#mad scientist au
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Alright here is the full sun ending finally for the mad scientist au
Was posted as the poll results on Twitter but I’ll finally share them here too
You can read the full saga here
Sorry you’ll have to scroll to the top of the tag
Maybe I’ll make a guide for it
#sundrop#fnaf daycare attendant#moondrop#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#my art#mad scientist au#don’t read tags they are venty today#wanted to get the map out before i posted this#unrelated but have been doing pretty awfully mentally#i think I just feel like people hate me for some reason#this is the problem with receiving compliments my brain takes them and turns them into hate#aaahg just gotta wait for it to wear off I suppose#I tried to take a short break and it only made it worse hmmm
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Have a doodle of this lil guy
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*°:⋆ₓₒ mad scientist!dazai
content: headcanons, probably an inaccurate depiction on what a scientist does, info about dazai’s credentials are vague bc idk how college works, kunikida mentioned twice
mad scientist!dazai started off as a research scientist for the port mafia before joining the armed detective agency
mad scientist!dazai has surprisingly good credentials. he graduated as an honors student in high school and was able to graduate college earlier than his peers, so the armed detective agency just couldn't turn him down!
mad scientist!dazai wears a white lab coat and long black rubber gloves. he also wears those typical goggles that mad scientists always wear in media (kunikida thinks they look dumb but dazai doesn't care)
mad scientist!dazai is a powerful asset in the agency along with ranpo, his inventions playing critical roles in missions
when mad scientist!dazai isn't busy creating new and powerful inventions to aid the agency, he's holed up in his lab working on a few personal projects, which kunikida is not pleased about. everyone including himself still wonders how the hell he's still holding this position (he's just too damn smart)
mad scientist!dazai who's had a few (a lot) failed inventions here and there. he once tried to make an invention that could transfer the memories of one person to another. the agency nearly burnt down
mad scientist!dazai takes random appliances and tries to make them "better" because he's too lazy, and for some reason it always work???
mad scientist!dazai tries to use his position as a "revered scientist" to flirt with women or to get a free drink from his favorite cafe. ends up backfiring so now he's racked up a huge tab.
mad scientist!dazai is the main reason why the agency's building gets black outs, it just couldn't take how strong his inventions are (he has to pay for electricity bills)
author's note(s): forgive me for my lack of understanding abt what scientists do 💀💀 this was mostly based off of this one specific dazai in an alternate universe (pic below) IDK IF THAT MAN IS A SCIENTIST IN THAT UNIVERSE BUT WTV 😭 THE GOGGLES ARE ENOUGH
#bsd#bungou stray dogs#dazai osamu#dazai hcs#dazai headcanons#bsd dazai#headcanons#crack#mad scientist#mad scientist au
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Don’t lose your head, Izzy
#our flag means death fanart#izzy hands#stede bonnet#our flag means death#stizzy#mad scientist au#Ed really built a man so different and worse#then made a better one to be his wife
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More of my Mad Scientist Miguel art
Enjoy 🔫
Yes he does become Doc Ock and yes my spider sons is his lab assistant at Alchemax
#across the spiderverse#miguel o'hara#miguel spiderverse#into the spider verse#spiderverse au#Miguel au#mad scientist#mad scientist au
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Perfect Specimen (Sternclay)
I decided I wanted to do something for Monster March, and @bellafarallones and I were riffing on this amazing art from @panthermouthh, as the design on Doctor Frankenstein is not unlike how I personally picture Stern.
A few content notes: This is NSFW, and given the subject matter it touches on death. There's also animal death but everything comes out okay in the end.
It’s the perfect night for mystery and horror. The very air itself is filled with monsters.
And if Joseph’s lab does not have a monster of its own by the time this thunderstorm is done, he’s going to walk out the highest window in the castle.
Four years of research, another year of planning, six months of gathering supplies, days and nights without sleep, the burns on his upper arm, the white in his hair, all of it has been for this moment.
The instruments tell him the voltage from the storm is the highest he can hope for, and a moment later the readings from the nodes attached to the experiment tell him a bolt has connected long enough and strong enough to restart the heart.
He rigged the lift table to be moveable by one person, but it’s still exhausting to strain against the chains, to control the force of the descent, all the while sweat mingles with the rain as it drops from the platform. The instant the table touches the lab floor, he wrenches the handle to close the gap in the roof, shutting out the storm at last. Now all that’s left is the crackle of the equipment, the distant thunder, and his heart beating so loud that for a moment he can’t manage to move.
When his stethoscope can’t find a twin beat in the chest of his specimen, he sags to the floor, pushes himself back until he’s resting against the nearest table and tosses his gloves away in frustration. He digs his hands into his hair, gripping at the root, wanting to scream in frustration but somehow, after all this time, afraid someone might hear.
He did everything right, picked every part as carefully as if the body were his own. No beer-saturated livers, no bad hearts, no black lungs for his specimen. And it still hadn’t worked.
The window calls to him. He tugs his hair again, frees his hands only to dig his nails into his palms. No. He can do this. He’s Dr. Joseph Stern, he has brought life to lower animals and god damn it he will bring life to this one.
He rises, brushing off his lab coat, brain already churning on a new plan.
Then the figure beneath the sheet sits bolt upright and starts to scream.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
The last thing Barclay remembers is his room at the Lodge. He’d been alone, the doctor had told Mama and the others they couldn’t come in, not unless they wanted to risk the flu that was stealing his energy and breath away. He could feel he was dying, and he was so scared, he’d begged the man to at least let him see them in the doorway, but his usual doctor had passed from the flu himself. This one, sent from the city, had talked to Barclay like he had rocks for brains and didn’t even stay with him until the end. He’d cried out, weakly but still a cry, for his friends.
And now he’s crying out again, thrashing at the fabric above him. Fuck, he’s in a shroud and he can’t move, they’ve fucking buried him alive. That thought horrifies him so much he wrenches upward, freeing himself from the confines of his coffin and gasping for air.
Only there’s no wood or dirt anywhere. Just broken, leather straps hanging off his wrists and a white bed sheet tangled around his waist. A laboratory gleams and hisses around him, and to the right of his bed stands a man in white lab coat.
The man's hands are over his mouth in shock, his blue eyes wide with excited surprise. Barclay notices the streak of white in the front of his black hair as lightning flashes across the skylight.
“You’re alive. Alive!” He steps forward and Barclay leans away, body too full of residual panic to do anything else.
The scientist holds out a hand, as if Barclay is a spooked dog hiding under the bed, and says slowly and quietly, “Don’t be afraid. You’re not in danger. My name is Dr. Joseph Stern. This is my lab. And you…” a rapturous smile spreads across his face, “you’re my specimen. My vindication.”
“Specimen?” Barclay’s voice creeps upwards.
“You can talk.” Dr. Stern carefully sets his hands on the metal table Barclay mistook for a bed, “amazing, thank god I didn’t use my first choice of head and neck, it’d been damaged by hanging and might have-.”
“Woah, woah” Barclay holds up his hands, trying to get the doctor to make sense. It’s then that he sees his hands aren’t the ones he remembers, and they’re sewn to arms where the skin is a few shades darker. He tosses the sheet aside and finds the rest of his body the same kind of patchwork, clutches his face and notices a beard that wasn’t there before.
He starts screaming again.
“Please, stay calm-”
“What did you do? What the fuck did you do to me? What am I?”
“You’re a modern golem. A, a testament to science and progress.”
Barclay growls and grabs for him, dragging him close by the front of his coat, “Where the fuck is my body? My real body.”
“This is your real body.” The man pushes him back, cheeks slightly pink, “you’ve never had another one.”
“The hell I haven’t! Where is it, where’s, where’s the body of Barclay Cobb?”
The doctor stills, staring at him with fascinated confusion, “He…he’s in Kepler cemetery. Where he was buried. I needed his brain. And his eyes. But I left the rest of him there. Unless.”
“Unless?”
“Unless he’s here now?”
“Yeah. Yeah he is. He’s here and he’s confused and none of this is making that any better.” Tears sting his vision and spill down his cheeks
“I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t expect this. Everything I read suggested that bringing you to life would potentially give you a soul. Or raise you without one. Not, not just bring back someone who was lost.”
“Feel like we have that saying about not believing everything you read for a reason.” He replies helplessly.
A slight smile, “True. And being cutting edge with my research meant there weren’t a lot of reference points.”
“Look” Barclay wipes his eyes and stands, finds himself actually looking down at the doctor, who himself must be six feet tall. The new height is the first thing about this whole mess that doesn’t feel like a curse, “whatever you did, it didn’t go how you expected. I’m not some new creature, I’m just a normal guy in a fucked-up body. So I’m gonna let you go back to the drawing board and I’m gonna go home and give my friends the biggest fucking hug I can manage.”
“You can’t” Dr. Stern steps between him and the door, “They won’t recognize your new body, and they might be upset if they put together what happened. More to the point, grave robbing and desecration of a corpse are serious charges and I have no plans to be brought up on them.”
“That sounds like a you problem.” He ties the sheet around his waist. That’ll have to work for now.
Blue eyes narrow, “Mr. Cobb. Barclay” the doctor brings his hands to his sides but makes no move to get out of the way, “People fear what they don’t understand. Right now, I barely understand what’s going on with you. How do you think people in Kepler are going to react?”
“Doesn’t seem like I’m much safer here.” Barclay glowers at the pistol sitting on one of the tables.
Stern sighs, “Several of my predecessors died when the animals they brought back with electricity turned on them. I don’t plan on joining them. It would have been an absolute last resort; Barclay, years of my life have led to this moment, and I’m not going to discard them lightly. Or let them walk right into the path of an angry mob.”
Barclay steps around him, and fingers grab his arm.
“If your old self saw this self coming down the dark road toward him, what would he do?”
“....Probably panic and run inside. Lock the doors and windows so he couldn’t get in and hurt my or my friends.”
“Now imagine how one of your less gentle neighbors might react.”
“Fuck.” Barclay wraps his arms around himself. His next step lands wrong, his legs unsteady, and sits heavily down on the floor. When he looks up, the doctor is hurriedly making notes.
“So, what, is the plan to make me sleep down here? Because staying in a dungeon sounds fucking miserable.”
The doctor shakes his head, “No. Lord knows there’s plenty of space in the castle, and I have a room ready for you. Um, just give me a few minutes to get it heated.”
More than a few minutes later Stern returns, dust on his coat, and gingerly extends a hand. Barclay takes it, and allows himself to be led up into his new home.
He only manages a few hours of sleep before pain wakes him. Anywhere he’s been stitched hurts. When it gets to the point where he can no longer comfortably lay in bed, he groans and gets up in search of the guy responsible.
The only light and noise in the house is still from the direction of the lab. Inside he finds Stern diligently filling a notebook with words and diagrams. The doctor doesn’t see him right away, and he wonders if this is even a good idea. The guy brought him back as an experiment, seems shocked that Barclay is a person instead of an empty vessel. Maybe asking for help will just cement the idea that Barclay needs to stay here for his own good.
Then again.
In the lamplight of a less panicked mind, Joseph Stern doesn’t look quite like the confident, business-like doctor ready to order Barclay around like he’s nothing. There are dark circles under his eyes and his black hair is a mess from wind sneaking through the skylight. And when Barclay awoke, monstrous and afraid, Stern didn’t flinch from him.
“Uh, Doctor Stern?”
The man looks up, and Barclay pushes down the urge to haul him up to bed before he passes out at his desk.
“Do you have anything for the pain?”
“That depends on where it is.”
Barclay explains the situation, Stern’s expression tinged with disappointment by the end. It’s only as the doctor unlocks a drawer that Barclay understands the emotion is directed at himself instead of Barclay.
“It didn’t occur to me that your nerves would react that way, though it makes perfect sense. Here” He holds out a tin of bitter-smelling salve, “this should help numb the pain if you rub it around the stitches.”
“What is it?”
“A topical painkiller. I developed it when I was earning my degree. The number of my colleagues who thought it was fine to give patients who needed to work to keep a roof over their heads ingestible pain relief that made them groggy was shocking. I wanted my patients to have another option.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
The other man smiles, subtly steadying his swaying body against the lab table, “You’re my housemate, not my servant. Call me Joseph.”
It’s only the fact that those last three words sound as if they haven’t been spoken in a long, long time that Barclay doesn’t roll his eyes at the idea that a rich boy from the city won’t see him as a servant. Instead, he takes the tin, returns to his bed, and falls into a deep, if somewhat tingly, sleep.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joseph wakes to the smell of coffee and toast and the patter of the rain on the windows. He’s glad he managed to crawl into bed last night instead of passing out at his desk again; it’s cozy here.
He and Barclay spent the last thirty-six hours in opposite states of energy; Joseph was unable to sleep, anxious to write down every observation and note from Barclay being resurrected. When the anxiety started to fade, a wave of pride would come and buoy him along as he imagined everyone who mocked him being forced to admit he was right. The source of his excitement, on the other hand, spent the entire time in such a sound sleep Joseph checked him twice with the stethoscope to make sure he was still alive, and left him some clothes once he was certain he was. His guess is that, among the many effects of being brought back, Barclay’s body registered the life-giving jolt as a massive expenditure of energy. Not to mention that panic can really take it out of a man. Joseph knows that much from experience.
The smell of frying meat mingles with the toast now. He should get up and have breakfast.
He should figure out who in the castle is even making breakfast.
Joseph hurries out of bed, tying his robe as he descends the stairs. In the kitchen, humming as he moves from stove to table and back again, is Barclay.
“What are you doing?”
“Making breakfast. I’m sure you’re the kinda guy who survives on coffee and thoughts or whatever, but some of us need actual food.” The knife he’s using on a potato finds his finger instead, nicking it, and he pulls back with a sigh, “I’m sure the bigger hands will be good for something, but right now they’re a pain to get used to.”
Joseph shakes the thoughts of what those hands could do from his sleep-addled head as Barclay ties a small bandage–he must have found them in the lab– around the cut. There’s also a fresh burn on the back of his left hand; he must have hit it on the oven.
“I’m sorry, I know the new body must be hard to adjust to. In my defense, I didn’t think you’d be cooking.”
The taller man pulls the percolator from the stove, looking at him warily “What did you think I’d be doing?”
“Recovering and gaining control of your body for the first few weeks. Frankly I’m proud of the fact my careful work means you’re up and moving so soon, and the apparent transferring of your muscle memory into a new body is intriguing.”
“Yeah, if you’re not the guy banging his head into things. Or dealing with how itchy a beard can be.”
“I can buy you a razor if you want it gone.”
Barclay studies his reflection in a hanging pot, running his hands over the beard that’s barely past stubble, “Nah. I like how it looks. Mine always came in patchy.” He moves sausages onto a plate, “guess I oughta thank you for picking a handsome face for me, even if you did put stitches on it.”
“You can blame the fox that ate his nose part way off for that.”
Barclay grimaces.
“Sorry. I’ve been rooting around graveyards and charnel houses for so long it’s sort of…skewed how I talk about these things.”
“I mean, it seems like its’ kinda your life’s work so I get it. But no surgery talk at the table.” He sets the sausages and toast on the wood, then a plate down in front of Joseph and one in front of himself. Joseph pours them each coffee and they eat in awkward but not unpleasant silence.
As they’re walking past the fireplace in the dining room, Barclay pauses to look at the chess problem Joseph laid out a month ago.
“Do you play?”
The other man nods, “Learned how when I first started working at the Lodge. We, uh, we could play sometime.”
“I wish, but there’s a reason that’s just been sitting there. My work comes first.”
“I thought that was done. Or are you just going to keep making more guys like me?”
“No” he meets Barclay’s gaze, tries not to feel guilty for the distrust he finds there, “I have so much to learn from you. I’ve re-written some of the core beliefs of science, and I need to put my findings in enough order to present them eventually. Then there’s the fact that the process of constructing you has massive ramifications for the field of surgery.”
“So is my job just to lay in that fucking lab all day?”
That had been his plan. The moment Barclay turned those brown eyes on him and told him his name, it all went up in smoke.
“I’ll need to ask you questions now and then. And if possible have you do a few physical tests; that serves a second purpose of making sure your motor function isn’t deteriorating or you’re not getting ill from some unforeseen side effect of all this. Other than that, well, my home is yours to make your own.”
They leave it at that, Joseph retreating to his lab and Barclay wandering back towards the kitchen.
It’s just after six when Joseph is comparing his notes to those of one Professor Cold. There were rumors he’d succeeded in restoring not one, but two, bodies; his twin sons had been killed in a carriage accident. Joseph sees the groundwork for such a feat in the notes, but the way Cold writes about his potential subjects has always bothered him. They were living, breathing men with hopes and ideas and he sees them as nothing more than projects.
Than specimens.
Joseph closes the book, sets his notes in order for the night, and returns to the main floor of the castle. Barclay is in a chair by the fire, a book of Virgil in his lap and his focus on the window that faces town.
“Barclay?”
“Mm?”
In his old life he knew how to be charming. Maybe it’s time to dust off that skill.
“I’d be honored if you’d join me for a game of chess and a cup of coffee.”
Barclay looks him over, firelight dancing along the line of his jaw.
“Honored, huh?”
He nods and offers his arm. Barclay smiles, amused, and stands to take it.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------
They’d been making progress over the last month, in more ways than one. Barclay’s skill and comfort with his new body improved, he grew more relaxed when Joseph asked him questions for his research, and his glances toward town are not nearly as melancholy. The reason for that last change is obvious.
“Okay, either a carriage splashed you or you decided to take a mudbath in the center of town.” Barclay helps Joseph out of his coat as the doctor pulls off his boots.”
“Not quite. There was a puddle in the cemetery that I swear was up to my knees.”
Barclay looks at him, eyebrows raised and lips quirked in a smile “Looking to replace me?”
“Never. But you were the reason for my visit.” Joseph straightens the black vest stretching across Barclay’s chest, “you were so worried you’d be forgotten. I needed to find your grave. Barclay, it’s so covered in flowers I nearly missed the inscription.”
“Oh.” Barclay looks lost and sad, as if Joseph had found him in the middle of the forest, miles from home.
Joseph takes his hands, “You’ll see your friends again. We’ll figure out a way to re-introduce you without setting off mass panic. I promise.”
Barclays mood had improved massively after that. Which is puzzlement, not panic, is what grips Joseph when he finds his friend crying at the kitchen table. When he asks what happened, Barclay points to a bundled rag. In it is a rabbit kit, eyes open and glassy.
“I, I found it a few others, they got stuck against the outside wall when that tree came down last night” Barclay sniffles, “I moved them so they could find food but that one I, I must have held him too hard, I, I didn’t mean to. I, what if I do it again, what if I can’t be gentle anymore, what if I, I hurt something else, or someone else?”
Joseph steps next to his chair, only for Barclay to hide his face in his waistcoat. He lets him cry–he hasn’t since that first night–and cautiously pets his hair.
“Wh-what if I’m too much of a monster?”
“Barclay, look at me.” Joseph gingerly cups his chin, pushes his shaggy auburn hair from his forehead so he can see his face, “you’re not a monster. You’re a wonder, and more than that you are gentle. And kind. This was just an accident, one we can learn from.”
Barclay sniffs, wiping under his eyes.
“A monster wouldn’t cry for a rabbit. Or be thoughtful enough to give it a shroud.”
That gets him a watery smile.
“Go rest for a bit. I’ll take care of everything.”
Barclay slowly gets to his feet. Joseph waits until he’s in the library, then gathers the sad bundle and slips down to his lab.
It’s fiddly, frustrating work, but it’s worth every second when shakes Barclay from his lap and shows him the rabbit, fur slightly on end but nose wiggling calmly, and asks if he’d like to help him choose the spot to set it free outside.
—--------------------------------------------------------------------------
He’s getting better about not working to and past midnight, but after Barclay made a particularly delicious shepherds pie for lunch today, Joseph had passed out cold on couch the moved to be by the library fire (it’s more comfortable sitting side by side on it than in separate chairs) with his head on Barclay’s shoulder.
He’d awoken, now on top of his companion, to find it was four in the afternoon and he was behind on the monograph he’s writing on how to effectively reconnect eyes to the brain.
Barclay’s footsteps are just audible under the crash of the storm outside. Joseph isn’t surprised to see him in the doorway; electrical storms set him on edge. Neither of them can figure out if that’s some lingering effect of the experiment that brought him back to life or if the dislike of lightning is somehow stored in a particular body part. But when it happens, Barclay prefers to be wherever Joseph is.
“Anything I can help with?” Barclay sets a hand on the back of Joseph’s chair.
“Nothing comes to mind–no, wait, I think we have a few items on my initial checklist to cover.” He pulls out the stack of papers recording the various physical functions of Barclay’s body, “let’s see, the remaining one is, um, is…”
Barclay leans down, then blushes at the underlined words,“Figures you’d be that thorough.”
“We don’t have to test it. Now or ever.”
“What does testing my, uh, sexual functioning involve?”
“Seeing if you can achieve erection and release.”
Barclay’s blush deepens, “Yeah, about that. Kinda confirmed it myself.”
“In that case I’d just need to collect ejaculate. Just to see if you’re, um, able to reproduce like this.” The clinical language is his last hope of not admitting that part of his reason for wanting to know that is personal; his fantasies will be more accurate if he knows whether he could let Barclay come in him without fear.
Curiously, his more detached tone does nothing for Barclay’s reddening cheeks.
“We can do that. If, if you want. Hate to leave you with an unfinished checklist.” He says it so tenderly Joseph wants to cry.
“Okay. Please take off your clothes and go sit on the lab table.”
Barclay obeys, and as he does Joseph sees just how far down the blush goes.
“Should I…” Barclay gestures to his crotch. Joseph picked his cock out himself. He doesn’t remember it being so intimidating. Or so tempting.
“Let me.” He steps between Barclay’s legs, the closeness feeling safe than watching from a chair would be; if they did that, Barclay could see his face, might realize how hopelessly smitten Joseph is. Worse, Joseph might learn that Barclay enjoys being watched and ordered around by a seemingly in control Joseph, and then he’d really be screwed.
His fingers brush Barclay’s cock and the cook sighs and laughs, nervously, “Y’know, usually make a guy buy me dinner before he does that.”
“Does paying for our groceries count?”
“Guess soOH, oh” Barclay’s legs fall wider as Joseph begins stroking him, “yeah, yeah just like that.”
Joseph grips the edge of the table with his free hand. Focus, if he can just focus-
Barclay’s cock is fully hard, heavy in his hand, and when he runs his thumb over the head the other man bucks and moans. His head tips back and Joseph tries to focus on the scars, on what they mean, but all he can think about is dragging his tongue.
Barclay moans again, fucking into his hand, and Joseph’s vocal cords act without permission.
“That’s it, big guy, I want this to feel good. I want my perfect specimen to enjoy himself.”
Brown eyes snap open and the noise from those plush lips is a whimper.
“Do you like when I call you that?” He asks, hopeful at the prospect of something he didn’t know he wanted until a moment ago.
“Uh huh, Joseph, please-”
He squeezes the base of Barclay’s cock, letting his nails graze his balls, “That’s sir to you.”
Barclay grins, “Fuck yes it is. Sir. I, I like when you look at me like a project, like a puzzle, no one ever paid attention to me like that, like you, fuck, sir” his head tips forward and his lips find Joseph’s neck, mouthing and kissing at it and soaking his collar in the process.
“Messy” He scolds. Barclay whines, cock starting to slide more purposefully in his fist, but keeps up his barrage of kisses.
“Don’t care, sir, promise I’ll make it up to you, want you so bad, tired of waiting.”
“Waiting for what, big guy?”
“You” Barclay says weakly, moan spilling out of him as cum spurts between them. Joseph should be hurrying to catch it with something, but he doesn’t want to lose this moment, doesn’t want to stop feeling Barclay’s breath on his neck and arms around his shoulders.
He risks a kiss to his beautiful specimen’s forehead and gets a happy sigh in reply.
“Your turn, sir.”
“Barclay, we don’t need to, you’re probably tired and I should-”
His lower back slams into the table so abruptly he yelps.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, sir” he growls, “I said it’s your turn to be stuck on this fucking table.”
Between the baritone rattling his bones and his terrified excitement at how easily Barclay turned the tide on him, he forgets the reason he hasn’t done this since his first year of university until Barclay rips away every scrap of clothing covering his crotch.
“I…I can explain”
“Don’t need to” Barclay’s eyes are wide and hungry as he takes in the slick folds, “saw the scars on your chest that time you got acid on your shirt and had to get it off in a hurry.”
“If it’s not to your taste we canFUCK, fuckingchrist” His back and head hit the table as Barclay wrenches his legs over his shoulders and drops to his knees.
“Oh it’s to my taste, sir, because I can do this from how fucking wet you are from just touching my dick” He shoves three fingers inside, fucking Joseph insistently and laughing as the heels of his shoes catch the cooks upper back.
“Lookit you” Barclay sounds like he’s drooling, “this why you made me so big, sir? Because you know just how fucking needy you are and you have to have something nice and thick in you before you can relax.”
“No, I mean yes, maybe, fuck” His hands thwack against the metal, “don’t make me think anymore, I can’t, I don’t want to.”
“Then don’t” Barclay purrs, warm lips ghosting over his dick, “just lay back and lemme give you everything you need. Don’t need to be a genius, just gotta let me use this” he curls his fingers “needy thing whenever I want. And let me do this, too” his lips close around Joseph’s dick and Joseph forgets every word that’s not a curse or a plea for more, his world becoming nothing other than Barclay’s face and fingers against him, his forearm trapping his hips so he can only writhe uselessly as Barclay takes what he wants.
Joseph digs his hands into Barclay’s hair, certain that if he doesn’t hold onto something his whole body will come apart from the force of his impending orgasm. As it is, when it hits his scream is embarrassingly high and broken, though Barclays only reaction to it is a groan.
As Barclay pulls back and stands, Joseph can see the slick on his beard, and moans when the cook licks his fingers with a blissful expression.
He lunges upward at the same second Barclay bends down, kiss reverberating through his entire being as his monster–no, his lover–holds him close. When they finally break, Barclay literally gasping for air, Joseph rests his hand on his beard and smiles as the other man rubs against his palm.
“You okay?” Barclay murmurs, fingers playing comfortingly along Joseph’s cheek.
“That’s an understatement. Even if a think you might have strained my hip flexor throwing my legs up like that.”
“Sorry” shame creeps across his face and Joseph will not stand for that.
“I don’t mind, big guy. Though maybe next time I’ll tie you down until we learn just how your strength plays out in the bedroom.”
“That means you’ll have to do all the work, sir.” The smile is back, honey-sweet and warm.
“I can handle that. I’m not afraid of hard work.”
Barclay chuckles and kisses him again, and Joseph sets aside his planning in favor of staying in his arms a little longer.
#taz amnesty#sternclay#agent stern/barclay#monster march#human/monster romance#mad scientist au#frankenstein au#trans agent stern
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hear me out,, 100 player challenges with a possessive mad scientist Wilbur, and (gn) y/n is one of the test subjects,,, just Will being a bit (little more than a bit) of a sadist and fucking with his darling in any way he can to get their attention, or maybe he takes them into a private cell or something to "talk" (more so mess with, physically and emotionally) with them occasionally
if you have any additional headcannons i would love to hear em
havnt done an ask like this in a while but the idea intrigued me too much not to oblige myself
• Let's start off with some simple facts about our favorite mad scientist shall we?
• He had always been fascinated with—er—strange things as a child so to speak
• Enjoyed catching tadpoles at the lake with other kids, but would often send them away screaming with snot and tears streaming down their face as he cut the animals in half with a pair of safety scissors he'd swiped from the arts and craft drawer the other day
• His little habit of finding dead animals and bringing them home was something that sent his parents into a frenzy, the little hobby carrying on throughout elementary and all the way to high school. Especially after they found him cutting into a rotting deer one summer, garage smelling of deaths putrid stench as he happily worked away
• Was interested in science and the medical field all through his school days. Anytime someone would ask him what his dream job was, Wilbur'd blandly respond with the answer of a mortuary assistant. The conversation wouldn't last much longer past that
• College was when things really took a turn for him, though
• While highschool and all else had been a big blur filled with uninteresting people and their uninteresting lives, college provided him with a new perspective on life
• Wilbur began to notice how exactly unique people could be when given freedom. Skateboarding, partying, studying, singing in the hallways—
• His mind started to put together the similarities of the classmates around him and those animals he would slice into not so long ago. Caged untill they weren't. Wild but domesticated by the simplest of urges
• No less halfway into his second year of university, he dropped out. Er, stepped showing up at least. Of course, calls and letters were sent to his parents to inform them of his sudden absence, but by the time that had happened Wilbur was long gone. Ideas already forming inside his mind with disgusting glee
• Rats! That had been the word he had been looking for all along. That's what the world reminded him of. People scurrying amongst their day to day life like rats, desperately running a pointless race to get to their goddamned cheese. It brought a sick sort of amusement to him to watch it all unfold day after day
• Maybe it was about time the rats had an owner to take care of them
• His apartment was filled wall to wall with plans. Blueprints overlapped more blueprints, documents both typed and written out rambling about mazes. Mazes, mazes, mazes
• Wilbur, had gone for a lack of better words, mad
• Somehow, through the magic of online contracts and the copious amounts of charm he could posses, Wilbur managed to find one hundered people to participate in a little experiment. An overjoying occasion for him as he stood up from his lab table with a yelp of excitement, eyes crazed and mind already racing to think about his next move
• So the day of the experiment came
• And that's when he met you
• At first you had been just a name on his screen made up of a few pixels. Then nothing more but a human being he observed—amongt ninety nine others—as they tripped and tumbled through a carefully built maze
• It wasn't untill you had refused to play that you really garnered his attention
• While the others fought and claimed over each other to win the ten thousand dollars he had promised the winner, which in fact didn't exist, you simply sat down after the first obstical, twiddling with your thumbs
• That's okay, Wilbur had thought. In these things there's always going to be an outlier. Something or someone that strays from the rest of the group. That's science
• What he didn't account for was the way that he got so caught up on you. Why were you just sitting there? What made you tick? What did you sound like? Smell like? Why wasn't he watching any other of the cameras now, instead focused solely on you?
• What would your blood look like dripping down the cracks in his fingers?
• Before he knew it, he found a too-wide-to-be-natural grin setting on his face. Nimble hands ran through his hair and down his face as he zoomed in on you, tounge darting out and wetting his lips
• He might have to keep this rat
#wilbur soot#mcyt#c!wilbur#au#mad scientist au#mad scientist wilbur#mad scientist wilbur x reader#mad scientist#mcyt x reader#osmp#osmp x reader#dsmp#dsmp x reader#wilbur soot x you#wilbur soot x y/n#wilbur soot x reader#x reader#request#headcanons#tw blood#tw disturbing#tw dead animals#tw
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MAD SCIENTIST AU PLOT!!!
(Specifically, the main group: Wilbur, Tommy, and Phil!)
I've ironed out the details of this au a bit since I first started it:
Definitely-Not-Mad Scientist Wilbur Soot is working on a new invention for teleportation!! Two objects are struck with a quantum beam, and their places are swapped!
He's reached a point where the positions of two items is successfully swapped, but there's a bit of a hiccup: the items also take on some of each other's properties. Size, color, even sometimes the actual material itself is switched.
He's set to perform another test later today!- hopefully his machine won't blow up this time.
Meanwhile...
Phil and his son Tommy are borrowers living in Wilbur's house! The human is a bit scatterbrained, and it's pretty easy to find food! There's just one problem.
They are both very scared of Wilbur, who is a borrower's worst nightmare: a scientist. Humans are bad enough, but a scientist??? Who knows what he might do to them if they were ever caught?
However, the steady food supply is enough for them to risk it... And the fact that most of the neighboring houses have pets that would be very dangerous to a borrower.
One day, Phil is on a borrowing trip in a rare place: the lab. Normally, he would avoid the place like the plague. However, Wilbur recently did an experiment involving copious amounts of food, which he hadn't bothered moving yet. Phil can't pass up the opportunity.
Luck is not on the borrower's side, however, as Wilbur returns to the lab while Phil is still there. He manages to hide, but if Wilbur just shifted a few things, he'd be seen. Phil's only chance is to make a break for it.
Wilbur fiddles with a few dials, punches a few buttons, and then turns to fiddle with something on the other side of the room.
Phil takes the opportunity, running towards a strange machine that's pointing at the desk he's hidden on. His escape route is just behind it.
He freezes when it starts smoking, glowing, and making terrifying noises. He backs away, but there's one directly behind him, too.
Suddenly, he hears a shout not his own, and turns to see Wilbur, looking almost as frightened as he is.
"L-Look out!" Wilbur splutters, and lunges towards him.
Accidents happen...
The machines malfunctioned, going off early and drawing Wilbur's attention to the tiny man standing right in between them.
Realizing the beams are about to hit who and whatever the heck that is, Wilbur darts forward, instinct telling him to block the beam.
What Wilbur forgot was that there were two beams. One beam hit Phil, almost completely covering him. The other beam hit Wilbur's hand, quickly crawling over the rest of his body.
When each woke, they were in a different place than they were before... And a very different size.
Steaming shrapnel, that was once a prototype teleportation machine, was scattered across the lab.
Aftermath...
Phil wakes up the size of a human. Everything is so small. It's fascinating... And terrifying.
Wilbur was scary before, but now it's clear that Phil is the scary one. And he hates it. He does his best to reassure the now tiny scientist that he means no harm, but he can tell the poor man is still unnerved. Considering his memories of how frightening Wilbur used to look... He doesn't blame him.
However, the scientist's nerves are far from the biggest problem. No, that award goes to the pieces of exploded machine scattered about the lab. And the only hope of getting back to normal? Fixing it.
Now Phil has to balance learning the basics of science and engineering from scratch, teaching Wilbur how to survive as a borrower, and figuring out how to even live while human sized- like where to get more food, for instance.
And most importantly: how is he supposed to take care of Tommy like this?!
Wilbur is frightened and overwhelmed. He wishes his scientist brain would kick in so he could see how cool this is, but he's too freaked out.
He's swapped places, and more alarmingly sizes with a stranger and is now the size of a bug. Sure, Phil seems nice, but it's hard to trust a complete stranger when they could crush you in one hand.
Now Wilbur has to somehow rebuild a machine the size of a skyscraper with no one to help him but a man he had to explain the concept of electricity to...
What's more, apparently there's a teenager living in his walls as well. A teenager that he'll have to explain why his dad is now giant-sized to.
Great. Wilbur can't wait!
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the silly billies
@cantdanceflynn
#pnf#phineas and ferb#phineas flynn#isabella garcia shapiro#phinabella#mad scientists au phinabella#mad scientist au#phinbella
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@galaxina-the-pyro @pyxehastoomanyinterests PYXE U R SO GOOD AT MAKING AUS THAT MAKE ME FUCKIN INSANE IN A SPECIFICALLY "HAHAAHHAAHA YES!!!" WAY
#CANDY-ART#NOVEMBELLA#PHINEAS AND FERB#PNF#MAD SCIENTIST AU#ISABELLA GARCIA-SHAPIRO#PERRY THE PLATYPUS#PLATYPUS
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Poor Sun
#sundrop#fnaf daycare attendant#moondrop#mad scientist au#my art#also fyi sun is most likely fully in his late 30s- 40s in this au#like it takes awhile to get ur phd and then get your own lab#Pfppft he truly is a full grown man asking for cuddles#moon is baby#it’s so funny if I were to make a scale of the ages of my sun and moons in different aus#mad scientist au sun and moon would be at the two opposite extremes
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For art block… how about a Mad Scientist AU with the boys?
Mad scientist AU but only Sun is mad Moon and y/n are just vibing
The experiment gone wrong
Y/N started to get close to the parasite and having second thoughts on the whole killing it to safe Sun thing
I don’t know how to end this because I can’t decide who should live maybe I’ll add a follow up when I come up with an answer
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White board doodle dump!
#whiteboard fox#whiteboard doodles#doodle dump#oc doodles#doodles#oc artwork#oc art#oc art dump#villain au#mad scientist au#y/n
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Mad scientist Ed AU
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So Here's the Mad Scientist AU of Mines.
#art#artist#artwork#my art#artists on tumblr#digital art#original character#digitalized#ibis paint x#mad scientist#mad scientist au#martin greywhinder#harmony & horror#harmony and horror#harmony and horror au#oc tag#harmony and horror oc#harmony and horror sloane#harmony n horror#canon x oc#self insert x canon#oc x canon#red head#red hair#scar#scars#ibispaint art#ibispaintx#ibispaintdrawing
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Yandere Head Canons:
My Purpose
Mad Scientist Husband x Reader x Yandere Clone
Now your husband, Dorian Goodman, truly believed he was doing you a favor with his newest creation… or should he say creations? He felt like a horrible husband by being away from you for long hours but he was allergic to pet dandruff so that was out of the equation… so why not clean himself? That way you wouldn’t be lonely! He only had his genius to blame for the horror he inflicted on you from this…
So imagine waking up to see your husband laying beside you in the bed still? His arms felt colder than normal and he smelled like preservatives… something was off but you couldn’t put your finger on it… his black hair was still long and beautiful just like his dark lashes. But something in your gut told you this wasn’t him.
And that’s when the figure beside you wakes up and gives you a bright smile. “I’m Dee. I’m your husband’s clone to keep you company while he’s away.”
You never shot up from the bed so fast to call your husband. You were extremely upset with him for creating a replica of himself rather than spend time with you himself… the nerve!
But your husband reassured you it was fine. That Dee was essentially him in every single way and that Dee could be your companion. He brushed off your concerns on this being cheating since Dee was a complete biological copy of Dorian himself but Dee could be deactivated by Dorian’s voice… it frustrated you. Why couldn’t he just leave his silly inventions behind and just spend time with his own spouse once and awhile? You were so lonely in this mansion…
But you didn’t take your frustration out on Dee. The poor clone was as clueless as you but he insisted he was created to serve you. Dee’s purpose was to take care of your needs
Dee would clean around the house and do the yard work. He was the complete opposite of the stoic Dorian. He felt more like a real human being than your own husband… minus how abnormally cold he was. He didn’t talk much but he was there. You started to grow attached to him
You spent a lot of time with Dee. He’d cover you with a blanket if you sat in your reading nook to read, he’d brew you your favorite coffee/tea, and he’d rub your shoulders. You constantly had to tell Dee that it was okay. That he didn’t have to be at your every beck and call but he would always say, “you’re my purpose.”
And Dee took notice of your sexual frustration when he peaked in on you touching yourself in the privacy of the bathroom within the glass shower walls. Curiosity began to settle in him. The cute whimpers and cries from your lips stirred something within him and he pushed the door open
You nearly screamed when Dee entered the bathroom, the only place he wasn’t beside you. But what shocked you more was the large erection in his gray joggers. It seemed he was more human than you thought and you were aching for something inside of you…
You let Dee have his way with you. He truly was a copy of your husband from how much he stretched you. Dee felt so good. He was so big and he was so strong. And he oddly smelled like your husband now… like clean linen and citrus. It was comforting and sexy. It was like Dorian was with your right now. Like Dorian was inside of you.
And in your passion it spilled from your lips once your orgasm rocked through you. Three little words that changed Dee forever, “I love you.” Dee held you while he rode you through your orgasm until his finally came. His strong arms held you up and his cheeks were filled with color. You loved him. You loved him. Dee didn’t want to ever be deactivated. Des wanted to be with you.
Dee would big spoon you every night. His large body pressed as close to yours as physically possible. There was a change in him. He was starting to become warm. Warm like a furnace. It was strange…. Dee became more and more human as the days turned to months. Your texts to your real husband became less and less but he probably didn’t even notice since he was busy with his inventions.
Dee would make you breakfast every morning and have his face between your legs to please you while you ate. Breakfast and sex became the norm for you and him. It felt so wonderful to feel wanted again. And every time, Dee begged you to tell him how you loved him. He would do anything to you to hear those words. Anything.
A shame you started to neglect your real husband. Dorian was shocked to see you folded up in a pretzel in your bed while Dee slammed into you like a mad man. This wasn’t what the clone was built for. He wasn’t built to fuck you. What the hell?
And that’s when Dee gave him a smirk. It was like looking in a mirror except there was something terrifying behind those ice blue eyes. Something sinister and Dorian didn’t like it at all. Dorian needed to get rid of Dee quickly… Dorian gave Dee one last look before he walked out of the room before you noticed
Dee kissed your head as he tucked you in. “I’m going to go get some water, okay?”
Dorian waited in the kitchen for Dee to come to him and the clone did. Dorian and him stared at each other for a few minutes before Dorian sighed.
“Deactivate.” Dorian told Dee but the clone remained standing there menacingly rather than deactivating like he was supposed to. “I said deactivate-“
And that’s when Dee launched himself toward Dorian and began to strangle him. His ice blue eyes filled with glee as the color slowly drained from Dorian’s face. An evil smirk on his face.
“It’s my purpose to make (your name) happy and there not happy with you so you can’t deactivate me anymore.” Dee whispered in Dorian’s ear. “They don’t love you. They love me.”
Dee ended up burying Dorian in the backyard before you woke up. He didn’t want you to be sad about your old husband any longer….
Dee slipped the ring he took off Dorian’s finger onto his. The shiny gold band now proudly on display. A smile on his face. Your real husband was with you now and he’d make you happy.
#female reader#yandere fic#yandere imagine#yandere#yandere obsession#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere male#Yandere mad scientist#yandere fantasy#Yandere au#Yandere oc#yandere original work#yandere husband#yandere horror#horror#yandere headcanons#Yandere clone#male reader#gender neutral reader#yandere smut
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