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greenglowinspooks · 6 months

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(DCxDP) Drowning in formaldehyde (Pt. 1)

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Tw: one instance of canon-typical violence (DC), vivisection mention

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Prologue) - (Pt. 2)

(Subscription post/masterlist)

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Danny has been working for Mr. Cobblepot for over a month now.

The first few weeks he was in the Penguin’s company, he couldn’t do much of anything. Instead, Mr. Cobblepot made sure that he was well-rested and beginning to recover.

Danny cried a lot in the first week that he was there.

He cried when he ate for the first time in years; the GiW had kept him on IVs and a feeding tube, so they wouldn’t have to move him from his surgical table.

He cried when he was given his own room to stay in, when he was brought clothes to wear, when he was given a bodyguard to protect him.

He cried when Mr. Cobblepot’s doctors told him that the damage to his vocal chords was likely permanent, and that he would never sound the same again. That he would find it hard to speak at any volume above a whisper.

Apparently, he had a lot more damage to him than he had thought.

The doctors said that the scarring in his brain stem suggested his entire brain had been removed and had regrown. Danny couldn’t really disprove that, and it did line up with a pretty substantial gap in his memory, but if that was the case then why couldn’t his voice recover too?

The scarring and incredibly new tissue that showed up in scans of several other parts of his body suggested that the GiW had done the same thing with most of his organs, as well as a few limbs, and all of the fingers on his right hand.

Danny could remember that. He just didn’t want to.

Perhaps it was the feeling of pity that kept Mr. Cobblepot so understanding of Danny’s slow recovery. That didn’t really matter much, though; Danny’s energy was focused on keeping his place here, ensuring that Mr. Cobblepot didn’t decide he was no longer worth the effort.

As it turned out, there was an easy enough solution to that.

Danny was the only one who knew how to properly operate and modify the weapons and inventions stolen from the GiW.

And so, Danny had a niche he could occupy. He could be useful, useful enough that Mr. Cobblepot couldn’t get rid of him, even if he wanted to.

And, as it turns out, Danny remembered quite a lot of the theories he heard while he was on the cutting board.

As soon as he had enough muscle control of his arms to do so, he was working away at the machinery created by the GiW and his parents.

No, not his parents.

Doctors Madeleine and Jack Fenton.

Regardless of their creators, he was able to understand them quite intimately.

Maybe it was because the ectoplasm flowing through the weaponry was his own, maybe it was because he had nothing to listen to for three years other than the excited chatter of his vivisectionists as they cut him open. Maybe it was because they were both simple weaponry without a purpose.

Danny found working on the machines soothing in a way that nothing else was.

The smell of oil and grease, the sounds of mechanical clanking and metal joints squealing, the feeling of cold steel beneath his fingertips.

The first thing he did to the machines was replacing the paint, from shiny white to a matte black. That way, they were recognizable as his own modified creations.

It was only a bonus that he didn’t catch his reflection in the metal surfaces this way.

Still, his reflection was starting to become more familiar to him. It was still strangely off-putting to see, but his face was beginning to plump out from consistent eating, and his skin was beginning to lose its unhealthy pale tone, going back to a more natural pinkish color.

His eyes still looked devoid of life, but that could be ignored as long as he didn’t look at himself for too long.

Danny sighed, leaning back in his chair as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He was working on modifying the ectoblasters so that they could properly hit humans, as per Mr. Cobblepot’s orders.

He probably should feel some sort of moral conflict over it, but really, Danny couldn’t find it in him to care. Maybe it was some sort of deep internal flaw, or maybe it was because he knew that they wouldn’t be shot at anyone without blood on their hands. Either way, he didn’t have any qualms with what he was doing.

As Danny reconnected the circuitry within the gun, the indicator lights on the side of the muzzle blinked to life, a familiar neon green.

Danny would have to change that color too, he thought. Maybe red would be nice instead, or an icy blue?

He was pulled from his thoughts by the door to his temporary workshop opening. Danny looked up, and smiled when he saw that his bodyguard was the one standing in the doorway.

The man, known only as Derringer, was 6’2”, built like a tank, and known for his love of unusual firearms. He was also a big fan of card games, and had been teaching Danny how to play Blackjack during their meals.

He gently closed the door behind him, strolling into the workshop.

Danny hopped out of his seat, hugging the man tightly. Derringer laughed, patting Danny on the back as he clung to him like a koala.

“Good to see you too, kid,” the man said, his deep voice rumbling in his chest, “you just about done in here?”

Danny nodded, letting go of the bodyguard. He picked up the gun on the desk, handing it to Derringer, and pointed to the target resting in the far corner of the room.

Derringer glanced down at Danny, shrugging before aiming the gun.

He pulled the trigger, and a large scorch mark appeared in the center of the target.

Derringer whistled appreciatively, walking over to inspect the damage.

There was a deep dent in the center of the metal target, around an inch in diameter, and a large scorch mark surrounding it. The metal of the dent was white-hot, and the area around it was somewhat warped.

“That’s real nice, kid,” Derringer said, “don’t know how you do it.”

Danny grinned, baring his teeth at the man. He smiled back, ruffling his hair.

“The boss is gonna go forward with the Arkham raid soon, so long as your guns are ready,” he said, “he’s eager to try them out for real. You think you’re up to talking to him?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding to the man.

“Good,” Derringer signed back.

Mr. Cobblepot, not wanting Danny to be limited in his speech by the damage to his vocal chords, had ensured that all of the people who interacted with him knew at least the basics of ASL.

When he wasn’t working on the ectoblasters, Danny was practicing his ASL with a dedicated tutor, or with Derringer, who learned the language when his mother had gone deaf.

“Can I eat first?” Danny signed, “I forgot to.”

“You forgot, or you didn’t want to leave your work?” Derringer asked, signing as he spoke, the corners of his eyes crinkled with amusement, “and yeah, the boss wants to talk to you in thirty minutes. You’ve got plenty of time before then.”

“Thank you,” Danny signed, “let’s go.”

“Hey, just a sec,” Derringer said. His face had dropped into something unusually serious.

Danny nodded, tilting his head as he signed a quick “what’s wrong?”

“You’re a good kid. Even after what you’ve been through, you’re…you’re a really sweet kid,” Derringer said, looking away. “But you…you can’t keep being sweet to everyone. You gotta act tough, alright?”

“Why?”

“You just…” Derringer sighed, combing a hand through his thick, curly hair, “a lot of the guys think that you’re too weak to be here. They’re calling you the Penguin’s pet project, and the problem is that they’re not really wrong. You gotta be scarier to survive, alright? Gotham’ll eat you alive if you don’t. Just make up a persona and roll with it.”

Danny nodded slowly, processing his words for a moment.

“Like a mask?”

Derringer laughed, a bittersweet smile on his face.

“Yeah, like a mask. Just don’t start fighting crime while you’re at it.”

“Okay,” Danny signed, his movements slow. “I can do that.”

“Good on you, kid,” Derringer said, ruffling his hair once more, “now let’s go get lunch.”

The two of them ate quickly, Danny’s mind on Derringer’s advice the entire time.

He was right, and Danny knew it. He’d seen the way that some of Mr. Cobblepot’s men had looked at him.

He wasn’t anywhere near big enough to pull off the looming intimidating look that Derringer did; his doctors back in Amity had told him that he would grow to be over six foot, but his time in the GiW seemed to have stunted his growth significantly. He was only around 5’6”, and it seemed that he was going to stay that way.

In the same way, he wasn’t nearly frightening looking enough to pull off the terrifying stares of the smaller individuals working under Mr. Cobblepot. He just couldn’t get the glare right; his face would always fall back to a blank, dead stare.

Though, maybe if he played into that…

A few minutes before they had to leave, Danny excused himself to go to the restroom. He stared into the mirror, looking into his cold, dead eyes, and let his face drop.

When he adjusted his stance, and kept his eyes a bit wider than usual, he looked downright unnerving.

Danny had already noticed that most of his mannerisms were…unusual, after his stay at the GiW base. Put simply, he had forgotten what it was like to be a human.

He had noticed that most of the people around him would avoid being in his presence, and had begun mirroring their body language as much as he could to seem more normal.

Maybe, though, it would be better for him not to.

He could lean into the whole thing. An unstable young adult, experimented on by the government for years.

Danny looked into the mirror, and wide, icy eyes stared back at him.

Danny left the restroom. Derringer turned to greet him, jolting when he did. After a moment, he nodded.

“That your new look?”

“Yes. Is it good?”

“Yeah. Freaky. Gonna take some getting used to, but yeah. Now,” he said, getting up from his spot at the break room table, “let’s go see the boss.”

Danny felt anxiety bubbling up in his chest, his entire body beginning to twitch. If Mr. Cobblepot didn’t approve of the weaponry, or if he thought they were underwhelming, would he be thrown out? Would he be tortured again, or killed?

Danny shivered when they came to a stop in front of the door to Mr. Cobblepot’s office. Failure wasn’t an option. He had to make sure this went well.

“You’ll do great, kid,” Derringer whispered, pushing the door open.

Mr. Cobblepot had been talking with a few other people, but their conversation died out when Danny and Derringer entered the room. Danny’s skin crawled.

“Ah, Danny! Just the person I wanted to see,” Mr. Cobblepot said, a large smile on his face, “Do you have one of your guns with you?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, nodding.

“Wonderful. I was just telling my associates here about your work. Do you mind giving a demonstration?”

“Where should I shoot? Do you have a target?”

Derringer was quick to translate. Mr. Cobblepot nodded, gesturing for a hired hand in the corner of the room to pull out a small wooden board, holding it up in the air.

Danny paled. He would definitely burn the man’s hands if he hit the target, even if he aimed for the furthest corner of the board.

Still, he was more terrified of disappointing Mr. Cobblepot than he was empathetic towards the man, so he drew a blaster from the holster on his leg and aimed carefully.

The blast hit the center of the board. The man holding it howled in pain, dropping the target and drawing his hand close to his chest. The nauseating smell of burning flesh filled the room.

Danny breathed shakily, in and out.

Mr. Cobblepot, for what it was worth, looked like he couldn’t possibly be happier. He and the others inspected the board on the ground closely, ignoring the hired hand as he ran out of the room, still cradling his damaged hand.

A large hole had been blown into the board, and a good portion of it had been incinerated.

“Look at that, ladies and gentlemen! I told you that Danny would deliver, and deliver he did! Imagine if that had been a person instead! Danny, what would you say would happen?”

Danny paused, trying to wince when he realized that the question wasn’t hypothetical, and Mr. Cobblepot actually wanted an answer.

“It would give them S-E-V-E-R-E burns,” Danny finger spelled the word that he didn’t know the proper sign for, “mostly S-U-R-F-A-C-E. It can’t P-E-I-R-C-E, because there is no bullet, just energy.”

Derringer translated for him.

Mr. Cobblepot frowned, and Danny frantically continued, “but it can be L-E-T-H-A-L! Burns on the head kill fast. Burns on the body make S-H-O-C-K, and kill. Strong I-M-P-A-C-T, too.”

“So they do still kill, just not instantly?”

“Yes,” Danny signed, “they’re fast. They hurt bad. Bad way to die, hurts a lot.”

“Well,” one of the other men in the room piped up, “I guess he’s not completely hopeless.”

“Of course he isn’t,” Mr. Cobblepot replied, fixing a terrifying glare onto the man, “it was my idea to bring him in, after all.”

“Danny,” Mr. Cobblepot said, turning his attention back to him, “we’re going to be collaborating with these fine individuals in the future. I’m going to need twenty guns ready for use in a week. You can handle that, can’t you?”

Danny nodded frantically.

“What kind?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Cobblepot said, waving his hand dismissively, “semi-automatic is preferable, but handguns and shotguns also work. Just make sure they work perfectly.”

The room was silent for a moment.

“Well, that’s all. You can leave now, and I’ll finish discussing the details with my associates.”

Danny nodded, signing him a quick “thank you, goodbye,” and slipped out of the room alongside Derringer.

They made their way back to Danny’s workshop in silence. Once they were inside, Derringer heaved a heavy sigh, running his fingers through his hair.

“You really think you can make that many guns that quickly, kid?”

“Yes,” Danny replied, “but I need your help.”

Derringer groaned, a smile on his face.

“Of course you’re putting me to work. I should’ve expected it. Now, what do you need me to do?”

“Well, first, hold this…”

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#dcxdp #dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp fic #vengeful danny #villain danny #btw Derringer is named after a type of gun #dw he isn’t the focus forever #I just felt like Danny could use like. a single person who isn’t trying to manipulate him #also I think he would get along very well with the goons :)#aside from. yknow. the whole target thing HDJDNDND #also there IS a lore related reason that his vocal chords can’t recover but the rest of his body can #you just gotta wait to see what it is >:3 #anyways. Arkham time next chapter #Awwawaw

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reasonsforhope · 6 months

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"A company in France has developed genetically-enhanced houseplants that remove 30 times more indoor air pollutants than your normal ficus.

Paint, treated wood, household cleaners, insulation, unseen mold—there is a shopping list of things that can fill the air you breathe in your home with VOCs or volatile organic compounds. These include formaldehyde and other airborne substances that can cause inflammation and irritation in the body.

The best way to tackle this little-discussed private health problem is by keeping good outdoor airflow into your living spaces, but in the dog days of summer or the depths of a Maine winter, that might not be possible.

Houseplants can remove these pollutants from the air, and so the company Neoplants decided to make simple alterations to these species’ genetic makeup to supercharge this cleaning ability.

In particular, houseplants’ natural ability to absorb pollutants like formaldehyde relies on them storing them as toxins to be excreted later.

French scientists and Neoplants’ co-founders Lionel Mora and Patrick Torbey engineered a houseplant to convert them instead to plant matter. They also took aim at the natural microbiome of houseplants to enhance their ability to absorb and process VOCs as well.

The company’s first offering—the Neo P1—is a Devil’s ivy plant that sits on a custom-designed tall stand that both maximizes its air-cleaning properties and allows it to be watered far less often.

Initial testing, conducted by the Ecole Mines-Telecom of Lille University, shows that if you do choose to shell out the $179 for the Neo P1, it’s as if you were buying 30 houseplants. Of course, if you went for the budget route of 30 houseplants, you’d have to water them all.

The founders pointed out in an interview done with Forbes last year that once they settled on the species and fixed the winning genetic phenotype, the next part of the process was just raising plants, the same activity done in every nursery and florist in every town in Europe."

Deliveries for the P1 are estimated for August 2024.

-via Good News Network, November 6, 2023

Note: I'm not a plant biologist, but if this works the way the company's white paper says it does, holy genetic engineering, Batman.

(Would love to hear thoughts from anyone who is a plant biologist or other relevant field!)

#plant biology #superplant #pollution #indoor plants #plantblr #house plants #plantlife #hope posting #solarpunk #small business #genetic engineering #genetics #molecular biology #microbiome #respiratory health #france #ivy

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prettieinpink · 3 months

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Hi I really love ur blog and I was wondering if you have any tips about nails, bc my nails grow long but are so flimsy that they keep breaking off and bending easily, no pressure or anything

♡♡♡

GUIDE TO TAKING CARE OF NAILS

DAILY CARE

Avoid nail polishes that contain formaldehyde and dibutyl phthalate as they can cause your nails to weaken over time. Highly pigmented polishes can also cause weak nails. To avoid this, take breaks from nail polish and go natural from time to time.

Use cuticle oils frequently, which varies from the condition of your nails. If you don’t have cuticle oil, vaseline or a lip balm is a good alternative.

Keep your nails away from dirty or wet environments. Dirt can nurture the growth of bacteria and wet nails are weak nails. If you have to be doing things that include excessive moisture or dirt, try to wear gloves of any kind.

Stop biting your nails and picking at them. While both are difficult habits to break, both can destroy the health of your nails. Be very mindful of how you treat your nails.

Wash your hands thoroughly when needed. Before and after you eat, you go to the loo, you handle food etc. When we wash our hands, The grime under our nails is also being washed away.

Nails are not tools. Don’t use them to open cans, remove stickers or open boxes. This will weaken them in the long run and increase the chances of them being chipped or broken. Use the provided tools you have instead.

Avoid prolonged exposure to harsh chemicals like cleaning products or acetone-based products. They can strip your nails of moisture which causes breakage

WEEKLY (AT-HOME) MANICURE

If you have nail polish on, don’t peel or pick at it but use a nail-friendly nail polish remover gently with a cotton pad/ball.

After that, if needed, file or trim your nails to your desired length. For smooth cutting, wipe down your nails with a wet cotton ball or wipe.

Get a bowl of warm water and soap to soak your cuticles in. Then use a soft brush or a clean toothbrush to gently exfoliate your nails. You can usually use a little bit of your body scrub or a tad bit of sugar. Then, dry your hands & nails with a small microfiber towel.

Apply cuticle oil or any cream to moisturise your nails, then massage that it for a few minutes to stimulate nail growth.

Apply your polishes in the correct order. Base coat, nail polish then top coat.

Moisturise with a nice hand cream!

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ms-demeanor · 8 months

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not be suuuuuuper annoying but the concerns raised about aspartame by the WHO are almost entirely regarding its potential carcinogen status and not seizures. specifically, as a "possible" carcinogen, group 2B, which, while very far removed from confirmed carcinogens, becomes a very real concern because some people consume aspartame in very large quantities on a daily basis, like 12 cans of diet coke a day, no problem.

so yes, there's a great deal of ridiculous charlatan-style behavior surrounding aspartame, but that's not really related to the actual research being done. we can't look to rodent studies as the end-all-be-all, and even human observational studies dimly linking cancer to aspartame must be taken with a huge grain of salt, because, again, observational study, but when it comes to super-long-term-consumption of an ingredient and the potential for cancer, it's not unreasonable to evaluate your personal risk tolerance and decide it's not a bad idea to reduce or eliminate aspartame from your diet

tldr (do people still use this term?): the actual concerns about aspartame aren't about sensitivity or seizures and it cannot be conclusively said to be completely safe, but at the same time it's not a huge deal especially if you don't ingest that much of it regularly

sorry for being so annoying about this shit :( <3

So that report came out a year after I had started doing the research so it obviously didn't come up in my original deep dive and the WHO's findings on aspartame as being possibly carcinogenic are pretty much in line with prior recommended limits on aspartame consumption.

I'm not going to deny that there are some people who consume 12 cans of diet sodas a day, but I do want to point out that people who are consuming 12 cans of diet soda are drinking more than a gallon of soda each day. This is a tiny number of consumers (the vast majority of consumers drink 16oz or less a day of *any* kind of soda, diet or otherwise). At that point you don't just need to worry about the aspartame, you need to worry about what that's doing to your sodium intake as a much more proven risk (12 cans of diet coke a day gives you about half a gram more salt than would otherwise be in your diet), or be concerned about the possible connection between artificial sweeteners and metabolic syndrome.

And I really just cannot emphasize enough that the vast, vast majority of people aren't consuming more than 5 cans of diet soda daily, let alone 10 - aspartame consumption among people who use aspartame is in the 5-13mg/kg range, not in the 40-50mg/kg range except for a few very rare cases.

Humans are bad at risk assessment. People look at the IARC reclassification and look at their own (typically very small) aspartame consumption, and will stop drinking diet drinks (and will often tell other people to stop drinking diet drinks).

Drinking somewhere in the neighborhood of a gallon of diet soda each day is possibly carcinogenic, or at the very least *not provably not cancer-causing* and people have been talking about it and writing thinkpieces about it and the anti-aspartame crew has been insufferable about it since July made.

So what has happened here is that a very reasonable organization has made a very reasonable category change to a chemical that switched it from "known not to cause cancer" to "not known to not cause cancer" and the anti-aspartame crew has continued to list cancer, and neurological problems, and seizures, and a whole host of other things as the results of aspartame consumption.

And, like, I'm not calling these people charlatans for this paper but jesus christ:

Actually maybe I am going to call these people charlatans. This all links back to the "aspartame metabolizes as formaldehyde and poisons you" thing (which a lot of the extremely suspect research on aspartame does).

People are *absolutely* still doing research into the more absurd claims of anti-aspartame activists. This paper was published *this month* (and relies on the self-reported memories of mothers of autistic children to recall how much aspartame they consumed during pregnancy, which is not going to be a *great* set of data to analyze)

But anyway, before I go down that rabbit hole, let's get back to cancer and cancer risk. It is, of course, totally okay for you to look at the designation of aspartame as a 2B substance and decide that you don't want to use aspartame anymore, that you think it's too much of a risk.

You know what's in IARC category 2A, or probably carcinogenic to humans?

Drinking hot tea. Or coffee. Or water. Or cocoa.

Drinking liquid over 65 degrees Celsius/ 149 degrees fahrenheit is biologically plausible as a cause of cell damage that may lead to cancer. There is more evidence of this connection than the connection between aspartame and cancer.

You know what we called 150 degrees when I was working at the coffee shop? Kid hot. Because that's how hot you can make hot cocoa for kids so it is warm enough to be hot cocoa but won't burn their tongues. If you serve most adults coffee or tea at 150 degrees they'll consider it cold (or at least not as hot as a hot drink should be). Starbucks doesn't serve hot coffee at under 165F and if you ask for extra hot it'll be closer to 180.

The IARC report listing hot beverages as category 2A means that it's not unreasonable to evaluate your personal risk tolerance and decide it's not a bad idea to reduce or eliminate liquids over 65C from your diet.

But nobody is doing that.

Basically more research needs to be done on everything and you're not being annoying, the way that human brains work and assess risk and set up phantoms to get scared of even when there are much bigger and realer risks (like consuming any amount of alcohol on a regular basis) that people are perfectly willing to overlook.

It's like being afraid of plane crashes but cheerfully getting in your car for a 20 mile daily commute with no concerns or worries because it's something you do every day.

Brains! They're annoying!

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cryptotheism · 1 year

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I just found the Gorilla Radio Show podcast and saw you were on a recent episode so I listened to it. First of all, a blast! Second of all, I also work as a researcher at a different primate research place (someone in my lab actually presented a paper at journal club a while ago that I’m pretty sure is from the lab Austin works at lol primate research is a relatively small field) and wanted to add some stuff you might find interesting:

-The brain from the sacrificed animal was most likely moved to a jar of ethanol after the formaldehyde because tissue is useless if it stays in that too long but can last practically forever once it’s in ethanol. That tissue can then be cut into really thin slices and then looked at under a microscope to study the micro anatomy

-Tissue in ethanol really does just stay in the fridge next to other lab supplies lol my lab has a fridge with a fuckton of tissue in jars on one shelf and then like centrifuges and boxes of other samples and reagents on the other shelves, pretty normal because it’s relatively safe at that point (will get to that)

-The body doesn’t immediately get incinerated, when they were removing the brain they also almost certainly kept other stuff (ex. liver, lung, blood, etc.) because monkeys are resource-intensive so people try to use as much of them as possible so they don’t go to waste and there’s a lot of data you can always get and use from every animal

-The reason incineration is done is that herpes B is a really really REALLY big threat when working with macaques and standard protocol is you treat every animal as if they were infected for risk mitigation, so when a monkey dies it’s body has to be burned (though a Viking funeral would be dope) but formaldehyde will kill everything so once it’s treated with that it’s a lot safer in terms of biohazards

Anyways, fuck Elon

Hey I'm glad! Being on the show was a lot of fun!

That's genuinely really cool to hear. It's good to know that even when animals die in a laboratory setting that literally every part of them is useful in some way to researchers.

We gotta find some way to give research animals a sanitary yet ritually honorable death. Maybe we could use the ash from their bones to make crucible steel like the Vikings did. We can make Holy Lab Ape Swords to honor our dead primate friends.

Also fuck elon

#tw animal death

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kiatheinsomniac · 1 year

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──── 𝐀 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ˊˎ -

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: I had brainrot sorry but I want this man to rail me in inappropriate places.... I should do a coffin next

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: The Undertaker | Adrian Crevan x Reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2.3k

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: NSFW content, smut, MDNI, sex in a morgue, slight body carving, biting/marking, creampie, can be read as a modern au

You looked so out of place and there was something alluring about it.

You were laid back against the autopsy table, kicking your feet slightly as you patiently waited for your lover to shrug off his coat and pull on a pair of black latex gloves. You had been curious about his job as an Undertaker and so he thought: what better way than to walk you through it with you as the subject?

Your heart leapt a little at the sight of him with his hair messily pulled back into a bun, his coat removed to reveal the sleeve garters around his arms, white sleeves pushed up his forearms and contrasting the black waistcoat and tight black trousers he so often wore. His style truly made him irresistible.

“Now, usually I’d have to begin by washing the body.” He began as he leaned his hands on the table and towered over where you were laid down, “Though, I’m most often tasked with having to remove their clothes by cutting them off as I later dress them in whatever outfit I’m sent, I know how fond you are of this pretty skirt.” He let out a little hum as he tugged on the end of said skirt. “So let me take these off for you.” He needed no help to lift your hips in order to tug it down though you did sit up for him to remove your shirt. He left you in just your white cotton panties and baby blue bra for a moment, admiring your body. The lace of the bralette was so thin, it left absolutely nothing to his imagination as he watched your nipples pebble behind the sheer fabric. “These too, come on.” His voice drawled out and you began to wonder whether he was getting distracted or whether he had planned this all along.

In all honesty, the Undertaker had fantasised about fucking you on this table for a long time now. He wanted the thrill of it, the memories of how you’d look and sound being fucked over the table that he would spend hours working at every day. Maybe such memories would make the days go faster? Maybe they’d remind him of what he had to look forward to at the end of the day?

“There you go…” He eased you to lay back down as he folded your clothes up and set them aside. “Usually I’d get out some stronger stuff but…” He brought out a solution of sanitiser that he knew wouldn’t irritate your living skin. “I wouldn’t want to hurt my poppet.” His sentence was punctuated by a kiss to the tip of your nose and a little laugh from him as he stood over you once more. You felt your cheeks heat up in embarrassment at being naked and utterly exposed to him like this.

“That’s cold!” You gasped out when it first touched your skin and he clicked his tongue before pressing a finger to your lips, tapping twice with a smile that was as seductive as it was mischievous.

“I’m not a doctor, darling;” You took in a sharp breath through your nose when he resumed cleaning your body, “my patients don’t speak.” You did your best to lay still and quiet as he washed your body, fighting the urge to flinch at the initial coldness of the sanitiser against your heated skin. “Now…” He moves on to turn your arms so that they’re palm-up. Latex-covered fingers graze across your wrists, tracing the rivers of your veins beneath your skin, “This is the part where I’d start to drain out all of your blood from here-” His long nails bit into your wrist, even through the gloves he wore, “-or from here,” He then grazed his fingertips up over your arm and to your chest where your heart thumped heavily, making a little detour along the way to tease one of your stiff nipples, “and I’d replace it with a formaldehyde-based solution.” You gasped at the sight of a scalpel in his hands as his fingers ghosted over your abdomen. “I’d have to make an incision or two here to insert a tube so that I could pump you full of solutions to preserve and harden your organs. I’d then close them up and dress you again before I got onto makeup if necessary.”

He leaned down to press a kiss against where the sharp scalpel had been hovering over your abdomen and you were surprised to see his lips come away smeared with a little bit of blood. You glanced down to the red lip print on your skin that was so slightly beading with blood still, surprised that he had actually cut you.

“Of course, I cut my patients much deeper.” He clarified with a laugh at your shocked expression before he swiftly grabbed your legs and rotated your body so that you were laid sideways on the table with your legs hanging off. He then gave you no time to recover as he moved you so that you were now bent over it with your chest pressing to the cold metal surface, eliciting a shrill gasp from you at the sensation.

“But, as much as I love my job, you’re far more interesting to have on my table. You see, you’re all mine and I get to hear all the sweet little noises you make, see how you squirm and twitch, isn’t that right, poppet?”

You quickly nodded your head with a muffled mmh-hmm as those gloved hands firmly grabbed the softness of your ass, pulling you apart to get a view of your pussy that was now glistening from being so exposed to him and his touches. He hadn’t expected you to be so shy and embarrassed at being so exposed and vulnerable to him on his autopsy table and yet it seemed that you were just as excited by it as him.

“Ah, another thing…” He began and you cast a little glance over your shoulder at him, finding those bright green eyes fixed between your legs, “Sometimes they don’t come in perfect shape… I might have to cover up bruising with some makeup or fix over some injuries with wax; you understand what I mean, don’t you? I usually have to inspect each patient thoroughly and it seems that you have an irregularity to all my patients right here so you’ll be good while I inspect it, won’t you?” You folded your arms beneath your head and buried your face in them as he angled your hips to face up a little more, his legs dressed in those heeled and high-climbing boots kicking your own apart before falling to your knees. “Won’t you?” He repeated, wanting to hear your submission.

“I will…” You replied in a murmur, hips jerking just a little at the sensation of his breath on the back of your thigh.

“Swelling…” He mused as though it were somehow just for him, like your thoughts on this were irrelevant even though it was only done for the sheer purpose of watching your arousal grow in the face of your own humiliation. His comment was joined by gloved fingers prodding at your pussy lips. “Flushed skin too…” He murmured at the rosy tint of your aching flesh. You let out a little whimper when his fingers glided through your slit, gathering wetness and stopping just short of your clit. “Wet too…” You keened at the faint pressure of his fingertips at your entrance. “I should see if I can determine the cause of that.”

“Adrian!” You let out a cry of his name as his finger sank into you unexpectedly. It was rare that he ever fingered you, opting to usually make you touch yourself in front of his watchful eyes or for him to sloppily make out with your cunt before pushing his dick into you. His long nails wouldn’t allow you to comfortably be fingered by him, you’d only end up with scratched-up insides, but the gloves he was currently wearing protected you from such a risk and the feeling was so surprising, you felt your legs buckle for a moment.

“Very warm too…” He added to his mental notes as he shallowly pumped his slender finger in and out, rotating it slightly to feel along your walls. You were moving just slightly and he could tell that you were doing your best to not squirm. He wanted to test your limits and so another finger was added to your dripping pussy, making the material of his gloves shine with your arousal. “Tight as well, that’s good.” You could hear the edge of a moan in his voice and knew that he was already imagining how you would feel wrapped around his cock. A squeaked moan left your lips when those fingers brushed over your sweet spot and you pushed your hips back slightly to meet his touch as he hummed in observation.

You took a moment to ask yourself how you had ended up in this position. Genuine curiosity regarding his job had sparked these flames, yes, but who knew you could get so wet from humiliatingly having your pussy inspected by him like this as though you were just some subject or toy? A whine built in the back of your throat at the constant cycle of being turned on by your own humiliation.“Yes, I see what needs to be done…” You parted your lips to protest, only to let out a cry and try to grapple onto the table when he sank his cock into you in one merciless thrust. He wasted no time in firmly grabbing the curve of your waist to hold you still and stop your hips from hitting into the metal table when he began to deliver a punishing pace to your dripping hole that was already so close to coming around him from your prior stimulation.

You could feel the way that he leaned over you, the way the band had fallen from his silver hair to allow it to spill over his shoulders and tickle at your back. You were reminded of just how exposed you were when his clothed chest pressed to your back just before his teeth sank into your shoulder, making you whimper at the pain. He messily licked over the small wound, saliva gathering in the indents of his teeth and cooling in the air, sending little shivers through you. It was the first of many marks to be left across your back, shoulders and neck, even going as far up as your jaw. One bite had been particularly hard and you jolted upwards against him, reaching your hands back in a split second to try and push him off of you. It was a futile attempt done without thought, really, as he quickly grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your lower back in one hand. You were given very little room to squirm as your body tensed with a sudden orgasm, walls tightly squeezing around the fat cock mercilessly gliding in and out of your dripping hole.

“Stay down…” He ordered in a low voice by your ear, keeping his lips there to allow you to hear every moan and word of praise he had for you. “Now…” He began as you began to tremble with the overstimulation, the sensation of your walls milking him causing his hips to falter in their pace, becoming sloppier and sloppier. “I couldn’t exactly fill you up with formaldehyde or glutaraldehyde but… I can fill you with something else instead.” A moan, edged with a whimper, left his lips at the sight of your overused pussy creaming around his aching cock, forming a ring at the base. You were so fucking pretty. His orgasm was only spurred on by your eager nodding and broken, whining little begs for his cum. Who was he to deny you after you’d been so sweet to take interest in his job and then had obediently sat through being the subject of his little demonstration?

You let out a little pained noise at how unintentionally tightly he squeezed your wrists when he finally came inside of you, continuing to grind the head of his cock against your beaten cervix as he came deeply, fucking it all into you.

“Adrian.” You squeaked out when you concluded that he didn’t realise he was hurting you. Bright green eyes fell to you before he let you go, lacing his fingers through those on one of your hands instead to give you an apologetic squeeze.

“Sorry, poppet.” He murmured as he leaned down to press soft kisses across the reddening marks on your back and shoulders. “I got a bit lost in the moment.”

“That’s ok…” You mumbled back, feeling sleepy. You felt him carefully ease himself out of you, leaving you slumped over the table for a mere moment before his coat was being draped over your shoulders and you were being eased upright.

“Hold these.” A quiet command as he put your folded-up clothes into your hands, his gloves now removed. You were then swept up bridal-style and felt his lips press to your forehead as he carried you out of the morgue and into the entrance of his funeral parlour that had closed hours ago.

You only opened your eyes to look up at his scarred face once he was laying you down in your shared bed upstairs. You reached up for him with grabby hands and watched as your reaction made him smile and laugh a little before he began stripping out of his clothes for you to see, immediately getting into bed with you and covering both of your bare bodies with a warm blanket.

“You know… I had been expecting you to just talk me through the process or maybe invite me into the morgue the next time you work.” You murmured against his scarred chest as you rested your head there.

“Hm, yes, but I thought that my method would be much more entertaining for the both of us, my love.” He punctuated his words by squeezing you a little with the arm that was curled around your waist.

“I think you were right…” You hummed as you let yourself doze off with the sound of his heartbeat to lull you.

☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ commission me? ∘ join my taglist ∘ consider following/reblogging

🏷️ @writing-noah @asianbutnotjapanese @kingheinrey @danielle-marie @yourfamilyfriendsatan @welcome2thesaltyspitoon @firagirl @lyn07

#the undertaker x reader #undertaker x reader #adrian crevan #adrian crevan x reader #black butler #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji x reader #kuroshitsuji

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marygih · 5 months

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A peculiar dinner

"Millard please put on some clothes, polite people don't eat dinner naked!"

"Olive, you can't have dinner on the ceiling, get down from there!"

"Hugh, please remove the bees from your stomach so you can eat. How will you digest food with a belly full of bees?"

"Horace, you can't have dinner wearing your best clothes, you might get sauce on them and ruin them permanently! "

"Enoch, did you wash your hands before coming to eat? He worked with clay, formaldehyde and organs all day. "

"Claire my dear, your food is getting cold, I know you prefer to eat with your mouth behind you, eat my dear, no one feels ashamed of your gifts."

"Emma, please heat Claire's food."

"Fiona, you did an amazing job with the fruit and veg as always, congratulations dear."

"Victor, honey, just because you're strong enough to lift the dinner table doesn't mean you should!"

"Bronwyn, please help Olive to the table."

"Abe, Don't encourage Victor! You two are very stubborn! "

"Marcie, Charlotte con't play with your food, children"

"Twins, do you need help eating?"

#miss peregrines home for peculiar children #mphfpc #ransom riggs #peculiar #miss peregrine book #alma lefay peregrine #victor bruntley #bronwyn bruntley #emma bloom #fiona frauenfeld #claire densmore #olive elephanta

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bby-deerling · 4 months

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trafalgar law is a weird motherfucker who keeps every weird growth or oddity he has surgically removed from someone in a sick and twisted little jar of formaldehyde in his office

#cilles ramblings #trafalgar law

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shiershangmaodt · 4 months

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RV dual-purpose charcoal bag to remove odor and remove formaldehyde activated carbon mother and baby room new home decoration emergency check-in formaldehyde purification charcoal bag

#formaldehyde #formaldehyde removal #activated carbon #decoration formaldehyde removal #formaldehyde control #formaldehyde removal method #new house formaldehyde removal #formaldehyde exceeding the standard #household good things

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ionkini · 1 year

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☘️No more breathing in formaldehyde, benzene, and other harmful chemical gases odor in your car, home, office!

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#formaldehydefree #formaldehyderemoval #vocremoval #formaldehyde #VOC #VOCS #airfreshener #carairfreshener #homeairfreshener #healthyair #odoreliminator #odorremoval #air freshener #car air fresheners #formaldehyde removal #odor eliminator #healthy air

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sun-spice · 2 years

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DP Corpse AU where Danny is like fuck it and scares the shit out of an embalmer by popping up out of nowhere in the middle of the night.

Mild body horror and slight dead body nitty-gritty, non-graphic.

"Jesus, fuck! You nearly scared me onto this table, kid. You can't be in here."

"I was wondering if you could embalm me?"

"You're welcome to put my name in your will but you really can't--"

"No I mean like right now. I'll even pay you."

And so Danny (reluctantly) explains his situation how he's Phantom and he's sort of puppeting around his corpse and his family don't even know he's dead. The embalmer gives him a hug. Huh, that's very nice he doesn't realise how touched starved he's been recently.

"Wait, you're a Fenton right, don't your parents hunt you???"

"Yeah."

"That's fucked up."

"Yeah."

He wants to get embalmed because he thinks his body is decomposing because he has rigor mortis, but when he says this the other just squints at him and inhales deeply, looking contemplative.

"How long have you been dead?"

"About 6 months."

"How long has the rigor mortis been going on for?"

"Same time."

The embalmer laughs. "Yeah no, I don't think you're decomposing actually, nor that embalming is going to be a good idea."

Turns out that Danny's body is in some sort stasis where it's not decaying (ectoplasm keeps his cells from dying and killed his gut microbes and is working as the weirdest immune system ever) but it's also not working right. He can sort of willfully turn his cells off and on and make them duplicate to heal but his cells still don't work right.

The embalmer gives him a physical exam to the best of their ability and while his circulatory system is caput (how is he maintaining thermostasis?? He doesn't. How is he moving his muscles?? Ectoplasm mostly. How does he dialate his eyes? Sheer spite.) he still uses his lungs to ventilate and talk. His digestive system is an absolute mess and Danny won't lie he's kind of thought of just ripping it out entirely. He doesn't produce saliva so has to eat with a lot of water. He uses a ridiculous amount of eye drops and his pharmacist is probably extremely concerned.

Embalmer says there might be something they can do to help but they need more info (and a microscope) first. You have more than one microscope at home? Can you nick it? Epic, come back tomorrow.

Turns out Danny can't leave his body for more than a week straight or he starts to actually decompose. That's good to know.

They end up replacing his blood ("not with a formaldehyde mixture! Good luck moving with that in you.") with something that doesn't clot. "Be careful when you get cut." Then they remove most of his digestive system, close the bottom of his stomach, and then replace his organs with implant grade rough duplicates. To get rid of what he eats he has to use his intangibility and a lot of water. He's thankfully osmosed a lot of chemial engineering and can help manufacture some heavier duty lubricants in eye drops and drink form. He's then advised to steal as many topical painkillers and moisturisers as he can get his hands on. "Stick it to big pharma kid, stick it." The embalmer buys him a mortuary makeup kit that doesn't need body heat to set. apparently adding some colour to your hands, ears, neck and face can go a long way to making you appear alive.

"Come back for check ups and if you ever need a place to stay my door's open. And if you ever decide you want to a funeral or a burial you know who to ask."

If Danny could still produce tears he would cry but as it is he just nods with a shaky grateful smile and gets another hug.

And that's how Danny acquires the most unlikely general physician ever. Frostbite is just glad he's not doing his own human sutures anymore.

#danny phantom #long post #corpse au #cw body horror #ive been hyperfixating on both dp and embalming #this is the result

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