feartoxinjelloshot

[feartoxinjelloshot]

downloaded a brush of new brushes recently so here's anarky

#scribbles #clipsverse #anarky #molly randall #<- she's anarky in my au

[feartoxinjelloshot]

Top-Tier Villain Motivations

They will be safe. It doesn't matter who else or what else burns as long as They will be safe.

I will be safe. The hunger and the cold will never touch me again.

Fuck any bitch who's prettier(/cooler/better-liked/better at making dumplings) than me.

Yes, Master

Love me. Love me. Love me. Love me. LOVE ME!

I know the terrible things these so-called "heroes" will do if I don't stop them (<- is absolutely wrong)

I don't want a better future, I want a better past!

No other way to get performance art funded these days

#in order (cv) #mr freeze #joker #riddler (also cq) #zsasz #harley (also riddler) #dr strange #hush (also red hood) #scarecrow #and last but not least #poison ivy

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#this is how harley got bonnie & clyde #<- not their canon names but thats what i call her hyenas

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[ Image: A rough drawing of Professor Pyg and Dr. No Face from Batman. They are standing side to side, forming a heart with their hands between them. Pyg has a smile on his face, and Dr. No Face has no face to smile with. Behind their heads there is a stormy looking set of clouds with a rainbow arching between them. The rainbow is made up of darker, vivid colors, and has 'Peace + Love' written around it, with the plus sign in the rainbow. ]

Instead of yknow, expressing any coherent thoughts about Arkham City: Order of the World, I instead drew this. Peace and Love on Planet Arkham.

#op youre so real for this

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mr. freeze when he's asked why he spent the weekend stealing all of gotham's ice cream trucks instead of working on his research or whatever

#hes coping let him be

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Keep seeing that post where OP starts like 'Thinking about...grieving the undead' and then adds on about like. Real life situations where people have not died but have left your life and you would have reason to grieve them.

All respect, that's an important concept, but that is not what I am thinking about when I read 'grieving the undead'.

#this is so jason todd coded #<- normal

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Ankle biter daughter

#misc #this is so fucking real

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Il bacio (Francisco Hayes - 1859)

#yayyyyyy toxic yaoi yayyyyy #scribbles #clipsverse #bruce wayne #thomas eillot

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There is even a fair number of direct comparisons to be drawn between those organs of a house and those of a human body.

#arkham is an anglerfish and strange is its lure. do you get me #<- literally so true. you understand the vision

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Since the mask is quite literally melted on his face, does this make sleeping hard for Roman? Since the mask seems to have what looks like nails on the top of its head, which I doubt would feel the best while trying to lay down... and also how does the mask affect his other senses, such as his hearing and/or smell? And if/when he sees another taxidermied animal/mounted animal head, can he still hear them talking to him, or did the voices silence after the original ones all went up in flames?

(Also this is unrelated but Roman without the mask looks a lot like Jon-)

it's safe to say being in a traumatic house fire did not immediately cure roman's psychosis. unfortunately. his hallucinations aren't entirely exclusive to taxidermy but they're definitely worsened by the presence of it, especially in large quantities. a lot of the criticism that the animals directed at him throughout his childhood was functionally just his own externalized guilt complex over most things in his life; after the fire (despite becoming far more outwardly confident) those internal qualities were exacerbated, and by his own internal logic he perceives new animals as the ghosts of those he "killed" in the fire back come to torment him, along with occasionally his own parents.

roman can hear pretty normally in the mask. his sense of smell is obstructed purely in the sense that he's basically constantly hotboxing himself with cigarette smoke, but if he put something up to his actual nose (inside the mask's mouth) he'd still be able to smell it. the mask is viscerally uncomfortable, but roman did put those nails there on purpose, because he is a freak and a masochist. obviously having the mask burned on was not his choice, but he kind of leaned into it afterwards. he likes the pain. i also can't imagine him sleeping in a regular bed. i think most of the sleep he gets is after passing out at his desk surrounded by piles of mafia paperwork.

him looking like jon is not intentional, there are just only so many malnourished blonde white boys i can draw before they all start to blend together. i'm like 70% sure roman has never even been blonde in a comic, i just always had a distinct mental image of him having very unsettlingly pale hair and eyes under the mask in my au. extremely pale coloration is kind of my baseline for making someone look weird on purpose (while still being a regular human)

#ask #anonymous #black mask #roman sionis

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Clayface had it out for Jason's hairline in those comics

IM FUCKING SAYING DUDE like real shocker that batman figured out it wasn't really jason. clayface aged that poor guy 25 years in the space of like 3. probably looked at ra's al ghul once and just assumed the lazarus pit makes you start balding. it doesnt stop

#anonymous #ask #hush dc

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as questionable as the writing of the og hush arc is in general, i do like the art, hence why a panel from it is my current header, but all this is to say my god clayface was doing rough things to jason's hairline in that fucking comic

#he looks 40. cut my boy a break #talking #hush dc

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Animal Mounts: Do you feel Bonita?

Roman, wooden mask permanently stuck to his face: I feel Bonita.

Animal Mounts, burning: You LOOK Bonita.

#really good ask #ask #anonymous #clipsverse #black mask

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crocodile

#this is so waylon coded

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The Black Mask was both with the name Roman, to Charles and Ruby Sionis, the wealthy proprietors of a cosmetics business empire based in Gotham City.

By all accounts he was a normal toddler. He was weaned off of milk and sent to preschool and potty-trained and all of the other things small children were bound to do. He was a quiet, polite, intelligent little boy who did his parents proud - they had been trying for a child for a long time, someone to inherit the business when they passed on. They made sure tiny Roman was aware of his importance early on. What better way to make a child feel special, feel loved? They were going to trust him with everything. He was going to be just fine at it.

The company, really, was Ruby's world. She was a woman, and cosmetics were a feminine empire. Charles - though he held his fair share of business responsibilities - was always more dedicated to his lifelong passion for hunting and taxidermy, which had been instilled in him by long family trips with his own father, out to remote stretches of forest, mountain and grassland to take down all kinds of exotic trophy prizes. When Roman got old enough Charles bravely attempted the same with him, even buying him his first very own gun for his tenth birthday. Roman was shy and hesitant, sometimes to the point of vexing his father with his lack of confidence, but Charles was patient and understanding and slowly coaxed the hunt out of Roman as well. The kid had a real talent for it, when he got over himself enough to calm down and aim. He was a genuine crackshot, and his father bragged about it at every chance, talking him up and ruffling his hair fondly. Those were some of the few times Charles saw his son show him a real smile.

The other side of it was not as comforting.

See, both sides of Roman's family line, in varying quantities and distributions, had always been prone to hereditary psychosis. This particular affliction had miraculously skipped both of his parents, and in a superstitious attempt to ward it away from themselves and their son, they neglected to ever mention it to him. In fact, they made a concentrated attempt to prevent him from ever figuring out what psychosis was in any meaningful way that might affect his development.

Roman grew up surrounded by animals. Sometimes they were whole animals, deer and tigers and caribou; sometimes they were just the head, set into a wooden plate on the wall. Each had a different personality and a different voice. They had been his friends since he was a baby, and he considered them truer confidants than even his parents. They comforted him when he was at his worst, spoke to him in quiet tones that he had learned by that point not to respond to in front of his parents: it's okay, you're okay, champ and you only did what he made you do and but you won't pick that awful gun up again, right?

But he never forgave himself for killing their sisters, the ones in the woods that looked and moved like them, with beating hearts in their chests and big shining eyes that went flat when his father finished them off. He never forgave himself for skinning them with a silver knife and eating their flanks when there was nothing else in the camp at night, because his father said he was proud of him and his chest was cleaved down the middle by a child's sick loyalty.

At a lack of other avenues Roman constructed himself into two faces. The first one was a happy, healthy little human boy who went to school and smiled at his parents and never made eye contact with any of his father's taxidermy or walked around the house at night on soft padding feet. The other one was his true self - an animal, among other animals, whose face looked less like the one in the bathroom mirror and more like a black thing with white eyes, too big to be a wolf and too small to be a bear, that howled its gleeful music up the chimney along with the chorus that lit up the mansion's crowded hallways just before dawn.

And for a while he survived like that: with his mask in the day and his life at night, not content but not wholly unhappy either.

But he had done his job well. He had done his job so well that his parents, through a combination of their own prideful ignorance and Roman's genuine deception of them, had not noticed that anything at all was wrong with their son. He passed his classes and didn't make trouble and spoke of his friends on occasion, and went hunting with his father every summer, and he was fine. They were all fine.

So on his eighteenth birthday they gathered him up and had a party for appearances and said Son, we had you late. We were old then and we're older now. We want to retire. And we love you, and we trust you, and so we're going to give you the company.

And Roman thanked them, gathered every shred of his human mask up to his face, looked at it, realized it wasn't going to be enough to cover himself up, and went deep into the house with his friends and didn't come out.

His parents were devastated. They'd been working so hard for this. The past eighteen years, and they'd been raising him for this. He loved them. They loved him. How could he be unhappy? And throwing a tantrum like a child? What had they raised him for if not this moment?

Roman, in the house, had been busy with the process of taking one of his father's unused taxidermy mounts, a deep dark glossy lacquered thing, and using his hands and a whittling knife to carve it into his real face.

The black mask. The wolf. It came out looking more like a skull, but he figured that it was penance, after all, for all the siblings he had killed. He put it on and was overcome with hysterical calm relief, which was when his parents found the spare key to his rooms and broke in.

Their anger at him for what he had done quickly turned to rage at each other, and the company, and then Roman again, and each other, and through their screaming match and Roman's hysteria and the ceaseless chattering of the animals on the walls, nobody remembered the leftover sconces of candles downstairs until the smoke alarm went off.

To be short: Roman made it out. He was the only one.

Obviously, he was the primary suspect for the fire. They didn't believe that he couldn't have engineered the physical evidence, or that he wasn't lying about where he was at the time. There was nobody else alive from the house to confirm his statement. His face would never be the same again, that much was clear: the detectives and psychiatrists made quick work of the family mental history that he claimed he had never even heard about before that point - fat chance, kid - and by the time he got around to blabbering over his so-called siblings nobody took him seriously at all. They wrote him up. He couldn't be officially accused until the hearing, but it was an open-and-shut case. Poor bastard, but hey, it's Gotham. Shit like this happens every other week.

Roman Sionis never made it to the hearing. He was out of the hospital for three hours before anyone noticed he was gone and his trail stopped cold at the exit doors. In forty-eight hours he had gone from one of the richest teenagers in the city to homeless, penniless, barefoot, and permanently disfigured - the fresh lacquer on his wooden mask had melted in the heat and fused straight onto his face, unless he wanted a complete transplant, skin and all.

Roman didn't. He figured that he had hidden enough. In his abject shock, he was starting to show some of his father's confidence, something he really always had hidden somewhere in the back but had always been pressing himself down too hard to show. He went into the guts of the city and stole a new set of clothes - all black, like the mask. If he was going to do this, he might as well do it in style. He was intelligent, a fast-talker, knew when to be quiet, and he really was still a crackshot, even after all those years. That was shit that could get a man pretty far down where he was.

The police never found Roman Sionis. They found the man who wore his body, sure, but the boy had been gone for a long, long time.

#black mask backstory piece because i felt like it #uneditied and its 1am btw. which is to say IGNORE ANY TYPOS PLEASEEEE #scribbles #clipsverse #black mask #roman sionis #its been haunting me that the image i have of kid roman in my brain is literally just thst one guy from metal family. can anyone here me #i WILL practice music all summer. etc

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They have the same vibe to me but like opposite ends of the spectrum

#REALLY GOOD #batman unburied #gotham nbc

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EDBABS + PAIN + AO3

And you are a ruin, you want too much by storm_warning//Cause I feel safe with you heaveninaheartbeat//same old mistakes storm_warning//I am a crook by heaveninaheartbeat//Like a gun that you will not learn to aim by storm_warning

#HEY THATS MY AO3 (STORM_WARNING) LMFAO #WE WIN THESE #batman unburied