get the day’s meal together but Logan still hoped his question was genuine.

“I had a nightmare I would like to discuss.”

“Oh well that’s good, I’m glad you slept well.”

Patton obviously wasn’t paying attention as he attempted to scramble eggs and cook French toast at the same time. Logan felt his throat dry out. It was hard enough asking for help but repeating himself was so much harder, the weight weighed on him. He wasn’t sure if he should tell Patton again or just let it go. Maybe right now wasn't an opportune time. Maybe he should just wait until later.

“Hey, would you mind putting the milk back in the fridge for me?” Patton asked, and in that moment Logan's words dry up. He would wait, maybe he would ask for help later.

“Of course,” He answered, putting away the milk and helping Patton where he could. If Logan’s tie felt a little bit tighter, if his hands shook a little bit more, it didn’t matter, at least he was helping his family. He would be fine, really, what were a few nightmares?

By the time they had finished, the other two had shown up, and Logan didn’t intend on having this conversation in front of multiple people. He had seen in the past how seriously they took his issues. Still the dream nagged at him and he felt his tie tighten around his neck even more.

“Thank you for your helped Logan,”

“Of course,” Logan whispered as his nightmare rang through his head, now that you are quiet, they will care. That wasn’t the truth, he knew that, but then why did it feel like his nightmare was right?

Logan sat down at he chair, barely touching the food that had been made. He hid his hands under the table, trying to hide the way they shook. This was illogical, he had no idea what their responses or reactions were going to be until he spoke up and said something, yet he couldn't find a way to say anything. He found with the echoing voices in his head, repeat after repeat of the nightmares he had been having. Logan felt like he was going to cry, like he was going to burst if he didn't say anything.

He opened up his mouth, looking at the others, but they were already gone. He hadn't even noticed them leaving and now the feeling of being alone sat heavy in his stomach.

Had they even noticed the stress he was under while they enjoyed the breakfast in front of him?

Logan stood up, curling his arm around him as he put his coffee mug in the sink to clean out later. Maybe he would come down later? Each step felt heavy, and since Logan hadn't been sleeping well, he thought he might sleep off the feeling of hopelessness he had.

At least in his dreams, there was a hope that they would care for him. In this cold reality he found himself in. Logan wasn't sure that was ever going to be truth.

@simplestoryteller @fantasticfangirl21 @joylessnightsky @melaniidarling @tsshipmonth2020

#Untypical Creations #Sanders Sides #Sanders Side fic #Fanfic #eotp2022 #Logan Sanders #Patton Sanders #torture mention #dream sequence #neglect #logan angst

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