#re: the gross labcoat

[forgranite]

I’ve seen people make their own Ricks and Mortys, so I decided to throw my own on the pile! Say hello to the boys of Dimension G-093

[vampirepiggieshunter]

here’s cio, what was originally an irkensona but is now more of an oc!! they’re a bastard and so very fun to draw

what crimes did they do? why are they dressed Like That? what happened to their antennae and eyes? what do they do on earth? and more! under this cut:

Backstory:

They were a PAK engineer and programmer, making sure they were working correctly and discarding or fixing defectives

This means they know a whole lot about Irken history, culture, propaganda, and exactly what behavioral modification a PAK does in order to make a PAK that could absorb exactly that information and coding from the Control Brains upon being attached to a smeet

They had more interest in the history and design they studied rather than the bare mechanics and drudgery they were encoded for. Realized along the way the Irken race was causing needless death and destruction in their population, not to mention the races they conquered. It was awful, but also horribly inefficient! Everything could be done so much more efficiently by learning from the past, not just having it zapped into their heads as rote facts!

They started sneakily modifying PAKs to have less behavioral/personality modifiers, especially susceptibility to propaganda/free thought, and let defective ones slip through for a while. Tinkered and tampered with their own as well to make sure they weren’t going to be sabotaged by it and were at their full personality potential.

Was caught and accused of conspiring against the Irken Empire, but fearing their tampered PAK messing with the control brains, skipped over a traditional trial and re-encoding and was banished to the outer uncharted reaches of space to starve to death far away from any Irkens they could sway. Eventually found Earth there.

Got a run down little house on the edge of town by bluffing thru the bureaucracy. Found academia and what little humans knew about the universe but so much about their home planet and bloody history fascinating. Faked academic records, tested into a ton of college transfer credits, graduated with a biomedical science degree. Now works at Membrane’s lab and critiques everything.

Is content being on a planet that Irkens will never have interest in, but is pissed that everyone never learns from their mistakes!! and their history curriculum is horrendous!! and their design is so boring and gross too!! The efficiency of this planet’s sentient race is horribly low and working at Professor Membrane’s lab is the quickest way to improving it!

Notes:

Loves tacky overdone fashion (bright colors, bold patterns) and jumps on horrible fashion trends because Irk had nothing like that and they find it exciting

Flannels especially remind them of their old labcoat but comfier

Built a little robot cat as a companion named Mr. Dumpty

[self mutilation tw] While there are no biological sexes or gender division in Irken society, smeets are given he or she pronoun sets based on the facial (eyelashes) and antennae (curls vs straight) characteristics they develop. Originally have no pronouns or are referred to neutrally. Cio reached the point where their pronouns changed and realized they didn’t like that very much. Was already experimenting with tech and figured modifying their features permanently wouldn’t be too hard. Intended damage and modification, but not as much as what happened. Damaged their antenna (now they flop forward, have lots of kinks, and half of one is gone). Reduces the amount of sensory input (smelling & hearing) they can take in, both generally and without pain. Also has scar tissue around their eyes, prominently at the bottom where it blends with eye bags and their tear ducts are seared shut.

Various little nicks and scars are all over their face

[weavingmemories]

back (glados/wheatley)

summary: it’s been a long time coming, but he finally works up the gall to apologize (by putting himself entirely in over his head, of course). some scars run a lot deeper than others.

He caught his hand between Her synthetic shoulder-blades the moment Her frame was upright, much to Her surprise. GLaDOS stared up at him, seemingly frozen mid-action of draping Her labcoat over Her shoulders, with an expression that, to him, was mortally terrifying. Still, the too-tall android swallowed forcibly.

“Sorry,” he said on reflex, coughing as he felt the tattooed and puckered ‘skin’ against the tips of his fingers. “Sorry,” he repeated, this time his voice lower, with an understanding and entirely different intent. Wheatley mused as to why they had built him so tall as he awkwardly hunched over, his hand large enough to splay over not one, but two ports- moving slowly in the most conscious way he could to seem nonthreatening. He felt Her shoulders rise and hunch as his fingers gently circled the first port. He had to crouch, and he dared wonder what sentence died on Her tongue as he saw Her look over her shoulder at him, his beaked nose poking awkwardly at Her port once before he re-angled himself.

He stared at Her back. It must have looked immaculate, once, but now the ports scattered up Her spine were torn open in asymmetrical wounds. The outermost areas were scarred up as well as micro-bots were able to simulate and repair human wounds, but it wasn’t an ideal repair job, leaving him to wonder why. Was it the same reason he took pride in his own bumpy back, the cracks in his optics? The same reason that despite finding them gross and hideous, he wanted to remember them? A mark of humility?

No, that didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t want to remember or care about something like this- but maybe it was simply that She was distracted by testing, or something else. Either way, his lips would slowly press along the edge of the first scar- GLaDOS’ jutted shoulders barely relaxing as he did.

“’m sorry. For, uh. All of this.” He mumbled quietly against the raised, grotesque skin, and he saw Her noir lips part as if She was going to speak again before She simply turned Her head, looking ahead and away from him. Taking Her lack of burning wit or recoil as ample enough sign to continue, he’d gently drag his lips down and around the first port, down the second, down the third…

By the time he’d slipped into a sit, She’d relaxed entirely, golden eyes slipping closed as his shaking hands held Her hips. It felt like days- but eventually She slid down into a crouch, sitting in the circle of his haphazard legs and tilting Her head up, viewing his chin.

“It’s only been a hundred years,” She finally droned, quirking her lips up into a smile as his expression inevitably screwed up into one of frustration. And She laughed, and the angry retort died on his lips as a blue simulated flush crept onto his cheeks.