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catscidr · 7 months

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i was thinking about dottore when i woke up again (shocker) nd then thought about what his shaving habits would be like. dont ask how my brain works cw: crack if you rly think about it. also mentions of dead ppl and some blood but it’s nothing major i promise this is just silly

dottore’s facial hair doesn’t grow back that fast because of how often he’s had chemical substances explode in his face. not that his entire face has chemical burns on it (he does have scars, they’re just more in the upper area of his face), but with how long he’s been working with chemicals, accidentally creating explosives was bound to happen.

it all worked out well for him though, because he did not want to rock any kind of facial hair and look like a messy, mad scientist (even if that’s… technically what he was)– he prefers to be clean shaven (i mean have you seen those crisp sideburns on his in-game model?)

and of course, because he’s a doctor, he has steady hands.

…which leads to him occasionally shaving his face with a medical-grade scalpel. his logic, the first time he attempted it, was that scalpels are just straight razors meant for cutting people open– and if he used it to shave his face, it would just become a fancier (and bloodier) straight razor.

(he could probably cut a man open with a straight razor too, anyways. so really– what’s the difference?)

since this man is always so busy he doesn’t have time to leave the lab to go shave and take care of that kind of stuff– and he didn’t really want to, either. his time is precious and deadlines can’t wait.

and since he’s so familiar with the dips and curves of his face (he’s made countless clones of himself, after all) he can simply sit at his desk, toss his mask off of his face, grab the scalpel he’d use for non lethal purposes this time, and look off in the distance to focus on the space between the tips of his fingers prodding at his face, the blade, and his skin to shave off his stubble without nicking himself.

it’s probably the only time you would be able to catch him off guard (if you’re even able to step into his office in the first place), but you would, most likely, be the one caught off guard instead.

what are you even supposed to do when you step into his office and see The Doctor himself with a straight, dead expression, head tilted up with a rusty scalpel to the underside of his jaw? scream, probably.

and the scream you scrumpt was enough to make him jolt from surprise. fortunately for him he didn’t cut his head off, but unfortunately for you, you had made him nick his face.

just a smidge.

a tiny dot of blood trickled down the lower part of his left cheek, curving down his jaw. you’re both staring at each other- while you had a multitude of questions begging to be spoken out to get answers (because what the fuck was he doing), his own mind is eerily quiet. all he does is… stare at you.

funnily enough, you felt miles more intimidated being stared down by a considerably more casual dottore; his face unmasked, expressionless red eyes boring holes into your face, patchy stubble on his face (from him not having finished shaving), and gloveless hands frozen in the air- one holding the scalpel, the other in the same position as before but now stunted below his jaw.

(one particular observation that bubbled up to the forefront of your mind was, stupidly enough, “so minty blue really is his natural hair color?”)

he kicks you out of his office with a flat glare and a wave of his free hand so he can finish his job.

#୧ ‧₊˚rambling!#wrote this on my phone before i got ready because Of Course i would #also disclaimer i love dottore with facial hair too i just thought this would be. funny #genshin x reader #dottore x reader #genshin x you #dottore x you #genshin impact drabbles #୧ ‧₊˚cat's work!

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dokidokitsuna · 29 days

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…The eternal temptation of designing a character who doesn’t get to grow up is wondering what they would look like if they did. ^^

-Considering Elfilin’s heritage, I think it’d be fitting for him to be super hairy as an adult– like, he probably shaves his facial hair twice a day and still has to walk around with a goatee, sideburns, and a patchy mustache most of the time. I think at this point in his life he’d still be self-conscious about it. ^^;

-He’s no longer allowed to use his powers freely, and hasn’t been since the [SPOILER] incident. Basically, this is how I imagine he’d grow up if he “survived” it…with increased anxiety, untreated PTSD, and a lot more scrutiny over his behavior and movements.

-The collar around his neck is designed to paralyze him (to varying degrees) if he tries to use any of his alien abilities. Thanks to Forgo’s advice, he already knows how to get around it, but does not tell anyone.

-Speaking of Fecto Forgo, they’re still tormenting Elfilin with nightmares and hallucinations on a daily basis– it’s not like they have anything else to do. Besides, they’re still seething over the fact that Elfilin didn’t listen to any of their warnings throughout the story of DDT, so they’re determined to “punish” him until he finally opens his eyes to how utterly dehumanizing his existence is…again, they’re not really wrong…

-Elfilin’s job at Lab Discovera is, ironically, to host the revived Dream Discoveries Tour. He does not like it. ^^; But he pretends to because he wants to look useful, and in a toxic-positive way it helps him to be more accepting of his situation.

-All he wants is to just stay with his parents: the only people he can trust; the only people who even try to advocate for him to have *some* human rights. This is…the only life he knows.

-He realizes that things are going to get worse for him after his parents either retire or die…or even before then, when Lab Discovera itself (which is basically just a tourist attraction at this point) inevitably shuts down. He suspects that someday he will have to take Forgo’s words to heart, but for now he’s not going to think about it.

#kirby #gijinka #au #dream discoveries tour #elfilin #leongar #clawroline

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pedge-stuff · 1 year

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trailer reunion (pedro pascal x gn/m!reader)

a/n: same vague universe as “marked," as always. this one skews a little more m! and a little less gn!, apologies if that puts anyone off.

thanks, as always, for everything.

summary: 5 weeks is a long, long time.

——————————————————————————

Your leg won’t stop bouncing. It’s not your fault, really— it’s the Edmonton Airport’s, for having such a conveniently located Tim Hortons, right outside the baggage claim. After the 7-hour red eye from JFK, with the connection through Toronto, the coffee was necessary.

The caffeine isn’t entirely to blame, though. If the taxi wouldn’t stop going so fucking slow, maybe you’d settle down. But the traffic is unyielding, so the 20 minute drive to your heartfelt reunion is looking more like 45. Apparently, shutting part of the city down to film a TV show really screws up peoples’ commutes. You’d waited long enough (a month and six days, but who’s counting?), surely an extra half-hour won’t kill you. But in the taxi, the minutes seem to stretch into years.

The filming schedule for The Last of Us has been brutal. From what Pedro has told you, there was apparently a strain to film both the first and second episode back-to-back; something about using the same locations and exterior shots. For him, it has meant a marathon of shooting… the only downside to being the star of the show.

SNL’s new season was in full swing anyways, so you’d had plenty to keep you busy. Spent enough late nights at 30 Rock, after many a panicked call to the dog walker, that you barely had to inhabit his otherwise vacant condo. You talked every night, usually Facetiming before bed, but the distance was wearing on you both.

Now, the only thing in between you and your man is this fucking traffic jam.

Though this wasn’t a surprise visit— you’d booked the flight as soon as you’d realized the SNL hiatus week lined up with The Last of Us breaking to change locations for the next episode— you did have one trick up your sleeve. Or, more accurately, under your mask.

You’d been attempting to grow facial hair well before meeting Pedro, but it had been a sparse and largely unsuccessful endeavor until very recently. Your jawline had filled in between your sideburn and chin, albeit slightly patchy. You’d been hiding it over Facetime, opting for regular calls a bit more and hoping he wouldn’t notice. Not the craziest surprise, but still, your heart thrums at the prospect of finally sharing it with him.

Of course, once you arrive to set, the obstacles multiply.

Some college kid in a neon yellow vest stops you before you’ve even managed to remove your duffle from the trunk of the cab.

“Covid testing is this way, please follow me,” he insists tersely. Self-consciously, you adjust the KN95 strap around your ear.

The kid leads you to a tent, where two people in full white hazmat suits, complete with gloves and face shields, ask your name and instruct you to pull down your mask. (There’s a joke in there somewhere, about infection at a show about infected, but you get the sense it might be inappropriate to fool around here.)

Once swabbed and registered, you move to leave, scanning the exit for anyone who might be able to help you navigate onto set. But you are immediately blocked by a hazmat woman.

“You need to wait for the rapid to clear,” she insists, pointing to a row of folding chairs. “Fifteen minutes.”

Fifteen minutes, after 5 weeks. Just fifteen minutes. You resign yourself to a seat by the door.

It’s 4pm. You were supposed to have arrived during a stop down between shots— timed so that Pedro would be in his trailer, and accessible, when you arrived. It feels like that window is physically, tangibly closing as you watch the second-hand tick slowly.

Initially, you’d been hesitant to join him on set at all, but he’d insisted you come meet his “second family.” You’d met several of his colleagues via Facetime, when he’d called you from his trailer. Bella, in particular, you’ve taken a liking to— they pepper you with whispered questions about transitioning and gripes about the gender binary when Pedro has been forced to hand over the phone.

You check your phone. Nothing from Pedro, although his little blue dot looks stationary when you pull up FindMyFriends. The clock ticks. There is a burning sting each time you blink— that third cup of coffee is wearing off, and the 5am wake-up this morning is starting to catch up to you. Really, all you want to do is go back to your partner’s hotel room, said partner in tow, curl up on the king-sized and fall asleep watching some West Wing rerun. (Maybe also shower together, and then some. You can keep yourself awake for that.)

Finally, finally, finally, the hazmat woman returns. “You’re clear,” she announces, handing you a green sticker to adhere on your jacket. You make it through the tent flap, heart in your throat with anticipation—

But you have no fucking idea where to go.

A sea of white tents lays before you, stations with people doing things of varying levels of importance. A neon slip of paper points you towards set, but that’s not where you’re headed. Finally, past a corralled group of extras in some really disgusting mushroom prosthetics, and a tent full of picked-over lunch offerings, you spot some trailers in the distance.

And apparently, a stranger with a duffle bag walking quickly towards actors’ trailers, yields a quick security intervention.

In their defense, you definitely look like a crazy person.

“Do you have a clearance list, or anything?” You beg, discretely craning your neck to see over the guard’s neck. The trailers are right there. There are only a few, it shouldn’t take any time at all to find Pedro. He’s within arm’s reach and yet he couldn’t possibly feel further away as the guard talks code into a very official-looking walkie talkie.

“Roger.” He looks down at you. “Listen, you gotta go man. It’s a clearance-only set, and they’ve got strict covid rules, so—”

The green sticker may or may not get shoved in the man’s face. There may or may not be angry tears threatening to ruin your cool. “I got covid tested! I’m clean, they let me through. They had me on their list. I’m—”

From behind you, a familiar voice cuts you off. “With me, Robbie.”

You whip around.

Jaw? On the floor.

Pedro looks… really fucking old. His hair has been sprayed gray, wily and wind-swept; the beard, too, is much grayer than normal. It’s all part of a dirty-looking, artificially stained, mostly denim-based costume. You file away for later, how attracted you are to seeing him like this. Jesus Christ.

He looks old, but he is here, and he is grinning at you, and he’s here.

“Aw, shit.” The guard talks into the radio again. “86. Sorry about that.”

Easy to ignore him, though, as you’re preoccupied with staring at your man.

Before you can move to pounce on him, close the final four feet of distance between you, a well-manicure hand splays menacingly out at you.

“Don’t even think about it,” Coco warns. “We have fifteen minutes for touch-ups and I do not have time to fix everything.”

Pedro’s nose twitches, frowning at you. You reach down to hold his hand, but it is… apparently also covered in make-up, looking red, nasty and broken.

Sorry, he mouths dejectedly.

The inside of his trailer is familiar, though it looks a little smaller in-person than it appears on Facetime. A mirror and counter, a decently sized couch, a bathroom, a desk in the corner. Pedro settles in the make-up chair, smiling backwards at you in the mirror.

“Drop your stuff,” he insists.

Little touches of your life together pepper the room in a way that grips your heart a little. A framed picture on the desk, which you recognize from last summer; a particularly nice day in Prospect Park with the dogs, captured in a Polaroid snapped candid by a total stranger. You’d declined it, at first, assuming it was a weird fan thing. But they had insisted, leaving the picture behind and walking away. It was too lovely to leave.

The sweatshirt draped over the arm of the sofa is yours— an old NYU hoodie Pedro usually travels with. He claims it’s a ‘security blanket,’ and honestly, he might only be half-joking. A note you’d recently sent in a package (he’d accidentally left his whole box of contacts at home), taped up on the mirror, alongside a photo strip with Sarah from some gala a couple years back.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Pedro says quietly, watching you look around. “Take your mask off, baby, I’m assuming you cleared testing if you made it through the front.”

In your excitement to reunite, you almost forgot the little surprise. His jaw drops, into an awed smile. With the un-fake-injured hand, he reaches up to palm your cheek. Runs a hand up and down your jaw, scratching lightly along the new hair.

You turn enough to plant a kiss on the pulse point of Pedro’s wrist. Capture his hand with yours, against your face, to feel him for the first time in over a month.

“Oh! The oil is working,” Coco has paused, midway through spraying something silvery and chemical-smelling to Pedro’s temples. She had suggested it surreptitiously a few months back, off-handedly, and you’d been religiously using it since. The woman knows her shit.

Pedro continues to thumb at the new scruff, transfixed. His jaw muscle twitches.

“I’ve uh—” He stalls out. “Uh. Sorry. Dinner. Craig—”

You step backwards, pulling your hand down to hold in his lap, instead. He huffs.

“Craig wants to go to dinner tonight, since we’re wrapping in Edmonton. I guess there’s this restaurant he is insisting we have to try, it’s a whole thing. Big group. I didn’t give him an answer, in case you’re tired and wanna just head back to the hotel? But we can go, either way it’s fine, I figured…”

“Pedge,” you interrupt. “It’s all good. I’d be happy to go, it sounds fun.”

He exhales. “Thank god, because it’s like a spouse-thing, Neil and Craig’s wives are here.”

Your eyebrow quirks. “Spouse?”

Just to get a blush out of the man. You’d discussed it, of course, but had yet to make moves. Being marked soothed any sense of urgency— you were committed by flesh and blood, and that was ultimately more binding than a ring or ceremony. But, still.

“Joking, love." Despite the coffee, a yawn sneaks up on you. "I might crash on the couch for a bit, when you go back."

He glances at his phone. "We only have one more shot to get alts on. Neil swears we have a hard-out in an hour. Close your eyes, and I'll be right back."

— — —

You didn't mean to actually fall asleep. Just lay there on your phone and zone out for a bit. But suddenly, you're waking up, to the feeling of a mouth on your own.

A familiar mouth. Warm, scruffy around the edges, a little pepperminty.

"We're done," Pedro whispers. "Coco says I can fuck up my makeup now."

When you open your eyes, he is hovering above you, grinning like a wolf. He's still in costume, though the denim overshirt is already half-unbuttoned.

"Are you done being gross?"

Sitting up, you find Bella in the doorway. They waste no time flinging themselves at the couch.

"In the flesh!" You both laugh.

"Shorter in person, huh?" Pedro is rewarded by a hearty shove from his costar, as he scrubs a makeup wipe across his face.

Wiping sleep from your eyes, you can tell it's gotten dark outside in the time that you've been asleep. "Craig still insisting on dinner?"

"Mm. It's like fancy Mediterranean, I think."

"Fetaaaaa," Bella pumps the air. "Nice."

The evening stretches out before you— a few more obstacles between you and the hotel bed. But Pedro is here, in the flesh, and he's smiling at you in a way that forms the little crinkles beside his eyes, and you think maybe you can sit through a few hours of fancy dinner and small talk.

You've waited this long, anyways.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal one shot #pedro pascal rpf #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fluff #the last of us #joel miller x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin #joel miller #joel miller fluff #bella ramsey #bella ramsey and pedro pascal

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fishedeyelenz · 1 year

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Billy Lenz headcanons

Fuck it, it's 1AM, I don't want to go to sleep, let's overthink this dumb attic man. Most of these are from the vault I use for reference when writting for him

Generally has a very musky, dusty scent to him. He likes feeling clean, though he has trouble keeping up with his hygiene. He bathes when he can/remembers, but most of the time he will be smelling of sweat, dust, mildew and sometimes cat food. So best case scenario -he smells like an old man. Worst case scenario -he smells like something died in a bowl of cat kibble.

Has very chapped lips, chews on them out of nervous habbit. I'd a bit better with keeping up with his dental hygiene, but it can happen that he forgets to brush his teeth for a day or two. His teeth are naturally kinda yellowish though. Has a gap between his two front teeth.

Has a staring problem (no shocker there) he has very wide hazel eyes which have an ability creep people out even in normal circumstances.

Likes to keep his hair relatively longer, going under his chin to shoulder length. Likes playing with his hair, twirling it and scratching his scalp to calm himself down. Doesn't like it too long though, it irritates him when he has hair brushing over his back. Has soft curly hair, thick but most of the time it's greasy and tangled and matted up like a rats nest. Can clean up nicely though.

Has a decent amount of body hair, and has a very patchy stubble. He shaves with stolen razors, so he probably doesn't have the sharpest materials to work with. He does have sideburns though, which he likes to take care of

His green sweater is his comfort item, and he has a very hard time parting with it, even when it reeks like something died in it. Probably buys multiple pairs of the greens sweater if/when he has the means for it.

Near constantly has a cold, doesn't layer up at all when the weather gets cooler. His hands are cold and dry. If he's lucky he has an absolutely damp and snot-filled handkerchief in his pocket, but he usually wipes his nose into his sleeves. He's fucking gross like that.

Drools a lot, spits while he talks, most likely has some disorder that makes him salivate in large quantities, but he isn’t gonna get it checked out.

Is afraid of needles, doctors and dentists. just being in a hospital-like environment makes him anxious, it reminds him too much about his stints in psych wards and asylums. Doesn't like receiving any sort of injections. Dislikes taking pills as well, but he can put up with that at least.

Very messy eater, not only chewing really loudly, he also manages to spill just about everything over himself. Can cook simple meals, and can help assist in making more complicated meals, but the process will be messy. Most of the time he is not capable of cooking, and so he steals food from the residence he is squatting in. Doesn’t eat a lot when in survival mode, but if he's in an environment he is comfortable with/is being taken care of, he will eat ravenously and a lot too. Has a fast metabolism when he's young, so he doesn’t put on that much weight, but when he starts approaching middle age it will slow down. In his forties he will develop a dad bod if his circumstances allow (DILF Billy supremacy).

Sensitive to light, prefers being in the dark. The darkness is safer and familiar to him, he feels very exposed in light and open spaces. Also prefers stuffier and more claustrophobic environments, and he most likely has mild agoraphobia. Lights also sometimes hurt his eyes as well.

Sensitive to loud noises, ironically enough. Is easily overwhelmed in noisy environments. Likes to repeat things he hears, very good at voice mimicry, likes words with pronounced "t" sounds in them. Has echolocalia.

If he weren’t an unstable murderer I could see him becoming an actor or a voice actor. Depends if he wants to be seen or not, because I think he would gladly take on roles on TV if they wouldn’t credit him. This man craves attention but is at the same time afraid of receiving it lol. Attention can overwhelm him easily. Could see him becoming a theater actor as well.

Has a big oral fixation problem. Chews on zippers of his jackets, pencil tips and just about anything he could stick in his mouth. Chews on his nails and bites down on his fingers when he's nervous/thinking.

Also stims with his hands, claps when he's excited. Imitates playing a piano when listening to music. Twirls his hair, fidgets with loose threads of his sweater. Sadly when he's overwhelmed/having a meltdown he grips and pulls on his hair, sometimes punching the sides of his head. Likes to rock himself as well.

Near sighted and in desperate need of glasses, but he doesn’t particularly like wearing them and continuously loses them. Needs them only for reading, but as he grows older his vision will get worse and he will have to get a standard pair. He thinks he looks like a nerd when he wears them-he is right (🤓<-Billy)

Loves movies, loves Kubric especially, but watching a film with him can be a grueling experience if you don’t enjoy somebody talking over and narrating the whole film. Especially if there's food like popcorn involved, he will talk with his mouth full, chewing loudly.

Has a sweet tooth. Will eat just about any cakes, candies, treats and fruits. Loves strawberries in particular.

Can't stand cigarette smoke and alcohol. Is very judgmental of people who partake in them. Is kinda a judgmental and mean person in general lol.

I’m sorry folks but this man does not like Christmas lol. Probably has some very bad memories related to the holiday that cause him to burst mentally during that time. Doesn’t care for other Holidays either, except for maybe Valentine's day if he happens to have an object of affection at the moment.

Has eaten cat food

Raised rats as pets before he stole Claude for himself, who proceeded to eat all of them.

#billy lenz #Billy lenz headcanons #Writing #Headcanons #Might make a part two if I think of more #gif is not mine #animal death #Just in case

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