#synaptic-noise

[synaptic-noise]

Collection of Herman Carter sketches

I can't stick one face on him... he always looks different

Oops

Don't mind his missing hands. You get it.

A bit light but still visible if you have eyes. Sorry if you don't.

And there's a better version of the first one of these two^ because I changed things after taking the photo, but I can't find it :(

I also forgot his black sclera in most of them, uoopsies

And part of his headgear in one...

KILL MEEE

[xx-all-things-wicked-xx]

CAN I KIDNAP YOUR OTHERWORLDLY ROOMMATE REAL QUICK?

YES? OKAY, THANKS, BYE.

IT'LL BE BACK ONCE I LET IT GO, OR ONCE IT KILLS ME. WHICH ONE WILL HAPPEN FIRST? STAY TUNED TO FIND OUT!

- ⚡︎ @synaptic-noise

Eeeuuuughhhh it’s you.

I can’t exactly tell you what you can and can’t do to Unknown, it’s its own… thing..? But I doubt you would’ve listened if I said no anyway.

I’d wish you luck and survival, but that entails me liking you, which is the furthest thing from true. I hope it mauls you several times over. I hope you get UVX in your eyes.

[synaptic-noise]

“Oh your! Frightening! Uh, hello, I’m, uh Well i’ve settled on Ram for now.”

A survivor The doctor doesnt recognize moves forward. They jerk their shoulders unnaturally, their voice interrupted by soft clicks and the sound of electricity, seemingly a sound made by them.

- @xxxlostinthefogxxx

It wasn't often that Carter left the Léry, but this was meant to only be a short trip - just a quick wander into the Fog to go steal some things from the Hawkins Laboratory. No one really used the place, after all, outside the Demogorgon... who certainly wasn't going to be fiddling with any science equipment. Herman could make much better use out of those things!

But, on his way to disappear into the dark Fog and let it take him where he intended, someone suddenly spoke to him. He would've blinked in surprise if he could, but he couldn't, so he just stopped in his tracks and turned to look down at the person.

A new survivor, it seemed. Interacting with him, outside of Trials? How rare! And peculiar! His face wasn't exactly one that most people were keen to speak to - especially not newbies.

He giggled, intrigued, and tilted his head curiously. "WELL HELLO, THERE, RAM," he screeched, eyes flicking over this new persons' features, hands clasping behind his back. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT HERE, SO FAR AWAY FROM THE CAMPFIRES?"

[synaptic-noise]

Elliot hadn’t been expecting to find much on his expedition today. His walks through The Graveyard of abandoned realms hadn’t been fruitful as of late, so he started setting his expectations lower and lower each time he left his lonely cave to find more materials or decorations.

Purely by chance did he end up in Léry’s Memorial Institute, as he did with most realms he came across. The conditions that this particular version of the realm was in were much better than previous ones. Elliot felt like he had hit the jackpot when he saw how much stuff there was! Especially medical equipment. He himself had no idea how to heal people, but surely the survivors could find some use for it all?

Elliot scrambled to gather a box full of things, carrying it as his tail wagged excitedly behind him as he searched for the exit. Gosh… this place was really like a maze. He kept getting turned around at every corner, almost always ending up back in the same place.

At some point, he gains some semblance of direction, and realizes that he just needs to pass through the main office to get out of here— but on his way there, his eyes suddenly lock onto the towering figure of The Doctor, and it finally clicks that… oh. This realm isn’t abandoned after all. He never personally encountered one of The Doctor’s before, most people warning him that it was a dangerous idea, but…

Well, he was curious, and he should probably apologize for stealing, even though he thought he was just scavenging at first.

“Oh… I uhm… my deepest apologies, Dr…. Doctor sir, I didn’t realize that anybody lived here.” Elliot says as he sets the box down carefully. “I’ll leave immediately, I’m very sorry for stealing…”

- @lepus-vacui

Herman Carter was sat at his desk, adding information to his killer files in neat letters, when he suddenly felt it. His hand abruptly froze mid-pen stroke, then tightened. The pen creaked in his hand.

Someone was here. In his Léry. Trespassing.

Half-lidded eyes flicked up from paper to the doorway of his office, but saw no one yet. He could feel them, though, as if he were the Léry itself, being tread on by a pair of feet that didn't belong here. They were close.

He slowly set the pen down and closed his file, hands reaching up to affix his headgear to his face as he stood up. Speculums hooked into his swollen eyelids and tugged them wide open, and the retractor peeled his scarred lips apart, baring his teeth in a nasty snarl. He ran his tongue over them, taking a moment to reacclimate to the familiar ache of the stretch and pull.

Then, with a low hiss, he cracked his neck and walked forward, grabbing his Punishment Stick from where it lent against the doorway, giving the spiked baton a hearty smack against his palm.

Whoever was here was going to pay. A pound of flesh for every unwelcome step they took in his Léry. He’d carve it off them himself with the delicate swipe of a scalpel, spilling their blood on pristine floors. He’d peel away layers of skin and attach electrodes to bare muscle. He’d pull teeth with that one pair of pliers he deliberately kept rusty. He’d bash their skull in and watch fragments and brain matter splatter against the white walls.

It was time to go rat hunting, and absolutely crush whoever was here into a mere PASTE--

But, unexpectedly, he only managed a few steps out of his office before he very suddenly came face-to-face (or, well, actually, more like stomach-to-face, given that the trespasser was absolutely miniscule) with the little rat he'd just about to hunt down.

The two of them both stopped in their tracks, until the other person - did they have dog ears? - stepped nervously back, staring up at his looming figure.

. . .

Carter looked down (very far down) at the box in their hands, filled over the brim with his equipment. Then he looked back up (not very far up) at the pest’s face. Shaggy hair, ghostly grey skin, vibrant purple irises with black sclera, and permanent black tear marks tracking down their soft face. They looked about twelve.

As he stared, stunned silent, they slowly bent down and set the box of stolen items down on the tile, meekly telling him that they were sorry and they would leave.

... ‘Sorry’ had never fixed anything. Even returning his property wouldn’t fix anything. The fact that anything had been stolen, even if by accident, was insulting enough for Herman to imagine the little fucking creature screaming, kicking and crying as the skin from his sweet little face was ripped off. Or maybe melted. He could get creative with it, find some corrosive chemical he certainly had somewhere and make the shitstain take a nice little bath. That'd be fun.

Hell to clean up, though. Was it worth it? Should he shock the brat unconscious and dump them in some acid, watch skin peel and slough off in blood chunks, listen to them screech and wail until they lost the strength or will to scream and beg?

It'd be satisfying.

Hm...

... But perhaps not. Not yet, anyway. He might still do that later.

He kept that idea in the back of his head. Put a little pin in it.

But for now, his grip merely tightened on the handle of his baton, and his free hand curled into a fist - trembling with ever-growing rage. Sparks started to jump agitatedly from his headgear.

After a long moment of his silence, he suddenly laughed at the pest - loud and shrill - before shooting out a hand and grabbing onto their throat - thin and so easily wrapped around with just one. He lifted them up effortlessly and slammed their spine into a nearby wall with a THUD.

He held them at eye-level with himself, their eyes just about as wide as his, both pairs flicking over one another's features - though one was in terror, the other in furious fascination.

“HAH- YOU THINK A PEST LIKE YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH ATTEMPTING TO STEAL MY PROPERTY?” He sneered. "HOW VERY BOLD OF YOU."

[synaptic-noise]

"𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒! 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐎𝐍 𝐈𝐍, 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊-𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄."

Welcome to my DBD "Doctor" Herman Carter roleplay blog, coming to you from within The Fog!

General warnings for mature and violent topics. Death, torture, maiming, and medical (mal)practices may be described or spoken about. He's also a Freak, so...

DMs are open! Mun doesn't bite, as nasty as the muse can be at times.

Interaction encouraged! Questions, comments, roleplay starters, additions to my solo posts, etc are all eagerly welcomed.

Anyone welcome to interact, including OCs.

Mun is all pronouns.

Anything with "//" in front of it is OOC - so, me, the mun, speaking.

Mun is not a doctor, psychologist, or scientist, so things I say may be inaccurate - though I will be doing my best to research what I'm talking about, and have had classes in some relevant subjects.

Sometimes slow on replies. I have 8 gazillion blogs to tend to.

ＴＡＧ ＬＩＳＴ:

#Your body / my temple -- literate rp responses

#An incoming call -- (ic) ask responses

#Put a bookmark in my DSM -- solo posts

#You people make me sick -- shortform rp responses

#Freaky creatures / monster party -- additions to others' posts

#Ask meme response

#Ooc post

ＮＡＭＥＤ ＡＮＯＮＳ:

TBD

ＷＲＩＴＩＮＧ ＰＡＲＴＮＥＲＳ:

lepus-vacui (Elliot)

xxxlostinthefogxxx (Ram)

ＴＨＲＥＡＤＳ (ＩＮ ＬＯＲＥ ＯＲＤＥＲ):

I DON'T TOLERATE THIEVES -- first meeting w/ Elliot

[TBD TITLE] -- first meeting with Ram

ＷＲＩＴＩＮＧ ＥＸＣＥＲＰＴ:

The sound of a generator being completed was just another buzzing in his ear. He didn't care. No, no, this was far more important. He'd completely throw this trial if need be, he didn't give a damn! He could take whatever punishment he was thrown for it.

He herded Fairfield towards the meat plant's bathroom. Nasty, germy, horrible, vile, horrible, horrible place - but an effective one to box him into.

And it worked.

Herman's skin crawled standing in here, mind screeching at how unsanitary and disgusting and EVIL the place is, but his skin crawled and his mind screeched most days. It was easy enough to ignore.

Dwight stared at him, teeth bared as if the little mite had fangs, and he clearly expected to be hit - but Herman just stood there. He needed a second to stop giggling and actually speak, but he lowered his baton to his side. He wasn't going to hurt him.

... Yet, anyway. He might. He probably would.

Once he'd gathered himself, he swallowed the excess of spit gathering in his mouth so he could talk without drooling on his coat.

"HELLO, CAMELLIA," he greeted, and he compulsively giggled a little again, but abruptly forced himself to stop. Focus, focus, focus! Calm! Calm yourself, Carter. Calm, calm, calm, calm, clam. Clam. Clams. I don't like clams. Slimy, disgusting creatures. I don't understand why people eat those, they're vile. Vile like the way this place smells and feels. Clams should be a poor man's food for how vile it is, but no, they're a delicacy. A delicacy I don't understand. Just like caviar. Gross, gross, gross--

"... I WANT… TO HAVE A LITTLE CHAT WITH YOU."

𓄧 Graphics by: @/pixopix, @/sxftbxyy, @/jjaksclayton, @/limesoda69

[synaptic-noise]

I'M SERIOUSLY GOING TO KILL MYSELF.

NOT THAT IT'LL DO ANYTHING! MACMILLAN HAS ALREADY PROVED THAT, MANY TIMES OVER. BUT IT'LL BE A FUN BREAK FROM THIS BULLSHIT.

[synaptic-noise]

Can you shake off electricity like a wet dog shaking???

... WHAT? NO. IT COMES MOSTLY FROM MY HANDS.

I COULD "SHAKE OFF" ELECTRICITY IF I DID VIGOROUS JAZZ HANDS WITH THE INTENT OF "SHAKING OFF" ELECTRICITY. BUT I CANNOT JUST DO IT WITH MY WHOLE BODY.

[synaptic-noise]

Can I kiss you. W ith tongue

HAHAHA!

ONLY IF I CAN CUT IT OUT OF YOU AFTERWARD. 🤍