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the-hilda-librarians-wife · 2 months

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Not to be a big fat nerd but I’ve been thinking so much about Johanna’s relationship to a body she doesn’t understand growing up. Her medical records say her blood is O-, but that’s because it has none of the usual membrane proteins that would allow it to be classified into the ABO or the Rh systems; her ears are pointier than any other kid in her class’s, but that’s gotta be genetic, right? Like those genes that make it so the lobe is stuck or loose? But she can’t know, her auntie is the only family she has and she insists she doesn’t feel comfortable showing her ears, for some reason. Many of her classmates say they’re allergic to polen, but she doesn’t get it! How come, she only feels awesome when she’s in nature. She does feel her throat tighten sometimes, though, and her skin break out in rashes. But that’s only ever when she eats red meat (and beans, too, but only if she drinks orange juice along with it. It never made a lot of sense to her) or touched something with rust in it. She feels the most alert at dawn and dusk; thats kind of odd, most people her age feel groggy at school in the early mornings. But everyone has different circadian rhythms, she supposes.

She grows up, and gets pregnant; her obgyn is worried, her body is giving signs of rejecting the fetus, it’s producing antibodies against it. Johanna is horrified. Her aunt only chuckles and says her mother had something similar, she gives Johanna a homemade herbal tea and an amulet and all the symptoms disappear. The problem goes undiagnosed. They test the child’s blood,right after the c section (the pregnancy had been too freaky, the gynecologist didn’t want to risk a normal birth). Her results came back O- as well, but how is this possible? The father is an AB+, after all. Doesn’t matter. It’s not the doctor’s business if she’s cheating — but it is their business if the baby’s blood test was mistaken and the Rh- mother came into contact with Rh+ blood. That’s what they say when they connect a bag of anti Rh+ antibodies to her IV access. Better to be safe than to risk fetal erythroblastosis next time she has a kid. They explain this to her, and it makes no sense — she isn’t cheating. But the doctors don’t seem to be willing to listen to her, just like they aren’t willing to believe that blue hair runs in the family. They call the hospital’s social worker to talk to her; maybe she’s drunk, maybe there’s a reason she lies so much. She walks away from that hospital angry and frustrated.

Her daughter doesn’t have her pointy ears. But the allergy to iron, she seems to have inherited. She just hid it better, behind the explanation of a vegan diet. Neither of them ever suffered from the low blood iron. No blood test ever says her daughter is Rh positive, but she knows Anders’ was, she knows it. Is that even possible? She looks it up, finds out it is, actually, if he was a heterozygous positive. But nothing justifies her being O, it should have been A or B. Has Johanna done that herself? Single-handedly bent the actual rules of genetics and made it so it’d be harder for her daughter to get blood, should she ever need it? Sounds unlikely, but it’s not, really, right? Many people have O- blood. And autoimmune conditions. And allergy to iron. It’s normal. It’s all normal. She isn’t special. She’s not in danger. But isn’t there something you’re forgetting? Isn’t there something you’re forgetting? Isn’t there something you’re forgetting?

#this got. longer than planned.#i've been rotating that drawing of Sadie's in my head like a microwave. u know the one #GOD imagine if she took a genetic test #‘congratulations! you are half Norwegian and half something so unknown and terrifying our lab technician quit her job’#I wrote this real quick. really hoping I didn’t say anything stupid egsjgsjshd #Johanna hilda #Hilda the series #Hilda netflix #Hilda s3

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auphelia · 2 months

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Restock day in Dottore's lab

A/N: Listen, I'm sorry but this idea has been rattling around in my mind for so long now and I'm afraid I will not know peace before it's been evicted in the form of writing. It was planned out as a chapter of the long fic I've started working on, but it'll be a long time before that catches up to where I want this. My english is bad and my writing skills are even worse so yeah, proceed at your own risk… Big mention to @/boundinparchment and @/surveyycorps whose amazing Dottore works have most certainly influenced my subconscious and this by extension. Warnings/tags: Alludes to mental breakdown, no comfort, very brief gore, fem!oc x dottore, reader x dottore but reader will get personality and backstory, isn't really an x anything since assistant oc doesn't show up until very last bit (and doesn't do much) but it's part of a long fic I've started writing which will be oc x dottore. Minors do not interact

It was by no means an imposing door. Made from worn fir planks it had an almost domestic feeling to it. The more he looked at it, the more out of place something felt. Although it was currently impossible to determine whether that 'something' was him or the door. It was ridiculous how much a simple piece of wood could annoy anyone, but compared to the otherwise sterile and metallic surroundings this stuck out like a sore thumb. His brow furrowed as he caught his mind slipping, it had been doing so more often as of late, and the mere thought of such ineffectiveness was enough to make his fingers twitch at his sides. This would be a quick in and out, simply grab what he needed urgently and get back to work.

He could still recall the conversations he'd had with Pantalone when the lower levels of the Palace had been refurbished to house his primary base of operations. The banker had been stingy, insisting that he would not pay a single mora for something so frivolous as the storage rooms being remodeled to fit the appearance of the laboratories. At the time, Dottore had written it off as some ridiculous principle and complied. After all, he'd been more than content to forego aesthetics and instead funnel his attention into making his workspace functionally perfect. But right now, accompanied by already frayed nerves and the dull thudding in his head, it felt like a blatant attempt at establishing control.

So that's what Pantalone had been trying to do all along, limit and influence him? Just as narrow-minded and afraid of change as the rest of those miserable fools Dottore had dealt with during his long life. Years of bitter resentment flared to life, cradling his body in it's warm embrace as bile rose in his throat. No doubt a scheming leech like the damned banker wouldn't be above weaponizing something as trivial as interior design to subtly nudge him. A willingness to make small sacrifices was the first step towards being manipulated. What else had he agreed to over the years? His thoughts were jumbled and disorganized, a consequence of Omega's little stunt no doubt, and just sorting through all the memories made him queasy. He felt his pulse pounding behind his eyes, the capillaries no doubt on the verge of bursting. His mind barely registered it as his body took two unsteady steps forward, a calloused hand instinctively reaching for the wall to steady his weight. The cool stone against his skin didn't serve to quell the embers of his anger even half as much as he'd hoped.

There were the constant squabbles for funding. Was he being spied on? The compromises on subject sourcing. One of his notebooks were missing. It had been too long since he'd had something sweet. He needed to get rid of the contamination in lab four. When had he last checked on Haeresys? Having to settle for parts and-

A faint laugh escaped his lips, the sound lost between the cracks in the walls. He'd done it again, forgotten his intentions and drifted into a string of preposterous thoughts. Being away from his work wasn't doing his mind any favors. A hand made its way towards the gleaming earring, the movement subconscious as he sought to disconnect from the network. For a moment placebo kicked in as he deposited the jewelry into his back pocket and all fell quiet around him. But ever the fast mind, it soon occurred that the voices, his voices dammit, weren't something that could simply be turned off anymore. They all- No, he just needed some time to assimilate and he would endure as he always had. With a renewed sense of determination, and a small shake of his head to clear his mind, he pushed open the door. Forcing himself not to wince as it creaked on its hinges, his jaw tensed. Another thing he'd need to get fixed. Not bothering to close the door behind him he stepped inside, hands clasped behind his back as he let his gaze scan across the shelves and stacks of equipment. Dust lingered atop the surfaces, a testament to how long it had been since he'd last had to restock he mused. The younger segments, not quite mature enough where he'd trust them, trust himself, to be in charge of any real research took care of such menial work as restocking the labs. Following the incident the laboratory had been stocked for a while, with material turnover naturally slowing down to match the available workforce.

He pushed down the intrusive thoughts reminding him that he'd been cutting corners and compromising on various things the past couple of days, actively avoiding having to leave his experiments to pick up new pipettes, tubes, plates, glassware, spare mechanic parts… He'd need some of the chemicals as well, unwieldy containers that took more time moving than what it was worth. He wanted to curse at himself, he should've written a note of what he needed. A glance over his shoulder and across the corridor was all it took to remind him how close his laboratory was, it would be easy to do a quick check. The thought had barely formed before a scowl settled on his face, going back and forth was hardly a necessity, he should know what he needed to bring over.

As his focus returned to the dimly lit room, a feeling of unease seeped into his bones. Nothing was placed as he remembered it. Granted, it had most likely been more than a century since this body had last been in here. The shelves were lined from floor to ceiling with various necessities, and he had to stop himself from swearing as he realized none of the boxes were labelled with anything save for some seemingly random assortment of letters and numbers. No doubt they had meaning, but the symbols refused to part with their secrets as his eyes roamed over them. He'd recognize his own handwriting anywhere, this version a little more legible than average. One of the youngsters had made the system then, that would only make figuring it harder. His hand ran through his hair, a small voice briefly reminding him how long it had been since he'd last washed it properly. Every box had a letter and between one to three numbers, the digits appearing random in their placement along the shelves. So they didn't indicate position in the room, meaning it must pertain to the content of the box. In that case, they were likely numbered so the things most often used had the lowest numbers, a simple yet relatively clever system. Perhaps the letters were some sort of category indicator, it could be based on the type of work it was required for? It wasn't a system without fault of course, the value having needed to be assigned based on subjective opinion. The youngest segments had likely never looked through any documents that could indicate how much or how often everything was ordered.

His headache was pushed back at the satisfaction of having cracked the code, now he'd just find the box with the lowest value and use that as a reference to grasp what things had been ranked as 'important'. A small smile tugged at the corner of his chapped lips as he perused the shelves, crimson eyes systematically skimming across the stocks. The heels of his boots clicked against the flooring with every step he took into the maze of shelves and loose containers lining the floor. Incredible how much had been shoved into the modest room. An accident in here could set his research months back, the thought in and of himself bringing some odd semblance of comfort which should by no means be there. A small hum of approval left him as his eyes found what they'd been looking for, bringing his scattered thoughts back to the present. Reaching out with gloved hands he grabbed a box, the container surprisingly light in his hold. Labelled as 'G-3' he'd expected it to contain something like glassware, but the feeling of it in his hands suggested it must then be largely empty. He set it down on the ground, kneeling to get a better look as he impatiently pried it open.

"Cotton?" The word had left his lips before he could stop it, the sound grating his ears. He could already hear the mocking laughter in his head, wanting nothing more than to rip whatever nerve cells were responsible for it out. Too distracted to put the crate back, he simply stood up and gave it a small push with the tip of his shoe, having already forgotten it as his mind ran rampant. If cotton was labeled so high, surely it couldn't be based on importance. What did he even use cotton for? Could it have been of use to one of the others in case a subject was bleeding? His stomach churned involuntarily, shoving aside memories of mangled bodies, picked apart for nothing in particular. It had been a disgusting endeavor, spearheaded by his worst perspective. But why should they have bothered with first aid when most of those subjects weren't even reused? An utter waste of materials.

He grasped another box, desperate to find what he needed and get out. The air weighed heavily on him as he kept pulling out crates and containers, all of them landing unceremoniously on the floor. Within just five minutes his movements had become erratic, almost desperate in the need to find something, anything he could use right now. This was his creation, fostered by his mind and realized by his hands. Another perspective, but ultimately him. The Doctor. A Fatui Harbinger. There was nothing he couldn't solve if given the tools and time, and he most certainly would not let something as inconsequential as… Glass crashed to the ground, the sound rattling his bones and pulling him back to the present as hundreds of delicate glass pipettes shattered. The fragments spilling from the crate he'd so carelessly tossed on the ground. He'd needed those. The realization made his movements falter, the jumbled voices in his head screaming for him to continue, stop, cry, anything and everything really. His finger tapped against his thigh in a quick rhythm, counting the taps in the back of his mind. A shaky hand reached up to unclasp the mask as he found himself desperate for anything to cool his burning skin. This was too much.

At least he didn't see any shattered or broken chemical containers meaning this was still only a disgraceful inconvenience, not a health hazard. Laughter erupted from his throat, the sound foreign and intrusive as he felt it worm its way inside his skull. His knees hit the hard stone before his mind could catch up. His head lowered, eyes widening as he saw a few unfamiliar droplets wetting the ground in front of him. The laughter died down to a faint chuckle as his throat constricted, only serving to make the sound of his gloved finger tapping more prominent in the ravaged room. His entire body stiffened as something not of his making reached his ears, the breathing pattern recognizable enough by now that it made him want to sink into the cracks beneath him. Instead, scarred hands moved by themselves to clip the mask back on before he straightened his back. "How. Long?" the words were by no means rude, a faint voice in the back of his mind praising him for not lashing out. If nothing else, he could cling to that small display of control to remind himself that all was well. "Long enough," she sounded like she'd wanted to say more but refrained, at least it seemed his technician was learning to control that damnable tongue of hers. The relief at her lack of further questioning had barely manifested when her next words washed over him like a bucket of cold water. "But pray tell, Doctor, how am I supposed to prepare the new solutes and buffers when you've seemingly decided to break all the clean glassware?" His fists tightened at the accusatory tone in her voice, making him feel like a scolded child. Making no effort to tread lightly, he got to his feet, hard heels slamming into the ground hard enough that the thought of looking for additional cracks in the ground briefly flashed through his mind. Within seconds he'd crossed the distance, no thoughts spared for the mess of items that cracked and broke beneath his feet. Towering over the young woman, he bit into the inside of his cheek to keep himself from doing anything rash. She had proven too useful for his research, especially with the segments gone. He only had to endure until they were rebuilt. He leaned forward, hands clasped behind his back as he brought the beak of his mask uncomfortably close. A thin smile stretched across his lips as he saw her resolve crumble just enough for her to take half a step back. "As resourceful as you are, surely you can think something up, hm?" His voice was laden with derision as he straightened back up, fingers itching to dig into her skin hard enough to draw blood. Once more he found himself grateful for the mask that covered half his face, letting him close his eyes unnoticed for a brief moment of respite before striding past her. He had half a mind to grasp the door handle and slam the door behind him as he stepped into the hallway. "Ah, one moment Doctor. There's no system to it really, Xi simply had it memorized. I made an overview of sorts for my own convenience, it's on the back of the door," he swore there was a smug sort of satisfaction to her words as she continued, "in case you need it in the future." His hands had tightened into fists while she spoke. Of course it had been nothing but wishful thinking that such a foolish child would've created anything as worthwhile as a storage system. Despite his wounded pride, curiosity plucked at the edges of his thoughts and spurred him on. He'd already sunk low enough for a subordinate to see him in such a disgraceful state, satisfying the question on his mind would hardly make matters worse. "The codes. What is their purpose?" The words came out more clipped than he'd have liked, but just the act of forming a coherent sentence proved troublesome. He wanted to roll his eyes as he heard her sigh softly, it was a bad habit on her part, six even breaths followed by a sigh. Another miserable tool to fix.

Her words were drowned out by the ringing in his ears, vision blurred at the edges as he marched across the hallway and into his laboratory. The lock clicked into place as he shut the door behind him before ripping the mask off and tossing it aside, gloves following soon after. Fingers swiftly tangled in his locks, massaging at his scalp in an attempt to ease the tension. If he was lucky, his technician would get the message. Even if she had a key this was no time to intrude. His body slumped onto the nearest chair, his forehead almost immediately making contact with the table. Raspy chuckles mixed with quiet sobs as his nails scraped off the bloody scabs that had recently made themselves at home on his skin. His thoughts raged, mute voices mocking him for not having predicted this outcome. 'The codes? Oh, they're for Pantalone's convenience. It's how he prefers the materials we order to appear in the expense reports. Something about product codes.'

#dottore x oc #dottore x reader #lab technician reader #il dottore #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #il dottore x reader #dottore x female reader #auph writes #memento mori #magspy look away lmao

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