#(the dr would say that himself the dr would be well aware of his own mistake he just takes a second to reason thru stuff out loud)

[earlyspringtranscendence]

i know this is FULLY the opposite of the point but i need a stuffed animal the exact size shape and most imptly weight of the meep bc im moping and having a meepsized stuffed animal would fix me

[akutasoda]

'do you think that this, us, ever could be something more'

synopsis - you both have painfully obvious feelings for eachother but both of you are hesitant to take that step until they decide to brave their feelings and confess in their own way

includes - dr ratio, argenti, jiaoqiu, aventurine

warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight angst (mainly aventurine), pining, wc - 2.2k

a/n: guys i promise im working on requests :))

dr ratio ★↷

ratio detested you, namely the way you constantly refuted his words and theses. nonetheless, he adored nothing more than seeing you everyday - he'd say you were the one competent mind to converse with in an average day but you both knew deep down that it was purely because you enjoyed each other's company.

your friendship with the doctor was one of the most unlikely, others at the intelligentsia guild couldn't imagine anyone developing more than a simple coworker relationship with ratio. to some, even maintaining something as simple as a coworker relation was an arduous task.

however, you never saw the issue. ratio was a dear friend, it's merely the fact that he naturally gave off a rather off-putting first impression thanks to his slightly gloomy and eccentric nature. deep down he still retained these qualities but he could be a lot more caring in his own way.

although, for all his intellect, ratio struggled to maintain a grasp on his own emotional intelligence. a fact that could maybe be said for you as well, although compared to ratio you simply didn't know how to, or even if you should bring up the undoubtedly growing feelings for the doctor.

ratio knew what he was feeling, simply a release of oxytocin that caused those fuzzy feelings when he was around you. however he couldn't quite piece together the idea of you being behind those feelings, why your friendship wasn't enough, longing for something more than what you two currently had.

he'd never confide in anyone about his dilemma - he didn't need unwanted outsiders budging in on his personal issues. although, ever since he started looking for solutions, he started noticing signs that had previously gone unnoticed. namely how you acted around him.

a major concern between two crushes is the possibility of unrequited feelings. veritas would prefer to avoid such mistakes and push any potential feelings away if that was the case. so he often dwelled on the possibility of such. but it appeared that all the signs he misconstrued as friendly gestures and behaviour from you, could in fact be taken as more romantic.

he observed more as he had to be one hundred percent and in his quest, his mind slowly became more aware of his own feelings and why they only seemed to blossom more around you. ratio hated it. his feelings were like a gnawing feeling, constantly playing on his brain and it got to the point where he couldn't focus on his research - he would blame you, but he blamed himself more.

veritas knew he had to do something about it. and so he did. ratio was never one to beat around the bush, and so he took a direct approach to his confession - as soon as he could, he sought you out and told you about his feelings. relief washed over the doctor's unknowingly tense form when you told him about reciprocating such feelings.

you couldn't help but note his slight embarrassment afterwards, made evident by the heavy blushing which he quickly covered up by wearing his plaster head.

argenti ★↷

the encounter between the two of you among the cosmos was one of the more fortunate ones. a fleeting moment within the universe that set a start for the tale of a friendship that would last practically forever.

in his opinion, meeting you on his journey felt like a blessing from idrila themselves. in argenti’s eye's you were practically breathtaking in any way, everything about you from your mere presence to your voice to your appearance. it was only natural that he wanted to know more about someone such as yourself - and he was forever grateful he indulged his curiosity.

a blossoming friendship was easily formed between the two of you, one that had solid foundations to continue headstrong, even becoming something more should that be the path you took together. for all his charms, argenti made a true friend - someone that was always there for you in your corner, supported you, a pure soul that listened intently, someone that cared.

and for someone that seeked the aeon of beauty, it was hard for him to miss seeing the beauty of which were his feelings. flurries of emotion that could hold a powerful grip on someone's heart and actions if left unchecked and untended to. so as soon as those signs of warmth and calmness appeared strongly around you, argenti knew what it was.

that infatuation and pure admiration for you could only suggest that he subconsciously longed for something more than a friendship. in truth, argenti was devoted to idrila. he found beauty in practically everything, followed idrila’s teachings diligently and so he never truly imagined having someone else in his life that meant more to him than an aeon he devoted his life to.

but it couldn't be ignored, those feelings couldn't be left to simmer in the back of his mind as deep down he knew he wasn't content to sit by and keep the current relationship with you - although if that was what you wished, he would gladly sacrifice his own feelings just for you. however argenti was one to take risks.

a direct approach to voice the beauty of his feelings for you, should you decline them then so be it, but he wouldn't know until he tried. comoared to his usual gestures which could often be described as “grand” or “charasmatic”, a confession from him would be noticeably more gentle and intimate.

a moment of pure safety, he'd waste no time in reciting to you exactly what he wanted to say with a smile of lovestruck fondness as he presented you with a rose, all the thorns layed upon it's stem signalling the dedication and sacrifices he'd be willing to make for you - it's petals in full bloom.

jiaoqiu ★↷

being friends with jiaoqiu was never easy, although nobody exactly said it was easy. the pink foxian had the tendency to be rather cunning, mischievous even, and these traits only seemed to double when you actually got closer to him.

however, some could argue that eventually one would get used to jiaoqiu and everything he'd do or say - to an extent, they wouldn't be wrong but it still never made it any easier on most days. (un)fortunately you still put up with him as he was still a dear friend in the end.

jiaoqiu did have people he acquainted with or even people he was friendly with but ultimately he still had very few he would truly refer to as friends. he spent most of his time serving his dedication to helping the merlins claw and that was mainly his sole priority, jiaoqiu was determined to treat her.

so naturally, those closest to him did end up being those close to feixiao in the first place. yet he still found time to spend with those he held dearest, which was either you or moze and feixiao.

however, it didn't go unnoticed to either you or jiaoqiu that there was something there. something that couldn't be described as a simple friendly relationship, yet neither of you addressed it and continued on with your lives as if that feeling wasn't there in the slightest.

jiaoqiu knew very well that he longed for something more with you. you were the only person which drew out these warm feelings from him that had been killed during his time in the field and yet you had a way of bringing them back to him.but he simply couldn't cime to terms with it.

he'd withdraw from practicing medicine once before due to a broken heart, and deep down a part of him feared that you would make that a second time. so he tried to drown away those fuzzy feelings and tell himself over and over that you two were simply just friends, nothing more despite the clear longing urge to be that made him feel an immense sadness at the idea of never being something more.

and so jiaoqiu was hesitant. he wasn't dumb and he knew exactly how he felt for you, and he even could pick up on the way that you felt the same but somewhere in his mind he'd convinced himself that it was simply his own wishful thinking, not your true feelings. however, his hesitancy couldn't last much longer as he cursed you for affecting his work.

he'd be more of a fool to continue on without coming to grips with his blaringly obvious feelings for you, he knew it would eventually eat him from the inside out. and so jiaoqiu would begrudgingly find a way to confess, still letting that nagging fear affect just how he'd do so.

he'd catch you in the morning, handing you a personal meal for lunch like he occasionally did when he had free time in the morning. except this time, your gaze would immediately notice the small note tucked away within, one that you wasted no time in reading it's contents.

a part of him regretted giving you a note as the anticipation weighed heavy upon his mind, but otherwise he knew his nerves would've got the best of him. jiaoqiu specified in the note about his feelings, and how if you were to reciprocate them then you should come find him. this way he could avoid the painful rejection if it so came to that. until then, he waited in anticipation, still fearing your answer.

aventurine ★↷

he had coworkers, he had business partners who lways got the short end of the straw in a deal with him, and he had acquaintances. someone could even say they were the bare minimum for being a good use as stoneheart for the IPC. however, he did have some people that were closer than that, namely veritas and you.

and to reach that level with him was no easy feat. the man known as aventurine had put up many walls, facade after facade all in order to keep what little of himself left safe. the small parts of him left untouched by experiences that were painfully his and yet he could fool himself into believing that they belonged to an identity that no longer existed.

sometimes ‘aventurine’ didn't feel like him. it wasn't. if anything it was another defense that the past identity had let be forced upon him to help scramble for something good in his life. for someone blessed with luck, it never felt like it.

but his luck finally brought him something pure, something that finally felt like luck. and that was meeting you. a light that shined ever so brightly in his life despite all else, evoking feelings from him that he swore he buried when he bid goodbye to his past self. yet you dredged them from the darkest depths of himself, the parts that he feared and constantly kept hidden from himself.

however, old habits die hard. the very moment aventurine became conscious of what had bubled to the surface of his facade, he desperately tries to push them away. those warm, fuzzy feelings that he felt around you meant only weakness to him - something that you could choose to exploit.

his feelings were merely a chip. a means to use and manipulate at his disposal. they got in the way majority of the time, they could reveal ones desires or wants unknowingly and that never led to anything prosperous - especially in a high stakes gamble. but they were a chip for him and him only.

nevertheless, how could he possibly ignore them any longer when it seemed that his own brain was working against him. it made him feel all the more vulnerable, especially because of the idea of him confronting them just to have his heart painfully stomped upon and have his feelings left to painfully mull over into bitter sadness and reject.

fortunately, aventurine was quite the adept one at reading other people - a skill he'd learnt very quickly. so the hopeful part of him observed how you acted around him, picking up on the obvious signs that he previously misconstrued as friendly or simply ignored. eventually, he decided that the gnawing feeling needed to be sorted.

and so aventurine decided it was best to finally let down those final walls and comfess. because he was putting himself in a vulnerable position, he would get straight to the point. people may guess that he would go all out for a confession but that would be the last thing he'd do.

admittedly he let a small part of his fear get the best of him but he would still build up the courage to request to see you and confess face to face. he truly didn't know what he would do if you turned him down but he'd figure that out if it happened. it wouldn't go unnoticed by you that he held one hand behind his back at all times during his confession - the only time in ages that he'd been completely honest with his feelings to someone he trusted.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[seelestia]

⟡ within your waking thoughts (there i’ll be).

⎯ what do they do when they miss you? how do they cope with yearning when you're away? { y for yearning ノ ordered by @floraldresvi! (sorry for the ping!) }

RESERVED FOR! ノ characters. aventurine, sunday, dr. ratio ft. gn!reader. { 1.3k words }

FLAVOR! ノ genre. fluff, slight angst (my apology to sunday lovers yet again), established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ノ tags. aventurine has his tech savvy moment, pre-2.2 sunday (heavy references but no spoilers), ratio has two phones (king of separating work & personal life !!!).

BAKER’S NOTE! ノ thoughts. a repost! bcs tumblr didn't like it the first time. hopefully, this one will be here to stay. thank u to vivi for requesting this ‹3

© seelestia on tumblr, may 2024. please do not repost, plagiarize, translate, use for AI-related purposes or claim as your own.

in your absence, aventurine welcomes little thoughts of you that float around his mind with open arms - and the way he indulges them is by simply texting you. effective and efficient, there is a reason why the cosmos calls it the second most used means for long distance communication. what about the first? well, he would've opted for calling you with his earpiece if only his line of work doesn't require 90% of its usage time.

let's just say the idea of fellow stonehearts interrupting his conversation with you ruins the fun. besides, he has deft fingers; coin tricks aren't the only thing in his book, you know, typing a few sentences in one go is no problem at all.

but maybe, he is using that too much to his advantage . . . considering the “25+” staring back at you from your notifications every few hours or so. aventurine is truly, irrevocably relentless.

anything even remotely in your favorite color found within his vicinity? new message: Saw something that reminded me of you, you must really like crossing my mind.

an item he thinks would fit you well? new message: I got you a gift. Does it suit your fancy? [1 attachment]

reminded of how cruel fate is to separate you two for so long? new message: Haven't seen your face in a while. Fifteen hours are a total too cruel, don't you agree?

have faith that you will never grasp the true meaning of boredom when you’re apart from him. luck follows a man like aventurine, so do interesting events - remember how he won a vacation to a resort with one chip? he revels in telling you stories of his encounters while you're away. it is as if thrill revolves around him constantly. . . one wonders just how he fares living on the edge of it all.

(you, for one, are aware of his ways. he has allowed you to wander far enough behind his masquerade, after all.)

of course, texts on an illuminated screen can barely compare to seeing you in person. he prefers having you in his arms instead - but he'll live. solitude is an old friend of his, albeit distant and cold, aventurine can deal with its company every once in a while. at the end of the day, he knows you’ll be there when he comes home.

though, it's such a shame he cannot see your face when you're apart. the curve of your lips as you smile, the twinkle in your eyes with his reflection in them, and. . . ah, seems like he is making this harder for himself. maybe, he should consider buying that HD holographic communicative device on the market? his ears caught wind of some P45 officers at pier point whispering about it before.

it'll cost a large sum of credits but hey, he thinks it'll be worth it. for you? anything is possible.

(...him? clingy? well, guilty as charged.)

sunday’s self-discipline is not something to be underestimated. halovians are a species known for their enchanting voices, yet he feels as if he cannot spare any for even his inner thoughts. what an irony. his longing for your presence is persistent, tumbling at the edge of his tongue - but he is equally as, if not more, stubborn and so he swallows this yearning down instantly.

you are not confined to the dreamscape like he is, as self-imposed as that may be. sunday is aware of that, hence his first instinct is to keep quiet. the curse of sealing his lips till forevermore; watching you leave through the grand doors, letting his gaze fall to where your shadow used to be, savoring the last of your remaining fragrance from when you last bade him goodbye - all without a word.

(don't go, he wished he could say.)

is it a bad habit? “your voice shouldn't be used just to utter words that others want to hear,” you reminded him once. “it's also for you. it's yours.”

but even then, your words are akin to a faint whisper; muffled by the thoughts that plague his mind like a mist. he can't help how they fog up his reflection in the mirror, leaving remnants of something acrid that wafts in the air. something like doubts, sunday would know because he has dwelled in it for as long as he remembers.

you are outside, fluttering your wings in the sky and enjoying what it has to offer. does he have any rights to disturb you? perhaps, in his eyes, sunday views himself as a string tied around your talon, trailing all the way from the heavens where you soar to the humble ground where he resides. each time your absence compels him to reach out, it is as if he’s tugging on that string and dragging you lower from the height you truly relish in, from the height you deserve to be at.

(sunday believes that you belong to the sky, unlike him.)

so here, he shall stay and here, he shall wait until you return. sunday’s heart begins to grow cold - but the farewell kiss you've left on the apple of his cheek hasn't faded. its warmth remains, even when he brushes his freezing hand against it, it remains.

you remain.

(and that is enough for him.)

dr. ratio is a man with a packed schedule, so it's safe to say he keeps himself occupied particularly well. tasks at the intelligentsia guild are nothing short of demanding, after all. there are researchers asking for his input left and right, although some tremble while speaking to him even when he hasn't even uttered a word yet. ignoring that, he also aids in projects that require his expertise. last but not least, his students and classes which he takes very seriously.

(but be careful with how you phrase it — the doctor doesn't view them as distractions, no, he sees them as his responsibilities — saying the former might offend him.)

as you can see, he is perfectly capable of spending time away from you. . . .or at least, until it's time for a break and a part of that perfection chips off.

his office is quite tranquil, free from outside noise, just the way he likes. this place bears a similar purpose as his headgear, to let him focus in silence without disturbance - but he hasn't expected that exact silence to be this deafening. hah, how absurd! in what realm of possibility could silence ever be associated with deafening as an adjective? he supposes it could be a case of tinnitus. . . but veritas knows that isn't the case.

something's missing and it is, much to his dismay, you.

veritas has his standards. he prefers things to be set at a specific level - and this level of silence, one marred further by your lack of presence, is too low for him. he's getting too used to seeing you barge into his office with neatly packed sandwiches in your hands, a revelation he'd rather keep to himself.

veritas reaches for his personal phone, his work one left neglected at the far end of the desk. he considers making a call to you but the clock is ticking. tick tock tick tock, as if to hang the fact that his break is reaching its end over his head.

utilizing whatever time he has left, his finger gives the gallery app a tap. various pictures pop up on the screen; selfies of you with silly expressions, candid shots of veritas himself and some photos of random objects like your matching mugs. all of these were taken by you, of course. seriously, is this his phone or is it yours?

who knows at this point? he nearly lets out a snort, but that smile on his face is fooling no one. the doctor continues scrolling through his gallery, utterly content with just this until he gets home. to you.

(yes, yes, this still counts as keeping himself occupied. thank you for your concern.)

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

[imagionationstation]

Today on the Mikey Is Not Abused news

Research shows that 78% of the “Poor Mikey” fanclub claims that Mikey is incapable of standing up for himself, whether that be because he fears further abuse, fears his brothers in general, suffers from intense depression, an abuse sort of conditioning, or *insert other incredulous views here* (Statistics may not be entirely accurate and should be used with caution).

Unfortunately for them, Mikey does knows how to stand up for himself and it has been shown that he can speak his mind to even the main abuser, Raphael, and walk away unscathed.

Astonishing claim, I know, but the facts prove themselves.

Mikey has brought up beliefs on several occasions, but his lack of awareness outside his own mind often disproves his own claims.

Years of leprechauns, cream cheese demons, and certainty in cupcake uprisings have worn down his brothers’ trust in his word on many different subjects. This is not his brothers ignoring him out of spite. This is merely because he has proven himself to be an unreliable source when it comes to reality.

His lack of interest in taking most battles and training sessions seriously grate on his brothers’ nerves and often lead them to doubt his prowess and abilities on the field. Mikey being the youngest and earning all of their must protect with life instincts doesn’t exactly help his case. He knowingly brings much of their wrath upon himself- with tauntings, and purposefully infuriating acts, and the constant reappearance of Dr. Prankenstein.

When Mikey doesn’t go gun-hoe or call Raph out for a whack on the head, it’s probably because he’s conscious enough to know he likely said/did something stupid, or because he purposefully did something annoying.

However, if he sees an injustice affect another by his brothers’ hand, he will be the first one to stand up and correct it.

Mikey is proven to be more likely to speak his mind when it comes to others around him getting retribution that he deems underserved.

IN FACT, a few of the only times fans actually see an aggressive argument/challenge poised to a brother is to Raphael, often in regards to his crass judgement.

Take Fourfold Trap as an example:

“I got the answer for you! Karai’s a lost cause!”

“Don’t say that, dude!”

Mikey shoves at Raph’s shoulder to make him face him and they both begin yelling/bickering/roughly gesturing. Mikey is in no way scared of how Raph will react to this and is immediate in getting physically aggressive and speaking his mind.

Not normally how someone who’s been abused all their life would act towards the main abuser, I think. Not convincing enough?

Well, The Curse of Savanti Romero is another:

In it, Renet is seen admitting to her mistake of letting Romero loose. Raph responds by immediately coming down on her for it, even though she understands and regrets her mistake.

Mikey has zero hesitations about jumping into the picture.

“You really are the worst time traveler ever! The worst!”

“Back off, bro! She needs our help!”

Psychology of most abusers would not point to this kind of situation going well. If this were the case- in no universe would Raphael have relented under his brother’s glare and stepped away, especially not after being shoved and yelled at in front of someone outside the family. That would be seen as a calling for punishment.

Moving away would be letting the abused assert dominance and think that they’ve gotten away with a win.

If this were really an abusive relationship, then Raphael would have had a far more violent reaction to his youngest brother butting in.

Instead, he growled, glared, and then relented. He could tell this was not an issue that could be further challenged. Mikey was standing his ground, intensely meeting his glare, and so Raph stepped away.

Now, have there been times where Mikey felt like he was left out or being ignored and that made him feel insecure?

Yes. Absolutely. Mikey Gets Shellacne is a prime example.

But, have the abusers, his older brothers, been made to share similar feelings of being unable to rely on their brothers at one time or another? Perhaps due to his direct or indirect actions? Why, yes.

Because, as hard as it is to believe, every person in that family has made mistakes when dealing with another family member. Relationships are hard. Not one person, or mutant, is perfect, and facing or accepting insecurities is always a fact of growing up.

Is this to say Mikey never stands up for himself?

No. Not even close.

Is it ever portrayed as something big and dramatic as a focal point of an episode? No. Because it doesn’t need to be.

If Mikey holding onto resentment and depression from how his brother abuse him was meant to be part of his character, it would have been a plot point in the episode where they’re literally in his brain. There would have been the slightest hint of something going on somewhere in that chaotic realm.

Instead, Mikey’s brain welcomed all of his brother with open arms.

And the true, inner Mikey runs ecstatically toward his brothers and into Leo’s open arms for snuggles, no more scared of his brothers inside his mind than outside of it.

The only time that he has thoughts of “my brothers are so mean to me I should run away” is the episode The Croaking, where he takes accountability and has the realization that his brothers aren’t the jerks that he thought they were when he ran off…

“Dude. Your brothers sound awesome.”

“Yeah. They are… Even after I trashed the house.”

Mikey doesn’t often react violently to his brother’s teasing because there’s not a reason too. He understands that his brother’s pick on him, but in reality, he picks on them too. It’s not a big enough deal to point out unless an evil planet is letting Angry Mikey consume all of his thoughts and then everything is terrible.

Mikey can stand up for himself. Mikey will always stand up for others.

And that brings this article to an end. Subscribe for more!

Next time, we’ll discuss why Parasitica May or May Not have a worse reputation than it truly deserves. Cowbunga!

[iz-star]

About Zayne's possesiveness...

With Sylus calling us "kitten" all the time, I've seen Sylus mains being torn between if they like being called that or not, for some It's totally fine but for others is such a mood killer and I'm not a Sylus main but I'd be the second one for sure.

Then I remembered that Zayne once mentioned that I was his "favorite kitty" or that I was "his pet..." something like that? And I was like "where did he say that and why didn't I cringe when he said that? Maybe this is the effect of love (xD) maybe I understand Sylus mains better? I need to find out"

Then I remembered:

If Zayne is my personal Mr Kitty Cat, then I don't mind being his favorite kitty, we were basically the ones that initiated it and even put cat ears on him... So yeah, the whole vibe of this is totally different from Sylus' pet names.

However... He calling us "his pet" was a whole different story:

The way he lets his possesiveness slide for a second? You know, all of the guys are possesive somehow, they only show it differently, in this case, Zayne's possesiveness doesn't show too often cause he's aware that to be possesive of something is to allow yourself to show your weakness, to implicitly say "This person has a great power over my feelings or my behaviour bc It's mine..." that's why he stops himself when he says "Don't leave it with anyone else or I'll—" and then changes the approach "Do you want to leave it with someone else?"

And as the player, it leaves us hanging... Thinking "What would you do, Dr Zayne? What are you willing to do?"

We have to think about these questions from the perspective of Zayne's persona, of the kind of guy he is. We know the other guys have a bounty and have committed crimes/ killed people, while Zayne has done none of that and it's on the completely opposite side of things: He's a well respected doctor, has saved tons of lifes, is obssesed about saving people, a workaholic cause he knows the world needs him. The worst thing he's done (as far as we know) is that he had to kill his friend William when he was turning into a Wanderer and even so, it was William the one who asked this of him after Zayne desperately tried to save him against all odds.

Zayne is not someone who would even think of hurt others easily, even if he's quite able to cause others harm, just as much as the other LIs, but all versions of Zayne have in common that they're really kind. Sure, Dawnbreaker is a serial killer but we know he doesn't kill people out of joy but instead mercy. Sure, Foreseer was quite severe when MC first met him but It's not as if she didn't deserve it when she literally intruded his place, lied to him and tried to steal his powers (lmao) and we know he was wary of Astra all the time so he didn't want anyone to enter the Tower for their own sake and he paid with his life the price to keep MC alive. Master of Fate was supposed to kill MC but instead he chose to seal her powers to give her another chance to keep on living the life she told him she wanted to live (even without him).

So it's interesting to think what would Zayne do for MC? Us? If he decides to be selfish and fulfill his desires, what would he do? It seemed like he was even questioning himself, showing too much of what he's not used to show (And now with SS we just know how much he needs MC/us).

So that's why he changes the approach. His feelings are involved in this sudden and unexpected show of weaknesses, so he asks us "Do you want to leave it with someone else?" Now asking us about what we feel but not quite giving us time to reply.

The way he calls us "his pet" comes now more like he's gained control of his feelings again and is calling us that as a punishment for making him go through this unwanted jealousy but he's so ambiguous and smooth about it, that is giving "if It's too much don't take it" vibes because he neither confirms nor denies that he was talking about us.

Zayne is the kind of guy that would spoil you and shows his love through different ways: taking care of you and your health, acts of service, affirmation, sparing time for you, having you as his top priority, always offering his time/ himself (Have you notice how Zayne says "My free time is all yours, do with it what you want" while Sylus says "Who is your free time for if not me? " or how Xavier asks "Do you want to sleep with me?" while Zayne asks "Do you want me to sleep with you?"), he gives and gives (and lord knows how much he's tried to change and be more careful about his words and actions so they don't come across as alof, bc yes, Zayne hates to be mistaken as a heartless person) but of course he's also willing to do all that as long as you work for it and earn it too and if you misbehave, he makes you pay for it and knows how to give you a firm "No" when you try to backpedal or get away with it.

He knows (or tries) to balance his depth love by spoiling you while at the same time letting you know that nothing comes for free (even if he'd give it for free). Balance is a word that fits him best in all the aspects of his life, especially when it comes about love. He shows his feelings if you show them too (he both says "I never thought I'd have only one person in my eyes" accepting you're the only thing he sees and he also says "I want to be the only one in your eyes and for you to be mine" expressing what he desires too in a soft way) and when he shows his possesiveness, he's letting himself to lose this balance and he probably knows that you are the only thing that could make him completely lose this balance. His evol seems to be an analogy of this behavior, Zayne is always hyperaware that he could lose control of it at any given time and maybe, when it comes about his feelings, does he feel the same? ("It wouldn't be love if I could control it"). He's scared of hurting you but is he scared of the things he'd do for you?

Especially bc, all his other lifes and the current Zayne have always shown the opposite of possesiveness, they sacrifice themselves and their happiness for your own happiness and your well being. When MC asks Foreseer Zayne "Didn't you say you don't want to lose me again?" his literal reply was "I will never lose you as long as you're alive and well" and when Master of Fate was supposed to kill MC, he chose to seal her powers away even if it also meant to sacrifice his presence in her life (even after he promissed that they would always be together and promissed not to leave her and desired fulfill those promises). Dawnbreaker's only solace is MC, he only yearns for her and nothing else, a powerful quote they say in his anecdotes is "It's better to die with clarity than living as a walking corpse" referencing to ppl that turns into Wanderers but this quote applies to Zayne too, in the sense that he's basically a walking corpse cause he doesn't live his own life. MC is the only thing that keeps him alive somehow and she's not even in his own world. Dr Zayne says "When you and the world wake up, I hope we do not meet again" bc he knows this is the best for you.

All Zayne's are filled with pent up yearning, want, need, desire, to a point It's seems it is about to overflow and he does a goddam good work at hiding it; no wonder why Dr Zayne is taking all the available chances with MC, but even he seems to be aware that this won't last forever and even in such period of time, why he seems so afraid to loose up... lose control of himself? Especially cause Dr Zayne seems to be the balance amongst all Zayne's, he's not as dark and depressive as Dawnbreaker, nor as cold and severe as Foreseer, nor as happy and carefree as Master of Fate but at the same time holds a little of all of that.

So the question here is, how a showcase of the loss of this balance would be? For now we can only imagine and come up with assumptions but I'm quite curious to see it playing fully ingame, you know? Altho I'm not sure if I'd like it if it comes at the cost of him getting hurt again.

[moonsaver]

Consider... Dr. Ratio getting a (yandere?) crush on a student from a different department. Not one of his students. Meet-cute without his stone head on so the student doesn't know he's *that* professor. Poor student has no idea who their new friend is they're opening up to

My favorite request thus far! Im gonna try my best, anon.

I imagine it happens when student reader is running an errand and has to go to the different department for it, and Dr Ratio is someone they meet along the way in a bit of a secluded corner, tapping his foot and thinking deeply, maybe even saying things out loud to himself when student reader chimes in and asks about it. One thing leads to another and you actually end up getting along.

I imagine it happens again, once in a while, every two weeks or so, and Dr. Ratio doesn't quite introduce himself – he probably assumes as a student you're well aware of things, and just doesn't feel the need to, since both of you just talk enough to problem-solve and share opinions and facts. It only starts to dawn on him that you probably don't know him until you bring up one of your classmates who transferred departments talking about their professor with an alabastor head that has no mercy at all. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed as he contemplates whether he even wants to tell you.. but he likes the arrangement both of you have. It's enough that both of you are meeting like this, no? You don't need to know who he "really" is.

And by that time, he doesn't realise just how much he actually likes your company. You open up to him in a leisurely manner, and he's.. pleasantly surprised. Considering Dr. Ratio, I imagine he doesn't actually have people confiding in him, or talking to him normally, since his mind is constantly racing. This change of pace with someone who actually understands him is enough to keep his attention.

Of course, he needs to tone down his own prodding and pushing. Technically speaking, even "if" he's taken a "bit" of a liking to you, you're still not his student.. it's a pity.

He knows the exact classes you could thrive in, the course material he's sure you would devour, and the exact assignments he's recently sent out to his students that he knows you'd accomplish well. Sometimes during your conversations, he throws in a few topics and suggests that.. ahem, Dr. Ratio's course covers thoroughly. It feels weird to refer to himself in third person, but he adjusts naturally, and he has to stop himself from immediately getting on the defensive when you point out your own issues with his infamously rigorous course.

Of course, it has nothing to do with the fact he wants to see you more often, even if it means you'll recognize him as a professor with his alabastor head on instead of your new friend that's a bit eccentric. He would love having you as a student, just the potential you have is enough to excite him. The smile on your face after you solve a difficult problem, your rambling about the amount of homework your useless professors have drowned you with, the chirp in your voice as you call out to him in greeting, still unsure of what his name is.. surely, management won't say anything if Dr. Ratio himself takes matters into his own hands and transfer you into his department?

And when you turn up to his office, his alabastor head is on as he effortlessly shoots down any of your protests.

But.. if you continue being uncooperative, fine. Go back to your own department. It doesn't take much to sabotage, Veritas has learned. Just a bit of setting up is enough to ruin your assignments, destroy some of your projects, tarnish your reputation among your professors.. it's simple. Now, now.. instead of trying to problem-solve, why don't you just listen to that eccentric, strange friend of yours and join his department instead? He'll help you out thoroughly.

It doesn't take long after you've shifted departments, and you find out your strange new friend was your stubborn, unhearing professor.. now, it's a pity, but you'll have to stay after classes. Hm? No, no. He won't bother listening to you. You have a lot to cover, and now that he's not keeping any secrets from you, he wants to hear everything about you in thorough detail. Don't think about getting away, either. He'll talk with security and management to allow you to stay much further after hours. No one's willing to help you escape. Now.. there's so much material to cover, so let him teach you on a personal level. That should get you going more easily.

He decides on keeping his alabastor head aside, staring intently at you as you scribble away the mountains of assignments he's just given. You're not allowed to get distracted. If you even so much as lift your head to look aside from him, or your homework, he's quick to guide you by his fingers on your chin towards him, a scowl on his face. For goodness' sake, at least look at your professor if you want to stop writing. He's still your little friend, isn't he? How about you tell him all about that classmate you were getting so chummy with? Don't lie now – he saw everything. It doesn't matter that he's in a different department, it's better if he knows. You're both.. close,no? This is just something friends share with each other. Or do you need an extra lesson taught by him personally?

[wordsinhaled]

The things Charles touches in Hell

Everyone run and look at @qwanderer's amazing gifset of the things Charles touches in hell that inspired this meta!!!!

TL;DR Charles' journey to get Edwin is not just retracing Edwin's steps following the maps in the notebook but also on some level specifically reflects the doubts Charles holds about his own capacity to be a good person (and, extrapolating from Edwin's confession, a worthy romantic partner for Edwin in the future). Everything Charles touches in Hell (the mirror in Limbo, the bell, the lock, the claw machine + Maxine grabbing him on the stairs) is designed to sow doubt in Charles - incidentally, much like Orpheus experiences doubt on the journey out of Hell with Eurydice.

-

The mirror

The mirror shows Charles his reflection, which he hasn't been able to see since he died. Jayden said in a Cameo that when he acted in this moment he was embodying Charles giving himself a pep talk about saving Edwin - so he's thinking about whether he is different enough from his father to be able to pull off this rescue, whether he's capable of it.

The mirror also reminds him that, being corporeal in Hell, he doesn't have the capacity to mirror-hop to Edwin, which would have been the easiest way to get to him. It's a tool he'd have had as an incorporeal ghost, a tool that he lacks in Hell. The mirror highlights Charles's need to be Useful to his loved ones and the doubt that if he isn't capable of being useful (especially in rescuing/protecting them), he isn't loveable. Later he says to Edwin "Well, I'm here now," and is able to use the tools in the bag of tricks to distract the doll spider and get Edwin to safety.

And though I don't think Charles is as consciously aware of this bit, the mirror's also a bit of a metaphor for Charles' people-pleasing and how Charles effaces himself in favor of his loved ones. Charles isn't able to be seen in reflections normally, as a ghost, just as he puts the comfort and mood of others above showing his authentic feelings/frustrations, so he isn't "seen" in those relationships. In the mirror in Hell, he can see himself, for the first time in over three decades, and it echoes a fear/doubt that if he shows up fully present in a relationship, romantic or otherwise, he will take up too much space for himself, or people won't like what the see when he is visible.

The bell

The bell speaks to Charles's doubts about impulsivity and its unintended negative consequences. Charles' on-the-spot impulsive decisions are a theme throughout the show - he identifies himself as "the one who does shit like this" in the pilot when possessing Esther. And he compensates for or offsets these things really successfully with resourceful thinking (see: the enchanted jar to replace the sprites' smashed vessel, etc.), and his quick thinking is a huge strength. But the bell here is an example to Charles of a time his impulsivity hurt others, even without him realizing.

Charles and Edwin have an exchange about it: "What about the bell?" "No - it hurts them." Charles experiences direct proof that his impulsive action caused harm to others that he can't fix or soothe, and this moment leads directly into Charles slowing down to take time to process/figure out his feelings for Edwin during the staircase confession rather than impulsively saying he was in love back right away. The bell reflects his fear of how his impulsivity could be a hurdle or liability in his relationships. The bell can also represent the fear that even something that typically makes Charles an asset to Edwin, a strength or a positive, can become something harmful if Charles isn't careful. It's the doubt that Charles' quick thinking, which complements Edwin's more regimented nature and desire to always "have a proper plan in place," could have an unintended harmful shadow side if Charles allows it to, so that he can't trust himself.

Also, the ringing of the bell that is meant to summon someone, much like the mirror, also speaks to Charles' desires to take up space and be perceived by others, and ties back to his doubt that he might take up too much space in a dynamic with someone else. Charles has missed being visible and living, wished to be "seen by someone his own age who's alive." The 'attention' piece might reflect Charles' occasional showiness - which became comfortable over years with Edwin, but which while alive he probably used to associate with negative consequences for himself for taking up 'too much space' or otherwise putting himself in a position where his dad or his peers would 'cut him down to size,' so to speak.

The ringing of the bell at a counter is, in theory, used to seek attention or service from someone, which would also mean Charles knowing what he wants in order to ask for it - and, in a relationship, being able to articulate his desires and needs. It would mean Charles subverting his usual way of being where he makes sure others have everything they need, to prioritize his own wants and needs. It represents his doubt of his ability to be vulnerable in a relationship.

The lock

Irene's phrasing "manipulate for access" about the lock got me thinking about the idea of Charles being able to pick any lock, having confidence in his ability to do so, and even others having confidence in his skill at it ("Big lock" "I'm sure you can open it"). It parallels Charles being good with people, being the one who "everyone likes […] eventually" because he's a "good sort of chap" - but also makes me think it reflects a fear that others will be taken in by the façade of affability he takes care to put on for others' comfort, and make themselves vulnerable to him only for him to hurt them. The classic sort of not-wanting-to-continue-the-cycle-of-abuse type fears.

The bell also highlights Charles's differences from David (who Crystal says "must have lied to [her]" to get her to "let him in" to possess her, as Edwin put it in that same scene). Charles doesn't actually manipulate people for access to their bodies, but it calls back to the doubts he experiences in 'The Case of the Two Dead Dragons' about being compared to Crystal's ex/Brad and Hunter in how they exploited women. The lock also speaks to the doubt that once he has actually gotten someone to like him, or if he were to enter into a relationship with Edwin, they're only there because they've been 'taken in.' Charles knows how to be a "cute distraction" to others or a temporary fling, he doesn't think people should be let in to see the dark emotions at the depths of him that he suppresses. The lock is a bit tied into the claw machine, I think.

The claw machine

The claw machine is associated with grabbing prizes and reflects Charles' self-doubt in general and the ways he seeks praise. It speaks to his issues with feeling fundamentally deserving of love and the fear/doubt that he doesn't actually deserve the "prizes" he gets (being praised by others, or receiving Edwin's love without any expectations or conditions).

It's also a game, and in those types of claw games there's usually a lot of maneuvering the claw, trying over and over and failing to grab the prize, "falling short" if you will, even despite having skill at the game; the prize might slip free and be lost, etc. - much like how Charles always felt he was falling short of his dad and never reaching making him happy/proud ("no matter how nice I was, or how good at sports I was"). When it comes to Charles + games: Cricket was a game Charles excelled at and yet never quite made the mark of his father's approval no matter how many trophies he got, etc.

The claw machine can also be a metaphor for the cycle of abuse. It speaks to the idea that Charles was caught up in a sort of 'rigged game' - an endless cycle of abuse in which his abusers held physical, emotional, social, or systemic power over him and he would inevitably end up 'losing' the game with its uncertain rules and would be hurt (by his dad/his peers or by society). While alive he was playing the assimilation/likeability game with his friends for the prize of feeling belonging, only for them to turn out to be the ones to kill him.

(Notably, the way out that Edwin ended up taking was a hole smashed in the wall behind the claw machine, bypassing the game entirely - and Charles retraces the path Edwin took. This shows how Charles doesn't need to actually keep trying and failing to reach an unattainable/shifting goalpost in order to be loved unconditionally or be deserving of love. It also foreshadows he can take a different path that would break the cycle of abuse, that indeed he is already breaking it.)

+ Maxine

Bonus, since this one touched him and not vice versa - Maxine grabbing Charles on the stairs and knocking him off-balance. In life Maxine was a stalker, an abusive person who was invasive towards and controlling towards her romantic interest. Ultimately she became physically violent and tried to kill Jenny. This has been spoken on in other metas, but much like the Devlin House reflected his fears of becoming like his dad, Charles encountering Maxine on the stairs reflects Charles' basic fears of continuing the cycle of abuse in a romantic relationship and emotionally or physically hurting his partner by being overbearing/controlling/violent. Maxine being present on the staircase during the confession also underscores this doubt in Charles.

[pesky--dust]

Do you believe Will orchestrated the escape? Was he intending to flee with Hannibal or was he genuinely planning to kill him?

First of all, I think that Will is a character whose behavior we cannot predict - just like Hannibal said.

In the first season, Will was vulnerable, but in the second season, he started manipulating people to get what he wanted, and he told Alana and Hannibal that he was an unreliable narrator of his own story. And I believe that this is true throughout the series, to a greater or lesser extent.

In The Wrath of the Lamb Dolarhyde attacked Will in a motel. Will was aware that Dolarhyde wanted to meet Dr. Lecter, Dolarhyde himself told him so! And this scene, according to the script, ends with the following words:

CABAL. The synonym for this word is intrigue.

So I believe that Will decided to use Dolarhyde to free Hannibal, knowing now that since Hannibal loves him and Will plays it right, Hannibal will do whatever Will asks him to do.

So yes... I believe it was orchestrated by Will to some extent.

However, was he intending to flee with Hannibal or was he genuinely planning to kill him?

That's a good question! And I will repeat what I have already written: I think that we cannot predict Will's behaviour. In Mizumono he called Hannibal at the last minute and was not sure what to do until the very end and in The Wrath of the Lamb Will tells Bedelia, "Decisions are made of kneaded feelings. They're more often a lump than a sum". It is what actually drives him.

I think he wasn't sure how this escape would turn out. Would Dolarhyde kill Hannibal? Both of them? Or would Hannibal kill Dolarhyde and him? Maybe just Dolarhyde? Or maybe he'll just leave the FBI's dirty work and not get his hands dirty in the process?

And so, another pillar of this series is curiosity. I believe that apart from his feelings, Will was also guided by his curiosity about what would happen. In my opinion, there was no grand plan. "Everything that can happen happens. Has to end well, and it has to end badly. Has to end every way it can", "If everything that can happen happens, you can't really do the wrong thing. You're just doing what you're supposed to do" (Primavera).

[EDIT, because I forgot to write about something I find important]

In ... and the Beast from the Sea, Will tells Hannibal, "I'm not Fortune's fool, I'm yours". "I'm Fortune's fool" comes from Romeo and Juliet. It's about acceptance of the fact that you have no control over your life, because everything is up to fate; Will tells Hannibal that he is his fate and so he accepts it. And in the very next episode Will finds out that Hannibal in fact loves him.

In The Wrath of the Lamb, when Will comes to Hannibal to ask him to be a bait, in his memory palace, he stands on the skull engraved in the floor, where years ago Hannibal left him his broken heart. Will accepts Hannibal's heart now and chooses him, with all its consequences, not knowing what would happen.

[END OF EDIT]

And in The Wrath of the Lamb, Will tells Reba that Francis couldn't watch her die. When Dolarhyde shot Hannibal, Will reached for his gun. I think that both curiosity and his own feelings made him want to protect Hannibal and kill Dolarhyde in this very moment.

His feelings after killing Dolarhyde caused him to throw himself and Hannibal off the cliff (personally, I think the fall didn't happen at all and is just a metaphor, but that's a topic for another post), knowing that he would never feel better.

This answer turned out to be longer than I thought, so tl;dr:

Yes, Will orchestrated the escape.

Will is driven by his feelings, curiosity and whims (as Chilton said in Hassun), so I think that he didn't have any bigger plan than freeing Hannibal and see what would happen and then ended up being driven by his feelings. So I would say that he neither planned to run away with Hannibal nor to kill him. He was acting on the spur of the moment. If Hannibal killed Dolarhyde? Great, one serial killer down. If Hannibal had killed both Dolarhyde and Will? Okay, they're finally free from each other. If Dolarhyde had killed him and Hannibal? Finally it was all over. But Dolarhyde killing Hannibal? Oh no, Will couldn't bear to look at it.

[aurae-rori]

DR RATIO ANALYSIS: PART 2, ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT.

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, you already did one, why do you need a second?" And my answer is, "LORD, I FORGOT TO TALK ABOUT HOW HIS DEFINITION OF 'IDIOT' IS DIFFERENT. AND ALSO HE DOES NOT HATE AVENTURINE NOR DOES HE THINK AVENTURINE IS STUPID." Once again, here is my disclaimer - although I have been researching psychology for a solid six years, I am NOT a professional. (I will be, one day. Just you wait, just youuuu wait-) So understand that everything I say has been analyzed with personal judgement, with my own conclusions, come to with logic and my personal interpretation. This is just what I have concluded, and you are always free to disagree.

This is my legacy. To be an analyzer. So let's go.

Okay, now that my disclaimer is over, let's take off Ratio's plaster head and chuck it into the sea, and see - what does he mean by 'idiot'?

This will be much shorter than my last, so don't worry - I will not be flashbanging you with another 4k words. This is more like a follow up, than anything else, because there's a few things I wish to touch on.

Dr. Ratio doesn't hate idiots in the sense that he hates people that have 'low IQ' or are 'stupid' in terms of being 'slow to understand'. I definitely touched on this in my last analysis, but he hates people who take their education for granted and don't go places with the gifts that they've been given. He hates "idiots" - "narrow minded" people who have the capabilities to do more and perceive more than they choose to do. People who deliberately look away or take what they know and what they could do for granted. He wants to open people's eyes and allow them to see life from multiple different angles and he believes that everyone should have a chance to learn - with the whole "knowledge for everyone" thing he's got rolling.

He wears a plaster head around people he doesn't seem to know too well in order to think more, or so that he doesn't have to see the faces of the people he dislikes. Pretty good roast. However, he does NOT wear that plaster head around Aventurine. Let's listen to the doctor's judgement - Aventurine is far from stupid. Although he likes to chalk up a lot of the things he does to his own luck, he is an INCREDIBLY capable individual who's managed to get this far because of his own form of genius. He's a man who relies on chance and good fortune, yes, but his charm, his way of scheming, and the way that he's good with people? That's skill. A talent he doesn't take for granted. Dr. Ratio respects him for this - because despite the fact that he has no proper education, he has his eyes wide open to the world and doesn't take shit for granted. He learns what he can in order to survive and he does it fucking well - Aventurine is a very smart man. He's observant, quick on his feet, and great at going with the flow and thinking in the moment.

Aventio aside, I actually believe that Dr. Ratio would be a really good teacher to those who struggle. He's patient where it's needed to be, even if he's got a quick temper, and I believe in his pursuit for knowledge he would do his best to go out of his way to find strategies that would work for their individuals. We're all unique, and he's aware of this - and because he wants to allow people to think for themselves, whatever helps the individual works. Depression? He's got a psych degree, I'm sure bro could give you some strategies. Autism? He has a touch of the 'tism himself. ADHD, and not feeling organized? Bro will help you. It's canon that he's a great fucking teacher - those who finish his classes go on to become successful people who are intelligent and critical thinkers. Round of applause for Ratio, the man that kins my father. He's shit at emotions, but great at knowledge.

Also, on that note, I believe that he would most likely hate parents that push thier "gifted" students to the limit without any compassion for the person that they really are. He's most definitely got some of that academic trauma so I believe that bro holds a secret disdain for parents who just use their children to gain more recgonition. Well, not so secret. He'd cuss them out. (Ratio please cuss out the horrible parents.)

Dr. Ratio, the Teacher ever. (Hey, maybe he'd get along with Kunikida...)

Also, I am definitely planning on making a fic where he teaches Aventurine Latin. As long as you're eager to learn and willing to look past the chalk being thrown, he's got a place for you.

Thanks for coming to my tedtalk. I did not read this through, so this is not edited. Take my unedited rambles.

[honeygrahambitch]

Jimmy Price stormed into the lab and shut the door closed behind him, making both Brian and Beverly direct their attention to him.

He looked as if he had committed a crime and needed to make a confession.

"I'm going to share something with you but it can't leave this room."

Beverly lifted an eyebrow unimpressed by his theatrics and closed the magazine she was reading.

"Fine."

"You're the Chesapeake Ripper?" Brian asked more for his own amusement but his smile faded when Jimmy's scolding glare was directed towards him. "Alright, alright, go on."

"So you promise you won't tell."

"We pinky promise we won't tell." Brian emphasized.

"I went to grab my sandwich from the fridge. The one that my wife has packed for me. And, after I bit into it I realized it wasn't mine."

"Huh?"

"Not to speak poorly of my dear wife, but the sandwich I grabbed was so excellent that it couldn't have been made by her."

"Asshole." Beverly commented.

"Wait, whose sandwich did you get then?"

"Well, we can do some profiling work regarding that." Jimmy went on. "Caramelized duck. Blue cheese. Fig marmelade."

"You ate Will's sandwich." Beverly concluded instantly and grabbed her magazine.

"Wait, Will can cook like that?" Brian inquired confused.

"Idiot, Hannibal must have prepared it for Will." Jimmy explained as the dread returned to his facial expression. "Oh no...I ate Will's sandwich..."

"C'mon, you can tell Will you bit into it and realized it wasn't yours, he won't be mad about the fact that a bite is missing."

"The problem is...it was so good I couldn't stop."

Beverly closed her magazine again as she and Brian sighed.

"Listen, I will give Will my sandwich."

"Sounds like a fair trade, pal. A ham and cheese sandwich for a Michelin star one. You are lucky Will doesn't care about this kind of things."

Jimmy wanted to say something more but he stopped as Will entered the lab holding some papers, Hannibal right behind him.

Jimmy looked at his friends with the kind of look that says "What the fuck is HE doing here?"

Beverly and Brian had to make an inhumane effort not to laugh at the situation.

Jimmy felt the weight of his crime even harder now that Hannibal was in the room. The man had put all his love into that sandwich for Will and he had eaten it with no hesitation. And poor Will was probably starving.

"Jimmy? Did you-" Will started but Jimmy cut him off before he could finish.

"YES. Yes, it was me. I apologize, I just couldn't stop, it was amazing. It was the best sandwich I had in my life and I-"

"What are you talking about? I am asking you about Alison Brown's blood work." Will was grateful that for once he was not the weird one in the room.

"Yeah, she had diabetes. I ate the sandwich Dr. Lecter has made for you." He confessed again, giving more context.

"Did you enjoy it?" Hannibal asked.

"So much."

"I am pleased to hear that."

Hannibal had already killed Jimmy in three different ways in his head. He had eaten his Will's food. At the same time, he was pleased with the good review. And it gave him a good reason to take Will out for lunch. Will would not starve himself while he was there to help him with the case.

He made the quick decision not to end Jimmy's life that evening.

"You're fine. Hannibal is not the Chesapeake Ripper, you won't die." Will said as he returned his attention to the file he was holding. "Now, what was wrong with Allison's kidney?"

Hannibal eyed Will in a way that held more meaning than Will's colleagues would ever be able to understand. The fact that Will made that comment being completely aware he was the Ripper, made him smile.

[sweetestbasil]

RUBATOSIS || chapter one: self digestion

PAIRING : Dr.Gaul's Assistant!Coriolanus Snow x Experiment!Reader-Insert ( afab, they / them, sometimes it )

RATING : 18+ ( no smut in this chapter, but it's very unsettling )

WORD COUNT : 13, 776

WARNINGS : infidelity ( coryo's engaged to livia ), power imbalance, unreliable narrator ( it's 3rd POV but focuses on coryo's view ), unhealthy dynamics, dehumanizing language, medical experimentation, body examination that has... strange vibes, body horror-esque, coryo and gaul are messed up in this fic, he's more like his book version than movie

SUMMARY : 🙶 rubatosis - noun. the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat 🙷

Fortune, marriage, and success - all within the hands of Coriolanus Snow, and it still isn’t enough to satisfy him. Tigris has grown distant and Livia is far more trouble than it's worth. 

Dr. Gaul has just the solution for him.

A/N : This is my first time posting my fanfic work on tumblr, so I hope everyone has fun reading this. If there are any mistakes, lemme know. This is the first of five chapters!

[ If you want to read it on AO3 instead ]

self digestion || autolysis - stage one of decomposition 

Oh, he hated this. 

He absolutely despised this.

A click of the soles, stepping against the freshly clean sidewalk, rid of any possible careless litter and debris. Had it not been for others who, too, were using the same path, even if they were going in opposite directions, had he half a mind, Coriolanus would have taken the moment to prop himself against a wall and let out the loudest sound of frustration. It wouldn’t be unwarranted, it wouldn’t be uncalled for. Dare he say, he almost feels he should be entitled to it. It had only been four days, but four days should have been enough time for Tigris to get back to him already. The correspondence was not even something of dire content, at least, Coriolanus imagined so. Questions of Grandma’am, if her time with Mrs. Plinth ( he was not going to refer to her as ‘Ma Plinth’ ) had been going well, how was the solo business venture regarding Tigris’s fashion going, was there any renovations that the home needed, how were they — things that he assumed, wrongly he guessed, that would be so simple to answer. 

God forbid that he still had the decency to still check in with his family even after he long moved out into his own place. 

If Tigris thought she could play him for a fool, she was the one in the wrong; the signs were as clear as can be, that Tigris was trying to ice him out as much as she could. And after all he’s worked hard for? Fixing the home up, making sure the fridge never stays empty, stabilizing the family. He’s even gotten engaged before Grandma’am could even croak, and is letting Tigris design his fiancé’s wedding gown! What else was he supposed to do to try and gain back her warmth? Dance and clap like a District to make himself seem smaller, more dumb, to please her? There was a lock to his jaw, a small grit in Coriolanus’s teeth, as he sipped down the coffee in his hand, the other in his coat pocket. 

He didn’t even wish to broach the idea of his fiancé on his walk to the Citadel. The heavy breath, a sigh, that breached itself out his lips. A hand raised to rub a gloved thumb briefly at the bridge of his nose. 

Ugh, Livia… It was a pain to even internally taste the words of her name on his tongue. 

It was an arranged marriage of convenience that he sought after, an extra piggy bank that he could expend on; and how quickly the elder Cardews lapped up at his palm when he planted the idea of marrying their daughter. A man who was of the old guard elite families, an assistant of Dr. Gaul’s, inheritor of the Plinth’s fortune, a gamemaker in training? They were downright salivating, that he almost felt embarrassed for Livia having to witness her parents’ stripped to their barest of greeds. The keyword being almost. Coriolanus needed to play his cards right to ensure his future, it was only fair game. If that meant taking his chance with the Cardews’ and their banks, he’d be just the fool that Tigris would want him to be if he turned them away. But, he could reluctantly suppose that the arrangement could be considered an equal drain on both parties. He seized their assets and their daughter seized up his free time. How could he forget the fundraiser dinner that Livia had invited them both to later on in the evening? She was delightful enough to remind him of it while they shared breakfast together, between his bites of quiche so that he couldn’t show a hint of a frown. 

Coriolanus sucked in a careful breath between his teeth. 

If she could only put herself to better use than just the one redeeming quality of a socialite. There was a slim chance he may have miscalculated. Perhaps it would have been an easier time, having something set up with Clemensia, or Lysistrata. 

“Mr. Snow! Good morning and welcome back, Dr. Gaul is already waiting for you in—“ 

“In Lab H05, got it! And a good morning to you, too.” He smiled back effortlessly to the front desk worker, giving them a wave and just the right, charming amount of teeth with the upwards pull of his mouth. 

Entering into the Citadel and seeing the hive of workers shift from one place to another in constant movement; they all tried to keep their voices at a low volume, but there was a constant buzz in the air, as they went from one hall to the other. Coriolanus maneuvered himself around them, slipping his deep mahogany overcoat seamlessly folded across his forearm. Full-Grain leather gloves that kept him warm from the cold, taken off his hands and instead placed neatly into the pocket of his overcoat. What a marvel it would have been for his young, naïve self to bear witness the luxury of a full wardrobe he now had. Never again did he have to spend long nights studying for the Academy besides an equally tired Tigris, who busied herself with trimming down the sizes of his father’s discarded shirts to fit him for school the next day. 

It was a muscle memory at this point, the path to one of the many labs that Dr. Gaul had established her practice in. She had told Coriolanus that she had a lab for each different study and project she was passionate towards, ones that were more… presentable, to the average Capital citizen, and ones that were more uncensored. Having worked for over a year under Dr. Gaul’s tutelage, Coriolanus had seen a decent amount, the clean and the vile, but even then, he knew very well he had not seen all. He wasn’t even sure if he did want to see all. Especially regarding what happened last time he wandered around the Citadel during Academy days. The doors to Lab H05 were wide open, Coriolanus noted, seeing it in his line of sight, getting closer and closer. It was inviting, telling any worker to come in and step in at any time ( should Dr. Gaul be around ). 

The air here was entirely different from what it was in the hallway. Where the air from when he first entered had been warm, inviting from the nipping cold outside. The vague smell of coffee, and an even fainter scent of something chemical, had mingled and intertwined to give the vaguest illusion that the Citadel could pass for a workplace like any other. However, the lab was as if entering an entirely different building. The lights that shone uncomfortably glaring, fluorescent lights that were hung overhead, on the ceiling. There were small lights, embedded into the floors and columns as well, guiding the path to any who walked in. It drowned the large room in an almost blue light. Lab H05 was one of the “clean” labs. A sterile scent in the air, the chemicals that were so faint in the halls were far more prominent, evident here. But, to the trained nose, there was something faint here too. The rusted scent of iron tickled under Coriolanus’s nose, but it barely registered to him anymore as anything concerning. Seeing the endless shelves of… odd specimens, the scent of blood was the last thing that should ever scare him away. 

“Dr. Gaul, good morning,” He kept a steady tone, not one that sounded tired, nor too joyous. Being seen as her “favorite” didn’t mean he could speak to her as casually as he pleased. It just meant that he took her current attention. A fickle thing that could be stripped away at any moment if he showed any less than acceptable. 

“Coryo,” He tensed his shoulders the same time she breathed it out in loving fashion. Her back once facing him, now turned as she walks towards him to cut the distance between the two. Since the gap started to form between Tigris and him, Dr. Gaul had taken to using that nickname on him. If it was to be used in terms of endearing him to her, or to mock him with the name that ghosts had called him, none could say for sure.

Coriolanus liked to believe it to be both, if he believed his assumptions of her character were right.

He never once let his eyes leave contact with her own, but he could hear the movement of her prominent, red latex gloves being peeled off her hands. She always thought it to be ironic, to wear such a color despite her profession. It matched the dye job that she had done on her surgical gown. He felt the weight of hands touching either side of his forearms, the smile on Dr. Gaul’s face caused a crinkle in her eyes as she bared all teeth in her smile. He wondered if she knew how threatening her grin looked.

“A morning to you as well. Has it been treating you good?”  

It felt as if some sort of warm feeling was spreading out from Dr. Gaul’s hands, through his arms and into his body. What a disgusting sensation, it made goosebumps rise on his skin. 

“As well as it could be.” Coriolanus’s voice spoke softly. 

Livia drained his energy far more than he expected with her morning rambles and gossip. 

Dr. Gaul’s hands smacked against his arms in a laugh, loud and knowing, she always knew, turning around to walk deeper in the lab. “Hah! By the sounds of it, it seems you’re not getting some peace of mind when you head home,” She turned back to look at him, giving him a glance, she was prying something out of him. “That’s no good, Coryo. You need to be in top shape to work, I can’t have my assistant become so… drained.” 

The crease in her eyes showed again. 

“If this is your preferred state, there is a new species of leeches I am working on. I assure you it is far more efficient than a Cardew of species.”

Well, now it was his turn to laugh. 

A dry chuckle that slipped from Coriolanus’s lips, moving to follow Dr. Gaul. Placing his coat on a table made of rich wood, something less… aseptic looking. There were moments where he often froze under the woman’s gaze; a humiliating, bodily reaction that made him feel so small, so vulnerable as he used to be. Yet, it was in times like these, where he could understand how Dr. Gaul still managed to hold sway over people besides just exemplary displays of fear and power. There was a sense of humor to her, if he could call it that, where if a powerful woman like her involved yourself in - you felt so included, special. 

“It was nothing like that. Livia just reminded me that after work today, she and I have to attend dinner later in the evening. It’s a fundraiser for the improvement and reconstruction of the Corso.” He turned his sight away from Dr. Gaul’s eyes, not being able to keep the contact any more. Flicking to the sight of the endless, bright shelves that lit up the tubes containing various specimens and experiments. Some failures, some on pauses, some successes, and some were just creative ‘what-ifs’; that would explain some of the seemingly useless fusions, like the jellyfish that had spider legs mixed in with some of its natural lappets, now encased in a resin tube. Coriolanus can’t recall if he was employed at the Citadel yet when this specimen was made. His fingers briefly touched upon the cool glass of it. What a disgusting idea. “I almost nearly forgot about it.” Dr. Gaul hummed at his response. 

“Why, doesn’t that sound riveting! What a joy young life is, flitting from one function to the other, all the night-time glamor. You know, before I was transferred to work in the Citadel, I was the same. I thought of giving my children some of my old wardrobe from my youth, but it’s so out of the current trends, it just collects dust now.” What a blessing, for her kids. They could avoid the embarrassment of coming into the room looking as if they robbed the Pre-Dark Days exhibit at the Capital’s museum. The heels of Dr. Gaul’s heels clicked against the smooth, waxed floor. Coriolanus could feel the brief sliver of her heavy presence pass him by from behind, as she went to head over to another area in the room. It sounded vaguely close to the center of it. 

“You must be excited, Coryo. Are you going to wear,” Her words paused. She was tasting the air for something. “Ah, what’s her name… That cousin of yours, the one who started her new business a while ago.”

What was the point of this conversation?

“Tigris.” 

A brief flare tickled behind his ribs, reminding him of his thoughts earlier before. Standing up from his spot, fingers now leaving the glass of the odd ( sickening ) creature, his prints left slightly behind on the glass. Stretching his shoulders back with his arms, muscles pulled, away from their previously hunched position. Coriolanus walked over to where Dr. Gaul was, who stood nearby another table at the center of the lab. This time, this one was far cleaner, made of what seemed to be a material of stainless steel. In her hands she carried a manila folder, or two, in her hands; her painted nails sifted through the papers carefully. She was writing something quickly down inside of it. He wanted to know, but he held his tongue. Gaul would tell him if it was something he needed to be aware of. 

“And I’m not sure. Livia is still picking out her dress and I want to match with her.” He smiled at her. 

“Aren’t you a romantic,” She gives him a look out of the corner of her eye, the blue one that matched his. It made his skin crawl, he hated the feeling of it. “Is your heart melting, Snow?”

Coriolanus hopes she sticks to her career as a Gamemaker, being a comedian looks like a bleak future for her. 

The smile on his lips grew wider, a small laugh at her words, his hand reaching to cover his mouth slightly to muffle the sound in the large room. 

“I wouldn’t say that just yet.” 

He wouldn’t say it at all. Livia? Melt his heart? Sure, she could melt his eardrums when she had that obnoxious snort to her loud laughs. It made her sound like a pig, shipped straight to the Capital from the farms of District 10. That would defeat the purpose of why he married her in the first place. It would be the utmost betrayal to himself, after he had promised to close himself after– 

“Since you have a date tonight,” His ears perked up immediately. “I’ll reduce the amount of work you have for today, I’ll be merciful.” He wouldn’t argue if she decided to give him more. She pressed a manila folder into his open hands, her grip was tight on it. This was a folder that not many eyes needed to be on. Taking it carefully from her hands, he raised it to his eyesight curiously, catching the sight of the project name written on top of it. 

PROJECT: CAPTIVE – A.01 PROMETHEUS 

Coriolanus brought his gaze back towards Dr. Gaul. He assumed he slipped a confused gaze at her, because before he could even ask her, she’s already speaking up:

“This is a project I had started around the time you were exiled in District 12.” 

His jaw slightly tightened. She didn’t have to use that exact word to describe it. 

“It’s far more… unique,” Her eyes rolled around the room as she sought out the word, the moment it landed on her tongue, she locked her sight immediately onto him. Gaul’s smile pulled a bit more at her cheeks, a festering excitement that was slipping out from her internal confines. The threat of teeth in her smile was no longer an attempt of niceties, but far more sinister in its intentions. Coriolanus would argue on a good day that both were the same, that Dr. Gaul’s cruelty was her being kind. “Than my other projects. Far more different than any of my other muttations, this is a beast of a different breed, but one that you and I know intimately well.”

 So this was a human experimentation, Coriolanus deduced. 

Dr. Gaul would never dare to refer to those below Capital ranks as something human, there was always something else she had to refer to them by. Animal, beast, plague, insect, if it stripped them of their humanity, she was eager to take it. They shared similar sentiments, but sometimes, he had to give them some form of distinct name to separate them. “I’ve actually grown quite fond of it. Usually, I’d handle its tests and exams, but you seem like you need a pick-me-up.” 

It should make him disgusted at how easily she could see through him. 

The older woman stepped further away from him, into one of the dark recesses of the room. Lab H05 was one of the main center labs within the Citadel, meaning it earned itself the privilege to have its layout be connected to other rooms, outside areas, halls, and the like. It just happened to be, the darker areas that Gaul was heading in were towards the direction of one of the elevators connected to the room. Coriolanus watched her body retreat into the dimly lit area, not quite following after her. He didn’t know why. His hands felt stiff with the folder in his hands. The pounding beat of his heart in his ears matched in tempo with the steps of her heels against the floor. If he was going to move, she was going to need to ask him. She knew too, the doctor knew her own footsteps, and she was very aware when others’ joined in. Turning around to look at where he still was, standing, watching, she looked back at him. Coriolanus could make out her faint silhouette in the dark, but Dr. Gaul’s blue eyes shone brighter in the dark. As if she had tapetum lucidum, how it reflected so wildly. She was not helping the rumors made against her, that questioned if she ever used herself for a subject of fascination. 

“Come now, Coryo. You don’t want to waste time.”

A silence fell upon them both. 

“Understood, I’m right behind you.”

Walking after her, Coriolanus descended the small set of stairs that she had gone down from, he stepped into the dimly lit area. The manila folder was still grasped tightly in his one hand, at his side. He didn’t understand it, he didn’t understand her. Yes, she said that she wanted to cheer him up, but he’d be a fool if he was to believe that’d was to be the only reason why she was doing this. Volumnia Gaul, telling confidential secrets because she cared for his well being? No, there was always something else. An ulterior motive she wished to serve, or a lesson she wanted to teach. When he was brought back from his sentence of being a peacekeeper, it was not because her heart broke over him. She was not weeping at him having to tread his feet into the muck and grime of District 12. It was because she was holding him up to an ambition that both him and her both wished to see. 

“This one,” Dr. Gaul started her words, occasionally turning her head to the side to make sure he was still following her ( he was ). “Started out as a simple curiosity. I had to sit with myself quite a bit to figure out a punishment that would actually serve some productivity.” Her hands reached behind her, flicking at the folder that Coriolanus was holding. He opened up the folder, finally, to look through the report. Whatever the Doctor was gesturing vaguely in conversation, it would be more explicit in her writings. “Displays of cadavers, desecration of the human silhouette, trauma to the cerebrum, these punishments can only go for so long before new ideas must be made. If the rebels expect the same disciplinary action, you can expect them to gain a tolerance to it.”

Squinting at the paper, he leaned his head slightly down to get a closer look of the subject. A small photo was attached to the report by a paperclip, it was a person who seemed to be in a similar age group to his. They looked clean, proper - they wore an ironed, white button up shirt under a dark vest, with unique, yet simple earrings they donned on. Pearls and tiny opals that dangled from a gold chain earring. A family heirloom, if Coriolanus had to guess. They smiled widely in the photo. Their teeth weren’t perfect, their upper cuspid was a bit more pointed in comparison to all others. 

They had once been a capital citizen, turned rebel, to… this. 

“I wanted to truly push my mind forward, and see if the impossible would truly be… well, possible.” Dr. Gaul grinned at the end of the sentence. Coriolanus lifted the photo up, after hooking his gaze unto the former for a moment. It’s a shame, he thought to himself. How pretty they are, had they not tainted their mind with childish ideas they would have continued to live in the comforts that they were so comfortably lavishing in before. He was curious as to whose family they once belonged to. A filthy curiosity enticed him, a want to digest more at the report at the risk of tuning out Gaul’s feverish ramblings. 

“Personally, I outdid myself.”

There was a small desire to curse her under his breath, the writing for the subject’s name was far too rushed and messy to read properly. Did she want him to read the report, or play word scramble? 

Dr. Gaul’s steps had stopped, the white noise of her chatter turned to silence was enough to bring his head back from the report. She stood between him and the elevator, holding her hands in front of her, folded. Peeking to the side, the button for the down level was lit up in a glow of red. Her smile widened. 

“Curiosity eating away at you, Coryo?” 

It still made his skin crawl, everytime she used that name. How frightening it was, that it also brought him a strange sense of the coldest warmth. 

“You’ve talked so vividly about them,” Not clear enough. “I want to see what makes you so excited about them.” He wants to see if they could come close to bringing him out of his frustrations. Fingers that touched the edge of the subject’s photo twitched in tempo with the small ding of the elevator. Doors opening, Dr. Gaul stepped to the side. Hands gestured, letting him know to step in first which he obliged. Yet, no other steps than his own followed him in. Coriolanus turned around, a puzzled look on his face when he noticed how Dr. Gaul was standing in the middle of the elevator’s doors. 

“Expected me to come join you? You can’t be so attached to my hip, Coryo.” She laughed, her hands reached in between her surgical gown and work attire. Pulling out a set of keys attached to her worker’s ID, she tugged a key off. Dr. Gaul dipped her body slightly in to twist at a lock that had revealed another panel of floor buttons aside from the usual floor ones. This must have been the key designated for the Citadel’s researchers and engineers. He had a private key of his own, but that was reserved for Game Makers. Still in training, but Dr. Gaul had persuaded the others to give him his own copy. “I have other things that need tending to, so you’ll have to have your fun without me.” Pushing a floor button that was labeled C09, glowing red under her touch, she gave him her key. She pressed into Coriolanus’s free palm, closing his fingers to clasp around it. 

“You can keep this one. I’ll ask for another copy.”

Was it because this one almost seemed rusted over to hell and back? Coriolanus wasn’t an idiot. He could feel the textured sensation of something that, usually, was supposed to be smooth metal. 

“Thank you, Dr. Gaul.” He spoke softly back to her. 

Dr. Gaul sent him another smile towards his way, the abominable sight of her gradually leaving his sight as the doors closed. A divide now between the both of them. 

Instantly, a breath of air was released from Coriolanus. His head reeled back, eyes closed,  leaning against the wall of the elevator. He was now by himself. Free from that imposing woman, he finally could be released from her watchful gaze. Always gauging him, examining him as if he, too, was another subject on her surgical table. Perhaps, in a strange, distant sense, he was. Which is why he likes it far more when their interactions are limited. Even if it makes him feel guilty if he hasn’t spoken to her for any prolonged amount of time. 

Another breath, he brought his head back down, eyes open. Opening his hand to where the key was held in his hand. It was frighteningly warm in his hand, most likely from when both Dr. Gaul and him held onto it. The material of the key was dark in color, rust having formed around some of the edges. Spots of dark stains marred its dull shine, it almost looks black in contrast to the key’s natural dark hue. This most definitely was blood, now dried. In his head, Coriolanus could see the vivid picture in his head: Dr. Gaul barely bothering to remove her gloves after leaving the examination room, holding the key between sticky gloves. A sneer pulled on Coriolanus’s face. He pocketed the key away. 

He wanted to focus on something else. 

The weight of the manila report at his side stuck out glaringly obvious, he still had yet to fully read through everything. His fingers were still thumbing between one of the pages, bookmarking a random place in the report. Should he wait to see the project on his own? Give himself something ‘fun’ to surprise himself with? A discomfort prickled at the hairs on his neck. No, he didn’t like surprises too much. Surprises meant no control, and no control meant chaos that wasn’t under his hand. And what more could be asked, when what he needed to know was right here. Hands flipped back open the manila folder while he waited for the elevator to finish its descent. 

On the first page, there was only one photo of the subject, before the project had started. Dr. Gaul was always so thorough, so there must have been more to see. And how he loved to be right, when the sight of more clipped on photos peeked through in between pages. He stopped at the sight of them. These had been nude, taken in what was most definitely an examination room. They must’ve been in captivity for a few days for how haggard they looked. Gleam completely gone, with only a dark emptiness seen on their face. Signs of minimal swelling on their left cheek from when they were hit by a peacekeeper when resisting arrest. Bags under the optics, suggesting either sleep deprivation or developed insomnia. His eyes lingered on the photos that took in zoomed in shots of identifiable beauty marks that were scattered around their body. One around the back of their left acromial, around the sternocleidomastoid, one on the left mammary gland, and another on the right femoral muscle. Unconsciously, his fingers traced along the edges of each photo as he examined them until they traced after the words of ink. 

The objective of the project: engaging and testing pain receptors on the subject. By use of non-licensed medication and surgical operations, the subject’s NTRK1 gene was mutated to a certain extent to gain the closest imitation to Congenital Analgesia ( while still keeping the subject alive ). If Coriolanus recalled, in his textbooks, Congenital Analgesia was a condition that always was given to a patient by a pass down from the parent. It was never really something ‘made’, or ‘given’. He could understand now why Dr. Gaul was so pleased with herself for accomplishing this feat. Curiosity was beckoning him, wanting to see more of what the report entailed. 

Pages dedicated to each operation, each test done. There were pain charts made, scales from 1 to 10, to test out the nerve receptors. Each test, the numbers on the chart went lower and lower; 10s that went to 9s, to the current lowest being a 6 for the majority of the subject’s body. The more sensitive areas, such as the frontal or the palmar of the body, were around 7 to 8 on the chart. Flipping to the back of the contents, there was a small note in Dr. Gaul’s handwriting.

Today, please take care of Project Prometheus’s nerve exams. The last surgical operation was done last month and they have just now fully recovered. Update the report by the end of today, to measure if there are any fluctuations on their pain receptors.

Sounded simple enough. If this was all he had to do today, then there was a chance he could clock out from work even earlier to give himself space before tonight’s event. A ding finally was heard from the elevator, he was here at Lab C09. Folder closed in his hands, his foot stepped out of the elevator and onto the floor. What a drastic difference Lab C09 had been in comparison to Lab H05. If it hadn’t belonged to Dr. Gaul, Coriolanus may not have been able to believe that this was an actual functioning lab. It almost seemed forgotten by the Citadel, half of the fluorescent lights not working, or blinking at different intervals. It bathed the floor in a very gray, almost vile green hue. The scent of copper and rust was far more noticeable, and the smell of medicine felt almost nauseous here. There were no grand columns in sight, and no endless amount of shelves dedicated to new specimens and ideas of creation. The floors were unkempt, specks of dirt packed into the corners of where the wall and once sleek tiles met. Occasional cracks on the floor, parts of the design broken and shattered into bits of ceramic. The halls were long, with endless doors that ( thankfully ) all were open, empty, or both. With the exception of the large corridor doors at the other end. He could make out the sight of Peacekeepers that stood on guard, near the corridor door and by the elevator entrance. 

This definitely was Dr. Gaul’s more… uncensored labs. 

Coriolanus took a few more steps into the lab and noticed the large stain of dried blood that dragged from where his feet stood, past the corridor doors. Eyebrows raised at the sight, but his eyes did not widen. Marvelous, the subject might still be rebellious. If this was to be the case, he’d be severely unimpressed. All these exams to change the NTRK1 and nothing done to affect the amygdala. 

Sloppy work here, Dr. Gaul. 

Pushing through the corridor doors, after giving the briefest of nods and acknowledgement towards the Peacekeepers, he found himself exactly where he needed to be. Entering an area that was entirely void of light, except for one thing. 

A large window glass on the other side, showing the examination room on the other side. It lit up this half of the hall, shelves of varying medicines and chemicals lined against the walls of the examination room. Surgical tools were lined up high on the wall, out of reach, not yet pulled out and placed on the side. Today there was no operation to be done. Examination lights shone overhead, and under it was the examination table where Project Prometheus sat. 

They sat down so compactly, so politely, knees folded to their chest and arms wrapped around them, their face leaned against the crevice their legs gave. The subject definitely had changed, physically, since the projects had begun. Their skin barely had the warm glow it had in their photo, had it not been for the peeks of color on their joints, he’d assume that there was no more blood rushing through their body. Their hair that once looked so well maintained, luxurious, was cut at awkward angles. Yet, it still managed to frame their face well enough. Figures, that was former Capital genes at work. Their body has taken significant damage since then. Scars of various shapes were scattered all across, bandages wrapped in some areas, and stitches that dragged around entire limbs, like their arms, thighs, feet, even one on their face. As if they were some over-played ragdoll that was patched up far too many times. There was no fight he could see from their eyes, and no anger. Was the blood on the floor halls really theirs, or did that belong to someone else?

This could not even be called anything, but a shell of a husk. 

Coriolanus stood there, watching, taking in the sight of them. It barely felt like he was breathing. And that alone irritated him. It’s like his body was trying to make itself seem smaller; as if he was somehow bothering them. He sighed out his frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose. They couldn’t even hear him from the thick glass, what would he be so concerned with? Bringing his hand back down, about to open the manila folder once again to compare their ID photo to their current state - he peeked at their form again. 

He had been noticed by it. 

His breath felt lodged in his throat, his original action now tossed to the side, as they and him both just… watched each other. Their eyes that had looked so sullen and distant before, were so focused and vigilant of him. But, they didn’t seem scared of him. Their body didn’t look tense, their expression didn’t twist into any wrinkles. What feeling was running through their body? Could they possibly feel anything? Coriolanus stepped away from the glass, slowly, and down further into the hall, to where the door of their examination room was. A peacekeeper stood guard near the heavy door, beside them a surgical gown, cap, goggles and gloves were on a hook. Excusing the other to the side, so he could reach and grab the attire to put on himself. Coriolanus questioned, as he tugged the latex rubber gloves on, if he still wanted to entertain the idea of holding their test today. Teeth grinded inside his jaw, he hated to admit weakness, but it was no lie that they unsettled him when they had stared back. 

That probably contributed to why Dr. Gaul favored the project so much, both must take joy from bringing him such unease. A sigh hissed from his teeth, as he put the surgical mask on. 

“I’ll be back out in just a moment. I’ll let you know if an emergency comes up.” 

It’ll be easy work, and then he can leave.

Opening the door, the sterile smell of the room rushed past him as the metal door was moved from its tight seal and then closed heavily behind him. Their head had moved away from where the glass window was, turned to stare at where he stood near the door, their folder still in his hands. Thinly-veiled sweat was forming inside the gloves, with the silence that fell heavy in the room. He opened the folder. 

“Good morning, Subject A01, I am–”

…? 

Did they say something? 

“...I’m sorry, did you say something?”

Another tense silence fell in the air. 

“... That isn’t my name.” Its voice was quiet, slightly hoarse but not entirely. Unexpected, considering their length of stay here. His fingers pinched tightly at one of the pages. 

“...What do you mean?” He was not going to call them by their Capital name. They had long since lost the right to use it, after rebelling against Panem. 

“Dr. Gaul calls me something else.” Coriolanus was going to kill it if they did not clarify. 

“And what does she call you?” This was the nicest tone he could muster. 

They spoke it once into the air, still looking at him with those dead eyes of theirs. Had Dr. Gaul been so fond of it to have given it an entirely new name? And they accepted and went along with it? That didn’t feel right, from what he’s examined about them so far. They were a rebel, they had fought against a Peacekeeper, they were dragged around the halls bleeding. 

And they gave up their old name?

It had shifted out of its cradled position, their legs dangled off the examination table and their arms were placed on their side. Coriolanus could see the patient gown they wore more clearly. It kicked its feet in the air idly, as it waited for his response. 

… Do they even know the situation that they’re in? 

“...Right. Well, do you know why I’m here?” 

“Not really. I’ve never met you before.” Was context clues also something it gave up while in captivity? “I know the guards, and I know Dr. Gaul. I don’t think I know about you,” They’re a prisoner, it’d be counter-intuitive if people were giving them info about every single staff member here. His mask covered the lower half of his face, but he hoped the slight shift of facial muscle was enough to convey that was trying to smile towards them. He walked further into the examination room, closer to where it sat and where the shelves of drugs and medical equipment were lined up. Their stare was burrowing holes into his back, while he shifted around, opening and closing shelves and drawers to check inside for what he needed. 

“Well, I am Dr. Gaul’s assistant. You can call me Snow,” He was not giving his first name to a former rebel. “I’m here today because Dr. Gaul is a bit busy today to handle your check-up, so I’ll be filling in her role.” Gloves shifted bottles around, turning them around to read the labels. The disinfectant, cotton swabs, tweezers, needles, rubbing alcohol, syringes, the bite-rag, marker, he had it all except the custom medicine that Dr. Gaul had made for it. In the instructions of how to construct their exam, Dr. Gaul had explicitly mentioned that they were to take specific medication, as they had helped keep it conscious at all times for operations and exams. It was needed so that they’d be able to relay the ratings, which is why Coriolanus was reading yet another prescription bottle in his hands, squinting in frustration. 

“It’s this bottle over here.” 

A delicate, scarred hand had pointed at another bottle that sat idly on the shelf. Coriolanus turned his head slightly, seeing the subject no longer on the examination table, standing behind him quietly. Not staring at him, they were entirely looking at where their hand pointed. They were only standing just a couple inches away from his body, careful not to touch him as they stood on the tips of their toes to point at the medicine. With this proximity, it was easier for him to get a closer look at them. The stitches on its body were done with thick, prominent threads; there were far more beauty marks he could pick out on their face that the photos didn’t display. The patient gown was made from a material far thinner than he expected, a visible silhouette could be seen from underneath the flimsy cloth. His mouth felt unusually dry. 

A cold chill trickled down his spine. He barely noticed them. He doesn’t even think it made a sound when it moved. 

“Careful, keep your space from me.” He spoke, a careful warning to their ears and a threatening promise on his. He didn’t want to risk being so close to them like this, he barely knew the extent of how violent the project could possibly be yet. Still, they listened, backing away from him and putting their hand back down to their side. Both it and him stared at each other again, the tense air dancing back inside the room. They looked as if they had wanted to say something, and Coriolanus, internally, felt almost violent for how demure they were being with him. It repulsed him, how it felt almost endearing if he looked at them for a second more. 

“Is something wrong?” Eventually he bit the bullet, speaking first between the two of them. He can’t bear another moment of silence with it. 

“... I don’t need a bite-rag. I don’t think I really scream much anymore.” They still had an issue with explaining context to him more, he’ll tell Dr. Gaul that needed some work lat– His jaw ticked… Why did he care about your abysmal social skills? It was a captive, it had no one to speak to other than their own captors. Pulling down their prescription from the shelf, a dark, thick liquid, he said in return: “It’s best to have it on hand, just in case you need it. Now, return back to the examination table.” For a split second, he thought he could see their gaze soften at him. Were they seriously entertaining the idea that he was being nice to them? Coriolanus just didn’t want to deal with their sounds while he worked. It’d be like trading one screaming fit for another, for when he had to go on his date with Livia later in the evening. 

They nodded, and followed his command, walking back to sit on top of it. Their body was sitting in his direction though, observing, waiting for him. Coriolanus still felt unsure about them, but… it was strange, their obedience. It made him suspicious of its intent with all this. Trailing back to the center of the examination room, he placed all the tools on a metal tray. Pulling out an exam stool from under one of the tables, he set the syringe to the cap of its prescription. He pulled the plunger of the syringe up, watching as the barrel filled up with medicine, until it sat nicely. The needle left smoothly from the cap, and a drop of the liquid dangled at the edge of it. This form of silence he liked far more better. 

“...Do you have family, Dr. Snow?” 

So close. Coriolanus flicked the needle harshly, the drop hitting somewhere else. He placed the ready syringe down, and picked up the black marker. Turning back towards them, their head rested in their palms, watching him intensely. 

“That’s none of your concern. Now please, remove your gown so we can get started on the examination.” Grabbing the stool to pull it underneath him, he got comfortable in the seat while it moved to get up. As their hands reached behind them to undo the tie around their waist first, it still spoke ( much to his chagrin ). 

“I was just wondering since Dr. Gaul usually talks whenever she comes to visit.” That explained why their throat was not as hoarse as he was expecting. Dr. Gaul was treating her trials with them as a morning brunch. “She sometimes talks about her day, or talks about her family.” They loosened the tie around their waist, the fabric more flowy around their lower body. Coriolanus stared intently, taking in the first peek of skin. Looking past the scars, despite the stitches pulling at parts of their skin, and the dented scars, their skin looked soft, malleable. They must’ve been popular on weekend nights, back then. Their hands reached up to undo the tie around their collar. Rather than watching him while he worked, it was his turn to watch them. There was that beauty mark on their left acromial. Eyes leisurely trailed back up to their fingers, the smallest note with how it fumbled around behind them to untie the flimsy string. Their movements were clumsy, in his eyes, which almost surprised him. “She likes to talk about her three kids often.”

Coriolanus looked away from their stitched fingers, confusion on his face. 

“Dr. Gaul only has two kids.” He’s seen the photos she has in her office. She has two sons, both who have gone on to have families of their own. Not once has she mentioned a third kid, Coriolanus isn’t even sure it was possible at her age. Didn’t menopause usually affect a person’s chances of getting pregnant? Maybe it was a secret child she had abandoned at the maternal ward while dropping off her resignation as an obstetrician. 

“No, she has three. She told me their names: Caius, Martius, and Coriolanus.” 

Oh. 

Oh, now that’s… 

“I see. You must be closer to Dr. Gaul than I am.” 

He didn’t know what to really say to that. There was really nothing for him to go and argue about, especially with the patient. Coriolanus couldn’t quite outright say that the third child was him, especially when he specifically told them to refer to him by his last name. And if he revealed that this was an entire lie on Dr. Gaul’s end, he wasn’t quite sure how the woman would react for doing so. It wasn’t his place, when he had no idea what Gaul had wanted to achieve. He understood the physical punishment and hypothesis being put upon Project Prometheus, but he had yet to understand where the emotional, and the mental, aspect of this punishment was. Dr. Gaul will tell him if it was needed, or he’ll figure it out based on his own conclusions. That must be one of the purposes Dr. Gaul had assigned this task to him. 

“Alright. I’m done.”

Coriolanus blinked. He didn’t even realize he lost focus on them, he let out a small exhale as he lifted himself from the exam stool, marker ready in hand. 

“Right, for the next step of this exam, I need to…” 

Words trailed off for him. 

What an entirely different view it was, from before, looking at them only from the back. From behind, it was just read to him as a large canvas of skin that had already been stained and painted on. Nothing that gave way to what person under the flesh could be. Yet, the front… There was more to regard and take note of, a far more different feeling than just having viewed from the photos alone in the reports. If he were to ignore the marks left on their body, had they stayed perfect from before, he could’ve made the argument about their body being more alluring than the average Capital citizen. That familiar, dry feeling touched his throat again. What a waste, for genes like that to be wasted on a rebel. There were more beauty marks and moles in the front, along with more stitches and scars. Coriolanus could see the surgical scars that were healing between their pectoralis major area. A curiosity rose, questioning how scarred tissue would feel under his gloves. He raised an eyebrow, as his gaze dared to move to a lower section on their body. Must be for easier mapping, that Dr. Gaul decided it was best to have their pubic area shaved clean.

“...Dr. Snow, are you okay?”

His tongue darted out to lick his dry lips under the surgical mask. 

“Fine, just thinking about Dr. Gaul’s instructions.” He was going to go insane before he could even head to the fundraiser tonight. Coriolanus reached his free hand out, hovering it over their shoulder area, guiding them to stand closer to the area between the exam table, and his stool. He took note, that despite the way their body has changed since their captivity, their body still held a warmth that radiated off from their skin. “Stand here, please. For this next step, I’ll be using this marker here to map out the different muscles and areas on your body. Are you familiar with this?”

The subject nodded, a yes from their lips. 

Good. 

The sound of the marker cap popping off filled in the lack of words on Coriolanus’s part, the black cap falling on the tiled floor and rolling off to a dark, distant corner of the room. “For today, we’ll only be focusing on the external pain chart. Meaning skin surface only,” He lifted the subject’s hair, pushing up against the subject’s head, strands that were long enough to block full access to the neck. Bringing the marker up, he pressed down the chiseled tip of alcoholic ink on the subject’s skin, making the first section of dotted lines. Writing on their skin in careful, small letters, the areas that compromised their neck; the semispinalis capitis, the levator scapulae, the rhomboid minor–

“How long have you worked for Dr. Gaul?”

Fingers nearly stumbled in drawing when the muscle stretched in movement, he lifted the marker carefully away from its skin. The idea of putting in Gaul’s suggestion box the order of a mouth gag was becoming all the more tempting to him. 

“It doesn’t concern you.” Coriolanus responded, coolly. 

He pressed the marker back down on its skin, moving himself to the anterior of its body. Between his gloved fingers, he held their chin. The muscle limp in his hands, letting him lift their chin up to show more, exposing the unfolded expanse of their skin. The project was an annoying one, but at the least,they were a pliant one. The black dotted lines drew itself across the subject’s body: the sternocleidomastoid, the sternohyoid–

“How has your day been so far, Dr. Snow?”

Would Dr. Gaul throw him to the curb if he strangled one of her projects?

Coriolanus lifted himself slightly from his leaned down angle, his fingers that once lifted its chin up, had pulled their chin back down to look at him eye to eye. Its gaze stared back at him with such emptiness, a lack of anything to be seen, no anger, no defiance, no discomfort, not even joy. His eyebrows narrowed down slightly as he took in the face that held no question to how, and what, manner he held their body in. Were they trying to please him? Make his guard drop down by asking questions, hoping that he’d become more sympathetic towards them? 

“Dr. Gaul isn’t here. You are under no requirement to attempt conversations like you’ve done with her.” He spoke, trying his best attempt at sounding sympathetic to their ears. That would be the easiest explanation. The soul of them was sucked out by Dr. Gaul forcing them into an illusion of a grotesque socialite. That’d explain away the project’s incessant speaking. 

Yet, the subject had tilted their head under his fingers. The slightest push against his grasp. 

“... Do you not like talking, Dr. Snow? Dr. Gaul always looks so happy when she’s talking.”

So they were trying to suck up to him. He locked his teeth. And to think, he was giving them a chance of redemption, by assuming that they had been conditioned to engage in meaningless conversation. Maybe he was wrong about their obedience. There was still a spark of a rebel within them regardless of their time, their experiences, in captivity. 

“I only ever see Dr. Gaul, so I got excited to see someone new. I’m sorry for upsetting you,”

They could’ve fooled him with that tone of voice. They sounded as dead as their eyes had looked. Yet, Coriolanus bit his bottom lip as the doubt touched his head; the subject’s stare, if he gazed deeply enough he felt as if he could almost make out a sullenness to them. Were they legitimately apologetic? He didn’t want to even know the answer, he just wanted to finish this job as quickly as possible. He let go of their chin, releasing it. Gloved fingers now traced the space between their shoulder and collarbone, the subject angling their neck to the other side to give him room. He brought the marker back down to their skin, more dotted lines appearing under his wake. 

“... What exactly is your relationship to Dr. Gaul, if I may ask?” He hated them, he decided. He hated how quickly they managed to rope him into this dumb small talk. It was almost audible, the sound of the subject blinking, feeling their gaze boring under the layers of his clothes. Did he say the wrong thing? Did they not want conversation? He adjusted the weight of his stance, uncomfortable under the silence the subject had unwillingly placed him in. Was he not doing what they wanted, was that not enough for them?

“Dr. Gaul is…” Their words trailed off. They were trying to find the words, unsure of what to say to him. They most likely didn’t want to try and insult her, considering her assistant was in the room with them. They don’t want to risk possibly earning more punishment. Project Prometheus may have been smarter than what he initially assumed. Coriolanus moved back to the posterior, hands trailed themselves across the subject’s shoulders, feeling, to remind him of the muscle underneath before he marked it down. Trapezius. 

“Dr. Gaul is my caretaker, I think.” 

Well isn’t that something unique. 

If the subject had decided to say captor, overseer, punisher, he wouldn’t have cared. It would’ve been honest. Caretaker? That was something different, that was something sympathetic. The thought of them turning this twisted dynamic into something heartfelt, fell sour on his tongue. It made him feel repulsion towards them. Why bother to lie? “Tell me about that.” His voice was soft, inviting the project to open themselves to him. As the marker continued to mark their skin, Coriolanus took one of its arms under his hand. The subject’s fingers twitched slightly, when he brought his hand under theirs. Their hand was not that big in comparison to his own, unable to fully fill out of his palm. The fingertips were usually the more sensitive parts, when it came to sensations. He hummed. Adductor pollicis. 

“...I’m not sure how to describe it well.” They sounded unsure. Spending this extended amount of time with them, Coriolanus could make out the slight tonal differences they had in their voice. It was very small, though. The muscles in his hands seem to slightly tense.

“Do your best for me.” 

Their fingertips, the slightly yellowed nails, tapped slightly at the latex material of his gloves. Almost as if fidgeting to gather the words, the right ones, to say to him. 

“Dr. Gaul has always been… someone there, I suppose.” Because she has to. “The guards are there too, but they don’t really notice me in the way Dr. Gaul does.” He wrote down on another part of the subject’s arm, drawing another dotted line. Brachioradialis. “Even though the tests kind of hurt, but I’m getting used to it now, she’s been the only one so far to give me a name, a birthday, check up on me, tell me about her day,” He was almost impressed at how their were trying to upsell the ‘normalcy’ of their captivity. A new name and birthday? Maybe the secret third child of Dr. Gaul wasn’t him, but actually them instead. He almost laughed aloud at the prospect of it. Coriolanus turns to the other side of their body, taking the other arm of the subject to write on after finishing the other. Biceps brachii. “That’s like a caretaker, right?” And now it was asking for his confirmation? It truly does want to appease him. He let out another hum, as if he was thinking to himself when he was going to go along with their delusions. “It sounds like Dr. Gaul cares a great deal for you.” He lied to them. 

Making his back to the anterior of the subject’s body, he stood in front of them, the subject tilting their head up to him. Project Prometheus was shorter, in comparison to him, standing at eye level against his chest. Latex touched the area of the linea alba, Coriolanus kept his gaze steady on them and they did the same. There was a silence that fell between them, but it felt so uninviting to him now that he finally had it. The subject still held their indifference, their apathy, and he wanted to know why it bothered him so much when he should like how easy of a prisoner they were being. No, there had to be something more. There was always something more. His fingers dragged down their skin, and his marker followed behind, writing down the names of the muscles he touched. The subject had moved their arms, and Coriolanus tensed for a second, thinking they were finally going to react, going to grab him, hit him, something – yet, their arms shifted away from the angle of his body, moving in to hold the muscles of the pectoralis major up in their hands, cupping them. They were making more room for him to write on their upper abdomen. 

Coriolanus loathed them. 

Had he had half the control, he would’ve smacked the stitched hands away. He liked it far more when they acted like a ragdoll, instead of this game of pacification it was trying to play. Writing down on the external oblique aponeurosis, he brought his hands back up their skin until it rested under their wrists. He held both their wrists on either hand. “Please, bring your hands down so I can continue mapping.” The words came out more as a whisper than he had intended. They instantly had listened to his command, letting their arms fall back on either side and their chest exposed to him. His eyes lingered briefly on the sight, taking in the small details that made the subject unique. The beauty mark on their left mammary gland, now in his line of sight. No longer blocked by the limit of only just a photo. There was that dry feeling in his mouth again. 

Carefully, bringing a hand up, gauging their reaction, he held one of the mammary glands in his free hand and a marker up in the other. Judging their face, they seemed neutral, no frown or smile, no wrinkle, no squint. He could assume there must have been discomfort under those dark pits for eyes. He knew that’s what he felt, doing this right now. Coriolanus wondered if it would have been better or worse, if Project Prometheus were to be more�� reactionary. 

“Let me know if anything bothers you.” Dotted lines followed after his hand. He’d take it, the laborious small talk. It was much more preferred right now than this tortuous silence that had fallen between them. Thick and constricting, had it gone on any longer, Coriolanus knew he would drive himself internally insane if he was to be left alone to his own thoughts. If Project Prometheus had done nothing while he was holding onto their very own breasts in his hands. Had it been any other person, they would’ve squirmed under his touch. Possibly even a twitch to unconsciously move away, as the marker moved against the skin of the areola. The mapping of the right gland was dotted and marked completely. 

“You don’t bother me.” 

Now, that felt deliberate. 

Ink halted, stopping after writing out the final letter of the pectoralis minor. The words were written next to the beauty mark he had noted before. Coriolanus was tempted to make dotted lines around the area, as a place of special interest, though marks like these were no major muscle or nerve. Blue eyes had looked up through thick lashes, he slightly lifted his craned head up to get a better look at the subject. Peering towards their face, he didn’t know why he expected anything different. It was the same look of disinterest, the broken lights hung above them casted a haunting shadow over their face. Did he also look similar, when they stared back at him? In certain angles, despite the unnerving look the room had given them, Coriolanus might’ve thought their eyes seemed naturally soft towards him. Innocent, maybe. 

Did they see nothing wrong with what he was doing? … Or had all the tests and operations ruined not just their nerves, but fried them, that their sense of danger seemed near non-existent? 

Was this another form of appeasement that it was trying to pull on him? 

Unconsciously, his hands had released themselves, finally, from holding onto Project’s Prometheus’s breasts. Both now marked, his free hand slid down the expanse of their abdomen. The ridges and bumps of their scars and stitches were felt briefly, the full grasp of the sensation blocked by the barrier of latex rubber wrapped around his fingers. Not once did he look away from the subject as his hands made its way down, and neither did Project Prometheus. His hand stopped at the tensor fasciae latae. Something was wrapping itself around the cavity of his chest, making the activity of breathing a difficult feat for him to do. Coriolanus didn’t know what he was doing. Was he trying to garner a bigger reaction from it? An attempt of possibly stirring violence, even? 

Maybe it was delaying his own discomfort, he realized. Looking down, he stared to see the spread of skin below that had no splotches of black ink. They were shorter than him, he’d have to get down on his knees if he wanted to have clear and easy access to mark its legs. How humiliating… Having risen up through the ranks and bringing the Snow family back to its rightful place of acclaim and fortune; only to fall back down on his knees to a prisoner, a former rebel. If the other families caught wind of this, he’d never hear the end of it. 

Reluctantly, still holding onto their hip, his body moved itself to the floor. Knees touched against the uneven grout of the tiles, the position a bit awkward. He was thankful, for the surgical gown he wore, that the vile floor of the examination room wouldn’t stain against his clothes. Tracing his hand down to the stitch mark path of their leg, he rested it at the back of their thigh. Coriolanus tilted his head up, ready to command that Project Prometheus moved their leg more towards him. But, his words fell into a silent, held breath as he gazed up at them from his position. The shadow that had cascaded over their face briefly from before was now entirely enveloped around their body. Sickly green fluorescent lights shone above their head, akin to a haloing effect. Illuminated around the edges of their body, their hair, the subject still looking at him. Only him, and nothing else. A thrumming noise was loud in his ears; it felt dangerous. It felt like a warning that something was wrong here. He had felt it before.

Project Prometheus moved its leg forward, more into him, without a word ever spoken between the two of them. How pliant it was with him. 

He pressed the marker against their skin as thank you, dipping his head back down to their thigh. It would be risky, if he lost focus. There was still so much he had yet to know of the subject, the layers that were contained behind the flimsy shield of flesh and tissue. He dotted the area of the vastus medialis, careful not to press the ink against the subject’s stitches so as not to irritate the healing skin there. Maybe its attempts of appeasement were working on him. Not once did he think he’d have a shred of enough care to think about the possibility of ink seeping into their wounds. 

He marked down the region of the knee. Patella. 

“...You’re a very gentle person, Dr. Snow.” The subject spoke quietly, in a whisper just loud for him to hear. “You treat me so carefully, I barely feel a thing when you hold me.” 

It mistook his lightweight hands for kindness. Reality was that he was just wary about setting them off. 

“Does Dr. Gaul not treat you in the same manner?” The words came out softly from him. Reaching now the ankle of the subject, gloved hands reached down underneath the sole of its foot, lifting it up for better writing access. Instinctively, Project Prometheus placed their hands on either side of his shoulders so as to not fall. Their body leaned itself more into him, using him as a steady weight of support. The proximity of their small body bent over his, the glare of the fluorescent lights was entirely swallowed up, casting a dark shadow over him, blocking the light from reaching him. Could they feel, under their ragged fingers, the tenseness in his body at their action? If the subject wanted to, they could easily go in to attack him in this vulnerable position. He’d do the same if he was in their position. He continued to write, marker steady in hand. There would be no satisfaction to be gained for the subject, in seeing him stumble and cower. 

He wrote the words ‘abductor hallucis’ on their foot.

“She… does not treat me rough, no. If I had to describe it, I think the word for it is more… ‘inanimate’.” He doesn’t quite recall if a new law was passed that required captors to treat prisoners humanely. It sounded as if it was trying to recall certain words again. Should the exam go entirely smoothly with no problems, he might feel generous enough to convince Dr. Gaul to bring Project Prometheus a dictionary for them to study up on. Not like it would do much. It wasn’t like they had anyone to really practice their knowledge on. 

Coriolanus wondered what the prisoner was exactly before all this, back when they were formerly Capital. They lacked the air of dignity and ignorance that most Capital elites donned well, but maybe that could be attributed to their decay while staying here. Or perhaps the prisoner had come from a small, simple family. The kind that handled all the manual labor that the Capital never liked to speak loud about. The workers who were hardly ever seen, or acknowledged. That could explain why he never heard any recent fuss over a family’s child being ‘sent away’. No one would ever care for a background prop. 

It held onto his shoulders more tightly, as he adjusted the subject’s position. It didn’t want to topple over him. 

Project Prometheus's right foot now marked accordingly, he placed its foot back down on the rotten floor. Ready to reach his hand to hold onto their left, the subject moved without the need for his touch. The left leg was gestured forward for him. How sweet of them to realize a pattern. “I don’t mind it, though. As long as she still talked to me.” How fascinating. The subject was pacified by the easy act of conversation. Such a simple thing to be pleased by, Coriolanus could think they were joking. Regardless of how things were going so far, he still didn’t forget it. The bloodstains on the halls was something he could not erase so easily. That suggested, no, it told him, that Project Prometheus had something up their sleeve still. Though, nothing had occurred. Nothing had happened because they were still speaking to each other. Coriolanus continued to write on its foot. Lumbrical.

“...Do you get upset if she doesn’t speak to you?” 

He couldn’t help but ask. 

He wanted to know. He needed to know. 

“...I get lonely, and sad.” Was it trying to downplay its emotional reactions to him? “I wonder if it's because I did something wrong to upset her.” If a prisoner of his tried to fight back numerous times during their captivity, he’d get annoyed too. It was strange, though. Coriolanus knew that morals and values were of no concern for Dr. Gaul, especially against rebels. Any torture, punishment, placed on them was not seen as being done onto another person, but just another animal, a specimen in her collection. It would not be above Dr. Gaul to cut off a limb, or two, to get a prisoner to stop fighting. So… why not do the same here? Perhaps, this form of mental and emotional punishment was more lethal than he assumed. Another curious test from the mad woman, it was impossible to ever understand her whims. 

“Sometimes, I think it might be one of her tests.”

Coriolanus didn’t say those words. 

He didn’t like this. Such a statement, spoken so simply, brought him a sick swirl of unease. 

The movement of ink had halted, yet his mind continued to race. The thin hairs at the back of his neck stood at its ends, and he held tightly onto the marker in his hand. Quietly, carefully, he placed the plantar surface of Project Prometheus’s foot back down on the uneven tiles below the both of them. Reaching his hands up to his shoulders, where the subject’s extensor retinaculum were, he held onto it firmly. The subject put up no sign of objection. Sweat was slowly building up under the tight material of the gloves he donned on, but it was not a sweltering warmth. It was a cold, clammy sensation. 

“What do you mean by ‘one of her tests’?” Punctuating the words at the end, he kept his tone inquisitive, curious. Perhaps, a dabble of suspicion. Not towards the subject, but more towards the matter. What was needed in this situation was caution, and he’d be a gutted fool if he was to let the rebel become aware of how much the question startled him to his core. For right now, he’d play the gentle, confused assistant that it assumed of him before. He already told the lie of it knowing Dr. Gaul better than he did. 

“Her tests,” 

It spoke as if he knew! He knew very well what it was. What once was a flash of fear, had become a steady stream of anger. He knew because he is Dr. Gaul’s assistant. It was his job to follow in the steps she’s placed out for him, and more. Why would a prisoner, a subject, know about the ways Dr. Gaul operated? How much does Dr. Gaul tell it in these ‘conversations’? 

It made him sick, that the lie he told before could actually become true. 

“I never notice it until it’s done, until she tells me at the end. She never shares the results with me.” For once, he is tempted to strip his pride and beg for more details. “Most days, it’ll be physical tests, like today. Others, it’s more… talking, or writing.” 

“Writing?” 

It came out quickly before he could properly think his words over. He doesn’t recall seeing possible writing exams in Subject A01’s report. To be fair to himself, he did skim it briefly since he was only just now introduced to the project. There wasn’t much time for him to familiarize himself with all the tiny details written inside. At least, the things that were legible. 

“Dr. Gaul hands me scraps of paper and just asks me to write what I think. Like uh, a journal…I guess.” Keeping a diary couldn’t be the only test Dr. Gaul was having it do. If writing random streams of thought was enough to be intellectually challenging, he wouldn’t be seeing students at the University fighting to win passing grades. “I don’t understand the reason why, and I never remember what I write. My memory is not the best.” It was giving him an excuse to try and shift the conversation. How funny it was, trying to take control of the situation. He’d never let such a thing happen. In this examination room, there was only one person and a subject, the dynamic that was at play was clear. The grip Coriolanus had on their extensor retinaculum tightened, an unconscious movement on his part. Project Prometheus had taken in a soft breath of air at the action, the sound loud enough between the both of them. Had it not come from a prisoner, what a sweet sound it could’ve been. 

“Could you explain it to me,” His voice came out softly, despite the gnawing irritation that he held back. The tight grasp he had loosened, one hand stroking down a careful thumb down the stitched wrist of the subject in gentle circles. He shifted in his kneeled position, adjusting to a more comfortable weight as the layers he wore started to wear at him, an uncomfortable shift. Wearing the surgical uniform could be sweltering. Tilting his head up slightly to gaze up at the subject, praying that his eyes did not betray and reveal his inner thoughts. “Try to remember.” 

Coriolanus could’ve sworn he saw a slight falter, a tremble, in the dark optics of Project Prometheus. Its supercilium furrowed just the slightest inch upwards; did it look apologetic? The first visible change of expression he’s witnessed in the time he’s spent here in this examination room, and it’s one of regret. The subject’s fingers twisted itself into the fabric of his surgical gown, opening its mouth partially as they sought the right sound, the right word. He could make out the faint peeks of its canines. 

“... I’m sorry, Dr. Snow. I can’t remember at all,” They breathed out, in admission, surrendering. It treated it as a guilty confession. 

“Not a thing?” He whispered softly to them, prompting them to speak more. Coriolanus applauded himself internally, for how sympathetic he sounded. 

The subject shook its head. 

“My memory is not good.” Again, it reaffirmed its previous statement. 

Was his question that hard? Surely, specks of small details, flashes of imagery, that would be sufficient enough of an answer for him. He wasn’t asking for a full essay of their inner workings ( though, he wouldn’t mind it ). However, as both their eyes continued locked in a stare, his thumb slowed its movements. The leathered finger stopping at the center junction of its stitches, the feel of the raised, textured skin apparent under the feel of the material. Project Prometheus was being sincere. Its face hadn’t changed, its body had not moved away from him. Dare he say, the minimal space between them; something he did not mind earlier before, had become much more apparent in his feverish mind. The subject answered him so honestly, it made his suspicions of before seem so ridiculous now. One thing did nag at him though, the writing, the insistence of journaling, the memory. 

…

“... Do you remember how long you’ve been here?” Two years ago, Coriolanus recalled. Two years ago, that was when he was abandoned in District 12. When Dr. Gaul had started the experiment on Subject A01, busying herself with curiosities while he was drowning himself in depravities and vices, waiting out like a dog for some form of mercy to reach him. 

A new, tense silence consumed them both. He watched the subject carefully, taking note of the slightest movement that could give any indication of anything more. Tracing with his eyes, following how Project Prometheus’s cuspid snagged at their chapped bottom lip. A faint flush of red spread across the muscle, from the pressure exerted on it. Unconsciously, it reminded him of how dry his own mouth felt, the hoarse sensation in his throat. He darted out his own tongue for a brief moment to wet his own mouth, hidden underneath the surgical mask he wore. Nothing was being said between them, but yet there was so much being told. A fierce feeling was soaring, running through the veins of Coriolanus; he knew what it meant and he feared for it. Not for what the answer could be, but what it possibly could bring up. 

“You don’t remember how you got it here at all, do you?” His voice was so hushed, spoken as if taboo. It gave him the same feeling of it, the rush as the blood was entering his head and his heartbeat loud in his ears. 

A form of dissociative amnesia. 

Project Prometheus had developed gaps in memory due to an extended amount of isolation and exposure to severe trauma. It all clicked in Coriolanus’s head. He understood now what Dr. Gaul was attempting to achieve in her games with the subject. The tests, the daily conversations, the journal writing – Dr. Gaul was examining the subject’s mental decay as part of the Project’s ongoing research. Not only has the woman deteriorated and changed the way the prisoner’s nerves had worked, but their mind as well. Is continuing the Project even viable to do anymore? It was a form of punishment. Would it be ethical to operate on a being of flesh, when the subject no longer knew what it was being punished for? The question would most likely give Dr. Gaul a kick of joy. She loved to ponder questions worthy of debate. Coriolanus wouldn’t put it past the woman if she already gave the inquiry out to one of her classes in a lecture hall. 

“I vaguely do,” 

His eyebrows rose in interest. 

“But only in subtle feelings.” 

Nevermind. 

“I think I experienced some form of confusion. And bits of anger, too. Dr. Gaul… For a moment, I used to be so scared of her. Now, I can’t even remember the reason why.” 

Project Prometheus’s indifference, Coriolanus realized, it was not just solely based on apathy. What had become of it was a blank state, unsure of how to process things so the mind refused to process it all. But, it was still something highly susceptible to influences, shown in how Project Prometheus had become conditioned like Pavolv Dog, to associate Dr. Gaul’s silence with anger and disappointment, and her socialness with satisfaction and joy. It all was dawning on him. He could see it now, why Dr. Gaul was so disturbingly fascinated by this project. Gloved hands moved away from the subject’s wrist, and reached out to lay in gentle manner against the side of their bare thighs. The subject allowed him to, never raising a sign of objection. Could he teach it to experience anger once more, when he treated their body like this? Maybe discomfort, disgust, despair - he wanted to show their blank canvas of a mind what it felt like to fully immerse themselves in these ugly emotions. He knew why they were like this, but there still was a lingering crumb of vexation directed at the subject. Somehow, in their newfound state, they still felt far more free than he ever did; how they almost felt nothing, and he had to feel everything. 

And yet, there was another thought that touched him. He wondered, if he spent enough time with the subject, could he too, be able to condition them to other things. They thought of him as merciful, kind, in comparison to Dr. Gaul. Could he make Project Prometheus worship him, and in the same quiet breaths they were fond of, resent him? The thought of making them accustomed to anticipating his attendance, and lamenting his absence sounded tempting. 

How nice it would be, to have someone other than a deranged crone enjoy his presence. 

Tigris certainly didn’t anymore. 

Coriolanus rose himself from the ground, gripping on the meat of Project’s Prometheus’s flesh to lift him. Under his touch, the pliant stretch of skin and tissue made the subject remove their hands from his shoulders. Another faint breath escaped their exhale. It was a sound he was slowly getting used to. Back to their original height difference, he no longer had to crane his head up to look at the subject. The subject had to lift their head up to look up at him, now. What did Project Prometheus see, in their gaze as they stared at him, Coriolanus thought. Was he too, consumed in shadow and bathed under the gritty lights of the examination room like they once had? 

“We’re done with the mark-up.” It took him a moment to move away from the subject. “We’ll move to holding the nerve exam now, after I administer a low dosage of your medication.” 

The uncapped, black marker was placed back down on the metal tray, aside from the examination table. Replacing its empty space was now the syringe he had filled out before, the dark color swishing as he picked it up. The needle gleamed under the fluorescent light. Turning his back around, Project Prometheus had already sat themselves up nicely on the edge of the examination table for him. Their legs dangled off, their hands held at the edges of the worn-out leather cushion, eyes fixated on his person. They were waiting for him. He’s almost bothered, how easily the subject could anticipate his next set of commands. He hoped that this was just due to routine, not because he had become easy to read. Coming up to meet them there, the only sound that filled the air was the sole of his shoes stepping against the tiles. Gloved fingers reached to grab at the jaw of Project Prometheus, the syringe held close to their face. It shone particularly brilliant, mere inches away from their face. The subject showed him no fear, no resistance, despite the way the skin of the cheeks had moved under his grasp. 

Already, he wanted to break them.

“Show me where to inject you.” 

He’d be sweet, Coriolanus would let them pick where it was most comfortable for him to inject the medication in. Project Prometheus complied immediately to him, holding on the hand that held their needle to adjust the position. They guided him to the back of their neck, moving their hair to make space. To reward their compliance, he pricked the syringe quickly under the skin, careful not to touch an artery or nerve. The dark liquid inside the barrel slowly filled out, emptying itself as he pushed the plunger down. The subject did not let out a sound, a favorable contrast to Livia, who waited for him outside these Citadel walls. 

He was going to mold them into something useful.

[jamespotterthefirst]

Call it What You Want (Ethan x f!MC)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey and MC (Lilac Allende)

Word Count: 2.2K

Rating/Warning: T/ Some Language

Summary: After their kiss, they both agree to take a break enjoying the city of Miami. Set after the events of 1.10.

Note: Two things about me: I will always write about Miami and I am manifesting Reputation (TV)

A faint pink glow seeped through the drawn curtains that morning, indicating it was right before sunrise. Lilac rolled over on the mattress, groaning. Her head felt like lead as she struggled to find comfort on the fluffy hotel pillow. Her stiff muscles protested as she moved, a side effect of a long and restless night. She had lost track of the time when the rolling waves outside had finally lulled her to sleep. It couldn’t have been more than three hours ago.

Now, she lay awake in the rosy-hued and desolate hotel room. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop her gaze from wandering to the closed door. Every nerve in her body was too aware of the fact that just on the other side, Ethan lay on the living room’s couch, most likely awake too. 

Was he replaying their kiss from the previous night like she had been doing all night? Did his thoughts stray to the way their bodies fit so perfectly or to how their hearts shared the same frenetic beat? 

With a resigned sigh, Lilac decided to start her day. There was no use lying in that cold bed, thinking of the sting of Ethan’s rejection. Temples pulsing, she hastily got dressed and quietly padded to the common area. The couch where he had slept was empty, his blanket already neatly folded. Something akin to relief flooded her at the prospect of avoiding him altogether. 

The universe, however, had other plans. A few steps further and Lilac saw his tall frame by the kitchen counter. He was in the middle of pouring himself a cup of coffee when he froze, sensing her.

He turned to face her and their eyes met, paralyzing them both.

The silence stretched for so long that Lilac thought he would opt for not speaking to her. 

“Morning,” he said at last. 

His tone was imperceptible, but Lilac could see the remnants of tension in his expression. The bags under his eyes told her he didn’t sleep well either.

“Morning,” she replied, careful to keep her voice neutral. 

There was more loaded silence, neither of them sure how to be around each other. A strange instinct in her gut screamed at her to say something… or run away— either option would be preferable to this awful limbo they were stuck in. At long last, Ethan set his cup down and cleared his throat.

“Our flight isn’t until tomorrow morning. I was thinking of heading downstairs and attending a few seminars.”

Lilac paused, unsure how to reply. The professional thing to do was letting him go his own way. Hell, she would probably benefit from burying herself in work. But the thought of sitting in long presentations or wandering the show floor made her muscles heavy with dread. There was something stubborn and unresolved between them and she knew she would know no peace until she addressed it head on.

“Actually,” she said before she lost her resolve. “I was thinking of taking a break from the conference…”

Ethan said nothing, waiting for her to continue. Lilac, meanwhile, gestured toward the floor-to-ceiling window framing the stunning Miami skyline. As the sun rose, it cast the sky into a mosaic of orange, pink, and blue. In the silence, they could hear the faint sounds of the city slowly coming to life to greet the day.

“I’ve never been to Miami before and today’s weather is supposed to be nice. Enjoying the city sounds a lot more enticing than being indoors all day.”

Ethan nodded once but said nothing more.

Swallowing, Lilac mustered the last dregs of her bravery. “Want to come with?”

He paused at that.

“Do you think that’s a good idea given…”

More of that unbearable silence ensued after he trailed off.

“Given what happened last night?” she finished for him. 

Ethan’s face flushed with color and she would have found it adorable in any other situation. He remained stoic and silent nonetheless. 

Lilac sighed. “Look, you don’t have to join me if you don’t want to,” she began. “But if we’re going to forget what happened last night, avoiding each other is not going to help.”

“Forget?” he asked quietly. 

Their eyes met. His gaze pinned her in place, something intense swirling in their depths. Lilac looked away, unable to handle it.

“Move past it,” she amended. Then she rushed through—“We will still have to see each other everyday and for that to work, we need to learn how to be around one another again.”

Ethan nodded, considering her words.

“A reset,” he said.

Lilac shrugged. “If you want to call it that. I see it more as a break.”

He seemed on the verge of being convinced.

“When was the last time you took one of those?” 

“I admit it’s been a while.”

“Then let’s change that.”

They strolled the streets of the city, admiring the vibrant colors of Miami. Everywhere Lilac looked, the air bloomed with color— the iconic art deco buildings they passed, the array of fruits in vendor stalls at the outdoor market, the vibrant art murals of Wynwood Walls. The city came alive in blooms of pinks, yellows, and blue. The bustling streets moved to the sounds of traffic, mixed with the rhythmic music drifting from the outdoor cafes they passed— salsa, merengue, bachata. It was all too familiar to Lilac yet new at the same time. 

Ethan walked beside her, in complete silence at first. The vibrant promise that the city painted for them, however, eventually melted the tension between them. 

“We have to go to Racoon Island,” Lilac said hours into their tour. 

“No.”

“Come on! It’s an island full of racoons,” she insisted, turning her phone's screen for him to see the pictures.

“I gathered that,” Ethan said, unimpressed. “That is precisely why I want to stay as far away from it as possible.”

“You’re no fun,” she said with mock disappointment. In reality, Lilac didn’t care what they did next. She was just so relieved their dynamic felt almost back to normal. 

They walked for a few more minutes before neither of them could resist the enticing smell of Cuban coffee wafting from the cafes all around. Soon, they found themselves seated in the outdoor patio of Café del Sol, a lively place facing the oceanfront. As they waited for their server, Ethan looked out at the waves, a pensive expression on his face.

“Where did you go?” Lilac asked quietly.

Ethan glanced at her, offering her a soft smile.

“Just... thinking. It’s been a while since I took time to do something like this. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to just... be.”

Lilac nodded, feeling a sense of connection that was almost painful. Their daily lives demanded so much from them that it was easy to completely lose all sense of self in the job. She too had forgotten what it was like to just enjoy the present moment without constant movement. 

“It’s nice,” she agreed. “Just living in the moment.” 

Ethan mulled over her words carefully. She could practically see the gears of his mind working. Almost as if by instinct, she knew he was thinking about last night and the road that had led to their kiss— living in the moment, forgetting about rules or duty.

“I’m enjoying it,” he finally allowed. “But things are still complicated. You and I—”

There it was. 

“Please,” she said in an almost whisper. “I understand we need to be careful. And there’s a lot we need to figure out. But maybe … we don’t have to have all the answers yet.” She sighed. “Maybe just for today, we can just… exist.”

For the first time since last night, Ethan visibly relaxed. “I can do that.”

A woman in her mid-50s approached them with a warm smile. She had short, dark hair, a patterned apron tied neatly around her waist, and eyes that crinkled at the corners with the warmth of hospitality.

“Good morning,” she greeted in accented English, holding a small notepad in one hand. “What can I get for you two today? Café con leche, perhaps? Best in town.”

Lilac smiled politely. “Buenos días,” she replied, switching seamlessly into Spanish. “Sí, un café con leche suena perfecto. ¿Y también un cortadito para él?”

The woman’s eyes brightened immediately, a wide smile spreading across her face. “¡Ah! ¡Hablas español!” she exclaimed, clearly delighted. Her words flowed faster now, full of warmth and energy. “Qué bien, mi niña. Entonces, dos cafés, uno con leche y un cortadito para el caballero. ¿Algo más?”

Realizing just how hungry she was, Lilac ordered more food than the two could finish—tostones, ropa vieja, empanadas, croquetas, maduros. 

Ethan leaned back in his chair, watching the interaction with amusement.  When the woman left to put their order in, he said, “I didn’t know your Spanish was that good.”

Lilac gave him a teasing glance. “Really? I’ve helped patients in Spanish right in front of you.”

He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if searching his memory. “Yes, but… this is different,” he said, his voice softening. “You look happy. Relaxed. You look good.”

Lilac paused, the compliment catching her off guard. The weight of the last few days seemed to momentarily lift as she felt the warmth in his gaze. Despite her plea to just enjoy the moment, her foolish heart could not be dissuaded. Not when Ethan had a tendency to see her—truly see her.

An hour later, Ethan sat back in his chair, watching as Lilac playfully mocked his Spanish for the third time since their food arrived. He allowed himself a smile, the teasing, light banter a welcome change from the tension that had hovered between them. She was right, of course. Her Spanish was flawless, flowing effortlessly as she ordered from the café earlier, while his was more… functional. He could get by in medical settings, communicate well enough, but nowhere near her level of ease.

“I swear, it doesn’t get easier than café con leche,” Lilac teased, shaking her head, but there was nothing but warmth in her voice.

He chuckled. “You make it look easy, Rookie.”

Her laughter filled the space between them, and for a moment, it felt like everything had settled back to normal. They were just two colleagues, sharing a meal, enjoying a break from the usual demands of their field. But as he watched her smile and the way her green eyes sparkled when she was at ease, the weight of everything that had happened between them pressed down on his chest.

Last night. 

God, last night.

He had wanted her for longer than Ethan was willing to admit even to himself. Somewhere along the line, the beautiful, intelligent, and intriguing Lilac Allende had woven herself into the fabric of his every thought. To this day, Ethan still couldn’t pinpoint the moment everything changed. For so long, he had kept himself in check, keeping his distance, hiding behind his professionalism. And yet, all those efforts crumbled the moment they kissed. 

They finished their meal, the laughter and teasing slowly giving way to a comfortable silence. 

Eventually, they wandered toward the beach, too full and drowsy from their meal to make much conversation. Ethan found he enjoyed the easy silence as they walked barefoot down the soft sand, shoes in hand. The peace of the moment served as a balm, soothing the restless thoughts that had been gnawing at him all night. 

“Thanks for convincing me to go out,” Ethan finally said, breaking the silence. “We needed this… the break. Just… being.”

Lilac smiled, recognizing her words from earlier. “Yeah. I think we both did.”

For a while longer, they walked side by side, neither in a rush to leave the moment behind. But eventually, the weight of their restless night and the early morning flight that awaited them began to settle in. They turned back toward the hotel, the reality of their return looming closer with each step.

When they reached their hotel room door, Ethan paused. His hand hovered over the handle, his body still, as if frozen in place. He didn’t know why he stopped—he just knew that something inside him wasn’t ready to cross that threshold yet.

Lilac glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “What’s wrong?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Ethan knew, the second they stepped through that door, this brief, blissful reprieve would be over. Their lives—complicated, professional, and full of boundaries—would unpause, and they’d go back to pretending nothing had happened between them.

Lilac seemed to understand, even without him saying it. 

“It’ll be okay,” she said so quietly that Ethan thought he had imagined the words. “It has to be.”

But as Ethan stood there, watching her green eyes read his face, the realization hit him hard. It was foolish to think they needed a reset, a way to move past that kiss, to put it behind them. No matter how many boundaries and defenses he put up, there was no going back to the way they had been. At least, not for Ethan. 

Stealing a day for themselves only strengthened the roots of Ethan’s admiration for her. Watching her today, seeing her so at ease, hearing her laugh, seeing her face lit up by the sun—it had only made him want her more.

More than he ever should.

And he knew that no matter how much they tried to pretend, no matter how hard he tried to pull away, he was far too gone now.

Note: I don't know what that was! I'm just getting myself back in the habit of writing. Thank you for joining me on this ride!

[strangestcase]

I think it says a lot about Jekyll’s character how passive he is to violence and yet how uncomfortable he is with its consequences.

By the end of the Full Statement, at his most obsessive, his phobias and intrusive thoughts mostly revolve around the possibility of not being able to control Mr. Hyde (control he has willingly relinquished by third-personing him!), not about violence; Hyde spends his time trapped in the laboratory going out of his way to assert dominance, as if to further prove to himself he isn’t dependent on the potion like Jekyll is. When he cries after the Carew murder, yes, it’s partly out of regret, but also partly out of relief, because now he has a good reason to not consume again.

It’s interesting how Jekyll doesn’t fear hurting Utterson and Lanyon because he would never do that, even at his most selfish (being Hyde) (they’re his friends!)… at least not consciously. In my opinion Hyde only wanted to flaunt the potion before Lanyon, well aware it would shatter his worldview, but unaware that it could very much kill him! No, he fears being caught, being found out, being tried and imprisoned. But mostly, losing his reputation. Ending up at a dissecting table and not under a marble slab.

And later he fears Hyde is acting on his own volition, watching him, standing too close to him, the only person in the world that knows of his sins— that knows Dr. Jekyll isn’t the saintly figure he so desperately hopes to be remembered as. What makes him hate his creation so much is that it knows him intimately. Jekyll’s last lucid thought is that he will never again be in control of what happens to him. That now it’s all up to Hyde, and who cares if Hyde is him— he doesn’t look it, doesn’t even act it. And Jekyll is fine with suicide as he is fine with murder, because that’s what Hyde does the instant he gets the chance or feels he has to.

The one fear that is always, constantly, consistently in his mind, invoked regularly in Jekyll’s narration, is Hyde being executed…

[h7jfangirl]

TGS UPTADE

So...

EVIL JEKYLL!!!!!!

But really evil? What are Henrys main intentions here?

Save the society reputation, so the logders can keep working on their dreams. That was the reason

But that might be just a facade of his real motivation

Self hate? Its the main root of his motivation, Jekyll become his own anatgonist, because he always was

If you have to say who is tgs main villain, the enemy our lovely Dr Jekyll has to fight to save the day... you would say its Hyde

Dr Monroe only appear once and had nothing to do with jekyll nor Hyde, Frankestein was a temporary antagonist but it only stop because Jekyll stop treating her as such and also she already had her redemption arc, the opposition of the conservatives in tgs never mattered because they dont have the power to destroy society, they are not a real threat

On the other hand, Hyde is a threat for the society, he has the power to destroy it if he wanted to, but for the simple fact that he is also Jekyll

Henry Jekyll its the hero as the villain in his own story

Hyde, if we take him as a seperate character, he is just the main antagonist but not the ultimate bad guy of the story. You normally get rid of them by destroying them or redeem them

But despite claming Hyde as his dark side we never see Jekyll actually trying to destroy him, or even heard a mentioned that he tried in the past. Sure, he took the formula, but he didnt got rid of Hyde and just kept him there existing inside his brain, barely resisting him and let Hyde do whatever he pleased as he adopted this ¨Hopless Prince behavior¨ that actually, Jasper called out in Chapter 11

We dont know why yet, maybe he didnt want to do something risky back then but at this point Hyde never really meant to destroy Jekyll himself nor the society, until Chapter 12, when he is about to sacrifice thier lifestyle just to feel in control over him again, because he felt atrap and literally fading away

He never wanted to destroy the society because he hates it or the logders, he was a threat because he was after Henry, and Jekyll is angry cause despite how many times he tried to explain Hyde that the society well-being depends completely on him, he just dosent care and keeps going until he shall set free

Im not saying that Hyde is not responsable for his actions, but in the end, he is also a part of Jekyll

One way or another it always ends in Henry, and he knows that very well

"Give in to my dark side" it not only means jekilling himself out this world and let Hyde have all the control, but also means reconogzing himself as evil too

I think that at this point, Henry dosen´t see himself as good and evil anymore, but just evil, In Henry´s perspective there is a very strong black and white mindset;

¨I just wanted to be good¨ Jekyll always feared being bad, and saw himself as evil. He tried to be good, but instead he made things worse. So to make things better, he shall embrace his dark side

Today´s page its not only Jekyll being suicidal but also being suicidal as he is aware that he is doing it for evilness, as letting his hate for Hyde wins over his love for Laynon and the society, just to have the satisfaction of seeing Hyde suffer

Remenber, Jekyll rather considers Hyde as another being, so techinically he has the desire to see someone else suffer....

He didn´t say; ¨It will be worth it because they´ll be better without me¨ or ¨It will be worth it because you´ll get what you deserve¨

He said; "It will be worth it to see you suffer¨

Its obvious that he was refering to Hyde, but what if this also applys to Laynon and the logders too?

This desire hides under a fake nobel action with the feeling of ¨this is for a greater good" something that he is aware of

It might be not all fake, he thinks he is doing this sacrifice for a greater good, but also aware that, at least, he´ll has Hyde desesperation as comfort (And he recognizes the action of finding comfort in someone else´s agony as evil)

Its like Jekyll seeing himself as pure evil but still wanting to make things right once for all. You can see it in his eyes, he dosent want this to happend but cant see another solution or a thing that changes his perspective

Inside Jekyll´s pespective, all his self is evil, so he is getting ride of himself entirely to solve the problem, as letting himself had a little plasure in seeing Hyde suffering and finally be stop. A hero´s sacrifice to finally bring peace and justice to those who loves

What in reality, its just a poor man atraped in a delusion where he is only hurting himself until death.

[ask-outside-stars]

Outside Stars and Sequel Fic spoilers below the cut 👀👇

Will flips his hair over his shoulder and shows off the sizeable Rapunzel-esque braid that Mabel had woven for him.

Will: "I typically keep my hair short, but Mabes insisted on keeping it longer so she could have fun with it. It's more maintenance, but I can't deny that I look fabulous."

While Will strokes his hair like a prized cat, Stan sputters at his own ask.

Stan: "Marriage? Sh- shouldn't we at least kiss first? I learned my lesson with Marilyn: never rush into marriage."

Will: "Specs isn't gonna steal your car, though."

Stan: "Maybe he's just playing the long con."

While Ford reads over his question, Dipper answers his own.

Dipper: "Well, I've been helping Grunkle Ford track down Mothman. Apparently Mothman owes him money, but the guy's impossible to find. That's my goal this summer: get $20 back from Mothman."

Stan: "That sounds absolutely insane taken out of context."

He notices Ford's faraway expression.

Stan: "You okay there, Sixer?"

Ford: "Hm? Oh, yes, I'm fine. I just believe that Will should answer this one with me."

Will leans over his shoulder to read the question, then he tucks in on himself bashfully.

Ford: "Well, there was the other day..."

*~*

They’d bought five separate brands, just to be safe, and all five tests sat face-up on the bathroom counter while the egg timer next to them ticked down. Ford and Will sat on the floor, backs against the tub, and arms around each other to take physical comfort from the other.

“I’m so sorry, Stanford,” Will whispered into the silence of the bathroom.

“What? What for?”

Will shrugged. “I don’t know. Potentially baby-trapping you, I guess? I know you don’t want kids-”

“Who says?” Ford demanded softly, and Will looked at him, baffled.

“I’ve been in your brain before, genius,” Will said.

“Then you would know that I once hoped to have children to carry on my research and my legacy.”

“But that’s a terrible reason to have a baby!” Will snapped, his voice echoing off the surrounding tiles. “There’s only one valid reason to have a child, and that’s because you want to raise one. Not for legacy or to take care of you in your old age or peer pressure or whatever stars-forsaken reason you humans come up with to justify procreation!”

He was clearly getting worked up and Ford gently took his hands to calm him down. 

“Yes, I’m aware. That’s why I say I used to want children to carry on my legacy. I’ve since come to realize that that’s a selfish wish. But…” Ford shrugged helplessly. “I can’t deny that the thought has crossed my mind once or twice since our marriage, but I’d never broached the topic because of my age. It didn’t really seem prudent to have a child in my… however old I really am.”

Will bumped their shoulders together. “Hey. If creepy old celebrities can have babies in their sixties, then we could have one too… if you want.”

Before Ford could reply, the timer went off with a shrill ring. The two exchanged a wary glance and Will was the first to rise to his feet. Slowly he eyed the row of tests.

Negative. Negative. Negative. Negative. Negative.

He let out a shuddering breath and sunk to his knees, where Ford was immediately at his side.

“What is it? Are they positive?” he asked frantically.

Will shook his head and laughed, delirious with relief. “Negative. Every single one. I’m not pregnant, Sixer.”

Ford inhaled deeply, then exhaled. “Thank goodness. Something as significant as having a baby should really be discussed properly ahead of time.”

“Yeah…”

They embraced each other, holding on tight. While Ford spoke about scheduling an appointment with Dr. Cnidaria to perhaps see if Will’s late period was related to his coma from years ago, the man himself stared down at the negative tests.

The pang he felt in his chest was relief, not regret.

…right?

*~*

Will: "They turned out to all be negative. Thank the stars."

Ford: "Right. Good thing too."

Will: "Right."

Ford: "Absolutely."

The two of them fall into awkward silence, refusing to make eye contact. Stan, sensing the shift in mood, steers Dipper out of the kitchen. His brother and brother-in-law need to have a serious conversation and stop dancing around each other.

[iz-star]

About Zayne's loneliness.

Sometimes I wonder what an angry Zayne looks like? I mean, NOT angry at MC/you but maybe angry at Astra and/or his fate for putting him in such difficult and unfair situations.

Zayne loves MC deeply, with his whole being, but loving her makes him be 'selfish', to want something for himself, to seek his own happiness alongside MC when it seems that his fate was always to serve others before looking after himself.

It's like he himself said in Master of Fate's Myth: "When emotions and desires are involved, selfishness is bound to exist".

In Master of Fate, he's deemed as a Siming which in Chinese mythology, is a kind of deity in charge to allocate humans' life spans, and according to Wikipedia:

"Siming's special concern (and power) is the balancing of yin and yang (Hawkes 2011 (1985), 109). Of particular relevance here is the relation between yin and yang balance and human health, and the importance to individual human health of such balance, as articulated in traditional Chinese medicine. Siming has the power to balance or unbalance yin and yang, and thus to lengthen or shorten human lifespans, or to provide health or prolong illness".

Siming could decide to provide health to a person or to prolong illness, in that way, having an important role into deciding people's life spans. It's interesting cause Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker pretty much do the same.

Dr Zayne does his best to cure and take care of people, thus stretching out their life span, while Dawnbreaker gives them a merciful death to avoid them to live as walking corpses, thus shortening their life span.

Unlike Master of Fate or Foreseer, at first glance it could look like Dr Zayne and Dawnbreaker have no God-like power, thus have no control over destiny or fate, yet they still do.

It's actually Foreseer the one who lacks some kind of jurisdiction about people's lifes and fates; he could still glimpse at their destiny, being aware of what awaits people but wasn't allowed to intervene in any sense and most of all, he wasn't allowed to glimpse at his own fate.

In any case, until now, all Zayne's lifes have always been about taking care of other's destiny but what about him? When describing gods, Zayne is actually quite humble, saying that gods maybe are just like humans, except that they had the chance to do a bit more.

Zayne is quite selfless. He's not the kind of man who would blame his destiny for all the things that have happened to him and yet... They're still unfair.

Foreseer once said: "My destiny is to disappear from the annals of history... For someone who wants to remember me, it certainly feels wonderful".

At some point, Zayne's duty isolated him in every life time. He lived alone and caged in a Tower in Foreseer's Myth, he lived alone in the Mountains as Master of Fate, and he lived totally alone as Dawnbreaker. His only companions were Jas/Bai but no other human being.

Dr Zayne is actually the only one whose duty has brought him some kind of recognition, admiration and appreciation (and well deserved, of course), and hasn't isolated him from society, but funnily enough, he has this condition with his evol that sometimes turns him into a treath, which makes him keep others at arms length, especially MC. As for Master of Fate? Foreseer? Dawnbreaker? They all have to move the threads behind backstage in a lonely duty, being Foreseer the most severe case. It doesn't help that in the Foreseer timeline, Zayne is even explictly prohibited to be with MC.

Zayne's fate was always to look after other people's fate but like I've said before, MC was always the exception of every rule in his book because she was the one who made him yearn for human warmth and closeness with someone else and because of that, he'd break the rules to ensure she lives a long happy and safe life, even if is not at his side... Unironically.

In Foreseer's Myth, it is said that Astra prohibited him of being with MC in this and his other lifes because Zayne was a tool. At first, Astra's severity at punishing Zayne looked more like a senseless tantrum of a prepotent god and while that might be true, it seems that Zayne not being able to be with MC in every life time is simply because she would never allow him to fullfil 'his destiny' and to make matters worse, she's a "variant" (We don't know exactly what this entails, we just know that is something threatening, I have some assumptions about it but let's keep it like this for now) . That's why, unlike Rafayel and the other LIs, it seems that he doesn't keep memories of his previous lifes or previous experiences with MC, yet he said once that if souls truly existed, then he was sure that his soul recognized MC before his memory did. MC is this person that always reminds him that he's not just a "tool", a means to an end, but an individual being that is also deserving of something better.

Zayne's love for MC often reminds me of that Córtazar quote: "You were always my mirror, what I'm trying to say is that, in order to see me, I had to see you"

I wonder if there's one life time where Zayne will be allowed to have happiness and company without having to pay a high price for it.