#my writing segment

[bemused2dust]

Now on INPRINT woo!

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Shop talk and other stuff below ✍️(◔◡◔)

Only three prints so far, but more is sure to come. I plan to throw some photography prints in there too later on.

If you feel like supporting me I whole heartedly appreacite it!

I would also love to see how you used your print at if you do!

OH! I'm also on Bluesky now, same art over there too. Just another art account. basically a "highlights" account.

And my Insta, where I post novice photography like dis!

Some financial thangs!

Come get a cool coloring page over on Kofi and entertain yourself with some pretty cool details if I may say. Or just drop a tip in the jar if ya can. If not, thank you for considering anyway!

ヽ(✿ﾟ▽ﾟ)ノ

And lastly MY COMMISSIONS! If ya feel so inclined ( ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°)

SQUIBBLES COMMISSIONS

Last note: Just trying to build myself as a content creator and hoping to grow much more and be apart of some bigger projects. Thanks for reading this far!

100 shin kicks to your enemies for my gratitude!

[quadrantadvisor]

Pairing Off, in which the Waynes meet the Fentons, just not all at once. 2,443 words

-

Damian feels less than positively about the new girl in his grade.

Danielle Fenton has already garnered a bit of a reputation. Her uniform is clearly second hand, and rumors abound about whether she has joined them at Gotham Academy on a merit scholarship or as “one of Wayne's charity cases.” Neither is true; Father has offered no fiscal support to the Fentons, and yet both she and her older brother attend the Academy, leading Damian to believe they've somehow paid their own way.

Her lower class status and midwestern accent ought to make Fenton a target, but her response to being cornered or talked down to by other students was an unsettling combination of cheerful and aggressive. She is now mostly left to her own devices, despite her notoriety. 

Damian has no interest in the girl. While it is true that she excels in both mathematics and social studies, her performance in English and science are unremarkable, and she poses no challenge to his rank at the top of the class. If he finds himself pushing harder in certain classes this semester in order to maintain the edge, it's no one else's business.

Now if only she would leave him alone.

Damian preemptively slams his sketchbook shut, just as a brash, inconsiderate, annoying girl hops up to sit on his desk. “Hey Dami, what're you drawing?”

“It is none of your business,” Damian seethes. “Remove yourself from my personal space before I-” he isn't allowed to threaten classmates with bodily harm, imply that he has brought weapons to school, or use words that are derogatory to women “-do so myself. By force.” He would avoid her altogether if he could, but Fenton is annoyingly (suspiciously) sneaky. He can only ever seem to sense her when she's just about on top of him.

Fenton merely laughs, high, bright, and joyful, and Damian grits his teeth. “Did you draw me yet?” she asks, and doesn't move an inch.

“No, I have not drawn you. I never said I would, and I have no plans to. Stop asking me.”

She shrugs and kicks her feet. “Maybe you'll change your mind. Can I see what you're working on?”

Damian pulls the sketchbook a tad bit closer to himself (a protective reflex that shows his weakness, he should be better than that by now.) “Never, imbecile.”

Fenton sticks her tongue out at him like a child. “Mean,” she says, still smiling. “I wanna see your art. It's so good!”

Damian tilts his nose up at her. “Of course it is, plebeian, I have standards-” he starts, but is cut off by the teacher entering. Fenton slides off his desk and heads to her own seat. Damian stows his sketchbook in his bag and tries not to think of the unfinished work inside, featuring a girl with dark hair, light eyes, and a mischievous grin.

-

There's this brownstone on the outskirts of Crime Alley, an old townhouse recently converted into commercial space. There's a coffee shop on street level, a tattoo parlor down the stairs, some sorta wine emporium on the second floor, and on the third, a little second hand bookshop

It's outside the border of Jason's territory, but he feels sorta responsible for it, given that he frequents the place.

It's a little out of his way, but the atmosphere is nice, alright? Clean, with soft lighting, but not sterile or corporate like the bigger places downtown. The owners are an older couple who Jason has met a couple of times, and they seem pretty happy with the new location. They're collectors, really, who run the shop to make ends meet.

Mostly, Jason talks to their employee. Jazz.

Jazz works in the afternoons and evenings, after her classes. She goes to Gotham U, double majoring in pre-med and psych, on top of a full time job, because she's almost as insane as a bat. She assures Jason that she does alright, gets a little downtime to study on her shifts.

She always makes time to talk to Jason.

Jazz is an interesting person to talk books with. She cares less about plot and literary themes, and more about diagnosing every character with their own personal malady of the mind. She dissects their thought processes and behaviors, ruthless in her analysis.

She's gonna be a brain surgeon someday, open people up and see what really makes them tick. Jason doesn't doubt it for a second.

So maybe Jason is a little bit in love with her.

It's not a big deal. Obviously it's not going anywhere. It's just nice to have something normal, to talk to someone normal, about normal stuff like books and college and sibling antics.

Jazz's stories about her sibling, Danny, rival Jason's own, and his family is fucking disastrous. Jason isn't actually sure if Dan is older or younger than Jazz is, or, for that matter, what pronouns he should use for them, since Jazz mixes it up pretty regularly. He knows that Jazz absolutely adores them, though, and it's heartwarming, the way she smiles as she talks.

All of that to explain why Red Hood is keeping an eye on a brownstone that technically falls outside of his territory.

There's a girl inside that he needs to keep safe.

-

“Hey bud, late night?” Dick asks the man lying prone in an alley, a block away from the Iceberg Lounge.

The response is slurred with sleep and muffled by a cheek pressed hard into asphalt. “S'at you, Dick?”

“Sure is. We've got to stop meeting like this,” Dick tells him, and means it.

The guy's name is Dan. No last name offered, which was fair, since Dick hasn't mentioned his.

What was weird was that Dan didn't give Penguin his last name, either, when he signed his employment contract. Just Dan.

Penguin has been trying to expand his influence into Bludhaven, and Dick's been trying to figure out why. Cobblepot is a very Gotham sort of gangster, all wrapped up in the city's ideas of style and respectability; Dick honestly would've thought that Blud was beneath him. He needs to figure out who he's contacting and what they're offering him, and he needs to do it before Penguin can get a foothold on his turf.

Running into Dan was a side effect. Dick didn't mean to keep doing it. It's just that Dan has this weird habit of completely disregarding trivial concerns such as his own health and safety, and doing weird shit like, as a random example, getting tired, laying down, and passing out. In the middle of the street. In Gotham.

The main part of Dan's job seems to be bouncing at the club. It makes sense—if you wanted to hire a guy as muscle, you couldn't do much better than Dan. He's at least 6 and a half feet tall, with a chest wider than Jason's. 

But Dick has also seen Dan traveling with Penguin before. Add in the fact that it's almost impossible to dig up info on him, and that tailing him is somehow even harder, and a picture starts to come together. A very vague, very suspicious picture.

It's too bad that Dick sort of likes him, and that he's incredibly hot.

Dan has removed his face from the alley floor, and is in the process of pushing himself up. “Not your business, man,” he retorts. “What are you, a cop?”

Dick can't help a wry chuckle at that. “Not anymore.”

“No shit?” Dan asks, hauling himself to his feet. He towers over Dick like that, but it's hard to be intimidated by a man whose cheek is red and pockmarked by little bits of gravel. Dick is legitimately embarrassed that he finds it charming. He needs to get better taste in men. “Yeah, no, that makes sense,” Dan continues, looking Dick up and down. “No way they could keep your ass on the force.”

“Oh yeah?” Dick asks.

Dan snorts. “I can smell the idealism on you from here.” He starts walking, heading straight past Dick, who falls into step beside him. “You remind me of this kid I know.”

Dick gives an interested hum, hoping that if he doesn't interrupt, Dan will elaborate, but no dice.

“So, where're you taking me this time?” the big man asks, still leading, and Dick stifles a grin at how silly the whole thing is.

“Maybe if I take you out for coffee, you won't faceplant onto any more concrete,” he says, reaching up to brush off some of the little rocks. Dan stutters to a stop as Dick touches his cheek, letting him, then strides off again as soon as he's done.

“Don't care, as long as you're paying.”

Dick stops him with a tug to his arm. “Coffee shop's this way,” he explains, pointing, and Dan doesn't hesitate, pivoting to take the lead once again. Dick rushes to keep up with his not-date, a criminal who he literally picked up off the street and who has no idea where he's going. He can't see his own smile, but he knows from experience that it is both delighted and a little manic. He admits to himself, begrudgingly, that he likes his men with something wrong with them.

-

The biggest reason that Tim played so much Doomed with Ghost_Boy, a couple of years ago, was that they were the only player he knew who kept hours as weird as his were. There were worse reasons to form a friendship. Ghost_Boy was a great player, and was always funny in chat. They were upbeat when things went well, and they were sarcastic but not bitter when things went poorly. Playing for the game's sake eventually changed to booting up the game to hang out with Ghost_Boy. They talked about how different their lives were, with Ghost_Boy in the midwest and Tim in the crime capital of America, and they talked about the things they had in common, like falling asleep in class. It was Tim's favorite form of stress relief, back then, when being Robin was new and overwhelming.

Then Tim got busy. No, that wasn't true—Tim had always been busy. More like, Tim's life fell to shambles, over and over again, and he stopped making time for stress relief when the very concept seemed out of his reach.

That was over dramatic. Tim fell off the game, and didn't keep in contact with his friend. That's all there was to it.

That was all there was to it, until a few nights ago, when he booted up his old Doomed file for nostalgia's sake and found a message from Ghost_Boy, sent a couple months back, that said he was planning to move to Gotham and, if Tim wanted, he'd be happy to meet up.

Tim immediately replied in the affirmative, and then he freaked out that he'd done that and started cyber stalking the guy. He couldn’t be bothered to pretend to be embarrassed by this behavior. He knew who he was.

Daniel Fenton was, in fact, a real teenager from a real midwestern town (Amity Park, Illinois.) He had moved to Gotham right when his message said he would, and lived with his older sister, Jasmine (who had custody over him,) and his younger sister, Danielle.

And that was where Tim was planning to stop his research, for the sake of his friend's privacy. Once he confirmed that he wasn't being catfished by either a supervillain or a run-of-the-mill creep, he was going to stop looking.

But Danielle Fenton's situation was incredibly weird.

Apparently, she had never lived with Daniel, Jasmine, and their parents before. Instead, after she was born, she'd been adopted by the kids’ godfather, eccentric billionaire Vlad Masters, and he was still her legal guardian. It was only after the Doctors Jack and Madeline died that she moved in with her siblings and started attending Gotham Academy, states away from her adoptive parent.

Vlad Masters was a man of eclectic tastes. The stories about him in the news were always covering some weird investment he had made, like purchasing a cheese castle in Wisconsin, or buying up property in Green Bay just to have a stake in the Packers, or pouring money into experimental forms of alternative energy. He was always refined in his public appearances, but he had the desperate edge of new money wanting to fit in with the old. Tim knew of him, but had never given him much thought before. He'd never made a move into Gotham, after all.

But the whole story was bizarre. Masters had gone to college with the Fentons, the three of them creating their own field of study in “Ectology,” before Masters had been contaminated in a lab accident, bedridden and unable to finish his degree. Jack and Maddie had continued their research, garnering just enough interest in their work to receive the funding needed to keep afloat, until some sort of breakthrough a few years ago added validity to their theories. They were practically celebrities in the niche forums Tim skimmed through. Masters, meanwhile, stopped working directly in the sciences and instead turned to networking, gaining some generous help from the friends he made and playing the stock market like a fiddle, until he was one of the most well known and lucrative investors in the world. He owned a few companies publicly, and managed some others under the table (Tim had to snort at the ridiculous naming of Dalv Co.) 

And then the Fentons had kids, and they raised two of them (seemingly quite happily, if the photos on their memorialized facebook accounts meant anything.) And then, for some reason, they named the third one nearly identically to their second child and gave her straight to Vlad. Masters raised the girl in Wisconsin, until suddenly relocating to Amity Park and becoming the town's mayor. There he stayed, until the Fenton's recent passing in a lab accident of their own.

Tim doesn't know what it all adds up to. But there was something going on, with both Vlad Masters and the Fentons, and if there's something nefarious in Masters’ actions or his wealth, it could be entirely possible that Daniel was a plant—a way for him to get an in with the Waynes. Tim has to be cautious, and he has to get to the bottom of this.

That's why Tim is waiting in a coffee shop, pretending to be engrossed in his laptop while keeping an eye on the door, waiting for the appearance of a teen with black hair and blue eyes.

Tim idly thinks that Bruce had better not adopt this one.

[samijey]

samijey + verbally hurting each other (and immediately regretting it)

[fatuismooches]

omg i just read some of my older asks and i am uhmmmm.... wtf was i doing, what am i doing????

anywaaaayyyy

imagine jealous dottore segments hehehhehehe

zandy is [name's] bbg no questions asked, but what if the other segments get jealous that you spend so much time with their child self and not the older, smarter and just overall better segments!!!! they're thankful you care so much about the thing but, hey! they are right here and ready to mingle cuddle, why choose to hold a child like a teddy bear, when you can be that teddy bear?

while all you do is hug little zandy and reading him a book, about Fontaine machines and their science things, for an hour or two till he falls asleep, and this only happens twice a week

when Pantalone found out the segments were jealous he grinned so hard that day, and may have told bina and every other harbinger just to annoy the doctor even more, the gossip is juicy tonight for the agents. you made sure to cuddle every dottore you have available a little more than usual after that.

the fact that Zandik is hearing all these thoughts from different segments is so funny to me, like he's trying to concentrate not think about his lover right now(very hard), and when he finally succeeded theres another one being more jealous than the last, please leave [name] and the child alone and get to work. he's way more jealous than every segments jealousy combined

(i already explored everything in the new area's, theres something too wrong with me)

have you ever heard of a thing called grass? apparently its green and similar to the things you see a lot of in sumeru, i really wanna see some for myself one day :>

-luv ya

It was always rather amusing to see Dottore's segments jealous, although you probably haven't seen real jealousy. Even though they do get jealous of each other, most of the time they don't bother letting it brew - they just simply go up and try to steal you, which usually ends up in a semi-fight that you quickly deescalate with a compromise. However, it's different when the segment is none other than Zandy... after all, it was well known that the child had a certain unknown power that none of them possessed. It was unfair, really. What did a mere child have that they didn't?! Yes, they're secretly happy you're that affectionate to the boy who was ostracized and constantly hurt, but that doesn't trump their grumpiness! Of course, you don't really realize at first, considering the segments seem to be busy most of the time anyway.

Pantalone, however, having to deal with these scholars more than he liked, over time became keenly aware of when his business partners were in a bad mood. Well, it was pretty obvious with the younger ones, but the older ones required some more delving into (which he'd become accustomed to due to his not-so-desirable deals). It had only taken the Ninth a bit of prodding to discover the segments' cause of discontentment, and their romantic woes were perhaps one of his favorite sources of amusement. Although what comes out of his mouth later is certainly... not the best for the fearsome Il Dottore, it's not all bad, just as Pantalone planned. The rumors reached their way to you, of course! And with that, despite the segments denying all accusations, you make sure to give them all numerous kisses.

Prime is exasperated, but not unsurprised at his clones' thoughts. At least for once, they weren't fighting, but rather complaining in uncommon unison about your lack of attention. Still, it doesn't make it much better... their minds should not be so weak as to fall victim to a mere lack of touch and sweet words. It was quite ridiculous...

[pixiest1cks]

i'd like to think no matter where he's at in his life, dottore likes to ramble as he works.

no matter if he's prime, or the more ill-tempered scholar from the akademiya or even omega build, dottore quietly mumbles as a habit when he's working.

some things he says aloud are just to commit certain details to memory. in the grander scheme of his plans, the details seem small-- but they hold a crucial grip on the entire project. because of this, dottore reasons that the habit holds its merits.

sometimes, he makes sarcastic remarks when something doesn't go well. short, choppy words that mostly go unheard even by those in his general vicinity. when you first worked under him, he had mumbled to himself like usual (it was second nature at that point). what he hadn't expected though, were your responses.

"stupid thing tightly screwed--"

"do you need a wrench, sir?"

before he could respond, you had one held and ready to hand to him. from then on, you would help him out here and there in his more foul moods and dottore would be lying if he said the additional assistance wasn't helpful.

the mad scientist had found an adequate assistant.

work went by smoother, toning down a good portion of his irritation. it's almost as if having someone to support you (even if it was strictly for work purposes) provided more benefits than he had originally thought. of course, he would never admit that. the most he would do is thank you here and there when you proved to be extra useful.

work continues the same for a while. the interactions grow more frequent and so his musings change from your responses. instead of talking to himself, he talks to you. he asks you for your input, for you to pass him whatever he can't reach from his other desk, he asks for you.

that is, until you're gone one day.

dottore doesn't think anything of it. he's worked alone for his whole life, what's a few days without you? but his segments have been more irritable as of late, resulting in lackluster performance as a whole not only from his segments, but his troops. the fatui are fearful of the doctor, but even more so of an irritated one. you'll turn up eventually and everything will be back to normal, he reasons.

but as the days go on, you are still nowhere to be found in the cold, desolate laboratory. he finally pauses in his work to think about where you could be.

something must've happened. something outside of his jurisdiction. it's not like it's his problem. you might've proved a useful assistant to him, but his work holds utmost priority.

yes, work. back to work.

and dottore mumbles as usual, but it's not the same.

by habit, he calls out for you to hand him something--

but you're not there.

dottore is a scholar first and foremost. all it takes to find you is a little bit of research, so he does exactly that. he finds out you've been working somewhere else, somewhere closer to home to better support your family.

well, that's no problem. he'll have his assistant back as soon as possible, no matter the cost. all he needed to know was your whereabouts.

[bumpercarting]

just had an idea for your cobigail self ship Cobigail hanging out with Thespius, talking about this cool new person that just moved to Milldread, how nice they are, how they visit her and just gushing. and Thespius clocks it as a crush immediately. and just sits there smug cause she's teased him for crushing on Click Clack for years and he's finally got a chance at some payback.

anon i dont know how but you literally Read My Mind i had been thinking of drawing this exact scenario for SO LONG!!!!!!!! Hence why i took this long 2 respond

i actually had a lot of fun drawing this, especially since I'd been meaning to draw thespius for the first time..!!!! he was a struggle i admit

also an extra thingy,

yes he hangs out with bayker and helps them around because i love them and i can imagine anything.

(ALT HAS TRANSCRIPTION IN CASE THE TEXT IS TOO SMALL!!!!!)

[unmondefou]

--- h.harouche

[dottowos]

Ahem. Letting this thingy i wrote all the way back in *checks docs* Novemeber 2023 see the light of day, might as well share the thoughts. Been craving him for unhealthy amounts of time atp 😭

[uncannydevotion]

staring at this trying to think if there's anyone else i could add...

[theweirdowithcoffee]

Armored Core, Video Games, Mecha: A Cultural Study of A Genre.

In 1997, From Software (フロム・ソフトウェア) released "Armored Core" (アーマード・コア) for the Sony PlayStation. While definitely not the first "Mecha Game" as we'll be referring to ad nauseam in this bizarre, overly long, essay thing of sorts- it more than the rest is arguable the most important. Through its mechanics, story, gameplay, and even setting- everything about Armored Core reinforces that it is the first Mecha IP made for the brand new at the time "video game medium" that fully embodied everything that defines the cultural and historical influences of the modern Mecha Genre, while redefining that genre for the newer medium. To this day, with the most recent release of "Armored Core VI: The Fires of Rubicon" in August of 2023, the series continues to uphold and redefine this legacy. Yet, what does any of that even mean?

To make a long story shortened, somewhat long once again; as we know it outside of Japan "Mecha", is a niche of a niche in some cases. Not necessarily that it's unpopular, or doesn't make an insane amount of money (which it is and does in both cases quite often), but in that it is a genre almost entirely defined by its roots in Japan, primarily through various Manga Comics and especially Animated Series. Go Nagai's (永井 豪) "Mazinger Z" (1972) is credited most often as the birth of the genre's identity, most notably as the first real breakout attempt at conceptualizing the idea of a large robot that was controlled through the use of a cockpit within the robot itself. In Go Nagai's words within the book "A Brief History of Japanese Robophilia"; "I wanted to create something different, and I thought it would be interesting to have a robot that you could drive, like a car."

From this idea and the incredible popularity of Mazinger Z, "Robot Anime" (ロボットアニメ) was born, and Go Nagai went on to create more influential works that helped further expand the genre as well as develop this particular flavor as "Super Robot". Now, Super Robot being the first and oldest sub-category to the genre makes what came after works like the aforementioned Mazinger Z and later "Getter Robo" (also from Go Nagai, 1974) fascinating from an outsider to the culture and times of the late 20th Century Japan. Without going too much into a side tangent, shows like Mazinger Z and Getter Robo were the foundation of which everything that would come to pass was built on. Discussing Mazinger Z and Getter Robo with friends and people who love it, however, the one thing that was constantly said was that "They still were and are, monster of the week animated shows", the Super Robots being genuinely not too dissimilar to how super heroes or super powered characters in other cartoons or comics were depicted other than they were both vehicle and the powers themselves. They are still shows about cool/surprising fights with evil monsters or wicked folk- and that's what they really want to be.

Not to say there's little under the surface (I would never dare to even humor a claim like that in regards to near any media), but for example- Getter Robo, which introduced the concept of "gattai" (合体), better known as "combination", where these super robots or aspects of them could "combine together" to create a bigger, stronger, or better robot- combined with the introduction of the show's "Getter Rays", the primary antagonists being what are genuinely, dinosaur aliens, Getter Robo has a very clear and distinct theme of "Evolution" that permeates through its entire core- but its also secondary to the actual point of the series from what I've been informed. To quote directly from a friend who's a massive fan and shill for the series: "This is the invention of the wheel, no one has thought to put trims on it," which is not a criticism at all- but I think it's important to especially point that out here and now that this is what the Super Robot era of early Mecha was, really cool and fun ideas for media that wanted to be surprising, fun, and fresh for the early 1970s.

The other thing that was most interesting about the era of Super Robot, was that despite robots- the powers and abilities explored in these series were supernatural or magical in nature; Getter Rays for example is quite literally, human will made manifest- allowing their machines to fire beams of energy, transform their parts, amongst several other things. Some would say it's "on the nose", but frankly it's inspired and has persisted as an idea all the way to present in even modern Mecha that isn't Super Robot.

But then, what did come after the Super Robot era of early Mecha? When a genre has only escalated and expanded, going further into the fantastical and erratic energy of its fore-bearers and contemporaries; bigger, brighter, louder- where do we look once we've waged battle with every single light in the sky? When there's no battles left to be fought with aliens, kaiju, or other such monsters that threaten to snuff out our spark, try to tango with the human spirit and its indomitable will- eventually our sights go from the stars above, back to where all battles and conflict are directed at.

Each other.

(this post is continued in a series of reblogs, be sure to check them out!)

[bemused2dust]

Sense and Sagacity #46

Amour Edition #10

[bio-hazard]

officer cicle i think about you every day ....

[1singulargrape]

@luminescent-cow (frantic) I love the way you worded this because it reminds me of 2 of my favorite art pieces that I think fits sukuita in a way (it's probably the brainrot but wtv)

"The anatomy of a hug" by Luna Lu

"this is what love feels like I think" by sardineslayer_ on twt

sharing one heart and one mind in addition to one soul... it makes me a bit insane and I want to grab these two and smash them together until they're indistinguishable from one another <3

[purpleleafsyt]

{What will it be? It's your choice.}

Inspired from this fic, this scene would be in chapter 13, below the cut is some of the writing that inspired this :D

[fatuismooches]

HI HELLO HI HI

THAT LAST POST MADE MY BRAIN GO BRRRRRRR I HAVE MANY THOUGHTS TO BREW ON THAT, IT WAS DELICIOUS, IM BOUNCING OFF THE WALLS ＼(^-^)／

Do you have any headcanons or thoughts on Boattore? He’s been on my mind recently. He seems like such a friendly segment from the little bit we do see of him in-game! What name do you think the Reader would give him?

Also, on that other post about playing with the Fatui Harbingers’ hair, you mentioned Boattore having longer hair!!! I’d like to imagine the Reader often playing with Boattore's hair and trying to pull him away from work to take a break—though, in reality, they just want to try out tons of different hairstyles on him because of its length.

It would be so funny if the Reader managed to slap some pretty pink ribbons or other decor in his hair—if he’d let them, of course!

Damn I guess I really like playing dress up with Dottore- hUH—I CANT HELP IT HES SO PRETTYYY (/_;)/~~

OKAY BYE BYE BYE

- 💀🎉 Anon

Boattore, formerly known as segment 18 and now Sigma, as named by you, has silliness levels that could rival Beta. No one understands why he's all smiles - many agents had a hard time getting accustomed to him after dealing with the others for so long (the collective snarkiness of Alpha, Beta, Delta... just to name a few.) Similarly, even you don't understand why he's like this, but you just roll with it because Sigma's simply adorable.

Perhaps it's his profession that contributed a bit to his demeanor too. He specializes in botany, studying their medicinal and toxic properties alike. Taking care of certain plants requires a large amount of gentleness, tender hands, and patience for living things - qualities the other segments aren't known for having, so it's a good thing Sigma's around to take on the job. Sigma will laugh at you if you want to talk to his plants, but he's more than happy to chat while he helps you water them.

Sigma has the longest hair out of all the segments, reaching about halfway of his back, which he usually leaves in a loose tail. Just like his fellow selves, he doesn't put much effort into his hair but it remains naturally fluffy. When he sleeps in your bed, sometimes you wake up to strands of hair left on the sheets so you easily know who visited you. Sigma's hair is also perfect for pulling and the first time you do it he will whimper for a mere second. It never happened again.

More importantly, he has no problem with you playing with his hair. Better him than any of his other segments, right? Just don't get too rough. Most of the time he gets absorbed in his work to notice what you're doing after a while, and will come back to his senses with three cute braids, one at his back, and two on his long front bangs with some bows. Well- if Beta can take pride in wearing your specially designed pink bow ties, he'll be fine keeping them on for a while. With no one else seeing.

Of course, don't let the cheery exterior completely fool you. Sigma is still one of Dottore's segments after all. He will reward someone if they impress him. He will look down on them if they don't. He asks questions in the same light, airy tone to said people but will not care about their responses. Just because he's smiling, does not mean his agents will always have a good time. He is a sweetie with you, but others will witness his thinly-veiled arrogance.

But of course! Just be on your best behavior, and you shall be fine, as with any of Dottore's segments.

[whisperwritingstuff]

hope someone ordered some more reverse untamed beasts, because looks like that's what we've got here

in which stuff does not cease from continuing to occur

-----

Grian wakes to the murmur of words above him. Little movements reveal him to have been rearranged to lay across Scar’s lap. He’d know the feel of the thighs under him anywhere.

It’s a slog to drag his brain to focus on what’s being said, fighting off the urge to slip into sleep once more. Thankfully his curiosity wins.

"-ub, come on, easy there." Scar's voice is gently steady. "You're doing so good, Cub, just focus a little. Just stay with me."

Something in Grian's chest aches with the tenderness of the moment, like he's not meant to be here witnessing it. Something hungry in him quiets.

The thigh under him very slightly twitches.

"Eavesdropping is a bad habit, or so I'm told." Scar's tone shifts into something light and friendly, something made of plaster-thin cheer.

"Is it eavesdropping when you're doing it directly above my head?" Grian cracks open an eye, peering up at Scar. Scar still has a hand on Grian's Vex's cheek, even though he's looking down at Grian instead.

"Yes, because you weren't invited. It just can't be done anywhere else." Scar nods to himself, as if that makes any kind of sense at all.

"What are you doing to-"

"Stop." Scar snaps, sugar-brittle cracks crashing over the rest of Grian's words and bringing them to am abrupt jerk of a halt.

Grian's Vex growls softly, sounding almost uncertain.

"It's fine, I'm not hurting him, he's fine, see?" Scar's tone instantly switches over to its previous tenderness, all the force behind it suddenly gone as he soothes Grian's Vex. Scar lifts Grian's hand, placing it in Grian's Vex's hand. Grian gives its hand a little squeeze. He can feel the way it relaxes some after that. Grian's not entirely sure why he's cooperating with Scar about this, but… He doesn't want his Vex to be upset, or to get violent again. He can help with that, at least. Granted, Grian feels significantly less comfortable when Scar's attention shifts back to him. For just a fleeting moment there's something wild and icy-amused in Scar's eyes, but it smooths back down to Scar's normal friendliness in a deliberate way. Scar's letting him see that, Grian realizes. Scar wants it to make him uneasy.

Grian puts on his best unphased expression, unwilling to let Scar see it shake him.

Scar taps Grian's nose, making Grian's expression scrunch up again.

"You will not call him it." Scar's voice cuts through the distraction to completely envelop Grian, sticky and consuming, drowning honey seeping against the cracks of his mind until it permeates through.

Grian jerks slightly in place, something screaming to him that this is wrong, something's wrong, this isn't how it's supposed to go- He clings to his Vex's hand and tries to twist away from Scar.

Scar roughly grabs his face and forces Grian to look directly at him. "You will not." He repeats, voice thick with power and authority.

Despite putting up as much resistance as he can, something inside Grian's mind buckles at that firm touch. He can feel that soft piece of himself simply give way, accepting and even welcoming the demand placed on him. His body relaxes without his say-so, the honey-sweetness coursing through his veins and wracking him with bliss to seal the deal. By the time Grian manages to surface from the aftershocks of- Whatever that was, Scar is slumped forward onto Grian's Vex, panting shallow breaths. A hint of defiance glints through his exhaustion, when Grian manages to catch his eye. "Do whatever you want to me, I'm not undoing it." Scar was almost certainly aiming for some kind of tough guy tone, but it's a bit undercut by the way his voice cracks and has to pause for panting breaths.

Grian can't help but snort half a laugh at the dissonance.

Grian's Vex slowly loops an arm around Scar, like rediscovering something that was once familiar, tucking him close. Admittedly, Grian is becoming more and more curious about what it's-

Grian's body jerks with a sharply overwhelming spark of pain, and then a cool wash of soothing.

What… was he thinking about again? His Vex looks comfortable like that, holding Scar. Grian shuffles himself around until he can sprawl on both of their laps, unable to just pick one.

Scar plays with his hair again, which is nice.

"You'll learn quick, I know you will." Scar's voice is steadier now, soft. Still laced with tiredness, but the long weighty kind more than the brief sharp sort. "I wasn't gonna be responsible for my actions if you said that again, I couldn't- I'm trying really really hard to be understanding, okay? Like, really hard. You can be reasonable, right? I know you can, you-" Scar pauses his rambling to touch his own throat. "We'll figure this out, we just needed some ground rules, is all." He finishes with a nod. "Why are you so invested in what I call my Vex?" Grian manages to dredge up enough thought to actually make a coherent inquiry about all of Scar's complete nonsense.

Which means he gets to watch as Scar's expression does something that is very much not anger, but something of an entirely different shade of color. All Grian can read of it is that the tail end of it morphs into guilt, though.

Which tells him absolutely nothing.

"Grian." Scar's voice shifts to a simple tone he only uses when he's being his most genuinely serious. "This is Cub. Actual real o- my friend Cub."

"What? No, this is just a magic construct I summoned that looks kinda, maybe okay a little, like if you look at it sideways a little squinty sorta like Cub. It's not like. Cub Cub."

"Have you checked?" Scar challenges.

"I don't need to." Grian dismisses. It'd be silly to check something that couldn't possibly be true.

"Grian."

Grian looks away instead of answering, disliking the mounting discomfort from meeting Scar's gaze and thinking about the conversation too hard.

"That's him, Grian. That's Cub. Check."

"I don't. Want to." Grian protests, even though it sounds weak even in his own ears.

"Check." Scar insists, with gentle firmness.

Grian looks at his Vex, seeking any kind of excuse to put this off. Which means he's watching as his Vex reaches out and takes Scar's hand, holding it carefully, as if to comfort Scar. Scar's chest flexes and flutters with unnamed emotion in Grian's peripheral.

It's almost not of his own volition at that point that Grian shifts his sight just off-kilter enough to clearly see the name attached to Scar. Sweeping his vision back over to his Vex-

The damning sword of Damocles hangs clear over Grian's Vex's head, reading Cub's name clear as day.

"No." Grian protests, faintly. "Yeah." Scar almost looks pitying. "He's been Cub the whole time." Scar gives Cub's hand a squeeze.

"But. He's mine." Grian didn't mean to say that aloud, but the words got away from him. They're true but they were still supposed to be inside-head words. Grian's Vex- Cub, nods slightly.

Scar makes that unknown expression again, then gives a soft growl. "That's complacated." "He doesn't act like Cub." Grian protests.

"Not the Cub you know." Scar says distantly, before shaking his head. "The summoning does this to us."

Us. Scar's too tired to fight him right now. It'd be so easy to just make this problem go away- Just claim Scar, summon him, and then he'd stop saying all these- These uncomfortable, upsetting things. It'd be simple, everything could be simple again.

Grian closes his eyes, tensing up as he fights down those thoughts. He wants-

Scar kneads at his scalp. "Shh, it's okay. You stay with me too, alright?" The shapes of the sounds are all correct for comforting, but somehow it doesn't sound the same as when Scar was soothing Cub. Grian feels a kind of way about that. "Yeah, yeah." Grian brushes off, rolling onto his side so he can 'naturally' flop a wing over himself. "I'm here. So how do we fix- him. That's what you were trying to do when I woke up, right?" It makes sense, if Scar knows that this does this to them, then at least one of them must have gone through it before, and been brought back. And Scar's patter earlier was sort of shaped that way. Scar hesitates. Even without looking at him, Grian can feel it in the play of muscles through Scar's thighs.

Grian feels an indignant prickle, low in his gut, that Scar would withhold something from him that might help his Vex. He flexes his talons slowly, grabbing and releasing the sheets of the bed.

"It gets more difficult, when he's been like this so long after summoning. I can do some, but- It might work better if it were you." That last part sounds almost like it was torn bloody and dripping out of Scar, an unwilling admission resented for its truth. "Of course I can do it better." Grian snips. Does he have any idea how to do this? No. Is that going to stop him? Also no.

…even if it maybe should. What if doing this means he loses his sweetly pliant Vex? That's what they're talking about, right? Making that go away, filling that space with-

With Cub, their friend. Their friend whose space that was to begin with. Grian curls his claws into the meat of his palms, willing himself to stay on-track. He wants Cub back. Maybe they're not close-close even if Cub is his but they're friends, right? Grian- Grian would miss him if he were just. Gone. For real. Forever. He has to focus on that part. On reminding himself there isn't a Cub just waiting back at home.

This is the only Cub they have. "Stop that, you're ruining the bandages." Scar chides, taking Grian's partial hand in his. "Look at this, now there's holes in them. What do you have to say for yourself, mister?"

"It's better than the alternative." Grian speaks without inflection, flat.

"A poor excuse if I ever heard one. And now we're going to have to clean this up, before- The mess gets everywhere." To someone who knows Scar less well, the pause where he switched tracks to hide something he didn't want to say would be less evident. To Grian it blares like a siren alarm, prodding at his curiosity like a jabbing stick through an animal's cage. "What-" Grian starts.

"Oh I brought bandages with me, no worries." Scar cheerfully talks over him, as if that answer makes sense.

Grian grits his teeth, but lets it stand. Scar unwinds the bandages, pressing a light kiss to the wound, before re-wrapping them with fresh and tucking the old bandages away in his inventory.

"Can never have too much kindling." Scar grins.

"No fire tick." Grian answers automatically.

"I'll make due." There's something almost soft in Scar's tone that makes Grian finally turn to look at him again.

"You didn't have to." Grian says quietly, flexing his thumb, his index and middle fingers, the remaining ones on that hand.

"It was the neighborly thing to do." Scar shrugs, too lightly.

Grian looks away again, ignoring Scar as Scar cleans the blood from Grian's other hand as well. Much more interesting to look at his Vex, who has an intense expression of concentration as he watches the pair of them.

…it does kinda make him look a little more like Cub. "Cub?" Grian asks, without meaning to.

Cub tips his head slightly, evidently pondering, before he nods.

Grian frowns. He reaches out, tracing the curved backs of his claws over Cub's throat. There's no strangling magic there, not like there'd been with Scar. "I didn't- He hasn't said anything. This whole time." Grian struggles for a moment to remember if that's right or wrong. Scar presses himself close to Grian's back, and Grian pretends he's simply being polite by tucking his wings in closer to himself when Scar does.

"That's how this takes him. The magic for that isn't in his throat, it's in his nature." Scar sighs softly. Grian can still hear him picking his words carefully, the sound of sunflowers and secrets.

"Am I supposed to undo his nature?" Grian balks slightly.

"No, he does that fine on his own. He just needs a few nudges to kickstart him. To call him back." Scar rests his chin on Grian's shoulder. Grian thinks it should feel comfortable. It usually does. It's familiar, certainly. But the muscles of his wings won't unwind, everything feels like tight springs just waiting to be let loose on one another.

But they're both ignoring that, of course. If they pretend it's fine, that's close enough, right? "Is it really as simple as telling him to come back?" Grian asks, skeptical. "Wouldn't you have already done it by now if it was?"

"It's different, when it's- The magic makes it different, coming from you." Scar's voice is almost a hiss in his ear, a bare breath away from being able to be pinned down as resentment, but not quite that.

"Fine." Grian figures he can just shove Scar off the bed if this is to make him look stupid, or something. But enough of thinking about Scar. Grian focuses on his Cub instead.

Grian's hand drifts up until he can brush the pad of his thumb over Cub's cheekbone. Soft, cool skin, familiar under Grian's hand by now.

"Come back to us, Cub. We miss your sparkling wit." Grian gives a little half-smile. "You can't leave me with just this bozo for company. I'll go mad." Grian jerks his thumb in Scar's direction, before returning his hand to Cub's face, this time to trace the line of his jaw.

Scar grouches indignant sounds, tucking his arms around Grian's torso and squeezing just a little too hard to be quite playful. Grian is shocked to find his hand pushed away, the motion drawing his attention back to Cub where-

The simmering steel of anger in Cub's gaze hurts more than Grian expected it to. In the space between one breath and the next, Grian's hurt transmutes into a fury of his own, prickling down Grian's arms, along his legs.

Grian tries to lunge forward to wipe that wrong expression off his Vex's face, but Scar's arms drag him back harshly.

"No, no this is good!" Scar sounds disgustingly excited, completely ignoring the way Grian claws at his arms.

Cub's gaze flicks down to Scar's blood welling up around Grian's claws, showing a sharp spike of distress accompanied by the faintest whine that has both Scar and Grian freezing in place. A quick glance at each other says that they both heard it. "Cub? Are you with us, buddy?" Scar asks, bubbling with hope.

"If you two could stop making my head split open, that'd be great." Cub grouches, closing his eyes and pressing the heel of his palm into the underside of his eyebrow.

"Cub!" Scar detangles himself from Grian in record time, and launches himself bodily at Cub, clinging onto him. "Cub Cubby-Cub Cub Cubster Cub." Scar rubs his cheek against Cub's face like he's trying to sand it down to the bone. "Yeah, man. Yeah, I know. Yeah." Cub huffs, but leans ever so slightly into Scar instead of pulling away from him.

Grian's whole chest twists, like he's losing something precious, slipping right through his claws. He draws back from the pair, tucking his knees up to rest his chin on and wrapping his wings forward around himself, under the guide of giving them privacy.

Mostly Grian just can't stand to look at them anymore. Grian stops counting the seconds after sixty, and dully accepts that the pair are too wrapped up in one another to pay him any heed. Not- Not like he'd expected either of them to reach out to him anyway.

That'd be stupid, given the circumstances. Given what he's- How he's been treating Cub. How he treated Scar.

Grian covers his ears with his palms and rollingly taps his fingers down the back of his head, to drown out the thought that he treated them as they should be treated. That if he'd just stuck to that way, he wouldn't be hurting right now. He wouldn't be alone.

He likes alone anyway. Alone is fine. He's fine with this. He should be more alone, actually. That'd be better.

Grian slips off the bed and silently pads his way out of the cottage.

The sky calls to him, but- Something about the thought of feeling that kind of joy right now only sours his stomach when it would usually clear his head.

He heads down into his mine instead, a small thing. Tight spaces, messily sprawling corridors. He can just pick a new direction and go, his body moving thoughtlessly with the familiar task.

He pushes away the thought that he's gathering materials for nothing. For a house that isn't a home anymore. For a place he doubts he's welcome now anyway.

If he's still thinking at all, he's not working hard enough, clearly.

He lets himself get entirely lost in mining.