#Temperance (Test Tube)

[tellerluna-stories]

veneration.

PAIRING: scaramouche x reader

GENRE: canon-compliant. belligerent romantic tension, flirting but not quite flirting, the trope of helping the other get ready for an important event.

TW/CW: slight spoilers for 3.2 archon quest (although it was literally revealed in the livestream so idk if it counts as spoilers).

A/N: boo, I'm alive (sort of.) I can't believe I'm writing for emo pinocchio, much less simping for him (yes, @x-zho and @byeol-ssi you read that correctly),,,, but HEY IF THIS DRABBLE GETS ME OUTTA BURNOUT DEPRESSION Y NAT COCONUT

"How fares your one follower, Lord Harbinger?"

The Balladeer pauses in the middle of what he's doing, a tangle of energy tubes falling around his ankles like an undignified noodle dish. Your voice is carefully, perfectly even, your eyes steadily fixed on your book as if nothing was the matter.

"Haypasia? Well, she's the first of many to come, so of course she is someone of great prestige in my eyes."

He enjoys the faint flicker in your eyes, choking back a taunting smile as your grip tightens on your book. To say that he held affection for you would be staunchly denied, but there was nothing Scaramouche delighted in more than to wear your nerves out.

"As she should be. Never forget the service she has done you, sir."

"And what of the service you owe me?" He retorts. "I don't recall summoning you here just so you could sit and recite pretty words to me while I do all the work."

An exasperated sigh and a slight rustle as you get up from your chair, followed by the echoing sound of your footsteps as you began climbing the stairs to the head of his soon-to-be divine vessel. "I had assumed that you wouldn't want my assistance until I was called for."

"I'm sure Haypasia would have willingly volunteered to assist me." Scaramouche remarks idly, tracing a finger along the polished metal. "When it comes to loyalty to me, I'm sure that that girl is second to none."

Silence, just as expected. Your face is pristinely neutral when you reach the top of the stairs and place the book on the floor, but he knows better; he knows how the blood surges in your veins in not-quite-jealousy, how the air catches in your throat at the thought of someone being better devoted to him.

Up until now, the Balladeer had had a hard time finding an edge over your nonchalant nature, with any sharp jabs left blithely ignored or rebutted, with no room for nonsense— for out of all the people who dared test their bravery by working with him, you were one of the few who had remained mostly unaffected by his short temper.

But with a certain researcher in the equation, it seems that he had a new — and most entertaining — way to push your buttons.

"You shouldn't have tangled up the tethers like this, sir." You kneel down to untangle the mess of cables at his already-tethered feet, your hair falling forward to conceal your face. "The Doctor would not be pleased if something were to malfunction tomorrow due to something as minor as this."

He stands stock-still as your hands trace along the length of his arm, searching for where to attach the cables to his wrists and shoulders, your fingertips brushing against his back as you check for any loosened tethers; to an outsider, it would seem that you were merely performing the duties of a faithful assistant. But every move and word was choreographed, designed to bring out your true intentions under the guise of professionalism.

"Tell me," The Balladeer asks, a taunting lilt to his voice. "What sort of book are you reading that distracts you from my glory?"

"Just something I picked up in the Grand Bazaar." You reply, and soft hands brush against the sides of his neck, reaching to safely tether him to his vessel. "A book of short essays and poetry, written by some obscure but well-read author."

"What sort of poetry?" Scaramouche keeps his gaze locked on yours, pretending to be unaffected by the way your arms enclosed the air around him, the close proximity between the two of you. The fun part of the game was to never reveal your hand of cards, after all.

"The usual; some about life, or loss. The seasons, and some about places the author had been to." Your eyes briefly flicker to meet his. "Love poems, too."

He cannot help but smirk, knowing full well at what you were playing at; the two of you had an unspoken agreement, a mutual push and pull as you aimed to tear each other's heartstrings out and have the other dancing in the palm of their hand. "Care to recite one, then? I'd like to see if you can actually spew pleasant words for once."

"If that is what the Lord Harbinger wishes," was your response, your gaze drifting away to focus on adjusting the tethers on his hands and wrists one last time. "There is one piece that I particularly enjoy; allow me to retrieve my book so that I may read that to you."

You were clever— he had to admit as much. This very well could have been your plan all along, to grab his attention with a book that you were certain would make an impression on him; he would not put it past you to have made such a bold plan.

But since the Balladeer was soon to achieve his lifelong goal, he was feeling generous tonight— he would indulge your little schemes for today, just this once.

"Ah, here it is." You straighten up, the pages rustling as you flip to the correct page. "This essay is rather long, but this particular excerpt is my favourite."

Scaramouche watches as you begin to pace back and forth aimlessly, your lips parting to take a deep breath in preparation... and he waits. He waits for the next move in the chess game, for his turn to come.

"Look up to the stars, and remember the light in my eyes." One finger traces idly along the page, your eyes following it intently as if to bore a hole through the paper. "Look to the east, the rosy dawn, and think of my lips, sweetened with the honey of memories with you."

"But furthermore, evermore, I beg of you, my darling..." Your feet shift to wander towards him, stepping closer and closer till you were only a few paces away from where he stood.

"...Look at me and only me forevermore." You recited, tilting his head upwards with the edge of your book, your warm breath fanning his cheeks as you leaned ever-closer. "Are these the sort of words you'd like to hear from me, Lord Harbinger?"

"Hah." A chuckle escapes his mouth before he can stop himself— really, truly, this was all too entertaining! "That all depends on what I am to you."

"What I am to you is the same as what you are to me." For the first time that evening you smiled, a mirror of the same smile he had now; the air of both challenge and taunt hidden behind the guise of a pleasant expression. "I wish you good luck on your promotion tomorrow, Lord Harbinger."

[musings-of-miss-j]

no rest for the wicked (nor the foolish)

part nine: in which the Doctor calls in sick and Her Ladyship graces your doorstep

a harbingers x gn reader series!! (includes dottore, childe, arlecchino and pantalone x reader. the rest of the harbingers will not be romantic interests)

notes: slowburn, uh idek what to describe this as anymore!! introspection-heavy chapter, signora and dottore centric this time, Menaces Think About Feeling and Give Themselves a Headache

series masterlist

author's notes: *bleeding from an array of stab wounds varying in depth and size* h..hey everyone... sent in my college applications the other day and i've been feeling sick to my damn stomach every since. also graduated haha! salutatorian..! kill me! at least i got to give a speech and make my mum proud ig. anyway enjoy this chapter!

word count: 4902

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

Despite how dazzled Childe might have been by your passable archery, Dottore was decidedly unimpressed when your return to the lab was so overdue.

“And just where have you been?”

“I could ask you the same, Doctor,” you replied pointedly when you recovered from your start at his sudden question. He clicked his tongue, impatient.

“My dear student, this is far from a suitable day to challenge the status quo. Tell me where you were.”                                                                                                               

The Doctor was hardly one to wear his heart on his sleeve, and the barely-there edge to his voice would’ve escaped you if you weren’t so familiar with the careless tenor he usually adopted; paired with the slight raspiness it almost made it sound as if he was… sick?

“Have you fallen ill?” You asked with a frown, stepping forward and scrutinising what was visible of his face for any observable changes. He always looked deathly pale, though, so it was difficult to ascertain any physical symptoms.

“I don’t fall ill,” he hissed, turning away from you with a scowl. “Answer my question.”

Oh, well. Might as well let him interrogate you.

“The archery range.”

“The archery range,” he repeated, tone dripping with contempt. “Rather than contributing to scientific advancement, you chose to play with bows and arrows. Extraordinary.”

“Whoever usually spits in your coffee supplied extra effort today, I see,” you mused under your breath, heading back to your work station and tightening your gloves as you walked.

“The sheer cheek-”

“And there’s my proof that something’s amiss,” you smoothly interrupted, looking through the row of test tubes on your work bench. “I implicitly called you an imbecile earlier this week and you didn’t bat an eye, but now a little throwaway comment is so easily setting off your volatile temper?” You shot him a pointed look over the rim of your glasses. “No point in continuing yesterday’s experiment if you’re sick, Doctor. You’ll contaminate the Petri dishes beyond salvation.”

Dottore pinched the bridge of his nose with a long-suffering sigh, pivoting on his heel and preventing you from taking a peek at what the rest of his face looked like with the mask slightly tilted up. You were insufferable, with your overly astute observations and your deceptively mild tone with the hint of sarcasm just strong enough to make him raise an eyebrow. You were maddening, all narrowed eyes and furrowed brows as you pored over what he assumed to be an anomalous result (you only ever hunched that closely over your work when something had gone wrong. He knew it was an old habit from before you’d started wearing glasses, when any mistakes could easily be fixed simply by eliminating the issue of poor visuals.) You were unbearable, intelligent enough to challenge him and prove him wrong, all without even raising your voice a single decibel. He wished your secrets were the kind that could be uncovered by a scalpel and a swipe or two of disinfectant.

“I do believe I’m the doctor, dear student. You’re hardly qualified to throw diagnoses around.”

“Well then, Doctor, I think you’d best go ahead and diagnose yourself with a common cold, and recommend yourself some bedrest while you’re at it.”

He grumbled incoherently under his breath, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Probably a fever, you thought with a touch of gratification. When he moved in the general direction of the incubator, you called out at his receding back.

“Do not touch my cultures. This is the fourth time I try to test this medium,” you added, mostly to yourself.

“Worry not,” he replied, voice practically oozing sarcasm. “Your subpar agar plates couldn’t be further from the top of my list of priorities.” 

You rolled your eyes, stacking the sheets of paper you inevitably accumulated at the end of every lab session and resolving to leave the Doctor and his more-annoying-than-usual attitude to finish your work elsewhere.

“Stay,” he instructed without turning around when you headed to the door. “I’ve yet to hear the details of your thermodynamic stability tests.”

“I’ll have the complete report ready tomorrow,” you pointed out, continuing to make your way to the door.

“Stay,” he repeated, just barely more forceful. “I’d like to hear about it now.”

You stopped in your tracks, sighing internally. It would be senseless to put so much effort into making sure you didn’t anger the Harbingers only to directly disobey an order and let all your posturing go to waste, so you spent the next few hours chattering extensively about your experiment, perhaps being more long-winded and going into more detail than necessary as a form of petty revenge. Not that the Doctor seemed to mind, making the occasional noise of acknowledgement and asking questions that allowed you to delve deeper into the specifics of your methodology.

By the time you’d finished off your spiel with a cursory “and then I’ll recrystallise the product so there’s a pure sample ready for another round of testing”, it was well into the evening and you’d wound up in the inevitable position of sitting on one of the workbenches thanks to the utter lack of any chairs in the lab.

“It is a well-designed procedure,” the Doctor conceded, breaking your absent-minded train of thought about whether or not you could somehow drag a comfortable loveseat inside.

“You must really be under the weather if you’re offering me a compliment on a silver platter,” you replied with a raise of your eyebrows. “Not even a backhanded one. Truly astonishing.”

Dottore rolled his eyes behind the mask. “The only cause for astonishment is your inexcusably meagre supply of respect.”

“There’s the Doctor I know,” you said with a huff of laughter, pushing your glasses to the top of your head and rubbing your eyes. “…Don’t overwork tonight,” you added after a non-negligible period of deliberation. “I need another set of hands for tomorrow’s follow-up. So…” you gestured vaguely at him with your hand, hopping down from the workbench. “Rest, if only for an hour or two.”

You weren’t quite sure if the Doctor’s silence made you feel more or less awkward, but you brushed it off to the best of your ability and left with only with the vague sense of mortification you’d get from showing a little more kindness than usual to someone who was probably more accustomed to your scorn.

Dottore, on the other hand, was more confounded than he cared to admit. You’d always been careful not to say too much; every one of your words was precisely measured and deftly presented, with no room to spare for emotion. Which was sensible of you, all things considered; he was a Harbinger, and you were in alone in a foreign country working with an organisation that veered on the wrong edge of morality, where integrity was a politely dismissed formality at best and an openly mocked concept at worst. Impassiveness would help just as much as openness would hurt. The occasional times you slipped up, the only feeling that bled into your voice was annoyance; crisp and sharp and a sight to behold, especially for a scholar such as himself who toiled against the laws of nature countless times with innumerable different methods to procure something new, a tangible result.

He marvelled at himself for thinking of you as such, an immovable law, a force of nature, then he returned to the puzzling dilemma that was your parting statement. Rest, you’d told him. You never said anything that could belie concern, or worry or weakness, yet you’d expended an extra syllable or two for the simple word, directed at him. To every rule an exception, he thought with no small measure of satisfaction at finding a way to categorise your behaviour yet again, and filed the abnormally uncertain cadence that your voice had displayed, however briefly, in the corner of his mind.

The night was still young and many of the recruits you shared a wing with loitered in the corridors, talking and smoking and looking rather exhausted. One of them, a girl with red hair so bright it could’ve replaced the floating lanterns that littered the palace, offered you a cigarette as you walked past. You declined with a nod in her direction and continued on your way, the strap of your heavy leather satchel digging uncomfortably into your shoulder as you approached your dorm. After a moment of fumbling with the chain on your belt for the key, you all but collapsed inside with a yawn, running a hand through the stray hairs that had escaped throughout the day. The fire crackled in the hearth, definitely courtesy of Anya, and you gratefully warmed your hands in front of it before unclasping your cloak and hanging it in the wardrobe along with your bag.

“You’re late, sweetling,” came a voice that was becoming alarmingly familiar- ever so slightly gravelly, with an undercurrent that always left you guessing whether its owner was amused or displeased.

“Fashionably so, I hope,” you replied, turning to face Signora with a smile that veered on the wrong side of playful. You couldn’t help it; everything about her demanded obedience, and small defiances were the only thing preventing you from feeling like a well-trained pet with not an ounce of dignity to spare. Either way, she didn’t seem to mind, judging from the exaggerated, lenient eye roll she sent in your direction. You marvelled at the companionable silence as you unpacked. Lady Signora fit seamlessly into the puzzle that your everyday belongings shaped, yet commanded attention all the same; like a swath of unblemished silk draped over aging furniture. Her first few visits were an uncomfortable experience. It had felt more like an intrusion, really, being forced to entertain an unwanted guest with your limited capacity for small talk (mortifying) and a different tea blend every time served in teacups with a painted rim that matched her lipstick (because despite it all, a part of you still wanted to impress her).

You carried out the same routine, teapot, cups and saucers, and even went so far as to open a new tin of biscuits for Her Ladyship. The eyes of Her Ladyship in question remained focused on you, half-lidded yet nonetheless penetrating as ever, as you went through the motions of pouring the tea and handing her the cup.

“Chamomile? It’s quite unlike you to forego caffeine.”

You sighed, taking a seat across from her and melting into the dips of the chair. “The Doctor was in an awful mood. If it carries on until morning I’ll need every minute of sleep I can get to deal with him.”

She clicked her tongue, lifting the cup to her lips. “That man possesses no emotional stability whatsoever. It’s a wonder you’re both still alive, especially when your temper is hardly mild either.” This last remark she paired with a wink, and a smile spread over your face.

“Right as always, my lady. Too often a day spent in the lab feels like my last.”

“Ah, Tsaritsa forbid!” She waved a hand in your direction, the simple black rings on her fingers catching the low light. “You have to live until the gala at least, sweetheart. I won’t have you tragically perishing before then; you owe me a dance, after all.”

You dejectedly rubbed your brow. “I do wish you’d pardon my absence from that gala.”

“Absolutely not,” Signora declared, crossing one leg over the other with an air of unbearable gratification. “You wouldn’t break my heart so callously, now would you?”

“Anything but Her Ladyship’s heart,” you replied dryly.

After a moment of shared laughter, a comfortable quiet fell across the room, punctuated by the crackling fire and the muffled groan of the building as it settled for the night. Your eyelids grew heavy, and staying awake was rapidly looking like an unnecessary effort you had no interest in making. Signora watched you drift off with an oddly contemplative expression, her eyes unfocused yet present all the same, as if simultaneously observing you and something far beyond. You had become a frequent visitor in her dreams, instantly recognizable by that shrewd look in your eye and the stubborn line of your mouth, one she could never resist trying to coax into a smile; and sometimes when she succeeded and the light hit you just so, she could swear that she glimpsed Rostam’s face within the shadows of your own. Then she’d blink and the illusion would dissolve, leaving behind only your sharp eyes and stern mouth, so unlike the gentleness she so clearly remembered in his.

But now, with the fire casting wavering shadows every time your lashes fluttered, just barely asleep, and the muffled silence that always seemed to accompany snow calming her mind, Rosalyne found comfort in the fact that your face – the slope of your cheek, the curve of your nose, the crease of your eyes – was entirely your own.

Something banged against the door and you started awake, half-certain you were dreaming as your eyes struggled to focus in the dark. The noise came again, louder and more insistent, and you detangled yourself from a blanket you didn’t remember falling asleep in before stumbling off the couch and towards the door, rubbing your eyes and too tired to even question who would call on you at such an ungodly hour of the night.

Bang bang bang-

“Heavens above, would you stop-”

You forcefully yanked the door open, already preparing to fix whoever was on the other side with your most withering glare. Dottore peered back at you, almost glowing in the inky blackness of the corridor. You blinked, then groped blindly through your pockets for your glasses. Upon hastily shoving them onto your nose, it became clear that it wasn’t Dottore at all, rather one of his segments.

“Omega?” You squinted up at him, then scowled. “Bastard. What exactly are you hoping to accomplish by breaking my door down?”

“I’d break down much more than just a door if it meant having a chance to see you.”

“Shut the hell up,” you hissed, feeling more enraged by the second. “You have thirty – no, twenty seconds to explain what you’re doing here before I dismantle your logic core.”

He grinned, completely unconcerned. You hated to admit it, but his lack of reaction was probably justified; the Rudimentary Mechanics of Sentient Machines course you took in your second year left you ill-equipped to go through with your threat. That didn’t mean you couldn’t simply swing a hammer, though, and you silently communicated the fact to Omega with a glower that could probably light a torch.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Prime’s fallen unconscious.”

You levelled him with an unimpressed look. “I fail to see how that’s my problem. There are seven of you, all with highly developed medical faculties. You can handle a little oopsie-daisy.”

“Well, of course we can,” Omega replied with a barely restrained snort. “It isn’t a lack of skill on our part, that I can assure you of. Prime coded us all with a total inability to touch his person.”

There was a pause during which you picked out a rather distasteful array of words you would’ve liked to call the Doctor. “Archons above, that man is the most imbecilic genius this timeline had the displeasure of housing.” You rubbed the bridge of your nose, already half-resigned to your fate. “And I suppose any real doctors within the building are utterly forbidden from laying a hand on His Majesty’s body, too?”

“Nope. They haven’t been given explicit instructions not to do so, but they’re all too scared out of their wits to breathe within a five mile radius of him anyway,” he replied cheerfully.

“I’m going to mix all his blood samples together,” you muttered heatedly under your breath, turning to grab your cloak and pushing Omega out of your doorway before he could start looking through your dorm. “Move it, Omega.”

“Fine, fine,” he grumbled, letting you shove him towards the barely-illuminated staircase.

The lab was just as, if not even more poorly lit than the corridors, with only a single lamp set to the dimmest possible glow; the feeble light was barely enough to see by, and you could make out the Doctor’s slumped-over form by the indistinct shadows it cast over the workbench. Despite the eeriness of the scene, you didn’t feel nervous; it was difficult not to feel at ease in a room you spent so many hours of the day in. You could probably navigate the lab blindfolded and drunk, so picking your way through the boxes, stacks of paper and books on the floor might as well have been a walk in the park. Still, you wondered why the floor was so cluttered in the first place; it was never so populated with scientific miscellany when you were working there.

Approaching the Doctor, you took note of how his mask had fallen slightly askew where his face rested against the marble, revealing a sliver of his cheek, flushed an unusual red, and the dark circles beneath one of his eyes. Your spine tingled with trepidation. Even while unconscious, the Doctor emanated danger, embodied peril; the simple act of reaching out to touch him felt like a surefire way to spell your own doom, but despite your wariness you slowly extended your hand towards his face to check his temperature.

You barely made it a few inches before he grabbed your wrist, snapping upright and staring straight at you.

“Oh,” he muttered hoarsely. “It’s you.” Then he went limp again, collapsing back onto the marble surface as you recovered from the start he’d given you.

“What in Teyvat is the matter with you?” You demanded in a whisper after a moment’s surprise. “Omega dragged me here saying you were unconscious. You can’t possibly keep denying that you’re sick, Doctor.”

“Don’t you tell me what I can or can’t deny,” came a muffled grumble in response. “Go away, dear. Omega is a meddling pest who needs his cerebrospinal fluid replaced at best and a full reformatting at worst. Nothing he says can be trusted.” His words slurred together in a most concerning manner, and you could hear the faintest Sumerian accent that wasn’t usually present in his voice from the way he rolled his r’s.

“Why would a robot need cerebrospinal- no, don’t answer that. Just”- you gestured at his hunched form, not that he could see- “Go to bed, please.”

“I can’t possibly waste time on something as useless as sleep,” he snapped, finally lifting his head. “I’m one concordant result away from a breakthrough, I swear it.”

“And I’m one stupid word from your mouth away from knocking you out properly,” you griped under your breath. “Doctor, please. I bet if I tried to take your temperature I’d lose a couple of fingers to third degree burns. Just rest, whatever breakthrough you think you’re on the verge of can wait.”

He let out a bark of wry laughter, turning to face you fully and lay the full weight of his piercing glare on you. “Aren’t we hypocritical? You once spent fifty-one and a half hours straight in the lab inhaling toxic fumes from a genetically modified mushroom’s spores because you were convinced the cure to Eleazar was within reach. You wouldn’t let a revolutionary advancement in your research wait either.”

“That is completely beside the point”- you blinked, processing his words. “How the hell do you know about that? I stopped researching Eleazar in my third year and I only have one publication on the topic.”

“I have my ways,” he replied, a self-assured grin stretching across his face.

“So you’re a stalker, too? Was the list of atrocities you’ve already committed not long enough to appease your wicked soul?”  You deadpanned.

“Stalking? I prefer to call it data collection.”

“Yes, of course you would,” you quipped, patience growing thinner by the second. “Get up, Doctor. You’re getting eight hours of sleep tonight whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t be so frivolous,” he scorned. “Three is already excessive.”

You were growing more and more aggravated by the second; if you scowled any harder the lines of your face would probably become permanently etched in that position. Steeling your nerves, you grabbed him by the sleeve and hauled him upwards. Surprisingly enough, he actually got up, although that was more likely because you caught him off-guard.

“I’m too tired to exchange witticisms with you all night. We both know you’re not going to make any more progress, and you’ll be useless in the lab if you can’t even discern silver from iron.”

You picked your way unsteadily through the mess on the floor, cursing Omega for disappearing when he could’ve made himself useful. Dottore let you pull him towards the door that led to the completely unused bedroom, still mostly out of surprise that you’d dared to lay a hand on him in the first place. He had to commend your bravery; anyone else would’ve been left with a broken wrist by now, if they were lucky. The reasoning behind your special treatment made the unpleasant pounding in his head quickly become unbearable, so he decided to drop that train of thought. For the time being.

You kicked open the door and shoved him inside the untouched bedroom. Just from taking a brief glance around you were immediately certain that no one had stepped foot in it since it had been furnished, let alone made use of it for sleep. Every surface from the dresser to the shelves mounted on the wall was completely empty save for a thick layer of dust, the bedsheets had become yellowed with age and the spider web cracks starting at the window and ending at one of the corners were tightly clustered with the tiny, jasmine-like flowers that littered the rest of the palace. The Doctor swayed slightly on his feet, and you quickly moved to catch him before he fell. A frown crossed his face. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about being so reliant on you all of a sudden. Whatever he felt about the matter, it couldn’t have been positive; every time you touched him his fever seemed to rise a few degrees.

“Well, isn’t this ironic,” you mused to yourself, guiding Dottore to the bed and pushing him down onto it. “The doctor becomes the patient and the apprentice becomes the master.”

“Do not flatter yourself so,” he bit back. “You’ve a long way to go before surpassing me, dear.”

“I see a little cold isn’t enough to knock some humility into you,” you sighed, busying yourself with trying to force the window, which hung ever so slightly ajar and let in gusts of freezing air, to fully close. Dottore watched you from the bed, wondering what you were thinking in that moment. As far as he was concerned, it was a miracle you’d managed to force him anywhere without snapping his incredibly fragile patience, and now you were even going so far as to trade jabs with him that were quite a few degrees of familiarity higher than the ones you usually let loose during the day. And you’d told him to rest earlier that night, advice he’d blatantly disregarded, but it had still been a deviance from what he’d come to expect from you. Overall, he decided, both of you were exhibiting remarkably odd behaviour, and as much as it pained him to admit it he was too tired to think further about the matter.

Upon finally forcing the window shut and sustaining a shallow nick in the palm of your hand as a result, you walked past him and back into the lab with a mumbled curse on your lips which quickly devolved into a wide yawn. Of course you’d be tired. He tended to forget, sometimes, how it felt to have a body that wasn’t modified to be as close to perfection as possible; but catching even a glimpse of your very much human exhaustion brought back distant memories of his own fatigue, before he had taken a scalpel to his own skin and remedied the limitations of his own body. Still, he mused, watching you return to the bedroom with a pot of steaming tea (where in Teyvat did you get that? Did you keep it in the lab?) with half-lidded eyes and a disgruntled frown on your lips, a part of him filled with satisfaction at the opportunity to analyse an expression of yours he hadn’t seen before. He studied you intently as you turned your attention to the tea, eagerly filing away every detail of your countenance as he always tended to do when you showed him a new side of yourself, whether intentionally or not. You bent over a little to pour the tea, and he took in the curve of your spine, normally held upright in an example of perfect posture. Your hair slipped and hid a portion of your face, and he marvelled at how soft it looked, how effectively you usually kept it tied back for it to never get in the way. You rubbed one of your eyes, dislodging your glasses, and he watched as you plucked them from your face and stowed them in the pocket of your coat, thoroughly wrinkled along with your blouse to the point where he suspected you’d fallen asleep in them. You’d never let yourself get in such a state of disarray otherwise. Your gloves remained on your hands, though, he noted. You silently offered him a cup of tea, and cast a curious, searching gaze, the one you adopted when tasked with a particularly tricky experiment or stubborn calculation, across his face. He’d long since acknowledged the sheer gratification that came with you regarding him like a puzzle to solve or a code to decipher, and now was no different. Dottore internally preened at being the subject of your curiosity.

“That mask can’t be comfortable,” you finally said, taking a sip from your cup. “Does it not impair your breathing at all?”

He stared down at the cup you’d given him, catching sight of his own reflection in the surface of the amber liquid. “Quite a poor attempt to convince me to remove it,” he remarked, sending you a bemused, slightly mocking smile.

You rolled your eyes, dragging a worn chair to the side of the bed and crumpling into it. Swirling your cup around thoughtfully, you continued to survey him through narrowed eyes. You probably couldn’t see him very well without your glasses, he realised with some amusement as he finally lifted the cup to his lips. He was pleasantly surprised; it seemed your unbelievable caffeine intake was justified, if every pot of tea you made was of such high quality.

“You’re going to get up and continue working the second I leave, aren’t you?” You said, breaking the silence. Dottore drained his teacup before answering. Some damn good tea right there.

“Unless you’ve spiked this tea with a sedative, yes.”

“Damn, I should’ve done that,” you muttered regretfully under your breath. Then, after eyeing him shrewdly for a moment, you conceded, “Well, at least you’re getting some rest now, if nothing else.”

Yet another thing about the whole situation that was confusing the hell out of him. Why didn’t he just disregard you and go back to what he was doing? Why was he sitting in this practically-antique bed in this practically-abandoned room, drinking tea and making conversation with you instead of finishing what he started? What in Teyvat was it about you that was so compelling he found it so easy to disregard the work he thought he’d choose over everything else? Not for the first time, he wished that your enigmatic nature was something he could decode like an ancient scripture or unravel like the tangle of ley lines that held the world together. So few things were a mystery to him anymore; there was so little he’d left undiscovered, yet you had managed to make it onto such a short list seemingly without effort. Even now, while you were completely still and silent, your unfocused eyes looking somewhere out the window, his full attention was captured by the way you rested your cheek on your fist, the way your eyelids fluttered periodically as you struggled to stay awake. Damn you.

You dozed off just then, teacup slipping from between your fingers. He caught it before it could shatter, then nearly crushed it to pieces himself when he realised his urgency in preventing it from hitting the floor was because he didn’t want to wake you. And that maybe you liked this particular teacup, and would mourn its loss. And fuck, why would such things cross his mind? Frustrated, he glanced back up at you as if your sleeping form would hold the answers to these infuriating questions that plagued him, and instead was left with an even greater sense of wonderment at how much the peacefulness of sleep softened the harsh lines of doubt and suspicion in your face.

He carefully set the cup down. If his grip tightened any more he’d break it in his fit of vexation. And despite not knowing the reason why, he didn’t want to upset you.

*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚*  ੈ✩‧₊˚**  ੈ✩‧₊˚*

taglist (omg there's so many of you now i'm gonna cry):

@viridian-coffer, @vvzhyxx, @darifes, @whore-of-many-hot-men

@aenishas, @lovel3tter, @randomidk-123, @autistic-deer

@luvenus702, @zoriaisasimp, @ra404, @crownohomo

@diamondcookie45, @steadybreadbluebird, @reapersimps

@lockandkeys, @lacunaanonymoused, @tyt42, @blackcatpandora

to be added or removed please reply to the masterlist post, bold means i'm having trouble tagging you :(

[fraugwinska]

Part 2 of the Alchemist series - No smut today,but I had this idea in my head and couldn't continue NOT writing it. And don't worry - those two will have time enough in Part 3 for some biological studies! :> TW: Emotional turmoils, Graphic depictions of torture and violence Read at your own discretion. As always minors - please exit to the right, DNI, this is an 18+ space

Your assistant flinched when you threw another rack of test tubes against the walls, the black, polished tiles to your feet covered in shards of glass and bubbling, oil-like liquids.

"M-Ma'am, please, ", she pleaded, kneading the pink, naked tail that peeked out of her lab coat nervously in her hands while she backed away as your grabbed the big Erlenmeyer flask still sitting over the bunsen burner, fizzing as if in mockery. "i-it's better than number 52. Isn't that progress...?"

Failed. Again, you had failed.

"Idiots call it progress...", You held the flask up, cold flames of renewed anger licking down your spine. "I call it A FUCKING DISGRACE!"

The rat demon squeaked when the glass crashed on the floor as you howled in frustration, the black gas that evaporated with a hiss and the dark purple flames the substance evoked enough to make her run out the door and out of the laboratory with a sob, the sound of her heels clicking in the hallway a grim farewell and final goodbye to a fairly good assistant.

You slumped back against a work bench and put your hands in the pockets of your coat, struggling with your breathing to calm down. The painful hunger in you scratched at your insides, this insatiable need that appeared ever since...

Ever since you returned to your laboratory that day, ever since your last encounter with the Radio Demon. The image of Alastor and his shadow flashing up in front of you. How you were deceived and subdued by him, outsmarted by him and most humiliating, how you had liked it. It should've left nothing but disdain and anger inside you, instead it left an aching want, a restless desire for filling the gaping hole of knowledge you had been faced with as well as your paradox craving for another fight ending inevitably into your submission. Defiant to do something about the latter, you had begun to at least try to satisfy the first.

You were usually okay with failure as part of the scientific progress. A failed experiment only meant an additional tool in your hand on your surefire way to success. But never did success seem so impossible to you. Every new try of recreating the shadows that had so efficiently overpowered you felt like a rerun of your previous one. You had exhausted your knowledge, rewritten the same hypotheses over and over and burned through five assistants since. These angry outbursts were so unlike you - but as the number of failed experiments rose so did your temper, and the higher your anger, the harder it became to concentrate.

Alastor haunted your mind, infiltrated your rationale with images of a teasing smile, flesh threatening to burst beneath black and sharp claws, burning red eyes staring at you from the wet heat of your core. You hadn't eaten in two weeks, hadn't slept in nearly as long, had spent all your waking hours locked away in here in a futile attempt of fleeing these emotions that were so obstructive to your work. You were obsessively reading your books, furiously rereading your notes, desperately starting test after test, trial after trial to try and satiate this thirst only to be left even more parched. You knew it wouldn't be long before you inevitably would have to drink, even if you knew it waould be poison.

"I can't go on like this..." you sighed into the deafening silence of your laboratory.

There was a certain pep in the Radio Demon's step as he walked through the streets of the Pentagram, humming to himself as sinners parted and hid away wherever he went. Alastor reached into the inside breast pocket of his overcoat, unfolding the little note that had sent him in high spirits and rereading it with impish glee.

'To: The Radio DemonRegarding: Our most recent encounter

Alastor, I hope this note will find you well. I'd like to discuss the possibility of a mutually beneficial arrangement regarding our personal and professional feud. If you agree to a meeting, a table at RAUM in the Entertainment District will be reserved tomorrow at 9 p.m. PST (Pride Standard Time)

Best Regards,The Alchemist'

He laughed to himself at the forced choice of words, the tenseness evident in every neatly drawn letter and the obvious refusal of showing even one hint of familiarity. He had known he'd just have to give the proverbial ball a little nudge - his little note so easily snuck into her lab coat by his shadow companion - and let it roll, patiently waiting long enough to see it finally crush the prideful, stubborn resistance of the little sinner known as The Alchemist in the end. Although, he had to admit it took longer than he had expected.

His spies had been useful in keeping track of her ego crumbling - the chimp, roach and gerbil sinners that she hired as assistants all painted him the same picture - that the poor woman descended more and more into restless obsession by trying day and night to solve the mystery of his shadowy companion. The last one of her henchmen, a meek little rat girl, added a curious detail to the usual report that had Alastor's self-confidence booming: That, on the rare occasion that she fell asleep on her workbench, the Alchemist seemed to writhe and whimper - calling out a name.

His name.

He could hear it, her voice, the usual dismissive contempt replaced with poorly repressed desire and urgency, breathing his name while rendered helpless and at the mercy of his hands and tongue. What a rush it had been, to see his rival and latest person of interest fall apart under his doing, breaking her stoic and methodical facade to reveal the raw and weak creature she was deep down. What a divine image, seeing the haughty, refractory Alchemist beneath him, squirming and gasping and panting beneath his touch that she begged for, seeing and feeling her whole body turn against her, reduced to a groaning heap. How delicious it had tasted, not just her, but the satisfaction in knowing he'd forever carry the taste of her and his victory.

But when the moment approached to end her, to finally wipe her off the face of hell, it spoiled in his mouth, turning from sweet into bitter. He had planned it to be his grand finale: To kill her after showing her blatant inadequacy compared to him, bound by his shadow and thoroughly humiliated - But he found himself unable to.

Rosie was the only one he told about that day, and her reply to his retelling had him brooding ever since.

"You know, Alastor - The only difference between hate and love is that hatred doesn't fear the death of the one at our mercy."

He had almost cursed at his oldest friend. The ridiculous idea alone was unsettling. Alastor never had interest in the concept of loving something or someone - he had felt no need to either. The methods he used were chosen due to this wretched urge he felt every time she had crossed his path. He hadn't been unfamiliar with these emotions stirring in him - but the intensity of them had him struggle, had him furious at the effect she had on everything that made him the powerful, ruthless overlord that he had become. To think this unhealthy fascination with her powers, how riled up and agitated he got just seeing her in her resulote disinterest in power or status, the joy he felt sparring with her as she held her fort against him had been anything other than feelings of rivalry. But hell had a habit of twists like this - that what he thought was hatred turned out just the opposite. He still wasn't certain how he'd handle this predicament, but her note had been the perfect catalyst to explore the potential this little change held for him.

Just as the clock tower of Pride's main city began to strike nine, his destination so close - Something wrapped around his ankles and wrists, and hadn't Alastor been so lost in his thoughts he would've had enough time and mind to dodge the cables that had slithered towards him. A second too late he realized just what building he was in front of, before he was violently dragged by the electrified strings, out of the street and into the darkness behind the blue sliding doors of 'VoxTech Enterprises'.

"I thought" he heard a familiar, suave voice resounding in the pitch black darkness around him as the doors slid close, dripping of malicious glee that had Alastor furious behind his smiling mask "that with old age comes wisdom, Al. Seems you've skipped that phase and went straight to senile."

Alastor heard Vox's laugh, amplified from every direction. His hands and feet were spread apart, leaving him hanging with no sense of direction or solid ground beneath him. Without light, summoning his shadow was a useless endeavor - one of the only things Alastor regrettably shared with what was once a trusted partner not too long ago. And the only light was the laughably negligible red glow of his eyes, losing the battle against the black void around him. His best bet was to be buying time, so he decided to humor the fool until chance would show itself.

"Ah, no, I do quite remember your lack of imagination when it comes to these sorts of affairs." Alastor chuckled, a slight static distortion lacing his voice as the anger within him grew. "Glad to see that's at least one thing that hasn't changed."

Electricity burst from the wires that pulled him even further apart, sending shockwaves through him as Alastor's smile widened at Vox's inability to hide his rage.

"Mighty cocky for someone who's got his ass on the line, eh, old pal?" in the distance, a screen turned on, dim and flickering, showing the face of the smirking tv demon. "Tell me, Al, was it just stupidity that brought you right to my doorstep? Or did you already miss me that much?"

Alastor laughed mockingly, concentrating enough to at least create a shadow in the weak light around Vox's screen to smash it in before it dsappeared. "If I recall correctly, you were the one begging me not to leave, Voxxy. How is your face these days, by the way?"

The screen flickered as Vox's eyes went wild. "You motherf-"

"As to what brought me to these parts of our illustrious city," Alastor continued, gritting his teeth as another surge of electricity shot down his spine, making his shoulders jerk painfully in the tight cable's grip. "I was on my way to meet someone who is actually worth my while."

"Oh yeah? Well, they can send me a Thank-You-Note for saving them the disappointment your 'while' would've brought them." Vox sneered, a mocking smile appearing on the broken screen as he bared his teeth in a snarl. "Face it - You're done, Al. Finished. You can't do shit in here. I created this room specifically for you to die in - thanks for the intel, by the way. And believe me - I could kill you here and now, get rid of a fucking nuisance for everybody, and be called a hero for it. But for old time's sake, I'll offer you my deal once more." His joints cracked under the pressure of the pulling cables, and Alastor yanked in cold fury at them. Vox's voice was saturated with sadistic glee. "Join my team, be my second in command, my real partner this time and not a fucking uptight coward, and I'll spare you the humiliation of a slow, torturous and publicly viewed dea..."

A sudden boom had the cables and the screen shake and flicker, the image of Vox's face breaking up in pixels. Alastor felt his chest filling with a sudden eager anticipation of what - or who - the source of that explosion might've been. With a hiss, Vox's screen was restored to full resolution again, but his eyes were wide in confusion. "What the fuck was that?"

Alastor's laughter echoed across the room as another, louder explosion followed, along with panicked screams of pain and horror and he smiled over to the shocked overlord, heart beating with feverish euphoria. If the intensity of the detonations were any indicator, he was about to see a marvelous show of what true power looked like.

"It seems, old pal, that my date has arrived."

Vox didn't get to say anything else before one of the walls burst into its components and the room filled with the bright light of the neon signs illuminating the district, and amidst the clouds of dust settling, stood his darling alchemist. Her lab coat was stained in every beautiful shade of red, face and skin smeared with soot and the remnants of blood that wasn't hers, a look in her eyes that was so unhinged it made him shudder with all kinds of arousal, the aura around her glowing in a dangerous toxic green. Although her chest was heaving, there was no trace of exhaustion to her, only pure, cold rage.

"What the hell is going on? And who the fuck are you?!"

She didn't pay Vox any attention, walking up to Alastor as he ripped the remaining bits and pieces of cords and cables from his arms, her heels clacking loudly on the polished concrete floor.

"You are right on time, darling."

"And you were not - our table was canceled." Alastor had to refrain himself from giggling in feverish excitement as she walked past him, towards the stunned television demon that had been thrown into the back of the room by the force of the explosion and now leaned with his back against the wall, his expression mortified behind the cracked, flickering screen.

“Polyethylene, glass, sauter, copper, lead, platinum, silicone." Her voice was cold and calculating, each word a step closer and Vox shrunk away further into the wall behind him. Her face was neutral, a mask devoid of emotion and any trace of empathy or emotion, but her eyes sparkled full of life and fire. "But even though there are so many valuable building blocks in your electronic equipment - I can't say I appreciate the use."

She put her palm over Vox's monitor in an almost comforting gesture, her lips curling into a cruel smile as his casing started to melt and Vox screamed.

"Especially when it leaves me hungry and waiting for my dinner partner."

Alastor marveled at the beauty and precision of her strength and the effortless way she wielded it, her mind calculating every atom of Vox's technology, rendering the presumptous perfection of hell's television and phone industry to a wailing mess, his limbs and body twitching helplessly at the mercy of her touch, screen flickering with increasing speed the more damage she did. His pulse quickened, blood rushed deafeningly loud through his ears - She was dangerous and cruel and she was perfect, she was everything and so, so much more of anything he imagined and hoped her to be.

She let off Vox, his face half gone, his remaining speakers whimpering in agony and body trembling as she stood upright, looking down at the demon in disgust.

"Repeat this mistake and I will make sure I'll be there to slowly and painfully disintegrate you every time you start to respawn anew, Television Demon."

Alastor appeared beside her, making use of his shadows now that the requirement of light was covered, looking at the beaten form of his unfortunate rival with an amused laugh before taking his little alchemist's hand, breathing a kiss onto it with a smile.

"I apologize for the missed reservation, darling, but we can't have you left starving, can we? How about we relocate to my townhouse - I'll whip up a nice Pain Perdu while we discuss your... proposal, yes?"

When her face turned to him, her features slightly softened around the edges - barely noticeable to the untrained eye, but all too obvious to him, who had thought, dreamt and obsessed over her likeness enough times to see every tiny shift in her expression, even those one could interpret as her rare, discreet show of joy.

"I suppose that's an acceptable compromise."

It made the gnawing hunger inside him become all the more insatiable when she let him pull her closer, her hand still in his - warm and stained with remnants of Vox's fluids. He gave her the brightest of smiles as the destroyed room filled with radio static and his shadows swirled and wrapped themselves around them, shooting his wounded, rancorous ex-companion a sneering smile.

"I, again, have to disrespectfully decline your offer, my dear Vox. I'd rather invest my time into more..." He looked back at her, giving her an intense, heated gaze he refused to hide anymore, and the smile lingering on her lips growing into one that was just as sharp as his, and yet so much more endearing given its rarity. "...innovative propositions, I think is the right word."

Within a moment, the black swirls faded into the night, leaving nothing but the echo of his laughter and the shuddering, crying mess of the tv overlord behind.

Tagging for scientific purposes (based on comments/reblogs): @minkdelovely @macabr3-barbi3 @depressinglyobsessed @tywrites @mydickisjuicy

@littlebluefishtail @catticora @cosmiccandydreamer @anngray1369 @angeldustharmony

@jurijyuu @liz776 @selenezq

[puppyrelp]

Introducing the Exanimate Insanity (InanimateSwap) AU!!

Since this has been doing so well on twitter, i decided to share it with you all here as well !! This au we made is inspired by the whole underswap thing where characters swap roles with one another !! I hope you guys like it we worked really hard on it and we're continuing to work on more stuff with this au !!

More info (+art!) under the cut :] SUPER LONG THREAD BTW !!

1. Nickel (The Pint Sized Leader), and Baseball (The Ball of Insincerity)

2. Microphone (The Loudmouthed Jerk), and Knife (The Jab To The Ears)

3. Suitcase (The Forgivable), and Balloon (The Pushover)

4. Bow (The Wannabe), and Pepper (The Sweet yet Bitter One)

5. Paintbrush (The Creative Mindset), and Lightbulb (The Sparkling Firework)

6. Salt (The Desperate Memory), and Marshmallow (The Forgettable Sweetheart)

7. Dough (The Explosive Puzzle Piece), and Bomb (The Unusual Stoic)

8. Paper (The Calm Idiot), and Pickle (The Insanitys' Candidate)

9. OJ (The Long Gone Rogue), and Taco (The Easy-Going Victor)

10. Tissues (The Teary Eyed), and Cheesy (The Walking Stench)

11. Yin-Yang (The Balanced), and Cherries (The Rivals)

12. Trophy (The shining freak), and Soap (The jealous jock)

13. Cabby (The Studier), and Apple (The Ditzy Genius) ok so the only thing we Really changed here are their personalities because Cabby's OWN BODY is important to her story, and also tbh we couldn't think of who to swap Apple with. So she'll be friends with S&P in this au!

14. Test Tube (The Rambling Fan), and Fan (The Mad Scientist)

15. Goo (The Angsty Puddle), and Blueberry (The Optimist)

16. Tea Kettle (The Selfless Helper), and Lifering (The Proud Papa)

17. The Floor/Guinea (The Unknown Luck), and Clover (The Tiny Sneaker) In this au, Clover is like a regular plant stuck to the ground, and as for Floory, we had to give him a body and since his VA is from Australia, we thought he would be a Spreading Guinea Flower, or Guinea!

18. Candle (The Posh), and Silver Spoon (The Enlightened)

19. Ghost Salt (The Dead Memory), and (Salt) Bot (The Unwilling Shadow) !! Bot's form is inspired by Canon Salt because we all know that Bowbot was created out of Fan and Testube's idealized version of the real Bow. So we thought Idealized Salt was based off of canon hehe

20. MePhone4 (The Envious Terminator), and MePhone4s (The Short Tempered Host)

21. Alex Inksky (The Man of No Regret), and Corn Cob (The Bearer of Bad News)

22. Siri/Stylus (The Upgraded), and Trash (The Fool) So we know 4S Had Siri in canon ii right? OK SO before 4S ran away, he sees this robot stylus body. We couldn't swap "mepad" and "toilet" with each other because we thought it'd be too difficult.

23. B.R.I.A.N. (The Writer) Since 4S is voiced by Brian, we thought that He would be the "Adam" of this Universe hehe

24. Box (The Pastry Box) LAST BUT NOT LEAST!! BOX!! Weeee couldnt change him either so his box type just changed

Thank you for reaching the end of the thread!! have a bonus doodle i made of swap!suitcase in s1ep1 :]

[scaramouche-bully]

— ☆ Amore mio aiutami

Includes: Dottore and Omega Build Dottore.

Contains: Unhealthy relationships, co-dependency, implied stockholm syndrome, mentions of experimentation, medical phobia, slight yandere, improper medical treatment, obsessive + possessive behavior.

"You're childish, you set them all weeks behind schedule with your tantrums, and you hate him equally as much as he finds you irritable. But he bites down on his tongue with his opinions because Dottore is fond of you. Genuinely cares for you. For reasons that weren't built into him."

[ masterlist ]

I removed the anon ask attached to this fic because this is probably not what they were looking for. To be honest, I have no idea how I got here as well. I was just talking about how I wanted to be babied by the deranged war criminal doctor unconditionally despite the fact it would be entirely out of character. But since we don't know if the Dottore appearances are actually the original Dottore, I took massive liberties with his character in this one. I lost so much steam at the end hahh.

It starts the same way every time. You’ll make a mess, leave the lab, and refuse to take your medicine. Important papers are scattered all over the floor, shards of glass still have drops of fluorescent liquid dripping from them, and pieces of equipment are bent and broken. In the middle stand's Dottore as he mixes a small test tube of pale blue liquid in one hand, completely disregarding the state of the room. His bulky coat is missing but Dottore has long since removed any parts of his body that hinder efficiency, so the cold doesn't bother him anymore. Omega stands at the entrance of the lab, looking at the tornado that swept through the room displeased.

"I'm taking the girl didn't respond well to the treatment again?" Omega asks, quietly closing the door to not disturb the silence. There are only two reasons for the lab to be anything but organized and it's either the man himself has lost his temper or it's you. Seeing that Dottore is idly standing by, swirling a concoction that Omega recognizes as something specifically created for your illness, he can guess which assumption is correct.

"You know how she feels with anything medical-related," Dottore muses, finally placing the test tube down to scan his surroundings. "She made quite a mess this time."

Dottore's amusement in their situation adds to Omega's displeasure. Perhaps it's because he wasn't built as a replacement but as an extension in the name of progress, but for all Omega can do, he can not comprehend why Dottore keeps you around. You're childish, you set them all weeks behind schedule with your tantrums, and you hate him equally as much as he finds you irritable. When he was first created, he thought he may have been able to find some aspects of your charm but all he found was a leech. You constantly cling to the Doctor's side and give anyone else the nastiest attitude, even his segments. Especially to his segments. Although he may be biased because you seem to have a specific vendetta against him. At first, Omega assumed you were going to be used as another test subject and these were your last days of rebellion before inevitable silence. But after days turned into weeks and your presence was still here, he grew confused and confronted the original. That was the first and only time Dottore was ever livid at Omega, nearly dissembling him on the spot for even suggesting touching a hair on your pretty head. Thus he bites down on his tongue with his opinions because Dottore is fond of you. Genuinely cares for you. For reasons that weren't built into him.

"I'm going to search for her. Have someone clean up and replace the broken equipment immediately," Dottore waves dismissively, placing the test tube on the only clean surface and turning to leave.

"Yes sir," Omega bows as Dottore passes him, already anticipating the headache he'll have to endure in clean up. The blue test tube stands tall, patiently waiting.

---

You hear the door open behind you. That was a lot faster than you expected but given who Dottore is, he probably already knew where you would run to before you did. You bring your legs closer to your chest and bury your head further into your knees so you don't need to face him. You hear the quiet steps of his shoes against the floor, slow-paced and leisurely, as he enters the room and rounds the desk in his office. Before he can say anything you're throwing yourself against him and pressing your face against his stomach.

"I'm sorry," you murmur into the fabric of his shirt. Weak fist clinging onto him as you feel one of his hands come to the back of your head, softly playing with the strands of your hair. He only hums in reply, not in the least bit aggravated that you made another mess in his lab. You'll make another one in a month, apologize again, and the process will repeat again the month after that. He never gets angry, not with you. He always treats you carefully, as if one wrong touch and you'll crumble to dust. Truthfully he's right. You can't do anything without him even before your illness overtook your body completely. Before he arrived, you were struggling to do the simplest of tasks. In the region of Snezhnaya, if you weren't useful then you were discarded. Thus, your family had dropped you on the Fatui's doorstep and that's how you met the second harbinger. Scared, cold, and helpless. Not so different now years later. 

"So this is where my coat went," he says, cupping your cheeks, the pads of his fingers rubbing small circles. Your skin is cold to the touch, paler than when you threw a fit in his lab. He readjusts his coat over his shoulders that had fallen when you threw yourself at him, bringing your form closer to him in the process. "Are you finished with your tantrum my dear?"

"It wasn't a tantrum," you frown, huffing under your breath. Dottore audibly sighs before getting down on one knee. Even kneeling, Dottore is still taller than you so he can't match your lowered eye level as you loosen your hold on his waist. From this angle, he can see just how hazy your eyes have become, how hard your body needs to work to take each breath, and how you shiver even under the heavy fabrics. 

"Come now, you must take your medication or your condition will worsen,” he whispers, pushing strands of your messy hair out of your face. He’s going to have to cut your hair for you soon, he can’t see your face properly anymore. 

"I don't want to. It's...scary," your frown deepens, your fist now balling tighter in your lap trying to ground yourself down further. You squeeze your eyes shut and rest your forehead against his in hopes that maybe this time, he’ll have some mercy to spare. 

"I know. But you must and you shall," he denies your unspoken hope as the reality of your situation comes bearing down. You know that you'll have to, willingly or not. It's easier to get this done and over with before Dottore loses his patience and sedates you until you're nothing but a drooling fish. You still remember the first time he did the procedure vividly. The feeling of helplessness as your body refused to cooperate with you while your mind remained conscious. You never want to experience that feeling ever again. So all you do is nod. You don’t need to look up to see his pleased smile as he takes your hand to guide you out from underneath his desk. You try and stand but a sharp pain pounds against your forehead and you stumble, Dottore already ready to catch you. He makes a noise of amusement, scoops you up into his arms, and walks out of his office. Your legs dangle around his waist, arm's clinging to his neck as you rest your head against his chest. While he doesn’t have a heartbeat, the back and forth sway lulls you into comfort as he takes you back to the lab. The noise of assistants running around, shards of glass being dusted, and the shuffling of papers greet your ears the closer you get back. As soon as the door opens and Dottore walks in, the temperature seems to drop as everyone stop's what they're doing like scared animals. They all bow their heads before quickly scampering out of the lab. All except for Omega who stands guarding the test tube Dottore left behind reading one of the discarded research reports. 

"That was shorter than expected," he tilts his head to look past his paper to see you bundled up, Dottore’s hands rubbing small circles into your back, his chin resting on top of your head. It's almost picturesque enough for Omega to gag. 

"Go away, don't you have anything better to do," you turn and glare with bitter eyes at the segment. 

Omega matches your glare despite the mask over his eyes, his tone is enough,  "Due to your mess, everything needs to be put on hold while we clean up after you.”  

"You mean like your failure in Sumeru? Oh sorry, sore spot huh? I’ll try and refrain from hurting your feelings next time.” 

"You ungrateful-"

"Enough." You both immediately quiet down at Dottore's voice. "Leave."

Omega frowns but obeys nonetheless, walking out after the rest of the staff. There’s blood sweeping into his mouth from the bite on his tongue. You wave your fingers cheekily at this retreating back and giggle when you see his frown grow deeper. Your satisfaction is short-lived when Dottore seats you down on the desk, right beside the test tube. 

"Must you always agitate my segments?" he asks although you know he’s not annoyed. If anything you think he finds it funny seeing his segments get attitude from you. "Now it’s time to be a good girl and take your medicine."

Dottore picks up the test tube, swirling its contents, almost spilling over the top as he carries it over for you to hold. Your eyes follow the specks of powder that spin and dissolve as it settles in front of your face. You gingerly raise your hands up, fingers wrapping around the tube one by one, as you stare down at the reflecting blue liquid. And there’s the ball of unease clawing into your mind. You know the various things he gives you aren’t meant to heal you. After so many years of his treatment, you haven't gotten any better. Only healthy enough to walk but not run. He knows that you know and yet he still calls it medicine. But you ignore your mind screaming at you to throw it to the ground and run away again. You know this is the last one, you've broken all the other ones, and no matter how patient Dottore is with you, this is your last chance.

And yet.

"I-I can't do it. I'm scared." you whimper, tear’s beginning to form underneath your eyelids. Your fingers shake but you don’t dare let go and accidentally drop what’s in your hands. Dottore is quick to pull you into a hug, mindful of the fragile glass tube, shushing you as your body shakes harder as you try and contain your sobs. He gently cups your face to tilt your face up to him, his other hand brushing away your tears before running his thumb over your lips. He’s waiting for you to say it. He won't move until you say it.

"Please help me."  His eyes narrow gleefully, his grip around you tightening to bruising. He needs you to say it. 

"My love."

Dottore grin's like a madman. His sharp-pointed teeth bared. He takes the test tube out of your hands, swirls it one last time, before his other hand tips, and holds your head back. You can feel the liquid flow past your lips, down your throat, and spread through your body. You're helpless but at least you won’t be conscious enough to hate it. The feeling of drowsiness overtakes your senses, weights under your eyelids that beg you to close your eyes, until your pliant in the doctor’s hands. Dottore places the test tube back onto the desk before stepping back to observe your sleeping body. It ends the same way every time. He’ll clean up the mess, carry you back to the lab, and feed you your medicine.

[headcanons-osc]

*ahem* im just gonna list some

flower is obsessed with dress to impress and rages a lot. she can sprout petals and leaves at her will. she is a pansexual trans girl (she/her)

the gradient around black hole grows more colorful the more emotion she has, also has stars surrounding them ! he is omnisexual agender (she/he/they)

bomby has many slightly visible scars from exploding so much. he developed an unhealthy obsession with bananas after bfdia. they r nonbinary + bisexual (he/any)

pie enjoys playing sudoku and has a bearded dragon named edward. she is an aromantic transfem demigirl (she/they)

book has heterochromia and is a twilight sparkle kinnie. she is super touch starved + physically affectionate but scared to cross boundaries after bfb. she is a lesbian trans girl (she/her)

pillow is dyslexic and loves eye contact, thus often makes people uncomfortable. she collects antique dolls and has tea parties with them. she is a lesbian (she/her)

two cries to taylor swift and loves anything pastry related. they like to play matchmaker and has matching friendship bracelets with gaty! they love the color pink and thinks that four is their best friend(very one sided). they are pansexual + agender (they/them)

eggy has a short temper (she admits it's something she's working on) and changes opinions a lot. will talk for hours if you let her, but gets annoyed when you pry(she's complicated okay). she is a lesbian (she/her)

----------

lifering (my pride and joy) is autistic and has a special interest in health. he has a degree in object biology but chooses to work as a lifeguard. loves marine animals and would always memorize random facts from huge books as a kid(projecting). he is a huge foodie and loves everything tea kettle makes for him. he gets overwhelmed/anxious easily. he has heterochromia and casually enjoys musical theatre. he is pansexual + transmasculine (he/him)

clover sometimes wears a flower crown to be in touch with nature. she has a sweet tooth and loves butterflies, it has always wanted to open a sanctuary. it can't spell restaurant. she likes to crochet sometimes, and tries to help the environment with the help of her luck. it is genderfae + pansexual (it/she).

taco is mexican + born in britain. she has never slept and owns many tea sets(mostly stolen). she pirates tv shows and has a mole on her right cheek. she's really corny and sappy but embarrassed to show it (incredibly touch starved). has bpd and is obsessed with being recognized/rich. only truly realizes the damage she has done after it's too late. she is a lesbian (she/her).

cabby has memory loss and is autistic. she created wikipedia and has trouble in social situations. she's very awkward and feels like she could never find true love. she is super guilty about things she shouldn't be guilty about and tries her hardest to be likeable. she is very open-minded and enjoys reading! she loves to listen to others infodump. she is pansexual (she/her)

microphone is easily startled and likes punk rock music. they have bpd + anxiety and likes to infodump. loves splatoon + bats! she is scared of hurting her friends and does their best to be kind. they are transfeminine nonbinary + lesbian (they/she)

knife is siblings with silver spoon and is a desperate housewives superfan. he secretly has a lot of "feminine" interests. they are a soundcloud rapper and has an eyebrow slit. he is transmasculine agender + omnisexual (he/any)

suitcase is schizophrenic + has anxiety and likes to be in touch with nature(especially animals). she loves to play the sims and beat the shit out of them. she has permanent eye bags, mascara and freckles. feels guilty about everything and anything for some reason, and can't say no easily. she is asexual + panromantic + transfeminine (she/her)

bot is a huge fan of digital horror and steven universe(both canon). they love bugs, especially moths/butterflies! despite having spent more time with test tube, they are more connected with fan, and see tt as a bit overbearing. they consider tt and fan as "creators" rather than "parents". they are NOT a minor PLEASE!!! likes cartoons in general and loves to draw, especially fanart. they are defensive/protective of their friends! they are very independent and hate being seen as otherwise. they are nonbinary + omnisexual (they/them)

silver spoon knows the piano but refuses to play it for anyone. he throws tea parties but no one shows up. tries to bribe her way out of anything despite not having anything to bribe. knife's younger sibling. likes cheesecake and money. wears mascara and has reallyyy rich parents but is NOT getting the inheritance😭 he is bigender + bisexual (he/she)

----------

okay that's all i have for now

(can you tell which show i analyze more)

My jaw genuinely dropped when I saw this in my ask box

You are so dedicated I low key envy you /pos

But anyway, yea I agree with most of these! :]

[14dyh]

i have a hange request if ur taking them! hange x fem reader where they’ve been best friends since high school and are now in college. hange has always loved the reader but never confessed, but is to late because reader falls in love with pieck. super super angsty

This February | H.Z.

Pairing: Hange Zoë x female reader x Pieck Finger Summary: Y/N was finding a way to reconcile with her best friend Hange after they began to become distant. Word count: 1.4k Content warning: alcoholism A/N: OMGGG ANON you don't know how much my fingers are itching for angst >:D

February was colder and cloudier than usual, even afternoons appeared to be disguised as an early dusk. The hallway to the chemistry lab was unusually dark than the other hallways in the college. Terrible placing and lighting, as Hange would say whenever they walk together, side by side, trying to scare each other in the dark. But today, Y/N walked alone, painfully aware of how loud her shoes clack against the floor—something she never noticed before since she never walked the hallway alone.

Her knuckles gently rapped against the lab door before letting herself in. Hange was still there. They've been holed inside the lab for weeks now. Something the school was kind enough to excuse since Hange has always been an exemplary student who makes good use of the school lab.

Y/N sat across them, her eyes looking over the test tubes and countless papers full of equations littered on the other side of the table.

Y/N turned the lamp on, the light not harsh enough to startle Hange but it made them wince a bit, retracting from the paper they were writing.

"That's not very nice," Hange muttered. "Did you even knock?"

"I did," Y/N responded shortly. "You shouldn't be working in the dark, you know it's bad for your eyes."

"It's not that dark yet..." Hange muttered before standing up and going through the shelves, their back turned away.

"I see you're working hard in here," Y/N continued, looking around the lab with a bit of concern.

"Yeah, you bet," Hange grinned, coming back to their seat. They scribbled on the paper some more, lost in thought once again.

Y/N remained her gaze on Hange, worry passing over her eyes. The last time she saw Hange like this was in high school before they became friends. Always short-tempered whenever they're busy with something, holing up in the lab and keeping their mind out of everything. Y/N knew from this that something was troubling them.

"Hange, how long have you been here?" Y/N asked in that worrisome tone of voice that Hange always recognizes. They couldn't hide the dark circles under their eyes, or the unwellness nestling within them that shows when they moved.

"Not long enough to leave," Hange responded, putting their pen down. "Why are you here?"

Y/N pursed her lips, her eyes meeting theirs.

"I'm worried about you. You've been here for weeks, avoiding everyone... avoiding me," Y/N finally told them, her eyes almost watering at the memory of them being distant. They are her best friend and she won't let all those eight years of friendship slip away in a matter of weeks.

"That's not the case, I'm just busy, that's all," Hange shrugged it off, standing up once again to get away from her. But Y/N heard the clink and collapse of glass bottles from under their table, an empty bottle of alcohol even rolled in her feet.

Hange cursed, crouching down to gather it all up but ended up messing the liquor bottles even more.

Y/N pieced all the events together, hurriedly crouching beside Hange and taking their arm only for Hange shrugged it off.

"Just leave me alone..." Their voice broke subtly as if all the words they had to say were lodged in their throat. "It's not what you think. Just little experiments... helps me boost my mind..."

They began rambling on, stacking and shoving the bottles out of her sight.

"Hange..."

"No."

Y/N pulled Hange to face her again, enveloping them in her arms. Hange wanted to struggle, pull away, maybe even scream at her. The last Valentine's Day played like a vicious memory haunting their mind, such an insignificant day shouldn't have spiraled to their gradual deterioration. Hange remembered the way Pieck embraced and kissed Y/N with such devotion during the school event, the way she made it clear to everyone that they belonged to each other. And most of all, to show Hange that she won Y/N's heart.

Hange mustered the courage to pull away from the embrace, swiftly wiping aside their tears before averting their gaze away from Y/N.

"What were you thinking hugging me like that? You think your girlfriend wouldn't be pissed off if she saw?" Hange gritted, still gathering the strength to get off and leave.

"I... I don't care... Y-You're my best friend," Y/N's gaze fell, tears springing out of her eyes. "I care for you... I love you..."

"Don't say that," Hange snapped.

Their eyes remained distant from each other despite the proximity. The floor never felt so cold, and the sky so bleak from the outside. Hange threw their head back and leaned on the drawer, shutting their eyes before breaking the terrible silence.

"I thought avoiding you would make me stop loving you." Tears threatened to spill out despite how tight they shut their eyes. "But I realized, I didn't want that..."

Even when Y/N wasn't looking, she knew how hard Hange had been suppressing their tears no matter how much their heart broke from it.

"I want to be able to love you in some way you'll let me."

They choked out, almost pleading and desperate yet so gentle and vulnerable. They held to the same principle that led them to lose their chance on her. Losing her was something Hange never thought to risk. Their heart was too powerless, too attached to their love that never swayed.

"You... you could have told me..." Y/N muttered, their fingers gripping nothing but the cold floor. "I could have tried. We could have a chance..."

"That's not what I want for you," Hange muttered, their gaze now far away to the dimness of the lab. "You think I'd let the only girl I ever loved settle for something of the sort?"

A melancholic chuckle escaped their lips as they looked back at you. "I want you to have someone that will make your eyes brighten the way you do when you see your favorite flowers, or how you would smile whenever you hear your favorite song... For eight years, I took those sights for granted, knowing that I wouldn't be the person that could give that to you..."

"I know... that you will never look at me the way you look at Pieck..." Hange said before breaking into a plaintive cry and letting their head collapse on her shoulder. Hange felt Y/N's grip tightened, her heaves and sobs becoming more difficult to control. It was unlike the times she used to cry on their shoulder. This time, Hange couldn't find the strength to hold her back.

You once did, Y/N almost said but only buried her hands further into her face, staunching the unwelcomed tears from flowing out. Their lives have been a series of lost chances and regrets masked by the friendship they were so afraid to lose. Y/N could only creep closer, keeping Hange in their arms once again, hoping they wouldn't push her away this time.

"Please don't cry... I can't see you like this," Hange muttered, their lips so close to her head. Let her go, they screamed internally despite knowing how difficult it would be. Every particle in their body would remember that she was someone they used to love. Someone they dreamed a life with, and eventually lost. "Just don't let her break your heart, okay?"

Hange gave a gentle squeeze on her shoulder before pulling away, their feet leading them outside the lab, taking them away from such a lonely scene. Besides, they knew that Pieck was watching all of this unfold from the sliver on the door outside.

Y/N remained crying inside with no will to get up any sooner. She allowed the silence to swallow her in, along with the thoughts of what could've been. Hange left her alone, hoping that she understood that it was the best for the both of them in the meantime.

Hange shut the door firmly, wiping their tears before locking eyes with Pieck who remained listening from a considerable distance.

"You win this time." The pain from their voice hardened, becoming cold and stoic as they spoke to Pieck who chose to remain silent. The tension between them has been thick and heavy for as long as they can remember. "But know that you don't deserve her. Neither of us do."

The lights on the extensive hallway flickered to life, signaling the arrival of evening. They blinked once or twice unharmoniously before snatching the luminescence once again as Hange walked away in pensive silence.

[maxwell-grant]

hi, can you elaborate on that monk-the thing-hank mccoy parallel you mentioned? im curious

(Follow-up to this post)

I certainly don't think anybody past Lee and Kirby took Monk as a factor when writing Ben and Hank, but the fact is that they were both conceived pulling from the same source character in directly opposite ways, and they've been shooting off further apart ever since, with Ben becoming more and more of a kind, inspiring, positive figure among superheroes, and Hank McCoy has been non-stop leapfrogging into greater heights of irredeemable jackassery and evil, both still carrying most of those traits still. You can kinda map them out like this:

He was Lieutenant Colonel Andrew Blodgett Mayfair, but he heard the full name so seldom he had about forgotten what it sounded like.

To give a brief a crash course on Monk, I assume most of you are at least passingly familiar that Doc Savage's crew had an ape guy in it. That's him. Artistic depictions vary on this a lot but in-text, Monk Mayfair is described as maybe the ugliest man in the world, a "dwarf King Kong" whose face makes babies cry, so apelike that he even runs faster when on all fours. Like the rest of the Five, he's driven by a desire for adventure and excitement and deep loyalty to Doc Savage. If one of the heroes kills a guy in a Doc Savage novel, it's probably going to be him, and he is kind of a colossal horndog, which didn't carry over to those two (all of the Fabulous Five - sans Long Tom who is an outspoken misogynist - make a heterosexual pony show out of ogling and competing for the women Doc ignores, Monk first and foremost among them). He lives for a good fight and frequently and constantly bickers with the lawyer Ham, they have that sort of fight-fight-snark-snark-brotherly-bond dynamic and they probably codified it in their own right.

And Monk is also one of the top chemists in the country, said to be "the Houdini of test tubes", his head fit to burst with chemical knowledge, and he's responsible for much of Doc's gadgetry. And even though his own teammates get in on insulting his intelligence and looks (and he barbs back as well, and even defies Doc more directly than the others rarely), he isn't remotely stupid. That is kinda the point, in fact, that he constantly invites you to look down on and underestimate the ugly gorilla man and forget the fact that he can memorize intricate formulas and rip your arms off in the same breath he uses to bicker and insult his companions, and particularly his smart-mouthed rival within the group, all in good fun. And within the Fabulous Five-setup that inspires the Fantastic Four and Lee and Kirby's mutual interest for Doc Savage stories showing through, crucial to Ben Grimm's early character is that he hits many of these same notes, but all is very much not always in good fun.

Of the six men present, Monk's skin alone bore scars. The skin of the others held no marks of their adventurous past, thanks to Doc's uncanny skill in causing wounds to heal without leaving scars. But not Monk.

His tough, rusty iron hide was so marked with gray scars that it looked as if a flock of chickens with gray−chalk feet had paraded on him. This was because Monk refused to let Doc treat him. Monk gloried in his tough looks. - The Man of Bronze

Monk was never satisfied unless picking on somebody, or being picked on in turn.

The Thing initially is what happens when being the strong, physically deformed and scarred coarse bruiser who pals around big shot scientists is a set-up played for tension and drama moreso than comedy, as said man is tormented and bitter over his condition, bordering on murderously angry liability and downright jackass. Ben is constantly losing his temper and smashing things, constantly breaking off the team, his initial spats with Johnny are frequent and not very lighthearted, and constantly put a strain on the team and Reed's ability to hold them together. It's deeply important to his character arc that he starts this way and that him lightening up and growing more into his heroic role is as much about him adapting as it's about him rediscovering himself in a new form.

(And while not as pronounced as Beast and Monk's scientific brains, Ben too is supposed to be smarter and more intelectually capable than he appears or credits himself for - he frequently tells himself that he's nothing without strength and that he's just a big dumb bruiser, he gets that whole, too dumb to collapse and too ugly to die and all that, but every now and then Reed reminds us that he isn't so easily fooled by Ben's persona)

Ben spends so much of those early issues deeply angry at Reed Richards for fully justified reasons and entirely consumed by self-loathing, convinced he isn't something anyone would want to be or be with, and it makes all of his baby steps towards becoming Ben Grimm as we know him meaningful. Every step and set back and rising above himself on his journey as Ben Grimm the hero, Ben Grimm the guy who becomes the archetypal lovable curmudgeon bruiser of comics in his own right, the guy who's going to become not just the invaluable heroic core of the Four, but a beloved and respected pillar of the superhero community in his own right, The Idol O'Millions. If I start talking about Ben Grimm I get emotional and it feels cheap to pretend like some jerk who would never cut it on Yancy Street, and probably doesn't even HAVE an Aunt Petunia, belongs in the same conversation, but he is in Ben's DNA, and the DNA he shares with the guy who made the wildest leap possible in the opposite direction.

Monk emitted a great howl. Monk's fights were always noisy, unless there was a reason for them to be quiet. Like a gladiator of old, Monk fought best when the racket was loudest.

"It'll take a good fight to get me feelin' like a human being again!"

Where as Hank McCoy initially almost feels like a kid-friendly do-over of Monk, who pushes the contrast further: his ape traits are explicit biological mutation superpowers, but he isn't just an expert chemist, he's a comically verbose super genius who talks like Littlejohn (the Fabulous Five member who spouts off sesquipedalianisms), but still cartwheels around to smash bad guys with gorilla fighting skills and roughhouses with resident rival-friend Iceman. The pop culture image of Beast is/was that of a friendly, sartorial professor who only looked monstrous, but had none of the darkness or conflict that defined much of the other X-Men, and had a fairly squeaky-clean image.

Which might be the biggest reason why his character took enough dark turns that he wound up becoming a gleefully sadistic spymaster mad scientist who runs genocide programs in Latin America "for the sake of mutantkind". Maybe it just boils down to writers overcorrecting, building off what was already there in prior storylines. Dark Beast, the Legacy Virus, the Inhumans War, etc. Maybe some of it was just bound to come up sooner or later.

The extent of Beast's development and the many, many places where the character took these turns is something this article by David Bowen goes into, and how much of it might even just be where the character was always heading, maybe ever since he decided pulling a Jekyll & Hyde and transforming himself into something new so he could live a new carefree life crossed his mind as a good idea. Maybe you can't play Mr. Hyde and pretend you're only kidding.

I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was like my neighbours.

I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger, a solution of the bonds of obligation.

I looked down; the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy.

I was once more Edward Hyde.

And yes, every major X-Men character has rep sheets that put supervillains to shame and consists of at least one or five completely infedensible things, sure, but Hank's has clearly crossed to a level of villainy that can't really be walked back on, in the name of good intentions. In the name of loyalty, in the name of scientific reasoning.

And while Monk has never gone anywhere near as monstrous and never went so far as to be an outright villain, we can in fact trace a line between Beast's own loyalty-driven monstrousness, and Monk Mayfair doing things like threatening to carve up crooks if Doc lets him, chasing down and machine-gunning fleeing henchmen, and cutting off a guy's parachute and laughing off his death.

All of the Fabulous Five can be bastards to varying degrees sometimes and this mean streak of Monk's has been excised from pretty much all of his comics appearences that have played the character much closer to Ben Grimm, which is the smart thing to do and, really he should get a pass for ripping off Ben since Ben kinda ripped him off first. But maybe that mean streak, that potential Mr Hyde darkness of the genius chained to the ape, never really went away, and it just passed along to the next in line.

"Tell him I'll pull his ears off an' feed 'em to him if he don't come clean!" Monk suggested. Doc, anxious himself to note the effect of torture threats on the Mayan, repeated Monk's remarks - The Man of Bronze

Monk picked up a big, gleaming cutlass. He whetted it suggestively on a soggy shoe sole, then whacked an ear off a papier-mâché likeness of a bearded pirate, just to show Kar's men how it might go.

"Only say the word, Doc!" He slanted a great arm at a wizened fellow who looked the most cowardly of the lot. "I'll start on the little one, there!" - The Land of Terror

Monk did three or four things very violently, and finally ended with the long knife in his possession. "I'm gonna cut your heads off," Monk told his foes. Mathis raced for the cabin door. Monk watched him come but made no effort to stop him. Mathis gained the door, struggled to open it. He was not more than a long arm reach from Monk, who could have stopped him easily. Monk made no effort to stop him. He did reach out and thrust the long knife to the hilt into Mathis's parachute pack. Mathis, knowing nothing of the knife in the 'chute pack, jumped gleefully out into space.

Monk was looking out of the window. He drew back and grinned at Doc. "He made quite a splash," Monk said. "Who?" "Mathis. For some reason or other his parachute didn't open." Blumbeck yelled, "No wonder! You stuck a knife in the parachute!" "I don't remember doing that," Monk said innocently. -The Laugh of Death

[notsorryforbeingbluencold]

WAIT THIS IS A BLOG UHHHMMMM I ALREADY SENT THIS TO ANOTHER CHNT BLOG WHOOPSIESSSS

but uh, chnt x inanimate insanity.

sorry to all the non osc chnt peeps, uhm, have fun listening to me yap

(and ive mad posts about this au, so if you want to see my designs and stuff, i have them on there ^^)

sydney would be microphone, they both can be a lot for some people, and they also end up meeting up with the person in the woods and working with them and believing theyll get benefits from it. just to end up being used for that person's reasons

jedidiah would be test tube, i feel like she would stay up all night while ignoring everyone else because shes working on a project. although more sciencey, she does build stuff too so i guess she can be an architect.

elijah would be taco, theyre that person in the woods from earlier. they also both like tea and from european countries (sorta? idk if countries really exist in ii, but she is british 💔). also i gave her a cat mask instead of the elephant mask, and im now realizing the taco cat thing 😭.

adam would be mephone, they have similar vibes imo, and i feel like he would have good relationship advice. and since mephone is sorta robot, i thought that would go well with adam being a demon.

rowan would be candle, with all the magic stuff from her i thought that would go well with the visions stuff. plus candle is kinda black coded, atleast most people (including my self) draw her as black for gijinkas/humanized

juniper would be silver spoon, because... 🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧💔BRITISH💔🇬🇧🇬🇧🇬🇧 and i feel like he would try his best to get out of touching fish and stuff.

marisol would be lightbulb, first, lightbulb is sorta canonically trans fem, and second, shes just as loveable and goobery as marisol

salem would be paintbrush. mainly because of the whole lightbulb x paintbrush thing, but they also have that similar vibes know? (and tulip would be their pet crab, baxter!!)

yvonne would be knife. it was really hard for me to find one for yvonne, but i thought he would fit best. he sorta the though guy and pokes fun at people, but doesnt mean it in a bad way. and he canonically plays video games, so yeah

joshua would be balloon, as theyre both the scrawny type. they also can be annoying for people, and people probably believe they cant win a fight tbh.

sorin would be ying-yang, evil little mischievous dudes. similar vibes tbh

lucielle would be tea kettle, they both can be the sorta motherly like figure, but have a short temper. tries to stay calm.

matthew would be box

so yeah, i thought of this yesterday, and oh my gah, the fact that the characters and stuff like almost match perfectly GRAHHH. and the whole thing with microphone and taco is literally sydney and elijah without all the religion stuff, HOW DID I NOT REALIZE THIS SOONER 💔💔💔💔

:)

[neurotonic]

Is Mamba destined to die after killing the Phoenix, or would Zor keep her around to do other things after the fact? Would they keep their test tube baby around after they've done what they've been built to do, or would Zor drop them off on the side of the road in a cardboard box

Very interesting question! I think because of Zor and Mamba's relationship... if Mamba managed to kill Phoenix, Zor would have ordered to kill them immediately afterwards.

The main thing here is Zor is... more or less disappointed with Mamba's whole existence. They're not Phoenix, no matter how hard they'll try. It's not the same. The reason why they haven't disposed of them already was because their indestructibility makes it a little hard to do so. While that in on itself is actually really helpful in the field, it quickly became evident that Mamba's just too emotionally fired up about getting Zor's approval and killing Phoenix that they're willing to be very reckless and very destructive. Zor hasn't tried to reign him in themselves, more due to the fact that they hate his guts so much they don't WANT to interact with him ever. It's up to Sans and his team (honestly, mostly Schaden) to try and temper him.

Obviously Zor gets enraged at the fact that they didn't get to kill their most hated enemy, but that failure of an experiment did--I think they'd take it as an insult to be honest. That's why they've been sending her to secret assassination missions far away from the Phoenix's possible locations.

Just imagine Mamba showing them her kill, Zor would bite back their rage and ask how they did so (without so much as a thanks, but Mamba doesn't notice because "Finally, they're talking to me!!") and when Mamba details everything, Zor uses that information against her. Dead and dead. I don't think they'd want to keep them around just because of the stuff above ^^^. It's not logical (wasting an extremely loyal indestructible asset?) but the principle, I feel, is more important for Zor (they don't have to give that imperfection the satisfaction of a compliment). Also they're just. not Phoenix. They want Phoenix.

[skythealmighty]

guys from a super elaborate long going groupchat rp except they're in rhythm doctor because. fun.

more info below the cut in case you're curious because. erm. yes

Test Tube is what we call Darkened! She's from a specific RP series based around SSBU, which is appropriately called SSOU. Basically we give canon characters trauma. Being Darkened, she has a bit of a penchant for chaos and a Temper, but she's also one of the go-to doctors alongside Coffee. During the most recent rp event I basically made her experience the Turn The Lights Off custom level, so that's definitely her song now and the scar on her hand is when she grabbed a knife by the blade :) She's also fiercely protective and I think would fit decently well in with the rest of the RD squad!

MH!Circle is from... an AU called Monster Hosts? But I also made them get involved with my friend's current infection AU, so... RDPossession! For backstory, it's an eldritch god that didn't really have a purpose, so they were stranded in a white void and eventually made Battle For Circle out of boredom. Its default state is a bit melty, and they can shapeshift! Generally it's extremely friendly and immune to outside interference (including possession), so they'd probably be teamed up with Ian a lot. It also can't cry, but when they're sad, they get a lot more uncontrollably melty. As for the song, I chose Rainwater by Lemon Demon because it fits its vibe a lot, and it's also a 7/8 song, furthering their immediate difference from everyone if it ever had a level!

I put way too much thought into this.

[deathbirby]

I just use Mewtwo logic for Grima. HA It's tropey and stealing another backstory but thanks to Echoes he is basically FE Mewtwo and I'm not the first person to call him that.

Creator tried to kill him in his test tube because frankly he was in fact a threat to both his creator's control and he's a violent little thing, his dark thoughts were probably how he could kill him (they'd be my thoughts if I was trapped in a tube and people were looking at me can't blame the guy) killed his creator first, escaped, met other humans who wanted to use him for his strength because what do humans usually do with something they assume is more powerful? Fear it or worship it. He was used for his strength since birth. Ie Mewtwo. Then Naga steps in to protect humanity from his temper tantrum and he decides she's his worst enemy because how DARE you like what I hate. It's just too bad there's no Ash Ketchum to stop his temper tantrum; had he been able to form a real bond with anyone maybe he wouldn't be such an asshole but alas he's just a menace to society with a hair trigger temper. Also it's hinted he was created from Naga DNA so Naga is the Mew to Grima's Mewtwo.

Which is why Robin and the theme of bonds being so important in Awakening match this, Robin is who Grima could have been had Grima ever had a bond with anyone and that's why I like the theory (even though it's in no way canon) Robin is Grima reincarnated. Huh I guess Chrom is the Ash Ketchum...

ANYWAY I love the idea of a Rhea/Grima duo because I'm pretty sure Grima exe would stop working meeting a dragon who has gone through unspeakable horrors and doing what she does for humanity anyway. The real question here is would Rhea be friends with Naga, I think that'd really influence how he'd react with her since Naga is his sworn enemy. I always liked the idea of a Sothis/Grima harmonic myself too just let this angry thing interact with all the Fodlan dragons and get overwhelmed I'd be amused.

And then he can decide Edel stands for everything he hates and dedicates his time in Askr to making her life miserable. Because it's fun and the summoner said he can't start wars to cheer himself up so he has to find a new hobby.

aa this one has been sitting in my inbox forever

[sleepyficss]

could you.....could yuo do painty x reader.... sorry im gay

Painted Bristles.

paintbrush x reader, romantic & angst/fluff

authors note:

i could've made this longer but i didnt wanna make it too excessive – i love them too much ;; + the art class & caring a lot about their bristles are both canon facts that i got from the wiki :3c

It had seemed like a peaceful day thus far, as you sat on the bed of your shared room at Hotel OJ. You had been spending the last hour or so practically doom-scrolling on your phone while your laptop played some show that you had watched before, being used as background noise – rather than bothering to pay attention to the scenes you had nearly memorised.

Baxter, the loveable little crab that Lightbulb had adopted a while ago now, rested next to you on his own pillow. You never thought you'd see a crab as spoiled as he was.

You'd usually spend your days with Paintbrush, the two of you getting pulled into one of Lightbulb's adventures or Test Tube's lab experiments, or even going out, one-on-one, to some sort of gathering as a date.

However, today Paintbrush was holding one of their weekly 'Arts n' Craft' classes. It was a new addition to Hotel OJ's activities, a solution that you had thought of and worked on with them to reduce the never-ending amount of stress they seem to always hold...

As much as you loved them, you had to admit that they cared a bit too much at times. Whether it was during the Inanimate Insanity competition, getting too worked up about winning; or while they stayed at the hotel, easily butting heads with the other guests over the smallest arguments.

These art sessions had only been ongoing for the past few weeks, but they seemed to actually be helping! You'd recently noticed that Paintbrush had been able to control their temper more, and held a lot more patience with other people.

At the end of each class, usually lasting a couple hours, Paintbrush would come looking for you to talk about how it went. It seemed that they had (mostly) only good things to say every time, lifting up their mood significantly.

Although, despite it being less than two hours, you heard the telltale rattling of the doorknob opening the door.

You didn't need to look up from your phone to know who it was, eyes still glued to your device as you blindly reached over to close your laptop, "Painty, is the Art Class finished already? You aren't usually here this early –."

As you finally looked up from turning your phome off, your breath caught in your throat at the nearly pathetic sight of them in front of you.

Sorrow, was all you could read from their face through the poorly concealed pout that rested on their lips. Their arms were loosely crossed, while you could've seen the mess on them from miles away. Wet paint stuck to their wooden face, dripping slightly downwards – yet, the substance landing on the carpeted floor was the least of your worries.

The bristles that were usually neatly swept back on their head were clumped together with more paint, and chunks of dried glue. Considering the amount of care they tended to put into their bristles, it shocked you that they managed to let it get this bad. You had to assume it was more than just a bad day.

To say it kindly, Paintbrush really did look horrible.

You rushed to push yourself off the bed, softly throwing your phone behind you, as you moved in front of them. From the closer distance, you could see the emotion brewing in their eyes, tears threatening to fall until you tenderly raised a hand to cup their cheek.

"Oh, Painty..." Was all that you managed to utter before the mentioned object threw themself further into you, hiding their face in your shoulder as the waterworks started.

While it wasn't difficult to get Paintbrush emotional... It had been a while since you last saw them this upset.

Choked sobs left their shaking body as they tried to speak, probably to explain their situation, but you quietly shushed them. You wouldn't have been able to understand them in this state, and it was better for them to calm down a bit before talking, you assumed.

Both your arms wrapped around them, one lifting up a bit higher to rub their back comfortingly. You reached a leg around them to kick closed the door for privacy-sake, and guided them slowly to the bed.

You both stood there for a few minutes, whispering comforting words to them, until Paintbrush's weeping calmed to just a few tears caught in their eyes. You removed them from your arms, pressing a chaste kiss to their lips to elicit a small smile from them, before stepping back.

"Could you make yourself comfortable on the floor for me? I need to grab a few things, then I'll be right back. Is that okay?"

A reassuring nod from Paintbrush had you hurrying to the room's bathroom, collecting an unused wash cloth from the cabinet, and throwing it in a small container that you began filling with warm water from the sink. Once finished, you returned to the main bedroom, where Paintbrush had wrapped a blanket over their shoulders and held onto Baxter while sitting on the floor in front of the bed.

You knew that Baxter was a big comfort for them, leaving a warm smile on your face at the sight of them looking a little happier.

Carefully holding the container to not spill any of it, you placed it on the bed as you climbed onto the mattress and behind Paintbrush. Once comfortable, you picked up the cloth from the container, wringing out the excess water, and began wiping through their bristles.

Slowly but surely, the chunks of glue began to dislodge themselves, and the clumps of paint wiped away onto the cloth. Pausing to soak the mess off of the cloth back in the water, you gently spoke up, "DO you... Want to talk about what happened?"

It was as if Paintbrush was just waiting for you to utter those words, as they took a deep breath, "It... It started off so well! We were going to do an activity that I had been planning all week, and everyone seemed excited to do it..."

You hummed along when it felt appropriate, bringing the cloth back up to their bristles. It crossed your mind that this would take a while to completely clean, as their head had ended up a real mess – but you didn't mind.

"–...f course he caused an argument about it, and started throwing supplies around! Of course everyone else started, too – I tried to intervene, but someone threw a painting palette at me, and when the paint got in my bristles I just... I..."

You understood what they were getting at. Paintbrush had probably lost their temper and began yelling at the other guests, and now felt bad about it.

"–...fter all the progress I've made... I just–just completely lost control! So easily! And then I felt bad, and just walked away from everyone... They're all probably still yelling down there, and I just ran away..."

They confirmed your thoughts, leading you to stop your actions for a moment, and placed a hand on their shoulder, "Hey... Painty, it's not your fault. You may have lost it a litte, but how long has it been since that last happened? Weeks? That's still such an improvement from how you used to be! And if the others are still arguing down there? That's their problem to sort out – you didn't start the fight, so you aren't indebted to fix it."

A sniffle and a nod was all you needed, before wiping out the last few pieces of gunk stuck in their bristles. Placing the cloth and dirtied water behind you, you ran a hand through their now-clean bristles.

You leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of their head, before leaning forward to embrace them from behind.

"You know none of them are going to think poorly of you because of this, right?" You murmured, "They know you Paintbrush, and they've also seen how much improvement you've made. One class gone wrong isn't the end of it all, okay?"

Paintbrush twisted their body and head towads you, capturing your lips with theirs. Smiling into the kiss for a moment, you then moved back to take a look at their face.

The object looked a lot better, both emotionally and physically, but they still had a few paint splatters over their face. You reached back to grab the cloth, before leaning in to gently rub at the messes.

Their face scrunched up at the sensation, a flustered blush covering their cheeks lightly as you held back a giggle from the expression. An annoyed groan left them as you finished up with a playful tap on their nose.

"Better now?" You asked, receiving an answer in the form of your own words repeated back at you.

"Better now."

Moving the cloth and container off of the bed, you gave a light pat to the spot on the mattress beside you, "Now come on, you deserve some cuddles after today."

A flustered laugh left them, passing Baxter to you from the floor as they balanced the blanket around them while they began to climb up next to you. You moved Baxter's pillow to the middle of the bed, before placing the crab upon it as he snuggled back down immediately. Poor little guy, carrying everyones emotions as a personal stress reliever.

Paintbrush crawled up next to you, on the other side of Baxter, and threw the blanket over the three of you. Pushing themselves to be closer, Paintbrush wrapped an arm around you (and over Baxter).

You tangled your legs with theirs, wrapping your own arm to reciprocate their position as you cuddled up closer to both the brush next to you, and the crab between you. You heard Paintbrush let out a sigh, unsurprisingly tired from the earlier emotional experience, and closed your own eyes as you savoured the familiar feeling of comfort.

[obeymycok]

Trampoline Madness

As stated before, I work at a trampoline park and obviously we see all different types of people everyday. I had work again yesterday and for some reason my brain thought of "what would the brothers be doing if given unlimited access to an 'older kid's' playground?" Idk if this is funny to anyone else but I think it is. Especially if you've ever been to one of these parks because you've 100% seen all of these people. I’m writing most of them as kids and I will be including the dateables this time!

Taglist: @trashlord-007  @asmos-slut  @q-ueue  @simpinginthecorner  @thatoneweebdammit 

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Lucifer - Tired party mom

The one who tries their best to follow all the little shits they’re responsible for (they don’t do well)

Reads the rules ahead of time so workers don’t have to warn them

Might go a little Karen but quickly calms down and turns nice and understanding again

Always hearing his voice across the park and learning the names of the troublemakers 

God forbid a worker has to tell them their kid Mammon isn’t listening to instruction

The child is dead

Mammon - Literal hell spawn (12-14)

The reason I wanna quit

Disobeys all the rules even after you tell him repeatedly

Climbs all the mats, whips dodge balls, constantly double jumps people

Thinks he is an acrobat and nearly fucking dies

Needs his own worker assigned to him to keep some resemblance of sanity in the park

Tries to go on attractions without getting the right wristband (it’s like $6 more)

Harness hoarder, no you cannot go on the zip-line over and over again there are 15 kids waiting

Almost gets everyone kicked out

Leviathan - Awkward and adorable (8-10)

One of the reasons I haven’t quit

Sweet but very shy and quiet, probably carries a stuffed animal around

Usually close to Mom Lucifer or doing their own thing

Sits in the balls in the obstacle course of takes one of the foam cubes as a friend #companioncube

Ends up getting in trouble with Mammon and has a mini panic attack

Gets lost in the tube playground and cries until an adult rescues him

Tries rock wall with Beel and Mammon and needs to be rescued

Will get harnessed and clipped to the zip-line but will chicken out unless you go up with him and convince him to go then he’ll love it and go as many times as he can

Satan - The daredevil (7-9)

Frequent heart attack inducer 

Insane flips and tricks for his age (a child)

Occasionally breaks the rules but never repeats it if you tell him for the love of god do it nicely or he’ll be worse than Mammon

Asks questions about attractions and how they work, tells you if harness is too loose or tight, figures out to clip and unclip himself at rock walls

Tests the strength of the zip-line and rope course by launching himself

A menace in dodge ball, strong chance of losing his temper with someone like Mammon

Could literally slam into a wall, lose a tooth, get a concussion, and no tears will be shed

Asmodeus - The pretty princess (5-6)

Pretty loud, always in a group and gathering more people as the time goes on

Tends to be kinda bossy and show favoritism

Probably wearing a dress or skirt with shorts underneath to go on attractions (very difficult)

Both super sweet and bitchy, might compliment you but it’s very backhanded

“Your hair is cute but it should be...” “Your nails are gross, I can help you!” Please you’re making me cry

Starts walking around and talking to people while still attached to the rock wall

Plays dodge ball but cries if he gets hit 

Beelzebub - Absolute sweetheart (7-8)

The other reason I haven’t quit

An absolute joy to work with, so understanding if we’re understaffed or busy

Probably has a little sibling (Belphie) who he plays gently with, lets them win, does this with other kids too

He just carries a kid away if they’re continuously breaking a rule and gives them to the party mom (Lucifer)

The cutest small talk when he’s waiting in line or getting harnessed “I’m Beel and this is my brother Belphie. It’s my friend’s birthday today and also I like your hair.” ??😭??

Very patient, raises his hand for switching rock walls, helps other kids on the obstacle course

Asks to play dodge ball with the workers (If he wins he gets a free Slurpee)

Belphegor - Casual and pretty chill (7-8)

We have an understanding with each other

If you wanna break a rule that bad make sure I don’t catch you

Usually just follows his sibling around and stays out of trouble though, likes laying on the trampolines

Only talks when spoken to but not anxious or shy, just uninterested

Plays dead when he goes on the zip line

Just lays down when he wants to get off the rock wall until you walk over and unclip him

He figured out how to unclip, he just doesn’t

Becomes one with the foam and ball pits

Diavolo - Fun dad

Certified DILF, works out 8 days a week and still has time for the kids

Seems more excited than some of the kids as he drags them around to everything

NOT letting those little shits win, they must earn it

Frequent rule breaker but he’s just so excited and very sorry when you tell him

Definitely goes on everything with a harness required (zip line, rock wall, floating obstacle course)

Waits patiently to get harnessed while excitedly talking to the kids

Does not dare to unclip himself from a rock wall and stops kids who attempt it (Thank you so much, I’m the one who has to climb the wall and get the clip back if it’s not secured😩)

Barbatos - The professional

An ex Olympian/training to compete or something

100% has a membership and comes 3 times a week

Impresses all the kids (and workers)

Kids like Satan are drawn to him and he helps them with tricks

Enforces the rules if kids keep double jumping on the trampoline

He tells them about horrific injuries that he’s seen and scares the shit out of them but hey it works

Not much of an attraction guy, stays in the pro area for the majority

Simeon - Table watcher/video recorder

“You’re doing great sweetie!” holds his phone like a mom

Either recording his kid or sitting at the table guarding the stuff

Very pleasant, chats with other moms and workers

Usually follows all the rules and very apologetic if told otherwise

“I’m sorry, he can’t just sit in the ball pit because others wanna do the obstacle course.”

“Oh! I’m sorry, no problem hun, I understand.” 😩❤😩❤😩❤

Luke - Bossy kid (6-8)

Another little shit, usually the birthday kid

Ignorant to rules, obeys but gives a little attitude first

Tells all the workers it’s his birthday and tries to get favors (free ice cream, multiple zip line rides in a row, doing EVERY rock wall)

Tries to determine where everyone goes

“We have to go on the zip line Levi. Please? It’s my birthday🥺“

Literally the sweetest until he’s told no

Moms need to have a talk with him and then he’s much better behaved

Still uses birthday privilege to the MAX though

Solomon - Grandpa

The least problematic (ironic for Solomon)

The massage chair is his domain, he’s literally been in the same one for 2 hours now is he still alive?

Mans put like $40 into it and his present to Luke was 5 minutes in “his” chair

Can be persuaded into going on the zip line after his time runs out

Uses his phone to call one of the adults over to bring him food

Can’t really say much about this guy

He’s chill, out of the way, pretty funny, and relatable

[xinnamonbun]

...YOU KNOW WHAT- F IT!

SHIP KIDS!

I'm not going to do anything with them but they have been rotting away in my drawing app for months, they deserve to breathe (also because they've been in there for months these drawings are old and as such I HATE them; burn the old art with fire)

Napoleon Ice Cream (Berry/Vanilla/Coco): Bot/Goo

The youngest; would be adopted YEARS after the second youngest is born; yes this means test tube and fan would be grandparents

I remember I loved these three so much, but looking back it's something about them doesn't look right- and also very original personalities were just so one dimensional (shy/happy/silly; from left to right) I still think that the idea of them being an object version of conjoined triplets is fun though.

Candy Apple: Marshmallow/Apple

Second youngest; was raised in the mansion; got bow from Aunt Bow as a birthday gift

Genuinely was a character that I think had potential if i was to do anything with them. They were just kind of silly and they were fun to imagine shenanigans with. I also had this thing where everyone else would think of her as "the crazy homeschooled until 3rd grade ghost believer"

Hurling Ball: Baseball/Nickel

3rd youngest; definitely a bit on the rude side but more in like the older brother way (like he'll pick on his friends and other ship kids but if you make fun of them he will destroy you mentally and physically; their best friend is Hot Air Balloon (more on that later)

I honestly thought he was boring before but weirdly I think he would have been one of the more interesting ship kids, weird how time changes people's perspective. Also some fun peace of trivia they were originally going to be a steel Ball but because I was obsessed with originality after I found out someone else already did that I tried to find another ball and hurling Ball looked good enough (tbh I don't even remember what sport his ball is from)

Paprika: Salt/Pepper

4th youngest; just like her moms; considered pretty

She's just a Blue's Clues reference. She is the most boring one on here.

Golden Cup: Trophy/Cheesey

5th youngest; loves pranks; would be a part of the mean girls.... that I never fleshed out-

The second most boring. It's unfortunate that her design ended up being the most simple because this was the FIRST one I did. Originally she was going to be a yellow cab but she was going to be a mug specifically so I could have a pun on there for cheesy but it ended up looking too clunky so I ended up going up this instead (I should have gone with the pun mug)

Hot Air Balloon (Balloon Jr.): Suitcase/Balloon

5th oldest; shy; despite the previous trait EXTRAORDINARILY protective of his friends; best friends with Hurling Ball

For this genuinely being my favorite ship surprisingly I didn't think of much for him. SIKE I MADE A WHOLE ARC OF HIM NOT WANTING TO BE BABIED BY HIS PARENTS. Kind of made him have a hole rebellious teen arc in which part of it is because of influence from Torch- oh right I scraped them because of my originality rule. So now they're arc doesn't make sense because I never even designed their love interest that causes half of the arc...great

Lamp: Lightbulb/Paintbrush

4th oldest; likes bossing other kids; has temper issues (geez wonder where those came from)

her whole thing is that she genuinely loves the world around her and constantly wants to explore it but because of the fact of if she gets too angry her light bulb explodes (and causing her to pass out and if not treated die) she's constantly pushed away from pursuing what they want to do in life which ironically has the opposite effect and ends up with them slowly bottling everything in (at least trying to) until it explodes in their face (literally IN their face)

Cucumber Salad: Taco/Cucumber (OC)

3rd oldest; has trust issues; has lived with her her whole life yet knows nothing about her mom

I've explained the absolute TEA that is the Taco drama when it comes to cucumber salad and I don't want to explain it again so if you want to know that whole story go here. She has no idea who her father is until much later in the story and as such Taco is her single mother. As for cucumber salad herself her trust issues are immaculate and what that basically means is that you cannot have a normal conversation with her without her demonizing you in her mind. Her one and only friend is Edge (we'll get to that in a little bit). Originally her and Ed were written into be love interests but WAY later for drama reasons I decided I wanted pickle and cucumber to be brothers... WHICH MADE THE SHIP REALLY BAD SO I SCRAPPED IT. I'm still in the fence about pickling cucumber being Brothers but I don't want to risk it so yeah the crush thing is scrapped. Unfortunately I realizing I didn't have a lot of her personality planned out cuz I was so distracted by tacos drama. Most scenarios I thought of with her was her realizing everything her mom has done in the past and/or the fact that she was a mistake-

Straight Edge Paring Knife: Knife/Pickle

2nd oldest; therapist friend; is it dumb in the smartest way possible

His entire personality was basically being the therapist friend and being smarter than he gave himself credit for. Like with more logic focus stuff he's terrible but when it comes to pretty much anything mentally he's as smart as a wise old man that's already lived life. A little bit of this comes from knife but a lot of it doesn't both pickle and knife are very confused on how they're son is so emotionally intelligent. He considers cucumber salad a friend but not a best friend unlike her (ouch)

Candelabra: Silver/Candle

Oldest; well at least she would be if she wasn't the only scrapped character that I've drawn

I forget what her personality was going to be before the most part she was pretty much just this elegant refined person. She was scrapped because I kid you not literally a couple HOURS after I drew her I came across an ask blog that also had a candelabra in it. Don't get me wrong I'm very appreciative is that I found it and it's one of my favorite Tumblr blogs to date (and is also run by one of my mutuals) However again I had a huge "all of the ship kids I make must be original objects with no exceptions!" thing so because of this I scrapped her immediately.

Closing thoughts:

This was a nice trip down memory lane, but if I was ever to actually make a ship kids thing then they would be redesigned, rewritten, and in certain cases replaced. Some of these designs are horrendous to look at looking back and/or are just boring. I'd want to rewrite a lot of their personalities and stories at the very least to make them feel more dimensional. And for certain characters I don't know if I'd want them to exist at all (mainly golden cup)

[cabalxcalamity]

◟✧⡀ ( shô kasamatsu. cisgender man. he/him. ) … there’s a figure off in the distance, do you see it? wait is that … TOMOYUKI EIJI ? how long have they been standing there? if that’s really them, i believe they’re THIRTY.  do i know them?  no,  but i hear they’re PROTECTIVE and RESILIANT, but also DESTRUCTIVE  and <ISOLATED>. i do know that they’ve been in the City for <TWENTY-FIVE YEARS>. it’s crazy that they’re just standing there … shouldn’t they be working at SCARLET LETTER LODGINGS as a OWNER? maybe they’re off today, i couldn’t tell you. hope they get moving soon. i’m starting to feel like GODZILLA is peering over at me …

a god incarnate. a city doomed.

status: tired as hell ... rift level: legendary powers:

atomic energy manipulation: atomic breath (emitting a powerful stream of radioactive heat energy from his mouth) and energy absorption (absorbing radiation to heal or power himself - he can become stronger after exposure.)

regeneration: rapid healing (allows him to fully recover from severe injuries including regenerating lost tissue, healing wounds and recovering from severe damage to internal organs).

heightened strength/durability: superhuman strength (in larger form - able to lift and throw other her monsters, and incredibly large objects - in normal form, able to lift and throw cars/trucks as well as being a strong hand-to-hand combatant.) durability (capable of withstanding conventional weaponry, energy attacks and environmental extremes - his skin (and in the larger form, his scales) provide a nearly impenetrable defense against physical and energy-based attacks.

size alteration: growth & size change (full godzilla-lizard form, the more energy he absorbs, the larger he can grow. he is like a goldfish and will grow to fit his tank.)

weaknesses: oxygen destroyer, psychic/mental attacks, temperature extremes, large amounts of electricity will repel him, coagulation agent, energy overload, advanced weaponry, regeneration limits, vulnerability during transformations

mythos: based off of the heisei & reiwa era - tomoyuki eiji is named in homage to two of the great contributers to the godzilla mythos. he first debuted in 1954 and was a metaphor for nuclear destruction, inspired by the bombings of hiroshima and nagasaki as well as the lucky dragon 5 incident.

the heisei era began in the 1980s to the mid 1990s. Known for its darker tone and more cohesive storytelling, these movies focused on the horror of nuclear destruction, genetic engineering and environmental destruction. this era explored the consequences of human scientific experimentation and environmental negligence - godzilla is a symbol of nature's wrath against humanity.

the reiwa era began in 2019. it focuses on government inefficiency and disaster response, environmental concerns, godzilla as an adapting and evolving force of nature which emphasizes themes of adaptation and mutation. this era dives into themes of genetic manipulation, and the ethical implications of scientific and technological advancements.

brief background:

he wasn't born… he was conceived as a series of genetic information written down on paper, a series of secret experiments carefully leading to the moment an egg and a sperm were combined and he was born first in a test-tube and then in an artificial womb. he was raised around scientists. poked, prodded and told that he was the hope for humanity - yet, he knew how poor humanity was. how destructive. he saw how animals were used and thrown away, how humans battled against one another, waged war against the environment.

how he managed to escape is another story - one he doesn't share - but he ended up in the city and there, he found that his power bloomed when he was fifteen - he swore, it was born from his rage and anger and pain. he is tempered by those who care for him -- and he is reminded that there is some good left in the world worth saving ... but not many, and as the days go on ... he's losing what little of his humanity he has left.

it hadn't always been like that - there was a time when he was more human than monster, but as the years have gone on -- his desire to protect and his anger towards the corruption and environmental decay of the city had pushed him further and further down the road towards fully embracing his powers and who he embodies. now, he is more monster than man - as protective as he had always been, but no longer able to control his rages. he isolates himself because he is no longer able to fit in with others - not easily, not readily.

wanted connections:

mothra: if the world lives to see another century, please remember what mothra did for you and the planet you live on. (his closest ally/his soulmate)

king ghidorah: the entire human race will perish from the Earth. Where the monster ghidorah passes, only flaming ruins are left. (his enemy)

gamera: We commit to the cradle of time the Last Hope, Gamera. May he awaken with the shadow of evil, gyaos. (co-worker)

others include: the one he saved, the one whose life he ruined, the one who comes around and won't leave, a scientist hunting him