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irisbleufic · 4 months

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REVIEW

Gatsby: An American Myth (Welch, Chavkin, Bartlett, Majok, & Tayeh; American Repertory Theater)

Something that most adaptations of Gatsby get wrong, whether film or stage, is the treatment of characters as archetypes rather than individuals. Symbolism drowns out most genuine attempts at capturing emotional connections and conflicts of personality. They forget that this story is not only a failure of the so-called American Dream; first and foremost, it’s a tragedy of failed roles and relationships. Almost every one of the players is attempting to be someone they are not, and even as they reach for what they believe they should want, they reveal with increasing fervor what they actually want. This is the heart of what makes Welch’s new adaptation so devastatingly, disarmingly unique, so true to its source.

The set design is literal wreckage. Crushed and warped automobile chassis scaffold the moving staircases, and concealed trap doors. The backdrop shows no clear incorporation of the infamous Eckleburg billboard; rather, it is made up of a dotted grid resembling headlights. These play out effects ranging from a downpour to camera flashes to, briefly and only once, a pair of eyes that make no effort to hide behind the owlish frames of glasses. The only thing infusing this jagged framework with meaning is the people who move through it.

The lighting design works with the set’s incongruences, deepening or excavating shadows as needed. The brightness, when it flares, is blinding. Jewel tones either enhance or diminish a costuming scheme that is composed of either very pale or very dark shades, no in between. And whether it’s the post-apocalyptic black and gray cabaret garb of the ensemble or the wealthy protagonists’ pale suits or the gunmetal and gray denizens of the wasteland, everyone’s trouser and skirt hems are conspicuously rimed with reddish dust. The visual effects are nearly impossible to describe without sounding like I had some kind of desperate fever dream.

So far, I realize that these descriptions of the set and lighting design sound like this production is about to fall into the trap of overplaying symbolism, but please bear with me. With all of that established, I can focus on what’s truly extraordinary here, what’s meant to and does shine unhindered. The acting, musicianship and vocals are all so precise that it was hard for me to believe this show is still in previews. It feels Broadway ready, West End ready, major international tours ready. If I was the production crew, I’d turn this loose on a massive scale from the get-go without a second thought.

Much like with Hadestown, the musicians are not down in an orchestra pit. They’re characters in their own right, present on the stage from start to finish on tiered risers that run up from the center on each side from one of the catwalks. I’m sure Chavkin’s involvement as director has everything to do with why this show feels so much like, moves so much like Hadestown. The company is on an equally small scale, about 23 - 25 people including the principals.

Costuming among the ensemble is delightfully gender agnostic. I mention a cabaret aesthetic earlier in this review, and I’m not kidding. If you had shown me the ensemble costume designs without showing me the principals’ designs, I would have assumed I was looking at a Cabaret revival. They’re the most talented dancers I’ve seen occupy one stage in more than a decade. The choreography relies on movements in eerie unison for a significant portion of the show, but not without allowance for individual flair within those constraints. The guy sitting next to me, when I spoke to him at the intermission, said he works as a choreographer in regional theater, and he’d never seen anything like this. I couldn’t agree more; the dancing is singular, and as impressive as the musicianship is, the dancing and unusual body movement are maybe the greatest achievements of this show on the living, breathing end of things. I could have watched the dancers for those three hours without any dialogue or vocal intervention and still understood the story. That takes so much fucking doing.

As for the principal cast, they’re constantly among the ensemble; when I say these are all triple threats in the purest sense of that terminology, I really mean it. You always expect a few of the principals to be less dance and movement focused, more polished on the acting and singing side, but this show gives you terrifying proficiency from every angle. Even the guy playing Meyer Wolfsheim is at the center of what I think is the most memorable dance number in the piece. I’ve just never seen such versatile principals all in one production. What’s even more extraordinary is that I had never heard of or previously seen any of them, and that takes some doing given how much live theater I’ve consumed in several decades of life.

Ironically, the musical composition is the one aspect of this production on which I’ll be spending the least time. I need not tell you why Welch and Bartlett were perfect for this job. They understood the assignment, and then some. There’s not a single weak number among the track listings, and I desperately hope they release a recording soon. The standout numbers all have something in common: they showcase Soleia Pfeiffer as Myrtle Wilson. You can tell that’s the role where Welch sank most of the sound that’s considered her signature style. I don’t even need to describe it; you already know what I’m talking about. What’s impressive otherwise is the restraint, the lack of over-reliance on that signature style.

The principals are fucking perfect. I’ve kept this review tautly professional without meaning to thus far, but from here on out is where I start bleeding feels all over the post. If you don’t already know who my blorbos are due to my writing history with a Gatsby-related novel (The Pursued and the Pursuing, 2021), you’re going to know by the time you’re done reading this. You’re going to know exactly who I love and why, who I hate and why, who I ship and why. But you’ll also know that I approach all three of those elements from a place of enjoying every moment of those characters, even the ones I hate. Nobody’s performance put me off or struck the wrong tone when taken in context of the novel and how the tragedy of how their relationships play out.

For a long time, I’ve been saying that there are certain support roles, certain sidekicks, that make or break the higher-profile person to whose side they’re stuck, ride or die, until the bitter end. Horatio is a great example that I’ve ranted about before; if your Hamlet production has a lackluster Horatio, then it doesn’t matter how good the Hamlet is. You have nothing if you don’t have the binary star system at the heart of that harrowing universe. I’ve seen other adaptations of Gatsby consistently fall apart because Nick Carraway is treated like the kind of voyeur who doesn’t matter, the kind of voyeur who serves as the audience’s eyes and ears, and nothing else. Anyway, this is all to say: Ben Levi Ross as Nick might be the most compelling argument I can make for the fact that the creative team behind this show understood the assignment. He’s awkward, warm, sincere, and reactive in all of the ways you need Nick to be. He’s not a passive observer; he’s in the middle of everything, and he knows it. There’s a self-deprecating response he makes when one character, Jordan if I’m not mistaken, quips that maybe he’s the reason for Gatsby’s parties for all he knows. “Maybe I am,” he says, and the tongue-in-cheekness belies a gutting meta-sincerity. We believe Daisy is the point, Gatsby believes Daisy is the point, but what’s borne out every breathtaking moment of this production is that Nick is the point. He always was. He’s also given his due as a gay man in context of the story for the first time ever. I might make some folks mad when I say Nick has always been gay; I’m going to point you to Myrtle’s apartment party and the hookup with Mr. McKee as textual evidence in the novel. The kiss with McKee, the hookup with McKee, is unapologetically here. His lack of belonging everywhere else he’s ever been, because he is gay, is unapologetically here. One of the most memorable numbers in the show hinges on the hope feels at being able to be himself in New York. Queer fans of Gatsby have been waiting a long time for this. Anyone who’s read the text closely and understood him has been waiting a long time for this. I’ve been waiting several decades as a reader, and I would’ve waited forever to have Nick so fully, lovingly realized.

One of the other things that Gatsby adaptations have persistently gotten wrong is the titular character himself. The invention of Jay Gatsby hides the underlying James Gatz, makes it feel as if that old self is truly subsumed, as if it never mattered. But Isaac Powell gives us a Jay who’s exactly as he should be, who can’t hide beneath his own attempt at artifice and reinvention worth a goddamn. He’s young (as young as Nick; they’re 32 and 30 respectively both in the novel and here), painfully earnest, and just barely keeping a handle on the criminal shit he’s had to do in order to get where he is. When he says old sport to Nick, it’s not an affectation; when he says it to Tom, it becomes a biting insult. This is a Jay who knows where and why he’s vulnerable; he latches onto Nick like a not because he sees a man close to Daisy that he can exploit, but because he sees another young man who’s equally vulnerable, equally an outsider, equally haunted by the things they had to do in the war. From the moment they meet, they are almost always touching—a hand on the shoulder, on the back, getting in social harm’s way for each other, eyes seeking each other without cease in the most crowded of settings. When Jay takes Nick to lunch to meet Wolfsheim (who has in this production taken on the function of Dan Cody as well), it’s not to have somebody else vouch for the artifice of who Jay Gatsby is. It’s taking Nick to meet his fucking father-figure, and all of the messy, sincere “if you hurt my boy, I’ll kill you” sentiment that Wolfsheim aims at Nick was the moment I knew just how much the Nick’s loss by the end was going to hurt. Jay’s love for Daisy is a ghost of itself, even if as painfully earnest as everything else about him. Meanwhile, his attachment to Nick is so disarmingly genuine from the start that you understand the true tragedy you’re about to watch untold: these men who need each other, maybe even were made for each other, each prove unable to step outside their parallel distractions from what they truly are to each other. Jay’s interactions with Daisy and Nick’s interactions with several male and/or gender ambiguous members of the ensemble have something in common, which is a shocking level of physicality. This show had an intimacy coordinator; that’s the level of no holds barred we’re talking about. When you look at Tom and Myrtle, you can see why that was merited, too.

Speaking of Tom (Cory Jeacoma), the treatment of him here is every bit as scary as it should be. There’s no attempt to make him palatable, unlike what I’ve seen done with him in other adaptations. He towers over everyone else in the cast, I mean everyone, to a physical degree that’s uncomfortable. The way his wife, lover, and friends all flinch when he gets too close to them speaks volumes to the fact that he’s an abuser in every sense of the term. Even Nick, the prodigal college friend from Yale, is on eggshells around him (which, by the hotel blowup at the end of the show, becomes a sneering, reckless contempt, one of the driving forces that drives Nick to put himself between Jay and Tom whenever real harm is on the table). At the same time, this is a Tom who sincerely loves his wife and was only ever using Myrtle as a fling. You can tell he never meant any of the promises he made Myrtle. When Daisy tells him she didn’t stop the car on purpose, it’s as if his wife’s unapologetic act of manslaughter (“It was her or me!”) is the thing that wins him back. They aren’t careless people; they are people who consciously choose, day in and day out, to use others until they’re bored or done with them. The ruthlessness of Tom and Daisy as a couple is impressive, played up to a level that I feel more adaptations should do without fear of exaggerating the text.

As mentioned above, Daisy (Charlotte MacInnes) is no delicate, nervous creature who can’t help her actions under duress. She knows what she’s doing every bit as much as Tom knows what he’s doing. They use people, hurt people because they get bored and restless and enjoy it. I respect a Daisy who’s in control of her actions every step of the way even if I don’t like her; it’s better than trying to depict her as weak and at the mercy of the men around her. She’s a pragmatist and a survivor. So many of her songs are about choices and being conscious of those choices. She is a person you should fear every bit as much as you fear her husband, and even Jordan knows she’s not safe in Daisy’s orbit.

As Jordan, Eleri Ward is one of the neatest personalities on stage. Like Tom, she’s noticeably taller than most, which gives her a commanding physical presence. She has no romantic interest in anyone; I fucking love that this production show her and Nick bonding on the basis of being queer and tired of everyone else’s shit. This is a more likable, relatable Jordan than I’ve seen in the past. This is a Jordan whose relationship to Gatsby is much more familiar and warm, much more akin to the friendship she forms with Nick. In fact, the queer-and-tired vibes that roll off several of the principals in this production are palpable.

Myrtle and Wilson (Matthew Amira) aren’t always played as effective foils for Daisy and Tom, but here? They unquestionably are. They do actually love each other in spite of the things they’ve done to hurt each other, and it’s a constant dance of daring each other, challenging each other. The most memorable duet in the entire show is between them, during Act II. The confrontation is positively electric. These are two people with deep, complicated history. Of all the couples in the show, they feel the most real, the most alive. It makes the loss of Myrtle so much more wrenching; she’s not just a plot device emblematic of the bad choices they’ve all been making. She’s not shallow or frivolous or anything like that. She’s a shrewd woman with complex motivations, and for the first time ever I find myself loving her and caring what happens to her. She’s thrust even further into the action in that one of her part time gigs is working as a maid at Gatsby’s parties, a conceit that works shockingly well and hastens the devastating consequences of her affair with Tom.

I’ve made mention of Meyer Wolfsheim’s (Adam Grupper) uniquely enhanced role previously, so I’d be remiss if I didn’t comment on him again. This is a man who does, in fact, seem to give a shit about Jay above and beyond using him as a tool in his criminal empire. It’s not necessarily a healthy father-son dynamic, but Wolfsheim is usually played as ruthless, opportunistic, inhumanly calculating. Here, he’s a charming, but unquestionably dangerous man moved by a young soldier’s plight. He seems conflicted between his love for Jay and his need to have Jay continue to hold the party line within their business relationship. Wolfsheim is deeply conflicted about Jay in a way that I haven’t seen any Wolfsheim be played previously. And, as I mentioned earlier, the actor has a showstopper of a song and dance number. That may be the #1 “I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll take it!” moment for me in this show. And I say “may be” only because the moment that truly stopped my heart, will stay with me until everything else fades from memory, is perhaps only understandable in the context of my engagement with the text of Gatsby as a writer of transformative works.

Daisy’s and Tom’s daughter, Pam Buchanan doesn’t always appear in adaptations because she’s a toddler. Even in the novel, she a throwaway mention plus a single scene near the end where the nanny brings her out to meet Jay and Nick. She’s most often left as a throwaway mention without even grave of the scene where she appears. The scene in the novel, however brief, is memorable—and has been captured in all its fragile beauty for the first time in this adaptation. Jay and Nick both pay bewildered, wondering attention to this kid when she’s brought out. Jay drops to his knees and takes her hand when she greets him while Nick looks on in a moment of singular focus on both of them. The child who plays Pam here has a spark, an expressiveness that made me choke up even though she’s only on stage for a few minutes, if that. The tableau is one in which you can feel the shock of reality, however brief, touch on these men—Daisy’s and Tom’s reckless actions may yet do harm to someone who’s barely even begun to live her life, but who is just conscious enough to be a participant in it. They recognize that they, like this child, are probably in for a word of ruin—and that they have let it go on for so long that there’s now nothing they can do about it. For me, the deepest tragedy was watching Nick and Jay throw off that moment of heartbroken, horrified recognition prompted by Pam and return to the parts they’d decided to play out until the moment one of their hearts stopped.

Speaking of grief, of Nick’s grief since he’s the one who loses so much: there is only one person who loses more, and that’s Mr. Gatz, Jay’s father. They preserve his arrival at the house when Nick is the only person who stays around to carry out Jay’s funeral and burial. And when he arrives, the visceral shock of seeing his dark skin, braids, and beaded elements of Native regalia in juxtaposition with his otherwise period-typical Western garb underscore the tragedy of what young Jay was running away from, of what he never quite succeeded in erasing from himself. The burial scene shows Nick reverently bringing several of Jay’s folded shirts from the house and handing them down into the grave to Mr. Gatz, who places them reverently as possessions to accompany his son into thereafter. The cultural ramifications are all at once understated and devastating. Nick has moments with each of Jay’s father figures that are among the most complex and moving in the show. The program does not make clear the name of the ensemble member who takes on this most memorable of all Mr. Gatz appearances, and this erasure in and of itself is both unfortunate and telling. This is a world that never belonged to the majority of those who inhabit it, and Nick realizes it with heartbroken clarity after having this final interaction. Even though he’s an outsider, he’s part of a world that has erased and betrayed the man he loved so much at every turn.

The closing number, “We Beat On,” felt like it needed something more, but it utilized the final line of the novel to a deeply moving effect. The lights go down suddenly as the last word is sung; it feels like the song is half finished. When the lights came up, Nick and Jay were center stage in each other’s embrace, just withdrawing from each other as the entire company transitioned into final bows. That’s how I’ll remember them, always: touching even when they’ve already lost each other, borne ceaselessly back into each other’s arms. If Nick is Orpheus, then I have no doubt that he, too, will tell this story again and again until someday, somewhere, something gives.

#the great gatsby #gatsby musical #florence welch #gatsby #natsby

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platrom · 2 months

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Infinity.

CHAPTER 2.

JJK x READER (Kenjaku x Reader)

SUMMARY: In every universe, Ryomen Sukuna will find you, whether it is by chance or not. But only time can tell if you awake to discover your doomed fate.

WARNINGS: maids are treated poorly, mentions of bad healthcare, reader has no education, mentions of traditional society view on women, Kenjaku exists and seems kinda manipulative, reader isn’t listening to herself, Aguri kind of pressures reader, societal imbalance, kenjaku looks like someone we all know and love 🤭

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

TAGLIST (slashed means could not be tagged): @xhoneymoonx134 @ofcqdesi @sad-darksoul @qeabiiaa @moonierxh @twinklingbeautifulstars @skypperlegacy

—taglist is open! if you would like to be added, please comment. :)

i. accismus

You’ve never been inside the infirmary of the castle. Low level maids like yourself were usually sent to the dungeon nurse to receive treatment if sick.

Yet, for the first time in your life, you lay in one of the nicest rooms you have ever stepped foot in. The floor is a sterile white, but in the center of each tile is an irregular sprinkling of glistening crystals that. The four walls around you appear to be covered in some kind of film— the lining is a deep burgundy with imprints of a rosier red slicing through the edges. Thick, ivory colored columns line each side of the room, each one carved in to retain a different design of florals and swirls.

The bed you currently lay on is the nicest of all. The size is of it is twice your height and length, and the softest sheets you have ever felt are beneath your feet. A warm and heavy blanket is placed on top of you, swaddling you like a baby.

And arguably, one of the most handsome men you have ever seen is in watching you from across the room.

He smiles, watching as your eyes flit across his face. His eyes are slender slits with irises of a deep, shady blue. His lips curve at the top into a gentle bow, and the corners align perfectly straight with each other. His nose is symmetrical and straight, and his hair is slicked back into a small bun, with a few strands sweeping over the side of his face.

Are those bangs? They look a little weird— but they add to his charm, I suppose.

“I haven’t seen you here before,” he steps forward, walking with his hands clasped behind his back. His attire is similar to Uraume’s— simple robes and a belt, but the color of it is black.

It brings out the specks of amethyst in his eyes.

You push yourself up, wincing as you lower your head into a polite bow. No matter the injury, you must maintain your behavior. “I work in the dungeons, sir.”

He falls into the chair beside you, cocking his head to the side. “I would have never guessed. You’re far too pretty to be a maid.”

You look up, and the handsome stranger simply grins wider.

He extends out his hand. “Kenjaku. That’s my name.”

You hesitate before allowing your hand to meet his. His fingers curl around your palm, bringing it to his face to leave a gentle kiss. You grip the sheets under the cover, trying to keep your hand from twitching in his grasp.

This is new.

“I’m (Name),” you slip your hand out of his, shoving them under the sheets. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

He chuckles at your meekness. “The pleasure is all mine, (Name).” Kenjaku leans forward, resting his arm beside yours. The close proximity makes you shy in on yourself, shifting away.

You had never been close to a man— it was forbidden in the estate. All your duty has ever been was to serve Lord Sukuna and his estate— romance, intimacy, and pleasure had never been permitted.

The trainers of the castle always said such greedy thoughts spoiled a person, and no ignorant, selfish individual would survive a day here. Selflessness was policy.

It nearly feels taboo to even be near Kenjaku— especially of a man of caliber like him. He must be an important figure to be in the infirmary a lot.

“(Name)!” a worried Aguri bursts in, sprinting over to your side, nearly toppling over Kenjaku in the process. She jumps onto your torso, squeezing you to death. “I heard what happened in the garden and I had to beg Uraume to let me see you, and-”

You put your hand over her mouth, muffling her words. You grin at her concern, but fear that her words will get you both in trouble with Kenjaku.

Rules are not meant to be broken in the Sukuna estate. Neither of you should be here. Especially Aguri.

But if Uraume permitted it, where are they? They would not have left Aguri come here herself.

A silent figure walks to the front of your bed, and you are greeted by the blank eyes of Uraume. They nod their head. “I hope you are well, (Name). I heard what happened at the ceremony.”

They turn to Kenjaku, nodding. “Hello, Kenjaku.”

He tilts his head before wiggling his fingers at Uraume. “Hello, Frozen Star.”

Their eyes twitch. Aguri purses her lips against your hand to hide a snicker at the interaction. You fight a smile, too.

“Insufferable as always,” they scoff before turning to you. Their eyes are a dark pink— nearly the color of a wild orchid—with long eyelashes that curl in a way you’ve heard the maids gossip over in jealousy.

Their face is small and sharp— it’s fitting. Stern and quiet— those are the qualities that make Lord Sukuna’s most loyal subordinate, the Frozen Star themself.

“I would like to apologize on behalf of the Sukuna estate,” Uraume bows at your feet. “You have done nothing but service your king and were punished by a concubine by completing your duties. It was decided that you would be taken to the general infirmary to be properly treated and rewarded for you efforts. The two will be punished.”

You jaw drops and Aguri snaps her head in Uraume’s direction. Even Kenjaku straightens at the news.

The concubines were punished? Because of me?

You never expected justice in a world you lived in.

But you doubt that their behavior is the only reason for their punishment.

For women to be concubines, they must come from powerful and wealthy families. There must be some voice they hold in the castle. They would scream to their family before they would fall at the feet of the king.

Kenjaku laughs, leaning back in his seat. His eyes train on your face. “You don’t understand, do you? Sukuna is all powerful— he bows down to none. He is the strongest in the world and will forever be. Their families cannot protect them from our king, no matter how many jewels they throw at his feet.”

It’s like he read my mind, you stare at Kenjaku astonished. His eyes remain fixated on your eyes, not giving away anything. He is a solid as stone.

Uraume grimaces at Kenjaku, but says nothing to dismiss his words. Aguri stays silent, watching the ground.

It must be the truth, then. Lord Sukuna is unstoppable and has true reign on his people.

“How did you know what I was thinking?” the questions slips past your lips, before you can think to speak. Kenjaku is an enigma— a puzzle. You want to play, for once.

To think like a human being. To live. To do more than survive- you wish to thrive.

Maybe, you can do it through him.

“It’s my secret,” he winks, before standing up. Uraume makes no move to stop him as he passes them and nears the door. “I hope to see you more often, (Name).”

Then, he leaves.

ii. burgeon

After the infirmary nurse had come in and determined you healthy to be released, Uraume sent you and Aguri back to your quarters to eat supper.

Nothing was said about the interaction between you and Kenjaku.

Aguri believes it is a steamy romance waiting to be unraveled— a low-level maid meets a mysterious stranger who is smitten with her at first sight will continue to meet her lover in the hours of dusk by chance— by the brushing of shoulders, the touching of hands, or the eventual meeting of lips.

You believe she is insane.

“Kenjaku doesn’t even know me,” you blow on the hot broth, stirring the bits of peas stuck on the bottom of your bowl. “And I’m not even sure what his duties are to the king. What if he’s another subordinate of he is? He would never take an interest in someone like me.”

Aguri throws her head back, sighing loudly. “You don’t know that, (Name)! He seems pretty interested in you from what you’ve told me. Staring at a woman, as she sleeps? And smiling at the sight of her awakening? That sounds like the stories of the princesses they tell children at bedtime.”

You scoff. “It’s rather unprofessional, and very unacceptable.”

“It’s fate,” Aguri declares, stuffing a bread roll into her mouth. Her feet swing under the table, knocking into yours. “You are destined to be together forever! Kenjaku is your soulmate.”

You lift the bowl to your lips, sipping the broth. A soulmate.

That sounds nice. A companion for life. But is Kenjaku that?

You’re not sure. You would describe him as a fairytale to remember for a lifetime— it would be a story you tell to younger maids the older you got— about a dashing man who spoke to you as if you were of his caliber and not a nobody. As if your presence truly mattered to him.

It was a tale to tell for the ages. A story to be passed on for centuries until history repeated for another girl luckier than you.

Maybe she will get married to a man who is her soulmate.

The thought makes you beam.

Aguri hops out of her chair, pointing an overjoyed finger at you. “See, even you like the idea!”

You know Aguri is wrong, but to disagree and wipe the smile off her face would be a criminal act. It isn’t everyday the two of you can sit, chat, and giggle like you used to.

You want to savor this moment, for as long as it lasts.

“Well,” you push your chair out, grabbing your bowl and napkin. You stick out your bowl for Aguri to place into yours. “I hope Kenjaku comes and sweeps me off my feet soon. I’ve been dying to be treated like a maiden, you know. These feet can’t carry all this weight.” You kick up your leg to your back for emphasis.

Aguri giggles, spinning around the room. The ends of her dress flutter up, dancing in circles with the turns of her body.

Even in the rags of her uniform, she is the prettiest person you have laid eyes on. Inside and out, she is unapologetically herself. And that is what makes her so beautiful.

A large part of you hopes that the interest Aguri believes Kenjaku showed to you will disappear. The attention is nice, but you don’t desire what he has to offer. No matter his status, you are content with what you have. Aguri, the ratty sheets of your bed, and the growing pile of loose beads and shiny thread is more than enough to keep you satisfied.

A small part of you refuses to believe that the intentions behind Kenjaku’s appearance as entirely pure. You’re just not sure why he choose to approach you. A night out of wedlock, perhaps?

Did Kenjaku hope to bed you, only hours ago?

The thought makes you frown. Whatever his reasons were, you hope to never cross paths with him again.

His soul is far from pure, that is sure. It is not clear in the way Aguri’s is, or even a pale yellow like Uraume’s is. His is an orb of black with streaks of blood red.

It reminds you of the souls of the concubines, but darker. They had souls of gray, with streaks of pink. Uraume refused to say what happened to them, but you fear the worst.

If Kenjaku was right, they may be dead at best. At worst, they would be fed to the tortured spirits outside the estate.

But Lord Sukuna would never care for a maid like you. Would he listen to Uraume?

You don’t think they would order a harsh punishment on the concubines, either. But you’ve never seen them with anyone of high status. Maybe the higher you were on the social status, the lighter the punishments were.

You wonder if any of them had ever been beaten and bruised in the way you had. If searing hot pikes had been slashed across the backs or whips had been lashed across their stomachs. Or if stones had been smashed into their faces.

For as horrible as they were with you, you wouldn’t wish a single punishment of yours upon them. You would only hope for mercy in the way you had desired during every beating.

A small tapping breaks you from your train of thought. Aguri stops moving, turning to look at you. You cock an eyebrow.

The room you two shared consisted of two mattresses, a tiny table with two stools, and a wooden door to exit. The walls around you were of pure stone, impossible to penetrate from any side. They were as thick as imaginable, meant to prevent maids from slipping messages and conspiring.

Too many rebellions had happened in the past from the inside. They were too messy to clean.

The tapping repeats, this time more rapid. The corners of the door rock.

Someone is trying to reach you.

No maid is permitted to leave their quarters at this time. Who could possibly be awake?

The person on the other side of the door answers for themself.

“You know, I was being serious when I said I wanted to see you again, (Name).”

Aguri squeals, slapping her hands over her mouth. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she jumps for joy. He’s here for you! her look screams.

You cringe. I don’t want him to be here!

Aguri rolls her eyes.

Kenjaku hums. “I won’t leave until I see your face, my dear. I’ve only come to see you, love.”

Love?

Your stomach churns. Is this courtship?

Aguri giggles excitedly, grabbing your arm and tossing you to the door. “I’ll cover for you, just be safe!”

You stare at her bewildered. “You can’t expect me to leave in the night with a strange man? I’ll get punished!”

“Boo-hoo! No one will know,” Aguri dismisses, rushing to grab your coat. It’s a thin, black piece of cotton that you receive during the winter to keep yourselves warm as you work. There are no sleeves or buttons, simply two ends to tie the material around your shoulders.

Aguri wraps it around you, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. “You only live once, (Name). Just live, will you?”

She doesn’t add it, but she wants you to live her dreams for her. A part of her must wish a man like Kenjaku had come crawling to her door, begging for her voice. So, she’s living her fantasy through you.

I’d only do this for you.

“Alright,” you nod your head. “But please, stay quiet. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

Aguri lights up before wrapping you in a hug and then shoving you to the door.

“Stay safe!” is all she says before she pushes you into Kenjaku’s arms and shuts the door in your face.

His hands catch your waist, easing you to him. The front of your foot meets his, and you are met with the sight of his eyes peering into yours, faces millimeters apart.

He smells of vanilla and jasmine. Sweet, alluring, and welcoming.

The blue of his lowers, and his eyes flit to your lips. You inhale, your hands coming to his chest.

“You,” you stumble, “You said you wanted to speak with me?”

His eyes remain on your lips, studying the way your mouth remains parted as you await his answer. His hand slides to your neck and his lids lower.

The expression he holds is intimate, as if he were staring at his lover. At the woman of his dreams, the mother of his children, and his future bride.

You are none of those.

But it is nice to be treated like glass for once, isn’t it? To be adored and fawned over. To be loved.

You were not a righteous being. You were not perfect. You did wrong.

Is one mistake okay?

Kenjaku answers. “I wanted to see you, my dear. To hear your voice and your laugh. To watch your eyes light up at the sight of the sky.”

He’s romantic and poetic. His words seem so genuine and sincere.

Maybe it is okay to let go for once— to fall. It may not be forever, but it will be true; at least for you.

“But you can’t see the sky from down here,” you step back, tightening the cloth around your neck. The corners of Kenjaku’s lips rise.

“That’s why we’ll be going up, dear.”

iii. nightlight

“I never knew the estate had a balcony this high up,” you step outside of Kenjaku’s room.

It was located on the second floor of the castle, above the king’s own floor. Apparently, the king’s closest subordinates rested here.

Each room was packed with plush velvet pillows, satin pillowcases, leather couches, and gold decor. A wooden bowl of fresh fruits are presented to each door every morning and subordinates can request any meal from the kitchen they so desire.

They have their own personal bathing quarters, with a large bath made out of silver and an assortment of fresh flowers and oils to spill into the newly warmed water they can order from their maids.

To live like this is to live like a king.

A hand slides down your back. “Look at the stars, (Name). Do you know any constellations?”

You shake your head. “I can hardly read.”

Kenjaku tuts. You tilt your head.

“We must change that, shouldn’t we?”

#© platrom, plot / writing / banners & headers. do not repost, reblogs are appreciated! please consider leaving a comment and a heart! <3

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probablyasocialecologist · 2 months

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Following prolonged negotiations with many of the biggest companies in video games, the Screen Actors Guild-American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (SAG-AFTRA) has called for a video game performer and voice actor strike, beginning on July 26. Try as they might, the two sides have been unable to see eye to eye on the issue of AI. “The video game industry generates billions of dollars in profit annually," said SAG-AFTRA national executive director and chief negotiator Duncan Crabtree-Ireland in a statement to Aftermath. "The driving force behind that success is the creative people who design and create those games. That includes the SAG-AFTRA members who bring memorable and beloved game characters to life, and they deserve and demand the same fundamental protections as performers in film, television, streaming, and music: fair compensation and the right of informed consent for the AI use of their faces, voices, and bodies. Frankly, it’s stunning that these video game studios haven’t learned anything from the lessons of last year - that our members can and will stand up and demand fair and equitable treatment with respect to AI, and the public supports us in that." Workers can now strike at ten companies: Activision, Blindlight, Disney Character Voices, EA, Epic, Formosa Interactive, Insomniac Games, Take-Two, VoiceWorks, and WB Games.

July 25, 2024

#sag aftra #video games #labour #ai #artificial intelligence

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pitchtreats · 11 months

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Animated Film Pitch Scene

Setting: LA. A dark alleyway. A muscle car is parked. Enshrouded in a ghostly mist.

Ambience: Retro. Horror/thriller. Grainy film texture represents a sense of grit and realism. Tension builds under the surface of every setting and character who lives in this world.

Inspiration: Panos Cosmatos, Robert Rodrigues, Grindhouse films.

Instagram

Behance

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thegeneticopera · 1 year

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after seeing many misconceptions on the ages of the characters and also the general lack of knowledge on relevant key events, I thought I'd create a timeline!

A comprehensive breakdown of important dates in Repo! The Genetic Opera:

1993: Rotti Largo was born (July 14th)

2006: On April 5th, the first ever death for NOS (Neuro-Overstimulation Syndrome) was recorded. GeneCo was then founded later that month in Milan, Italy by Giuseppe Largo and Dr. Michael Whatley who eventually discovered a treatment using an experimental drug called Zydrate and genetic manipulation.

2011: Marni was born (No date)

2016: Nathan was born (No date)

2017: Blind Mag was born (July 5th)

2019: Luigi Largo was born (November 20th)

2024: Pavi Largo was born (September 29th)

2025: By this point, The Genetic Opera, an interactive TV show, was sponsored by GeneCo to promote designer organs and keep the public "status-conscious" in order to continue boosting profits.

2032: Carmela Largo/Amber Sweet was born (August 23rd)

2035: Graverobber was born (No date)

2036: Marni brings Mag to meet Rotti Largo

2039: Shilo Wallace was born (August 27th), Marni Wallace dies, Nathan becomes a repo man

2040: Mag's eye transplants (March 21st)

2048: Blind Mag's Corpus Crusade tour

2053: Tao of Mag, a charity concert event held for blindness

2056: Rotti signs his last will and testament, declaring Shilo as the sole heir of his estate (August 7th). The events of the film take place on November 7th - Nathan, Rotti, and Mag die. Shilo presumably goes missing. Amber takes over GeneCo at a later unspecified date.

Some common misconceptions cleared up by the timeline:

Mag did not receive her eyes at 19, the date listed on her repossession chart says otherwise

Marni and Mag have a relatively large age gap. At the time in which Marni brought Mag to meet Rotti, she was already 25, and Mag was only 19. I personally like to think that Marni was a singing mentor of some sort (since in Chase the Morning we see that Mag has a memory of Marni singing), and perhaps worked with disabled people and this is how they met!

The age difference between Shilo and Graves is only 4 years!

Mag and Luigi only have a two year age difference. Her being under GeneCo's thumb since she was 19 and Luigi was 17 is probably why they have a relationship.

On that topic, Nathan is only 3 years older than Luigi, there's no way him or Mag could have "baby sat" the Largos as children if they're all approximately the same age (excluding Amber, but considering Nathan had his own daughter to raise and was a repoman and Mag was a world class opera singer I still doubt that would be the case)

This one doesn't have a specific date, but I felt it should be added regardless: Pavi's face disfigurement seemingly happened very recent to events of Repo! We see several times within the film that there are posters and billboards of him with his original face, even in the pictures Rotti has he didn't have the scarring yet. The posters say that GeneCo offering face replacements will be happening in 2057. Pavi was the one in charge of that, and he was stealing faces prior to his scarring (as seen in the pictures). We also know from several sources, including Luigi himself, that Pavi's face happened because of a botched surgery. It's safe to assume this was because of the new face replacement campaign that was being offered, and it was within the last year or two before the events in the film.

#repo! the genetic opera #repo the genetic opera #r!tgo #rtgo #mod luigi #blind mag #luigi largo #pavi largo #amber sweet #shilo wallace #repo graverobber #nathan wallace #timeline

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nattikay · 2 months

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actually no wait holdup, I stumbled across some "Na'vi redesigns" recently, and while I don't want to make a stink about it on the actual redesign posts themselves because I don't want to antagonize the artists, who are clearly skilled in their own right, I do have something to say on the topic. While there is of course nothing wrong with re-designing characters or species for fun, there seems to be this condescending attitude surrounding Na'vi redesigns in particular, especially ones that make them significantly more monstrous/non-human, about how they're "better" than the canon designs for being less humanoid but....

y'all. Though there is a lot of cool speculative biology in Avatar, Avatar at is heart is not meant to be a speculative biology documentary, it's meant to be a story.

y’know, it’s interesting, there’s a section in Anomaly Inc’s epic eight-hour Avatar defense in which he’s refuting The Critical Drinker’s Avatar video. Paraphrasing a bit because I don’t want to dig through eight hours for this one line, but there’s a point where Critical Drinker says “if the Na'vi looked like this, or this, or this [showing images of much more monstrous alien designs from other movies], Avatar would be a very different movie”, and Anomaly Inc responds, “no actually, if the Na'vi looked like xenomorphs nothing in the plot would change, it would just be a whole lot less pleasant to look at.”

And you know what? They’re both right. Anomaly Inc is correct that giving the Na'vi a more monstrous design would not affect the plot itself, but Critical Drinker is also right (though perhaps not in the way he intended) that it would make Avatar a different movie. A WORSE MOVIE.

Yeah, I said it. Because plot is an important element to a movie, yes, but it’s not the only important element. Film is a visual medium, and therefore design is very important too, and it’s not arbitrary: the design of your characters should be used to support the story you’re trying to tell.

The story of Avatar requires the audience to empathize with the Na'vi. We’re supposed to be able to relate to them, to see ourselves in them. We’re meant not to see them as just “aliens”, but as people, because recognizing them as people emphasizes the wrongness of the RDA’s treatment of them. Blowing up the village of a clearly humanoid species is going to hit the audience much harder than blowing up the nest of scary-looking aliens, even if we know the aliens are smart and have their own culture etc. (not to say that blowing up the “nest” wouldn’t still be bad, of course it would be, it just wouldn’t invoke quite the same gut reaction in the viewers and yes that matters in a story).

A more monstrous design would not only not support the Na'vi’s narrative role, it would actively hinder it. Like it or not, general audiences would have a much more difficult time connecting with the Na'vi if they were depicted as hunched-over four-eyed hexapods with gaping jaws and the inability to make human facial expressions. Making them more humanoid makes them much easier to read and therefore to emotionally connect to. And no, Mr. Drinker, making your protagonists appealing to look at is not “lazy dirty manipulation”, it’s character design 101.

And don’t get me wrong, there’s certainly a place for more monstrous-looking sapient alien species in fiction! And if that’s your cup of tea by all means go nuts! Make that alien species! Flesh out their culture! That sounds awesome! I know I’ve definitely seen some cool and interesting ones out there!

….but I just don’t think that Avatar is that place. And that’s ok. There’s a place for “monstrous” aliens (sapient or otherwise), but there’s a place for humanoid aliens too, Avatar is the latter and there’s nothing wrong with that.

…all that to say, my stance on Na'vi redesigns is heavily dependent on the attitude behind them:

“Here’s a Na'vi redesign because I thought it would be a fun challenge and look cool!” Awesome, go for it, have fun! :D

“Here’s a Na'vi redesign because the canon designs are dumb and lazy and mine is way Better and More Original because it looks more like a movie monster, the filmmakers were so stupid for not making them look more like this, I’m just Fixing It” shut up

#avatar #avatar 2009 #i’m sorry but I just can’t see some of those redesign posts without thinking:#“ok super cool design on its own but just wouldn’t work as well for the story avatar wants to tell”#which of course is fine if it’s a just-for-fun-design-challenge type of thing #but when it comes with a contemptuous attitude of “I’m fixing it” with no understanding of why the canon designs are how they are…#yeah that’s annoying sorry

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yuyanda · 1 year

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Incredibly happy to announce my first official film production credit as Graphic Designer for Flyer Films short romantic comedy Us & In Between, directed by Katia Shannon.

I created the film title design with feedback from director Katia Shannon and additional graphics by Motion Designer Steve Hill.

For more of my project work: https://www.behance.net/gallery/173365061/Us-In-Between-Flyer-Films

Visit the official website: https://flyerfilms.org/uaib - Download the Press Kit or Request a Screener.

Thanks to the team at Resource Productions for their continued support.

#graphic designer #film production #designer #illustrator #title design #logo type #visual identity #type design #brand design #type #lettering #title treatment #film titles #short film #calligraphy #handwriting #film art

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clip-the-simp · 5 months

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Not Much Else [Pt.1]

Ao3

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem!Reader

Word count: 2,956

Warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, mention of drugs and surgery, (I’m bad at warning tags so just let me know if I need/should to add some)

Tags: Mild Proofreading, reader had bat wings, Bounty Hunting, deviation from TV show, pre!show events(?), (Again I'm bad at tags so let me know)

Summary: You're a vault experiment that makes it to the surface. Quickly you learn the lay of the land and a few years later end up working the same bounty as The Ghoul. You convince him to let you take a long after having a feeling that you just had to follow him. Where will this story lead? Only time (and my motivation) will tell.

A/N: this is cringy as shit so please forgive me. I’m trying to get back into writing and my current hyperfixation is Fallout. I've been a fan for years but a new found love was sparked with the show's release.

Be forewarned that this is going to be incredibly inaccurate to cannon events and really unrealistic honestly. But listen. If Lucy can have her finger zapped back on and working properly anything can happen.

The scientists of your vault had placed nearly 200 hundred people into cryo pods before the bombs had fallen. A few had been scientists, but most were test subjects. Those chosen to be experimented on were chosen from a vast array of different medical histories, genetic makeups, ages, and ethnicities which always resulted in different mutations. Only about one third of the subjects had volunteered, while the majority had been simply manipulated, kidnapped, and or drugged before being shoved into a cryopod.

You had been one of the majority that had been kidnapped. Before the bombs, you had been a star in HollyWood and went on to be in several films which included a western or two. You were still fairly young however, so when the threat of bombs falling had started to rise you had been cornered. A white cloth with chloroform was shoved into your face once you had gotten back to your film trailer after wrapping up the final scene for a movie you were co-starring in. You had only woken up for a brief moment after being kidnapped, which was right before they had shoved you into a pod and began the process to preserve your body for the next century or so.

When the scientist decided it was time to start experimenting, some wouldn’t survive the first round of injections but that never did stop the test. Even after death the bodies would continue to be used to determine different severities of treatments on human tissue.

However, those that didn’t have the fortune of passing within the first few rounds of chems being forced into their veins, they had far worse ahead of them. Which just so happened to be the group of unfortunate folks you wound up being.

It had been about 175 years after the bombs dropped before they dethawed you from your cryosleep and started on their process of testing and modifying your body. They had hoped, just like with all of their other experiments they had running, that you would be one of their best.

After the first initial round of chems they had started to cut into you and spliced your DNA with multiple different creatures. First it started with the removal and rewiring of your eyes. They had been replaced with those of a feline which had taken you months to recover from, but that didn’t stop the minor test they continued to perform.

The rewiring in your brain caused excruciating headaches for the first few months but soon you were able to view things from a new lens. Being able to see more than most at night was a great perk to have when the vaults tended to stay poorly lit. However this also caused you to have some sensitivities to bright lights, so in response to that the scientist designed specialized goggles to combat it but made them so they wouldn’t impair your ability to see at night with them still being on.

The next body modification came when a scorchbeast, a large mutated bat creature, had been killed and dragged into the vault. After careful consideration and candidate evaluation you had been chosen to be subjugated to the experiment. No one knew if your body would reject the new muscle and bones that had to be implanted, but your genes had the most likely success rate when looking at the data provided.

After a full year of recovery you had full mobility of the limbs, and with it having been a young scorchbeast, the wings hadn’t been to terribly large in comparison to your body. You had been due for more body installments but before the scientist had the opportunity to stick another knife in you all hell had broken loose.

One of the more aggressive test subjects had escaped from their enclosure and started wreaking havoc upon the vault. They had managed to set other people free while in a blind rage when they had broken into the control room. In doing so not only where you set free but so where all the others, including those in cryosleep.

However you hadn’t stuck around for long once everyone, mutated or not, had started attacking one another in a panic. Having seen map layouts of the vault in the halls on the way to your surgeries, you had been one of the first to make it to the surface and begin your trick through the waste land.

After a week you had managed to find your way to a town which was both a blessing and a curse. Outside the walls of the town there had been a dead man who still had his clothes on. Having realized you were still in your medical gown, you had stripped him of the garments, minus the underwear, and cut a large hole in the back of the shirt to accommodate for your wings. With pants and a shirt on you were now a little more confident when entering the settlement.

Even after getting more than a hospital gown on, people still had given you strange looks as you walked the streets. They snarled and ogled at the wings sprouting from your back, and even after tucking them under your arms while pulling them close to your sides, it didn’t stop the stairs. Your goggles had remained pulled over your eyes during the majority of your time on the surface, but you could tell people could still see the slits that were your pupils.

You had quickly learned the ways of the waste land. Caps controlled everything, violence was always the answer, and it was kill or be killed. So when a man suddenly cornered you in the alley way of that first town you were in, you quickly became a killer. Whether it was the animal genetics fused with your own or your will to survive, you had proceeded to rip that man's neck out with your teeth when he had gotten close enough.

In doing so you had gained a handful of caps, a slightly rusted knife, and a pistol that had enough ammo to mow down a small horde of ghouls. The only item of clothing you peeled from his body was a weathered trench coat made of leather. That had managed to cover your wings if you kept them tucked close enough, although a bet awkwardly.

With the handful of caps you had gathered you had managed to get some accentals and learned about bounty hunting. If you were going to survive in the world you had to adapt, and so you did.

Two years had passed since you first began living on the surface when you had encountered The Ghoul, face to face, for the first time. Both of you had been working the same job when the target in question got smart and hired a few armed guards. The two of you were knocked unconscious and tied up in a rotting building while the target and his goons ran off. You had come to when the splitting pain from being knocked out finally became too much for your body to suppress.

As you peeled your eyes open, you started to realize someone was tied to your back as you and the other person sat on the sand covered floor of the decaying house. Shuffling a bet you tried to grab the knife at your side but soon heard a groan from the person you were tied to. You hadn’t bothered before to try and see who it was, hoping to have gotten untied from one another before they had the chance to wake up and possibly kill you.

“Fucking hell.” You heard the man mumble as he tried to get his bearings as you had. Your heart made its way to your throat as you realized who it was. Although you had never met the man you recognized his voice from the rare occasion you had been in the same town together at the same time.

Fuck fuck fuck! You thought as you continued, more hastily this time, to try and get the knife at your side. You had never paid The Ghoul much attention, however you know of his reputation and that he was a gifted gun slinger. However, while you hadn't paid him much attention, he had been studying you. He had started to recognize you any time you just happened to be in the same town. It wasn't anything more than the fact you were exceedingly odd and always looked out of place from those shuffling around you. Although he was a ghoul and the farthest thing from normal looking, your wings would always take any and all attention from those around you. No matter how well hidden you tried to keep them.

“Stop fidgeting damn it.” Your body immediately froze as he spoke directly to you. A few shuffles of his own and he quickly had his hands on his own knife which sliced through the rope with relative ease. You fell forward slightly as the tension from the rope was released and you quickly stood to dust yourself off.

Turning around you saw The Ghoul doing the same thing as he stood. His duster was ripped to shreds but still served its purpose of covering him from the sun. The cowboy hat he held in his hands was quickly placed back on his head before he turned to glare at you. His spurs jingled a little as he faced you.

Everything in your body screamed at you to run before he could pull out his weapon, but his gaze had you pinned to your spot in the room. You swallowed hard before trying to move and look more relaxed then you really were. Crossing your arms you moved your eyes to meet his which started an immediate feeling of regret.

There was something about his eyes that held a feeling of familiarity but it was buried under the many years of being forced to live amongst the harsh conditions of the wasteland. The Ghoul’s eyes remained on your face for the longest time before traveling to the tips of your wings that peeked out from under your coat. You quickly tried to tuck them closer to hide them but that just led to him looking back to your face.

“Now how the hell you get those on your back?” The Ghoul pointed to where the wings had been showing just moments before. His question had brought you out of your frozen state as you tried justifying to yourself answering him truthfully. You didn’t figure it would hurt to be truthful, especially since it was only the two of you at that moment. Not to mention the odd feeling that you could rely on him to keep any information you needed to get off your chest.

“Vault experiments.” You answered plainly as you moved the extra appendages from under your coat and spread them a little farther out from your body as you stretched them. As you did this something shifted in his expression, almost a kin to pity. He looked back into your eyes as if trying to recognize you as you had done the same to him moments before. You had forgotten the fact your eyes were no longer human so whatever search he was on would be nearly impossible if he intended to find answers within them. Not to mention the fact that your goggles were currently tented from the light coming in from the setting sun.

“That’s unfortunate. Seems like those wings would be in the way of everything.” He stated while picking up some of his belongings that hadn’t been taken. You crossed your arms and leaned on one leg. Sure, the wings were annoying at first, but they had become useful as time went on. You always managed to travel farther than anyone else in the wasteland could in two days on foot.

“They’re actually quite helpful.” You stated as you began to check yourself for any belongings that might be missing. “People don’t expect an aerial assault nowadays. So ambushing people is quite the luxury when being a bounty hunter.” The Ghoul gave a low hum as he slung his bag back over his shoulder. Surprisingly enough they hadn’t stolen anything, but you assumed it was because they were more focused on getting out of there before the two of you woke up.

“Well sweetheart I must be on my way. That bounty is still out there and I don't need someone else getting my caps.” As he said this The Ghoul slung his leg over the wall of the decrepit house and began his trek to the target. Something in the back of your mind pricked at your thoughts as he walked away. The feeling that you needed to follow him into the wasteland grew stronger the farther he walked.

What was it about this guy that had you wanted to do nothing more than follow him like a lost puppy? You hadn’t meant to be working the same bounty but somehow it felt like it was meant to be. Kicking yourself mentally, you sprinted after him. He had only managed to get a few yards away before you abruptly sprinted up behind him.

Out of instinct The Ghoul pulled his gun on you and had it aimed directly at your head. Your chest was rising and falling rapidly as you tried to catch your breath from the short unexpected run you just had. The adrenaline pumping through your veins prevented you from freezing or seeing the gun held to your face as much of a threat at that moment. All your mind was trained on was convincing The Ghoul to take you with him on this job.

“Take me with you.” Was all you could blurt out. Your voice had been shaky which you hoped wouldn’t be too noticeable but The Ghoul definitely caught it. He lowered his gun to keep it aimed at your chest instead.

“Now why should I do that?” He asked as he raised a nonexistent eyebrow. The sun was getting low which caused a shadow to shroud most of The Ghoul’s face. A knot began to form in your stomach. You hadn’t thought this through at all but had to come up with an excuse fast.

“I can be of help. Like I stated before, aerial assault isn’t something most folks are prepared to fight against.” That was practically the only key advantage you had on most other people. You had other talents, sure, but that was back up information in case the main appeal didn’t go through.

The Ghoul lifted his gun to tip his hat out of his face to get direct eye contact with you. His gaze fell and rose as he examined your form. It made you partly embarrassed as you pulled your wings in closer. He stood there and contemplated for a while until you broke the silence.

You grabbed the goggles from your face and sat them on top of your head. Your vision quickly adjusted to the new light exposed to your eyes. As The Ghoul looked back to your face you saw a bet of shock appear on his face before it was quickly masked again.

“Listen,” You started as your hands quickly began to fidget with one another. “I don't know why but I feel as if I’m supposed to go with you. If I had an explanation of why I would tell you but I don’t except for saying it’s a gut feeling.” The Ghoul’s expression stayed the same which quickly diminished your hope of joining him. Your eyes fell to the ground as you continued to speak.

“I don’t require caps or any sort of compensation for joining since I’m doing this out of complete and utter selflessness.” You were about to continue rambling before The Ghoul let out an exasperated sigh. Your attention brought back to his form. The Ghoul was pinching between his eyebrows as he holstered his gun. A few mumbles left his lips before his gaze finally settled back upon you.

“If you slow me down-” He started to say. You quickly cut him off as the realization that he was actually taking you along settled in.

“I won’t! I promise.” You said cheerfully as your wings slightly lifted from your sides. Your demeanor was probably a bit too cheerful though with how his expression changed.

“We’ll see if you keep that promise.” The Ghoul grumbled as he looked at the setting sun. It had nearly disappeared over the horizon which had put the world in a deep shade of purplish pink. It wouldn't be long before the sun was completely gone to leave the two of you in complete darkness.

However, that didn’t stop the two of you from traveling a bet that night. Your night vision was impeccable and The Ghoul had a lamp to guide his way. You stayed silent as did The Ghoul which hadn’t surprised you much. It had been about four hours of traveling before he finally spoke to inform you that it was time to siddle for the night.

#the ghoul #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard #x female reader #f!reader #fanfic #x reader #x reader fanfiction #fallout #fallout fanfic #fallout franchise #writers on tumblr #female writers

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