#creepy company

[brokehorrorfan]

Creepy Company has released a Texas Chain Saw Massacre button-up for $55. Designed by Mike Palermo, it features graphics based on the film's vintage 8mm release.

[ikiprian]

Mr. Fenton is a competent teacher. Almost too competent.

If Mr. Daniel Fenton had any more than a BS (with a minor in education), Tim would’ve flagged his profile as a potential Rogue. That’s the way of most charismatic academics, at least in Gotham. (Got a PhD? Instant watchlist.) Instead, he’s Gotham Academy’s newest celebrity, as a young, passionate, out-of-towner substitute while the chemistry teacher’s on maternity leave.

Tim gets the hype. Fenton seems to genuinely love teaching, and is invested in the welfare of the student body. He hands out bananas during exam week, hosts a “study habits seminar” each month to coach effective learning strategies, and the third time Tim falls asleep in his class, he even pulls Tim aside to ask if he’s doing okay. With all the late work he accepts and the protein bars he sneaks Tim, he’s every teen vigilante’s dream teacher. He could’ve been Tim’s favorite.

In fact, Mr. Fenton was Tim’s favorite. Up until Tim walks into Mr. Fenton’s chemistry classroom for a forgotten textbook, an hour after the final bell.

On the board where tallied scores for today’s review game had been kept, “THE CHEMISTRY BEHIND DR. CRANE’S FEAR GAS: ANXIOGENICS, NERI’S, & YOU,” is now scrawled. A detailed diagram of the human endocrine system projects in front of a small crowd of adoring and attentive students.

Fenton is wrist-deep in the skull cavity of an anatomical model. A short tug, and out pops the brain.

It’s plastic. It’s fake.

Tim identifies the nearest emergency exit.

Fenton turns to the door, and in the dark classroom with the projector illuminating half his face, his eyes almost seem to flash red. “What’s up, Tim?” he asks. His friendly grin is too big for his face. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the Just Science League!”

[OR: Danny’s a science teacher at Tim’s school. Gotham’s a pretty wild place, even for someone who grew up a superhero in a ghost-infested town, so he takes it upon himself to start a club teaching kids how to manage themselves in the event of a crisis. These Gothamites are pretty hardy, but a little extra training never hurt anybody! And he suspects one of his students might be a teen vigilante, like he’d been, back in the day. As a senior super, it's Danny’s duty look out for him! Surely, this is the subtlest and most appropriate way to give the kid pointers.]

[Tim immediately assumes supervillain.]

[doctorsiren]

thinking about the moth psycho 100 AU and remembered that we have Mogami taking full control of Reigen’s body when Reigen sleeps (Jekyll and Hyde moment for them) so he can go and like, consume spirits to get stronger and thought that I should draw that :)

Also thinking about what if Mogami doesn’t leave fully after that part in the World Domination Arc and since Reigen can see him now after Mob kicked Mogami out of Reigen’s head, Reigen calls on him to help him when he’s about to go confront Suzuki (i just don’t want Mogami to leave 🥺 /silly)

[psykersomatic]

[awesomesugr]

pee oh vee u r lost

[we-cool-beans]

“DODGE AND WEAVE GORDON!!!”

[vaxolang]

•Bad Company•

acrylic painting on canvas

size 45 x 40 cm

[danwhobrowses]

You know, as much as I would've loved a massive catharsis-led triumph over Athion Zathuda in battle, possibly left at the mercy of the vibrant flames of Fearne's Titan form reiterating herself with aplomb as Fearne Calloway, I actually kinda love how the narrative chose to defeat him. In many ways it is just hilarious, but also ironically in-character. Man talked all about wanting to prove himself, had a grandiose title of 'Sorrowlord' and was looking to be both a physical and mental adversary after threatening to torment Fearne into becoming Exaltant by targeting her loved ones. But then when he is pit against Bells Hells he barely does a thing; he tries to talk his way into turning Fearne again, gets jumpscared by Ira, the 'farm girl' he mocked to Fearne commandeers his dragon, he loses a leg and is thrown off his dragon, and the Hells even opt to keep him alive for some reason in 107 before kinda accidentally offing him in 108.

He thought he was the shit, but enemies of true threat like Ludinus, Otohan and Liliana (a threat before she was turned) looked down on him, and thus his attempts to prove them wrong - while also falling into the same trap as Ashton's father in seeking out a personal destiny and being willing to see their child as a tool to do it - bore no fruit at all, he was practically an afterthought through and through, his dragon really being his entire threat level. In the end, he got killed running (well, hobbling) away, and while Gloamglut's keening was a little sad in a way that a pet cannot fathom the moral complexity of having to kill their owner he still had it coming, plus following his eternal torture in the Tiki Bar of Ligament Manor, the last sorrow he wrought was his own; he achieved nothing, everything he hints he did to get to his position was for naught, and for all the fear and danger he tried to make himself possess he truly had no power over anyone, especially not Fearne - who can only pity him and, as further proof of being better than he ever was, hope that he takes the time to reflect on his sorrows.

[gorkloum]

i let my intrusive thoughts win

[shadowziggy]

[brokehorrorfan]

Creepy Co. has released a new The Texas Chain Saw Massacre collection:  three T-shirts designed by Matt Durston ($35), a zip-up hoodie designed by Durston ($75), and a 40x60 throw blanket.

[r--kt]

Minato in a nutshell

you better stop spreading rumors and start looking after your children, young man.

[ofallthingsnasty]

been thinkin about mouth inspections at the dentist (with our faves). Isn’t there a way to tell if you’ve given bjs before? Like there’s an indent in the roof of your mouth or something? Since you have experience in dentistry, i thought I might ask💀

Perhaps dentist fave pokes around in your mouth and finds that spot, asking all sorts of gross questions, who’ve you done it with? how many have you given? and then forces you on your knees, explaining the whole time what he’s doing to that spot in your mouth as he brutalizes your throat. Law or Doffy would be the worst for it. Doffy wouldn’t be able to control himself and Law would be so calm and collected, it would be scary

Yes, but only hard and recent blowjobs - there can be petechiae on your palate!! (Think tiny red spots) We don't care, though ajsjjksk and as always THIS IS FICTIONAL OFC I DON'T ENDORSE THIS AJSKKS

The mental image of 'big dick Doflamingo's everything but mostly expensive implants mill'-dental office is sending me. Baby 5 not-so-subtly chewing gum behind her mask while she makes you wait in the chair. Him coming in half an hour late (you've been nervous and sweating the whole damn time and the radio is blasting nothing but shitty early 2010s pop which doesn't help), clearly fresh from some break and not a difficult procedure, showing you just how much he doesn't care about you. He fucking reeks of cologne. Light pink scrubs that fit him so well it's not even funny. Has a weirdly delicate gold chain around his neck that really emphasizes the way his pecs puff up before connecting with his collarbone. It kind of makes you want to fall into his... well, his cleavage. (Because of course he chooses scrubs with a rather unorthodox neckline - who's going to tell him off? He's the boss. Sometimes he comes in wearing polo shirts in that same pink tone and they're always, always a little too tight.)

He throws himself into his little chair so hard it skids right up to you and he just smiles as a greeting, porcelain-white veneers blinding you for a moment, before he puts his mask up (also pink, it's a whole fucking theme here). It's all pretty standard, Baby 5's clearly fake nails clicker-clacker away at the keyboard while he lists off your dental status - until he gets to the soft tissue, especially your palate.

tw. crack treated seriously + noncon = the combo from hell, medical malpractice, Law is in here too, as a separate listing (same tags for him + hypnosis), minors dni, don't take this too seriously i had too much fun writing this it's so silly, dental hypno doesn't work like this don't worry lol

Well, that's certainly an eyebrow raiser. Looks like little old unassuming you has a bit of a wild side. He can tell you know your stuff by how big and angry-red the bruise on your mucosa is. You've been a patient of his for a long time now - and other that the fact that you pretty much look like you're about to faint every time your ass touches the chair, you've been rather forgettable (but cute, he has to admit). He can tell you don't like the way he fingers around your mouth one bit - and that you're waiting for his final evaluation, taut like a bowstring. You're probably pissing your pants at the thought of getting some major work done. He knows your type and nudges his fingers just a little farther down your throat, to your uvula, just to see how trained your gag reflex is (and to keep you anxious for just a few seconds longer, it's just too precious).

You don't even blink. Others would have coughed up their breakfast by now but you're sitting there, eyes teary and face worried. Would you look at that. It's good he's wearing his mask or else you'd be able to see that he's poking out his tongue because he's smiling so hard - you're suddenly in his top ten patients, right next to all the big bucks and two or three genuinely interesting cases. And oh, he's getting ideas with the way you fidget under his gaze. You wouldn't tattle. You wouldn't even fight back. My, you're perfect for a little lunch time fun.

Baby 5 is out of the room with a single gesture, closes the door behind her with a distinctive click. She won't bother him either, she'll just go hide in the break room and text her newest boyfriend until someone scrapes her out of there again. And you? You're already anxiously waiting for his diagnosis, fearing the worst. Oh, he'll give you the worst. It's delicious to see your face go from nervous to absolutely crestfallen as he spins some tall tale about how need to get big work done on two molars, how bad it already is and how you probably should opt for implants (his specialty, after all. And so expensive he just knows you'll do just about anything to save a little money.) Of course, you trust him. And of course, you agree for him to go with the 'best' (and coincidentally most expensive) option, even when you're clearly fighting back tears at the price. He tells you to lay back, brings the chair to the highest, horizontal position and overstretches the neck so that your mouth is in a perfect line with your throat. It's unpleasant how the blood from the rest of your body is cut off from your head in this position, how the whole room is suddenly overhead and that damn light is shining straight into your eyes. It's supposed to give him a better look at your upper teeth - but when you open your eyes to his fucking dick of all things and him telling you that you want that treatment cheap, don't you?, you learn that not everyone has your best interest in mind. (Sadly, you don't even get to answer because he just shoves himself into you and fucks the protest right out of your oesophagus.) When he's done with you, your whole face is full of spit and mucus and you probably lost consciousness at least once - turns out not enough perfusion for your brain coupled with extreme anxiety and someone gripping your throat to fuck it better isn't exactly the healthiest thing in the world.

Honestly, you'll try so hard not to go back after that experience, you really do. Problem is, you gave them your mobile number when you first signed over your data - and just two days later you'll get a barrage of texts in finest text speak anno 2004, with a million of 😜🤞😂🦩 emojis asking you about the state of your throat and if you still want that follow-up. Cheapest set of dental implants you'll ever get, honestly. You only have to sell him your dignity.

Law on the other hand... All prim and proper in starched white, medical professional through and through, yet so gentle - has a whole concept around dental phobic patients, with warm and welcoming treatment rooms, gentle music, offers laughing gas, hypnosis and even general anesthesia if the fear is especially bad. Always professional and never condescending or infanitilizing (like some can be when it comes to phobic patients). He's a dentist, a doctor, the authority in this place but he guides with a gentle hand - and people adore him.

You've been his patient for a while now - and he can't lie, he really likes you. You've been a dream to work with despite your anxiety; have endured every session bravely, you hang onto every word he says with big, wet eyes. He makes a suggestion - you take it. No matter the cost, the time, how outlandish the approach might be, you're always willing, nod your head yes and try to tough it out. You're somewhat soggy, almost whiny but that's okay. It's kind of cute, really. So when he sees those telltale red spots on your palate, he's a little surprised... You come across as so meek while on the chair, it's hard to picture you as anything else outside of it. But clearly, you're either an extremely attentive lover or you're wilder than he thought. Honestly, he's almost pouting over this revelation. Who are you fucking? Even if the sentiment is inappropriate, it should be him - at least that's what his little crush on you whispers to him deep, deep down. He mills over it a little too long, long enough for you to try to speak around his fingers in your mouth - there you go again, asking him (and so politely, too) if there is something, anything? And to his shame, all he can think about is if this is how your tongue feels like when you're using it. The way you slur against his hand, that warm and entirely too inviting mouth so close yet so far - it's giving him some shameful, shameful ideas. What harm is in a little test drive - especially when you've been proven to respond well to hypnosis. He has just enough time to rope you into a little session, as well. So he pulls a face behind the mask and explains that yes, actually, you have a little cavity - a teeny tiny thing that could be filled so easily right now, if you have the time for it. The way you immediately tense up underneath him isn't lost to him. God, you hate surprises, he knows that, and he's being so, so selfish - but it's too late to take back his words now.

He can practically watch the thoughts form in your brain, can see how you valiantly try to fight down the panic over a surprise dental procedure. But, as always, you swallow the lie hook, line and sinker. And when you ask him if he can use hypnosis on you again, he knows he's won this round. It's not ideal - you're already upset over this whole situation and to get you into that relaxed state is going to be a lot of work, but he knows you well enough by now. A sentence here, a soothing word there, gentle encouragement wrapped around it all like a bow - the moment you've let go, he can simply pull his pants down and force himself into your mouth, that's how far away you'll be. Of course, you aren't as active as he wants you to be, but the thrill and novelty of the situation is more than enough for him. The thought of marking you like this, to cum right down you throat without you or the ominous other person fucking you knowing, is more arousing than he'd like to admit. Maybe he has to stroke himself to completion (because your slack lips around him are far from enough) but his orgasm builds up quickly and hits him hard. He can already feel that pesky sense of guilt nagging away at him the moment he collects his breath - but he cleans you up and fixes your rumpled clothes and shoves all those bad feelings into some far away corner of his mind.

Your numb jaw is easily explained away, as is that horrible taste in your mouth - and he did give you a filling, after all, so hey, the lie isn't that bad, right?

(Law totally did his junior time at Doffy's terrible implant money grub mill and then vowed to himself that he'll never ever ever become like that. Well, that kinda sorta didn't work out, huh?)

[nevesmose]

Coveting

Trazyn/Clone!Fulgrim requested by @chemos-factories (first time writing these two so drawing a lot of inspiration from your fics)

It's natural to play games with things you own.

Today's entertainment was an old favourite of theirs, and a way for Fulgrim to show off the knowledge he'd gained. Fulgrim loved nothing more than to show off.

"And here we see a typical cabinet of curiosities," he said, leading the way into the wide, marble-floored hall dotted with exhibit cases that formed a space so stereotypically like a museum as Fulgrim understood the term that, to an outsider, it would have verged on parody.

A strictly delimited playhouse, everything arranged just so and built to perfectly suit the superhuman build of the Primarch who was not a Primarch, in which Fulgrim had free rein to explore and learn as he wished.

Ancient scientists had done such things with rats in mazes once.

"They are also called wonder-cabinets," Fulgrim continued, eager to share his knowledge with his visitor. He was suitably attired in purple silks, and delicate gold bangles shifted on his wrists as he gestured to the object in front of them.

"Although the gathering of disparate objects and artefacts has no real scholarly intent or value, they represent an important step in the development of Old Earth's versions of museums as we would know them."

"How fascinating," Trazyn said, playing his role of distinguished guest to perfection.

"I think so too," Fulgrim answered. "And although the exhibit appears to be fully authentic to its ancient origins, further inspection reveals that the curator has included a number of deliberate anachronisms."

"Deliberate, you say?"

"Yes. To reward the attentive viewer for his study. For example, in the centre, beside a truly ancient specimen of monodon monoceros tusk, we can see a comparatively much more recent piece. A bust of an unknown subject by the remebrancer Delafour."

"Oh, how intriguing." Trazyn leaned closer, as though seeing the sculpture for the first time. "May I touch it?"

"My deepest apologies, honoured guest," Fulgrim replied, "but these objects are too fragile to touch. Lord Trazyn forbids it."

Trazyn stood back with a gesture of mock offence. "But I am, as you say, an honoured guest," he said. "Surely there's something here I can touch?"

The script being old didn't make the play any less entertaining.

Fulgrim hesitated for a moment. "The fragile objects are forbidden, but... I am not, honoured guest."

Sometimes he remembered that he had been something else, once. A being created for a very different purpose. But remembering brought pain and after so much time among Trazyn's other possessions it was infinitely easier to let go, to drift into the comfortable haze of being simply one more pliant, complaisant object to be arranged alongside many others. And so he did.

"A most agreeable solution," Trazyn said, radiating satisfaction as he moved closer to Fulgrim. "Shall we continue?"

The Archaeovist's hand settled comfortably in the small of Fulgrim's back and directed him onwards through an ornate archway with a subtle application of strength.

"Of course, honoured guest. We now enter the gallery of Terran dolls."

"Oh, how appropriate."

They halted in front of a tall, glass-fronted display case containing a multitude of dolls with painted ceramic faces and wigs of genuine human hair.

"In this exhibit," Fulgrim said, "we see every surviving product of the warrior and artisan Jean-Andoche Juneau, a toymaker from ancient Franc. The effort required to gather them here must have been vast."

"It was," Trazyn said. "Put your hands on the glass."

Fulgrim obeyed, bending gracefully at the waist to lean forward and place his palms flat on the cold surface. The dolls in their serried ranks smiled vacantly up at him.

"Good. Look only at yourself."

He locked his gaze onto his own face reflected in the glass, reducing Trazyn to a blurred outline as the Overlord of Solemnace moved behind him.

"Every object has a purpose, does it not?" Trazyn asked.

Fulgrim swallowed dryly as the Archaeovist's hand began to stroke languidly up and down his back. "I would agree, honoured guest."

"And, having acquired a truly beautiful, precious object, would it not be shameful for me to deprive it of its purpose?"

Necrodermis fingers glided up over the back of Fulgrim's neck and into his hair, stroking through it with intermixed possessiveness and reverence. He was intensely aware of how easy it would be for Trazyn to grab it if he wanted to.

"What is the purpose of a doll, Fulgrim?"

"To be looked at," he replied quietly. "To be dressed and posed as its owner pleases."

"And above all?"

"To be played with."

As all pretence fell away and Trazyn began to explore and claim his body in earnest, Fulgrim kept his focus on his own reflection as he had been ordered to and saw exactly what his owner wished him to see - himself in the glass as simply one more doll arranged among a thousand others. He matched their placid, vacant smiles with his own and felt nothing but happiness.

[unicoracoon]

[a-crimson-impressionism]

Me when I hear Kevin on Welcome to Night Vale