#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

[nickfowlerrr]

something good and true - part 3

part one / part two / part four

pairing: mob boss!bucky x reader

warnings (for all parts in whole): 18+ only. domestic violence. retelling of abuse and battery. minor character death mentioned. angst. sweet and protective bucky. fluff. not sure if this qualifies as a slow burn or not 👀 smut. there’s a happy ending! (as per usual)

words: 5.5k

notes: the way almost none of this was in the original draft of what i was planning on posting lol 😂 thank you for your patience as i reworked and added a bunch of stuff to this little mini series of sorts! i hope you like it. feel free to share your thoughts and comments. thank you for reading and as always, reblogs and comments are welcome and so appreciated. enjoy! 🩵

The dinner was lovely, and the company too.

You don’t think you’ve ever had such a simple dish taste quite that good, or had conversations quite that interesting. Bucky really is as much a charmer as he’s been said to be.

He had a lot of questions about you and answered some of your own. Your rapport was easy, though you already expected from your previous conversations at the restaurant that it would be. You don’t know how you lose yourself so easily when you talk with him, and actually, lose isn’t the best word. There’s a kind of ease when you’re talking to him that has you fully being you. Aside from your usual shyness that shows through now and again, you speak with him without hesitation. Like you’re on the same level, though you know you’re nowhere near Bucky’s status and stature.

Still, you have similar outlooks on life, and seem to communicate and think in similar ways. By the time he was driving you home, you had almost completely forgotten about his social status and were in part failing to realize that you indeed had just had dinner with the city’s notorious mob boss.

There were certain things throughout the dinner that did remind you of that fact now and again, though. Not always what he said, but what he wouldn’t…

It was a quiet moment, a lull in your conversation when you decided to just ask. Your dad refused to tell you, and you had all but let it go, until Bucky said what he did about his guys finding Freddy. You don’t know what morbid curiosity was nipping at you, but some odd little part of you wanted to know.

“Can I ask,” you began slowly, unsure you really did want the mental picture, “where you found him?”

He looked at you, and seemed to have a split second of contemplation before he answered quite simply and calmly.

“No.”

You blinked down from his gaze to your plate, wetting your lip out of habit. You were kind of expecting that, but still. You picked up your fork and returned his stare, about to ask him why, when he continued and stopped you before you could question him.

“You don’t need’a know that, doll. You know, your dad probably didn’t tell you for a reason. Wasn’t exactly a pretty find.”

You swallowed the bite you had taken and watched as he took a sip of his drink. You didn’t push any further, and you had a feeling you wouldn’t have gotten much of anywhere if you had.

There were other questions you had asked, too, that he would only give a vague answer to, or evade completely.

“I won’t ever lie to you, sweetheart,” he had said. “But there’s just some things you’re better off not knowing.”

You couldn’t argue with that, and you knew he meant it when he said he wouldn’t lie.

His reputation precedes him, and he’s known to be a man of his word. Granted, those words are usually cold, callous certainties spoken to anyone who’d be dumb enough to try and cross him or do dirty work behind his back. Everyone’s heard the stories.

You’re fortunate that all his words toward you have been the complete opposite. It’s almost funny how safe you find yourself feeling around the man whose name alone struck fear in you just a few months ago. You can’t imagine feeling that way about or around him now.

He drove you home, a little later than you’d expected to be back but you didn’t really mind, and like he always did, he opened the car door for you, helped you out, and walked you to your front door.

You got the niceties out as you stood before him after unlocking your front door, the twinkle in his brilliant blue eyes momentarily holding you captive.

”Sorry I kept you so late,” he apologized.

“No, don’t be,” you shook your head lightly, “It was…good,” you breathed. “Talking with you was good. And the food was good,” you felt yourself on the verge of a ramble but couldn’t stop yourself, “It was-“

“Good?” he cut you off with a playful smirk. You felt your face heat up as your stomach fluttered.

“Yeah,” you smiled demurely, looking down at your feet for a second.

“I’m glad you had a good time,” he said, “so did I.” You looked up to meet his eye again as he continued, “I like spending time with you. Hopefully we can do it again.”

Your eyes widened ever so slightly and you took a breath before forcing yourself to swallow and your tongue to move. “I would like that,” you nodded.

“Good,” he simpered. You bit on your small smile in return. “I’ll be seeing you then.” He reached for your free hand, taking it gently in his as he raised it up to his lips, your breath stuttering as you watched him. He placed a delicate kiss on your hand, his blue eyes meeting your gaze as he did. “Sleep easy, sweetheart,” he said as he lowered your hand, squeezing it just a touch before he took a step back. “And happy Valentine’s Day,” he added as you pushed your door in.

“Happy Valentine’s,” you returned. “Have a good rest of your night.”

He gave you a crooked smile as he backed up further and you found yourself smiling again too as you closed the door and locked it behind yourself. You watched from the peephole as he walked to his car and waited until he pulled away to head to your room to start your nighttime routine.

Sleep came easier than it had in a long while.

-

You woke up in the morning to find a text message from an unsaved number. Unlocking your phone to read it, a giddiness came over you as you read the first sentence and realized who it was from.

Morning, doll. I hope you had a good night. I know it’s early, but call me when you can.

You were a little confused as to why he wanted you to call him, your mind wandering with the possibilities as you got out of bed, but of course you would.

He’d sent the message about an hour ago and it was barely half past 7 now. He must’ve been up really early and a bit of guilt for staying at his house so late nips at you. He’s a busy man and here you are taking up his time.

But, he is the one who asked you to dinner for reasons other than just getting the whole story about Freddy. He said himself that he wanted to have dinner with you, it wasn’t an obligation.

And this is him asking you to call him, not you invading on his morning.

A part of you wants to call right now, feeling like you’ve kept him waiting long enough, but another part of you - a stronger part - wants you to brush your teeth and not deviate from your daily getting readies. You can call him in twenty minutes, you’re sure it’ll be fine.

It’s minutes away from being 8 when you’re done with your brushing and skin care and you still wear your pajamas as you make your way down the hall to the kitchen, your phone in hand. You click on the still unsaved number, making a note to store it after the call. You dial and then put it on speaker as you listen to the usual tone and wait for an answer. It’s not long before you get one.

“Barnes,” his gruff voice comes through your cell. You’ve never heard him sound quite like that before, but you’re not entirely taken aback. This must be the Bucky most people are used to. You nibble on your lip as you grab a clean mug from the cabinet, holding your phone close to you as you multitask.

“Bucky?” you say, curious to see if his tone will change.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greets, causing a smile to break out on your face at the abrupt change. His voice sounds smoother, and you don’t picture him looking so stoic or angry as you did a second ago. ”Sorry, I didn’t check who was calling before I answered. Been a busy morning.”

“It’s okay,” you ease as you put in a pod for your coffee. “I’m sorry I had you out so late. I didn’t realize you had to be up early, I would’ve tried to leave before.”

“No, don’t worry about it. ‘M used to early mornings. And I wouldn't ’ave wanted you to leave any sooner as it was.”

You smile at his words as your coffee starts to sputter, filling your mug three quarters full.

He continues, “Look, doll, I’m not gonna be around for the next couple days. Have some business to take care of outta town, but I wanted to call you before I got too busy to set something up for next week.”

“Oh,” you say, brows raised.

“I don’t wanna rush you here, sweetheart, so feel free to tell me what you’re thinkin’. If next week is too soon, I can wait… I think I’m just used to seeing you at least once a week now,” he chuckles softly. “And I do wanna see you again - even more now than I usually find myself wanting to, after last night.”

“I think I’m used to seeing you weekly, too,” you smile, laughing lightly. “Next week’s not too soon, I - yeah, I wanna see you too.”

“You free Tuesday?”

“I have a feeling you already know that I am,” you answer, earning a short, huffed laugh from Bucky on the other end.

“I was giving you an out if you wanted it.”

“Well I don’t.” The reply leaves your lips faster than you even realize, but it’s true. ”So, Tuesday?”

“How’s 2?”

“2 works.”

“Great, I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay,” you reply simply, smiling softly down at the mug you’ve set on the counter, still steaming. Bucky sighs, sounding a bit agitated as you hear a car door open in the background.

“Alright, well, as much as I’d like to stay on a little longer, I gotta go, doll.” Your smile falls just slightly as he goes on, “I’ll see you on Tuesday. And if you need anything in the meantime, anything comes up, you call me.”

“Yeah, okay. I will,” you murmur, wrapping your mind around his words and trying to name the feeling they’ve sent through you. “Talk to you later, then,” you trail off softly. “Bye.”

“Bye,” he bids, ending the call right after.

You readjust your hold on the phone and save Bucky to a new contact before setting it down completely.

Tuesday it is.

You take a drink from your mug. Now, what does one wear to a lunch date?

-

It was a long weekend. You spent Saturday not doing much aside from cleaning and catching up on some TV, while Sunday saw you going over to your parent’s for breakfast and then lounging the rest of the day away in the comfort of your own home. Sunday night, though, you received a text from Bucky that had that warm giddy feeling filling your chest, and that familiar fluttering flying in your tummy. It was simple, but so sweet.

Hope you had a good weekend, sweetheart. Was just thinking about you, wanted to wish you a goodnight.

Monday, you had work that evening but spent the earlier part of your day finalizing your outfit. The restaurant was slow but you still ended the night with a nice amount of tips. When you got home you followed your typical routine as normal and just as you were getting into bed, your phone started to ring. Your brows scrunched as you pulled it from where it was charging and upon seeing Bucky’s name on the screen, answered with your heart ticking a little faster despite yourself.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you?”

“I’m good,” you answered a bit trepidatiously. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he reassured right away. “I was getting ready for bed and realized I hadn���t confirmed with you for tomorrow. 2 still work for you?”

“Oh,” you breathed a little easier, “yeah, it does… I’m looking forward to it,” you said before biting your lip. Was that silly to say? You wondered briefly before he responded.

“Me too,” he said, and you swore you could hear a hint of a smile in his voice when he spoke. “Sorry I couldn’t call earlier, I got held up with some business.”

“That’s okay, I was at work most of the day, I probably wouldn’t have been able to answer if you had.”

“Right,” he said before you heard what sounded like a water faucet being turned on. “How was your shift?”

You were a little surprised at the question, just not having expected it, but you answered in turn. The conversation lasted a little while as you both talked briefly about your days - all the while you heard what you assumed was Bucky going about his washroom getting ready for bed like he said he had been doing. It was oddly familiar, but not in a bad way. Just, comfortable. The way he spoke to you, like he genuinely cared about what you had to say, about how your day went, it lit something inside you that you don’t think you’ve ever felt before. It was the feeling that you really, truly were cared for. That someone wanted to know about your day, not just because they wanted to get in your pants, but because they were genuinely interested in you.

You went to bed with a smile as Bucky wished you a good night, his low soothing timber reminding you he’d be seeing you tomorrow before you ended the call.

-

You’re dressed and ready for lunch half an hour early, the buzzing excitement you’re trying hard to not let overwhelm you causing you to move faster than you normally do on your days off.

Instead of sitting impatiently on the couch, checking the time every other minute, you decide to get some air and wait out on the porch.

It’s a nice afternoon, a light easy breeze drifting through the cool, sunny day as you sit. The sun is out but it’s still early spring, so not too warm yet. You wear a sundress that hits just above your knees and your pair of walkable, low heeled sandals.

You sit back with a sigh, close your eyes, and take some breaths. The time passes by faster after your eyes fall shut, a warm tiredness washing over you as the sun shines near. You’re like a cat in a window. You manage to rest your eyes for about fifteen minutes before you wake yourself up. You pull your phone from your purse and decide to spend the next fifteen minutes scrolling through your socials.

Your head perks up as you hear a car approaching and you move to see Bucky coming down your way. You stand as he pulls in front of your house and start to make your way to his car as he gets out himself. You meet at the car door as he stands before you.

“Hey, doll,” he greets with a half smile, coming close to kiss your cheek softly, then pulling away and meeting your twinkling eyes as you gaze at him.

“Hi,” you return, sounding a little more affected by the simple gesture than you maybe wanted to.

“You look beautiful as always,” he compliments as he opens the door for you, helping you in.

You respond when he gets back in on his side. “You look really nice,” you admire in turn, earning a charming grin from him as he pulls away from your house.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says as you watch him drive. He wears a nice pair of dark trousers, a white tee, and a white, undone short sleeve button up over it. His beard is short and well kept as usual, his dark hair pushed back and kept there with his sunglasses on his head. You see a silver chain peeking out from the collar of his shirt as he mindlessly wets his lips, making sure he’s clear to turn from the stop you’re at. He glances over at you as he turns and catches your stare, his lips tilting up as you smile shyly at being caught.

This is the most casual you’ve ever seen him, and you really like it. He looks incredible in a suit, but there’s something about him right now that feels a little more free, and maybe a little more him.

When Bucky pulls up to the front of the restaurant, there is a valet waiting. A young man opens your door for you and as you get out, Bucky is there to take your hand. He passes off his key to the man he thanks by name before he leads you to the entrance.

“Mr. Barnes,” a pretty blonde greets at the front, “lovely to see you again. Miss.,” she greets you with a smile. “Your table is right this way.”

You don’t even realize your hand is still in his as he guides you to follow behind the woman, not until you get to the seating area. It’s almost instantaneous, all eyes on you and Bucky the second you enter the area. You try not to look at anyone yourself as your hand squeezes Bucky’s a little tighter without thought. He pulls you almost imperceptibly closer to him as you walk hand in hand to the table reserved for him.

He pulls your seat out and pushes you in once you’re sat before taking his own across from you.

“Here are your menus,” she says as she places them before you both, “your server will be right with you, but can I get your drinks started for you in the meantime?”

“I’ll take a water, please,” you answer with a polite smile.

“I’ll have water, as well,” Bucky says. “Thank you.”

“Of course, I’ll get those right away.”

You watch the blonde as she flits away and then feel Bucky’s eyes on you. You turn to him with curious eyes as you grab the menu to pursue. “What?” you say with a light laugh.

He takes a second before he responds, then gives a small shake of his head, “Nothing.” He grabs his own menu and continues as you both look it over, “Have you been here before?”

“Here?” you ask, almost disbelieving the question. “Uh, no,” you answer honestly, “I think it’s just a bit outta my tax bracket,” you joke.

He smiles at you across the table, but really the distance isn’t all that far.

“I have always wanted to eat here, though. I’ve heard good things.”

“Yeah, they have some quality options. And don’t worry about the prices, order whatever you like, please.”

You exchange a glance and an easy smile before you continue browsing the menu.

Not even a minute later do you find yourselves being interrupted.

You’re a little startled at first as a man makes his presence known at the table, you don’t know how you missed him walking up to begin with, but you did. He’s average height, with an athletic build. Medium brown hair, brown eyes, and clean shaven. He wears a suit and tie that speaks to his class and an expensive watch on his wrist. You’ve never seen him before, at least not in person, but he looks oddly familiar. You think he might be that attorney with the commercials that play everywhere all over town. You can’t remember his name. Not that that is your concern at all at the moment. You felt the energy change the instant he got to your table. The man looks a little miffed, but also a little unsure in his actions, as he looks at Bucky. Your eyes are on him as you wait for him to speak.

“Mr. Barnes. David Dunlap,” he introduces himself, “I have been trying to get in contact with you for almost three weeks n-“

Your eyes shoot to Bucky at Dunlap’s abrupt silence and see that he’s raised his hand in pause. There’s a harshness in Bucky’s gaze that cuts through the man before him as he makes him stand in his silence for a long, uncomfortable moment. His face is stone before he speaks, unsettlingly calm, with an edge to it.

“You see the lady sitting right here across from me?”

David nods slowly, changing a glance at you.

“Why don’t you show some respect and start off by apologizing for startling her and interrupting our lunch.”

David’s eyes find you again, a little wider now than they were a second ago. He swallows thickly before he does just that. “Excuse me, miss, for the interruption. I certainly didn't mean to startle you, I’m very sorry.”

You don’t know what to say, you just give a small nod and a tight lipped but polite smile before your eyes find Bucky’s again.

“Great. You do have manners. Now take a second and ask yourself, do I really look like I’m here to do business right now? And even if I were, do you really think it’s a good idea to come approach me the way you just did?” He waits a second for a response he doesn’t get before continuing, “Right. Why don’t you keep using those manners of yours, go back to your table, enjoy your lunch, and continue to wait patiently, like half the other people here, until someone at my organization returns your calls.”

“I understand I’m not the only one trying to reach you, sir,” the man starts again, sounding overly agitated as he turns more toward Bucky, knocking the table on your side a bit as he does. The second you recoil from the bump, just out of surprise at the table moving, Bucky is out of his seat, easily standing taller than Dunlap; his jaw set and his eyes dead on him.

“Step away from the table,” Bucky says. His voice is low and deadly and you can hear his ire as clearly as you can see it in his eyes.

Your gaze is only on Bucky as you find yourself entranced by him.

You sense Dunlap step further away, a fast apology spilling out past his lips.

“Go finish your lunch, tip your server, and stay the hell outta my line of sight while you do it.” His voice remains steady as he speaks clearly, “I’m with company, so I’m bein’ nice, but the next time you forget who you’re talking to when you’re speaking to me, the next time I have to repeat myself,” his warning goes unfinished as Dunlap cuts him off by rushing out another apology - his previous agitation now gone completely in favor of a more submissive, and even scared, tone as he tries to appease the domineering man before him. He leaves quickly, and with an assurance of his understanding as he does.

It’s only then you realize the place had gone silent at the unexpected interaction. There’s not many eyes on you, people know better than to stare right now, but you know they were all fully listening. The silence though is quickly replaced by the return of idle lunch chatter as Bucky sits once more. He fixes his shirt as he does, and meets your enraptured gaze as you watch him. You feel flustered and a little embarrassed by how attractive you actually found that display of dominance and authority.

“I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” he apologizes.

“Please, don’t be,” you say with quick reassurance, looking into his eyes. “I uhm,” you swallow, hoping he can’t somehow read your thoughts and figure out exactly what it is that you’re thinking, “I thought you shut that down well. But I appreciate the apologies,” you add with a smile. “Yours and his.”

Your waiter approaches with your waters and apologizes themselves for the disturbance you experienced at the hands of another guest. They assure Bucky they’re handling him as well and he won’t be dealing with that again, not that Bucky is worried about it in the slightest. You both place your orders and are thankfully able to continue with your lunch as normal. Or as normal as a lunch date with a mob boss can be. The curious glances and whispers can only be so ignored…

Bucky paid the bill, of course, and you thanked him for lunch as he took your hand and walked you out to his awaiting car.

“I’m sorry again about what happened earlier,” he apologizes when he gets in, your brows furrowing at his words. “Stuff like that doesn’t happen often, but it does happen - now and again.” He begins to drive off but you can tell there’s something more he wants to say, so you wait for him to say it.

“Comes with the job. The life,” he looks at you, a bit pointedly, and you think you know what he’s getting at. “I’m not trying to scare you or make you uncomfortable, I just don’t want you to slip too far into something you don’t really want to be a part of.”

“…Your life?”, you clarify.

He looks at you again and without saying anything, you know his answer is a yes.

“I’m not under any illusions about what it is you do, Bucky; who you are to people, the life you live. If I was uncomfortable, or I didn’t want to be around you, you would know it. And for the record,” you add, “I feel the complete opposite of scared when I’m with you. Like earlier, I… I like that side of you, too.”

He eyes you as he drives and sports a half smirk at your words, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you smile shyly back.

-

You thought lunch was the only thing on the table today, but when Bucky asked if you wanted to go to the art museum as you came up on it, you were more than happy to say yes. You probably would’ve said yes to anything he suggested, really. You didn’t want to go home and say goodbye so soon.

The museum wasn’t too busy so you really took your time wandering the exhibits, admiring the artwork and sharing your thoughts on certain pieces that really spoke to you.

You knew Bucky was a smart man, but you didn’t know to what extent. He was quite the historian, sharing facts and giving you background on certain artists and historical events you’d never studied before yourself. He seemed a real patron of the humanities and it added another level to him entirely. You thought back to the artwork that adorned the walls of his home and were now more interested than before on why he’d chosen to display the pieces he did. What they meant to him, why he liked them. You wanted to hear his thoughts. Suddenly, you wanted to know his thoughts on everything, really. You could listen to him talk for hours.

Eventually, after walking the whole museum, you made your way back to the entrance and then to the parking garage.

Bucky led you to the car as you walked close to his side. You felt…happy. Genuinely happy. His hand brushed yours as you walked and though the distance to his car was relatively short, he still took your hand in his as he led the rest of the way; helping you in when you reached it.

There was a weird kind of excitement buzzing around you as he drove you home. And along with it, an odd kind of contentment. It all felt so new, and yet so safe.

When Bucky pulled up to your house, around 5:30, he got out to open your door for you, offering you his hand as you moved to stand. You took it with a soft smile and met his ocean blue gaze, “Thank you.” As you began up the way to your front door, you spoke again, “I had a really nice time today, Bucky.”

You were walking awfully slowly, side by side, wanting to spend as much more time with him as you could before you’d call the date officially over with your goodbyes.

“Me too, sweetheart,” he agreed with a simpering smile while he looked at you.

He walked you all the way to your door and as you unlocked it, you had a thought. Turning to face him once again you decided to just ask.

“Do you wanna come in for a drink?”

He takes a breath then released it heavily, “Ah, I wish I could,” he says almost wistfully. “I have a business dinner. Next time,” he assures. It’s not a question, it’s a promise. You’re a little disappointed to have to say bye now, but you understand.

“Okay,” you agree with a demure smile.

“Okay,” he echoes with a lopsided smile of his own.

You both stay standing in front of one another for a long moment, neither of you wanting to leave, and after a second, you unthinkingly let your eyes leave his, trailing down and landing on his lips. You realize instantly just how badly you want to kiss him.

Your eyes flick up to meet his, only to find his gaze on your own lips instead. You think for a second that he might kiss you, but then you see the hesitation, the restraint as he mindlessly wets his lips before biting his own lip gently and letting it go.

You know then why he has yet to kiss you. He doesn’t want to rush you into anything and you’re getting the feeling he’s waiting for you to make the first move, to let him know what it is you want.

You take a breath, mustering up your courage and confidence as you slowly inch closer to him. You don’t think you’ve ever made the first move on anyone before. God, this is kinda nerve wracking…

Bucky is still, not moving as he watches you take a step closer, leaving very little distance between you now.

You look in his eyes and it’s like he can read your mind. You’re breathing just a little heavier now as his eyes float down to your lips once again, telling you it’s what he wants, too.

You angle yourself, tilting to kiss him. Your eyes flutter shut at the contact of his lips on your and it’s less than a second before Bucky is kissing you back. It’s soft, and sweet, and at the same time, so charged. Bucky reaches to hold your face with one hand and gently places the other on your waist as you kiss him a little deeper. Your own hands find their way around his neck, your fingers slipping into his hair as the kiss grows more sensual and you seem to pull each other closer still. You wouldn’t mind staying there with him all night but you have to part to take a breath.

With your nose against his, your eyes still shut as you catch a breath, bodies still close, lips not too far apart, you breathe a quiet question.

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come in?”, you ask, sounding a little drunk off the kiss already as you press your lips to his again, soft once more. You can feel his smirk at your question as he kisses you back before he breaks it with a groan. Your eyes blink open as you watch him.

“You’re killin’ me, doll,” he grouses in jest, pressing his forehead to yours as he holds you to him, his hand gently squeezing the soft curve of your waist before his thumb smooths soothingly over the fabric of your dress. “You know I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

You can’t help your own soft smile as you apologize with a titter, “I’m sorry.”

He breathes a soft laugh, pulling away from you ever so slightly, “I don't think you are.”

He lets his thumb rub your cheek, looking in your eyes as if to check in with you before he leans closer once more, kissing you gently. He pulls away fully then, though his hands linger as he does, slipping softly off your cheek first, but keeps his one hand now on your hip, like he doesn’t want to part just yet. You’re not complaining, the feeling is more than mutual, and you like the weight of his hand on you. You’ll take it for as long as you can.

“I do have to go,” he says apologetically. You keep your soft smile as you nod in understanding before he continues, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll answer,” you reply easily.

His hand slips off your hip as he moves instead to take hold of your hand. He brings it up to his lips and places a quick but delicate kiss on your hand, making your tummy flutter once again at the newly familiar gesture.

“Have a good night, sweetheart.”

“You too, Bucky,” you return as he lowers your hand, releasing his hold. “Bye,” you bid as you step to your door, opening it and then waiting at the threshold as you watch him go back to his car. Just before he gets in, he sends a charming, boyish smile your way.

You watch him go before you finally close and lock your door behind you, feeling like you’re floating as your lips still tingle from his kiss and you warm at the phantom feeling of his hands holding you.

[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

[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.

[rainbowsky]

Anonymous asked:

Hey rainbowsky I hope you are doing well love you account, I saw this on Twitter about wyb following an account on weibo that slanders xz and few other celebrities. I'm not on weibo personally and I was wondering if its true . Forgive my not so perfect grammar English ain't my first language

Hi, Anon. Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying my blog! ☺️

Your English is fine! It doesn't have to be perfect anyway, people. Even people who grew up with English as their first language sometimes struggle with how to express things. I'm not going to be grading anyone's messages. 😘

Regarding this issue, I want to remind everyone that following and reading what antis say anywhere is never a good idea. Their only purpose in life is to hate, and you should just edit that all the way out of your life. Block, ignore, and report when appropriate.

For background, there are some haters out there claiming that he followed a moto account that is a notorious cyberbully who slanders many celebrities.

I happen to be very intimately aware of who DD follows on Weibo, because I did a comprehensive post about it a while back. I know all of the patterns of who he tends to follow and their relationship to him.

DD absolutely does not follow any fan accounts, and never has. He does not follow the account in question.

The claim is that he followed this person and then quickly unfollowed them. I think that anyone with two brain cells to rub together can tell that is obviously an accidental follow. We have all done it at some point in our lives (and for some reason it only seems to happen with accounts we absolutely would not want to be associated with!).

If you've ever used the Weibo app, the follow button is a few millimeters away from the phone's back button, and it would be easy to accidentally follow somebody when you meant to go back to the previous page. Especially if you have huge hands like his.

Why would he be looking at the page of an anti? Probably for the same reason you were, Anon. Everyone has a morbid human curiosity about anti material for some reason, and they spend entirely too much time looking at it.

It's possible that he saw a hate comment about his husband and he wanted to see if it was someone claiming to be his fan. It's possible he saw something said 'in his name' that he didn't agree with. It's possible somebody mentioned that account as potentially in the next crop of people being sued. We will never know.

What we do know is that if he ever did follow them (and screen caps can be faked very easily, so I'm not even sure that's true), he doesn't follow them now.

Edit: apparently the supposed DD account wasn't him, it was faked. All the more reason to ignore this kind of BS.

These are the kinds of things that people can waste time hand-wringing over, when they are absolutely inconsequential.

The reality is that the people angrily spreading this story about him are just as horrible as the person they are claiming he followed. That is the irony of all of this. They are the exact same sort of person. They say and do all of the same horrible things as that account does.

The other irony is that all of this is happening on xitter - a platform no decent human being should still be participating in.

Anyone still on there is participating in a Neo-Nazi platform, and further legitimizing and lining the pockets of the richest, most corrupt dirtbag on the planet, who is right now actively engaged in an illegal, racist, anti-queer, anti-disabled, anti-kindness, self-serving fascist dismantling of the US democratic systems of government. That should be more worrying to you than this ridiculous story.

The fact that there are so many high profile turtles who still participate there is an ongoing source of deep embarrassment and shame for the fandom.

Why not leave that hateful platform to the antis and move over to BlueSky, which has all of the features needed and none of the baggage? Most of those turtles already have a presence on there, they just don't actually use their accounts. They need to find the moral courage to lead everybody to greener pastures.

[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

[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 asthetic 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.

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

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.

"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:

[theweirderstuffblogdontlook]

early draft Bob Velseb Fanfic

(im still working on a small comic to accompany this fic before i release it officially, but i would appreciate the feedback, so dont hesitate to comment as it encourages me to make more art for the au. This comic takes place after the events of this post.) For reference, the woman in this image next to bob is Mary-Anne

then in this image, from left to right (no including Bob in the middle) we have Roxy, Greta, Sparrow, Ash, Trixie, Jane (who's the bar's manager and doesn't appear in the fic), and Billie (who is the bar's bouncer)

Fic is below the readmore. And I kinda recommend looking back at the images every so often to keep track of who's who, cus there's a lot of lesbians hanging out chatting in this fic.

Hanging out in the mismatched collection of old sofas in the lounge area of the local lesbian bar, some of the bar’s regulars were having a casual chat. When another of the regulars, a woman named Mary-Anne, excitedly came up to the group with a laptop in hand. Mary: “Hey you girls wanna see my latest true crime theory?! I think I've got a really good one this time!” Sparrow: “YEEEEAAAAHhhhhhh! Lemme see it! Show us what detective work ya been up to!” Trixie: “Did you finally see if I’ve done any murders I didn't know about? You said you’d check.” Mary: “Yeah I know, and I'll get to it eventually, but I found something way more interesting…… Barbra.” Sparrow: “Barbra?” Mary: “Yeah!” She sets up the laptop on the table, the women all crowding around to get a look, as Mary-Anne puts on a dramatic, though still a bit joking, tone and pose.

Mary: “Barbra, could secretly be, the notorious serial killer…. Bob Velseb.”

Ash: “Who?” Sparrow: “No fucking way! The Halloween cannibal from that other town down south? How’ed you make that connection?”

Roxy: “Excuse me, Cannibal?!”

Ash: “That’s pretty metal actually. Wish looking into me found connections to crimes that sick.” Greta: “Ummm, isn’t that man dead?”

Sparrow: “Wait yeah good point. The news said he got caught and killed by police last Halloween night. Shouldn't that be like, disqualifying for what hypothetical crimes you think your friends might have committed?”

Mary: “Wellllll…. yeah, supposedly he even had an autopsy and everything. But It fits too well if you just ignore the whole being dead thing!”

Roxy: “Hey! Don't you buncha freaks go just comparing Barbra to people like that. She hasn't even been around that long. Don't need you scaring her off with your true crime detective mess when I know you didn't even ask if she was okay with it first!”

Mary: “But it's suuuuuuuch a good one though!”

Trixie: “Yeah lighten up, I doubt she's gonna mind. I mean it's not like Barbara is actually gonna be a DEAD criminal. And especially with those morbid jokes she likes, she'll probably think it's hilarious.”

Roxy: “Nuh-Uh! I don't care how funny it is. She's still doing this without asking! It's one thing for her to look into yalls lives like a creepy stalker when you ask her to. But don't you go encouraging her with that spying into people's business shit without permission!”

Mary: “Aww come on.”

Ash: “Okay, I'm actually gonna agree with Roxy here. I mean what if one day, I really have to murder someone? I don't need Sherlock Holmes getting on my trail ten minutes later. You could at least ask first.”

Sparrow: “Come on, that's different! I'm sure you'd have a good reason if you did ever murder someone. And she'd be more likely to help you bury the body than turn you in. We all would.”

Roxy: “Nuh-uh, I still don't like this biz. Plus, isn't Barbra a trans woman? You'd probably end up hurting her feelings more by comparing her to a dead MAN than to the whole criminal thing.”

Sparrow: “Wait, since when was Barbra trans?”

Ash: “She was kinda making it obvious with that wig she always wears.”

Sparrow: “Wait really? I thought she was wearing the wig because she had some grizzly scar or something on her head from the car crash and didn't want to call attention to it. I mean they did say she had a bad head injury. Like it's why they said she's always wearing the sunglasses even when inside. The concussion like, messed up her ability to look directly at bright lights or something.”

Ash: “...Yeah okay that's a fair point I didn't need to immediately jump to her wearing the wig being to make her pass better. But like, there's still a lot of stuff besides that. Plus Caprica admitted to it. Barbra definitely used to be a dude.”

Greta: “Doesn't really matter if she's trans regardless, since she only ever really flirts with Caprica.”

Trixie: “I'd fuck her even with a dick like are you fucking kidding me? She's hot as hell.”

Sparrow: “Oh my god same! I swear Barbra is wasted on that woman.”

Roxy: “Yeah, but like, I ain't gonna pretend I wouldn't get a massive crush too if some lady pulled my fat ass out of a burning car wreck and lemme stay at her place while I recover like Caprica did. That's like some fairytale relationship shit.”

Trixie: “Exactly! if I got my life saved all dramatically by someone who's not just gay, but gay AND single ANNND they let you stay at their house for free? I wouldn't even care if they were hot or not. You'd have to be a real big piece of shit to be getting rid of me anytime soon. I'd be grabbing on with both hands. Maybe not as hard as Barbra seems to be, but still.”

Greta: “Umm, I meant more that she's not pressuring anybody, so it wouldn't matter either way what she has.”

Mary: “We're getting off topic! I wanna talk about my cool theory!”

Ash: “Right, right, let's hear it.”

Roxy: “Let's NOT hear it! She didn't ask Barbra for permission!”

Sparrow: “Well since she's already put it together, the least we could do is go over it and let her know if it'd be a mistake to tell Barbra and hurt her feelings. Like if it is something really insulting, it would be better to act like it never happened right?”

Roxy folds her arms and grumbled, but otherwise stops complaining. Letting Mary-Anne get on with it.

Tapping on her laptop for a second before turning it around to show a PowerPoint style compilation of research and pictures, starting with Bob's prison mugshot, which the ladies leaned in to see.

Mary: “So here's what I found. So we've got this Bob Velseb guy right? Notorious cannibal serial killer, captured on Halloween night a few years ago and put in prison.”

Billie: “....Did you really make a whole presentation for this?”

Mary: “I told you, it's a really good one! And I had to keep my evidence somewhere anyway. So it's like a digital scrapbook, and I just cleaned it up some to show you.”

Trixie, with a bit of a teasing tone: “Becha wish you could make a whole corkboard setup with red yarn instead.”

Mary: “I sooooooo would, but it’s just too hard to fit that sort of thing in my car and drive it around. You all gotta come meet at my house so I can have the excuse to set up a real one!” Billie: “....Amateur detective potluck.” Mary: “Omg yes. With like a bunch of detective based desserts! Sparrow: Chalk outline chocolate cookies!

Ash: “Halloween coleslaw.” Roxy, through half muffled snickering: “Girl, the fuck is halloween coleslaw??” Mary: “We’re getting off track! Back to what I was saying…”

She switches to the next slides showing clips from newspapers and the like.

Mary: “So he stays in prison for awhile. But then last year, he escapes from prison with a few other small time criminals.

And he spends a few months killing people, like 8 or 9 bodies being found, all with the same M - O. Until Halloween night comes around again. He goes after the same family he got caught while trying to kill that other Halloween. And it leads to an encounter with the police who kill him in a shootout. Where he's brought to the morgue for an autopsy and has the cause of death confirmed…..

BUT!!!”

She changes to the next slide, which was talking about a car crash, a man found dead, and had a map with some areas marked in mspaint.

Mary: “The next day after the news report of Mr. Velseb’s death goes out, we have this weird little event happen. So there’s this man, who was supposedly on his way to a hunting trip? He's found stabbed to death on the side of the road here.”

She zooms in on the map, showing the road between this town and the weird little town where Bob comes from, and points to the marked location just past the outskirts of Bob's town.

Mary: “Now wild animals had gotten to the corpse before it was found, so it was pretty mangled, but he had definitely been stabbed. Which is a bit of evidence that could link to the knife wielding serial killer. Bob Velseb, also known as the devil butcher, so named because he used to be a butcher and ended up feeding his victims to his patrons.”

Roxy: “Oh, no, ew why'd you have to go and tell me that?”

Mary: “Well I had to give you the context that this is a guy who stabs people, so we should be looking for stuff like this where the victim was stabbed.”

Roxy: “You could've just said he stabs people!”

Mary: “Well, he also tends to butcher and eat people so we gotta keep an eye out for…”

Billie, in her slightly monotone, but firm voice: “Maybe cool it with the gruesome details.” 

Mary: “Alright alright. It's not super relevant right now anyway, since it looks to me like the guy was in too much of a rush anyway to actually butcher anyone. Because the interesting thing for us…. is this man's truck.”

She points to a location further down the road, on the outskirts of their own town/small city and close to one of the parks.

Mary: “His truck… was found here. Crashed into a ditch, blood all over the inside of it, but no body. So if it had been a regular crash, then the hunter's body should have been right here with his car, not all the way back here covered in stab wounds. So according to the evidence, he was stabbed to death here, had his car stolen by someone who looked to be pretty injured themselves, which was then driven all the way here… to our town.”

Roxy: “Guuuurl…. Shut the hell up! That is sinister as fuck! You're telling me we've got somethin coming up from that creepy ass missing kids town, to over where we live? Man I don't even care if it happened the day after some big time serial killer died. That should still be a big ass problem!”

Mary: “Don't worry, it gets even better!”

Billie: “I think you mean worse.” 

Mary: “Yeah! It gets even worse! So in the days after this body was found up until now, the number of murders went way up for about a month or so. With the bodies matching Bob Velsebs usual modus operandi. Showing up stabbed and mangled with pieces missing. With even a few cops getting killed in that time! 

And then after that, even though there weren't any more bodies being found, the number of missing persons still stayed higher. Almost like a murderer who used to work out in the open….  was now covering his tracks.”

Trixie: “That's spooky as hell! Why's this the first time I'm hearing about somebody out there killing people??”

Billie gave a bit of a knowing look as she explained: “Because what we're listening to is a conspiracy. She's not seeing the evidence and working from it, she's made a theory first and is putting together all the information that supports the theory. That's how these true crime conspiracies work. It's good for a spooky campfire story, but there's a reason why the actual detectives aren't saying the same thing and telling the local news to spread the word.”

Roxy: “Man, you're just gonna be working me up over nothing then.”

Mary: “Not REALLY nothing, this stuff has actually happened.”

She then pitches her voice low and spooky for emphasis.

Mary: “And who knows, maybe there really was a cover up with the serial killer not actually being killed.”

Sparrow: “Yeah! Don't be a spoilsport! So like, so…. Like… uhhh… so how does this stuff have anything to do with Barbra though? Like you're saying the death of this Bob guy was a cover up, but how does this connect to Barbra?”

Mary: “Well first up, their descriptions are very similar. Barbra has the right height and build for…”

Billie: “How tall did they say this Velseb guy was?”

Mary: “Uhhh….”

She flipped through the presentation back to the mugshot 

“6 foot 4.”

Billie: “Yeah, that's about right for Barbra.”

Showing her experience as a bouncer with being able to judge people's height from comparing them to their ID's.

Mary: “Right! Hair color, skin, build, even the accents match too.”

Sparrow: “Cool! That's already way better than when you tried to link me to any murders!”

Mary: “I know right!”

Greta: “Still, that's just looking like a dead serial killer. If you're only going based off of just happening to know someone who matches the description, that could still lead to hurt feelings.”

Mary: “But that's the thing, it's not only looking the same. Like for instance, think about how Barbara and Caprica said they met.”

Billie: “.... A car accident.”

Mary: “Right! And what started off this whole uptick in violent crime? This guy getting killed, getting his truck stolen, then whoever stole it crashing the truck into a ditch on the outskirts of the town.”

Trixie: “That's not the same type of accident they described in how they met though.”

Mary: “Yeah, but any good cover story has an element of truth in it.”

Ash: “So you're basically saying, that Caprica pulled somebody out of a wreck, who turned out to be a cannibal serial killer that the cops covered up the death of. And who instead of cannibal serial killing her, fell head over heels in love, and now…. what, they're like a serial killer power couple or something? So is Caprica secretly a serial killer now too?”

Mary: “Weeeeeeeelllllllll…. Kinda? Yeah? I mean, turns out, Capricas actually kinda legit been through some horrible stuff in real life. Buuuuut I'm not so sure about talking about that stuff since it, you know, actually 100% happened to her.”

Trixie: “Shit, so you're saying she actually has some kind of excuse for how trying to make smalltalk with her, makes her look like she's offended you even thought to try and speak to her?

It's not like… you know. Because of some guy…. Right?”

Mary: “No, no, nothing like that.”

Greta: “Well… you might as well tell us since we've come this far.”

Mary: “....Okay. Just a sec.”

She goes to the laptop, clicks open a web browser, and takes a moment to look up the right event.

Mary: “Okay, so over a decade ago, there was this thing that happened at a campsite near here, where this big elk supposedly ate something bad, like old rat poison from the 70s or something, which made it freak out and go on a violent rampage where it gored a bunch of campers to death.”

She steps back to show an old newspaper clipping with a picture of Caprica and a bunch of young scouts.

Mary: “Caprica was one of the few survivors, who also saved a bunch of cub scouts by having them climb a tree where the elk couldn't reach them.”

Sparrow: “Hold on, I actually recognize this one! That's the state record for the single most people killed in a single day due to an animal attack! So Caprica was one of the people involved in it the whole time? That's wild!”

Ash: “From hero to serial killer….. That's pretty brutal of her…. Nice.”

Sparrow: “Of course the lady who still dresses goth every day even though she's pushing 40 would have that be the takeaway here.”

Ash: “I know what I'm about.”

Trixie: “That still seems like a bit of a reach though.”

Billie: “I’ll reiterate. This is a conspiracy theory being made up for fun. It's going to be full of reaches.”

Trixie: “No I mean, Barbra is absolutely crazy for that girl. Like remember that one time? (comic about bob drowning his sorrows in liquor because caprica had to go to a doctors appointment and he couldn't come along.) Trixie: “It just seems disproportionate to fall that hard after a life of murder and cannibalism, to Caprica of all people.”

Sparrow: “You literally just said a few minutes ago if you were in Barbara's position getting your life saved, they wouldn't be able to get rid of you if they tried.”

Trixie: “What, am I suddenly not allowed to embellish a little? But I mean, come on, haven't you seen the two of them enough? Heck, starting out I was more worried that Caprica was like… like she didn't even want to be in a relationship?”

Ash: “I always got the opposite impression personally, like she was taking advantage of Barbra. She's always acting so mean to her. Like with us she's at least trying to be polite, but not so much with Barb. I've been trying to keep an eye for any other red flags like that, but Barbra’s never seemed to mind soooo….”

Greta: “Hey now, let's not start implying Caprica is abusive. It's clear she's done a lot for Barbra, however begrudgingly. Even coming to the bar all these times. It's clear Caprica isn't doing it because she enjoys clubbing. Barbara's always been the one having the most fun.”

Roxy: “Yeah, let's not have this get out of hand with all these accusations.”

Mary: “And more importantly, I want better feedback on my theory! I mean of all the reasons why it could be wrong, I'd hope for better than something like “Barbra is acting way too crazy to have POSSIBLY been a deranged cannibal serial killer.”

Sparrow: “That Barbra is a certified freak 7 days a week and I love that for her.”

Roxy: “Forget about Barbra, I still don't like the thought that some cannibal serial killer has come over from that town with all the spooky shit going on and is around here terrorizing people!”

Billie: “Once again, she's not following the evidence, she's inventing a ghost story and then finding scary evidence to support the narrative while leaving out any conflicting evidence or context. If it were genuinely something to worry about, this wouldn't be your first time hearing about it.”

Trixie: “Plus it can’t actually be the cannibal serial killer guy, he's super dead.”

Mary-Anne, with a bit of a mischievous tone as she leaned in back to her presentation: “.....You know, I actually found some cell phone video of the guy getting run over I can show everyone.”

To which Billie the bouncer stood up sharply and said: “Nope. Putting my foot down. New rule. No snuff films in the bar.”

Before closing the lid of the laptop.

Mary: “Awwww what? No!”

Trixie: “Killjoy.”

Ash, clearly sarcastic and kidding around: “Yeah, no watching the brutal deaths of serial killers in a bar? What are you, homophobic or something?”

Mary: “It's actually a pretty funny video without much gore or anything. The guy gets run over by a car like 4 times in a row. Like a loony toons character.”

Billie: “I don't care how funny it is, that's the sort of stuff that can get the business in trouble.”

Roxy: “But can't we make an exception this time? I'd feel a lot better for sure knowing that guy is dead.”

Billie replies as she straightens out her pants and shirt: “It's almost time for me to start my shift, so might be best to just call it quits here.”

Mary-Anne went back to the laptop to scroll through the list of images she'd gathered for people either missing or dead.

Mary: “Awww, but I didn't even get a chance to go through the list of victims yet.”

Greta: “No, she's right. I think we've seen enough. I doubt this is anything we should be letting Barbra see. Let's just stop here before…”

Sparrow: “Wait. Scroll back up.”

Mary-Anne did as asked, scrolling a bit up again and upon seeing it Sparrows eyes got wide, and she covered her mouth in shock. Prompting a few of the others to look as well. Getting a similar look of surprise.

Ash: “Oh, wow.”

Mary: “What? What is it?”

Ash: “You weren't there that day. So you wouldn't know. But that one?”

She points at a certain picture of a man on the screen.

Ash: “That's one of the guys who grabbed Caprica that day.”

The silence hangs in the air for a moment.

Mary: “This guy?”

Ash: “Yep.”

Trixie: “Okay that's spooky. But one guy going missing is a coincidence at best. Especially the kind of guy who'd behave like he and that other jerk did. I bet he's asking for a fight everywhere he goes. So let's not jump to conclusions. Maybe if they both went missing that might be a…”

Mary: “Well let's see! What did the other one look like?”

She said with a bit of excitement, scrolling through the rest of her list of missing persons.

Billie:“.... He looked like that.”

Mary: “Huh?”

Billie stepped over, and used the laptop trackpad to scroll a bit upwards, then pointed at a specific picture in the list of missing persons. The picture of the second guy who had tried to hit on Caprica that night.

Mary: “Thats him.”

The air hung still for a moment, the weight of the realization sinking in. Trixie Being the first to break the silence with,

Trixie: “..... Well shit, Barbra and Caprica might actually be some kind of serial killers.”

Another moment of silence, until

Ash: “.....Good for them.” The humor of the response breaking the tension with an indignant, though slightly giggly response of Sparrow: “Ash! Oh my god!”

Ash: “What? Am I supposed to be upset that a pair of creeps who snuck into a gay bar and try to sexually harass the shortest lesbian they could find in the club, and right in front of her girlfriend no less, have gone missing? Good riddance if you ask me.”

Sparrow looked between the women nervously before her gaze settled on Billie: “For real though, should we… call someone about this?” Mary: “What happened to helping bury the bodies?”

Trixie: “Would probably be burying Barbra if you sent the police after her.”

Sparrow: “What?” Trixie: “Seriously, what the fuck do you think would happen if we called up the police and told them that a lesbian trans woman MIGHT be involved in the disappearance of two men? And not only that, but that we’re suspicious of her being involved in their disappearance because she got into a fight with these two dudes when they tried to “correct a woman from the deviancy of homosexuality”. You might as well be broadcasting “Hey dudes! Free target practice over here! Feel free to shoot this woman as many times as you want, because no jury is going to condemn you for murdering a butch trans woman!” to almost every trigger happy misogynist dirtbag in town.” Greta: “I knew this was going to be a mistake….”

Billie let off a sigh: “Trixie is right. We could easily be putting Barbra’s life at risk based on a coincidence she had nothing to do with. Whereas it would be a roll of the dice if it even mattered to law enforcement if she were actually guilty or not.”

Sparrow: “....I guess you’re right.”

Roxy: “Man I told y'all this was gonna be a bad idea. Now yall are speculating about turning Barbra over to the police. But you know what? I’m with Ash on this one! Even though Mary-Anne’s been trying to freak us all out trying to link all these murders to Barbra, the only real evidence we have is that two wannabe date rapists who happened to get into a fight with Barbra have now gone missin. And even if Barb and Caprica did off those two, then good on em for actually being proactive in getting rid of creeps like that. Long as they’re sticking to cleaning up trash like that, and aren’t going after any of the people I care about or who have the good sense to just be minding their own business, then I couldn't give less of a shit.” Trixie: “I hope Barbra and Caprica did kill those pigs though. Fuck the cops, I wish more of them had been killed.”

Greta: “.....I think it might be best for everyone if we just change the subject and forget the whole thing.”

Mary: “........Do you think maybe Barbra and Caprica might have room for one more in their relationship though?” Sparrow, through laughter: “OH MY GOD!” Ash, also trying to stifle a chuckle: “Dude, don’t go trying to be some couple’s third wheel just because you think they might be serial killers.”

Trixie: “Yeah, what if they say yes and then you find out they’re actually super boring and you just end up being disappointed?” Mary: “A girl can dream can’t she?” Roxy, clearly not taking it seriously: “I’d be more worried about you thinking the worst case scenario here would be them NOT being serial killers.” They continue chatting for awhile about various things before eventually going their separate ways, having all agreed not to tell Barbra or Caprica about this conversation. 

[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~

[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.

[gilverrwrites]

Morning After

Black Mask/Reader, 1.5K words

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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.

[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.

[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.