#stage direction in narration

[emilyoracle]

Stage Direction in Narration

"He walked into the room." <> "She sat on the bench." <> "They left the car."

We all use stage direction. It's unavoidable; readers need to know where our characters are in the space we've created for them. And sometimes a simple statement of movement is needed. But most of the time, it can be improved upon.

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If it wasn't clear from the above examples, "stage direction" is when a character's movement is narrated like one might write in a play or film script: straightforward and unembellished statements indicating a character's direction.

This is great for scripts, where concise and clear instructions are preferable when a director and actor needs to follow them.

Not so great in a novel, where the author's goal is to keep a reader's interest and immersion. Let's take a look at how you might improve these sentences by adding intent, context, or grounding description.

Some of the examples below were taken from manuscripts I’ve betaread. The original authors gave me permission to use them.

Improving Stage Direction

Adding intent might be the easiest solution. You should know why your character is conducting an action; that's probably the reason you're writing the action in the first place. Instead of separating action and intent, combine them. Is your character walking towards the table to take a seat? Grab something off it? Talk to someone?

He walked towards the table. > Why? > He walked to the table and pulled out a chair to slump into.

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Obviously not every action has a purpose beyond itself, sometimes a character is moving in order to… well, get to where they're going. In that case, rounding it out with more context and emotionally-charged description can help create a more compelling sentence. Is there a specific way the character is conducting the action? Is there an underlying feeling within the movement that could add emotional charge?

Take the entire scene into consideration and determine your character's place in the scene and how they might be feeling. If she is one of two friends being reunited, she might move with excitement and eagerness. If he's a bystander watching the reunion, he might be more hesitant.

Paul walked up to them. > How? > Paul walked up as inconspicuously as he could so as not to disturb the reunion.

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Grounding means adding description to an action in order to make it tangible, to "ground" it to the world it's happening in. In the absence of purpose, this adds immersion and substance to your world, which is never a bad thing.

David sat down. > Where's the world? > David sat down and looked up at the stars glinting in the dark night sky.

Sometimes you already have the description and it's simply a matter of shuffling things around. Such as in the above example, where the original was actually:

"The stars glinted on the dark night sky and David sat down then took a deep breath. The contrast of the fresh air to the heat inside made him feel the buzzing in his body from the many glasses he had been drinking all evening."

I simply rearranged what was already there, while also combining the end of the sentence with the next to add context to him taking a deep breath: "David sat down and looked up at the stars glinting in the dark night sky. He took a deep breath and the contrast of fresh air to the heat inside […]"

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Other Solutions

If none of the above work, you could try eliminating or rewording.

If the surrounding sentences already imply or show the direction, you might be able to eliminate the stage direction all together.

The two of them walked out of the store. Jacob and Sam left the marketplace behind and headed north-west for Beringia. > Are both sentences needed? > Jacob and Sam left the marketplace behind and headed north-west for Beringia.

That first sentence is entirely redundant. Getting rid of it still gives every bit of information and context the reader requires. By indicating that Jacob and Sam left the marketplace, it is perfectly sensible to assume that they walked out of the store beforehand.

This often shows up in other areas of narration as well, namely, I’ve noticed, in descriptions from a character’s pov. “He looked at it” or “She stared at him” is often followed by description that perfectly indicates that the character is looking at the object.

Tarrin regarded him. The light from the torches in the gardens illuminated his dark hair and the exquisite curves of his shoulders.

By the description that follows, it is obvious that Tarrin (MC) is looking at the described character. “Tarrin regarded him” is unnecessary and taking it out only strengthens the narration.

“Is this the library?” he asked, hovering a finger over the first map. Pearl looked at it. “Yes.” The circular nothing in the middle and the lines splayed out in every direction noting shelves and offices said it was.

Again, “Pearl looked at it” followed immediately by a description of the thing she is looking at, is redundant. If the story is from a limited perspective, a description is already telling the readers what the MC is seeing, and thus stating that it is being seen is completely unnecessary.

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If the sentence still definitely, absolutely, without a doubt needs to remain then a simple rewording can still be an improvement.

Instead of "She ran across the street," you could write "She sprinted across the street." Instead of "He walked up to the table," write "He ambled up to the table."

Yes, I know that's elementary writing tips 101 stuff but hey, there's a reason it's part of the bedrock of writing advice. Some words are just better than others.

Something as simple as an adverb can do the job, too: instead of "He walked towards him," write "He walked hesitantly towards him." Adding even basic emotion gives the sentence more purpose in the narration than simple stage direction.

Of course, all of this should be done during the editing process. Stage direction is actually super helpful in drafts, in my opinion, because it's an easy way to keep the narrative going while giving your future self a roadmap to follow and work with. If it moves the scene along for YOU initially and keeps you writing, that's all that matters. So don't fret about this while you're drafting.

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Wow, that was a lot! Are you done? Good, because this is definitely the end, I promise.

Effectively Using Stage Direction

...Okay, yes, there's more, but this is the last thing! I just feel it's necessary to lay out the exception to all this, because straightforward stage direction can actually be utilized as an effective narrative tool. Indicating a character's direction of movement can invoke emotional symbolism or build intrigue.

A character moving closer to someone or something can show emotional closeness (or desire for emotional closeness), vulnerability, security (or the desire/need for security), fondness, attraction, etc. Obviously in the opposite way, a character moving back or away can indicate emotional distance, revulsion, anger, fear, etc.

Take these two examples:

"I still love you." Her mother opened her arms. Anna stepped forward. She stopped herself, breath catching in her throat. "But you love yourself more," she whispered.

"I still love you." Her mother opened her arms. Anna stepped back. She stopped herself, breath catching in her throat. "But you love yourself more," she whispered.

Exact same scene, but the direction of Anna's movement completely changes the underlying emotion.

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In a similar sense, a character moving closer to a specific location or object can be used as a plot device: a character inching closer to a table, for example, is a miniature plot breadcrumb. It creates a small intrigue in the reader. A page later, when the character uses their proximity to the table to snatch a knife from it and defend themselves, that breadcrumb is answered and the intrigue is rewarded.

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In Closing

Like all writing tools, stage direction is not inherently bad. Use it strategically and it can be an effective device. Otherwise, I hope the tips here can help you strengthen your narration. As always, you are the master of your own story, and if you disagree with anything in this post, then don't implement it!

Thanks for reading~ Don’t forget to write a sentence of your story today!

#writing #editing #editing tips #writing tips #writing help #writing problems #writing advice #long post #writerblr #writing resources #writing reference #writing guide #stage direction #stage direction in narration #at what point do I give in and become a professional editor #idk guys #the BEST compliment I have ever received #was that having me as a betareader/editor was like 'writing with cheat codes on' #this is the kind of inane detailed stuff I catch and suggest how to fix

[skyfullofpods]

Hello fans of Re: Dracula who were introduced to fiction podcasts through the updates from our good friend Jonathan Harker! Now that the story's over (sob!), would you like some recommendations for some other audio dramas that you might enjoy, made by some of the folks who worked on the podcast?

Jonathan Sims, who played our local phonograph enthusiast, is the writer of the hugely popular horror podcast, The Magnus Archives. The Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute records statements made by members of the public, detailing strange encounters with the supernatural. What soon becomes clear is that these statements do not describe separate and unrelated events, and a bigger and horrific picture begins to emerge. Also appearing as recurring characters in this series are both Sasha Sienna and Alasdair Stuart.

Karim Kronfli is a prolific voice actor, and while he might be best known for his roles in both Re: Dracula and The Magnus Archives, he has voiced a wide range of characters in many different fiction podcasts. Out of all the ones he's appeared in, I would personally recommend urban fantasy anthology series, Unseen. The unseen world exists alongside ours, but only a few humans can see it. It's a world where magic and magical creatures exists, and Karim's character tells his story in episode 7, titled We Ourselves.

Beth Eyre and Felix Trench played twins Antigone and Rudyard Funn in Wooden Overcoats, a British sitcom set on the tiny fictional island of Piffling, in the English Channel. The twins run a funeral parlor together, the only one on the island, until a newcomer arrives. Eric Chapman (played by Tom Crowley) sets up a much more successful funeral parlor, and the story is narrated by the Funns' house mouse, Madeline.

Alan Burgon plays the Interviewer in The Amelia Project. The Amelia Project is a secret organisation, and clients come to them looking for their help in faking their deaths. The Interviewer listens to each client's story, before concocting unique and often elaborate ways in which they will stage their deaths, before being reborn into a new identity.

David Ault is also a very recognisable voice to anyone who spends a considerate amount of time listening to fiction podcasts, and The Kingmaker Histories feels like an appropriate choice here. A weird steampunk series set in the Valorian Socialist Republic in 1911 , this story involves found family, its own intriguing magic system, and being gay and doing crime.

Our favourite cowboy, Giancarlo Herrera, plays one of the protagonists in sci-fi action/thriller, Primordial Deep. Spinner is part of a team which is sent deep beneath the sea to investigate the resurgence of creatures thought to be long-extinct. There's plenty of horror to be had here, as something ancient is stirring in the depths of the ocean.

As for the crew? Tal Minear works on so many podcasts, and if you like fantasy stories, I would recommend the delightfully lighthearted Sidequesting, which follows new adventurer Rion, as they help people on their travels. If you would like some more horror, there's their spoiler-driven anthology series, Someone Dies in This Elevator.

Hannah Wright's Inn Between is a fantasy series based on D&D. Each episode follows a party as they meet in the Goblin's Inn, in between adventures, as the tavern follows them around wherever they go.

Stephen Indrisano's upcoming docu-horror Shelterwood promises to be a series which explores the horror of suburbia, as it follows one man's quest to find his missing sister. Until this is released, I would recommend Do You Copy, in which Stephen plays one of the protagonists. This found footage horror series follows the events which unfold after the closure of Red Tail National Park, and the people who were left inside the park, after its mysterious closure.

Ella Watts is regarded as a walking encyclopedia of all things audio fiction, and has worked on several high-profile projects, including directing both Doctor Who: Redacted and Marvel Move. Her upcoming Camlann is a post-apocalyptic series due to be released next year, inspired by Arthurian legends and British folklore. She is also the executive producer of Tin Can Audio's (who are also producing Camlann) beautiful experimental series, The Tower. The protagonist of this story, Kiri, leaves her life behind to climb an impossibly high tower, making phonecalls along the way.

Newt Schottelkotte's Where The Stars Fell is a supernatural fantasy set in the town of Jerusalem, Oregon. Cryptozoologist Dr Edison Tucker arrives in the town to carry out some research, and meets her roommate, author Lucille Kensington. There's so much more to this strange town than first meets the eye, with a huge revelation at the end of season one.

If you're new to fiction podcasts, welcome! I hope this short (ish!) and very much non-comprehensive list gave you some ideas of what to listen to next!

#Re: Dracula #audio fiction #audio drama #podcasts #podcast recommendations #podcast recs #the mortifying ordeal of being known WELP #me yeeting this list into the void and then disappearing for the forseeable future

[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.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas fic #thg series #thg fic #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow x reader #volumnia gaul #tw medical #medical horror #fanfic #.// ♡ basil's archive #. // ♡ rubatosis series #its insane how much i wrote for this first chapter lmao #its like 30 pages on google docs #i am obsessed with this man #i really wanted this chapter to be a focus of snow & reader building their dynamic and bond before we jump off the deep end #i am really excited to write the coming chapters

[eff-plays]

Found some really good analysis of Astarion having 10 Charisma on a Youtube video, plus comparisons to a bard Tav because bard supremacy.

Text version under the cut!

Youtube comment from user TF2CrunchyFrog:

Astarion having a default Charisma of only 10 feels like the biggest joke of the entire game. Like, the one characters whose background story as a vampire spawn involves is him having spent the past 170 years being basically prostituted by Cazador his vampire master, being forced to rely on seduction and manipulation to survive, the guy that even various NPCs and even the Narrator remark about how beautiful he is canonically... But instead of the game devs making him a Bard, he's the DEX-based Rogue (I mean, he's a darn good Rogue, but) with the potential Arcane Trickster subclass (which needs INT as base attribute). When I played an Origin run as Astarion, I respecced him slightly and lowered his CON from 15 to 14 and his WIS from 13 to 12 and used that to upgrade his CHA to 12. Astarion being a Rogue is the anomaly here... because when did he learn that? If he was a magistrate while alive -- although the writers chucked the rest of his tentative background story from the earliest stages of the games back in 2020 into the dumpster and changed "corrupt" into "tragic", which gave him more depth, so maybe him claiming at first meeting that he's a magistrate in Baldur's Gate is him serving you a double-lie instead of just a single lie (as he hasn't been whatever profession or status he had while alive for the past nearly 200 years).

BiRios replying to TF2CrunchyFrog:

or all his charm is well…superficial. His skills don’t actually lie there. At least that’s how I took it. He’s all this pomp and circuses but by now it’s just…flat

Raikos100 replying to BiRios:

tbh I agree. Feels like he always not taking things serious, like always joking around, so in a sense you usually don't trust him for anything with his attitude, it's not someone you would trust or take a word irl. Guy tells you "only a sip" and proceeds to suck you dry like a capri sun 😂

samisuhonen9815 replying to TF2CrunchyFrog:

I think he has a 10 in charisma because he is naturally and superficially charming. But in reality, he is not a SKILLED charmer or a smooth talker. Someone who has 16 or more charisma, is a capable of lying, deceiving, performing, even at the cost of one's ego. He/she has the skills to adapt and spin new wild stories on the spot, improvising at all times. I don't think Astarion really has that. He knows how to sound fancy. He knows how to be sarcastic and witty. But he is not someone who can appeal to any person and talk his way out of anything. Say he gets blamed for something. His selfish and defensive instinct would be to insult the person back. A true charisma giga chad is able to see that this sort of behavior will not get him/her what he/she wants. He/she is able to de-escalate the situation and redirect it into a direction that gets the rizzler what he/she wants.

river8783 replying to samisuhonen9815:

Exactly. Playing a bard Tav highlights this difference really well. Half the options listed as solutions during conversations are ones you know Astarion wouldn't think of, or fail miserably at because of all the reasons you listed. He's fun and funny, but also he should thank his lucky stars you're there to talk for him cause he'd be so freakin dead on his own.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #astarion

[peterfankoffski]

I really like we get to actually hear Nick read the narration/stage directions in nightmare time because the way it always usually cuts to him grinning at the end always reminds me of how after the twilight zone has some of the most brilliant commentary you’ve ever seen, the camera will turn and rod serling will say something that can be summarized as “damn wouldn’t that be fucked up in real life? hi I’m rod serling”

#team starkid #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #em says their thoughts

[nanaminokanojo]

THAWING ICE QUEEN (part 107)

–one night of fooling around with the annoying campus king gojo satoru (he thinks so), turns into...well, something else more long term

CHARACTERS: gojo satoru x you | geto suguru | jjk characters

GENRE: college au | smut | smau | smau + prose | everything in between | ons | fubus to lovers | aged-up characters | idk where this is going

⚠️ TW/CW: strong/mature language | 🔞 | mentions of alcohol, smoking, etc. | this has narrations | god-awful pet names | will add more if something arises

MASTERLIST | CHAPTER INDEX

<<prev part 107 next>>

A/N: This has prose.

“What?”

Nothing was making sense. You don’t even know if you’ve heard right as you watched everything suddenly slow into a snail’s pace and blur out into nothing but colors. It was as if you were submerged in a transparent water tank where nothing was exactly clear, not sight or sound, although you were somehow aware of what was going on. You knew your father stood up from his seat, looking deathly pale as he looked towards the stage. You followed the direction of his eyes, that, too, seeming to take an eternity to accomplish as you turned your head and saw none other than Gojo Satoru standing behind the podium, smiling bright as he addressed the applauding crowd, dazzling under the ambient lights and seemingly not existing in the same realm as everyone was.

You whirled around to look at Kento, having to steady yourself on one of the chairs as questions, one after the other started to flood your mind, except you couldn’t voice them out, not knowing which one to ask first. Why was Satoru suddenly named the head of a company his maternal grandfather owns? Does he know the real reason why you were leaving? Did he do just that for you? What the hell was your father telling you to ask your friends what he was doing there? You held onto Kento’s arm, your eyes conveying every single one of the things you couldn’t say. His expression told you everything you needed to know.

“What?” you asked again, but your voice came out weak, drowned out by another round of applause that was addling your thought process, making you incoherent and unable to do anything. What did you want to do anyway? There wasn’t one thing that came to mind, not even the scathing smirk your father shot your way when your eyes met his again. You just wanted it to be over, but then again, in what way?

You swallowed, thick and hard, wishing you could say something. You knew what it meant, that same accusing look he threw your way all those years ago when your mother died, a core memory that hardened at the back of your mind. He might not have said it out loud, but it spoke volumes of how he wished you were gone instead of her, how he blames you for the loss of the only woman he ever cared about. He looked at you the same way now as if you wounded him the same way again, as if you were making him go through the pain again.

He held you frozen with his cold gaze, making you hold your breath until it hurt, when suddenly, he turned away to address someone else behind you. “I believe congratulations are in order,” he stated in a tone that was anything but congratulatory, “Mr. Gojo.”

“Hardly, but I believe thanks are in order,” Satoru responded, repeating your father’s words and returning it to him. “I have yet to fulfill the purpose of it all.”

You heard the smirk in his voice as opposed to seeing it, unable to move on your spot as Kento kept you steady, merely looking down on the floor. You wanted to do something, anything, take him away from there perhaps. Your father wasn’t worth the time, not Satoru’s anyway. Mustering all the wits you had left, you finally managed to turn around, looking at Satoru to ground yourself. He was there. Everything will be okay…right?

Satoru smiled at you and winked as if to answer your unspoken question. He stepped towards your father, and in a low tone, said, “If you think you can use me to hurt your own daughter, you couldn’t have been more mistaken.” Although he kept a pleasant look on his face, the playfulness was gone, replaced by a threat instead.

Your father scoffed. “Very valiant of you then, young man. All this for my daughter.” He chuckled. “But you said it yourself. She is my daughter, and what goes in our family neither involves you nor does it change things because you suddenly decided you’d want to go this far for her. Commendable, I must say –”

“I’ll take that as a compliment without the catch, if you don’t mind.” He leveled his expression with your father. “Of course, you are right. It changes nothing if you still want Y/N to leave, but she can decide on that without you threatening to tear me down should she disagree.”

You merely blinked slowly as your thoughts were confirmed, but before you could even wrap your head around it, Satoru was suddenly beside you, taking your hand in his, boldly displaying it in front of your father.

“Satoru –”

“I love your daughter, Atty. L/N. And yes, I’m willing to go through lengths to make her happy. I may not decide on that, but I’m giving her the freedom to do just that without anyone, not even you, interfering in it.”

The older male glared at Satoru. “This was all in vain, but you knew that.”

“We’ll see,” the blue-eyed menace beside you stated in that happy-go-lucky tone of his, even having the gall to grin at your father. “Now, if you don’t mind…” He shifted his gaze to you, a love-struck smile replacing his earlier expression. “I have a date with your daughter, father-in-law.”

With that, he turned around, dragging you away, but not before you saw your father fall onto his seat, evidently seething as he watched the pair of you go. But before you could dwell on that thought, you heard Satoru’s laughter ringing through the hallway as he looked back at you with nothing but that tender, adoring look he always has for you, enough to convince you to join in as you both ran towards your own fairy tale albeit momentary.

A/N: Hi, everyone! Just gonna leave this here for now and will update this over the next days one or two at a time, depending on how much I can create per day. Again, thank you for the love. We're almost to the end! Thanks for staying.

TAGS LIST: @arxliana @neeneee @charlie-xo @aelynaneedsalottathing @cloudxp @justpuddinglol @mikkies @nyfwyeonjun @whats-humanity-lol @letthewindlead @whore-of-many-hot-men @localgaytrainwreck @pikibee @bloombb @mr-underhills-things @lysaray @chocoyanchan @poemzcheng @bookswillfindyouaway @dreamxiing @koutaroo @taelattecookie @kazuhasmaid @weebbuscuit @moonmalice @taengkatsu @reagan707 @to0ruu @shirabane @yell0wdreams @r0ckst4rjk @megtheebimbo @tmvll9 @kibananya @ti-mame @niko-ash @minzxec

© ORIGINAL WORK BY nanaminokanojo. CHARACTERS ARE INSPIRED BY GEGE AKUTAMI’S JUJUTSU KAISEN. [20240415]

PHOTO/IMAGE/GIF/FANART/ANY MEDIA CREDITS TO THE RESPECTIVE OWNERS.

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo #gojo satoru #gojo smut #gojo fluff #gojo smau #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen smau #gojo hcs #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk smau #geto suguru #sukuna #social media au #smau

[mymainwastoocluttered]

TFW you have a gamer bf to pass stages for you (Idia)

I suck at the twistunes, ok? Bite me. Idia for my own comfort

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

(⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠) (⁠;⁠ŏ⁠﹏⁠ŏ⁠)

"Idia, you love me, right?"

"I–I..."

"Right! We wouldn't be dating otherwise. Since you love me soooo much—and I love you too, of course, so much it hurts—, can you please please please get me past this stage?"

Without waiting for an answer, (Y/N) shoves her phone into his hands, doing her best to tame her cute annoyed expression into a cute pleading expression. On the screen, Idia can see the rhythm game she's currently obsessed with, the cute animal characters winking at him and pointing at the start button.

Idia has heard of this game, of course, with its rising popularity, specially between girls—ie, his girlfriend's demographic—, though he has never played it himself. He does have some rhythm games under his belt, of course.

"Please?" She pleads again, doing an exaggerated pout that deals a huge amount of damage to Idia's heart. Why is her cute status so high?! Or maybe he's the one with the disadvantage against cuteness? "You don't even need to monologue sweetly inside your mind, I'll do it for you! Here: (Y/N) always tries to win by herself, not because she doesn't trust her boyfriend's incredible skills, but because she likes winning her battles by her own efforts, even the small ones like videogames. And yet. And yet, she comes to Idia in her time of need, trusting him to fight for her until his last breath—"

"Ok, ok, I–I'll do it, just... Just stop with the narrator voice!" Idia interrupts with the calmest voice he can muster, which is several octaves higher than usual, as it tends to happen when his girlfriend starts monologuing like a romance novel narrator.

He must have a type disadvantage against cuteness.

Taking a deep breath to calm his heart, he tries to focus on the quest trusted to him by (Y/N). The game is relentless, but the music is catchy without being too overwhelming. He needs to restart the game two or three times to get the feel for it, but by the fourth start over, he's ready to combo his way to a high score.

Only when he hits the last note, a "★Perfect★" popping up on the screen for the last time, is when he notices the awed look in the girl's eyes, directed to Idia himself of all people.

His heart takes another devastating critical.

"W... What?!" He squeaks, feeling his face burn just as much as his fiery hair.

"Idia, you're so cool!" Is the answer he gets, together with an armful of very excited girlfriend for a K.O. move.

They fall onto his bed, her on top, and Idia freezes when he feels her weight on top of him. Oh, Great Seven, he's on his bed with his girlfriend, laying down with his girlfriend, and she's praising him to Hades and back. He was not prepared for this bonus stage. Why are they even on his bed?

Oh, right. (Y/N) suggested they do a parallel play so Idia can get used to being closer to her without stressing about entertaining her. It seems she has forgotten all about that, nuzzling his chest in thanks, babbling about how cool he is for getting a SS in a stage she's been stuck for a week.

And while Idia does feel like fainting, specially when he notices the tips of his hair burning a bright shade of pink, he's not about to skip this CG.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader

[ggukkiedae]

2sun on and off cameras

Click Below to See the Video

*quotations in the bottom of the pictures are narrated by the video editor. dialogue in italics are spoken in english, dialogue in bold are spoken in chinese. content warning: one curse word*

*did i write this because i miss haechan? yes. yes i did. get well soon haechannie 🥺*

00z lives 2018 vs. 2020

in the 2018 live when talking about spoilers, hannah and haechan both started doing the same choreography, so jeno stopped haechan while jaemin stopped hannah.

they exchanged a look then continued the choreo, so jeno shoved haechan off the chair while jaemin pulled hannah onto his lap, acting like a straight jacket

(then moments later spoiling choreo again while dancing to chewing gum until renjun shoved them both away)

in the 2020 live, hannah and haechan explained the iphone macbook bit to jeno, then haechan reached over her to pinch jeno’s ears while hannah poked his side.

jeno just pinched haechan’s arm and started tickling her side, making them both start yelling

Bonus Clip #3 | Analog Trip NCT 127: Escape From Magic Island

they all agreed to throw haechan into the water, and he runs away and hides behind hannah

and she looks at the older members, grabs a paddle and looks at them “i will splash you if you touch my twin!” but there was a splash behind her.

she turned around and saw haechan dove into the water willingly, so she gave him a look

“i can’t help you if you do stuff like that!” “it was throw or be thrown!”

he was thrown anyway while taeil lifted her in a fireman’s hold, bringing her to johnny

[BE ORIGINAL] NCT DREAM(엔시티 드림) ‘ISTJ’ (Behind)

while monitoring their cuts, haechan’s backhugging her, patting her stomach and she starts squirming before breaking from his hold

he looks at her offended, then there’s a small pause before she pulls his shirt up, making him panic to hold it back down and hide his own stomach

he moves to do the same to until he realized she was in a bralette

“try. try. just you try, lee donghyuck” “don’t test me, lee haeeun”

and he just throws her over his shoulder, and she’s yelling and mark's just following them all “guys? guys? haechan, put her down”

PADO Dance Practice Behind VS Concert Performance

during a break, there’s just a clip of them trying to (for lack of better terms) out-babygirl each other while doing the chorus, and all the other members are just watching all amused

cut to them dancing the chorus after their shared pre-chorus facing each other, eyes intense just until the second “you got me so satisfied” where they turned to face opposite directions, but beside each other instead then fist bumping as the piano chords sound at the end of the chorus

2sun during concerts compilation

cue a compilation of them hoeing it out together during baby don’t like it stages

them stacking accessories on each other during candy stages

their slow motion to normal speed high five during faster stages

their play arguments before mfal stages

2016 Chewing Gum Making Film

taeyong speaking to the camera: “it’s so interesting. our 127 maknae is over there acting like an oppa to our haeeun. it’s so interesting to see, i don’t think he’s like this even with his actual siblings.”

the camera pans to hannah and haechan, but the two are just seen eating, so the camera pans back to taeyong

taeyong: “you didn’t catch it? such a shame, it was really cute.”

2017 Doyoung Hosting the NCT Dream MFAL Comeback Show

“hey, lee haechan, why are you being like this? where’s the maturity you said you’d have because you’re a hyung in dream?” “hyung, are you haeeunie?” “no?” “exactly.”

*doyoung looks at the crowd with an accusatory look while the dreamies laugh*

“no, but it really is weird seeing haechan being an oppa to hannah. he’s like a different person.”

2018 Taeyong Vlive

“haeeunie is my daughter, everyone. now that she’s in 127, i’ll be taking care of her more. but i don’t think i can ever beat haechannie. haechannie is our maknae, but he’s like a real oppa with our haeeunie. he avoids doing it on camera, but he always takes care of her very well. it’s sweet, if you think about it.”

2019 Chenle and Jisung live

jisung: “hannah noona and haechan hyung? they’re with the 127 hyungs right now, working very hard.”

chenle: “right. i feel so thankful to them for working hard for both 127 and dream. i feel sorry whenever i see them go from one schedule to another, it’s like they aren’t resting.”

jisung: “but they’re taking care of themselves for sure! haechan hyung especially makes sure hannah noona always eats and sleeps well”

chenle (imitating haechan): “haeeun-ah, time for lunch” “haeeun-ah, let’s go to bed, you need energy, okay?” “is our haeeunie okay? is she hurt? is she tired?”

jisung: “woah, you sound exactly like him!”

2020 Kun live

“kun baba?” *chuckles* “i am. i’m huanuo’s kun baba… partly. don’t get me wrong, i love hannah and the fact that we’re working together again after two years, but i don’t see her all the time, you know? i can’t be her baba all the time because she’s always off on schedules.” *sighs* “i’m just glad she has haechan. You may not believe it from haechan’s very bright and energetic energy, but he becomes very mellow and caring when he’s with her. it’s like watching him turn into a dad.”

2021 Yangyang live

“do you ever get jealous of haechan and hannah? no, i don’t. maybe once, but that was for, like, two seconds. yeah haechan is actually very big brother to her, you know? you guys have never, like, hung out with just those two without staff or cameras, there’s a switch. i mean, hannah is still her, but just a little more kid-like. just a little. haechan becomes like an extra protective big brother. they really are like actual siblings. them and mark hyung, too!”

2022 Sungchan live

*sounds of the door opening, sungchan looks, bows his head, then looks back to the live*

“i thought it was hannah noona. she likes checking on me every now and then, but i forgot she’s still on tour. that was a staff just now. hannah noona… she’s like my second mom. she really takes care of me well, which is why it’s a little strange for me to see her with haechan hyung. He’s like hannah noona’s personal hannah noona. do you get it? did i say that right? it’s a little bit like if me, chenle, and and jisung have hannah noona, noona has haechan hyung.”

2023 Yuta on Weverse

hannah is ignoring me right now

not by choice

haechan has my kitsune wrapped in a blanket because she has a cold right now

i want to take care of her but haechan said it’s his job and she’s his responsibility

when did he get so grown up, our maknae?

[N’-153] We gon’ resonate 🔥 | NCT 2020💚MAMA 안무연습 비하인드🌟

around 7 minutes and 20 seconds into the video there’s a really quick moment where you can see them behind johnny dancing while the choreographer was discussing details

she was looking down, and he was just a little hunched over to be more at level with her while holding her face, looking like he was asking her something, and she shook her head, then he nodded, and that was all seen before the clip cut

Mark’s IG Story

hannah straight up just walked into a glass door because she was on her phone, then haechan cradles her forehead, lightly scolding her for not looking where she was going meanwhile mark’s just in laughs going “cute, why are the babies so cute”

[Un Cut] Take #3 | ‘Kick It’ Dance Practice

while taeyong’s talking about the famous dance moves in the choreography, you can see hannah and haechan’s reflection in the mirror where he had sat on the floor, making her sit next to him then urging her to drink water while they both marked the choreography in the mirror

2020 앙게이트 20 📝 #1 | 2020 ENQUETE 20 | NCT RESONANCE Pt.2

in the very corner of the video when jaemin is answering the eighth question, they’re walking, and hannah trips. haechan quickly catches her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and helping her walk

DREAM SKETCH : Page #2 | THE DREAM TOUR BEHIND

at the very beginning of the video when jisung is vlogging with the mirror behind him, you can see the reflection of hannah and haechan on the couch where haechan is rubbing something onto her knee

“woah, can you see that? this is rare to see on camera, everyone. haechan hyung’s natural state when he’s with hannah noona. let’s not disturb them, he’s putting muscle reliever on noona’s knee because it’s been bothering her”

Dance Practice Behind | Ep.1 | 2023 NCT CONCERT - NCT NATION: To The World

when jisung, ten, and renjun are talking, you can hear haechan and hannah in the background

“haeeun-ah, have you taken your medicine?” “yes, and i’m fine” “just making sure. i didn’t see you eat breakfast today” “i’m good, oppa, i had a sandwich a while ago, and jungwoo oppa and i are gonna have a big lunch. it’s just a cold, stop worrying” “you know i can’t do that”

taglist: @1-800-enhypennabi @strwberrydinosaur @sunflower-0180 @caratinylyfe @1-800-minji @one16core @kimhyejin3108 @chansols @akshverse @world-full-of-roses @stopeatread @allthings-fandoms

drop an ask or a dm if you wanna be added or taken out of the taglist 🥰 requests are also open!

#hannah.2sun #hannah.youtube #hannah #lee hannah #nct female member #nct female addition #nct dream 8th member #nct 127 10th member #nct dream female member #nct dream female addition #nct 127 female member #nct 127 female addition

[kingofthe-egirls]

Hear me out, y/n and Zoro are working out, and they like train fight together and y/n wins somehow, Zoro gets all grumpy and pouts and y/n says that they will make it up to him, and Zoro being Zoro, gets an idea, and then rest is up to you my dear writer!!

ooooooooooo ok

SPARRING ROOM: ZORO x Y/N

(cw: sword fighting, sweet self indulgent combat descriptions, minor stab wound, etc., sword language, kissing)

(a/n: so i tried to focus less on just the stage directions this time, since i've been wanting to delve more into the narration and what's going on inside reader's head. snakelike imagery as well as a lot of "S" words. sometimes it felt a lil clunky but we made it through lol)

Songs: "Ain't It Fun" by Paramore, "Sexy Villain" by Remi Wolf

words: 1.9k

"That's my girl," Zoro says, strong hand on your back as you finish up your set of push-ups (thirty second reps with fifteen second breaks between). He lets you sit up, stretching out your back.

"Thanks, Zo," you say, pushing up to standing. You take a long drink of water, drips tickling down your chin and onto your sports bra. Zoro clears his throat, and looks away. You smile.

Swordsmen are so noble.

"Wanna fight?"

Zoro scruffs his hand through his hair, pushing up to standing himself. He towers over you, a good several inches. Maybe a full foot. You knock your forehead into his chest. Headbutting is your way of showing affection, kinda like a cat.

He scruffs your hair, too, from where it's pulled back into a messy ponytail. "Sure," he says, and moves over to the side of the crow's nest where his three swords sit against the wall. You watch the ocean way below, swishing and sparkling as it laps against the Sunny.

You bend to pick up your own rapier, the silver filigree wrapping around your hand comfortably in a decorated knuckle guard. The dancing tiger that stalks its way across the sweepings guides you to victory, all the way down to the rapier's gleaming point.

You swipe it through the air, relishing the swiftness and flexibility of your sacred blade. Nightingale. She is a snakelike, hissing thing that speaks to you in whispers as she flies. You pair her with a short blade, held in your other hand with no less care.

Meadowlark.

Swordsmen are always worried about the length of their swords: the bigger the better. Typical. What they don't account for, however, is the deadliness of a shorter blade. The duck and strike, the rattlesnake bite, the venom of your speed strikes straight through their lowered guard. They always overestimate themselves, since your opponents usually have a longer reach than you. But your rapier is not alone.

She bites.

And so do you.

Swordswomen do not play fair.

You grin over at Zoro, who's checking the edges of his blades so as not to cut you. Speaking to them softly, caressing their sides and gripping their handles like a lover. His voice rumbles lowly across the glossy wooden floor, sweetly beckoning the swords to follow him, obey him, let him rule over them as he spars with his friend.

You almost hear them rattling in his hands.

Purring to your own blade, you remind her sharp edges not to bite so dangerously, but not to go too easy on him either. It's a delicate balance, talking to your swords. She whispers back seductively not to worry, that she'll swing with accuracy but not deadly force. She sighs in your hand, shivering as she readies for battle.

"Easy," you murmur to her, and she sings. Meadowlark buzzes in your hand, adding the bass to her soprano. "Ready?" You ask Zoro, swiping your sword through the air. You stalk towards him, stepping carefully across slats of glossy Adam tree.

Zoro smiles wickedly, placing his white blade between his teeth. He cherishes the handle of Wado Ichimonji as if she were sweetness itself. His sister's spirit lives inside this sword. You respect his three-sword style, and have yet to beat him in a sparring match.

Swiftly, you bow.

Zoro returns the gesture, and brandishes his two swords aloft. Wado Ichimonji gleams in the sharp florescent lighting of the crow's nest. Swiping the air, you stalk around your opponent, noting his strong biceps and flexing center. He lowers his center of gravity, bending swiftly before leaping forward to strike against your guard.

You swipe away the sharp edge of Wado Ichimonji, ducking aside as Zoro lunges forward, sword tilted in his teeth. He steps away from you, just barely, so that your swift disarming counter strikes harmlessly against Sandai Kitetsu's guard. Sparks glint off where the strong metals meet. You swipe Nightingale across his side, but he dodges. You stumble forward, slightly off balance.

"Shit."

Zoro laughs, growling around the white-wrapped handle of Wado Ichimonji. "Start again," he says, standing wide with a lowered stance. Enma gleams sharply in his strong fist. You turn, stepping around in a circle as he counters your movement across the floor.

"Stumbling is never a good sign," Zoro says, swords snickering in their triangle shape. She is making fun of you in particular: the sword singing softly in his right fist. Smirking, even. Zoro matches her sneer as he closes the distance between you in swift, even strides.

"Stop it," you whisper, tightening your grip around Nightingale's sweetly wrapped handle. She has a soft, white leather made from a doe's hide. She is a flourishing, sacred blade.

"Stop what?" Zoro asks, clashing his two swords against your rapier overhead. Sparks fly down between you, and you just barely dodge out of the way of Wado Ichimonji's strike. His three-sword style is a bitch, sometimes. Stepping back, you catch your breath.

He swings, again.

Sweet Meadowlark counters the sharp edge of Enma, screaming across the sharpened steel. You grit your teeth, bringing your dagger all the way down to the hilt of Zoro's katana.

"Not you," you hiss out through a clenched jaw. Staring at Sandai Kitetsu, you push forward even more, enough to get Zoro to stumble backward. He counters, quickly. He faints with Sandai Kitetsu, before slashing sideways at your open side. You yelp, a sharp, high-pitched noise at the back of your throat. Zoro smirks.

"Swords are makin' fun of ya?"

Snickering, the three katanas all bear down on you from overhead. He's so fast. You grunt, blocking them with rapier and dagger crossed above you. He knees you in the stomach.

"Ouch!" You scream, winded. You stumble backward, clutching at your abdomen. You spit saliva onto the floor. Zoro chuckles.

He plants both feet on the floor, standing shirtless in front of you, with nothing but his leather pants and green bellyband. You're only in a sports bra and shorts, yourself. Swiping Nightingale through the air, you sprint toward him at full speed.

Fainting with Nightingale, you strike at Zoro's blind side, before ducking quickly and jabbing Meadowlark straight into his chest.

"Shit!" You squeak, ripping your steel dagger out of Zoro's bloodied chest. You hit right between the ribs, on the side with his good eye. Blood trickles down his abs in a scarlet ribbon. You smile.

Strike One: Y/n.

But the victory tastes sweet for only so long, as Zoro bears down on you with a counterattack. You dodge out of the way, but only slightly, as Sandai Kitetsu shears off a lock of your hair.

"Fuck!" You scurry backward, a rogue at heart, meant to strike and retreat as quickly as possible. Zoro stalks forward again.

This time, he twirls Enma in one hand before striking down viciously at you with a barrage of attacks. Slashes, stabs, lunges. Swipes at your side, especially the side where you hold shorter Meadowlark.

"Shut up," you tell his sassy sword, who's been snickering at you this whole time. She chides your balance, your sword play, the way you're standing with too much weight on your left side.

She glides snakelike against your dagger, bouncing off the side. Your arm stings with the recoil. Shit. You barely keep your stance in place as you're forced to shuffle backward. Sandai Kitetsu bites your upper arm, and you hiss.

"Stop dodging," Zoro commands you, striking the wall behind you, right next to your head. "You have to fight back, or else you'll be dead." Sandai Kitetsu giggles in his hand.

You're panting, sweating with exertion. Zoro's strikes are so strong. He's stepping away from you now, giving you room to breathe. You hate when he goes easy on you. Snarling, you charge forward again.

Zoro meets you halfway, growling in his throat.

Your swords clang together harshly, metallic singing reverberating throughout the room. You both back up, stepping in tune with the other's movements. He stalks around you like a tiger, and strikes at your backside. He hits you with the flat of Sandai Kitetsu's blade.

"You're weak."

He challenges you, and you see red.

It's a spin, a stab, and a dance backwards, before your vision clears. Zoro is grimacing, another bright red stripe decorating his bare chest. It's right above his sternum, and a little to the left.

He grunts, and charges after you.

Swinging at your weak spot, Zoro brings Enma down toward your side. You block the strong, sweeping arch with the silver side of Nightingale's cross guard. She resonates with the sound of the blow.

You both hold for a second, struggling to push the other's weight off.

Eventually, you let go with a huff.

"That's enough," you decide, whipping your sword through the air with a signature flourish. Zoro nods, sheathing his own blades.

"Good job," he nods, heading back over to the side to wipe his face with a towel. He throws it into the dirty clothes hamper that one of you will eventually take down to the laundry room when it gets too full.

"Yeah, right," you seethe, jaw clenched. "I wish I was anywhere near as strong as you. I can be fast, and invasive, but...," you raise your shoulders, and let them fall with a defeated sigh. "Sheer strength-wise, you've got me beat."

Zoro shakes his head, "You're not that far behind me, actually." He sits down on the bench, elbows on his knees with a canteen in his hands. He chugs a lungful of water, adam's apple bobbing as he swallows.

"Yeah?"

You sheath your swords, and start a cool-down stretch routine. You lean over to one side, and then the other. You shake your legs in their sockets, trying to loosen up your hip flexors.

Zoro nods. "Not everyone can fend off Enma." He regards you steadily, his green eye flicking you up and down. You stretch your arms over your head. "Especially with a blade that flimsy." He smirks at your rapier, and you huff.

"She is not flimsy." You cross your arms, nose in the air. Nightingale hums in agreement at your side. Zoro sneers a laugh.

"Plus, you can understand sword language better than any other swordsman I've met. Not even Mihawk can hear his sword so well."

At that, you pause.

Your fingers flutter around Nightengale's hilt, and you grin. "Thanks, Zoro. That means a lot."

His face flushes, and he looks away.

"Well, yeah...," he says, gruff, before pushing off the bench to make his way over to you. He skims his knuckles over the outside of your arm. His fingertips dance along the diamond pommel of your sacred blade, and you gasp. He arches an eyebrow. "Feel that?"

You nod, stunned.

"That's the bond between a swordsman and his blade."

"Her blade," you correct, and he snorts.

"Rematch after dinner?" He pulls away, and leaves you aching. You stumble after him, a step or two. He turns, pausing, with his lips parted. Your swords are clattering at your side. He looks you up and down, a question paused in his mouth that you can't quite read.

"Kiss me?"

Zoro blanches, and for a moment you're stuttering, shocked at your own bravery, boldness, yours and his swords are all clamoring to be heard above the din of blood rushing in your ears, and--

Zoro cocks his head, smirking, and closes the distance between you.

He takes both your arms in his hands, holding you by the shoulders, and leans forward to place a kiss on your waiting lips.

"How's that?"

You smile like a little kid. "Perfect," you say, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in to deepen the kiss.

You can't wait for the rematch.

#this is so hard #sword fights #hard to describe #zoro #zoro x you #zoro x reader #zoro x y/n #zoro fanfic #one piece fanfic #zoro fluff #dumpster dive #kitty writes

[ode2rin]

JUST MAYBE .ೃ

pairing. isagi yoichi x gn!reader

genre. strangers to .. hopefully something more? | slow burn | chance encounter

content/warnings. 2.3k+ wc | characters are in their early 20s ! | pro-athlete!isagi | reader works in a bookstore | profanity | a bit heavy in narration | written in reader’s perspective |  minimal proofread | ooc!isagi (sorry it’s my first time writing for him..) | open ending

in which: a cafe encounter with a stranger shows you exactly how well fate intervenes

💭 thank you for the request anon!

this is it. this is the last straw.

this is the last time you’re ever allowing yourself to be vain and believe empty words from a man.

sitting in a café, self-pity takes hold of you as regret washes over your being. the nagging feeling, the hollowness in your gut that you should have paid attention to, now mocks you with its undeniable presence. how could you have ignored it, brushing it off as if it were insignificant?

the bustling café seemed oblivious to your disappointment, the air thick with the laughter and whispers of couples lost in their own bliss. their happiness, a stark contrast to your own melancholic state.

you glance at your phone, the screen displaying a conversation that adds salt to the wound.

you: let me know if you’re on your way! [2:06 pm] you: hey, i’m already here :) is everything fine? [2:43 pm]

a heavy sigh escapes your lips, the weight of anger and embarrassment settling upon your shoulders. 

dating in your early twenties has proven to be far more challenging than you ever imagined. while your friends effortlessly navigate the labyrinth of love, you find yourself trapped in a cycle of dashed hopes and unfulfilled connections. 

here you are, once again left sitting alone at a table meant for two.

and you know it's destructive to point fingers at directions pointing to you, but for goodness sake, can anyone just tell you what's wrong with you? or can fate simply provide apparent signs, allowing both you and the divine to save precious time? 

because it's becoming increasingly draining. 

the cycle repeats itself relentlessly: falling in love, only for it to unravel into a cacophony of screams and tears. your heart shattered, you gather the pieces and muster the courage to try again, only to wonder what awaits in the next stage of this never-ending cycle.

and you can’t help but to wonder, when will it ever be your turn? if other people could experience a love so kind, why can’t you? why can't you have what they have? what makes you any less deserving?

is it really too much to ask for a love that doesn't demand a piece of your soul as collateral? can't there exist a love where vulnerability isn't met with heartache?

and coming from someone who has been gravely hurt in the name of so-called love, it’s impossible not to wonder if such love even exists in this world or if it's merely a figment of your imagination born from those contemporary romance books you read on your lonely nights.

well, there's no use crying over spilled milk. he wasn't all that anyway. besides, you had only agreed to this supposed date due to your friend's persistent nagging, urging you to break your self-imposed “man ban” streak and venture back into the world of romance. “why not?” you had thought at the time, only to be reminded why you even imposed such a ban in the first place.

“excuse me, is this seat taken? the place is kinda packed, so if you don’t mind..” 

lost in your thoughts, you're momentarily startled as a soft voice interrupts your reverie. the stranger before you stumbles over his words, shyness coloring his demeanor.

you take a moment to truly see him— this man who has unexpectedly entered your sphere. and heavens, he is gorgeous.

“no, it’s not taken. please, feel free.”

with your response, the stranger settles into the seat across from you. as he takes a sip from his cup, your nose takes a whiff of the inviting aroma of his latte, which fills the air, adding another layer of warmth to the already vibrant café atmosphere.

taking a contemplative sip of your own drink, you savor the flavors that dance on your tongue. the comforting embrace of the warm liquid spreads through your body, soothing your senses.

his blue-eyed gaze drifts toward your own drink, curiosity evident within those pools. “what drink is that? it looks intriguing.”

you can't help but internally chuckle at his attempts at small talk. your drink is nothing spectacular, let alone intriguing, but the fact that he wants to make something out of it gives you a glimpse of his endearing shyness.

still, you smile, pleased by his interest. “it's actually their signature drink. i find it quite enjoyable. and your latte? it looks divine.”

well, you’re not any better than his attempts. seriously? what looks exceptionally divine about a latte?

the man in front of you nods appreciatively, taking another sip from his cup. “nothing grand, just a decaf latte. i find it soothing and energizing, especially on slow days like this one.”

you hum in response, seemingly out of attempts for small talk. but the lack of a coherent response from you doesn’t elicit an uncomfortable silence, but rather the opposite. a cozy silence settles between you, the ambient sounds of the café serving as a gentle backdrop to your now shared sphere.

after a few minutes of sitting in silence, you notice from your peripheral vision that he steals a few glances your way, as if waiting for the right moment to strike up another conversation.

cute.

it's an understatement, as a matter of fact. the guy before you is downright mesmerizing. if you could gaze at his face for more than two seconds without being called weird, you could map the entirety of how blessed this man’s face is — the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he speaks, the subtle strength in his jawline, and the way his hair falls in a perfectly disheveled manner.

and his eyes. damn, his eyes. such a beautiful shade of blue must have taken the hand of god some time to create.

“so –”

“what –”

the two of you speak simultaneously, your voices overlapping in the air, prompting you both to take a moment and stare at each other before laughing at the coincidence.

“you first,” you offered.

“no, you go first.”

you offer a warm smile and motion for him to go first. “i insist.” the truth is, after seeing him laugh, you momentarily forgot what you were even about to ask.

it’s just a laugh. get it together.

were you this deprived of someone’s company to melt at their laugh? or is this stranger just so painfully beautiful that it’s now affecting your memory and ability to converse?

his lips curl into a shy smile as he hesitates for a brief moment. his eyes flicker with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “alright, well, i was wondering... do you come here often? i don’t think i’ve seen you here before.”

you shook your head, a soft laugh escaping your lips. “not really. i'm actually a newcomer here. i work at a bookstore nearby, and i stumbled upon this place by chance.”

it was two truths and one lie. and as apparent as it was, you sure as hell didn’t “stumbled upon this place,” where in truth and fact, you were invited here by your supposed-to-be date who might have forgotten to reply to you two hours after your last message.

“the bookstore on the main street? it’s a huge place, that’s so cool. my friend, chigiri, has been meaning to visit there. maybe i’ll try to tag along some time.”

a blush crept up your cheeks, touched by his admiration. it was a stark contrast to the belittlement toward your job you had encountered in past dating experiences, and this wasn’t even a date. “thank you. i’ll be happy to help you and your friend when you drop by.”

“so, what do you do, mr…?” you asked, trying to delve deeper into the conversation.

“oh, pardon me for not introducing myself properly. i’m isagi yoichi, and i, uhm, play soccer for a living. it's not as impressive as being surrounded by books all day, though.”

isagi yoichi. soccer player.

so that explains the hint of a lean physique beneath his clothes – not that you were checking him out. anyone with eyesight could detect that this gorgeous stranger, isagi, is in great shape. yup, definitely not checking him out.

“and yours?”

“hmm? sorry, what were you saying?”

a soft smile tugs at isagi's lips as he repeats his question, “i was just asking about your name.”

you bring your attention back to the present, realizing you've momentarily lost yourself in his gaze. “oh. it’s l/n y/n.”

as the words of your name hang in the air, a sense of familiarity begins to settle between you. you and isagi engage in a comfortable conversation, effortlessly weaving in and out of topics. each exchange reveals more about your respective lives, forging a connection that feels too genuine for people who just met not even an hour ago. 

isagi shares stories from his soccer career, the highs and lows, the challenges and triumphs. his passion for the sport shines through in every word, and you find yourself captivated by how animated he is in sharing his tales. it's a pleasant break from your previous experiences, where self-importance seemed to be the common thread among your dates. 

with isagi, there's no trace of conceit hanging in every word. 

in turn, you open up about your love for literature and the joy you find in sharing stories with others. isagi listens attentively, his eyes sparkling with interest as you speak about the power of words and the magic that exists within the pages of books. 

while it becomes evident that he may not be an avid reader himself, there's a beautiful acceptance and respect in the way isagi listens. he never once made you feel as though your love for literature is any less significant than his passion for soccer.

amidst the lively exchange, you catch glimpses of isagi's gentle nature, his ability to make you feel at ease, and his genuine curiosity about your thoughts and experiences. it's a refreshing change from the superficial interactions you've had in the past, and you're left wondering if the man in front of you is even real.

you can't help but laugh at the thought of men being able to hold a conversation like isagi. and while that proves that the bar may be in hell, but damn, it is as if isagi raised it above his own head.

time seems to slip away as the conversation flows effortlessly, punctuated by laughter and genuine moments of connection. there are no awkward silences, no need for pretense or guardedness. it's as if you've known each other for much longer than a chance encounter in a café.

just when you think the moment might stretch into eternity, isagi’s ringing phone slices through the air, abruptly breaking the spell. 

his eyes widen, a touch of regret flickering across his face as he retrieves his phone from his pocket. “ah, it's my teammate. i'm afraid i have to head out first,” he says with a tinge of disappointment.

your heart sinks a little at the prospect of parting ways so soon. “oh, it's okay. i had a nice time, isagi,” you reply, attempting to mask your disappointment.

“me too,” isagi responds, his voice filled with a hint of tone you’re feigning ignorance too. “i wish we could talk more.”

you can sense the hesitance in his words, the unspoken desire to extend the encounter. it's an opening, a moment of curiosity lingering between you. seizing the opportunity, you decide to tease him ever so slightly. “hmm, well, that call seemed important,” you remark, raising an eyebrow playfully.

you’re not dense, but you were curious to see how he would try.

isagi fidgets, shyly rubbing the back of his neck. “yeah, i think so. we have an upcoming match next weekend,” he stumbles over his words, clearly struggling with the invitation he's about to extend. “speaking of the match, would it be too forward of me to invite you to watch?”

wouldn’t it? 

your heart flutters at the invitation, and for a brief moment, you contemplate the possibilities.

this day had been a rollercoaster ride of emotions. one moment, you were nursing the wounds of being stood up, wallowing in self-pity and contemplating the challenges of dating. and now, here you were, being invited by a complete stranger — a stranger who also happened to be the most captivating person you've ever laid eyes upon.

fate be damned, because it seems to have a wicked sense of humor, toying with your emotions from one extreme to another.

glancing down at your cup, you swirl the remaining liquid, feigning nonchalance to mask the racing thoughts in your mind. “depends on who you want me to attend as,” you tease, curious to see how he responds.

you raise your eyes, locking eyes with isagi, only to find him wearing a boyish grin that could rival the sun and staring at you with those damn blue eyes that put the oceans to shame.

“anything you can offer to be, right now.”

fuck it. 

with a surge of boldness, you decide to take a leap of faith. “then i would love to be there.”

the energy shifts as isagi beams at your acceptance of his invitation. he bids you goodbye, only to hesitate and return to you with an endearing awkwardness. he offers his number, tripping over his own words as he suggests you can call him whenever you want. you can't help but laugh at his adorable awkwardness, finding it endearing beyond measure. you hand him your phone, and with hurried movements, he inputs his number before bidding you goodbye once more.

with a smile lingering on your lips, you watch isagi's retreating figure, feeling a warmth radiate through you. your gaze then shifts to the phone in your hand, where you see the contact name you've set for him. 

maybe: isagi yoichi

why not, right? you're down to take the chance.

because maybe, just maybe, one more try wouldn’t hurt this time.

note. welcome to isagi mimi debut omg i kinda do not like it but huhu this trope is so hard for me to write, i’m not gonna lie. but i surprisingly had fun making this hehe. and i’m not really a fan of instant love soooo, here’s the best i could do ._. i think i would rather opt to make a sequel than a time skip so let’s leave it at that :>

thanks for reaching this far!

💭 back to: milestone event

#☁️ my ode to you #first milestone event! #writing: 002 #isagi yoichi #yoichi isagi #isagi yoichi x reader #yoichi isagi x reader #isagi yoichi fluff #isagi yoichi x y/n #blue lock imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk imagines #bllk x reader #blue lock fluff

[procrastinationaccount]

Yes, Ianthe's theatricality is definitely an element of the style in The Unwanted Guest, but I actually think that it's from Plalmedes' point of view. We follow him; the style persists in scenes with no Ianthe, and the Voice is credited as Dulcinea only after he acknowledges her as such. We've also had Ianthe as a narrator before, in HtN's Parados, and she was classic limited third person with time skips constant commentary on what was happening around her. As many have pointed out, Pal is quite theatrical himself and, as Pyrrha said, tries to be his own checks and balances. I love to think that Palamedes lays things out in his head like a script with stage directions, and the style mimics his attempts to be an objective observer in this space.

#the locked tomb spoilers #the unwanted guest spoilers #tlt spoilers #nona crew #palamedes sextus #ianthe tridentarius #ianthe naberius #nona the ninth #ntn

[comfortingcatharsis]

The unintentional narration of a wounded character as their pained noises track through the scene- every movement punctuated by a whimper, gasp, sob, or moan; the audience able to follow the motion even without watching through the stage directions of cries of pain and muffled groans.

#whumpy text post #original whump #pained noises #muffled cries

[turtleblogatlast]

Damn, I just imagined what the sequel would be like:

After Dum Dum's morning medical check-up, Donnie headed to his laboratory. Upon entering, he went directly to his chair in front of the large digital screen of his computer, turning behind him to check that there were no intruders in the area. of his work. When he confirmed one hundred percent that there was no one, he turned his gaze back to the screen, grabbing the mouse and directing it to the recordings of the communicators, specifically Leo's. From his battle shell she took out some popcorn and a canned soft drink, settled into his chair, to finally listen to the recording.

"Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim: Hot Soup and Alien Worms - Episode 18: The Ambush of the Alien Worms"

Leo's voice on the communicator began to narrate and Donnie just listened.

…

The recording was at minute 18, the chapters normally lasted between twenty-one to twenty-three minutes, so it wasn't long before the plot ended in this episode. The narrative directed Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim being surrounded by the enemy, with no line of escape. Donatello leaned forward in his chair as if this way he could hear better, even though he was wearing his headphones.

"- Well, Jim… it was a pleasure fighting by your side.

-The pleasure was all mine.

The alien worms pounced of them.

Will this be the end of Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim? Don't miss it in the next episode Lou Jitsu and Jupiter Jim: Hot Soup and Alien Worms - Episode 19: A Promise to the Stars"

The recording ended there, Donnie was left with his heart in his mouth because of the suspense of that ending, although he said to himself that episode 7 was even worse. He wanted to know what happened next, reviewing the recordings, there was only one left, thinking it was the final chapter, he clicked. The only thing he heard was creaking and grunting, loud banging sounds and metallic clashes. Was he using realistic sounds for the battle scenes? That is new.

"What, you finally realized that your life is insignificant, that you can no longer fight for it?"

The Kraang, it was the voice of the Kraang.

"Heh, in your dreams mutant mucus"

The next thing you heard was a slimy sound and Leo's voice screaming.

"At least your blood manages to combine those horrible marks you have"

If what he heard was horrible to Donnie (he didn't even know why he was still listening), the next thing was the worst sound he could have heard in his entire life.

Leo's crying, desperate, scared… alone, alone with that monster.

He couldn't take it anymore, his hand moved on its own, advancing the recording, only to hear Mikey's voice shouting for Leo's name.

"Hey guys, took you long enough"

It was the moment they had rescued him.

-End of recording-

Donnie removed the headphones and his gaze stayed on the screen for a long moment, thinking. Thinking about what he had just heard, analyzing the previous recordings with the last one, realizing that all those recordings of Leo narrating were much deeper than he believed. Before, I thought this fanfiction was nonsense and out of curiosity I grabbed it as entertainment, but for Leo it was something else, it was the only way in which Leo could be united with the world he had left, telling stories, it was his entertainment. He was his own sanity, he was his only company, listening to himself on a recording, like a narrator's voice in an action series, listening to his happy voice to replace the moments where he was crying or screaming.

This was the only thing Leo had left in that prison.

If he hadn't listened to that last recording, he might have tried to figure out how he was doing the next episode, perhaps with the rat fever in its stage 6, but now that doesn't matter anymore. He got up from his chair and left the laboratory, heading to the medical room, only to find Leo alone on the stretcher, watching how he trembled in his dreams, nightmares that surely took him back to that horrible place. He stayed next to him, caressing his shell so that he knew that he was no longer alone, and that he would never again need recordings and stories for company, now he was home with his family and Donnie was going to make sure of that.

----

Hey, I hope you don't mind this idea that occurred to me and is not my language, sorry if there was any mistake.

If you don't like me, I understand.

[ cw: torture implied / trauma / ]

❤️ I don’t mind at all, I love this! It adds such a sad but true note to my silly post, and I think you conveyed the nuance of the situation really well! Because yeah, although it’s funny to think about Leo making up crossover fanfiction of all things during his time in the Prison Dimension, it doesn’t change what he went through there, it just makes it more bearable for him.

Great writing, thank you!!❤️❤️

#non au ask #❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[jovenshires]

endless au edits: smosh theatre's seasonal lineup (1/4)

SMOSH'S SEASONAL LINEUP: A COMPLETE GUIDE by mac kahey smosh theatre, a musical theater company known for its diverse and inclusive productions, has just announced its show lineup for the year, and it is safe to say that fans are far from disappointed. starting off strong, the company kicked off its announcement with its winter showcase: a production of hadestown, led by stars damien haas and jacklyn uweh, and directed by none other than returning smosh co-founder, anthony padilla. padilla made his comeback to smosh a little over six months ago to collaborate with his fellow co-owner on their spring and summer musicals. this will be padilla's first solo show at the playhouse in nearly six years - and what a show to start off on. coupling this tragic tale of love lost with padilla's edgy direction style is a bold move, and fans are, rightfully, excited. the casting choices are also impeccable. the star-studded lineup includes previously-mentioned damien haas, an openly neurodivergent and queer actor making waves for representation everywhere. he'll be taking on the role of orpheus, a hopeless romantic, poet, and musician, and as someone who had the pleasure of sitting down with him for an interview last spring, all of these qualities describe haas to a t. this will be his first time leading a show with smosh in his near-six-year run at the company, and his first time working with padilla as a director. the actor shared the show to his instagram and expressed his excitement for the production, saying, "anthony is such a great director. it's been an honor to work with him and my amazing castmates." speaking of his castmates - his leading lady is none other than superstar jacklyn uweh. returning from her recent stint touring with the cast of spring awakening, she has rejoined the smosh cast for another performance that's sure to be amazing. the actress is known for advocating for women of color in theater spaces and never being afraid to speak her mind. she also, notably, has one of the most incredible singing voices of our generation. taking on the mysterious yet powerful role of eurydice will be no easy feat, but somehow, i think she has the power to manage it. just with this one casting, smosh has shown that when the perfect cast falls into their lap, they aren't foolish enough not to utilize it. the stacked cast doesn't stop there, though. playing hermes, the play's narrator and father figure to young orpheus, is ify nwadiwe, a booming comedic actor who has been known to feature in smosh productions. his fun-loving demeanor and natural swagger are sure to bring a natural carefree energy to this rendition of hadestown. he, too, spoke of the production fondly on social media, posting on x: "this is one of the greatest things i've ever been a part of. come see us next december to february at the smosh playhouse for one of the most incredible, f***ed up things we've ever done." long-time smosh player keith leak jr is taking on the role of hades, the rich, powerful, and egotistical king of the underworld, and his friend and partner in all things theater, olivia sui, will be beside him once more as persephone, hades's free-spirited yet suffering wife. watching these two together is always a delight, and i cannot wait for their dynamic to shine through the characters that they play. as far as the winter production is concerned, the community's shared high hopes for padilla's return may very well turn out to be grounded in reality. with an all-star cast and an incredible crew, such as returning stage head erin dougal, it is easy to see that padilla knows what he's doing. though only time will tell, i am confident that this production will be a huge success, and very well may be my favorite show of the year - although, i must mention the other productions first - because they all have incredible potential.

#smosh #damien haas #jackie uweh #anthony padilla #rpf #fic #edit #smosh au #mine* #aued* #au #anthony #erin #keith #olivia #ify #jackie #damien #theatre au #mOOOOOOOM katie's making a convoluted au again!!! #i needed to see them in musicals okay. sue me. also this was Too Good not to do you can fight me on it #i believe in queue! spring break!

[starburstfloat]

The Killa Choreography: Commentary and Analysis

So, the day has arrived where we finally know what The Killa looks like on stage! It was Yeonjun and Soobin's first time performing this unit song, and we all knew it would be something sexy when it was released last month. If you don't know the song, well, you don't even need to take a glance at the lyrics to catch the vibe. But in case you're curious, there's lines like "tame me and fill me up with you" and "you're dominating me" so…you can imagine what sort of attention this track got and the anticipatory hype leading up to the concert. It seemed every fan had one question on their mind, namely What would this performance look like? 

What I find interesting about this stage is that it easily could have been a track paired with sensual choreography for the audience - you know, your standard kpop fan service platter full of the Sexy Boyfriend fantasy where fans are meant to believe their idols are singing about wanting them. And yet it took a surprisingly creative direction by yes, clearly having a sensual dance with your typical kpop fan service elements, but (contrary to my expectations!) communicating first and foremost a sensual story through the choreography. Let's take a look.

The choreo starts with Soobin and Yeonjun approaching each other from opposite ends of the stage, wearing opposite colored clothing (black and white). More on that in a moment. First, I'd like to direct your attention to the screen behind them, which depicts large mirrors encasing their walk on the stage.

The utilization of mirrors as a visual design feature is really cool for a track containing this much lust because mirrors, while symbolically serving many purposes, tend to represent the duality of self: we check the mirror to assure that who we see in the reflection is an acceptable version of us who we can present to the world; that nothing noticeably flawed or unsatisfactory comes beneath the surface. As such, mirrors force us to acknowledge our duality and assuage our two opposing sides (light and dark). There's a quote I really love by Michelle Arch that captures this sentiment well: "Through mirrors we see our cognizant, social, 'better' self and the natural world in which we live, while also glimpsing, and sometimes succumbing to, the darker, depraved image of our subconscious 'second' self and the frightening, otherworldly realm in which it resides". 

Given that this song relies heavily on communicating lust and our narrator's obsessive desire to be controlled - what one would consider the dark and depraved subconcious - the use of mirrors alongside the clothing color contrast was an excellent creative choice! While color theory suggests that white is a typical color for innocence, and black is characteristic for, well, all things dark and corrupt, I think this color choice was used more strongly to represent the opposite push and pull energy we're about to witness between them, as well as the aforementioned duality they exhibit.

Once they reach each other on stage, Soobin gently reaches out and rests his hand below Yeonjun's chin. Then, in sync with the beat, he gracefully glides his hand away while singing "Tame me, please", as Yeonjun's gaze follows his hand.

This moment intrigued me not just because it's that typical txt homoeroticism coming through lol but because it sets up a story. A fan on Twitter made an exciting point, namely that Yeonjun, by hypnotically following Soobin's hand, is the character in this performance who is initially being tamed. And so starts a cat and mouse chase of each character confessing their desire and tantalizingly pushing and pulling away from each other.

They break away from each other but Yeonjun keeps his eyes on Soobin as his body is sliding away. He sings: "I'm craving it more and more, you know I want you bad, show me mercy"

Right before we transition to Soobin's part, they point at each other and say "The moment that we found each other in our eyes".

I thought the pointing at each other was significant because this easily could have been turned into a kpop fan service thing where they point at the audience while saying those lines, but instead this motion acknowledges that they're referring to each other, further emphasizing that this is a performance between two impassioned characters who are seeking each other. Soobin says right after this "Want you to tame me now [...] I'll serve you." It's clear now that this is a conversation.

They slowly move towards one another and I absoluteoy love the detail of Yeonjun grabbing the hem of his shirt as if he's being involuntarily pulled towards Soobin.

When they are within reach of each other, Yeonjun glides his hand across Soobin's chest and they both delve into the chorus choreography.

The chorus part feels more fan servicey to me because rather than facing each other, they are side by side hip thrusting while facing the audience. Perhaps it would've gotten a touch too erotic if they went there lol (after all wasn't the age requirement for his conert 9 and up or something??).

They transition out of the chorus by circling one another and sizing each other up.

Then they whip out the finger guns at each other once again while the lyrics center again on wanting to be dominated and it's "only you". If that weren't enough, they point at each other AGAIN repeatedly during the series of "you, you, you"s playing in the song.

I'm also a little in love with the detail of Soobin placing his hand on Yeonjun's shoulder as Yeonjun sings "Yes, I belong to you". I'm reaching my image limit so I'm just going to include a nice mirroring detail towards the end where Yeonjun rests his hand on Soobin's shoulder, an apparent callback to earlier. Perhaps a confirmation that these characters affirm they now belong to each other?

In conclusion, this performance surprised me more than I expected (and I know they'll get a bit more bold for this stage once they hit their US tour stops). I know that some could argue that placing two members into a sensual choreography with each other is a form of fan service and I agree to an extent, but I'd also counter by saying that that perspective disregards the creativity and craft put into the choreography. This isn't sexy for the sake of being sexy. It's sexy because it's intertwining the song's overt sensuality with characters embodying that lust.

Overall, I'd say the choreography has shifted my perspective of the song. I used to see it as one voice communicating wanting one abstract idea of a person but now I see Soobin and Yeonjun's verses as two separate conversations that their characters are having with each other. Everyone thank our little freak Taehyun for contributing to the songwriting on this. Gonna have to find out who to thank for the choregraphy. In the meantime, did you notice anything in the performance that I didn't touch on that you wated to discuss? How about screaming into the void with me? Thanks for reading and I'm looking forward to day 2 already!

#tomorrow x together #txt analysis #txt choreography #media analysis #yeonjun #soobin #the killa #txt act promise #moasource #txtnetwork

[theywontletmebeprincipal]

anyway here’s my cornley polytechnic drama society into the woods fancast because I think it’s the perfect sort of show for them to fuck up 👍

jonathan plays the baker, alongside sandra as the baker’s wife. I imagine this is shortly enough after peter pan that they’re still very bitter at one another. said bitterness absolutely shows onstage, but it fits the characters perfectly and the audience ends up thinking that they’ve just finally gotten good at acting. jonathan brings a homemade “medieval feast” to celebrate opening night and it poisons the entire cast

annie plays the witch. this was the only casting decision that was unanimously regarded as good until chris let it slip that he’d ultimately done it because she was “the loudest singer.” robert took great offense at this and, despite having no interest in the part before, began campaigning to play the witch instead. it did not work. annie’s witch costume has two layers to make the quickchange at the end of act 1 easier, but the top layer keeps falling off before the reveal is supposed to happen. her magic staff is supposed to emit a smoke effect but it keeps malfunctioning, and at a certain point she just gives up and tapes lit cigarettes (stolen from trevor) to it. this goes about as well as you’d think

dennis plays the narrator. everyone had assumed it’d be an easy role for him since he could just read all of his lines off his book prop, but this is proven wrong near instantly when he starts genuinely reading the book instead. when dennis actually does start reading from the script, it becomes immediately clear that he somehow has the director’s copy and the entirety of the rehearsal notes are read out loud, including several deeply personal things that chris has written in his script for convenience

dennis also plays the mysterious man, but he keeps forgetting which way he’s supposed to be related to the baker. over the course of the show he goes from father, to son, to brother, to father again, to distant cousin, to grandmother

chris plays cinderella’s prince, alongside robert as rapunzel’s prince. they spend the entire show trying to out-act one another, and it goes without saying that this ends up a complete disaster. robert makes any moment into an unplanned duet to try and prove that he could have succeeded in seducing the baker’s wife. chris shows up at rapunzel’s tower and attempts to choke robert out with her wig. they get in an opt-up battle at the end of agony (reprise) that ends with robert singing a note so high it shatters a stage light

in accordance with typical into the woods casting, chris also plays the wolf. he orders a very expensive “wolf suit” online from someone he thinks is a bespoke costume artist. it doesn’t arrive until opening day, and it becomes immediately clear that what chris has actually bought is a full on fursuit. it’s very hard to see in and he keeps running into the fake trees

robert is double cast as milky white. there is no practical reason for this whatsoever, as milky white could’ve just as easily been a puppet or some kind of cutout on wheels, and it’s very obvious the whole thing is just a power move on chris’ part. during the scene where milky white is meant to “eat” the props, vanessa misunderstands and literally feeds them to him. he chips a tooth on cinderella’s shoe

due to a lack of numbers, vanessa is playing both cinderella and rapunzel. her costume is split down the middle, and due to this she can only face in one direction as each part. this means that half of the time she’s facing away from whoever she’s talking to, and that she frequently has to walk/run backwards without turning her head at all. whenever cinderella and rapunzel talk to each other she faces straight forward. the break-off mechanism in rapunzel’s side of the wig doesn’t work (sandra ends up stealing a single, barely visible hair), so she’s also constantly tripping on her hair

max, being in a new relationship with sandra, desperately wanted to play alongside her as the baker so that they could kiss onstage. unfortunately for him, he is playing jack instead. although this is maybe the single most-fitting role he’s ever been cast in and he’s genuinely giving a great performance, the opportunity is ruined by his having to do every scene accompanied by robert’s milky white

lucy was supposed to play little red, but was pulled from the production the day before opening by her parents, who have banned her from performing with “robert’s troupe” after what happened in peter pan

consequently, little red is now being played by trevor, who is wearing a costume far, far too small for him. trevor manages to get away with reading his lines off papers pinned to the inside of his cloak, but he doesn’t know any of the songs, so sandra has to sing them offstage for him while he lipsyncs

all of the ensemble characters are played by a celebrity “guest” frantically switching between various comically large hats. chris tried to get francis back for this part but after some careful deliberation he determined that it would genuinely be easier to kidnap a famous person than to get francis to come back after the disaster that was peter pan. the tension is only worsened when, via a botched music cue, it’s revealed that francis is now an active member of trevor’s metal band

the giant was supposed to have been played by trevor via voiceover from the sound booth, but now that he’s onstage playing little red the part is left to approximately four members of the run crew who are desperately trying and failing to say the lines in unison. lucy breaks into the theatre sometime during the baker’s wife search sequence and takes over the giant’s part the next time she’s on, much to trevor’s dismay

the worst fuck-up award goes to annie, for accidentally knocking the supports out from under dennis’ narrator platform during last midnight and triggering a chain reaction in which every fake tree onstage topples each other one by one like some terrible, life-threatening game of dominos. honorable mention goes to chris for spending $6000 of max’s inheritance on a custom costume without actually seeing it at any point during the process

the worst injury award goes to max, for getting his circulation cut off and almost losing a hand after his arm got stuck inside the golden hen puppet midway through act 2. honorable mention goes once again to chris, who got stabbed with a bunch of glass shards when robert broke that stage light

#listen. my thesis here is like. they wouldn’t attempt a Huge Musical bc they KNOW somebody would die #but they wouldn’t attempt anything so small n intimate that it’s 100% reliant on acting either #bc well. there’s only like two of them who can act n who those two are seems to change daily #itw is the perfect size n has the perfect amount of whimsy for cornley to do #I honestly think if they weren’t cursed(?) they’d be able to have a great go of it #sanders bullshit #the play that goes wrong #musical theatre #into the woods #cornley polytechnic drama society #oh fuck me now I have to tag all of them huh #chris bean (director) #robert grove #sandra wilkinson #max bennett #dennis tyde #annie twilloil #jonathan harris #vanessa willcock-wynn-carroway #lucy grove #trevor watson #francis beaumont #I like to have chris come in second place even in losing I think it’s so funny #there’s canon basis for that too. the play with the most mistakes:least run time ratio is the only one that *robert* directed