I drew Morganthe 🕷✌🏼

2 BY 2 Evaluation

Media and techniques

I’ve used pinterest in projects before to look for ideas and references and while I did use it for this project I didn’t create a board and I only looked at it occasionally, I think it would have been a lot better if I had created a board, that way it would have been easier to find references. For my next project I should use pinterest and save the pins I get inspiration from. That way others will be able to see where some of my ideas came from. 

Again I’ve stuck to pixel art as I believe that’s what I’m best at, although I think my art is slowly getting better. 

I’m a lot more confident with photoshop now and I think it’s the best for pixel art. I decided to use a colour palette this time and I found that everything matched up a lot better, now I just need to continue improving my artwork.  

Purpose / theme / concept

I made the art for a game about a Triceratops and a Seal travelling through hell together. The Triceratops is searching for a title and the Seal is helping them. Each level is a puzzle platformer, with the end goal to reach the Land of Titles. 

I liked the sort of silly story aspect to this game and I think I’d work on that type of story in a collaboration again but I do prefer the more serious fantasy/dystopian stories, the ones that really grip your heart. 

Though doing a puzzle platformer was a fun and new experience I think if I’m ever going to do anything like that again then I’d need to do quite a bit of research. As I’m not the best at puzzle games I wasn’t too sure how the levels should be designed, simple puzzles are fine but as you go through the game the puzzles should get harder. I would struggle with creating the complex puzzles for later levels.   

Though I’ve always liked platformers I still tend to lean towards open world games. My second project in year one was a first person open world game. I would love to work in a group coming up with ideas, character designs and world building for a stunning open world game, preferably a third person open world game.

Though I’d like to improve with drawing people I was quite glad I was just drawing animals as I find them so much easier to draw.

I’m happy with the outcome even though I would have liked to have a bit more time to complete my artwork.

Outcome

Overall I would have liked to have more time to design some more tile maps so that we could have had more variation in the levels. I still had a few more levels that I would have liked to have designed but overall I have completed what I’ve set out to do. I enjoyed working and sharing ideas with someone else as that helped me to come up with more ideas. Having more experience with working in a team will be a good thing to take with me to my future career. I’m quite happy I chose a colour palette before starting this project as it helped to keep everything more consistent. Now I just need to practise keeping the style more consistent too. I didn’t really get much time to experiment with the colour palette so hopefully I can look into this a bit more in my next project.

Conclusion

Though I still get easily distracted, my time management has improved by leaps and bounds, I hope to continue improving it in my next project by following a timetable and a weekly task list so that I can stay on top of all my work.

Though I have started drawing more at home I don’t feel it’s to the amount I would like. For my next project I should be practising more in my free time. I have a sketchbook at home but I think it would be good to bring it in so I can draw/write more down for my ideas, I would be able to catch those little fleeting ideas that only stay with me for a second.  

Next time I think I should look at Pinterest more for my ideas as I find that a lot of my good ones start there.

Overall I think I’ve completed this project successfully.

hi maybe you’ve written about this before but i’m working for someone who is part of the ecological landscape alliance and we’ve been having big talks about the concept of “invasive” species vs “native” plants and how the concept is rooted in xenophobia, and also talking about how maybe invasive plants aren’t that bad?? this goes against everything i’ve ever heard anyone talk about invasive species but i really don’t know all that much about it. sounds silly maybe coming from a farmer but i really don’t have a super firm ecological understanding, most of my plant knowledge is agricultural based and im really curious to learn more and was hoping you could point me in the right direction?

Yes, I definitely run into this disk horse all the time. Especially the “maybe invasive plants aren’t that bad” discussion. It seems the native/alien stuff is most often mentioned in disk horse about the Anthropocene. Basically, you’ll sometimes see statements like: “Is anything really natural in the Anthropocene?” I have also seen, and spent a lot of time contemplating, how belief in the categories of “natural” and “alien/invasive” in discussion of ecology might be rooted in or at least inadvertently support racism/xenophobia.

But I am still wary of the “native vs alien” and “no creature or landscape is really natural, not any more” disk horse, at least as explored by some white/settler-colonial academics, for exactly the same reasons: because it might be rooted in or support racism/xenophobia. Because the proposal that “nothing is native, nothing is invasive” itself can actually engage in a sort of “settler absolution” that obscures how there really is a contrast between imperial and Indigenous peoples, and the “nothing is natural, nothing is invasive” proposal could excuse the colonial/imperial introduction and expansion of monoculture by accepting the spread of industry/agriculture/non-native species as an inevitability. And these concepts can actually work to generalize conditions of ecological degradation and apocalypse, as if to say that “all humans now live in such a damaged world, we’re all victims” (even though many non-white, especially Indigenous, people actually bear most of the violence and burden of living in “post-apocalyptic” ecologies.)

But actually, I don’t think I can be too helpful here.

I still have a lot of contemplating to do, about how categories of natural/invasive in ecology might support the violence of categorizing people as natural/invasive. Don’t really know where I stand yet, y’know? So I don’t want to be too quick to come to a conclusion. I don’t even really want to offer opinions here. That said, I am very sensitive to language, and the language that I use. So I do appreciate that there is an effort to interrogate the negative consequences of describing things with words like “alien”. Also, the categorizing of lifeforms is and always has been a mess.

I don’t have many reading recommendations. The “native vs alien” and “nothing is really native, actually” proposals are concepts that I brush up against but don’t read too deeply into, even though this disk horse has been popular-ish in dark ecology and academic ecology/environmental studies circles for at least 10 years or more by now.

I guess, for my thoughts on native vs alien, what counts as “natural”, invasive species, and how the disk horse can excuse settler-colonial/imperial racism, I would point to this post I made about Pablo Escobar’s feral hippopotamuses in Colombia.

One introduction to the concept, which I think is an enjoyable read (though I don’t necessarily agree with all of his implications), is this essay by Hugo Reinert about the category of “natural” and the “purity” of a species: “Requiem for a Junk-Bird: Violence, Purity and the Wild.” Cultural Studies Review. 2019.

Anna Boswell’s very famous article about stoats and non-native species in Aotearoa kind of dances around this same issue of naturalness: “Settler Sanctuaries and the Stoat-Free State.” Animal Studies Journal. 2017.

-------

Generally, I agree with the implication that there is no “remote” or untouched corner of the planet where ecology has escaped human influence.

On that aspect, here’s a post I made about “planetary urbanization”.

But the native/alien disk horse can be extended to problematique degrees, with proposals that sometimes remind me of sci-fi goofiness, like fans of dark ecology or weird fiction or Mieville/Van der Meer got a little too excited about “the boundary between human and other-than-human has become so blurred that there may as well no longer be distinctions between native species and invasive species”, like they got a little too drunk on theory and just decided that “everything is in flux!”. Criticisms, then, of the “nothing is native” disk horse include how this oversimiplifies ecology and might enable/excuse settler-colonial invasion.

A lot of the “invasive plants are good, actually!” disk horse I’ve seen shows up in Australian literature written by settler scholars, which might be pretty telling.

Basically, it seems some scholars will take Alfred Crosby’s “neo-Europe” and “ecological imperialism” concepts, and then say something like “look, the damage is done, so much of Earth’s soils/landscapes are altered by introduced plants that we may as well accept it as the new baseline/normal ecology, and work from there.” As if to point at how North America has been entirely overrun by non-native earthworms and then to say “well, the worms are going to inevitably destroy hardwoods forests, soils of the Great Lakes region, the boreal-temperate transition zone, and maple trees which supply place-based maple syrup foodsheds, so we may as well accept that we live in a damaged world.”

I don’t know if I’m entirely satisfied with this.

-------

Other related concepts brought up in the same  discussion of “nothing is really native” might include “invasion biology” and “assisted migration.” I see these concepts brought up in academic writing from the University of California system, Australia, Aotearoa/New Zealand, and “environmental humanities” generally. Basically, these writers/scholars will point to the past ten thousand-ish years of the Holocene, and how humans have had such profound influence on global ecology that “introduction of non-native species” and “mass-scale anthropogenic climate/ecological change” are not just recent developments since Industrial Revolution or Indus/Yellow/Mesopotamian statecraft, but even older. For example, I’ve talked a lot about how, in the Late Pleistocene or early Holocene, the Asiatic steppes and parts of the Great Plains could have apparently been more like intermittent woodlands before humans engaged in deliberate fire-setting to better target megafauna herds, meaning that the human role in creation of vast “naturally-occurring” grassland regions may be underestimated. This dove-tails with the better-established fact that the forests of Central America and eastern North America in the early Holocene were/are actually more like cultivated food forests managed by Indigenous people.

The argument, then, may also point to yams, sweet potato, and coconut as examples of creatures with what now appear to be “old” and “established” widespread transoceanic distribution ranges which actually may have been introduced via assisted migration by humans.

The argument, basically, says: Well, let’s say hypothetically that humans didn’t play a role in spreading sweet potato or coconut. By chance, if ocean currents “naturally” introduced these species, if these plants “naturally” colonized whatever lands they were swept off towards, doesn’t this mean they could essentially be “natural” to anywhere they might arrive and successfully establish themselves? Therefore, does it really matter if humans helped them get there?

This seems to be related to the “no plants are actually invasive” proposal. As if to say: “If English pasture grasses have successfully reproduced themselves in Patagonia, Aotearoa, South Africa, the Canadian prairies, etc., what does it mean that their migration was assisted by humans?”

But this is where I have reservations: It wasn’t just any humans that “assisted the migration” of monoculture grasses from Europe to the prairies of Turtle Island. It was specific humans, with deliberate intent, upholding specific institutions, protecting their own well-being at the expense of other humans and lifeforms, enacting specific violence against specific victims.

-------

Another aspect of this which I see mentioned often is how early human/Polynesian settlement in Oceania and the South Pacific is an example of how mass anthropogenic ecological change doesn’t always involve statecraft, mass mono/agriculture, and imperialism. Aside from the famous decline of creatures like the moa, Polynesian islands were also home to relict species of large land turtles and ancient terrestrial/semi-arboreal crocodiles until human arrival in recent millennia. Writers will also point to human settlement in the Caribbean, where human arrival coincided with extinction of remnant populations of endemic Pleistocene ground sloths. (This also happened on Mediterranean islands, which hosted endemic species of hippopotamus and goats until recent millennia.)

Again, though, this is where white/settler-colonial academics advocating “nothing is natural” can kind of obscure settler-colonial violence, by pointing to history of anthropogenic environmental change and saying “see, all humans provoke extinction.”

Thus, you’ll see these scholars invoke Anna Tsing or Donna Harraway, referencing the “arts of living on a damaged planet” or “living in post-capitalist ruins.” Essentially, advocates of “nothing is native, any more” might say “we all live in a post-apocalyptic world now, so we should get used to it.”

This, coming from white/settler-colonial academics, sometimes rubs me the wrong way, as if it’s sort of like wish-fulfillment, or “an adventure” for comfortable white academics to engage in low-stakes thought experiments about extinction, naturalness, and apocalypse from which they’re actually largely insulated, at least compared to the poor, non-white, non-academic people who cope with the worst of environmental racism and ecological collapse.

This, again coming from white/settler-colonial academics, is also of course more than a little grating, since it kind of co-opts or culturally appropriates the “Indigenous/Native people actually live in a post-apocalyptic world” concept proposed by Indigenous scholars. It kind of takes from Indigenous/non-white people, and then generalizes the apocalypse as something that all humans now live with in seemingly equal measure, obscuring the fact that many people are actually forced to cope and/or live with more-serious-of-an-apocalypse than others.

-------

At the end of the day: Sure, kudzu or English pasture grasses or coconuts or European earthworms or domesticated cattle might be generalist species which can successfully inhabit landscapes across the planet. So whether humans introduce them via agriculture, or whether they "naturally" expand by some accident or by drifting across ocean currents, they might exist in this strange ontological space between "native" and "alien" which confounds human conceptions of what "belongs"? And this is worth considering! This is good to think about! But there are still, and always have been, those "small" landscapes, those isolated pockets, those relicts and remnants in shaded stream corridors, where small populations of endemic species teeter on the verge, with highly-specialized adaptations to highly-specific microhabitats. You're not going to "assist the migration" of or "accidentally introduce" a cave-obligate salamander from a limestone cavern or a temperate rainforest-dwelling land-slug to a desert biome.

But, again, I still think it is good to stop and ask ourselves whether categories of “natural” and “alien/invasive” in ecology make sense, are outdated, or if they reinforce racism/xenophobia. And, again, I haven’t read enough -- I haven’t grappled with these questions enough -- to have an opinion which I’m comfortable sharing, so I don’t want to discourage this disk horse too much.

Anyway, hope some of this is interesting. Sorry. Again, I don’t really have any good recommendations.

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 2

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2k

Part 1

Description: After an unexpected breakup, you and George formulate a plan to incite jealousy in detention.

                                                       X

“Morning babe,” you said as you planted a kiss on Roger’s cheek. You took a seat next to him and started building your plate with breakfast items. His mouth was full and he managed to spit out a greeting. 

“Where were you last night? I thought you would’ve been at the party,” you asked casually.

“I just got carried away with some studying and I forgot,” he said. It sounded a little rehearsed but you didn’t question it.

“Well, you didn’t miss much. Although, I did get caught heading back to the common room. Detention on Thursday.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you okay? I feel like something’s bothering you.”

“I’m fine,” he said, shoveling more food into his mouth.

“So, I’ve been thinking. For the Yule Ball I might get a navy blue or a purple dress. So don’t get your dress robes until I pick one out. I just wanna make sure we match.”

“Y/N, you’re getting ahead of yourself. The Yule Ball is still months away.”

“I know, I just can’t help but be excited! And I want us to look perfect.”

Roger slammed his fork down on the table and sighed, “You’re making this so difficult.”

“What?”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the Entrance Hall. “Look, I didn’t want to do this right now, but...” he spoke.

“Roger, what are you talking about?” you grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye, thinking no good could come of this.

“I…I think we should break up.”

You were speechless, unable to process what he had just said. This was the last thing you expected.

“Please don’t be too upset. It’s nothing you did. I just…I’ve found myself interested in someone else and that’s not fair to you.”  

“…Someone else?” you asked, holding back tears.

“I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“We can work through this Roger. It doesn’t have to be the end,” you pleaded.

He merely shook his head, kissed your cheek, and walked away. You sat on the staircase and realized things were really over. You felt heartbroken, but mostly blindsided. You knew you were never going to marry Roger, but you didn’t have any serious relationship issues. Things were always great between you.

You sat there a while longer, waiting to see if someone would find you or if your emotions would change but nothing happened. You went about your day, attending classes, as if nothing had changed even though you were hurting on the inside.

                                                          X

You arrived at McGonagall's office ten minutes before your detention was to start. You sat there, waiting for George to arrive and a few minutes later he dashed into the room, out of breath and took a seat next to you.

“Excellent, now that you are both here, we can begin your punishment. This evening, you will be polishing the trophies in the Trophy Room, by hand. Once every trophy has been polished and is up to my standard, you may go.” She summoned rags and polishing liquid for you and sent you to the trophy room. You walked in silence to begin with but you knew it would be a long evening if it kept up like this.

“I’m sorry. About what I said the other night,” he said as he started on the first trophy.

“Don’t be sorry. You were right. I have been a bit of a bitch to you. I’m sorry I’ve treated you so poorly all these years.”

“S’okay,” he mumbled casually.  

“I don’t know how it got this way. I just caught up in unimportant aspects of life. I guess I wanted to be popular and now look where that got me.”

“I heard about Roger and Fleur.”

“Fleur? That's who left me for? Bloody hell, my life keeps getting worse and worse.”

“Sorry, I thought you knew…” he muttered. 

“Is everyone talking about it?” you asked him seriously.

“I…I only overheard it from some Gryffindor girls. That’s all I know about it.”

“Yeah, word spreads so fast here,  I can’t say I’m surprised.” You moved past him to work on the next trophy. “The worst part is, I still want him back.” You caught yourself before you revealed any more. “Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to hear any of this,” you chuckled.

“No, it’s okay. We used to be friends at one point. You can tell me things. But if you want my opinion, you can do better than Davies.”

“Hardly, he’s the school’s most eligible bachelor, behind Cedric and maybe Harry Potter now that he’s been crowned champion.”

“So what’s your plan then? How are you gonna get him back?”

“I…I don’t know. How can I complete with Fleur? She’s part veela for God’s sake.”

 “That doesn’t mean anything. You’re just as beautiful as she is. Plus I guarantee you have a better personality.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely. You’re actually funny, and you have a toughness to you which means you can stand up for yourself. Fleur’s more…delicate, fragile.”

“And since when do boys look for personality in a girl?”

“Personality is the biggest factor in looking for a lass to bring home. Guys want someone who is confident and comfortable in their own skin, and who can actually talk about things other than clothes and makeup. Someone real. And you have that quality.”

“No offense, George, but I don’t think Roger dated me because I’m ‘real’.”

“Perhaps you should be questioning your taste in men, then.” You pondered this when he added, “Do you really want to get back with Davies?”

“Yes.” At least, you thought you did.

“Then you have to get back at him.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You gotta get even. He has a new girl, so you can’t try and win him back. Instead, you have to make him jealous.”

“Okay, okay. I see where you’re going with this. But with who?”

“That I don’t really know. Probably someone who is well known by everyone, but different than your usual type. Someone unexpected; someone who will shock everyone. Who that is, I’m not sure.”

You stopped cleaning your trophy and looked at him, a sly smile creeping onto your face. The gears were turning in your head and there was no turning back now. He questioned the look on your face and said, “What…you know someone?”

You nodded and said, “Oh I know someone alright…”

“Who?” he asked. You didn’t say anything. Instead you let your smile grow a little bit and tilted your head, hoping he would pick up what you were putting down. It took him a moment but you saw his face change when he realized who you were talking about.

“No, no absolutely not,” he said, shifting his attention to the latest trophy he was polishing.

“Oh come on. You’re perfect. Everyone knows you, and loves you for that matter. We run in different circles so it would be totally unexpected, yet we’ve known each other for years so it’s believable.”

“Y/N, this is crazy.”

“Is it really that crazy? This whole thing was your idea and I actually think it could work.”

“Okay, say I do agree to this. What’s in it for me?”

“Easy. You can get the attention of a certain girl on the Gryffindor quidditch team that I know you have your eye on. Act like an awesome boyfriend to me and she’ll be more inclined to date you. And we’ll get to spend more time together. Just the other day you said you wanted to hang out more-“

“I did not say that. I said ‘we haven’t talked in a while.’”

“Still, I make a compelling argument. So what do you say?”

He didn’t look at you; he continued to polish the already spotless trophy in front of him. You walked over to him and put your head on his shoulder. “Come on, look at how cute we are together,” you looked at your reflection in the trophy and he did the same. “And you know it’ll be fun,” you said, shooting him a winning smile. “Help me out here and I’ll owe you a favor. Or five.” You hoped your last statement might set him over the edge.

He sighed, “Okay fine.”

“Really!?” you chirped.

“But on one condition, an easy out clause. If at one point, either of us wants to end things, we end things. No questions asked.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable. But, I just want you to know that I don’t half-ass anything. If we’re doing this it has to be believable. We have to be attached at the hip; inseparable.”

“This takes commitment from both sides. You can’t go around making out with other guys if we’re supposed to be a couple.”

“You have my word I will not make out with anyone while our fake fling is going on.”

“Then I’m in.” He held out his pinkie and you interlocked yours with his, making this deal quasi-official.

“You really are something else Y/N,” he laughed. You continued working through your punishment and you made the best of it. Somehow you forgot how funny George was. You were laughing at almost everything he said and every now and then you would send a joke or a funny comment his way. You kind of forgot what it felt like to laugh. 

The laughing made the mundane task go by much quicker. You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed but a moment later you were polishing the last trophy.

“Looks like it’s time to call McGonagall in for approval,” he said. She closely inspected every cup and plaque and gave you the okay that you could head back to the tower. 

“Any plans for tonight?” he asked as you started your trek.

“Probably just catching up on school work tonight. What about you?”

“I have some business to attend to…” he said.

“Wow, vague.”

“I can’t spill all my secrets to you just yet.”

You reached the common room and you gathered your books and started working on your latest essay as George disappeared, probably up to no good.

                                                          X

“Still up?” George asked you as he found a spot next to you on the couch a few hours later.

“Yep. Trying to be as productive as possible. What about you? Finish up with that business?”

“Ah yes, it went quite successfully.”

“Let me guess…another prank? Who was it this time, Filch or a group of first years?”

“We decided to mix it up this time and go with some Slytherins.”

“Ah, a justifiable prank. Well done.”

“So have you thought about how we’re pulling off this ultimate plan?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” you hoped he wasn’t backing out.

“Like, are we doing this gradually or just going full force?”

“Well, what do you think is more believable?”

“Personally, I think we need some sort of build up. Instead of just emerging as a couple, we should build the suspense. Make people speculate.”

“Okay, I can agree with that. So right now we just need to do a lot of public appearances. Nothing overly touchy or flirty, just spending time together.”

“Excellent. I just wanted to check with you before telling Fred about the situation.”

“Wait, what? You…you can’t tell him about our arrangement.” 

“Y/N, he’s my twin brother and my best friend. I can’t hide anything from him.”

“No, no, no. You can’t tell him. He is a key player in this situation. His reaction to us needs to be genuine.”

“I tell him everything. I feel like he’ll know something’s up if I don’t say something.”

You paused for a moment, as you realized you weren’t being fair. “Look, I know that I’m asking a lot of you, but please don’t tell Fred. At least not yet. Please.”

He looked at you with a pained expression and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you, George. Now go get some sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

Something To Drink About

When Southdale Center opened in Edina Minnesota in 1956, it was the nation’s first indoor mall. Little did anyone know then that it would was prototype for an entirely new generation of shopping experiences, one based on the nascent car culture of the day, as well as fuel for a consumer-driven suburban lifestyle.

That first mall was designed by Austrian architect Victor Gruen, who later had misgivings of his contribution to the American landscape. It was somewhat ironic that Gruen, a socialist, would design the ultimate shrine to capitalism. His beliefs ultimately got the better of him, and he disavowed any paternalism.

What was supposed to be a communal center of shopping, arts, and entertainment modeled after the Greek Agora, a “third place” that Starbucks eventually became in more recent years, he concluded these retail behemoths had “ruined our cities.”

Today, malls are having to reinvent themselves, at least the ones that have survived thus far. Although they had started to wobble pre-COVID under the weight of evolving shopping patterns and the movement to e-commerce, the pandemic sent many malls and their tenants into panic.

But people are starting to crawl out of their hermited existence, albeit to malls with many empty spaces. And in an effort to fill those malls with anything that might attract people, malls are increasingly adding sports and craft beer to their rosters. Even pickleball.

The thinking is that, by attracting people to do these fun activities, they might actually stay to shop. At minimum, more leases equates to higher revenues for mall management, at a time when some of them have resorted to buying retail chains if only to guarantee they have some of their spaces filled.

I’m not sure which is worse, though: boarded up and vacant shops, or tenants that have nothing to do with shopping. The latter strikes me as an act of desperation, not so much well-thought marketing strategy. When I start seeing non-retail services in malls, I begin thinking of a mall that is on its last legs.

Westgate Mall in Amarillo is a good example of a shopping center dealt a couple of sucker punches. With both Sears and Bealls pulling out in the last couple of years, the mall found itself with only three of its five anchor positions filled. But now the old Bealls store is going to be home to Urban Air Adventure Park, with a variety of activities from mini golf to laser tag, rock walls, and pickleball.

Personally, I like the notion of a craft brewery at a mall, and have actually seen it deployed successfully in more than one location. But if it has only an exterior entrance, it might not fulfill the wishes of mall management, because it would be (actually, let’s just say that it was) too convenient to eat, drink, and run.

Still, I have long contended that department stores should have recliners and draft beer on hand for orphaned husbands while their wives tried on clothes. A brewery raises this to a much better level, because there would be selection, food, and big-screen TVs. “Knock yourself out, honey. You know where I’ll be.”

In fact, I can picture some husbands saying, “Dear, you look like you could use a little retail therapy. Lemme grab my special mug, and we’ll run down to the mall for a while.”

Still, I can’t help but also picture Mr. Gruen smiling in his grave, if only because the very thing he created may actually be turning into what he envisioned. It’s not perfect, but it does address the entertainment aspect, along with food and beverage. It may not include the arts, but that could always be added later.

All this, of course, assuming that people still want to venture out to shop. About the only thing that will get me to a shopping center of any kind is an Apple store. It’s my playground. And if someone put a craft brewery next door to it, it would be even better.

Just leave your pickleball racket in the car. Because I don’t want anyone hitting balls around my mug.

Dr “I’ll Have The IPA, Please“ Gerlich

Audio Blog

Fallout: A Post-Nuclear Role-Playing Game (1997)

The Fallout series is currently kind of a big deal, but to date I think the very first game has the strongest atmosphere out of all of them. From the start, this game did many things right and expanded the way choice and consequence figured into the RPG genre.

I recommend playing it with the Fallout Fixt mod.

Summary

Fallout is, unlike the more modern games in the series, an isometric RPG with turn-based combat and a much heavier inspiration from tabletop roleplaying games.

Rather than using a fantasy setting as is the standard for this type of game, Fallout takes place in a post-apocalyptic world with a retrofuturistic aesthetic and a more mature atmosphere. This automatically made it stand out from the crowd, and then the game’s approach to quest design and character-building solidified its place as a classic.

Freedom

In terms of player freedom, there are few games that manage to even reach the same level as this one.

When designing Fallout, the developers tried to include at least three potential solutions to many of the problems the player may encounter, using the game’s robust character creation system to allow all kinds of characters to have options for how to proceed.

For example, an early quest involves rescuing a girl from a raider gang. Your options include fighting your way in and out of the place, using stealth to sneak to where she is and pick (or blow up) the lock, use your speech skill to intimidate the raider into releasing the her, purchasing her freedom, defeating the raider leader in a one-on-one unarmed fight, or even impersonating the leader’s father for her release.

To be clear, not all quests have quite this many options, but there’s still usually a few, including some that may not be obvious when playing certain kinds of characters.

This famously extends to the end of the game, where it is possible to overcome the final challenge without engaging in combat.

On top of quests having multiple solutions, the world itself is completely open, gated only partially by the fact that certain areas are populated by more powerful monsters (and even then, it is possible to avoid them).

While there’s never enough options and I can think of a couple of places where I wish I could have had different ones (such as during the very last conversation in the game), the game is generally doing a lot of things right on this front, especially for its time.

Many of the game’s factions and settlements also have various different endings depending on the player’s actions.

Character Creation/Customization

This is another aspect of the game that won over many RPG fans. The character creation uses the SPECIAL system, invented for this series following licensing issues with GURPS. 

It is a versatile system with three main components: Your SPECIAL stats (Strength, Perception, Endurance, Charisma, Intelligence, Agility, and Luck), your skills (three of which can be tagged at the start of the game, gaining a bonus and increasing faster), and your traits.

Traits in particular were optional features that would grant your character both a bonus and a penalty. For example, the Fast Shot trait makes some of your attacks faster (consuming less action points) but at the cost of being unable to make targeted shots.

And it does not stop there. Fallout had “Perks” that could be gained every 3 levels, which could grant a variety of rewards, some of them very significant. For example, the Better Criticals perk makes your critical hits more devastating, sometimes even enabling them to become instant-kill attacks regardless of the target’s remaining HP. From what I understand, this perk system may have been the genesis of D&D’s feat system too.

However, the real strength of this character system lies in how the game implements it. Both your stats and your skills will affect what dialogue options you have available and what actions you can successfully take in the game world.

This might sound like it should be the default for any RPG, but you might be surprised to know how many games, even otherwise very good ones, don’t seem to even try to implement something like this. 

Many other games, even today, don’t let you specialize your character in any way outside of combat. All characters have access to all options and your stats don’t affect anything but combat.

It’s not all positive, however. There are some balance issues to be found.

In particular, Intelligence and Agility are overpowered, as is the Gifted trait. There are also many skills, traits, and perks that are of marginal usefulness at best. Skills like Throwing, Traps, or Gambling (for example) just don’t come up very often or provide meaningful advantages over other skills even accounting for the fact that a pretty low gambling skill is enough to gain essentially infinite money.

Story/Setting

This is really the part that draws people to the series in the first place. There’s just not that many post-apocalyptic RPGs out there (Wasteland and UnderRail come to mind).

The story is relatively simple. Nuclear war has largely destroyed civilization, your ancestors survived by hiding in an underground shelter called a Vault, but the water processing chip broke and now you have 150 days to find a replacement before your entire community dies of dehydration.

The search of this replacement has you leave the vault for the first time in your life and explore the wastes, and the many diverse communities that have begun to grow and rebuild in it.

Many mutated creatures inhabit post-nuclear California, and you soon discover an even greater threat in the horizon. However, this is not an RPG about dungeons and monsters. Most of your time will be spent in various settlements, dealing with other humans.

Immersion

Pretty good overall, though still not on the level as some of my other favorites like Ultima 7 or Gothic 2. The game has day/night cycles and a few simple NPC schedules that help add some life to it, but for the most part what carries this aspect is the game’s solid worldbuilding and the relative reactivity of its setting.

One areas that detracts from the game’s immersion somewhat is the limited animations. For example, NPCs don’t actually “sleep” in their beds, they only stand next to them at night.

Some NPCs don’t seem to have schedules at all either, remaining roughly in the same state and location throughout the day.

However on the net I’d say this is still a rather immersive game, especially if you can apply a bit of your imagination to make up for the lack of animations and background details (some more text descriptions of certain locations could have helped here probably).

One place I particularly liked the first time I played was Junktown, as a couple of quests and events there felt very spontaneous to my then-young mind.

Gameplay

As previously explained, there are a variety of non-combat options throughout the game. In particular I really like how the dialogue works, especially when you compare it to the approach taken in Fallout 3, Fallout 4, and even New Vegas.

In the first two Fallout games, you do not get a [Speech] tag pointing to the optimal dialogue options. You have to think for yourself about what the most persuasive thing to say is, and what your skill does is make the option show up at all. If your skill is not high enough then the option will be not only unavailable but hidden.

I prefer this to the game outright telling you that one of your skills is tied to a dialogue option, as in practice it ends up being the same as marking that option as the correct one most of the time.

And then there’s the combat. A lot of people don’t seem to like it, but I actually think it works fine as long as you set the speed to max as the animations are a bit slow by default.

Besides the speed issue (which is easily fixed), the main complaint about the combat is that it is overly simple. This is not entirely wrong, as even though there is a wide variety of weapons to play with there is not actually that much variety in combat actions: Move, attack, targeted attack, open inventory (for healing), and sometimes burst mode make up over 95% of what you will be doing from start to finish.

There are still some tactics involved in positioning yourself and taking cover from enemy fire, as well as making good use of targeted shots to cripple the enemy. However, the fact that you have no manual control over your party members limits this front. Party members in general are both unintelligent and quickly left behind in the base game, as they don’t improve or equip better armor. The mechanics for equipping them are also rather janky.

However, combat does have its positives too. The idea of targeted shots is great, as are the accompanying critical descriptions. The animations and sound effects also make combat extremely satisfying, every hit that lands seems to carry a real weight to it.

There is also some nice variety to the death animations. Where more recent games in the series largely just have people’s body parts explode or instantly transform them into piles of ashes/goo, Fallout 1 and 2 feel like they have much more in this department.

Aesthetics

While the non-combat animations are not too good, there is a lot to like about the general art style of the game, from the architecture to the incredible talking heads various NPCs have.

The atmosphere of the game is also amazing, not only due to the way it looks but also because of the dark and ominous soundtrack (give me this over 50s music any day) that helps make the world feel appropriately desolate and perilous.

Even just the game’s intro shocked a generation and clearly marked Fallout as something dark and different.

However, this game’s atmosphere goes beyond sight and sound. The gameplay helps to heighten it. Combat is very lethal even if not always difficult, and the lack of clear initial directions beyond “Try Vault 15″ also helps the players feel appropriately lost until they find a lead.

The talking heads in particular have aged extremely well. I would say they even look better than a lot of modern RPG graphics.

Accessibility

The same lack of direction I just praised might be off-putting for some, and while the game is mechanically very simple there is no tutorial. This alone can make some modern players fail to understand some of the core mechanics.

The quest log is also rather non-descriptive, so it can be easy to lose track of some details unless one takes some additional notes outside the game.

However, the game’s manual is not only complete and written for people new to RPGs, it’s also quite fun to read. A lot of people these days just don’t seem to think of the manual as something they should look at, but it helps to keep in mind that older games typically require it.

Don’t let the size of it discourage you either. You don’t need to read the whole thing at once and a lot of it is fluff or things you might already know from other games (like how to load or save your game). Just look at the index and see what might be good to know from the start.

Conclusion

It should be no surprise when I say that this is a game entirely worth playing, whether you are an existing fan of the series or not. Like many of the other games that I have reviewed and will review in the future, this one has great historical significance on its own on top of having many positives even when compared to the more modern games in the series, especially in terms of aesthetics.

Furthermore, the game is pretty short. It can easily be completed in about 20 hours or less for a first playthrough, and yet it offers so much more than that due to the many options and replayability it provides.

There is really no other game quite like this. Not even the few other post-apocalyptic RPGs that exist, not even other games in the same series (including Fallout 2). I would call this one of my favorites.

@sammysdewysensitiveeyes - And finally, Shinobi for World of Darkness, three different versions/games! Under cut because like always, it’s long!

For a vampire, he’d be a Toreador. They’re the type who will turn someone just because they’re pretty, then get tired of them within the week, and that’s how their ranks get flooded with dilettantes who don’t posses any artistic talent, like Shinobi. Toreador are famous for being the most emotional and passionate and in touch with humanity, but in truth, many are emotionally hollow, chasing fleeting highs of false feelings that are shallow and brief despite their deceptive intensity. This leads them to become callow and callous, trying forever to breath life into themselves through new experiences that become banal all too soon, leaving a trail of broken mortal hearts and lives behind them, to say nothing of fledglings that, like, Shinobi, are pulled into this world they’re not ready for and typically destroyed by soon enough. While many people deride them as romance novel vampires, I think they’re actually a very clever subversion of that, and in their own way as horrifying as more famously frightening ones. Shinobi, bitter and wounded over being rejected and abandoned by his sire, has become exactly that kind of Toreador himself. He also strives to be as seductive and glamorous as other members of the clan, and he has the image down, but it falls apart quickly when others question or reject him. He’s also a very young and weak vampire, so he has no political strings to pull, and since he has no art, is looked down by his clanmates as a poseur. All this just makes him more pathologically driven to prove himself and gather allies who will love and respect him, even as he fails at it every night. Also, the Tories are often called divas and “Degenerates” is literally a nickname for the whole clan, it’s perf. I also think he’d make a good Ghoul. When someone---be it a human, animal, even a fellow vampire---drinks the blood of a vampire three times, they become Blood Bound to them. In the case of animals and humans, this makes them the vampire’s ghoul, and the vampire their domitor or regnant. The blood bond is one of the most powerful tools of vampirekind, as the victim is completely enthralled to them, forced to obey. The ghoul is obsessed with them, usually in love, and will do anything asked of them. Continual drinks reinforce it, and the ghouls WANT this, for vitae---vampire blood--is addictive. And the longer they serve a vampire, the more they’ll need it not just out of addiction, but to survive. Ghouling a human (or animal) will freeze them at their current age, just like a vampire, and even grant them some vampiric powers...but when the blood stops coming, all those years catch up with them...all at once. It’s not pretty. Some ghouls who manage to escape their masters---usually by the latter’s death--become vampire hunters in order to get their vitae fix, drinking from different ones in order to avoid the “three strikes and you’re out” Blood Bond. As for what vampires get from this, ghouls have any number of uses, from daytime bodyguards to managers of mortal affairs, messengers, servants, it goes on. The sad, cursed existence of a Ghoul is in many ways worse than that of a vampire, and with none of the benefits. I could see him either as a group ghoul, perhaps, serving a coterie (small group) of powerful female vampires...but I feel like that’s more his fantasy than anything. The reality is probably that he went looking for his birth father, tracked him down successfully, and got a lot more than he bargained for...but hasn’t aged a day since either. Much like Ghouls serve vampires, Kinfolk serve werebeasts, and out of a very different sense of being bound by blood. Kinfolk are the human and animal relations of a werewolf or other werecreature, and breeding with them yields a higher chance of a Garou offspring (since, remember, the offspring of two Garou is a sterile, deformed metis) A Garou birth will still be rare, and most or all of their children will just be Kinfolk, but maybe the next gen will have a Garou, or the next. Because of this, the Garou (or Bastet, or whatever they may be) maintain close ties with their Kinfolk, watching them like shepherds over their flocks. There’s a dark side though. Their primary role ultimately is breeding stock, and many tribes treat them exactly like that. They’re automatically seen as part of the Garou tribe to which they’re related (or worse, its property) and are thus beholden to its regulations, owing them their loyalty, but get none of the respect and glory that the Garou do in return. They’re "valuable second class citizens" at best. Besides breeding, other roles they take includes childcare (since the werewolves are off battling the Wyrm), financing, politicking, and bureaucratic maneuvering on behalf of the Garou, directly or in their interests, are all examples, but there are dozens more things an individual Kinfolk might to do serve their family. Sebastian would definitely be a Shadow Lord werewolf as described in Fabian’s section, and Shinobi his unfortunate Kinfolk pup. A disappointment twice over, firstly for not being Garou, secondly for not even being the USEFUL kind of Kinfolk. All the tribes have an individual approach to their kin beyond the general basics I just described, and Shadow Lords tend towards the abusive. To quote the canon,  “[Shadow Lord] Kinfolk don't receive much coddling, however. Weaklings and victims don't deserve to breed.” So not only is Shinobi not supposed to be sticking his dick in anything that can get pregnant, he’s supposed to purely serve his father’s interests while also growing up a society where he will NEVER be good enough. Which...look it’s horrible, but you can’t deny it FITS! (Also: While Sebastian def would be a Shadow Lord himself as a werewolf, he also could easily just be a human "target" of one as a mate. To quote canon: "Female Shadow Lords are sometimes drawn away from the flock toward men with power. A ruthless businessman, a brilliant crime lord or even a military dictator may find himself overpowered by a stalking suitor.") Since Shinobi is half-Japanese, he could be a kuei-jin if he was born/raised/died in Japan or a place with a strong Japanese (or other Asian) culture. Now, the kuei-jin are very problematic, White Wolf (the game company that does all this) mashed together a bunch of different Asian cultures together (even “kuei-jin” is a combination of Japanese and Chinese) and appropriated a bunch of terms they used incorrectly (ex: dharma) but I really like them and I’d like it if one day they could go back and fix them like they have with other creations they made that were really problematic at their conception (most all of this shit was made up by white nerds in the 90s) So, kuei-jin are vampires of a sort, but an entirely different sort than the Kindred are, despite some calling them ‘the Kindred of the East’. Firstly, their range has more to do with culture than geography. They populate Asia, but have begun emerging in the West in places like Chinatowns where Asian cultures are prevalent. Which brings us to the second difference---they are not Embraced like Western vampires, they rise from the grave on their own. Something drove them so hard that their souls clawed their way out of Yomi World and back into their bodies...well, usually their bodies, there have been cases where they came back in a DIFFERENT body. The goal of the kuei-jin is to remember what this something was, for they believe it is their purpose, and they must then accomplish it. In order to discover their purpose and fulfill it, they will choose different paths that they think will be best for this. These paths, called Dharmas, are liked clans, but, as I said, can be chosen, and even changed. Shinobi’s Dharma would be the The Dance of the Thrashing Dragon, also known as the Laughing Rainbows. Yes, they all have names like that. Again, white nerds in the 90s. The Thrashing Dragons are the Yang-Aspected paths, they  seek to defy their undead state through frenzied revelry and acts meant to celebrate life (in all its beauty and bloodcurdling savagery both).  These Kuei-jin are as alive as the undead can be, believing  creation is a rainbow – illusory, but too colourful to ignore-- and their ideal is to experience each of those colours as vividly as possible. As a result, Laughing Rainbows shun society's restrictions, are often messy and vulgar, indulging themselves with wild feasts and drunken orgies - celebrations that usually feature living "entertainment," too. In their calmer moments, a Thrashing Dragon can be gentle and compassionate, nurturing life even though they consume it---the kuei-jin are still a type of vampires, and they feed on chi. They can get it from flesh and blood, but, as they get older and more powerful, can suck the pure chi out of the air from a person. But the Thrashing Dragons like to eat their prey raw, and often alive. They’re violent and combative, in addition to  shameless, impulsive, lusty, and having a tendency towards nudity. What’s interesting is that in life, many Thrashing Dragons denied the flesh, and believe they came back due to their repression during life. Some ferociously carnal people do return to finish what they started in life, but most Laughing Rainbows learned to laugh only after they died. So perhaps Shinobi had a sad life that ended prematurely (COUGH DAD COUGH) and now that he’s come back, he’s “living” large at last. Or perhaps he’s one of the ones that was ALWAYS a hedonistic idiot and he was actually brought back as a lesson to live a better life, but he hasn’t learned it yet. Kuei-jin have two souls, the Hun and P’o, and they struggle against the latter. The Hun is  higher, rational half of the soul, akin to  morality, conscience, honor and devotion to duty. The P’o is the evil bestial half of the soul, akin to “the Beast” that Western vampires struggle against. Each person’s P’o takes one of several archetypes, based on which is most likely to tempt a kuei-jin off their path, and Shinobi’s would be The Monkey. The Monkey is  a creature of the moment, its each new pleasure or distraction being the most important thing in the world. The Monkey is capable of concocting elaborate plans to achieve small or momentary goals, but it’s in no way concerned with any overarching mission that the Kuei-jin might have. Indeed, the Monkey seeks, at every turn, to waylay Shinobi from his appointed goal, to divert all of the his attention and energy to lesser, transitory things. So basically it tempts him to be HIMSELF. (As a note, I think the Adversary would translate REALLY well as a P’o for a kuei-jin Haven; India is part of Asia too!) Finally...I might be typecasting him too much by race, but there’s also the kitsune. The kitsune, as one would expect, are the werefoxes of East Asia, mostly found in Japan and China. They are the youngest of the Changing Breeds, and the story goes that when a fox named Bai Mianxi was brought before Gaia (who created all the werecreatures) by Luna (the moon) for playing tricks that created havoc in the world, Gaia’s punishment was that Bai Mianxi be given a duty. Bai Mianxi tried to trick her way out of it, claiming that  Gaia's other children were all adequate enough in their duties and she was not needed. Gaia's wrath at Bai Mianxi's impudence shook her residence, but after soothing words from Luna, Gaia promised the fox that in return for their service, the fox-people would one day become the BEST at something, better than all the other werecreatures were at it, whatever it is. Like all other were-types, the kitsune are born in animal or human form, and the offspring of two Kitsune will be born in hybrid form and be stuck that way until their First Change. Unlike the Western metis of the Garou and many other fera though, these “shinju” as they are called, are NOT sterile or deformed, nor are they looked down upon by other kitsune. But all kitsune, no matter what form they were born in, carry a curse, and that is that when a kitstune is born, at least one of its parents will die. Usually, it is the non-kitsune parent, and there is also a one-in-ten chance that the Kitsune parent may die, either instead of, or along with, their mate. So my thinking is kitsune Shinobi was born in human form in Japan to a kitsune mother, but has a human white dad in America (Sebastian obvy) who despite the great distance still passed away mysteriously at the moment Shinobi drew his first breath. And so Shinobi grew up raised by his mother and her Kinfolk, and he never saw his father and he grew up feeling loved and wanted, and now he is a happy healthy adult werefox who will indeed be the best at something one day! You can see why I wanted this for him ^^

Promise all you say is true - Chapter 2

(Ch 1) (ao3)

Summary: Lloyd wakes up one morning to discover that, on a whim, the Metaverse had decided to release him and Raven from the Lovers archetype they had been locked in for as long as either could remember.

In the process, however, reality became… just a little screwed up.

Now, Raven is gone, and in his place is David Adams. David Adams, who had never left Ashland, working middle-management at Justacorp. David Adams, who had never heard the anvils, never jumped off Warner's Peak.

But Lloyd remembers everything, and he makes it his personal quest to win back the love of his life.

...No matter how many 'strictly professional' coffee dates it took.

Chapter summary: Over carrot cake, the two hash some things out

Y’all… I seriously didn’t expect this scene to happen or get as long as it did but. Here we are. With this chapter, the setup for the fic is officially DONE and we can get into the stuff y’all came here for (aka Lloydven angst). In the meantime, enjoy Lloyd and Han getting in some awkward bonding time!

- 

“Feeling better?”

The man sat opposite her simply sighs. “Yes. Thank you, Han.”

Over a tray of tea, cakes and sweets (for Lloyd, his first meal of the day), the two go over, in painstaking detail, every narrative visited, every jaunt taken through the CU, every significant location in Raven’s life. As minutes, and then an hour ticks by, marked by the comings and goings of those around them (and the increasingly resigned expressions of the waitstaff as they drag out their meal as long as possible), they scrawl out possible places the missing Postie could be on a steadily depleting supply of napkins, provided generously by the small bakery in New Camden, a joint quickly becoming synonymous with Serious Talk Time.

When it comes to names and places, Han can’t be of much help, but that is to be expected, her having only known the man a scant year. Instead, she simply offers the obvious, locations Raven and Lloyd had spoken of the most around her; the first and second Playhouse, New Albion, even entertaining the idea that he was here, in this narrative.

“Impossible,” Lloyd insists for the second time, though Han notes that he’s sounding significantly less certain than before.

“How are you so sure?” Before Lloyd can respond, she quickly adds, “Waitwaitwait don’t tell me. The both of you have… a psychic link. From your weird wizard powers. Or something.”

“I remind you that you too have, as you so eloquently put it, weird wizard powers.” He replies, one hand spearing a forkful of carrot cake, the other forming air quotes. “But that aside, you’re not completely wrong.”

Han raises an eyebrow. “Huh. I was going out on a limb there. You two are seriously linked together?”

“That’s actually the other thing I have to talk through,” he says. “Have Ravey and I told you about the Lovers archetype yet?”

“Give me a second.” Han takes a long sip from her cup of Earl Grey, mentally sorting through everything her mentors-slash-great-grandparents had taught her about Posthumans and the Metaverse. “It’s… the thing where you and him are basically bound together, right? I thought that was metaphorical.”

Shaking his head, Lloyd says, “It’s very much not. After spending enough time in each others’ company -and back then, we had nothing but time to spare- we began embodying the Lovers archetype.

I shan’t bore you with the details, but you have the broad strokes of it. Essentially, we became irreversibly bound. As trite as it sounds, we had a sixth sense, of sorts, around the other. When we were apart, I would feel his absence like… a missing limb, so we always knew when the other was close by.”

Only half-listening to his explanation, Han lets Lloyd ramble. God knows he needed it. He was one of those people who absolutely had to talk through their problems, a tendency that annoyed her on any given day, except this one. Extenuating circumstances and all.

Huh. Deja vu.

Her mind wanders to the first time she had been here, it was just her and Raven back then, him having invited her out after the Singularity left New Albion. It really was a memory, a story for another time, but it had been surprisingly nice, even if her eyes were still red and puffy in a way that makeup just couldn’t conceal.

They had shared a slice of (what else) carrot cake, speaking of narratives and what she had learned of the art of finesse, and then, as they talked more, coping mechanisms, sacrifice, loss, and a rambling (but utterly sincere) apology from Raven.

It had ended with a hug, and granted, it was kind of awkward, Raven having to get up from the corner chair he was squeezed in to give her a half-embrace, as close as he could get to her side of the table (the bakery was as renowned for its carrot cake as it was infamous for its tight quarters). But Han still remembers the feeling of his arms around her shoulders, warm and almost reassuring.

And now he’s gone. Gone along with the rapport they were just starting to build after their disastrous first encounter. Just when she was finally beginning to see him as family.

The only questions on her mind are how and why.

She tunes back in as Lloyd finishes his explanation. “So you’re saying that because you’re locked into this archetype, if he was here, you’d know.”

What? She could multi-task just as good as anyone else!

Lloyd sighs tiredly. “Yes, but there’s the rub. I don’t think that him and I form the archetype any more.”

Well this raises more questions than answers. Still, Han pats his arm. “Drink your tea. You’ve been talking for way too long as is.”

She waves off Lloyd’s apologies over his loquaciousness, sweeping a hand as if swatting an imaginary fly, then realising this was a gesture she had ended up incorporating into her movements after seeing it time and time again from Raven.

Dammit. Even when absent he finds a way to worm into her head. The guy was just infectious like that. Is. Is infectious. She refuses to believe that he’s truly gone. Speaking of…

“If what you’re saying is true, I guess that answers the ‘why’ aspect of things, He’s gone because the Metaverse decided to release you from your archetype.”

Over the rim of his teacup, Lloyd’s mouth quirks into a half-smile, the first Han had seen from him all day. “You always find a way to make things sound so simple.”

“It’s why you keep me around,” Han jokes, feeling a responding grin spread across her face.

“Don’t put yourself down like that,” Lloyd says, leaning forward with sudden seriousness. “You do have a good head about you, and I… admire the speed at which you’re picking up your Posthuman abilities. You successfully mastered in a matter of months what took me decades to learn, and-”

Han can’t help the rush of pride that comes at his words. Lloyd was always the more critical of her two mentors, and nigh impossible to please (she was still rather sore over his snide comment over the tunnels). She almost misses what he says next, but catches it just in time.

“-and you’re a perfectly charming person. I had my doubts before, but it’s clear that you’re Isabel’s kin. You remind me a lot of her, you know.”

Han softens. “I had a great teacher. Two great teachers, as a matter of fact.”

He winces at the mention of his missing boyfriend, and she impulsively reaches a hand across the table to grasp his. “We’ll find the other one together, okay?”

Lloyd grips her hand, giving a tight nod, steely resolve in his eyes.

“Okay.”

- 

They exit the bakery as afternoon fades into evening, the gas lamps that line the pavements igniting one by one, illuminating the streets of New Camden.

“Just to go over the plan one more time,” Han says, “I’ll stay here and try to scout him out. If he isn’t here, I’ll try New Albion. Then, where the First Playhouse used to be.”

Lloyd hums in affirmation. “I’ll keep you updated on my whereabouts as well. If you find him, let me know.”

“Of course, and you do the same.”

“I will. Keep safe.”

“You too.”

They stand there, then, regarding each other in the lamplight. Finally, Lloyd reaches out a hand, as if to administer a firm handshake.

Nah, fuck that.

Han bypasses the hand, and wraps Lloyd in a tight hug. After a moment, she feels his arms wrap around her too.

“It’s going to be okay,” Han says once they break apart, gripping him by the shoulders.

“I… can’t thank you enough for your help, Han. I’ll make it up to you if- once he’s found.”

“Psssh, that’s not necessary,” she retorts with a smirk, already walking in the opposite direction. “Your acknowledgement that I’m more talented than you is more than enough payment.”

Lloyd bristles. “I was being nice. Don’t push it.”

“You said it! It’s been set in stone! I’m gonna tell everyone I know about this!” She calls over her shoulder, disappearing into an alleyway.

Determined not to let her have the last word, Lloyd yells, "Only if you admit to everyone that I'm a great teacher!”

"Never! Also, screw you!"

Shaking his head and chuckling, Lloyd begins making preparations of his own, mentally steeling himself to make the narrative jump, and going down the mental list of places he was going to search.

The hunt would begin in the Collective Unconscious. Then, the different narratives the lovers (now lowercase) had frequented. Finally, once all other options had been exhausted, he would return to Ravey’s home narrative. The one place the two had never been to, at the insistence of his missing half.

Ashland.

Three years ago I was in a serious wreck that wasn’t my fault. It resulted in three horrible back surgeries that culminated with a 12 level fusion with rods and screws. I’ve been on narcotic pain meds the whole time. I’m finally experiencing exponential improvement. The struggle ahead now is getting off the narcotics.

I’ve been through this a number of times before with over 20 abdominal surgeries over a 37 year span of time. The older I get the harder it is to kick the pills. I’m 100% dependent on them now. I intend to chronicle the journey here.

The first thing it takes is an acceptance that some uncomfortable times lay ahead. Bouts of radical anxiety and insomnia. Mental toughness is called for along with the knowledge it won’t be fatal but there might be times I’ll wish I no longer existed. My goal however is to be free of narcotics within three months. At my age (67) it’s dangerous in Covid times as narcotics impair the immune system.

I’ll be updating this blog religiously and rereading my entries to affirm my commitment. I’m open to any advice or comments along the way.

Installment Two...

I picked up a script for valium yesterday and had my first night in forever without a pain pill. Only had two pain pills this morning instead of usual three. Went five hours before taking last dose of the day of two more at noon. Four a day, down from ten or twelve just a month ago. Picking up steam.

Time for some honesty here. Countless times I’ve feigned agony in order to get my wife (THE KEEPER OF THE PILLS) to hand me up to three early. Had nothing to do with pain but more just to feel centered and normal. This is your ultimate proof you’re snared and completely dependent. This is when you’re lying constantly.

I have an observation I don’t entirely understand. When my consumption of pills was ravenous I was always adamant about getting off them. When out of necessity the amount had to be cut in half I was longing for the previous higher amount. Confused opioid receptors talking to the rest of my brain.

One thing I’m completely mortified by is the way I subtly manipulated a few others into generously sharing their pain pills. I did it by lying that doctors refused to prescribe them to me. I even intimated a few times I was suicidal because of my pain level. Lies lies and more lies. I was solely after the buzz. I’ve heard other people on pain meds awhile say they had no affinity or attraction to them. They complained such things as they kept them sleepy or caused disturbing dreams. They were the people who never finished a script. I’m one of those who gets a switch thrown in my brain immediately that tells me all I need is a steady intake of more more more.

I guess that’s the defining characteristic of an addictive personality. It must be something you’re hard wired for. I find the disease concept of addiction laughable. I’ve only known a few others like me and when we’d get pills from each other we fastidiously kept track of what we were owed back. Loan shark collection tactics weren’t out of the question.

Next installment will have the story of a younger brother who was hopelessly addicted to narcotics and his tragic end.

The Story of Brother Kenny

I had a younger brother once who enlisted in the Army. He developed back issues while stationed in Germany and was diagnosed with ankylosing spondylitis. He eventually was awarded a full service related disability which payed him $3,300 monthly in the 90’s. Of course he opted not to work.

Back then you could still do a walkin off the street to most doctors offices and leave with a generous narcotic script. Kenny claimed his back condition was unbearably painful even though I read the condition usually only caused mild discomfort. He became a prolific doctor shopper. Eventually you could never see him when he wasn’t fully under the influence of huge narcotic doses.

I visited him one day and found him a blithering idiot. I told him I expected him to be dead within two months. He was visibly shaken. Nearly two months later I found him dead on his kitchen floor in his underwear. After the funeral people came for his body I found three different prescription pain meds from no less than five doctors. I’m convinced addiction runs in families. I, however, in many accumulated years of pain management never once od’d on pain meds. Kenny wasn’t so lucky and left us at age 47.

I took a large quantity of his meds home with me and hid them in my garage. I was very distraught over his death and someone gave me xanax pills which I took too much of. I decided to try and reverse the sedation with cocaine. My son later found me unresponsive and called an ambulance. I’m told I was comatose for three days during which my brother’s funeral had to be delayed. That was my greatest humiliating moral failure I’ve never forgiven myself for. I still believe I deserve a catastrophic event as punishment. I scarred my family and took years to rebuild trust.

Continuation...

It’s six days till next pain management appointment. I’ve managed to sneak and coerce enough extra doses that I’m nursing along at 2 pills a day instead of 7. I know that if I manage to sneak more I’ll be in misery a few days before next refill. I’ll have to visit with the doctor in extreme discomfort it’ll take all I have to hide from him. Somehow that matters little to me. Soon as my wife’s attention is diverted I’ll grab extra pills. It’s what that switch in my brain compels me to do.

I’ve gotten to the point that every aspect of my life seems dependent on having narcotics onboard. Visiting family, playing guitar, picking up groceries, even having grandkids over all require narcotic doses. My life doesn’t feel at all normal without it. I’d rather spend the entire day in bed than to not be able to take pills.

I remember six years ago when we moved onto this rural street with fabulous neighbors. The first street bbq we were invited to I was in withdrawals from morphine. I drank a helluva lot of moonshine to feel comfortable in my skin. My wife had to lead me home. I later had to apologize to the host who laughed it off thankfully.

I eventually attained a few years of complete normalcy I remember well. I played music in public and was comfortable around people I didn’t know well. It was a great time. Then came a cervical fusion surgery and months later lumbar fusion after a car wreck. Back on pills I desperately needed for horrible pain. Back to the switch in my brain being thrown. I’m recovered enough now it’s an abject lie to claim I still need them. I long for the normalcy again.

A goal I have is to not take a handful of pills when I pick up next refill again. I seriously doubt I’ll attain the goal but have ascribed it as a benchmark I’ll have to meet if I’m to be successful getting off this nightmare roller coaster. I’m like a dual personality at war with myself. Neither has the power to overcome the other.

I’m waiting for a delivery of thc gummies a cousin is sending me from Michigan. I’ve used them before and had better pain control with them. I can cut pain meds dosage in half when combined with thc gummies. I intend to try a rapid taper by using thc which I could always stop with no issues. I know I’m gonna have lingering discomfort for awhile. I’ll likely end up getting xanax from my long time primary doctor for the anxiety, insomnia and restless leg that hangs around a week or two. We’ll see how this goes. Pain meds have been in my life too long. The pain from the fusion is at a level I think I can tolerate with mental toughness now. Here’s hoping.

April 22, 2021

Yeah I know... I’ve not written anything in awhile. Short whirlwind of activity. I got my accident settlement money and we bought a bus type motorhome and had a big pool installed. Also had to go out of state for a week for a family member’s funeral. That’s my excuse.

As for the pills... the last quantity prescribed was exactly half the amount of a few months back. I was still down to none by the day before the appointment just like the previous three times. Sneaking pills when my wife’s attention is diverted has become an art form. It’s compulsive behavior that embarrasses me but I seem powerless to overcome. At least the rapid tapering regimen is in full swing and being successfully adhered to. I’ll end this session by reiterating I’m tired of being snared by these fucking pills and look forward to the glorious day they are out of my psyche.

Long overdue update. In rereading this treatise I’ve realized my initial projection of being off pain pills in a few months is in serious jeopardy. The last dosage reduction caused me to hit a wall. The pain levels have increased and I’m walking like a bent over geriatric cripple again. I’m having to realize pills will apparently be in my future for an indeterminate time. That means the lies and stealthy thievery will continue. I so wish I could conquer this compulsion but the fact remains. I can’t feel normal without them, even though after so much time on them the relief is only very minimal.

I can’t stress enough how this is not where I want to be. I long for the time again when these fuckin pills are a distant memory. If not that then I long to take them responsibly. My brain won’t allow that. It isn’t even a choice available to me. The longing to simply cease to exist pops up now and again but thankfully I can’t do that to my family. I’m considering starting a podcast to address these issues. I know millions of people like me exist in this hell. I’m not sure if I could do it other than as an anonymous person. Who the fuck wants the world to know they’re stuck in this void?

TBS Pamphlet Interview with Director Akane Kazuki

Raw || Index

Note: This interview is from TBS Anime Festa 2018, where Hoshiai no Sora premiered back in August. The pamphlet also includes a mini interview with Itsuka, but this one sadly wasn’t in TBS’s site.

——Please tell us how you decided to make an original work this time.

Akane: I had been thinking about all sorts of things for ten or so years, but then my staff asked me, “How about you stop making sci-fi and parallel universe stuff and try making something original?”. And so, since about five years ago, I had been feeling like tackling some sort of new genre.

I joined this industry roughly in the 85’s. It was exactly the period of the Gundam Boom, and I think that Gundam caused a new movement and has always been riding on its flow until now. Animation is entertainment, but I believe its trends are becoming specially strong nowadays and I feel like it is already turning into something closer to amusement movies. But the young creators can be the ones doing that. As for us, it has been more than thirty years that we have been in this business already, so isn’t it about time for us to move on to new branches and possibilities of animation? Aren’t we already at ages where it is all right for us to create new things now? While thinking about such things, I received this story.

——Was the theme in your head from the start?

Akane: When I first received the order, I think I was expecting a series based a little more on current animation – in other words, on entertainment. Yet I was like, “Isn’t it okay to not do just that, but also test out something like the possibilities of animation?”. I, for myself, want to reflect the eras through animation. I had a strong feeling of wanting to try and create not only animation simply about the funny and weird aspects of the current times, but that also properly expresses the suffering and worries of young children in particular, and other such things. Of course, it was going to be aired in television, so the fact that it is entertainment goes without saying, but I think it would be great if we had a plus alpha there, and if we managed to successfully trace the emotions and thoughts of young kids into a drama.

——What was the reason for choosing “soft tennis” as theme?

Akane: There is also the fact that I have experience with it, but I think soft tennis is a sport that seems like a characteristic of puberty and boyhood. Even though the number of competitors is enormous among middle schoolers, it cuts to about half when they become high schoolers, and when they become college students and posteriorly adults, almost nobody is doing it anymore. It made me think that this tendency was the same as some sort of teenage feeling. We also forget things that were very obvious to us during adolescence when we grow up. I wonder if this doesn’t link up rather well with emotional traits. Plus, there are no professional players in soft tennis. In a way, we can say that it is a sport with no self-interest. It is neither for the sake of earning money nor for becoming famous. We occasionally can see pubescent children make moves without calculations as well. However, around the time they become high schoolers, they gradually start looking ahead and thinking about the future. In short, self-interest starts being born. In that sense, I thought this sport was as pure as adolescence.

——What are the two main characters like?

Akane: This will be the story of children who carry with them all sorts of scars, yet I believe I want to make it into a tale of friends who do not lick each other’s wounds at all, but instead fill up and compensate for them. I cannot go into detail, but those two, who have certain problems in their home environments, want to run away but are unable to because they are middle schoolers. If they were adults, they could get away from it by leaving, but middle schoolers cannot afford to do that, so they end up bearing wounds in their hearts. Those are the types of wounds that people forget when they become adults, but I want to try properly expressing them and writing about how they will overcome them and grow up. In this sense, I also want adults to remember their own. The wounds that they used to carry. And realize that they are the ones hurting children now. I want to make it into a drama that causes people to feel what is happening in real time.

——Aside from home circumstances, how will the schools and club activities be depicted?

Akane: The boys’ soft tennis club, which will appear in this story, is a bit of a flighty existence even within the school, so if I had to say so myself, they are looked down upon. They have not had a victory in four years and are on the brink of being disbanded. As they are asked if a club like that has any right to exist, they themselves give up at first. Like, “We can’t do anything anyway”. Then, a chemical reaction happens as the main character, Katsuragi Maki, joins the club. To put it in an extreme way, this starts off as the story of a group of losers. There is nothing so terrible in the real world like being losers while middle schoolers, but our society does want to say such things about them. But I want to tell children, “Don’t give up; overcome that standard”. It might be fiction that only happens within animation either way, but I want to create a drama like this. Of course, sci-fi dramas where people try to survive in crumbling worlds are also interesting, but I want to make a drama about boys living in a realistic world while preserving their pride and identities. That might be the main theme this time.

——It seems this will be a work full of things to observe, but director, what is the point you want people to pay most attention to?

Akane: I am thinking of trying my first approach on the current situation of our society, which I had not depicted so much in animation until now. Many things that have not been a topic even in the news or the internet until now are the subject in it. I also want to get to the heart of the issues that the world is burdened with nowadays. That is quite a challenge for animation, but I believe that animation is also becoming a type of media that can portray such things. Of course, just being funny and weird would is okay too, but I want to make a drama that will not be only this, and that will make the people watching respond more strongly to it. I do not know how deep we can go or until what point we can bring out results, but I would be happy if people could pay attention to this part and think together with the characters.

——Please tell us your reason for choosing Itsuka-san for the character drafts.

Akane: It will turn into a rather serious story, so in my mind, I had imagined them as more realistic characters. That is why, when a producer introduced me to Itsuka-san, I thought at first, “I wonder about this”, but I thought it over, like, “Isn’t the imbalance of something serious like that with a design such as this very much like Japanese anime? Isn’t it a little wrong to make them realistic characters just because it’s a realistic story?”. The art that Itsuka-san draws is very sensible, and this drama is also done in an extremely delicate way, so in that sense, it is perfect. We are often misunderstood, and just because the theme is soft tennis, people go, “Akane-san, you’re making something rooted in sports this time?” (laughs). I wanted to rebound these preconception-like comments, and thought of trying my hand at challenging myself with directing an animation that used Itsuka-san’s sensible characters. In fact, we made videos as a test, and they were very easy to get familiar with.

——Then, lastly, please leave a message for the people looking forward to when it airs.

Akane: Both drama and art-wise, I am thinking of doing a new challenge and forming a new world-building, so I would be happy if people could also look forward to the synchronization between drama and art. I think it will be a peculiar anime, but I want to make it into a series that will cause people to feel the difference in that instead, so please wait for it to air while looking forward to it.

Griffin Dunne: Who’s That Man? (article from ARENA magazine, Sept/Oct 1987)

Double Exposure: The $4.5 million it took to make Martin Scorsese’s black comedy After Hours and the twitchily neurotic lead performance were both the work of the same man, hybrid movie producer and actor whose next assignments involve the likes of Sidney Lumet and Madonna. David Keeps spends some after After Hours hours with Griffin Dunne. 

Griffin Dunne, leading man to Madonna in the soon-come Who’s That Girl, is not the sort of actor who swoops into a photo session with an entourage of managers, publicists and gofers. He enters alone, armed with a briefcase full of business pertaining to the next three or four films he will produce, and introduces himself with a winning humility and, on this particularly sweltering Manhattan afternoon, a perfectly reasonable request for a Budweiser. He graciously and gracefully agrees to a quick bit of barbering and slips into samples from Paul Smith’s autumn collection -- clothes that look very roomy on his slight five-foot-seven frame -- without a fuss. “Are you sure these weren’t for David Byrne,” he jokes. Griffin Dunne is one cool character. 

The same can not be said for the neurotic yuppies he’s portrayed in After Hours and Almost You, two critically acclaimed films that were released back-to-back in Britain and helped to establish him as the archetypal Manhattan man. “That’s a coincidence,” he explains over breakfast at a Greenwich Village eaterie a few blocks from his home. “The pictures were actually filmed a couple of years, but I guess if you looked at them as a double-header, you’d see similarities because the main character is New York. One thing I have noticed is that the guy I’m playing always wears a blazer. I’ve got to be careful about what I do next. Those jaded laconic New York type roles are creeping up on me,” he continues, his almost-black eyes widening as his voice rises in mock terror. “I may never work again and die a pauper because these two pictures are so much alike!”

Now there’s an unlikely prospect. Having successfully produced Chilly Scenes of Winter, John Sayles’ Baby It’s You and Martin Scorsese’s After Hours, Griffin Dunne is in the unique position of being able to pay the bills and choose his acting roles carefully or develop properties for himself. The latter is an option he has exercised only once (After Hours), the former is an admitted luxury. “The problem with success is, the more successful you become, the more careful and calculating you have to be. While I dread being an actor and never knowing where my next job will be coming from, there was a great freedom in going from one stupid comedy into a play in some no-name theatre down on Pitt Street in lower East Siobokia. I get sent a lot of scripts as a producer and I don’t want to spend my time looking for parts for myself. I have an agent to do that. But that still doesn’t give me the opportunity to pick up the phone and say ‘Get me a script that is completely different from anything I’ve ever done, and I want to start working Wednesday’. “

There was a time when the very prospect of working in films - as an actor or a producer - was something to be avoided. Born in New York City on June 8, 1955 to actress Ellen Griffin Dunne and Dominick Dunne, who evolved from a television stage manager to a producer and now, a writer for Vanity Fair, Griffin was raised in Los Angeles amongst the privileged sons and daughters of Hollywood. He attended a pre-preparatory school at age 11. “All boys. You wore a coat and tie and got little swats if you got out of line. It was called Fay School,” he recalls with a shudder. “It was a bitch to say ‘I go to Fay School’.” He turns his head to the side to improvise a dialogue and with a sneer asks himself sarcastically, “How’s Fay?” “Fine thank you,” he mumbles, suitably humiliated. In his final year it became his job to order films for school entertainments. His very appropriate choice was Lindsay Anderson’s public school drama If... “It was a real underground thing. The attendance rate was incredible. They were hanging off the rafters. If you know the picture you know it takes them forever to kill those fucking teachers!”

The Fountain Valley school in Colorado proved a more nurturing atmosphere for the lad. Influenced by his uncle and aunt (the literary lions John Gregory Dunne and Joan Didion), Griffin thought he would become a writer. “I just knew that film business was the last thing on earth I was going to be in. It’s like if your father goes to work in a car factory in Detroit, the last thing you want to do is go into the automobile business. I didn’t sit in judgement of Peter Benchley’s (OP NOTE: author of Jaws) drinking habits, but it was just too close to me. I was really verbal about it. Openly vitriolic, I would never be in show biz. I said that right up until a friend talked me into auditioning for this play.”

That was Edward Albee’s The Zoo Story and Griffin knew instinctively that he was the best man for the job. “Somehow I just knew I could say these lines better than anyone else. It was like being the only one in that room who spoke that particular language.” An actor was born and a bullshit artist began to operate. “I was the guy who ran the drama club, the art paper, the student council planning board. Teachers treated me like an adult, they really thought I was going places. They said ‘You’re not like the other students.’ I was, of course, a source of total disappointment, because I was exactly like the other students. I would get high and take the car off campus and try to get laid at every possible moment as soon as their back was turned.” 

Then, just as he was about to make a dramatic triumph playing Iago in Othello, he was busted. “Got caught smoking a little hash,” he winces. “All that was really there was what was in my lungs and it just trailed out of my mouth as I denied what was happening. And the teacher did not get a contact high and forget what he was doing. What they were saying was, ‘We’re going to change the rest of your life for that amount of smoke in your lungs’.” He was sent packing, forced to face up to parents who were “grief stricken”, he says with a comic frown, “chopped off at the knees.” Convincing the school authorities in a brilliant final thespian act that he needed to take the bus home in order to have time to think about his misdeeds, he hit the highway and hitchhiked home.

The odyssey that followed could’ve been a foreshadowing of the hassles that befell him as the stranger-in-SoHo in After Hours. “I was very worried about getting into any more trouble. And every car I got in was the most troublesome, criminal car. One guy would be driving a huge Cadillac convertible that he’d bought with a bad cheque. Another guy was AWOL from the army and there was this kid who’d just left ‘Juvie’ (Juvenile Hall) who was only a year younger than me, but also about four feet shorter. We’d spend a good deal of the time daring him to do things like climb out of the hood of the car to straighten out the antenna as we were crossing the desert. As soon as he got out there the driver would floor it, going about 95 miles an hour and swerving to throw him off. I thought, ‘OK drug possession, hot car, and manslaughter, all on the way home. Look at it this way, Mom, Dad, I was only kicked out of school for smoking hash!”

He lived in Los Angeles for the last gasp of his teenage years, working in a bookstore and as a shipping clerk for a cooking utensils firm, while going for auditions that were few and far between. After a few small roles on TV, he moved to New York to study at the Neighborhood Playhouse, where, ironically, in the days before Dustin Hoffman, Griffin’s father had left his studies when he was told that he was too short to be a leading man. Though Griffin was spared the same advice, he worked more steadily in the restaurant trade - even selling popcorn at the candy counter of Radio City Music Hall - than he did in the theatre. Then he met Amy Robinson and Mark Metcalf (OP NOTE: misprinted with an e), two equally frustrated, equally unemployed actors, and the trio decided to become producers. 

(OP NOTE: Since Dunne, Robinson, and Metcalf were/are baseball fans, the original production company’s name was Triple Play Productions. When Metcalf left to focus on his acting, the company was renamed Double Play Productions).

“We went out to Cambridge and met Ann Beattie, who had written Chilly Scenes of Winter and she said it was like three of her characters walked into her living room.” Not surprisingly she allowed them to buy the rights for a film version at a very reasonable price. At age 23, Griffin Dunne had become a producer and had his first property. The trio turned the process of pitching the project to studios into an acting exercise. “It was exactly like a performance, but it was easier than going in on an audition. Here I had something tangible to sell, a book that I was passionate about. It’s hard to do that about yourself. What do you say? ‘Look at this interesting aspect of me. Then if you shade it with these particular attitudes I look like this!’ I wouldn’t want to see anybody do that.”

First released as Head Over Heels, and re-released more successfully in 1982 under the author’s original title, Chilly Scenes of Winter set the stage for the fledgling producer’s next triumph, John Sayles’ Baby It’s You, which introduced Rosanna Arquette and Vincent Spano to a large and appreciative audience of young filmgoers. In the meantime Dunne had appendaged several screen acting credits to his dossier, largely of the messenger boy variety.

“I’ve passed a ton of envelopes,” he laughs. “In this one film, The Fan (a potboiler starring Lauren Bacall as the intended victim of an overwrought admirer) I played a stage manager who was to hand a letter the killer gave me to Maureen Stapleton. The letter read ‘I’m going to kill you, I’m going to kill you,’ and sure enough he does. So they spend the rest of the movie looking for the killer instead of asking me for a description. When I told the director, he said ‘Yeah, well, fine, can we just shoot the scene please?’ So I just couldn’t resist on one take. I went up to Miss Stapleton and I said, ‘Here’s a letter from the killer -- oops! -- I mean the man outside’.”

He was able to use his comic gifts more successfully playing the sidekick role, “the very dead one” in An American Werewolf in London (OP NOTE: Title misprinted without the ‘An’) and the clean-cut brother of a gangster in Johnny Dangerously, “a big silly comedy.” Then a script crossed his desk which he simply could not ignore, for it contained all the elements he looked for in a film as both a producer and an actor. It was called After Hours, and it was the tale of a lonely word processor who meets a beautiful girl, loses her, loses his money and his house-keys and spends the rest of his evening on the run from assorted temptresses and loonies in the lofts and streets of New York’s SoHo. 

Griffin Dunne was no stranger to the inherent weirdness of such a scenario. “Last weekend I was out of town and a friend was in my apartment. I said don’t use the bottom lock. She did, and so I was locked out of my own apartment. I called my neighbors to let me in, but they were locked out of their apartment too. I found that out from the neighbors below. The owners are from Japan and they’re coming to get their apartment from me. I’ve now been through so many locks it looks like a Uzi got at the door. The locksmith is now an old friend of mine. I have the worst time with keys. I believe the first stage of manhood is when you live on your own and you’re given this set of keys. I’ve been through so many keys. They just leap out of my pocket!”

Griffin Dunne became After Hours’ hapless anti-hero Paul Hackett and his run-ragged energy leaped off the screen. Despite the fact that the entire film was shot at night, director Scorsese demanded that he remain celibate during the course of the shoot. For added punishment, Dunne himself also acted as the film’s producer: “As an actor your job is not to have distractions and be in a loose state where, when things are thrown at you, you can react accordingly. As a producer your job is to constantly anticipate problems, disasters, flare-ups, fiascoes. You’re in a constant state of tension. You have this little rubber ball with spikes sticking out of it in the pit of your stomach. In After Hours if there were times when it was five in the morning and I was starting to run out of anxiety adrenaline, I could think of how much the picture was going over-budget and I would suddenly get this hollow look in my eyes, my eyebrows would start creeping up on my forehead and I was ready to roll! But I never as an actor looked at the director and thought, ‘Gee, he’s shooting too much film, I must tell him to stop.’”

Though After Hours was a huge critical and commercial success, it pointed out some rather disheartening facts about the American film industry. “People are so obsessed with how much pictures cost. It really pisses me off,” he says with a furrow of the brow that makes you an instant sympathizer. “All anybody talks about with After Hours is that we made it for $4.5 million.(OP NOTE: $4.5 million in 1985 would be about $10.8 million in 2020) Who cares? Is it a good movie? Is it a bad movie? For some reason English films have avoided that. Probably because they were made with pounds instead of dollars and the critics are too lazy to figure out the currency conversion.”

Now he’s on a roll and it becomes quite clear that Griffin Dunne, as an artist and as a businessman, cares about the cinema passionately. “There are a lot of [OP NOTE: misprinted as off] young filmmakers trying to get off the ground here. It’s treated so condescendingly,” he splutters. “Those kids made that Personal Art film. Art film is a bad word for everybody - it’s a personal film. Or it’s an independent film, which must mean it’s personal. ‘Those kids made that picture and just look what they did. And their grandmother gave them $2.5 million for that?’ I don’t think it was their grandmother,” he continues with a lethal iciness. “I think they went to a major financing entity and they got the money, it’s playing in theatres now. GO SEE THE GODDAMNED MOVIE!”

(OP NOTE: Sir, this is a Wendy’s. All joking aside, I would love to hear the off-the-record version of this rant)

All of this seems particularly annoying to a man like Griffin Dunne because he’s proved that it can be done. “It’s just treated like it’s so cute. Now it’s possible to make films like Mona Lisa, Withnail and I or one of Stephen Frears’ movies in the States. There’s a lot more avenues of finance and they’ve figured out ways of distributing movies where they actually make serious money and it’s easier for people to get their money back on videocassettes and all the other rights. What we’re having a little bit of a problem with is the material itself. How do you find a script that doesn’t reek of being an Independent Movie?”

In Adam Brooks’ Almost You, which was written as a vehicle for Dunne and his then-girlfriend Brooke Adams, he found exactly that. An offbeat comedy about an adulterous husband, the film was warmly received in Britain after having been crucified by the American press. (OP NOTE: As someone who enjoyed that movie, I think the reason for that is because British audiences are more comfortable with unlikable or dysfunctional protagonists than American audiences. Also, this was the Reagan era with traditional values and all) “I found the character very touching and pathetic, but when it came out you would have thought I was a war criminal. An immoral louse. The worst of it was they would never say my character’s name.  They would say ‘Griffin Dunne is a duplicitous, weak-willed human being!’ People fuck around on their wives, what can I say? The way people went on, because I fooled around when my wife was in a wheelchair, it was like one of those Reefer Madness kind of movies. Like I was condoning it,” he says, lapsing into a sinister’s narrator voice, “C’mon kids, go out and smoke heroin. And while you’re there get married and fool around on your wife who’s in a wheelchair. Come with me to...THE MOVIES!”

His next screen appearance should raise the stakes considerably higher and may establish Griffin Dunne as a solidly commercial leading man in romantic comedies. “I’d known about the script for years,” he says of Who’s That Girl. “It was the first screwball comedy I’d read that wasn’t a rip-off or a parody . The characters were really contemporary. Over the years I just slowly watched it get put together, slowly, slowly coming around to me. I had a feeling it was going to work out and I have that feeling very rarely.” It’s the story of one Loudon Trott, the standard “uptight kind of guy” whose world is thrown into utter chaos by the appearance of a dizzy but dazzling vixen. “I’m one of those inside-the-little-globe-there’s-a-madman-dying-to-break-out characters. But I was going as much against the nitwit-nerd as possible. I wanted to wear the best suit I could find. I look unlike anything I’ve ever looked before. You don’t wake up with hair like what I’ve got in this picture. I don’t even know what the hell I look like.”

The vixen is, of course, played by Madonna. “It was externally pretty crazy,” he says of the shoot. “A lot of paparazzi and fans. I guess for my survival I just shut it out. It didn’t bother her, so why should it bother me? If it bothered me it would show on the screen, but nobody would say, ‘Gee, he doesn’t seem to be there right now, it must be the fans.’” He laughs at the very thought of it. “I’ll fight for a disclaimer at the end of the picture!”

He’ll have to juggle his next acting assignment between efforts as a producer. Running On Empty, the coming-of-age story of the son of Sixties dissidents living on the lam, is set to be directed by Sidney Lumet with River Phoenix in the leading role and Robin Williams has been signed as the lead for a Disney-financed version of the stage comedy The Foreigner.

[OP NOTE: While Running on Empty was eventually released in 1988, garnering Phoenix a Best Supporting Actor nomination at the Golden Globes, The Foreigner never materialized. I’m sure there’s some amazing stories that have yet come to light on the latter].

And industrious though he may seem, Dunne admits that he’s really good at not working, too. “It’s a talent that I’ve evolved over the past year or so. When I’m not working it never crosses my mind. I’m into maps. I’ll chart a trip and get a really good radio in the car, record a lot of tapes and hit the road. I’m really good at getting out of town and going to the beach. My problem has been collecting a lot of things over the years, but I’ve lived in sublets for the past 11 years, so I haven’t been able to settle into any pattern yet. Now that I’m moving into my own place, I’m glad. I’ll have people over so they can admire my spoon collection from my various journeys and I’ll even have shows. I will promise to bore them senseless with my passions.”

It’s unlikely he’ll be able to make the same claim in a professional capacity; his involvement on both sides of the camera and casting office have certainly produced an exemplary cross-breed of moviemaking professional, one that box office superstars-cum-executive producers of their own vanity projects could most certainly learn from. “One of the things I like about being a producer,” Dunne explains, “is that it’s opened me up on how to read a script. I like to think of the whole picture now, not just my role.” But having an awareness of what makes a film succeed in an increasingly byzantine business has not dulled his enthusiasm for acting, nor dimmed his onscreen spark. “It still is fun,” he demurs. “It should always be fun to get paid for taking fencing lessons.”

Always a wit, Griffin Dunne does seem most comfortable making a joke, even if it is at his own expense. Asked which of his screen characters he’d feel closest kinship to in real life, he deadpans, “I use so much of myself in them that I can’t imagine wanting to hang out with any of them.” And he’s equally nonplussed about his reputation as an independent force in the motion picture industry. The man simply has taste and if he likes to wear as many different hats as he can in this business, well, that’s his business - and he’s certainly very modest about his accomplishments.

“It’s difficult,” he concludes. “for me to say ‘I’m a rebel. I’m a maverick’ and put on little cowboy hats and stroll out of here into the sunset.” Especially, we both agree with a laugh, since it’s not even high noon yet.

Whumptober Day 24 - Secret Injury

ALRIGHT FUCKERS IT'S LATE BUT IT'S HERE - I wrote half of this while basically high off xanax (it's prescribed, don't come for me), so if it sucks, I blame it on that.

Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia Summary: During a "Survival" exercise, class 1-A is sent into the woods to fend for themselves and make it through the night; it goes well, until it doesn't. The League of Villains drop of a nomu at the campsite, and chaos ensues. Bakugou kind of gets thrown into a tree and gets a bit fucked up, but neglects to mention it until he basically can't hide it any longer. Time line of the story happens before All Might retires. Warnings: Blood, violence, slight emeto. Parings: KiriBaku if you really squint, because fuck you Words: 6,713

Art and fic under the cut!!

Bakugou POV

Goddammit, Bakugou hated the outdoors. He always thought that families who went camping "for fun" were psychopaths and/or masochists. So it explains why the blonde was less than enthused when it was announced that the class would be doing a survival trip in the wilderness. Which, in the first place, didn't make any fucking sense. This wasn't boy scouts - they were all UA students, future heroes. Aizawa made some bullshit excuse that it was going to be a way to test resourcefulness and teamwork.

Everyone else in the class seemed pretty excited, seemed to be viewing it as a vacation, and Bakugou secretly added all their names to the list of "psychopaths and/or masochists". He thought maybe he could tell them he caught a bad bug and had to stay home, but Aizawa told them that the exercise was being scored as a test, and well, goddammit that just ruined that idea. There was no way out of this apparently, so Bakugou held his tongue and retired to his dorm that night to pack his bag - which mind you, there was not much they were allowed to bring. A change of clothes, and that was pretty much it. No cellphones, no electronics or any kind for that matter, they couldn't even bring books for recreation. Wanna brush your teeth in the morning? Too damn bad, use a leaf for all they cared.

The sun had barely risen and they were on their way. The bus ride was long... and fucking loud. He was sharing his seat with Kirishima, although Bakugou didn't really get a say in the matter, the spiky haired bastard just sat down and made himself at home. Mina was leaning over the seat in front of them talking excitedly to Kirishima about all the "cool and fun" things they were gonna do, who was going to build the best shelter, what kind of food they could catch, blah, blah, fucking blah. Bakugou never wished for his phone and earphones more in his life.

By the time they arrived at the site, they had to hike (yes, fucking hike) about a mile to a safe house. Apparently U.A. had a lot of these little buildings placed in the most random places ever. Basically armed with what people would need in case of emergencies. There was rationed food, water, a radio broadcaster, a TV that looked like it was straight from the 1990's, etc. Someone had also taken the time to pack all the class' hero gear into a crate which was being brought in by All Might.

Bakugou watched as Aizawa was desperately trying to get a hold of everyone's attention, before President Mic basically said, "Nah, I got this", and screamed at the top of his lungs which basically gave everyone a heart attack, but successfully got them to be quiet. Aizawa rubbed at his ears, "Yeah, okay, thanks President Mic. Anyway, students, here we start our Survival Test. Let's get the rules out of the way first. Rule number one, absolutely no use of any of your quirks. Two, if I find out that one of you managed to sneak in something on the "do not bring" list, you will be given a failing grade. And three, everyone must make their own shelter; no shaking up. Now, there will be three main areas set up, and you will all be divided between those three. I will be accompanying one-"

"And me one!" President Mic boomed. Bakugou prayed to any god that was listening that he wouldn't get stuck at that one.

"And me, of course!" All Might stood heroically.

Aizawa continues, "Yes, anyway, there's 20 of you in total so there will be one group of six, and two group of seven. These goes as follows; My group will be the one with six. I will have Aoyama, Asui, Iida, Koda, Shoji, and Tokoyami."

Present Mic took the stand next, "And I will have Mineta, Sero, Todoroki, Sato, Kaminari, Ojiro, and Mina."

Kirishima elbowed Bakugou and whispered to him, "That means we're together with All Might!" Bakugou inwardly groaned, not just that, but he was about to be paired up with fucking Deku of all people.

"And of course that means," All Might spoke next, "I will have Uraraka, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, Midoriya, Hagekure, Bakugou, and Jiro."

There was a little bit of mixed groaning from those who got split up from their friends, and the gleeful cheering of those who got paired with theirs. Aizawa spoke up again, "It was all selected randomly, so if you have complaints, I really don't care. Get with your team leader, pay attention and take the lesson seriously, and we'll meet up tomorrow afternoon."

Clicking his tongue, annoyed by the whole situation, Bakugou followed Kirishima to meet up with everyone else around All Might, taking precaution to stay as far away from Deku as possible; this trip was already shitty enough, he really didn't need that fucking nerd ruining it anymore.

"Alright team!" All Might started, and then handed everyone a paper with instructions, tips, and a small map on it, "We have many tasks to do today, and not much time to do them! Everything has to be completed by nightfall or you will either wake up hungry, or be forced to sleep on nothing but dirt. I will be supervising you - after all this is for a grade. If I see someone slacking off and not pulling their weight, their grade will be docked. But," He paused, "That doesn't mean we can't have fun while we're at it!"

'Oh, gag me with a fucking spoon', Bakugou thought to himself. Round face and Deku were looking at the map and excitedly pointing things out to each other, Hagekure was jumping up and down in thrill, and Kirishima was already talking to Jiro about how they were gonna start a forest fire, which... fucking hell, let's hope not. "Alright gang, let's head out!"

They had all fucking neglected to mention the fact that the camp sites were an almost a seven mile hike away from the safe house, and by the time they got there, Bakugou was already ready to call it quits. If the summer heat paired with the hiking wasn't going to kill him, it was going to be the dozens of bug bites he's probably already gotten.

With a small huddle and deviation of tasks it seemed that Bakugou was stuck with Jiro and Kirishima to collect enough fire wood to last the night, set up animal snares (which damn, that seemed a little brutal for a school trip), finding a good source of reliable water, and of course, building their own shelter.

It was tiring, boring, irritating, and by the end of it all Bakugou's body was already covered in a light sun burn, countless thorn bush scratches, and somehow had gotten burs in his hair. They had successfully caught two rabbits, while Yaoyorozu and Hagekure had caught enough fish for them to all have at least one - so they were good on food although they were all a little grossed out by the aspect of the whole wilderness to table dining.

Bakugou set to building his shelter pretty fast but honestly had no fucking idea where to even start. There were some tips on the paper they were given, but honestly he was just stealing looks at the one Yaoyorozu was building and trying to copy it as much as possible, and pretty much failing miserably. Well... it was standing and it was big enough for him to fit under if he curled up, so Bakugou decided to count that as a win.

Night fell pretty quickly, and it was time to get the fire started and make dinner. Starting a fire was not the easiest task in the world, and after about ten minutes of a bunch of his useless classmates trying and failing to get a good spark, Bakugou just wanted to run over there and set the whole thing ablaze - but noooo, that was against the rules. After what seemed like fucking forever, the kindling caught and they had enough fire to spit roast their catches.

Turns out - unseasoned fish and rabbit? Not that fucking good. Like... at all. But with all the energy that Bakugou had spent that day completing dumb tasks out in this godforsaken forest, he didn't complain much; and just chased down the bland food with the water he collected from a nearby river earlier.

Everyone retired for the night (can he just mention the absolute fuckery it was that All Might got to bring a whole pop up tent) and Bakugou celebrated how close they were to being done with this bullshit. Wake up in the morning, tear everything down, clean up, and head back home. Hallelujah.

Of course though - things can't go that smoothly for anybody in this fucking school.

Bakugou was roused from his not very restful slumber, I mean how nice can you sleep when you're laying on a bunch of dirt and twigs, by a scream coming that ran out through air; Hagakure. At first he thought the girl had woken up to a bug crawling on her, and just turned over and tried to go back to sleep - but that wasn't the case. He heard something he would never be able to forget his whole life, a sound that was introduced to him when they first met, the heart-dropping sadistic laugh of Shigaraki.

The League of Villains.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. Bakugou jumped up from his shelter, hands immediately sparking up, looking the threat - but it was dark. The campfire had almost died down and he could barely make out some shadows, which he didn't know who was his classmates, and who were villains. By this time it seemed everyone had jolted from their sleep, mumbling to each other about what was going on, who was screaming, was it a false alarm. Maybe it was? Maybe it was a training exercise and that was the real reason the were brought out here?

Before Bakugou's brain could land on a concrete answer, there was suddenly a huge hand on his shoulder, gripping it painfully before violently flinging him backwards. He helplessly flew through the air until his body collided with a nearby tree, knocking the air from his lungs, and Bakugou swore he could hear something inside him crack. Consciousness must have left Bakugou for a second, but when he opened his eyes again things were still just as dark, and everyone was still engulfed in a confused panic.

His mouth tasted like copper, and he was briefly aware of a warm liquid lazily sliding down his forehead. Then, like a sick, sadistic light switch got flipped on, agony ripped through the blonde. Everything hurt, but the pain seemed to blossom from his left shoulder and side, and then jolt like hot electricity throughout the rest of his body. Turning his head to the side, Bakugou sit the copper from his mouth, and wiped a mixture of blood and sweat from his brow. He sat there for a while, just trying to regain his bearings, breathe through the pain. If Bakugou were a betting man, he'd guess he cracked a few of his ribs, but he couldn't pinpoint what was wrong with the shoulder; it hurt like hell and felt... just wrong. Goddammit, every breath was like getting a knife jabbed into his side.

Another scream rang out from one his classmates, and there was suddenly a bright flash of what looked like lightening with All Might's voice ringing out an attack's name. It was quick, but it the moment of light Bakugou could see a little bit of what was going on - All Might charging at a huge, muscled humanoid; a nomu. That must have been what grabbed him and flung him around like a good damn yo-yo.

He would never admit it, but he let out a breath of relief when he saw that the rest of his classmates seemed fine,  just shaken up and starting to scramble back from the direction that All Might had projected himself towards. In the bright flash there were also no signs of other villains. It was almost like Shigaraki dropped off the nomu and just dipped out - making his head spin of where he had gone and what he was doing. He thought of the other campsites.

"Bakugou?" Kirishima's voice spoke up, soft and shaking, "Where are you?"

Trying to stand up was easier said than done; his whole body protested. As soon as any pressure was put on his left arm to try and push himself up, Bakugou's vision went white with blinding pain and he had to bite his cheek to keep from yelling out. Okay, right arm it was. Gingerly, he was able to pull himself into a somewhat steady standing position and walk, well more like limp, his way over to Kirishima. He gingerly placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, feeling Kirishima jump under it, "It's me, shitty hair."

Blindly, Bakugou reached around before his hand landed on one of the other classmate's shelter before he quickly lit it ablaze to get a better picture of what was going on, "There we fucking go."

Like he had seen earlier, all of the other classmates were fine and accounted for. Following the noises of the fight, Bakugou was able to get a clear look at All Might; hand to hand with the nomu and trying to push him backwards. The first idea that popped into Bakugou's mind was to help his teacher out and join the fight, but with his busted arm and ribs, he didn't think he'd be much use. Of course the most competent one here would get put on a fucking crutch.

Suddenly All Might spoke up, his voice booming through the stagnant night air and echoing off the trees, "Listen, students, I need you all to hurry back to the safe house. The other teachers will tell the rest of the students to do the same. Once you're-" He was cut off by the nomu taking a swing at him which he successfully dodged and was able to knock the creature back a bit, "Once you're there, radio the school. Tell them what's going on. Fight only if absolutely necessary, and stick together."

Running was the absolute last thing Bakugou wanted to do - that was such a weak thing to do, so cowardly. He wanted to yell back at All Might and tell him that wasn't going to fucking happen, but the nomu jumped on him again and they locked up together again, "Go!"

Yaoyorozu ran up to Bakugou and the other students who were now standing closely together under the flames that he had created earlier, "I memorized the map from the paper, let's get the hell out of here," she took note of the worry written on some of the other student's faces, "All Might can handle it. He's counting on us to do our part in this situation too."

Okay, yeah, easier said than done, Bakugou thought. Just a moment ago he was wanting to rush in to join the fight, but his adrenaline was leaving his bloodstream slowly and the pain was getting more and more nagging as time went on. He let out an aggravated groan, "Fine, let's fucking go. Yaoyorozu, lead the way."

She nodded in confirmation and without hesitation materialized a flashlight before taking off, the rest of the class following behind her.

Running was... uncomfortable, to say the least. Every time one of Bakugou's feet connected with the ground, a spike of pain shot through him like a bullet, but at this point the only thing he could do about it was grin and bear it. After the noises of fighting from All Might and the nomu slowly faded behind them, Deku spoke up, "Everyone okay?"

Everyone rang in with a hushed, "fine," or, "all good here," and Kirishima's personal, "scared shitless, but other wise okay!" Bakugou spoke up as well, "We're all fine, so shut the fuck up, and focus on not running into a tree, shitty nerd." Bakugou was anything but fine, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that; it would also cause everyone else to give him their needless pity instead of focusing on the task at hand. Best to keep it under wraps for now, but goddammit did it fucking hurt. Every quick dash around an obstacle twisted his body in a way where he swear he could feel the broken bone fragments rub together and his vision would go white for a moment, but he continued onward.

Bakugou was lagging behind, taking up the rear with Kirishima an arms length away from him, so nobody could see him cradle his injured arm protectively to his body, trying to keep it from being jostled too much. If he was being honest though, there was a cold numbness that was starting to seep into Bakugou's left hand, starting in his fingers and slowly working it's way up - that couldn't be good; although part of him was glad because it made it a little less painful.

Suddenly, a horrible familiar raspy voice sounded from behind them, "And where do you all thing you're going?"

Shigaraki. Fuck.

They all whipped around, the flash light illuminating him a bit, his disgustingly pale face, as he reached a hand Bakugou. Shit, if that fucker touched him, Bakugou was going to have a lot more to deal with on his plate, so with quick thinking he blasted himself backwards, "Fuck off!"

Without warning, the light was extinguished and Yaoyorozu's voice rang out, "Scatter!"

Before Bakugou could think about which direction to run in, a rough calloused hand grabbed hold of his left wrist and pulled right. It took everything in Bakugou's will to not let out a shriek of agony, gritting his teeth so hard he tasted blood. The owner of the hand on him spoke up, it was Kirishima, "I have no idea where I'm going!"

The way Kirishima was jostling his arm was almost unbearable, "Fucking let go of me, shitty hair!"

Kirishima did as he was told, but complained, "Fine, but stay close, I don't want to lose you in here!"

"I can handle my damn self, I'm not incompetent like the rest of you fuckers," Bakugou bit back, "Worry about yourself!" The moon had finally moved directly over the woods, and while the line of vision was still not the best, it was at least a little easier to see the basics of what was going on around them. Bakugou glanced behind him, "That fucker isn't following us."

Kirishima made an affirmative noise, "We should find a place to hide for a bit to collect our thoughts and come up with a plan."

Stopping didn't really seem like the best choice, but at this point, Bakugou would take any chance to sit down and try and even out his breathing. The harsh gasps that came from running were like shattered glass running through his blood, "Fine." The pain that enveloped Bakugou unfortunately wasn't the type you could get used to, instead it was the kind that was growing in intensity - aside from his arm which was numb almost all the way up to his elbow at this point. The pain was making Bakugou's mind hazy, he wasn't going to be able to keep a clear head much longer, god he just... just wanted to sit down.

"There!" Kirishima pointed at a large hollow tree that was a couple yards ahead of them. Bakugou followed and they finally collapsed into the shadow's of the tree's cavernous opening. The boy's labored breathing echoed off the wood walls that encompassed them, working their way up the trunk. Kirishima broke the silence first, "O-Okay, so we ran right, right?" he breathed through gasps of air, and Bakugou gave him a hum of approval, "So if Yaoyorozu was going to the safe house in a straight shot, we just need to run forwards, but diagonally left."

Bakugou didn't really think it was all that simple, but it was the best shot they had at this point, "Sounds good enough, shitty hair."

The two rested there a bit longer taking a moment to catch their breath and recharge their stamina a bit, but this time Bakugou's adrenaline was hanging on by a tiny thread at this point. A wave of pain rushed over him, eyes going wide, biting his cheek until blood filled his mouth and slammed his head into the hollow wood behind him; anything to take the edge off the torment that was his ribs and shoulder.

"You good over there?"

"Just frustrated," not technically a lie.

Bakugou could feel Kirishima's skepticism and hesitance, "Alright, well... you ready to head back out there and run for our lives?"

No, "Yep, let's go."

Getting back up again proved to be almost as challenging as it was the first time Bakugou pushed himself up and away from the fucking tree he got slammed into. With only his right arm working properly, he used the tree's trunk to help himself up onto unsteady legs. He was being slow, Bakugou knew, but if he moved too fast he would be engulfed in pain, but if he was too slow he was going to compromise both his and Shitty Hair's safety. They had to keep moving, because holy fuck they were being chased by maniacs; actual psychopaths, and not just the "I like camping" ones.

The two took off running again; it felt like Bakugou had been doing this for hours, he was exhausted. His body was crashing, fast. A rouge tree branch wacked him painfully, catching him right in his injured shoulder and he couldn't bite back the gasp of pain that left his lips fast enough.

"Yeah, man, these thorn bushes are killer on the legs," Kirishima let out a weakhearted chuckle.

Yeah, thorn bushes. Honestly the little pricks cutting up his legs was all but ignored compared to the agony that was radiating through his side. God, he was so fucking weak. Bakugou hated feeling inferior, and that exact feeling was starting to overwhelm him as he realized he was lagging behind, putting more and more distance between him and Kirishima. In a last ditch effort, Bakugou tried pushing more power into his legs, but it didn't too much. The exhaustion, the pain, the... everything was taking over. It was torture.

Up ahead, Kirishima cursed, "Fuck!"

Panic seized Bakugou's chest, "What? What's wrong?" Kirishima had stopped running, and Bakugou caught up with him before he saw it - a small cliff standing right in front of them, easily seven feet tall, "Ah, fuck indeed." Bakugou cast a glance to the left, then to his right, but it seemed that the cliff stretched on for quite some distance; Kirishima seemed to notice this as well. If the boys wanted to keep their straight shot, they were going to have to find a way over it.

"Fuck!" Kirishima cursed again, "Okay, Bakugou, blast yourself up there, and then help pull me up. There's nothing my quirk can do to help me here."

The thought of having to pull up his lug of a friend was enough to cause him to pale, but Bakugou didn't see any other option at this point. Fuck! "Fine, let's get this over with." Bakugou sent off little pops in his hands, gearing up for the bigger blast that followed shortly after. Shit! He overshot it! Good news, Bakugou cleared the cliff just fine - bad news, the ground was rushing up to him pretty fast. With quick thinking, he let off another small explosion to cushion the fall, which worked as good as it could have in theory. Bakugou landed on his back, the breath knocked out of his lungs and for a split second he thought he was going to pass out again. FUCK, it hurt. Taking a moment to try and catch his breath and wait for the agony to slowly ebb away, Bakugou stared up at this sky, not knowing if the stars he was seeing were real or just the exhaustion and dizziness taking him over.

"Bakugou?" Kirishima whispered harshly, "Everything okay up there? You need to pull me up."

"I know!" Bakugou barked, "Shut the fuck up, just give me a second."

Bakugou stole a breath and steeled himself. He could do this. All he had to do was pull Kirishima up. Bakugou wasn't weak, he could do this dammit! Bakugou leaned over the side of the cliff, his arms dangling down for Kirishima to grab, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his ribs as they dug into the ground below him. Kirishima grabbed his hands and Bakugou pulled up and-

No, nope, he couldn't do this. There was no fucking way. Bakugou let go immediately, letting out a strangled cry, cradling his left arm in his lap, eyes pickling with forced tears. He barely registered the sound of Kirishima landing harshly back on the ground below him, but Bakugou could care less. At this point it took everything in Bakugou to keep his vision stable and clear as white, hot bolts of lightning jolted outwards across his body from his shoulder.

"-kugou!" Kirishima was yelling up at him, "What happened? Are you okay? Bakugou, answer me!"

"Shut up, shitty hair! I'm fucking fine, just..," Okay, how was Bakugou going to explain this, did he tell the truth? No, he could just use his right arm to pull him up. He reached back down and Kirishima hesitantly took his arm.

"You got me this time?"

"Yes, so shut the fuck up, and get the hell up here already!"

Kirishima used Bakugou's strength and the wall as he repelled his way up the cliff. It didn't hurt as much as the first attempt, but this one was much harder on his ribs. The muscles in his sides contracted around the broken bones, using whatever strength Bakugou had left to pull up his friend. Afer a lot of discomfort and curses, Kirishima was finally up, already on his feet. Bakugou stayed on the ground, rolling again onto his back and gasping up at the sky. Reaching his hand out for Bakugou, Kirishima said, "Alright let's go." Already? "Just let me fucking breathe for a second, fuck." Bakugou know he didn't have time to just sit around feeling sorry for himself, "Please... Just a second."

Please? Really? Since when did Bakugou let that word slip past his lips.

"So, uh," Kirishima spoke up tentatively, "What's wrong with your arm?" Bakugou cursed at himself. Kirishima may not have the best grades, but he was pretty attentive to details, "Nothing, asshole. I'm fine."

"I'm not blind, Bakugou," He crouched down next to Bakugou's flat out body, "It's your left arm, right? You tried pulling me up, yelled, and then used just your right. Did you hurt it?"

Bakugou wanted to scream at him, tell him to keep his shitty opinions to himself, but he could only let out a strained, "No." Kirishima snapped, yelling in a hushed whisper, "Just be truthful with me for once, goddammit! For once. Shove your damn pride out of the way and tell me what's wrong!"

"I don't know what's wrong with it, okay?" Bakugou bit back, "It just hurts, now fuck off and let's go." Which was the last thing he wanted to do, but if it got him away from this conversation, Bakugou would gladly push onward.

"When did it start hurting?" His friend pressed him, "Did you run into a tree or something?"

Before Bakugou could stop himself he was blurting out the truth, "More like thrown into one."

"What?" Kirishima's voice raised before he quieted himself, "When the hell did that happen?"

He shouldn't have said anything. Bakugou should have just kept his damn mouth shut, but there was no hiding anything anymore. The moment Kirishima got a whiff of something even the smallest bit off, he'd keep pressing and pressing the issue until the person facing him finally caved, "Back at the campsite. That fucking nomu bastard threw me; hard. Fucked up my arm."

Kirishima was silent for a moment and Bakugou could tell he was seething, "You should have told me right away, asshole! Are you at least okay besides the arm?" 

Bakugou remained silent. Why did he feel guilty? It wasn't his fault he got injured. It wasn't his fucking fault.

"I'll take that as a no then," Kirishima responded to his lack of answer, "What else is wrong?"

Bakugou opened his mouth to answer before shutting it again. He didn't want to admit anything. He didn't want to tell Kirishima. Pain was a sign of weakness. Injuries were weaknesses, "I, uh," Bakugou's voice faltered as it broke the silence, "I think some of my ribs are broken."

Suddenly, a harsh thud came from the ground right beside Bakugou's head, and for a second his heart seized thinking that the enemies found them, but realized that Kirishima had punched the dirt, "Dammit, Bakugou! Why the fuck didn't you say anything?"

Guilt. It ran through him rampantly, "It wasn't the time. It still isn't. All Might said to get to the safe house. I would have just... slowed everyone down." God, why the fuck did he feel like crying. Why was he so fucking weak?

When Kirishima spoke again, his voice was softer, "You arm. Is it broken too? Or?"

Bakugou let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a groan, "I don't know. It doesn't feel like it is. It just feels wrong," he closed his eyes tightly, "Hurts. The shoulder anyway, the arm itself it just... numb at this point..,”

Kirishima took on a more serious tone, "Let me take a look at it. I might know what's wrong," he started grabbing a few sticks that laid nearby, "I did some brief medical training during my internship. It's risky, but light these on fire real quick so I can get a better look."

Doing what he was told, Bakugou put his hand over the twigs and with nothing more than a small pop, they were ablaze. Kirishima got a good look at his face, and his smile fell, "Damn, you look like shit, man."

"Shut the fuck up, shitty hair."

Kirishima started working the sleeve of Bakugou's shirt up to get a better look at his shoulder. Bakugou bit his lip, trying to keep any embarrassing noises at bay as Kirishima laid his hand on the injured joint; although he wasn't all that successful as a few pained whimpers got through. As soon as they left his throat, Bakugou wanted to punch himself directly in his fucking face.

"Shit."

"What?"

Kirishima stomped out the fire desperatley, "I was right. Your shoulder is dislocated. It needs to be put back in place. Like, now."

"Fuck no," Bakugou paled, "That's not fucking happening."

"Do you want to keep your arm or not?" Kirishima asked him harshly, but it was more deserpate than bitter, "Numbness is a bad sign, so if you want the nerves to keep dying, you can continue being stubborn - or you can let me put it back in place and hopefully be able to use your arm in the future."

Fuck. Fuck! Bakugou sighed in defeat, "Okay. Fine. Just get it over with."

Kirishima sat him up a bit, one hardened hand was placed behind the shoulder, and the other rested painfully on the out of place bone, "It's easier than you see in movies, I promise. But... it's going to hurt. You have to try and keep quiet. I know it's easier said than done, but if the villains find us like this while you're injured..." He trailed off.

Bakugou knew. It wouldn't be good. He wouldn't be able to hold him own. He'd get in the way. He'd be useless. Useless..., "I'm not a weakling like you, I can take it. Just do it already, asshole."

The grip on the bone tightened, and Bakugou bristled, gritting his teeth, "Ready?" Bakugou nodded.

With a rough push, and a paralyzing POP! of the bone realigning into the socket, Bakugou's eyes went wide in pain. It was absolute agony. Sharp, hot, stabbing, electric. Oh god, it hurt so fucking bad. A strangled scream rose up his throat but was cut off by Kirishima slapping a hand over his mouth, and cradling his head, "I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry. Please be quiet. It's okay. It's over. It's okay now. I'm sorry."

Bakugou dug his fingers roughly into the dirt below him; pain was the only thing he could feel. Tears leaked through his scrunched eyed and Bakugou realized, 'Oh fuck, I'm gonna be sick'. He slapped his friend's hand away from the mouth and tuned his head to the side to gag wetly onto the ground, bringing up thin streams of his meager dinner that night along with the burn of stomach acid and bile.

The sharp pain in his shoulder was starting to receded a bit, only to be replaced with the knife in his side that the muscles around his broken ribs contracting as he retched weakly. Bakugou let out a pathetic whimper before collapsing forwards into Kirishima. The later let out a noise of surprise, and Bakugou's face burned with embarrassment. This was so out of character; so pathetic. Weak. Pathetic.

Kirishima ran his hands through Bakugou's hair, "I'm so sorry, Bakugou." He was exhausted. Whatever adrenaline Bakugou's body was desperately holding onto, left him the moment his shoulder was relocated. For a moment, Bakugou thought he might fall asleep right then and there. The dirt below him and his friend's chest was suddenly so comfortable. Maybe he could just- Suddenly there was a blast far away, and Bakugou looked up to see a mushroom cloud of dirt reach up towards the sky, birds flying away in a hurry to get the hell out of there.

"We need to get moving again," Kirishima informed, "I- I'm so sorry. But we have to get to the safe house."

Bakugou lifted his head up, wiping away stray tears and the vomit that still clung to his chin, "Don't be, 's fine. I'm fine." He tried standing up, but as soon as Bakugou's feet was underneath him again, they buckled and he was sent back towards the ground.

Kirishima grabbed him before he fell back down completely, helping to steady himself, "Woah, there buddy. It's okay."

Weakly, Bakugou slapped away the hands on him as soon as he felt that he was stable enough to stand without help, "I said I was fine, dammit," his retort barely had any bite to it, instead it sounded like an exhausted sigh. The worst thing was that the feeling was starting to return back to Bakugou's arm, the blood returning back to the limb. The numbness was gone, and it just started hurting again; throbbing in time with his jostled ribs. Bakugou tried to keep his breathing low and shallow as to not aggravate his side anymore, but he wasn't very successful, "Alright... let's go."

Kirishima's POV Bakugou was in bad shape. Kirishima cast a glance over at his friend, and even in the dimness of the moon's light it was easy to see how pale his tan skin was, how sweat glistened off of it and stuck his spiky hair to his forehead. Not only that, but Bakugou was barely keeping up any kind of fast pace - but Kirishima expected that; the fiery blonde was clearly exhausted. He broke the silence, "We'll reach the safe house soon, I promise." It was an empty promise, and Kirishima had a hunch that Bakugou knew that as well; they still weren't even sure they were going in the right direction, and they were only going at a fraction of the pace they had been holding up earlier. The other classmates had probably already made it to the safe house. Kirishima hoped, anyway. That would mean that the other pro heroes were on their way. Another explosion sounded off in the distance, and the blonde picked up his speed a bit, and Kirishima matched it. Ever since they took off again after relocating Bakugou's shoulder, Kirishima wasn't working up a sweat at all, but Bakugou's breathing was so labored, and it seemed extremely painful. Briefly, Kirishima remembered the time he cracked a rib as a kid doing something stupid - and it still hurt like a bitch even after the pain killers; he didn't even want to imagine what Bakugou was feeling. That mixed with the agony of a dislocated shoulder? Kirishima shivered at the thought, thinking, 'Nope, no thank you.'

Caught up in his thoughts, Kirishima hadn't noticed that Bakugou started lagging behind him again. He turned his head back just in time to see Bakugou, who's eyes were closed, his face scrunched up in pain, clip his bad shoulder on a nearby tree.

A hoarse yelp rang out through the air as Bakugou was sent to the ground, curling in on himself, hands gripping his left shoulder so hard it looked like his finger nails were going to start piercing the skin, "Bakugou!" Kirishima rushed over, wincing himself at just the thought of it, "Hey, buddy, you alright?" His hands anxiously hovered over his friend, not sure what he could do to make it better, to help ease the pain.

"M' fine..." Bakugou breathed into the dirt covered ground beneath him "M' fine, just... give me a moment."

Kirishima nodded, "Of course, buddy." He kneeled there for what felt like forever, just watching Bakugou writhe in pain. Kirishima couldn't get over how out of character for the blonde; he almost never showed signs of discomfort. It seemed like it was was beyond him; almost like he didn't have any pain receptors. Kirishima took a moment to actually feel glad they got split up together, knowing that Bakugou would probably just had continued hiding his injuries otherwise. It seemed you'd really had to push this kid before he would break down and admit something was wrong.

Finally, Bakugou's whimpers and desperate gasps died down, and his breathing evened out a bit, "Better?"

"Yeah," it was a lie that they both knew.

"Alright," Kirishima pulled Bakugou's good arm up and over his shoulder, "Up we go."

At this point, Bakugou was nothing more than a dead weight. His feet were barely moving, and it was more like Kirishima was just dragging him along. God, he prayed that they didn't run into Shigaraki again, or any of the other villains for that matter. Things were bad; terrible even.

Suddenly another noise rang out through the stagnant night air, but this one was different. A small shot, like the firing of a gun. Both boys looked up the direction of the sound and saw a blast of light shoot upwards towards the sky before slowly dying out. A flare! Oh thank god. It wasn't that far away from them, a little bit to the left and about another mile out. Kirishima smiled and turned to Bakugou, "Look! It's a signal. The others made it just fine." Bakugou let out a weak smile, "G-Guess the others aren't so fucking useless after all."

Kirishima let out a chuckle, glad to see the blonde was still his usual asshole self, but the laugh cut off abruptly as he watched Bakugou's eyes roll backwards, and he collapsed forwards, "Bakugou!" The only thing that kept his friend from falling flat on his face was the arm that was still draped around Kirishima's shoulder. Shit, shit, shit.

In a moment of panic, Kirishima scooped Bakugou up into his arms bridal style and started rushing towards the direction of the flare. Looking down, he took a little solace in the fact that his friend's face was smooth and calm, no longer scrunched in pain and blanketed with exhaustion; but he desperately needed help, and fast.

"Just a little longer, Bakugou," Kirishima spoke to the unconscious form in his arms, "I told you we were gonna be there soon. I promised.”

Through His Eyes - Part 6

Summary: Losing your sight after your accident was traumatic, and Jaebum’s guilt of knowing it should have been him instead creates an intricate bond between you both, as you overcome adversity and try to find your way in life again.

Genre: angst / romance

Characters: Im Jaebum x female reader

A/N: This story is emotional and raw compared to some of the content on my blog. It is in no way an attempt to glamourise or undervalue the lives of those who suffer from something similar. This story is purely fictional.

Through His Eyes will be posted every Tuesday at 10am NZST.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 [M] | 13 - FINAL

“Okay, so we just need to head this way now, Y/N.”

You whipped your head towards the voice and gripped tighter on her arm, unsure if you were hurting her or not. The sounds around you were overwhelming and you tried to compose yourself internally, worrying if you were attracting any attention with your behaviour.

It was your first day back at university and a mixture of nerves and excitement had already sent you into overdrive before your minder, Yoona, had picked you up. You were slightly dejected with having to be led around a campus you had known like the back of your hand for the past two years, but now that you were in the bustling environment, you couldn’t have been more thankful for Yoona’s aid.

“Relax Y/N, you’ll be fine. After all, English Literature is something you did a lot of during high school so your application said. I can’t see how hard it will be for you to keep up with this class.”

“I feel ridiculous though, having to start a new degree when I was already halfway through…”

“Through?” Yoona asked as your throat closed up, your mind imagining the painting studio you had spent the majority of your campus life in previously. A strong smell of clay triggered within your brain and you faltered in your step. “Y/N, are you okay?”

“Huh?” Shaking your head clear of your previous Art and Design degree, you tried to smile. “Oh, completely. So we’re near the lecture building now?”

“Almost. I thought we’d have to turn back for home just then.”

“What, why?”

“This seems to all be too much for you. Are you sure-”

“Positive, I need to get on with my life. This will be perfectly fine, come on.”

Three hours later, and you had managed to last through the introduction class for one of my literature courses, and Yoona had taken you to the enrolments centre to get your disability information and access card. Now you were sitting at a table waiting for your friends to arrive, hoping for some normalcy to ease your heightened state. Whilst a small part of your brain was congratulating you for getting around campus somewhat successfully so far, you were slowly beginning to feel despair. You couldn’t even take two steps alone by yourself, the world never having felt this big until now.

It was scary being blind in a place you once knew so well.

“Y/N! I honestly didn’t expect you back so soon!”

“Neither, I honestly thought it was a joke when Clare told us.”

You smiled towards the voices of my friends Jinah and Lian. “Why would that be a joke?”

“I guess it’s not easy for you to be here right? I mean, it must be pretty scary.”

You nodded. “Well starting a new degree is a bit nerve-wracking.”

“I meant-”

You heard them both move across from you awkwardly. “Li, drop it. We’re not here to discuss that aspect to Y/N, right?”

“You don’t have to avoid the fact that I’m blind,” you stated, feeling dejected by their wording. You hoped it was because they were as nervous as you were, and tried to relax. There was no immediate reaction though, and you reached out over the table, tapping your fingers until you knocked into your drink. Both girls gasped as the water seeped over the edge and into your lap.

“Y/N, that was so silly of you! Why would you do that?”

“You both went quiet; I was trying to see if you were still there.” You remained calm, it wasn’t the first time you had spilt something over yourself.

“Of course, we’re having lunch together. Well, we should be but you’re really wet now. Aren’t you embarrassed? Where’s your minder?”

“Jinah’s right, you shouldn’t be alone like this. God, what a mess.”

The pair continued with their exclamations, whilst you remained silent in your chair. You were confused, wondering if they had always been this superficial, or having to look at life in a different way had made you take nothing for granted and let the small stuff not affect you anymore. Despite not understanding the sudden change in the pair, you were beginning to feel more uncomfortable being in their presence the longer they made a big deal about it.

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head slowly. This seemed to cease their constant talking. You sighed and folded your arms across your chest. “Leave.”

“What?”

“It’s obvious that my lack of eyesight is hard for you both to comprehend. Further, I’m not embarrassed by small things like this, it’s a part of my life now. You two have the problem though, so you’re free to leave.”

You heard Lian scoff. “Seriously Y/N, we took time out of our schedule to meet you here today. Clare was right, you’re not the same!”

You didn’t reply, unable to form a sentence that would make you sound as strong as your previous words had been. You listened to the scraping of their chairs, knowing you were alone at the table again. Your body let out a small tremor, the suppressed emotions making it difficult to sit and remain composed. You checked your watch for the time, knowing Yoona had given you an hour before she would come back. You had assured her that your friends would take good care of you, though that clearly had been a poor assumption.

Choking back your sobs from thinking over the word friend, you had never felt this alone in your life. You were known as the adaptable one, the friend who easily meshed into any group or scene, and happily made friends wherever you went. Now, because you had lost your ability to see, things were different. You were frustrated, knowing you still were you on the inside. Further, just because you lost your sight, didn’t mean you had misplaced all the years of memories and friendship with them. You were desperate to view yourself in their eyes, wondering what exactly about you made you seem different. You gripped the table edge then, hoping that Yoona would arrive soon. Admittedly, the wetness of your pants was bothering you, and adding greatly to your discomfort.

You managed to calm down enough to give Yoona a call, hoping she would be able to assist you to go home. Her phone, however, kept switching to the unavailable message, and your mind started to race, wondering what or who could help you. Your Mum came up as the most obvious solution but you shook away the thought, knowing if your first day had gone this rocky, she’d never let you back out the door again. Anxiety began to creep up from the pit of your stomach, and you felt queasy, your immediate need now being to make it to the bathroom.

Trouble was, you had no idea where it was.

You gathered your bag clumsily and reached inside for your guide cane, clicking it out to its full length once you had it out and stood up. You then raised your hand and feebly called out, praying someone would hear you. Thankfully, someone did and helped you over to the bathroom, allowing you to feel your way along the countertop before leaving you to assess your current predicament. You felt your pants and groaned that they were still damp. Cupping your hands under the faucet that you had managed to find, you waited for the sensor to catch your hands, unexpectedly getting sprayed with more water. You cursed, reaching into your pocket for your phone again.

“Why won’t she answer?” you questioned softly and contemplated calling your Mum. It was then that you heard the bathroom door open and footsteps entered. You tried to angle yourself away, feeling ashamed at how you must look to them. There was a small giggle and you lowered your head further.

“Don’t laugh; those taps have sprayed all of us before. She’s blind, she can’t help it.”

You stood there whilst they used the bathroom, and then when they came closer, you tried to smile. “Could you please tell me the name of this café?”

“It’s C4, do you need any help?”

“Thanks, do you think you could help me outside the building?” you continued, trying to battle away your ever-increasing anxiety. The truth was you wanted out. You needed to escape this hellish experience, but you knew you couldn’t do it alone. Despite the initial comments, they both were kind enough to escort you to the exit and after thanking them, you pulled your phone out again. Lowering your head, you rehearsed what you would say to your Mother, your mood darkening at thinking how poorly your first attempt of returning to normalcy had been. I guess I need to accept my goals are too big for who I am right now.

Your phone went off in your hand and you jumped at the sudden vibration, scrambling to make sure you didn’t lose it as you fumbled to push talk. “Help me!”

“Where are you?!” Jaebum asked and you felt so relieved to hear his voice. You could hear that his breathing had increased and yet the sound seemed to relax you further. “Y/N!”

“I’m at university and everything has gone terrible. My minder won’t answer her phone and I’m completely alone outside of a café.”

“What’s the name of the café?”

“C4, it’s near the English department. But I’ll call my Mum-”

“I’m already heading to my car. Don’t move, I’ll be there soon.”

The phone disconnected and you obeyed his instructions, shifting about slowly on your feet as you waited. Holding onto your cane for support, you remained standing still for an immeasurable time, until you smelt a familiar perfume coming closer. You moved towards it somewhat recklessly, hoping that Jaebum would be the only person in the vicinity to wear it. A hand soon slipped into yours and you began to cry with relief.

“I told you to stay still!”

“I knew it was you,” you told him despite your emotions and allowed him to lead you away from the campus, and all the way to his car. You hopped in and relaxed into the chair, listening as he soon sat down beside you. It was then that you panicked over who Jaebum was and gasped noisily. “Oh my god, why did you come here?!”

“You needed me!”

“Jaebum, you’re famous! You’ll get recognised!”

He sighed heavily. “I took measures to make sure I didn’t stand out too much. Regardless, how could I not come for you? Now explain to me in full what happened.”

You did as he asked, and when you finished telling your events, you hung your head dejectedly. “I guess I can’t return to university after all.”

“Why can’t you?” he asked softly reaching for your hand. “You’re too smart to be cooped up, Y/N/N.”

You blinked, realising the way he shortened your name was new. It felt good to hear him relax with how he called you. “Did you just give me a nickname?”

“Isn’t that what friends do? Give nicknames, listen and help, and drop their entire schedule when needed?”

“Jaebum!”

“Why not try giving me a nickname too then?”

“Okay, I choose irresponsible.”

“I choose to ignore that choice.”

“Idiotic.”

The car engine started and Jaebum pulled the car out of its park. “Well, my manager will agree there. But it doesn’t sound good, and it’s definitely not a nickname.”

“Oppa?” You teased and he went silent. “Hey, that was a joke!”

“Oh, so calling Mark that is fine, but not me?”

“Eh, oppa seems so, so-”

“Correct?”

“Fangirl,” you insisted and scrunched up your nose. Jaebum scoffed and you grinned. “I mean, I was, well am, a huge fan of you all, but it seems weird to call you that now.”

“So what will I be to you?”

“Everything,” you blurted out, feeling your cheeks redden deeply at the slip of tongue. Jaebum didn’t respond immediately and then you felt the car spin on itself quickly, disorientating you a little. “What is going on?”

“I need to show you something. It might give you some confidence to take control of who you are.”

You became curious; wondering how today had gone from disaster to complete comfort within such a short space of time. Smiling, you knew it was because Jaebum had become someone who you wanted to do everything with.

He accepted who you were regardless of your eyes.

_________________

[Part 7]

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

What Is Quarantine Theatre?

This is a big question, and one that many people are currently trying to answer:

How can we make and perform theatre from our current states of quarantine and extreme social distance?

I’ve seen and heard this topic explored all over the place, particularly over the past two weeks, as we all look forward into a summer likely to leave theaters across the country (and the world) with nothing but well-lit ghosts.

I’ve personally seen this question posed by:

The Dramatists Live (hosted by Joey Stock, Amanda Green, and Christine Toy Johnson weekly)

Lauren Gunderson on her Howlround TV show (excellent, by the way!)

Ken Davenport in his blog

Multiple Artistic Directors of professional theaters

The heads of several University Theatre Departments

Teaching Artist friends and colleagues

And several quarantine-specific online creator groups

And if that’s just what I’ve seen - without specifically searching on this topic - I imagine that theatrical people everywhere are looking for these same answers.

So, what are people coming up with?

Is It Theatre Or Film?

The first aspect of Quarantine Theatre that everyone has questioned is:

Can it be done live successfully, or must it be previously recorded? And does that negate its qualification as “theatre”?

Let’s look at some definitions of theatre:

The activity or profession of acting in, producing, directing, or writing plays.

A play or other activity or presentation considered in terms of its dramatic quality.

Entertainment in the form of a dramatic or diverting situation or series of events.

By these definitions, I would undoubtedly say yes - Quarantine Theatre over the internet qualifies as “theatre.”

However, I would also like to point out that the second and third definitions could easily apply to most of what we have separately deemed “film” and “television.” TV and film are, essentially, their own subcategories of theatre, for which we have created purposeful distinctions.

With that in mind, where do we draw the (somewhat arbitrary) line in our Quarantine Theatre between the genres of theatre and film? And should we?

Things to consider:

Was it recorded, either in part or in total?

Was any part of it performed live online?

Was it directed as a play or a piece of film?

Was it rehearsed as a play for live performance, or rehearsed to be filmed in multiple takes?

Was it edited before release?

Clearly, the lines can begin to blur very quickly, which seems to be making some theatre-creators uncomfortable and anxious.

But I don’t think it should!

Yes, theatre has always distinguished itself in the non-coronavirus world as the “live medium,” and it absolutely should. But we’re all also trying to make art and tell stories with the tools we have at our disposal, and there is nothing wrong with that.

No matter how we qualify these performances, they all fall under the umbrella definitions of “theatre,” and the work is therefore valid and should be celebrated.

How Can Live Performance Work?

I knew that creatives were - well - creative, but I am impressed with the amount of unique creativity that is being applied to online theatrical forms in order to allow them to be live.

Theatre people really are the best.

So, what kinds of online live performance are possible?

Before I answer that, I do want to point out two very important things that many people seem to be forgetting:

We have been streaming live theatre for decades, from the Tony Awards broadcast, to the live cable musical presentations, to live opera streams, and more! The concept as a whole isn’t new, although there are more considerations now than ever before.

Watching recordings of live theatrical performances is still watching theatre. Perhaps you aren’t in the same room and you therefore aren’t getting the full experience, but you are still watching a piece of theatre. And major organizations - Lincoln Center, the National Theater, the Kennedy Center - have been airing filmed theatrical events for years!

But what about in the age of Quarantine Theatre?

Here’s some of what I’ve seen and heard discussed by colleagues, friends, college students, and other professionals in the field:

Play Readings - Getting people to sit on video chat and read a script cold isn’t much different than getting them to do the same thing in your apartment. And as long as you’re prepared for the slight delay in sound and don’t attempt to overlap dialogue, it apparently works very well.

Zoom Plays - This is a blossoming new genre, which I find fascinating. Just as plays were specifically written and adapted for the medium of radio with all its perks and limitations, something similar is now happening with Zoom. These can be plays about events taking place over the internet, or even plays about people in remote locations. I can’t wait to hear more about this genre as it develops.

Video Chat Adaptation - It seems people are getting very creative at finding ways to make it seem as though people in distinct squares on a screen are in the same space. I’ve heard of this being done with a stage manager/producer admitting and removing people from the video chat as they enter and exit scenes. Or to distinguish two locations, using a certain color in the background or the lighting. And even giving illusions of proximity by passing props out of your screen to have the other actor pick up their own version of that prop in their screen. Super cool.

Live Emceeing - Some events, and TV shows that are normally live, are having an emcee or host that is presenting live, but incorporating pre-recorded material as well. Think of the Hamilton cast on Some Good News - they pre-recorded the song, but John Krasinski remained live.

Using Tracks - Although music cannot be played live over video chat to be sung along with, people are getting very creative in singing to tracks in multiple locations. Sally Murphy and Jessie Meuller did this with a non-simultaneous duet of “If I Loved You” over a Zoom call. And dancing to tracks can be done in multiple locations fairly easily as long as the tracks are synced across all the screens.

Pre-Recorded - And, of course, prerecorded material being streamed - even with live conversation being held online via YouTube or Facebook - has been popular with many theaters over the past few weeks. And I think this is a practice that is likely to continue and to grow.

And these are just some of the ideas I’ve seen and heard!

So, is it doable? Absolutely.

Is it new and different? Yep!

And is that bad? Not in the least.

Resilience

Civilizations rise and fall, but the tradition of theatre persists.

We’ve always found a way, and Quarantine Theatre will be no exception. Let’s celebrate creativity and enjoy as much of our art form as possible, even as it looks and feels a little different.

Happy creating, everyone!

Stay safe, stay healthy, stay home!

1/31/20: Rough Landing.

   It’s been a good while since I've accessed this blog. I’m hardly active on my main Instagram where it counts, why would i be good at maintaining a blog on the side I guess(?) 

   Quick note, after spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to morph this tumblr into a simple yet effective and functional blog, I’ve come to the conclusion that I know absolutely NOTHING about computers or coding. This is bad. Forget trying to create a functional informative blog, how am i gonna successfully create and maintain a host space for SFG when that time comes?

   SFG, That comic iv’e been talking about for years now. YES, the comic is still in progress. YES, it’s not finished some couple odd years after it should have been. I have my reasons but sometimes they feel more like they might be just excuses. I can’t tell anymore. Here goes, bit of a long one. 

I currently work 2 jobs. One part time and one full time. As you can imagine, this takes up a massive amount of my time and energy. Especially my full time job, working overnight, which leaves me absolutely drained and asleep for most of the day. Bad. 

Life happens. If it’s not working or sleeping, its running errands, family engagements and obligations, upkeep around the apartment, keeping myself fed. It’s amazing how much of a burden cooking a whole ass meal actually is. All of this takes up about 80% of my downtime. Maybe I’m just bad with time management.

I am my own worst enemy. I struggle immensely with a lot of internal issues. There’s no reason to get into the details, but i’m a person who struggles daily with a stupid amount of self esteem issues in almost every aspect of my life. And at their worst, they are CRIPPLING. so much so, that I recently went through a 6 MONTH slump losing confidence in my art and my dream. 6 months of my comic and drawing tools to collecting dust. This was a major, MAJOR blow. Setting back a comic already behind by 2 YEARS for an additional 6 MONTHS.

I am a one man team. This one is probably a bit obvious, but I’m the brains and the brawn behind the whole comic. I do the rough drafting, paneling, layouts, sketching, inking, editing, scripting. on a given workday, I spend a whopping 4 to 5 hours actually awake and able to accomplish my daily activities. Thanks, overnight job. Like i said before, most of this time is spent maintaining my living space and keeping myself fed and ready to return to work. On a day where I work both jobs? FORGET IT. There is no free time, just one job straight to another with a nap in between. This makes trying to squeeze the many facets of creating a comic HARD, and forces me to pick and chose what I can really focus on in a given day.

   What about my days off? See complaint #2. Look, all of this really falls on me and my decision to pursue creating a long form comic. I knew what I was getting into, yes. And I’m aware it won’t get any easier, at least for a long time if at all. 

   Within the first month of 2020 alone, a lot of very big and very scary personal things have happened to me. This year is going to be difficult. Very hard decisions are going to be made, and massive changes are going to take place. Neither of which I’ve ever been good at coping with. But sometimes change is unavoidable and needed. And some of these changes and decisions are things I've been running from and can’t escape anymore tbh. More on that on in a later post, as this one has ran on for too long and people don’t like to read long things, I know.

   For the time being, things are moving along. The comic is slowly crawling to completion, and (Here’s that estimated deadline I ALWAYS give and FAIL at delivering on) I’m HOPING to have the comic fully finished, edited, and out the door by mid to late August. Don’t quote me.

  If you took the time to read any of this, thank you and that means a lot considering I probably wouldn’t even read this massive thing myself. I owe you the best work I’m capable of producing. And no matter what happens to me or where I end up, SFG will continue no matter what. It has to. Lastly,

 Pergatory still lives.

Cleared for Duty - Chapter 2

Have you read chapter one?

Chap Summary:  Bucky lets his temper get the better of him and things go too far in the final assessment.  Dr Edwards has been holding out on the team, hiding skills that would rival Black Widow behind a pristine white lab coat.After they face off, Bucky is forced to assess himself and he’s not too happy about a realisation lurking in his subconscious.

Warnings:  Continued violence, self-hatred, anguish, and language from the first chapter.

A/N:  I know Edwards’ skills are extreme but I wanted to play her as a bit of a wild card and possibly throw her in a mission with Bucky later in the series.  I envisioned her fighting style to be a hybrid between X-Men Mystique and Black Panther.

The Beatdown

The Doc was quick, I’ll give her that.  The basic blocks were effortless for her, even when I pushed her on the strength aspect, she adapted the blocks adding twists and flicks to her movement so she was more carrying the momentum away rather than stopping it.  Her motions were smooth, fluid – like water, and she was graceful.  All this I noticed at the back of my mind because I was solely focused on my own movements.

The more advanced blocks had her switching her stances almost as if she was dancing, shifting her centre of gravity as needed.  She was flawless and it infuriated me.

Overstepping my own balance gave her an opportunity to parry from a block where she deflected the metal arm across my body so easily it was like I was a child.  She dug me sharply in the ribs just under the join between my own flesh and the arm.  Of course she knew my weak points, she knew everything about me and the infernal contraption I relied upon to do my job.

I hissed at the pain that bloomed under the skin, and she smirked.

The assessment requirements didn’t state that candidates should strike if they could during the first phase but it didn’t say they couldn’t.  Maybe she was showing off, maybe she did it to unnerve me.  If that was the case, it worked, not that I needed any pushing down that path – ever since we met she always seemed to have me on the back foot.

We paced, breathing a little too heavily from our exertions.  I’d gone harder on Edwards than any of the others.  I guess maybe that’s what Steve had been worried about when he tried to switch her with Maria Hill.  She acquitted herself more than adequately however.  In fact, she was better than all of the other’s I’d had with maybe the exception of the huge guy.

The Doc shook out her arms before picking up the rubber knife.  This was going to be interesting.  I couldn’t help but wonder what she could do with a blade now having seen her undeniable prowess.

The knife looked comfortable in her hand despite her grip being too light.  I’d be able to take that from her and then it’d be game over.

“Are you ready?”  I asked when she stood before me again.

She bowed lightly, a respectful reflex of her martial arts training.  I did the same.  It was only right that we were civil, despite the burning in my veins that told me I had to take her down.  

She moved her arms gracefully, legs shifting into a familiar stance I’d seen once already today.

My first assessment. The thin wiry man who’d been too eager to show off.  Were the two connected?  It would make sense if they were.  Was I the reason he’d been so desperate to prove a point, showboating to get the better of me because he knew his girl hated my guts?  Was she his girl?  I couldn’t remember seeing them together but then again I tried to avoid her as much as possible, it would be easy to miss something like that.

And here she was now, in all her glory, doing for herself what her man couldn’t achieve.  This was her lesson to me, to show me that I didn’t scare her, that she was in control, she’d defend his honour against me.  Her aim was clear; to make me look stupid.

Acid rose in my gut and I actually felt angry.  Seriously?  She was going to make this whole assessment all about the animosity between us?

I nodded, ready to begin. Ready to have this shit over and done with.  Ready to retire to my room and not come out for days.

It began simply enough, a few testing blows that had me blocking lightly, like she was getting the feel of me and how I fought.  Then suddenly she settled into herself and she struck purposefully, my blocks leading to parries that she would in turn block and open me up for a sharp dig to a vulnerable pressure point.

Her fingers were precise, each time she struck yielded pain for me and there wasn’t a thing I could do other than not parry when I blocked.  She kept hold of the knife easily enough despite my efforts to take it from her though she didn’t use it to great effect, almost like she knew I wanted it and would go for it at every opportunity.

She was smart and calculating but when an opportunity to take the knife next arose I ignored it, instead getting under her defences with a strike to the abdomen that pitched her back and onto the ground.  She rolled smoothly, finishing in a defensive crouch, gasping hard against the pain I knew I’d caused but her eyes never left mine.  Focused and predatory, she was like a damn cat.

We took our positions again, ignoring people talking around the edges of the mat.  This time she didn’t hold back.

She actually threw the fucking knife at my face and lunged straight after.  I caught it out of the air before it hit me but it was too late by then.  Her knee connected high up on my chest, the force slamming me down against the ground where she knelt on top of me, her left knee pinning my right shoulder and her right leg stretched out down the metal arm with her foot pinning the wrist. Her fists were poised to strike but she didn’t.

There was chatter on the periphery of my focus.

Her face was smooth and calm but her eyes were wild.  She was either furious or…

I tried to buck her off once but couldn’t quite manage it.  Blade forgotten on the mat by the metal hand, I gripped her ankle and forced her leg up, shoving her off so hard she was forced to flip back onto her feet. So much in control of her movements it was almost lazy the way she landed.

I blessed the strength in that metal arm briefly, then I was up and going for her, anger clouding my judgement.  I should have known the assessment was over.  It had been over before we took our positions after I first struck her, but we were both too riled up to notice.  Everyone else had finished and they were all watching us go at it like a pair of prize fighters.

Veronica continued to break me down with tactical strikes to my pressure points, once she even dug her knuckles into the sensitive flesh between my collar bone and the metal shoulder of me left arm.

I snarled through the pain.

Gritting my teeth, I caught her leg when she tried to follow through with a knee to my groin.  She grabbed the collar of my suit with both hands and hopped up, pushing her other foot against my chest where she used all her strength to wrench her caught leg free of my grip.  Throwing herself backwards in a graceful flip.

I had to admit I was a little surprised, I thought I had control of her but she’d thwarted me again.

Things were getting too heated and too personal but I didn’t care.  She was taking everything I threw at her.  I held little back.  And she was giving the same, bringing pain in places I never thought I was vulnerable.

We were both tired, me from several hours exertion and her from giving me everything she had.  Eventually she went for what would have been a killing move if she’d had a weapon.  It began with a kick to my inside thigh lifting to a kick to the head, which she knew I would duck.  Instead of following through she brought her leg back, hooking it around my neck and would have used my own body weight to roll me into a choke hold I would have had little hope of escaping without the strength of the serum and my prosthetic arm.

Had she landed the move, my neck would have been crushed between her calf and thigh, and the rest of my body opened up for attack.  A knife to the heart would have been the perfect finish, if she had one.

As it was, I saw the hook kick coming and threw myself forward, taking her down with me.

She struggled, naturally, but I pinned her to the mat between my legs so I was sat on her hips. Both of her wrists in my metal hand, held viciously above her head with my right hand drawn back in an aborted punch.

We were both soaked in sweat, chests heaving.  My fury had gotten the better of me but I hadn’t completely lost control.  I had held back on some things at least but I knew I’d fucked up when I heard people talking around us.

I looked up to find fifty-five people staring at me, a mixture of shock and awe on their faces. Steve looked pissed but he didn’t say a word, only shook his head disappointedly.

The sound of laughter brought my focus back to the woman beneath me.  She was laughing in between gasping breaths, her eyes fixed on mine.

I frowned angrily. This shit wasn’t funny.  I could have seriously hurt her.  She’d successfully goaded me into a dangerous fight and now she was laughing about it.  Unbelievable.  I let her go with a humph.

She grinned, rubbing her wrists before laying both hands softly atop my thighs.  It was difficult to tell if her face was red from the fighting or if she had just blushed, but the slow blink and heavily lidded gaze that followed it pulled at something in my gut that shouldn’t even have been there.

Frowning more deeply, I got up.  Not bothering to help her to her feet, I stormed out of the studio and hit the showers.

 It’s safe to say I was raging, but there was also something else.  The tight pressure against my groin guard was unwelcome.

That’s so fucked up.

Sure, she was beautiful but she hated me and the feeling was (is) mutual, especially now.  And she’s taken – that wiry-looking guy from assessment one.

Since when did that factor in?  You don’t like her.  End of story.  I told myself.

I let the water run over my body as I calmed myself down.  Steve had been right.  I should have let him swap Maria onto my list instead but I hadn’t thought it would affect me this much.

The heavy, wet slap of bare feet in the shower room told me I wasn’t alone.  I didn’t need to look to know who.

“You wanna tell me what all that was about?”  Steve said running the shower next to mine.

“Not really.”

“You’re gonna have to talk it out eventually.”

I didn’t reply.  I knew he was angry with me but was making the effort to be diplomatic because he knew that anger would only be met with stubbornness.  We knew each other well, and though I’d changed more than I liked, he hadn’t.  He was still the same caring, kind, selfless punk-ass kid, he just had a bigger body now.

“I don’t get it, Buck. I really don’t.”  Steve scrubbed under his arms.  “What did she do to make you hate her so much?”

“She started it by hating me.  Why don’t you ask her.”  I turned my back on him, still not bothering to open my eyes.  The water felt good.  It was hot, just how I liked it.

“I have.”  He said matter-of-fact.

“And?”  It interested me more than I’d care to admit.

“Oh, no you don’t.” He half laughed in disbelief. “You don’t get to hear her story and keep yours to yourself.

“Fine.”  I huffed and snagged the body wash I’d hung on the tap. “I know enough, I don’t need to know more.”

I knew Steve was trying to draw me out with the temptation of information.  He knew I liked control, information and knowledge was one form of control I could easily achieve, if only I’d trade the information with him.

Nope.  Not doing it.

I’d had a moment earlier where I wasn’t totally sure how I felt.  There was something underneath the constant resentment I felt towards Dr Edwards, something that threw everything into a different light.  I was definitely keeping that to myself.

We showered in silence for the remainder of the time, and when we were getting changed back into our regular clothes Steve stopped, leaning against the lockers.

“You know she completely kicked your ass, right?”

“Go fuck yourself.”  I scoffed.

Snorting out a short laugh, he pulled on his trainers and left me to my thoughts.

The dawning of a realisation isn’t necessarily a freeing experience.  Sometimes it’s painful as hell.  I should know.

Of course I knew she’d kicked my ass.  That delicate and intelligent Doctor had just flipped my world right upside down. Everything that had happened to me to make me the killing machine I was and the man I am now had been picked apart by the smooth motion of her body and the sharpness of her strikes.  I was weak, emotionally, physically… well maybe not physically but I was vulnerable.  She’d shown me that.  Shown me how to improve.  She’d always shown me how to be better, how to make the most of what I had.  Right back to the beginning when I’d come with Steve for the first time and she’d just listened when I’d told her things about my past.

I hadn’t realised it then but I’d opened up.  The words I’d said to her then.

I can’t trust my own mind.

I hadn’t had the arm then. My old one had been blasted off by Iron Douche and his chest ray of death.

She’d been so intuitive that I felt like she knew me already, and if she could see that far into my soul then she knew I was rotten to the core.  Could she read the pages of that little red book in the lines on my face or the harrowing memories that glazed my eyes over?  Could she look at me and see my death count?  The idea of that made me ashamed.

If I thought about it hard enough, I could pinpoint the exact moment I began to shut her out and it was right there, on the exam table, when she was helping Dr Harvey assess the damage to my shoulder.  I felt like I could trust her, felt like I could let her in.  But that was dangerous.  New things – dangerous.  Opening up – dangerous.  Allowing yourself to be vulnerable – dangerous.  Getting close to someone who could potentially be your next weakness – dangerous and stupid.

I can’t trust my own mind.

I had shut the feelings down, distanced myself, called her by her formal title, and when she did the same, I convinced myself that it was because she disliked me or worse, she didn’t trust me.  

After the assessments today, seeing how hard she went at me, I knew for sure that dislike had taken root. I’d put it there and kept it there so I only had myself to blame but it hurt a little more than it should.  Much more than it should, actually.  I couldn’t afford to let the feelings back in but I could at least acknowledge them for what they were.

I did like her, was attracted to her – actually that was the easiest part to explain.  The rest… well, that was all jumbled up with the emotional baggage I carried around with me.  There was too much of it to sort through to get it all straightened out, even with the therapy.

I guess it didn’t matter now anyway.  The damage was done and I’d just have to live with things the way they were.  I’d still keep my distance, for an easy life.  That’s all I wanted really, for things to be easy for a change.

Continue to chapter three >>>