#Notoriously Morbid

[4th-make-quail]

also feat. lippie closeup cos it's a fucking awesome multichrome motherfucker hehe

[grungepoetica]

been googling makeup brands again to see if i can find a new green lipstick (the one i use for drag is nearly empty & will need replacing once i have the funds) and WHY DOES EVERY MAKEUP BRAND IN EXISTENCE HAVE SOME KIND OF CONTROVERSY. WHAT ARE Y'ALL DOING OVER THERE

[luvyeni]

( SPOOKTOBER ) little bunny ! 🦇 一 서영호 ՞

𝓟 airings. bearhybrid!johnny x bunny!reader wc. 0.7k

🕸️◞ WARNINGS. johnny is a mafia man cause why not, minor character death, oral ( johnny. receiving ), unprotected sex, size kink, breeding kink

��� ♱ authors note 」 brought back another group i used to write for day 5 !! enjoy !

he sighed hearing the commotion coming from the outside of his office door. “again?” the bear hybrid sighed. “there she goes again.” yuta the cheetah hybrid sat in his office. “how many johns are you gonna gun down in the club over the little bunny?” johnny stood up. “how many johns are gonna have to be gunned down until they realize the bunny isn't available?”

you were the first bunny ever to work at the infamous club run by notorious mafia and bear hybrid johnny suh; you were also the first bunny johnny ever had in his bed. johnny took a quick liking to you , both professionally and unprofessionally — giving you your weekly wage , plus a bit more for being such a good girl the night before.

to say that it came with problems was an understatement. once the news spread that infamous mafia hybrid johnny suh hired a cute new bunny hybrid to work at his club , his club became a new attraction for horrible hybrids who didn't have the same respect for prey hybrids like he did — they'd come in and let's just say a few of them didn't end up leaving.

“the bunny hybrid is a server not a dancer.” he said. “come on johnny, if you didn't hire the bitch bunny so we could have some fun , why is she here?” he really fucked up now. “ah you johns never learned to you?” johnny laughed to himself. “i said let her go.” the tiger hybrid growled, trying to intimidate the man. “don't tell me this bitch bunny has you going soft now?”

it all happened so fast; but you were used to it , johnny losing his temper and pulling out the glock he kept on his hip at all times , pulling the trigger before the guy could pull his. you shrieked , blood covering your body. “johnny.” you turned to him. “you messed up another one of my dresses.” he sighed. “seriously , my office now.”

“i told you , you stay behind the bar.” he said once he reached the office , the club cleared out already. “i was behind the bar.” you said , he scoffed. “yeah and how'd you end up pressed against the front of the bar?” he closed the door , locking it. “i'm losing customers.” you scoffed. “i don't ask you to shoot them.”

“yeah little bunny you're right , i can't help that.” he said , his hands resting on your shoulder. “this is why i told you to quit this job and let me take care of you , you can be my little stay at home bunny.” he said with a cheeky, you scoffed. “i like working here.” you said. “no you like stressing me out.”

he sat you down on the desk; standing in between your legs. “you have blood on your face.” he said wiping your cheek. “that's your fault.” he chuckled. “yeah it is.” he said , unzipping your pants. “let me apologize to you.” spreading your legs even more.

and that's how it always ends; you spread out , nose twitching as the bear pounded into you — it was a bit morbid , johnny killing people in your honor turning you on , but you couldn't help it , something about him being protective over you made you want to jump his bones. “fuck johnny!”

it amazed johnny how you always took his cock; the way your tiny cunt squeezed him , almost pushing him out sometimes , he knew you were too tiny , but you took him like a champ everytime. “tiny bunny.” he grunted. “always so pliant and ready to take my cock , even though it almost breaks you every single time.” his hands bruising your hips. “you're so wet , me killing people turns you on , doesn't it little bunny.”

you nodded , nose twitching. “y-yes johnny.” he groaned as you clenched around him. “sh-shit , you gonna cum bun.” he grunted. “cum for me little bunny.” his hand coming up to your bunny ears , scratching the sensitive spot. “oh fuck johnny , i’m cumming!” you screamed. “fuck.” he growled. “fuck gonna breed this little pussy , give you a cub.” you moaned , “please cum inside me.”

his cock twitched inside you , releasing himself inside your waiting womb. “fuck.” he dragged out. “fuck , i'm still cumming.” he laughed breathlessly. “you always bring out the worst in me baby.” he kissed your lips. “yeah?” he nodded.

“yeah you do little bunny.”

©LUVYENI

[morbidology]

Per Yngve Ohlin, better known by his stage name Dead, was a Swedish black metal musician. He was the lead vocalist of the band, Mayhem, after joining in 1988 after sending the band a demo tape.

His stage persona and fascination with death were central to his image. He was known for his grim outlook on life, often speaking about death and depression. To enhance his morbid stage presence, Dead famously wore corpse paint, making him look as though he had risen from the grave. He would also bury his clothes before concerts to give himself the appearance and smell of decay. His live performances were notorious for their intensity, with Dead sometimes cutting himself on stage and displaying animal carcasses.

Behind his stage persona, Dead suffered from severe depression and struggled with suicidal thoughts throughout his life. He was 22-years-old when he took his own life on 8 April, 1991. He shot himself in the head at a house shared with Mayhem guitarist Euronymous (Øystein Aarseth). His suicide note simply read: "Excuse all the blood."

The aftermath of his death was marked by controversy, as Euronymous discovered the body and took photos, one of which was later used as the cover of an unofficial Mayhem album. It is also believed that fragments of Dead's skull were collected by Euronymous and distributed to other musicians.

[mochiajclayne]

Law and Luffy's pirate alliance is so interesting in outsider's POV because both of them are notorious in their own way. The idea of Trafalgar Law whose reputation is known for his brutality and morbid enough to deliver 100 hearts to the Marine Headquarters and Monkey D. Luffy that gained recognition for literally invading three strongholds of the World Government (Enies Lobby, Impel Down, Marineford...and that's just his publicized feats, he also beat two warlords) working together is both terrifying and unimaginable. With Fujitora pulling the stunt to expose Doflamingo's atrocities in Dressrosa, it further fed the idea of how hysterical and intimidating the alliance is to the public eye. The reality, however, is much deeper and personal than that and it's just a fun idea to explore in fics.

[kimbap-r0ll]

Adult trio + feitsn with a reader that is a mortician 🥹💖 who is interested and who doesn't really care?? Love your stuff! Thank u sm!

Hi, thank you for the ask! I think what you mean for "interested and who doesn't really care" is for the reader not caring about the characters' backgrounds? If not, feel free to send me another ask. Hope you enjoy!

Adult trio + Feitan with a mortician!reader

Hisoka

He doesn't really mind it, it's just another occupation and if you're happy with what you're doing then go you

However, he might enjoy watching you do your job at all times, but he is curious about some aspects of your occupation. Things like applying special makeup on a deceased person is a bit intriguing to him

He might be tempted to distract you while you work if he happens to be in the same place. Or, if you don't want him to bother you, he might enjoy coming by and saying hello just to annoy you a bit haha

He'll be surprised however if you say you don't mind his hobbies. Sure, being a mortician already warranted you weird looks from people, but hearing that you didn't mind your boyfriend being a killer magician was another thing. Hisoka's happy of course, but pleasantly surprised

Illumi

He's probably never thought too much about dead bodies since he works with death so much as an assassin. When he finds out about your occupation he'll be like "cool"

Illumi might ask you some questions on your job. He asks if you have to stitch people up if they're skin is damaged, he might ask if you ever saw someone who was assassinated. He might want to watch you too, but you can always tell him the workplace isn't really meant for visitors

Similar to Hisoka, he'll be surprised if you say you had no problems with his job as an assassin. Sure, you two worked with death a lot, but killing someone is different from your work. He's a bit puzzled, but happy nonetheless

Overall he's also fine with your work. However if you two become more committed to your relationship, expect him to want you to become an assassin or at least join the Zoldyck household on Kukuro Mountain soon

Chrollo

Probably the most intrigued by your work out of the four characters. He's naturally curious, and because of this you will be bombarded with questions about everything mortician related

Chrollo will want to watch you do your work but due to the nature of your occupation you might not let him do that (who knows, the hxh world might be different). He does find the aspect of making someone who is deceased look more "alive" very interesting

He might also commend you for your work. Though he may seem heartless, he does admire your efforts in making saying final goodbyes a little warmer, something that Meteor City doesn't have all the time

He's also surprised when you say you don't mind his job as leader of the most notorious criminal group. He might be wary at first that you might be lying, but after a while he'll trust you. Who knows, he might invite you to Meteor City one day as well

Feitan

He tortures but doesn't care about dead bodies. Seeing you with a job that cares for the deceased is really intriguing to him.

He'll also ask a lot of questions, but they're a bit more morbid than Chrollo's. It's about how people died, what kinds of handwork you had to do to people, etc. He too wants to watch you but you might need to stop him (but the hxh world might have different mortician standards so who knows haha)

He doesn't trust you when you say you don't care too much about his occupation in the troupe. He asks why, and you might say that you warmed up to him and you trust him, which might've made him cry had he not done so well at hiding his emotions. He might not feel like he deserves love, but he's really happy nonetheless

Overall he's similar to Chrollo in being curious, but it's more of a morbid curiosity. He might introduce you to Phinks and Shalnark in the future, who will tease him for being lowkey shy around you haha

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello! Can I request a Morticia reader with Apollo and Leonidas? I don’t remember if you wrote any with these two. Thanks in advance!

-Beautiful, dark, deadly, passionate, loving, unique, all were words used to describe you and all of them were true.

-You were like the moon against the dark night sky, surrounded by pitch black darkness, bright but eerie and quiet.

-You found enjoyment in the dark and macabre, but to you, they were normal, beautiful things, skulls, poisonous flowers, dangerous plants, death, how lovely.

-Many thought you were odd by the way you dressed and carried yourself, always wearing elegant black gowns paired with matching jewelry with spider or coffin motifs. However, sometimes you would wear different colors when it was warmer out, just a slightly lighter shade of black with an umbrella, you didn’t need any unwanted color in your complexion.

-Your tone was always even and deadpan, never showing emotions the way others do, so nobody could ever tell if you were joking or not about feeding someone to your kitty-cat, an actual lion that you kept around who was like a housecat with you and those he knew, but vicious and violent with strangers.

-Many made comments that you would be attractive if you were ‘normal’ but where’s the fun in that? It’s much more fun to keep others guessing- keeping them on your toes.

-Speaking of keeping others on their toes, if anyone was to visit your private greenhouse, they would need to watch where they step or risk losing a few.

-Your garden was notorious for being filled with poisonous and carnivorous plants, and not just little things like little Venus Fly Traps, no you had a giant 4 ½ foot one that would eat people if they got close enough if you hadn’t fed them yet!!

-However, due to their healthy fear of your garden, you didn’t have many visitors, which you liked, less of a risk of your babies getting trampled or damaged.

-Your lover liked you the way you were, you were unapologetically unique, and he loved it, you were so different from other women and that’s what drew him to you.

-At first he did think you were a little odd, intimidating was a word he liked to use, as you weren’t afraid to speak your mind and there was always an air around you, a silent warning, but as time went on, he fell hard for you.

-Apollo- He adored your vibe- as you his opposite, he preferred sunshine and bright colors, while you enjoyed the moon and various shades of black, he was more open while you were reserved, he was honest about his feelings and you… you give the vibe that you’ve probably killed a few people. Apollo adores you, not wanting to change a thing about you, and you admire that he stays true to himself as well- not going to change for you. You accepted him for him, and he accepted you for you- and to him that was the most beautiful type of love. He loved your garden, but does know, now, to keep his distance from certain plants, not wanting to get bitten again. You enjoyed Apollo’s poetry to you, finding it relaxing, as well as his music, while you were so knowledgeable about plants (he doesn’t care that it’s dangerous plants) and he could listen to you for hours. Your relationship with Apollo was one of ‘opposites attract’.

-Leonidas- Seeing the fear in the eyes of those who claim to be powerful warriors was something that always made your day, as the Spartan warriors who had been training near your home had stumbled onto your property, where you dearest kitty cat went to say hello, but they just ran. When you comforted your precious kitty, petting him gently, they were all stunned, seeing you with no fear whatsoever- they had to wonder if you were a witch. Leonidas met you when he had to ‘rescue’ his men from a witch, only finding a darkly beautiful woman instead. Leonidas was taken by your vibe, you were so unique, you found joy in the dark and gloomy, finding happiness in death and morbid things that other would find terrifying. When you commented you loved being looked at with fear, mentioning his men, he couldn’t help but laugh, finding you hysterical. He knew he had fallen for you when you threatened him a gentle but intimidating smile on your lips, when he asked if you would sic your lion on him, “Oh no~ I prefer things to be more personal- I would poison you and watch the light slowly dim in your eyes- dragging out your inevitable death.” Leonidas had never felt such thrill before~

[gothic-aesthetic-gal]

Old Scars (Part 5)

Ledger!joker x reader

Fem!reader is kidnapped by the joker and his henchmen while just trying to get a moment's reprieve from her boring, soul-destroying job ✨️

Tw: I mean, we all saw TDK, right? I'd say this is on the same level/rating. Kidnapping, violence, mentions of minor characters (not J) being misogynist/threatening SA, reference to past traumatic injury. Beyond this i'm not sure, i'll update these when I write more.

🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏🃏

Part 5 -

After brushing his teeth, he roughly tossed a towel in my direction. The fact he even owned a toothbrush surprised me given that his teeth honestly looked yellow, but then again, the amount of chain smoking he was doing probably had something to do with that. Plus, red lipstick was notorious for making stained teeth look worse - I guess red paint was no different.

He seemed to find it amusing that I dragged a chair from the kitchen into the bathroom to jam under the door handle. I didn't care what he thought of it; I wasn't crazy enough to trust him. Not one bit. What if he took it upon himself to faithfully recreate the iconic shower scene from psycho? I didn't want my blood spiralling down the plughole as I breathed my last.

Once I was barricaded in the bathroom and under the hot water, my tense muscles began to relax a little. My black eye still stung, tinged purple and the edges turning sickly yellow as my body began trying to heal it. Thankfully my scraped up feet were faring much better, one of the few positives of being stuck here was that I hadn't been on them much as they were healing. I let the water wash over my body, seeping into my scalp and over my face. It felt as though it might wash off some of the strangeness of the last couple of days. I closed my eyes and imagined this was all just some sort of break from reality, one that I could snap out of and be back in my own apartment. Maybe I was just in the shower before going to work - but then again, part of me was still relieved that wasn't the case. Nothing could make me miss that job.

I grabbed the cheap 3-in-1 bodywash, shampoo, and conditioner, laughing a little to myself at the ridiculousness of men's shower products being like this. I missed my own separate counterparts, but at this stage anything would do. Despite the havoc it would probably wreak on my hair, it did at least smell nice. I did my best to comb it through with my hands and rinse it all out.

Finally satisfied with my efforts, I turned off the water and stepped out into the cold. Hurriedly drying myself down and getting dressed again, feeling very vulnerable in my nakedness, I threw my head forward and gathered my hair up into the towel. I twisted it and tucked it in. Then I pulled my socks and boots back on, my feet already feeling the cold. At least there had been hot water. Removing the chair and stepping out of the cloud of steam, I made my way back into the main living space.

I was met by the sight of J hunched over a mirror at the table. His back was to me as I approached and I coughed to announce my presence. He turned in his seat, revealing his half painted face for a moment. His surprisingly tanned skin was peppered with patches of white paint.

Part of me felt disappointed to see his real face vanishing. Although, maybe to him, this was his real face now... I approached the table slowly, chair still tucked under my arm. I set it down and sat on it facing the wrong way - so that the back of it was against my torso, and my arms folded against the top. Propping up my head with one hand I watched him as he continued to rub the white paint onto his face.

"You need something?" He grumbled.

"No, I'm just observing. I figure no one else sees this..." I gestured.

He gave me a look, which I found difficult to read (maybe that was part of why he put the makeup on in the first place.)

I couldn't deny the part of me that felt drawn in by the spectacle. I knew it was fucked up, but it was like morbid fascination again. I watched his every move as he put down the white and picked up the black. How fitting that the smile would be the last part... He was using his fingers and a grubby little paintbrush to apply it all, leaving white and grey smudges on his hands. In a sort of trance-like desire for understanding I reached out a hand for the cracked white paint. The logo of any brand had long since rubbed off, leaving a broken disc of chalky paint with a cracked lid. I absent-mindedly traced the cracks with my finger tips, not realising I was now the one being watched.

I became aware of it when he reached out and his fingertips brushed against my temple - the place where the metal plate was holding my skull together. Involuntarily, I recoiled at him touching such a vulnerable spot.

"Sorry," he muttered.

This shocked me more than anything else had yet and I blinked in confusion. Had he just... apologised to me?

"It's just a reflex," I responded flatly.

He said nothing as he continued to black out his eyes. I carried on tracing the broken mosaic of the white paint.

"You know..." I began, "in Japan there's a long history of repairing broken pottery with precious metals..."

I put the white paint down and carried on my little monologue.

"I'm pretty sure that they used medical grade titanium on me, and given what that's done to my health insurance prices, it may as well be a precious metal," I chuckled a little under my breath.

"Mhm, and why'd they do that?"

"I think, because they find new beauty in it. The pot is changed forever, and instead of tossing it out, they embrace it. The metal really highlights the cracks. I like the idea."

He turned to face me.

"I meant why did they put a metal plate in your head, and why does that mean you pay more to live? Don't you see, that's crazy..." He said slowly.

"Oh." I blushed feeling kind of stupid.

He grinned.

"But, I like the other thing," he said, leaning forward with the black paint brush.

He began to apply paint to my face, tracing my scars. Despite his animated body language, he had a surprisingly steady hand - something which was probably useful when you dealt with explosives, I thought. It was strange to see his face, so close to my own, and missing the signiature splash of red. His dark eyes looking down the bridge of his nose at his handiwork, his tonge sticking out a little in the left corner of his mouth... If I didn't know who he was, I would have found it endearing.

He leaned back in his chair with a pensive hum in that rumbling voice which had become so familiar to me now. I couldn't see what the result of his artistic exploit was, and was a little afraid to find out. He manually turned my head to the side as he returned with the paint brush.

"You know you could just ask rather than cranking my head around like that. I'd like to keep it attached," I muttered, a little pissed off.

He found this very humourous, bouncing around in his seat with laughter.

"Stop it, I'm serious!" I snapped, irritation rising.

He stopped laughing fairly abruptly - becoming very still in a way that raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"You should never be serious, doll, it's so boring."

Before I could come up with a response, he put down the brush and turned the mirror towards me. My eyes fell on my reflection and the web of black cracks he had highlighted for me. My reaction was visceral, a mixture of self-loathing and yet, somewhere in there, an appreciation for the artistic look it gave. It really did make it look like a fork of lightning.

The idea of drawing attention to something I so often tried to hide, or at least shrink, to blazenly emphasise something I attempted to distract from, often for other peoples' comfort more than my own... I felt a surge of emotion and my eyes stung with tears. He watched my body language intently.

"You don't like it?" He asked.

"I, I don't know how I feel about it..." I shook my head.

"I think, it makes you even more beautiful... And you are beautiful," he urged with an intensity that scared and thrilled me in equal measure.

No one had ever really told me that, not even before the accident. I always thought I was unremarkable, in every way. I felt overlooked for my intellect and any asethetic value I did have. It felt just as gut-wrenching as when the kind shop girl had said she thought I was pretty.

My world was so quiet these days, and so devoid of any kind of praise. Hot tears begin to brim in my eyes. It was hard sometimes not to feel so angry at the way people treated me. Sometimes I felt like i'd died that day, the me I knew certainly had. As much as I'd struggled to like whoever that girl was, I wasn't sure who I was anymore. I felt like a ghost. No one even knew I was here, and that was painful... but also oddly liberating.

I laughed a little hysterically, as I picked up the red paint pot. The negative words of my co-workers, people on the bus, random men in the street, all flickered through my mind. Ordinary people could be so cruel it astonished me sometimes. And here I was. Sat opposite a man who was supposed to represent the worst of the worst. And he was telling me I was beautiful. It's a funny world we live in...

He watched me with a kind of intense fascination as I wrestled my inner thoughts. It struck me that perhaps I was hard for him to read.

Suddenly, something clicked. I let go of my panic and confusion, resigning myself to acting on impulse instead. I didn't weigh up the risks for once: constant calculation was exhausting. Sometimes I wanted to just do things - I decided I could deal with the potential fallout later.

I grasped my hand under his jaw and forcibly turned him to face me. His eyes flashed with a kind of fire, though whether it was rage at me returning the favour of manhandling him like that, or something else, I couldn't tell. I wasn't sure I needed to know which.

I dipped a finger into the red paint and began to put the missing smile back on his face. Turning him this way and that, I felt giddy with the feeling of power it gave me, however fragile that power might be. Somehow, knowing just how dangerous he was only heightened the feeling...

As I covered the last of his scars with the red, I moved my finger to his lips. His eyes fluttered shut as I carefully applied that part more like I would my own lipstick, keeping it neater and mostly within the lines. I felt him let out a little rumble of approval, the vibration of his voice through his lips against my index finger.

I withdrew and looked him over, smudging out both his smile and the dark circles with my other hand.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Blending is your friend," I joked in a sing-songy voice.

A strange kind of smirk crept into his features.

"You surprise me," he purred.

"I know," I said back, with a smirk of my own. It was true, I had worked out that much.

When I was satisfied at the job well done, I wiped my hands on some paper towel, removing the worst of the paint residue. He was still watching me intently, like he might burn a hole right through me.

"You got a staring problem?" I chided, crossing over to the kitchen area.

I opened the cupboard which I had found the vodka bottle in and perused the various other old dusty bottles. I pulled a couple out and set them on the counter trying to read what they were.

"What are you doing?"

"Well I figure, since i'm stuck here... and shit is getting increasingly weird, I'm gonna need a drink," I shot back.

Some of the bottles weren't even labelled.

"What is this... moonshine? Drain cleaner?" I chuckled.

"Well, you could always do a taste test: everything is drinkable... some things only once," He erupted into laughter.

As much as I hated to admit it, he'd made me laugh too. I opened one of the bottles without a label. The smell was so strong I wondered if it was pure ethanol.

"Whoah, I feel like this one could burn my eyeballs out just with the fumes," I exclaimed.

I picked up another bottle, this time one with a label in Russian. He grabbed the bottle from my hand and held it up in the light.

"Overproof, not legal but, uh," he gestured melodramatically to the various other less-than-legal apparatus strewn about the place.

"It's not even open, I wonder why," I said sarcastically.

With a flourish, he pulled out a butterfly knife, cut the metal foil from the neck of the bottle, and popped the stopper.

"Are you actually going to drink that?" I asked in horror.

He sniffed it and screwed up his face immediately.

"No."

I took the bottle from him and felt my eyes water at the vapour. Overcome with impulsive curiosity I put it to my lips and took a swig. J's eyes widened in amusement and anticipation.

For a split second I thought it would be fine, and then it started to really burn. I coughed and choked for a moment before managing to regain a little of my composure. My face was red hot. It definitely was vodka, the strongest I'd ever tasted.

"I think you might have a few screws loose, doll," he grinned.

"Maybe," I spluttered out, between more coughing.

"Careful, they might ship you off to Arkham," he teased.

"Well, I think you could use that as drain cleaner, even if it's not meant to be," I said finally as I drank cold water straight from the kitchen faucet in a desperate attempt to stop the burning.

He laughed again at my antics.

When I had recovered I stood up and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. My stomach growled, reminding me again how hungry for some proper food I was. I decided to test the boundaries of the little bond we seemed to have made.

"I'd like some real food, and a toothbrush," I blurted out.

"Oh you would? Is that a demand or a request?" He asked placing a hand in his pocket.

For a moment I thought i'd fucked up and he might be reaching for the knife, but much to my relief he pulled out a mobile phone.

"A request. Please, I need a square meal and something other than vodka for mouthwash," I urged.

He looked me up and down for a moment, that calculating look on his face again. I was being scrutinised and shifted a little on the spot. His gaze was so intense at times it was almost like I could physically feel it.

Finally he punched in some numbers and let the phone ring. When the line clicked and someone answered he turned away and paced by the window. I couldn't make out the conversation other than the odd snippet on our end. I took a seat at the table.

"No,"

"Don't ask why, just do as I tell ya,"

"Just get some different options..."

"Oh and I want a toothbrush."

"Are you hard of hearing?" He growled the final line as the guy on the other end seemed to be asking too many questions. After hanging up he sat down opposite me, elbows resting on the table and his hands forming a steeple.

I was looking again at my face in the mirror with the same mixture of conflicting emotions as before. I was starting to feel a little sad and it showed in the eyes of the girl staring back out at me.

Suddenly, a deafening crack rang out and the mirror exploded into a pile of fragments. An involuntary shriek escaped my mouth. He had six shooter a pistol in one hand. I was frozen in shock and fear for a moment, trying to get to grips with what had just happened.

"You... shot the mirror?!"

"We have a winner" he said mockingly.

"But, why?"

He rolled his eyes as though it should be obvious to me.

"It made you frown, problem solved".

"What the fuck? You could have hit me! I thought you said you didn't want to kill me!"

My heart rate was still pounding away in my ears and chest.

"I'm a very good shot," He said, waving the gun around all too casually.

I was dumbfounded, with nothing else to say as my brain scrambled to keep up.

"You don't trust me?" He urged, leaning across the table.

The habit he had of his tongue flicking out to the corner of his lip made me think of a serpent. Even when he seemed docile, there was always the threat of a strike. I still couldn't find the words.

"Doll, I didn't shoot you. Have I harmed a single hair on your pretty little head?"

"Well no, not since I got to the apartment, but -"

"See?" He cut me off, leaning back in his chair with his hands behind his head as if to say 'I rest my case'.

"Well... won't someone have heard that? What if they call the cops?"

"On this side of town? No. Besides, pretty much this entire neighbourhood is abandoned," he shrugged.

I frowned, still returning slowly from the startle response.

"Look," he slid the gun across the table to me, "you can shoot that in here and nobody will know."

He was testing me again.

I shakily reached out a hand to touch the gun. I felt like it had to be some kind of desperate hallucination but no - I grasped it and slid my finger over the trigger. It was cold to the touch. There was no way he would have handed me a loaded gun, I had to see for myself and checked for bullets.

"You... you just handed me a gun with three bullets in it?" I scoffed in disbelief.

"Mm-hm. Question is, what are you going to do with it?

Could I shoot him? Maybe non-fatally? And make a run for it? My head was reeling. If I did it, I could finally get out of here.

He watched eagerly, soaking up the moment of crisis I was experiencing.

"This really makes you tick doesn't it?"

"I'm a dealer of simple choices," he grinned.

I felt compelled to talk it through to myself.

"I guess you think i'm either too afraid to shoot you - maybe that I don't have the guts to do it - or, that on the slight chance you've made a terrible miscalculation, I do shoot you, and prove you right about us being the same."

"You're right on the money, I can't deny it."

I snapped the chamber back into position and took aim at him, trying my best to recall what little practice I had with guns. I'd shot a rifle once or twice as a teenager, but only the kind used for sport. I lined things up the best I could, squinting while I did.

I watched his reaction carefully. If he was afraid, it didn't show in the slightest. My finger felt heavy against the trigger as it hovered there.

"So what's it gonna be?"

I figured if the shots were heard and anyone cared, maybe they would send the GCPD to investigate. Or, if no one heard or no one cared, then it didn't matter if I fired the gun. Could I actually shoot another human being though? Even one this twisted? I thought about his unpainted face and at the last second, I let my hand drift so that my mark was less than a metre to his left. With a squeeze of the trigger I fired a shot straight past him and into the wall. I didn't flinch. He did with a laugh.

For good measure, I offloaded the other two bullets into the wall as well: better not to hand him back a loaded weapon. Then I slid the empty gun back across the table. I hoped the point I was making was understood well enough. The point being:

'No. I can't - or I won't - shoot you. Not right now, but that could always change.'

We stayed locked in a stare-off as I waited to see what he would do next.

"Did you mean to miss?" He asked, sounding strangely excited.

"Of course..." I said, trying to sound nonchalant about it rather than pleased I hadn't accidentally fucked up and painted the wall with the contents of his skull.

"Well, consider me grateful you didn't accidentally shoot me then, you don't seem the type to have have had much practice with firearms."

I shrugged, hoping he wasn't secretly holding it against me that I had somewhat endangered his life. In my mind, it was more than fair at this point.

Suddenly the electronic factory setting ringtone of a phone cut through the air and he stood up to answer it, peering out of the window. By now it was rapidly getting dark again, and raining heavily outside. He cut the call and slid up the old sash, latching it in place. Before long, one of his men appeared on the fire escape and handed him through several plastic bags.

"You forget something?" J asked sounding unamused.

"Oh yeah!" He exclaimed, patting down his pockets and withdrawing a packet with a toothbrush inside. He handed it over sheepishly and quickly retreated down the ladder again.

J shut the window again and put the bags on the table, setting the toothbrush down in front of me pointedly.

"Thank you," I said inspecting the toothbrush inside it's little plastic prison.

I began to rip open the plastic bags and was met with the smell of chinese takeout. There was a pretty obscene amount of food in total, but I figured if i'd been the guy tasked with getting it, I'd have gone overboard too - and he was told to 'get some different options'. I decided to turn on the old tv set again, to see if there was anything good on it.

It flickered to life part way through an old movie, which I recognised after a while as Alfred Hitchcock's Vertigo. From what little of it I could recall, it was almost at the final sequence. I left it on as we sat and ate. Since he wasn't likely to care, I deliberately abandoned my own table manners.

One thing I could say about his company, was that it drew attention to all the unwritten little rules I followed without question. Maybe there was a less extreme way in which letting some of the rules of 'civilised society' go could be a good thing. So many of the smaller ones were objectively pointless.

The man and woman on the tv screen were locked in a struggle, climbing a bell tower. The man, having found out the woman he loved didn't exist, that the woman opposite him had been impersonating a dead woman all along, was losing it. As old and melodramatic as the film was, I was on the edge of my seat. The tension was almost unbearable.

Eventually she either slipped or jumped from the tower, to her death. I had forgotten about the food in front of me, locked in a stupor watching the action unfold.

"You like this movie?" J asked.

I nodded.

"It's not bad, I've seen it once before, but a long time ago. Do you think she jumped or fell?"

"Hmm, do we know he didn't push her?"

"Mentally sure, but he didn't physically push her, I think she panicked when that nun appeared."

"Why'd you think she panicked?" He asked between chewing.

"I think it was the guilt. She thought the woman she helped to murder was back for blood. I kinda wish that was the case, actually, I love a little bit of poetic justice."

"Isn't that a little... cliché?" He said, hitting me yet again with a raised eyebrow.

"What's so wrong with cliché?" I shot back.

"It's predictable. It's, ah, it's boring," he said, waving his fork around wildly.

"Sometimes, sure, but the way I see it, you need to have your expectations met most of the time - otherwise there would be no surprises when something doesn't play out as expected. The unpredictable would become... predictable," I mused aloud, going back to eating my noodles. He seemed to be chewing on my words for a bit.

"You are right about that. People like the predictable, it makes them feel safe, people are happy when things go according to plan," he said with that wicked sort of half smile.

"Even you and I," I added, "We all have expectations of people. It's hardwired into us I think. Human brains are all about pattern recognition and replication. It's a double edged sword for us all..."

At this he made a kind of excitable sound and pointed across the table to me.

"I like you, I like that I can't always predict what you're gonna do. So many people are just too consistent."

"But see, without the predictability would you feel that way? Can't have one without the other! But that might be the alcohol talking," I chuckled.

I caught myself smiling at him. What was I doing?

Link to other chapters below:

[chrysalis-the-butterfly]

Blaire Hopburn: My Favourite Character From My Least Favourite Piece of Media

So there's this webcomic called Lease Bound. It's set in Australia in 2017, and it follows Jaden and Riley, two lesbians forced to share an apartment after a mix-up with their leases (hence the title).

It was promoted as a lesbian love story, but it soon became pretty notorious for transphobia.

Jaden works as a bouncer for a female-only lesbian bar, and in Chapter 3, she refuses to let in three trans women, who don't take it well. The webcomic was heavily criticised for the way the trans women were drawn and how they behaved.

Years later, Lease Bound is still being updated regularly - in fact, Chapter 11 introduced a load of trans men and enby characters.

I've been following the updates for a while. The webcomic expresses a lot of views that I do not agree with - namely, that trans women are dangerous perverted men, and that trans men and enbies are either attention-seeking straight women or queer women too scared to question the "trans ideology cult".

And yet I keep coming back. It's partly out of morbid curiosity, to see what on Earth is going to happen next. But I think it's also because of one character I actually quite like.

Blaire Hopburn.

Blaire is Riley's bisexual girlfriend. She works at the same shop as Riley, in a slightly more senior position. She's also studying cosmetology at university and is part of its LGBTQIA+ club.

In a comic that's been so heavily criticised (and rightly so), what makes Blaire so appealing to me?

It's partly because of her personality. The Cast Page describes her as "a passionate, bubbly woman, who always strives to do what she believes is right… Even if not everyone else agrees." I generally like characters with those traits. I enjoy watching people who try to be good and make an effort to help others, but don't always do it in the best way.

And another reason I like Blaire is because I read her as autistic.

Blaire Hopburn: Accidentally Autistic?

Quite a few of Blaire's personality traits are things that I, as an autistic person, relate to a lot.

The author has described Blaire as, "So good at picking up when someone is upset, or not looking after themselves, so bad at reading the room regarding how to act." That could resonate with any autistic people who are high on empathy but low on social skills. You feel other people's pain, you want to help them, but you're not sure how. And what you try seems to make things worse.

This aspect of Blaire is present in Chapter 8, on Pages 2 and 3, when she and Jaden make conversation while erecting a bunk bed:

Blaire: So Jaden, is this your first move out of home? Jaden: I know it's a little later than most people... Blaire: Not judging! My 'rents insisted I stay home until I finish studying. Jaden: Oh nice. What are you studying? Blaire: Cosmetology! I tried early childcare and psychology too, but I couldn't handle that sort of selfless responsibility, haha! Jaden: Oh man, I feel that. My mum's in aged care, and takes care of my Nana now. I could not do what she does for a living, haha. Blaire: Do you think you took longer to move out because you felt guilty leaving your mum with your Nana? Jaden: How many years of psychology did you do...? Blaire: Sorry, that was a total guess! I didn't even last a full year!! Jaden: Could've fooled me, haha.

Thankfully, Jaden is nice enough to let that awkward moment pass, but she could have reacted to Blaire's psychoanalysis in a much worse way.

We also see Blaire being bad at socialising on Chapter 9 Page 17. Riley and Blaire have witnessed Jaden having an argument with her mum, and after her mum leaves, Blaire asks Jaden about it:

Blaire: Did you want to talk about what happened with your mum, Jaden? Riley: BLAIRE...! Jaden: Hey, it's okay. I have been a bit of a downer... Sorry. Riley: No, you don't have to apologise! Blaire: Yeah, it just sounded pretty upsetting. Jaden: You could say that, haha...

That feels very much like something a person would do when they sense something is wrong and zero in on one way of dealing with it. "Come on, let's talk about our feelings! A problem shared is a problem halved, right? Right?"

There's even a point in Chapter 8 where Blaire muses, "Sometimes it feels like Muddles [Riley's pet cat] is able to comfort Riley in ways that I just can't..." Can you imagine how galling it must feel, knowing that a pet, a creature that can't even speak English, is better at helping your girlfriend than you are?

Ouch.

In addition, Blaire's desire to learn about trans topics and be a good trans ally reads a lot like a special interest to me.

Especially the fact that she randomly brings up trans people in conversation, seemingly apropos nothing at all:

Blaire: Sorry I ditched you, babe. Auntie's keen for me to learn stock ordering. Riley: As long as you don't forget about me when you're a fully fledged store manager. Blaire: Never! So how'd the bunk end up treating you? Riley: Big upgrade from being on the floor. Blaire: And did Mudz approve? Riley: She was up there with me by morning. Blaire: Damn, that is good! Do you think Jaden could be trans?

That conversation with Riley had nothing to do with trans stuff, so Blaire's question is a bolt from the blue. I suspect the thought of Jaden being trans had been playing on Blaire's mind all day, and she was eager to grab the first chance to discuss it with someone.

She does something similar in a reply to an Anon question from when the author still had Tumblr:

Anon: Compared to others of her demographic, I gotta give Blaire props for dating a butch gal and treating her well. Blaire: Of course! Butches deserve nothing but love! And that goes DOUBLE for trans women!

Again, that Anon didn't mention trans people at all, but Blaire still brought them up. She was just itching to infodump about trans rights, I just know it.

But Blaire's connection to trans stuff leads to the issues I have with the way she's being written.

Blaire Hopburn: Pretty Problematic?

I really don't like how Blaire is currently being utilised in the story. Mainly because she's made out to be kind-of an idiot. She doesn't notice when she's making her girlfriend feel uncomfortable. And she's quite bad at picking up on social cues more generally.

This is demonstrated in Chapter 11 on Pages 31 and 32. Blaire is conversing with Violet, Jaden's coworker, about Violet's daughter Faith. The view Blaire expresses is the strawman argument often used against trans people and their allies - the supposition that we believe that not conforming to your expected gender norms means you must be trans.

Violet: Oh, and thanks for being patient with Faith. I know she's a bit of a handful! Blaire: It's like you said: they're just very passionate. Just not about dresses and skirts, huh?

Violet's response is interesting, as is Blaire's train of thought after the exchange:

Violet: NOPE! And I couldn't be happier! It makes buying HER clothes so much simpler! I hope SHE will steer clear of razors and makeup in HER teen years too, haha! Anyway, I best be getting my DAUGHTER to bed. See you at Ballroom Night! VROOM! Blaire: ... Blaire: (thinking) Dang it... It looks like Violet needs more help than I first thought... The sooner I get these [leaflets] to her the more time little Faith will have to choose what kind of body they want as an adult...!

Blaire didn't realise that Violet was emphasising the gendered ways to describe Faith because Violet already knows about trans stuff and rejects it. Instead, she just assumed Violet was ignorant and needed some educational leaflets.

(And Blaire also didn't notice the insult hidden in Violet's words. Blaire clearly shaves and wears makeup, so Violet was basically saying she hopes Faith doesn't turn out like Blaire. But Blaire has no reaction to that.)

Blaire is clearly not the best at detecting what people are implying. But that's being written in an exaggerated way, to satirise belief in "trans ideology" as stupid and in denial of reality.

It can almost feel as if Blaire is being portrayed as bad because of her autistic traits.

The author has addressed this in a comment on one of the bonus comic pages that came out after Chapter 11:

Important to keep in mind that none of the characters are written to be autistic. So Blaire isn’t being made into a villain or singled out for being autistic. In fact, a lot of her "social missteps" are a positive side to her character. Like she's pushy about gender nonsense, but she's also pushy when it comes to making sure her friends take care of themselves (making sure Jaden was getting her share of pancakes, pointing it out fully). She pushes because she cares. It has both positive and negative outcomes.

The trouble is, just because it wasn't the author's intention doesn't mean that's not how it looks. I know I'm not the only one who sees Blaire as autistic-coded.

And when Blaire's difficulties with social interaction are being played up in conversations about trans people, she isn't being written as a character. She's being used as a tool to poke fun at "the trans cult".

That's what annoys me about her portrayal. She isn't allowed to just be a character in a story - a nice, well-meaning but inexperienced girlfriend who happens to take an interest in trans rights. She has to be an extreme strawman of a trans ally, to push the author's anti-trans agenda.

Blaire Hopburn: Vicious Villain?

One of the webcomic's extra features is an "Actor AU", which includes this interview with Blaire's "actress":

Interviewer: Your character is quite controversial isn't she? Lots of people want her killed off and others are holding out hope for some sort of redemption. Which camp are you in, haha? Blaire's Actress: Neither. Interviewer: Oh...? Blaire's Actress: I actually like evil female characters. There's all these memes about deranged women, malicious women, heartless women... But when one does come along they want her removed or fundamentally changed before she's even spread her wings. Interviewer: Do you think fan opinion might change once Blaire ... takes flight? Blaire's Actress: I hope so. Realistically, both extreme camps will probably end up disappointed. But there's plenty of other great stuff to watch for. Will just have to burn the "Blaire bridge" when we come to it.

The funny thing is that the fans who comment on Lease Bound act as though Blaire is already a horrible person, but ... she really isn't?

At her worst, she's so focused on being a good trans ally that she neglects to check in with how others feel. But that's hardly "deranged" or "malicious" or "heartless", is it? Unless you already believe that supporting "trans ideology" makes you at least one of those things.

The closest thing I see to Blaire being villainous is in the first of the "When Riley Met Brick" bonus pages.

Blaire: Exploring your femininity in a non-traumatic way might help make things clearer too. Riley: O-okay. Blaire: Why don't we go dress shopping later this week, then? Riley: U-uh... I'm not really... They never feel good. Blaire: Cute plus-size options have come a long way in the last few years. It won't be frumpy like the stuff from your old congregation, I promise! Riley: O-okay... *** Blaire: Well, what do you think? Riley: It's... I feel like I can't breathe... Blaire: Huh? But it's so loose and flow-y... Do you need a bigger size? Riley: N-no, please, get it off. OFF! OFF!! Blaire: Riles! Hey, hey! Don't thrash like that, you'll rip it! Here' I'm untying it, see? Riley: ... Blaire: So, no tie-arounds, zippers or buttons... How about this one? You just pull it straight over your head! Riley: I can't... Please, no more... Blaire: Hmm... I think we need to talk to someone who has a bit more expertise than me, baby...

Blaire is forcing Riley to try on dresses and do something she's really uncomfortable with, until Riley is screaming and thrashing about. That does seem very, very bad. But I wonder if there's more to this than meets the eye.

Riley's backstory hasn't been shown in the webcomic yet, but the author has said that she grew up in a religious cult where she was only allowed to wear dresses, never trousers. Blaire presumably doesn't fully understand how bad Riley's past was, as she assumes the issue is with the style of the dresses Riley has tried so far.

In an extra cast reply (and it's debatable how canon it is), Blaire does seem to grasp that what Riley has gone through was traumatising:

Blaire: Riley's discomfort with femininity is from being forced into it as a kid. That doesn't mean she HATES girly stuff, she just has internalised misogyny to work through at her own pace!

Yes, Blaire is going about things in the wrong way. But ... she kind-of has a point? I certainly wouldn't call it "internalised misogyny", but it is trauma, and that needs addressing.

Not wanting to wear dresses isn't a problem, but the reason for it can be. Riley's discomfort is clearly rooted in pretty serious trauma, and she needs to be able to sit down with someone and work through that. Sadly, she's not yet confident enough to open up fully about it.

And even if she could, Blaire isn't the right person to do this with. Blaire did study psychology briefly at university, but she didn't last a full year. Her idea of helping Riley is taking her to see Brick, a non-binary person ... who's training to be a veterinary nurse, not a human therapist. Blaire is nowhere near qualified to give Riley the help she needs.

I don't see this as an evil trans ally preying on a poor little lesbian. I see this as two flawed women talking past each other, trying and failing to understand each other, ill-equipped to cope with each other's issues.

And then the other "villainous Blaire" moment is at the end of "When Riley Met Brick", as Blaire criticises Riley for the way she talks to Brick:

Riley: Maybe I'm just feeling a bit confused because I've never met a trans person befor- Brick: THAT is an assumption rooted in transphobic bias! Trans people aren't a monolith! You can't tell who's trans just by looking at them! Riley: Sorry, I didn't know...! Blaire: You know what they say about assuming babe... Riley: I swear I didn't mean to... Blaire: You need to choose your words with more care. Riley: Right... I'm really sorry...

The dark colours, Blaire's body language and ominous words, the top-down perspective on the scared-looking Riley ... this page is trying to make us see Blaire as in the wrong and Riley as her victim. We're meant to judge her for putting her zealousness for trans acceptance before her concern for her girlfriend's feelings.

That's the last time we've seen Blaire in the webcomic so far, but she's due to reappear in Chapter 13. It seems as though the author is planning to do something big with Blaire - something that will cement her as the villain of Lease Bound. But it hasn't happened yet. And I'm curious to see what it is.

I suspect it's something to do with Blaire being in a more senior position at Riley's workplace, as well as the fact that her aunt works there. There's a risk that Blaire could use her influence with her aunt to force Riley out of a job, after a major disagreement over trans rights or something.

But based on what we've seen so far in the webcomic, I can't picture Blaire doing something like that. She just doesn't seem like the kind of person to do something so extreme.

Basically, it's going to take a lot to convince me that Blaire Hopburn is an irredeemable monster.

TL;DR Lease Bound is massively problematic. The one bright spot for me is Blaire, the nice, eager-to-help, slightly autistic-coded bi lady. Unfortunately, she keeps being turned into a caricature to mock those who support trans rights, and that bothers me.

[gilverrwrites]

Morning After

Black Mask/Reader, 1.5K words

Request Info || Masterlist || Ko-Fi 

AN: This is a slightly updated repost of a fic I wrote in 2016. This is the only time I've ever written Roman with a removable mask.

You overhear a discussion not meant for your ears, the morning after hooking up with Roman Sionis. Rating: 18+

CWs: Swearing, graphic mentions of torture & death, death threats, mentions of sex, suggestions of drinking, manipulation, (mild) blood.

Please remember: You can do anything you set your mind to.

“I always knew we couldn’t trust that bastard. Call Tupeng, send him down to that backstabbing bastard home and make him pay for ever crossing me.” “Y-yes Boss, but what would you like ‘em to do to ‘em.” “Burn him, skin him, skin his whole damn family for all I care, just make it hurt. Make that pig regret ever squealing on us.”

Your hand clasped over your mouth but not before a startled gasp escaped your lips. What had you gotten yourself into? When you’d gone home with Roman Sionis for the night, you knew he was dangerous. Truthfully it was exhilarating to know you were in bed with someone so influential, so wicked, but you were suddenly realising that being close to his world was maybe a little more then you could handle.

When silence fell from the other side of the door you knew you were trouble. They’d heard you, they must of. Hastily, you scurried across the room to the window, hoping to make some kind of escape, the view from the window reminding you that you were on the third floor. Panicked, you began to search for a hiding place, only to be stopped dead in your tracks as the bedroom door was wrenched open.

What you saw next nearly shook you to the core. You’d recognise Romans white suit pants anywhere, you knew the way his muscles flexed beneath his tight black shirt, and even the white tie was familiar. It was the chiseled black skull that sat over his face that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You! You’re Black Mask!?” You stutter, attempting to get a grip on yourself. You’d heard rumours about this man, you’d seen his hard wooden face on the news, but you never actually thought you’d be standing face to face with him. More importantly, you never thought you’d wake up one morning to discover you’d slept with one of Gotham’s most notorious felons. The very idea of it simultaneously terrified and excited you in ways you knew were wrong.

Roman seemingly takes no mind to your realisation as he closes the door behind him and begins to focus on rolling down the sleeves of his shirt.

“Oh god. I knew you were… But THIS! This is… oh my god.” You wrapped your arms around your chest. The cotton of the shirt you’d stolen from him to sleep in now acted like a morbid comfort blanket.

Fastening the last button on the cuff of his dress shirt, Roman finally looked up at you.

“Exactly how long where you listening to that conversation?” His tone was abrasive, the mask did little to muffle out any of his anger and suddenly you remembered what was going on.

“I-I- only the end. I swear. I don’t even know who you were talking about. I promise.” You stammer. “I woke up and you weren’t here so, so I got up to look for you and as I reached the door, I heard you talking outside. That’s it. I-I didn’t mean to listen, I promise.”

The gangster didn’t say anything for what seemed like forever, he just stared, the subtle rise and fall of his chest being the only sign that he wasn’t a statue. You had no way of knowing what he was thinking.

“I believe you, Sweetheart.” He finally spoke up. His voice much calmer this time, the petname soothing you slightly. “I do.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, finally willing yourself to stop shaking.

“But,” he continued as he walked across the room to the wooden chair situated at the corner of the bed. Suddenly, you remembered the loaded gun holster he’d left there last night, and your heart skipped a beat. With one hand he scooped up the leather holders and with the other he gestures for you to approach. “You’ve already heard what happens to snitches. How do I know you won’t go straight to the heat with this information? How do I know you won’t rat me out if the feds start asking questions? I don’t wanna see that good-looking face of yours get all cut up.”

By the time you were standing beside him you’d begun to shake again, even more so when he handed you the holster. Unsure what to do with it you held it at arms lengths, eyeing it warily. When Roman turned his back to you and stretched out his arms you figure that he wanted you to put him it on him. Cautiously you began to thread the straps over his arms.

“Well? Are you gonna answer me?” Roman prompted, shrugging his shoulders to make the holster sit a little more comfortably. You’d been so focused on the guns dangling in your hands that you’d forgotten he’d asked you anything. “I can’t have you wondering around when you know that kind information. Why should I trust you?”

“I’m not, I would never tell, I swear to you I won’t tell anyone. I promise and I would never break a promise.” You repeat the words under your breath as you step around him, your fingers brush against his chest as you reach to clasp the holster together at the front, only to discover that there is not clasp. You scrunch you nose up in confusion before a warm hand clasp around your chin and direct your face upwards.

A sense of dread fills in your chest as your stand directly in front of the famed Black Mask. The faint smell of polish fills your nose. He seems completely inhuman to you. You hear the stifled sound of him humming beneath the mask as his hand works across your chin, stoking your cheek before his fingers began to run through your hair.

You like the feel of his fingers, the way they move against your skin. Last night you’d been surprised to discover how soft they were, even as they’d dominantly explored every inch of your body. Memories of the night before ran through your head and sent a shiver down your spine. You’d be lying if you said last night wasn’t one of the greatest nights of your life, and before all this you’d considered leaving him your phone number. Now there was a voice in your head that keeps telling you what an idiot you are for ever falling into bed with this criminal. On the other hand, there was an undeniable attraction that made you weak at the knees, regardless of who he was or what he’d done. Besides, you’d already figured that Roman was involved with some dodgy stuff. His menacing attitude and ferociousness had been a big factor in what had attracted you to him in the first place.

Nervously, you looked up at him, wanting to make eye contact, only to be met with those unseemly shadowed out eye sockets. You sucked in a breath when you felt his free hand slide around your waist, roughly pulling you against his chest. You tasted the wood of the mask before you knew it was coming. The smell of would polish stinging your nose as he pressed the cold hard lips of the mask against yours. Briefly, you were taken back by this action, before you let go and kissed back, ignoring the swelling from last night’s kissing, you pecking the solid surface before pulling back.

Roman’s chest rumbled slightly, you heard an amused scoff come from beneath the mask before he untangled his hand from your hair to push the mask away from his face and resting it atop his head. Your lips twitch into a small smile when you can finally see his deep brown eyes. You notice a predatory glint, as he smirks back at you, before pressing his lips against yours. The taste of last night’s alcohol was gone, but you welcomed the smoky wood flavours that filled your mouth. Gingerly, you rubbed his chest and he replied by nipping at your bottom lip, drawing blood and eliciting a quiet moan from you.

All too soon he pulled away, a look of self-satisfaction plastered across his face. Lifting one hand to your mouth, he wiped a small drop of blood onto his thumb before pressing it between your parted lips. Catching the hit, you dart your tongue out to lick up the coppery liquid. Once your tongue is back inside your mouth, he removed his thumb and replaces it with his knuckles. Gently pressing them against you bottom lip, and watching you expectantly. Less confidently you puckered your lips, lightly kissing each point, knowing this was considered a sign of respect or appreciation.

Once you’d kissed each knuckle, he pulled back his hand, releasing you from his hold and stepping back to retrieve his suit jacket from the back of the chair. He pulled the fabric on with ease then strutted across the room.  Bewildered by the sudden change of event you simply stood and watched as he pulled the door open before turning to you.

“Catch you later, Doll—lock the door behind me, yeah?” He grinned, shooting you a sly wink before pulling the mask back down. With that he exited, closing the door behind him.

[manie-sans-delire-x]

Thoughts on ASPD stigma.

Even psych professionals often dont comprehend how having CD or ASPD (or NPD or even BPD) is not the same as having "bad person disorder", and they forget that a person without those disorders can be equally toxic or manipulative. ANYONE can be. Even depression or anxiety can contribute to someone being toxic. Drug addicts are known for being highly manipulative and toxic, yet we correctly identify them as the victim and patient who needs serious help. (And you dont even choose to have a mental illness at all, while many addictions start as a choice).

The stigma and defeatist attitude of psych professionals refusing to treat ASPD or see it as impossible leads to confirmation bias and a self-fulfilled prophecy. Even if the ASPD itself cannot be treated, most have co-morbid issues, and a depressed, drug addicted, traumatized sociopath will behave worse than a non-depressed, non-addicted, healthier one. They should focus on other areas and work on what they can. The brain, and life itself, is a system, and making one aspect healthier will make all parts at least a little healthier. Also, they know people with ASPD notoriously do not seek out treatment and tend to reject it, so why not try when someone is willing and take the opportunity to learn what works and what doesnt? Where is the willingness to try? To try challenging their own therapeutic skills? The academic curiosity to learn?

Ive been medically discriminated twice, due to an ASPD diagnosis myself, and due to my own schooling in psych, I know that they straight up teach students that therapy just makes people with ASPD more manipulative. And I'm actually not even denying that, I do think thats true in many cases, but refusing to treat a person with mental illnesses and trauma because they MIGHT become more manipulative in the future is crazy. This way of thinking is not tolerated in any other field- medical, legal. A doctor doesnt (usually) refuse to give treatment, even to a murderer or rapist. A judge cant sentence a person as guilty because they feel like they might commit a crime in future. (And at least committing a crime is objective, while "being manipulative" is subjective, vague, and also not illegal...).

Whenever I work as a mental health professional, I make a point to approach my clients with unrelenting positive regard. I think the best of them even when they're being very symptomatic, even when cursing me out and physically attacking me. I hold the belief that they are trying their best and severely struggling, and I treat every day as a new leaf and fresh start between us. The patient who actually has the illness is the one suffering the most. Its a disorder for that reason, because having it really sucks and negatively impacts a persons life in every category of functioning. No one sane chooses that. If I can do this with an ASPD diagnosis, they certainly are able to.

I think this stigma could be reduced a little by including internal experience and thought process in the diagnosis criteria, or at least discussing it with students, not just focusing on external behavior. This deeper understanding of the psychology behind ASPD may increase empathy and help clinicians see ASPD as a complex, usually trauma-driven mental illness whose presentation can vary a lot between people and that doesnt make up the entirety of a person's personality, instead of just seeing someone choosing to be shitty.

Also I know prison inmates are a conveniently available population to research, but they should really research people with ASPD who are able to keep out of prison and somewhat function in society, and females too, not just violent male convicts. Obviously basing all knowledge on extreme cases and only one sex is going to give a skewed perception.

[oxygenbefore1775]

aot characters as types of poisons pt2

pt1 here!

➼ featuring: armin, eren, hange, historia, jean, levi, mikasa,

➼ cw: poisons and all the ways they could (and would) kill

➼ a/n: as a pharmacy student i also have to study toxicology for some reason so what better way to apply my knowedge than to use it for some hcs - also pls don't get any ideas from this, it's all morbid yet harmless fun

also this is gonna be a bit different from the original hcs cuz this time i will actually try to explain why a certain poison fits a certain character

 ꒰‧₊˚⌬☆༉‧₊˚ . ˚₊‧༉☆⌬˚₊‧꒰

armin

coniine of hemlock

like husband like wife since coniine kills the same way Annie's poison (strychnine) does - through paralysis of respiratory muscles (ie you suffocate with airways being completely free and being perfectly aware of you dying)

albeit coniine is more insidious in its approach to killing

first of all because hemlock, the main depository of coniine, is easily confused with other non-toxic edible and thus frequently (and unknowingly) consumed

secondly, coniine poisoning is easily to induce since it's used in medicine as a sedative and it takes very little for a healing dose to turn into a deadly one

thirdly, even with poisoning in full swing, it's hardly ever painful - in a narcotic-like state one simply falls asleep as paralysis gradually creeps up from the feet upwards, eventually reaching lungs and stopping breathing all-together

that being said, coniine is a quiet yet potent strength (like Armin with his oftentimes underestimated influence)

eren

cyanide

symbolically enough, the majority of cyanide vapors (which is the most common exposure method) occurs in the fires - destruction born from destruction

as lethal as it is notorious (like Eren) with death occuring in mere minutes after exposure

yet quick death doesn't bear any promise of painlessness - cyanide makes the last minutes of life an unbearable agony

this is mostly because cyanide fucks the body and its systems up in the most fundamental way possibly, binding all the incoming oxygen to itself and thus leaving the organism with inability to breathe on a chemical level (which reminds me a lot of Eren willing to take anyone's freedom should they choose to take his)

also there's a popular misconception that glucose is one of the antidotes against cyanide which would be very cute if true - the deadliest of poisons rendered harmless with a mere sweetness of sugar but alas

to me, cyanide perfectly captures Eren's ability to single-handedly destabilize whole systems, be they political, social or moral. just as cyanide cuts off oxygen, so does Eren with disrupting established orders, often suffocating any chance at peace and stability in pursuit of his ideals

historia

atropine of belladonna

never beating its deadly woman under the facade of prettiness allegations

humanity went through a whole arc with atropine from treating it as a beauty-enhancing product at first to later acknowledging its potency and medicinal as well deathly properties (like with Historia role in the plot)

also the sight of belladonna (where atropine is mostly found) lulls into a falls sense of security with the deceiving luster and sweetness of its berries, as if tempting you to taste it

funnily enough, one of the most prominent symptoms of atropine intoxication is quick heart rate, blown-out pupils as well as inhibition of sweating and salivating - which is no doubt a similar effect that the mere presence of Krista used to have on her fellow students in Cadet Corps (with her monicker being goddess and all)

although slow and improbable in its lethality, the effects of an acute atropine poisoning are certainly the least boring — take for example a 3-day-long delirium and all the hallucinations that come with it. And at the end it just might leave you with memory loss and other cognitive problems (not to forget all the memory losses Historia had at Frieda's behest)

atropine is a rare case of poison being used to combat other poisons (much like Historia and whatever she had going on with Eren and Ymir despite being quite morally challenged herself)

jean

helenalin of arnica

first thing first, this poison is a lover not a fighter (just like Jean)

it barely constitutes a deadly poison as it takes a lot of helenalin for a dangerous dose, let alone a lethal one - it won't kill you even if it tries

still, it is considered toxic through its irritating effect - when administered either internally or externally, it deals a minor damage to the tissue (idk it just reminds me of the way Jean was always causing tensions with his antics in cadet corps, harmless but still annoying in its own way)

frankly, it's more renown for its healing than harming properties

its most popular use is in relieving pain, swelling and bruises - alleviating nearly every kind of damage one might suffer, helenalin soothes it all

Jean is helenalin in every way - yes, it will help to recover from any damage but it's gonna sting like a bitch all throughout the healing process

hange

ergot

this one's unusual (like Hange) since it's a fungal poison and was a common scourge upon all the medieval populus

is a mother of LSD, all the things hallucinogenic

yet before its recreational properties could be harnessed, ergot was notorious for its profound and unpredictable effects on an organism

ergot fungus affects grain products like rye so if an outbreak of it occurs, large quantities of population are in for a lethal drug-trip

yet before death from violent convulsions, an unfortunate's mind is severely affected with a state of mania and madness (which is very evocative of Hange's intense approach to titan study)

ergot poisoning is also monickered as holy fire which is due to the gangrenous state it induces, with limbs inflamed and turning black as if they've been burned and charred in flames (which reminds me... of nothing in particular)

levi

arsenic

the most common way of exposure is through the contaminated ground waters, especially in places unfortunate enough to lack any precautions that can detect presence of arsenic

arsenic has neither taste nor smell so it's stealthy and precise in taking out lives - gradual and subtle

this poison's committed - once it starts to take effect, arsenic poisoning is hard to reverse

funnily enough, arsenic used to be added to cosmetic products as it prevented skin aging and made the user look younger that their years

although the most potent entry way is through inhaling arsenic vapors, the other ways are still as deadly as they can get - this is why arsenic is used in almost all of industrial "killing" -cides (pesticides, herbicides, insecticides etc)

despite its very much lethal properties, arsenic still finds its use in cancer treatment - per numerous studies, arsenic particles harm less healthy cells than other anti-cancer drugs

in essence, arsenic suits Levi as it's predominantly cloaked in its reputation of deadly precision, meanwhile its benefits are lesser known

mikasa

aconitine of wolf's bane

a warrior's type of poison, commonly applied on arrows and tips of javelins

the plant takes its name from its use against wolves or other predators that could pose threat to livestock and humans

in case of acute exposure which is relatively easy to get, death occurs in a matter of hours and is incredibly painful in the process as it causes extreme burning and numbing pain - the poison kills through either stopping heartbeat or breathing

it's usually quite difficult to get poisoning through skin contact but not in case with aconitine - it's so toxic that even touching wolf's bane flowers causes numbing sensation in finger tips

also like arsenic, aconitine has its uses in medicine through its pain-relieving effect even though the dosage is to be kept extremely low since even a single mg of the stuff can result in death

the main reason for me choosing aconitine as Mikasa's poison is mainly due to its application - it was almost always used as a means of protection against dangerous predators

[crowtoed]

Sometimes as a non-binary person you end up finding the randomest modes of dress that give you gender euphoria: like vintage lesbian.

A pinup stevedore, if you will. (Turban and blouse from Freddies of Pinewood, overalls made from Folkwear's Rosie the Riveter set, makeup mainly from Notoriously Morbid.)

[rftwfic]

Thinking about notoriously stoic Derek Hale being so open and expressive (for him) with his son. Thinking about 19 year old Derek staring at the course catalog at NYU signing up for his next semester classes and putting down Intro to Child Psychology to meet his social sciences requirement because he has the same morbid curiosity we all do of wanting to know why we're fucked up the way we are. Thinking about Derek with baby Eli sitting in a high chair, engaging him and emoting at him because he knows to do otherwise would hurt his pup. Thinking about the rest of the pack being confused because they've never seen Derek like this before and it's kind of creeping them out, meanwhile Stiles, who seems to know more about the Hales than anyone besides the Hales themselves, doesn't know why everyone is so confused, because Derek grew up with a bunch of little siblings and cousins, obviously he's good with kids.

[cathedralofghosts]

A Grim Glimpse into Anatomy

Trigger Warning: The following article discusses graphic content related to extreme gore, which may be disturbing to some readers. Please proceed with caution.

At its core, Herman the Shocker serves as a repository for images and videos that depict real-life injuries, autopsies, and other graphic content. These images, while deeply unsettling, reveal the consequences of trauma, disease, and violence on the human body. For forensic pathologists, coroners, and even medical students, such material can provide a harsh but real-world perspective on the fragility of life and the complexities of human anatomy.

Herman the Shocker, a notorious website known for its collection of graphic and disturbing images, offers a stark, albeit grim, window into human anatomy and the vulnerabilities of the human body. While the site is often associated with shock value and gore, there's a scientific aspect that can be examined, particularly from the perspective of medical and forensic professionals.

It's essential to emphasize that the content on Herman the Shocker is not curated with educational intent in mind. Unlike medical textbooks or professional training materials, the images are often presented without context, making them more suited for those with a specific interest or background in medicine or forensics. Additionally, the ethical implications of viewing and sharing such content must be carefully considered. The website operates in a gray area where the boundary between educational value and exploitation of graphic content can blur.

In the medical field, understanding the impact of trauma is crucial. The site’s content can illustrate the extent of injuries caused by accidents, violent acts, or self-inflicted harm, offering a visual supplement to clinical education. For instance, studying the images from a forensic standpoint allows professionals to learn about the mechanisms of injury—how different forces and tools affect the body differently—and to recognize patterns that can help in determining cause of death or in developing life-saving medical interventions.

While Herman the Shocker is primarily seen as a shock site, it inadvertently highlights the intersection of science, anatomy, and the macabre, offering a dark yet informative view into the human condition. This content should be approached with caution and a strong understanding of its intended use, whether for educational or professional purposes.

For those in the medical or forensic fields, sites like Herman the Shocker may offer a unique, albeit uncomfortable, opportunity to witness the extremes of human anatomy and the realities of life and death. Yet, it is vital to approach such content with respect for the individuals depicted and an awareness of the potential psychological impact of repeated exposure to graphic material.

Morbid Curiosity? Visit the link below.

[acheronist]

🧛🏻‍♀️⚰️

disclaimer i am not a scholar or a historian or an archaeologist. i just like vampires in a freak way and read a lot of weird articles + listen to podcasts and think about this a lot.

so the vampire burials that i know the most about were done in the general region of like... hungary / slovakia / romania / poland kind of following along the line of the carpathian mountain range. but also then in like, early america as well for some reason. random ass 1700s vampire hysteria panic swept the nation (all 25 square miles of it).

anyways so this area in europe is notorious for vampire folklore anyways so it tracks that where the european vampire folklore was originating = where people are most frightened of it for real. and so the vampire graves that have been excavated and studied are HONESTLY PROBABLY just the graves of like..... normal people who were ill in some way, and therefore cast into a suspicious light, and then died. but it was a fairly common belief that if someone WAS a vampire, especially prior to dying, then they'd return from the dead and attack and kill their family first before moving onto friends and neighbors and the rest of the community. bad for the community. so after the "vampire" in question died, the living would take extra steps to ensure that the deceased would not rise from the grave again and start killing them because well No One would like that! so one one hand its really kind of upsetting that-- essentially-- the dead were being accused and vandalized without the ability to protect or defend themselves AND THEN ALSO having their burial rites get screwed around with. sure you prevented the vampires but now we've got fucking ghosts. great work everyone.

and then on the other hand morbid freaky trivia is so fascinating to MEEEEEEE so here some of the most dramatic methods that i can recall from the top of my head:

dismembering the deceased's corpse ( with an emphasize on decapitation)

and for the decapitation, sickles or hand scythes were placed over the deceased's neck, so if they lived and sat up again, they'd cut their own throat

also rearranging the dismembered body (pieces) or the body (whole) in specific patterns

padlocking the deceased's feet together

placing bricks or rocks into the deceased's mouth, either breaking their teeth or making it impossible for any postmortem vampire zombie bite damage to be inflicted upon the living

pinning the deceased's corpse into the ground via steel or iron stakes to keep them from getting up. often stakes were stabbed thru the heart which is where the motif in media today comes from

but also sometimes removing the heart from the deceased completely and burning it also happened

burying the deceased with wreathes of garlic and poppy seeds and paprika peppers to act as wards to keep them where they were. which is hilarious also when you take into account how much garlic and poppy and paprika gets used in eastern european cuisine

and i might be making this part up LMAO but i feel like in my heart. and brain. that i remember a colonial american(?) story where an autopsy was performed on a recently deceased girl(??) whose organs still looked "fresh" and functional, as it were, and not like the organs of someone dead. because she was obviously rising from the dead and drinking the blood of the living which we can tell from her remarkably fresh organs. this was another great instance of vampire organ harvesting but i for SURE need to go try and find my source for this again.

and similarly, i also am like 90% sure I've read about exhuming someone who had been accused of being a vampire, and judging how their rate of decomposition was going, and if they looked too fresh and alive then they were a vampire and we can brutally kill them again. obviously differences in burial climates and situations would have no bearing or affect upon the body's rate of decay btw.

but then as we work our way up thru history, illegal body snatching also became an incredibly common thing as anatomists and doctors and surgeons needed the bodies to learn from. and I'm SOOOO so certain that grave cages / mort safes were invented because normal people did not want their corpses to be body snatched and turned into underground med student dissection homework. BUT ☝🏻 i have also seen claims that cages over the graves were put in place to keep the vampires IN the grave, not to keep body snatchers OUT of the grave. and then I went hmm. where have I seen big elaborate grave cages before?

mother fucking henry ford has a mort safe cage on his shit, so the only reasonable conclusion to all of this is that henry ford was a vampire. amen. my edible is hitting now and i cant think of a good conclusion to this post sorry. someday i will write an essay. or finish making my gay ass zine about this.