#dr jekyll’s beer lab | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

amuhseen2003 · 3 years

Text

SANDERS SIDES KARAOKE: GOTHIC LITERATURE MUSICALS EDITION

Okay, so after four years of being in the Sanders Sides fandom, I’m going to attempt to write some headcanons. Here we go.

Since it’s well-known in fanon that the sides do have karaoke sessions, imagine what would happen if they sang musicals based on gothic literature.

Roman’s happy because broadway, duh, Logan is happy because it’s canon that he enjoys gothic literature since he dressed up as Frankenstein’s monster for Halloween, same reason for Virgil and Patton’s happy that his family is bonding. He made extra cookies for the occasion. He’s dangerous like that.

(I headcanon that when Thomas had to write analyses of gothic literature novels for school, Virgil, Roman and Logan would work together to come up with stuff and write the best essays in class and Patton would be so proud of them)

I’m not going to count Les Mis because I’m not too sure if that counts as gothic literature and whilst the Hunchback of Notre Dame is indeed gothic (trust me I read that in a plane once. An entire, like, ten pages is dedicated to describing the scenery) I don’t think it became a broadway show.

Now this isn’t like their usual karaoke nights, no sir. Just idly remaining in the living room won’t do. Where is the gusto? The pizazz? The accolade winning extravaganza? The-

“We get it Princey, can you just get on with it?” - Virgil

No, this type of singing can only be accompanied with an atmosphere that will do it justice. To the imagination they go and with Logan’s (who has practically memorised every single one of these books and is not geeking out at all) input on how the novels describe each setting, Roman creates very intricate landscapes for each song.

When they sing ‘Alive’ from ‘Jekyll and Hyde’ Roman thought that it would be really cool for Patton to play Mr Edward Hyde since Hyde is literally the human id and Patton, being the embodiment of morality, is literally the superego (although to be fair, Patton is also shown to be quite childish and impulsive since he’s also the base of Thomas’ emotions and Hyde is impulsive because he’s a way for Jekyll to act on his own emotions - especially since the only crime that Hyde does in the book are him over-reacting with his anger by beating a man to death. And in the novella, Jekyll writes that he and Hyde are like father and son and that Hyde is actually younger than Jekyll is, he does have that sense of childishness that Patton has only instead of that childishness being good and helpful, it’s bad and hurtful. Plus in the soundtrack of Alive, whilst Anthony Warlow does sing about how good being evil feels like, he also sounds like he is crying tears of joy of being able to be himself, the first words post-transformation being freedom and anyways these are supposed to be fun headcanons not analytical headcanons so I digress…)

Anyways Patton is happy to play the villain because “look kiddos, Roman conjured up this really swell cape” “the correct term is cloak” “and check out this top hat and cane!” and he’s just belting out the words and froliking around Victorian London without a care in the world, making his cape swoosh in the wind.

“Patton I would advise you not to take your shoes off. This is nineteenth-century London with people dying of cholera by the dozens, your feet could catch a myriad of infections.”

“Worry not, specs, the scenery is merely an illusion. I would never allow for our dear padre to succumb to the villain of illness”

“Aww, thanks kiddo (cue Patton’s sunshine smile) now where was I? IT’S THE FEELING OF BEING ALIVE! FILLED WITH EVIL AND TRULY ALIVE!”

They have Logan sing ‘I Need To Know’ because a doctor of science singing about wanting to expand his knowledge and having that thirst to do whatever it takes to get said knowledge. That is a Logan Sanders song right there. At first he’s like “why do I have to sing. I was happy enough giving directions and helping you with the scenery” but Roman creates this big scientific library that could rival the one from Beauty and the Beast/ laboratory from that’s practically the identical to Jekyll’s lab in the book and he’s like “Fine” like he isn’t enjoying himself. He is. They all know it. He’s not fooling anyone

Patton and Roman sing ‘Bring on the men’ together (yes, whilst wearing dresses) whilst Virgil and Logan drink apple juice from those big british beer glasses in the mind-scape created Red Rat (which Logan is quick to point out doesn’t exist and is vocally upset at how the musical adaptation added unnecessary romantic subplots with Lisa and Lucy when the book itself only had three background female characters who were only there for like one paragraph. He’s even more upset at the other inaccuracies with the book like how in the play Jekyll creates his formula as a cure for mental illness and Hyde was accidental whilst in the book he did it because he wanted to indulge in sin without fearing the consequences and Hyde, whilst not being exactly what he wanted, was actually created on purpose or how in the book Hyde only kills one man and in the musical he kills practically everyone except for the one person he did kill. Virgil pats him on the back with sympathy). Roman and Virgil are sniggering at the sexual euphemisms at the end of the song whilst Patton’s confused. She just seems really enthusiastic about food.

Roman sings both parts of ‘Confrontation’ by himself. He gets a standing ovation.

He also does ‘Transformation’. The problem is that he was so good at sounding like he was in complete agony and near death that they had to stop the song prematurely because Patton was getting upset. Don’t worry, Pat gets lots of cuddles by Roman afterwords.

(You know what I might do some sides reacting to The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde later because 1. It’s my favourite book and 2. All four of them would have very interesting takes on it)

From the Frankenstein musical Virgil plays the criminal from ‘Say Amen’ because he wants to (seriously, the guy’s first words in the song are ‘I curse the day that I was born into a world so black with hate’) and Logan plays Victor Frankenstein but Patton refuses for his son to even pretend to be executed by the noose so they have Roman play a man wearing a british executioner outfit with a foam sword and the creative side just bonks the anxious side on the neck with it. Logan despairs about the historical inaccuracy from his place in the stands whilst Patton is cheering next to him. Patton also hands him an extra jumper to keep him warm in the Switzerland cold.

“Patton, I am grateful that you are thinking of my health but no one in eighteenth century Switzerland wore bright blue jumpers with cartoon kittens on them”

“Really, Logan, are you paw-sitive?”

“I would like to change places with Virgil. Immediately”

Roman and Logan turn ‘Birth to my creation’ into a duet because Logan enjoys the scientific aspect of it and Roman can’t resist the drama (of course). He goes all out. He makes Victor’s lab perfect to the smallest detail (and cheers when Logan’s eyes start lighting up and he does that cute clappy thing when he’s excited), he conjures a storm and makes lightning strike at the best moments of the song. He even creates a ‘wretch’ (what Victor calls the monster in the book. I’ve heard that it’s name is Adam but all I remember from the novel is Victor calling himself god and the creature his Adam) to lie on the table.

“And we didn’t even have to go grave-robbing for it. Or drop out of University.” - Roman

“No matter how many times I wanted to.” - Virgil

Roman and Virgil do most of the songs from Dracula. The creative side creates this huge, expensive-looking window-balcony thing with glass double doors and billowing silk curtains so that he could dramatically sing ‘the longer I live’ whilst the wind blows through his hair and he dramatically drapes himself on the balustrade so that the light from the full moon hits his figure just right. Patton’s close to crying.

Logan is very eager to give as many facts as he can about nineteenth-century mental institutions for ‘The Master’s Song’. He gets really into the history behind certain treatments and different cases. Roman plays Renfield and the others play doctors.

Virgil is super into Dracula’s castle during ‘Life after life’. He and Roman duet that song wearing all-black. Logan tries to help Patton’s slight fear by telling him the history behind different pieces of architecture.

Patton plays Christine during Phantom of the Opera

Roman, Virgil and Logan sing ‘A story told’ from The Count of Monte Cristo around a circular table in a dimly lit tavern. Patton takes pictures and drinks hot chocolate in the sidelines.

#sanders sides #sanders sides headcanon #logan sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #roman sanders #lamp #calm #lamp/calm

29 notes · View notes

kindofwriter · 5 years

Text

Dr Jekyll’s Suicide Note

This is never going in my final draft, I’m sticking to 3rd person, it’s more of a guide of what’s going on in Jekyll’s life. Sorry for the deterioration in quality towards the end, I’m still figuring out how I’m going to execute that part!

I suppose all this started the very day I was born. My mother, a lawyer, and my father, a successful owner of an industrial company, always expected so much of me. Academically it was no struggle to exceed these expectations, but on a personal level I always seemed to disappoint. They wanted me to be meek, quiet, distastefully arrogant. I wanted to get tipsy, make out with boys, and be that friendly kind of arrogant that’s actually quite endearing: I hope.

So I committed myself to a life of duplicity.

At home I would be the uppity golden child my parents had always coveted, and the second I escaped their clutches I would be rowdy and curious; like a regular person. This would’ve been a fine arrangement, had I not so frequently got myself into trouble. The second time I was delivered home by the police was the last straw for my parents. I was nothing short of incarcerated until my university days.

But what they didn’t realise was that this repression only fuelled my desire to wreck havoc. My thoughts turned from underage jaunts to the pub to theft, brutality, even murder on occasion, but only that of my parents. I wanted to suffocate them like they had suffocated me. Those were the daydreams of an angry child, however. I would never follow through in reality.

Those lonely years spent locked in my room made me yearn to be another person, and it was then that I began my life’s work: actually becoming someone else.

At first I conceptualised a way to transfer my consciousness to another body, but all that was far too complicated. And anyway, I’m no Victor Frankenstein. So then my thoughts progressed to how I could alter my appearance.

I threw myself into the study of chemistry so devoutly I now find myself with a PhD in it. For a while I found that lab work and shallow friendships could distract me from the rage that burned inside my chest, but alas it was no long term solution. If anything, my mastery inflamed the issues, thrusting me into the public eye. I now had my reputation to consider when I wanted to get blackout drunk and throw beer cans in the Thames.

And what of my sexuality? I felt no shame in it, but I knew there were many doctors who would refuse to consider my research on this basis. Must I remain chaste my entire life lest I wish to peruse my passion?

No. I quit my job and dove back into my research.

It was gruelling. Lots of experiments gone wrong, many leaving me bed-ridden for days. I was manic in my desires.

But finally, years into my research, I had done it. One shot of this serum and my cherubic features would melt away, leaving me with hollow eyes and sharp cheeks and a diminutive frame. But my mind was still in tact. Or so I thought.

For a month or so I encountered no errors with my serum. It allowed me to masquerade as a fine young gentleman as I drank myself into oblivion and engaged in public displays of affection. Finally I could continue my contributions to the world of chemistry without feeling the need to repress my humanity.

And then something began to go wrong.

I began to transform without the use of the serum.

At first it was nothing to worry about. The only occurrences were when I allowed my mind to wander to the darker pleasures of life, and once transformed it was easy for me to control my behaviours.

Really I should have seen this as a red flag, but I was desperately in denial. For the first time since childhood I was experiencing freedom; the light, tingling ecstasy of being human. I’d made a deal with the devil to get it, but God be damned for all He’d ever done for me!

So I ignored the slight glitch in my system, instead electing to inform Poole that my new friend Mr Hyde would be frequenting the house, often in my absence but always with my permission.

Then of course, as I’m sure you know if you’re reading this, things worsened.

Edward Hyde was just a pseudonym I had constructed, a way of ensuring I would never slip up and reveal my true nature. But several months into my use of the serum he was beginning to develop thoughts and ambitions of his own.

It started off as overtly rude behaviour I would never have wilfully engaged in, but could easily pass off as me getting swept up in my new persona. But soon I was watching myself throw vicious punches, abuse my body with vile substances, and even purchase a house in Hyde’s name!

I had no control over this man! I had surpassed the ability to alter my appearance; I had created an entirely new person.

Hyde was born out of hatred, jealousy, and shame, and he acted like he knew it. If I was short-tempered, he was explosively violent. If I was selfish, he was narcissistic. If I was gluttonous, he was all-consuming, hedonistic greed.

I no longer had any control over when I transformed, and what I did after the matter. I was at the mercy of Mr Hyde, and he was not a kind master.

My one confort was that when Hyde collapsed into bed at the first tendrils of dawn, I would usually awaken in my own body, fully in control, if exhausted. Instead of relishing in the freedom Hyde had given me I began to feel trapped again, suffocated, desperately awaiting the hour when I would be free of Hyde.

Panic rolled in like a storm when, one morning, that hour never came.

I awoke in the home Hyde had purchased for himself in Soho, warm and dozy and grateful to have been returned to my former self. Things felt a certain degree of uncanny from the moment I became conscious, but I hadn’t been feeling myself for a while now, even in my own body.

Hyde’s various drug habits and vicious scraps had no impact on my physical body, but always inflicted a hazy sickness on my mind. The turmoil lost me a great deal of sleep and significantly reduced my appetite. All my life I assumed losing weight would be a pleasant sensation, but it only made me feel alienated from my own form.

But that morning I found I was experiencing more than the usual dysmorphia.

As I reached my hand up to draw back the duvet I saw not my own pale knuckles and perfectly manicured nails, but Hyde’s grimy fingers and bloodied hand.

Heart palpating with anxiety, I dressed in a rush and hurried home. Once in my lab I realised I actually had no conceivable plan.

The serum, which I had had no need for in months, was kept in a fridge under the worktop. It was the only project I had worked on in years, so was really the only substance in my lab.

In a fit of blind panic, I stabbed myself with a needle full of it.

Realising what I’d done, a whole new wave of panic engulfed me. But that was quickly replaced with the agony of cracking bones and melting flesh. I was certain I had killed myself, and the thought brought a strange sort of peace.

But then the pain subsided and I found my body had been returned to me.

I thought I was rid of Hyde then. Tentatively, I began to piece my old life back together; reaching out to friends, working on a simple paper on combustion, eating more than my share of deep fried breakfast foods. I began to engage in new activities, too. Soup kitchens, hospital visits, public gardening.

I had it. What I’d been so desperately trying to achieve with Edward Hyde, I finally had it. Freedom. Happiness. Fulfilment. I spent my days doing activities that made me believe in the literal soul, and my evenings in such a way that made me believe in the metaphorical one.

It couldn’t last, however. Scarcely had my head hit the pillow one night when I found myself awake again: and Hyde was awake, too.

He didn’t even bother to change out of my pyjamas. So long had Hyde been trapped at the back of my mind, he came out like a tornado.

He proceeded towards the Thames, stopping only to purchase LSD and to kick a poor homeless man. He lumbered along after an older gentleman who, God bless his soul, repeatedly glanced behind him in fear. Hyde sneered at him, so he crossed the street to walk along the side of the Thames.

Hyde crossed after him.

The man turned to confront Hyde, edging backwards as he did, but before he could even utter a coherent sentence he had stepped through a gap in the railings and into the water.

I screamed and reached out for him, but of course I was a mere consciousness, and had no voice with which to scream nor hands to reach.

The Thames is a perilous place for the strongest of swimmers; I knew without a flotation aid this old man would never survive.

Surely, I thought, Hyde would not be so cruel as to let this man die.

He strolled towards the railing, but made no attempt to remove the buoyancy aid. Instead he watched, head tilted in morbid curiosity, as the man thrashed beneath the surface of the water.

If I’d had eyes I would have been crying.

If I’d had lungs I would have been screaming.

But Hyde just watched. Watched the tumultuous waters. Watched as they grew still. Watched as the man’s last breath floated to the surface.

Then he shook his shoulders and continued on his way.

The next morning, reunited with my body, I was violently sick.

My initial thought was that I would report the crime myself. Find Ms Enfield and tell her everything. It’s not as though I’m deserving of anything more than a life in prison, what with the knowledge that this vile and careless apathy dwells within my soul.

The only thing holding me back was the thought of transformation. Were one to occur while I was incarcerated, which seemed exponentially likely at this point in time, I would be tortured to death in the name of scientific research. As despicable as I am I could not resign myself to that fate.

Thus, I tried to carry on as before.

My dearest, dearest Gabe, I trust you are reading this letter and know what comes next.

I apologise, but I must say it is true: I am desperately and inconceivably in love with you. I understand that it is not flattering to have a vile creature such as myself confess his undying adoration of you, but as you read this letter I will have parted with my last breaths, and thus will have nothing left to lose.

Please believe me when I say that I so desperately wanted to kiss you that night, but this monster inside me did not. He feels only lust, which cannot compare to the deep, profound love I have harboured for you for so long. Forgive me for pulling away. I could not live with myself if he had hurt you.

I used the rest of my serum to transform that night, but I knew it wouldn’t last. At a loss, and far too ill to operate my own lab, I paid a visit to Hatty. She greeted me, as usual, with slight warmth, masked by overwhelming distain.

As I began my explanation as to why I needed her help I felt myself beginning to lose control. The transformation was never painful, not like it was when I transformed back into myself, but it was as familiar to me as putting on a shirt.

Hatty gawked at Hyde in horror, unable to even utter a sound. She was a perfect still from a horror film.

I fled.

I think at that moment we both realised it was over. It would not be difficult for Hatty, world-renowned chemist, to prove my transformation. Hyde wanted to kill her, I could feel it in his mind, but he had been thrown at Harry’s witness to our transformation so I had, quite literally, taken the body and ran with it.

We entered my lab. I locked the door.

Hyde was stronger than me. I had known this for a while now. He screamed and hammered on the door and wrestled for control. It was like trying to reign in a wild animal.

I took a scalpel and impaled it in my thigh. Hyde roared in pain, but I, merely a numb observer, managed to keep my wits about me.

I think perhaps that’s why I’m not so afraid of what’s to come. I won’t feel it. It’s him who has to endure the rush of agony, and I don’t feel the slightest sympathy for him.

This really has been a long time coming. Hatty’s expression, one of such pure terror, such disgust and fear, but at the same time one that said all her suspicions had been confirmed, that was the last straw.

To Hatty, Hyde was never the monster; it has always been me.

That’s the one thing we have in common, I suppose. We both know that Henry Jekyll is the real monster.

Well, now I lay that monster to rest. I am truly, from the bottom of my empty soul, sorry.

Thanks for reading!

#writeblr #writing #the strange case of dr jekyll and mr hyde #jekyll and hyde #wip: jekyll and hyde #short story #tw: suidice #tw: depression #tw: body dysmorphia #author’s note

11 notes · View notes

authorloremipsum · 7 years

Text

The Pyrologist’s Clockwork Heart

a “The Glass Scientists” fanfiction

Words - 2073

Characters - Mr. Sinnett, Dr. Jekyll, the Lodgers (in general)

Summary - What the hell is one pyrologist to do when he’s surrounded by a Society of people who don’t realize how bloody beautiful they are?

Anthony Sinnett had a problem.

Every, single person at the Society of Arcane Sciences was attractive. Even the Lodgers who were ten, twenty years his senior, they all had a respectable and dignified sort of beauty to them. The closer they were to Sinnett’s age, the more of a problem it was though, because there was the opportunity for chemistry with them.

And that chemistry had a different meaning for each of them.

For example, Luckett was charming, eloquent, surprisingly elegant and dignified for a man on fire half of the time. Sinnett looked forward to the opportunities he had to work with Luckett, he could listen to the talk of homeopathy all day frankly. It was solely intellectual, Sinnett felt he was an equal with Luckett, and their time together was rewarding in terms of work. They got things finished, they built things, set things on fire, it was fun and bloody brilliant.

On another hand, Ito was incredibly attractive. As shallow as it sounded though, that’s as far as it extended; Sinnett marveled at their aesthetic, their makeup and hair. Often he wanted to ask them about it, maybe get some tips, but how didn’t know how to bring it up without sounding romantic or uncouth. His attitude towards Ito was not romantic in the slightest, he considered them a good friend, and perhaps wanted to be closer friends.

There were others that had drawn his interest, Mosley whose hidden face and mysterious nature drew the imagination in curious directions, Rachel whose kindness and fierce attitude suggested she would be an interesting friend, Lavender, who seemed always willing to talk, they were all so kind and Sinnett was so thankful they were his friends.

Now, Flowers or Archer were a different story, those feelings were definitely inclined to the romantic. Well, romance was certainly the polite way of putting it, as opposed to thoughts better left to after three pints of beer or whiskey. Both of them were just, so beautiful.

Flowers was a soft sort of pretty, the way she held herself with such grace and gentleness, her timid tone of voice and delicate touch that could work clockwork like nothing else. He adored the twinkle that’d appear in her eyes when he knocked on her lab door, saying one of his metal fingers had gotten a bit loose, the way her lips would pout while she focused on the intricate cogs and gears in his hand. Her hair, though she clearly tried to tame the wild curls, reminded Sinnett of clouds and smoke, oh she was so lovely.

Then Archer, handsome Archer, he was a sharp sort of beautiful. His strong chin and bright eyes to match with that cunning, knowing smirk of his was nearly intimidating, Sinnett found it alluring. The way his hair stuck up behind his goggles like a macaw’s, the way he always tried to make Sinnett laugh when they were tuning up his arm, the odd look he’d get on his face when things were serious, all of it contributed to Sinnett’s fancy.

Both of them were so kind to him, and so beautiful, Sinnett found himself thinking about them in the most embarrassing fashions that made his face turn bright red. God, if he ever told anyone, the rumors would be horrifically embarrassing.

Sinnett was a mess, to make a long story short. By the end of his first few months as a member of the Society, a compliment from anyone, particularly his favorites, would turn him into a blushing mess behind closed doors. More than once Luckett had found him hiding in their lab, face beet red but covered in ash and soot. The excuses were varying, but Luckett was lackadaisical enough that he didn’t press.

The problem with all these emotions that made dear Sinnett’s heart race was that he didn’t know what to do with them. Most of his fancies and infatuations had crushes of their own and that was just fine, the others faded away to incredibly platonic friendships.

Well, except for one.

He’d spent all morning avoiding the rest of the Society simply because he had a project to work on, soldering new sheets of metal onto the tanks of his flamethrower instead of dealing with any of his bottled affections. Though, to be fair, some of said affections were more humiliating than romantic.

Didn’t matter at this point, he’d wasted the day on work to ignore the particularly fierce tugs at his heartstrings and now the voice from his stomach was far fiercer. It took Luckett tapping him on the shoulder to get him to finally pull himself away from work and go get food.

Because, you know, drowning yourself in work tends to lead to one forgetting to eat.

It was, eerily quiet tonight, which was shocking because something or other could usually be heard going on at any one time, be it the sounds of machinery moving behind the walls or a hum from one of the small exhibits in the lobby, there was none of that tonight. Sinnett made note of this as he wandered the uncharacteristically empty halls, looking around curiously for any sign of his friends. But there was nothing, so he walked a little quicker to the kitchen, hoping beyond hope to find Rachel there and ask what the hell was going on.

Darkness had crept into the Society, the lights remained unlit in their sconces along the walls, casting everything into shadow. Sinnett, who found comfort in light and warmth, found anxiety creeping into his psyche as he travelled the dark hallways, rubbing the sleeve of his metal arm just above where flesh changed to machine, an old tic from when that place had been covered with bandages. He picked up his pace then, practically running down the kitchen where the lights were on and a blessed, golden glow filled the space.

He slammed the door shut behind him with more ferocity than intended, backing up and leaning on the counter as the unknown fear began to ebb from his mind finally. The racing of his heart slowed again to a steady, calming beat and he rubbed his eyes. What had he been so afraid of?

A hand placed itself on his shoulder and Sinnett shrieked, whirling around with both hands raised defensively.

To his surprise, Doctor Jekyll did the same, backing up and exclaiming: “I meant no harm! I just wanted to ask if you were alright.” Sinnett swallowed hard, slowly relaxing, for some reason not at all confused that Jekyll was downstairs in the kitchen, “Yeah I, I’m fine. Just, where is everyone? I, my imagination was getting ahead of me, I thought something was wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong,” the doctor said, smiling and relaxing as well. “In fact, I was coming to find you.”

Sinnett felt his face heat up a little bit, “Really? You were looking for me?”

Jekyll nodded, wearing that oh-so charming smile of his, “I wanted to talk to you about something personal to me.” He was wearing only a vest and shirtsleeves, the collar loose and sleeves rolled clumsily up to the elbows. Just the top of his collarbone could be seen, but understand that in the Victorian-ish Era, just a wee bit of collarbone was more than a little scandalous.

“Something hasn’t gone wrong right? And I should think you’d go to Doctor Lanyon with something like that,” Sinnett said, praying hope beyond hope his face wasn’t turning scarlet.

Jekyll stepped up to him, putting a hand on his shoulder, saying something or other about this being about Sinnett, but the pyrologist was focusing on not letting himself overheat. His eyes wandered over Jekyll’s face, lingered on his mouth, parted in that charming smile that could change tides. God did this man realize how bloody attractive he was?

And suddenly he was leaning closer, too close for a friendly conversation, and Sinnett’s heart threatened to beat out of his chest. His eyes shut as Jekyll leaned even closer, their lips barely an inch apart and-

“Oi Sinnett! Sleeping on the job again?” called a voice.

Sinnett sat bolt upright at his desk, goggles falling eskew onto his face, heart still racing from the vivid near encounter within the realm of dreams. Of course, of course it had been a dream, how else would the Society of Arcane Sciences been so quiet? He rubbed at his eyes tiredly and looked towards the voice, spying Pennebrygg strolling into the lab, a box of various parts in his arms and a wide smile on his face. “Must’ve been one hell of a dream, you look as if someone you fancy just asked you for a drink.”

“I, could use a drink,” he countered, pulling his goggles down so they hung around his neck and running his hand through his hair. There was still that tint of embarrassment in his cheeks and he could feel his heart racing in his chest a mile a minute.

Yes, that was the crush that hadn’t faded in the slightest since its conception, and by far the one that was the least attainable. Jekyll was a man of status, a doctor, and a man for Heaven’s sake, and Sinnett was a glorified pyromaniac with a hand of clockwork. What did he have to offer Jekyll in the slightest? Hadn’t he caused enough trouble as it was?

It was only three days since he’d last set something on fire after all, new record…

“Ey Tony, you alright lad? You look, dizzy,” Pennebrygg said, setting his half emptied box of gadgets on the desk beside where Sinnett had taken his little nap. The pyrologist sighed, “I’m fine, just, think I need some air. And food, for that matter, haven’t eaten since two.”

“Well it’s almost ten now, you better go ‘fore Rachel puts the soup away.”

“She made soup? And you didn’t wake me?” he asked, sounding mockingly offended as he stood from the desk, gathering some papers in a pile and setting his pen neatly atop the stack. He chuckled and gave Pennebrygg a little wave as he turned to leave, “Don’t touch my stuff.”

“I never do Anthony!” was the response.

For the second time in as many hours, or so it felt, Sinnett wandered out of the lab into the halls of the Society, aiming for the kitchen.

He passed Griffin and Archer on the way downstairs, noting how happy they seemed to be while chatting with one another, arms folded on the banister, nearly touching but not quite. In the lobby, watching a small clockwork butterfly flutter in circles, were Lavender and Flowers, who seemed to be enjoying one another’s company greatly. Helsby’s booming laugh echoed from above and a look revealed him and Mosley laughing about something on a floor above, all smiles.

Sinnett’s heart, though it ached for something, felt a little lighter as he passed these happy friends of his. Lavender caught his arm as he passed them, asking if he was coming out with them tonight for drinks, and with a wide smile he agreed.

After he got something proper to eat of course.

With a smile, he strode towards the kitchen and nearly skipped past Doctor Jekyll’s office doors, but there he paused. He tilted an ear and heard laughter, Jekyll’s laughter and the familiar voice of Doctor Lanyon telling some story in an overly pretentious and dramatic tone. Sinnett chuckled too as he turned and continued towards the kitchen, hands in his pockets, heart singing a new song.

Yes he would pine, and yes it would ache, but one must pause to reflect on what they’d been gifted. He had friends aplenty, a home that care for him, and who knows? Maybe someone else had a crush on him and their heart ached like his. But most of all, his friends were all happy.

They knew they were loved, felt love and shared it with those that were the objects of their affections without fear, regardless of gender. The topic of gender alone usually made Sinnett ashamed of his fancies, but here, at the Society, it seemed okay. And it was okay to not be the one in the spotlight, to watch his crushes fall in love and be loved, it really was okay.

It was good to see them happy.

And it, actually, was enough for his ticking clockwork heart.

#my writing #the glass scientists

21 notes · View notes