#Our Thing Volume 2 - The Inner Circle (Part 1 + Part 2)

[evanchantingpeters]

How I met Evan Peters (Fanfic - Part 4)

Pairings ─ Evan Peters x Y/N (fem reader)

Genre ─ Smut/fluff, Romance

Summary ─ In the whirlwind Hollywood world, Evan and Y/N are flipping the script. With a filming delay for Evan’s Tron scenes, ten days become four tantalising months. Taking the leap, Evan proudly introduces Y/N as his girlfriend at the Emmy Awards. As they dazzle at the afterparty, they’re also plotting an escapade. Away from the flashing cameras of paps and the gossiping spectators, they’re stealing away to a secluded beach by the venue for a night of pleasure and fluids...

Warnings ─ Swearing, public sex, sex on the beach, oral (both receiving), vaginal fingering, overstimulation, bondage, mild BDSM, nipple teasing, spanking, dry humping, vaginal sex, woman on top, doggie, extra smutty (per usual, lol)

Read Part 1 here | Read Part 2 here | Read Part 3 here

Word count ─ 5.5K

18+ This is ADULT content. I’m not your mummy to supervise your net access. If you’re a minor, do NOT read!

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarise my content.

You and Adria breeze into her bedroom like the dynamic duo of snack time, armed with a mega-sized bowl of popcorn, a killer cheese platter, and a tray of toasty beverages. Adria’s sporting that cheeky grin, like she’s about to drop the meme of the century, and you can’t help but giggle, knowing the night’s about to get lit.

As you step in, you’re met with a sight straight out of a Pinterest board. There’s this epic mound of duvets and pillows stacked up in the middle of the floor, like a cosy fort waiting to be conquered. And there they are, the squad – Val, Natasha, and Mirka – all huddled together, shuffling the cards like they’re running their own underground casino.

“Alright, girlies…gather up,” Adria hollers, flexing her sparkling engagement ring, and you both flop onto the comfy chaos, laughing. Before long, popcorn is flying like spring rain as you jump into the card game like you were born for this moment. You’re personally slinging drinks, channelling your inner barista at a hipster café, except these are mugs of hot cocoa and herbal tea, not fancy cocktails.

The room is buzzing with energy as the banter bounces back and forth like a ping-pong match, touching on varied topics—from eyebrow tweezers, acne, holiday destinations, and wedding flowers for Adria to immigrant visas, AI, wars, and recycling methods. Mirka’s laugh is loud enough to wake the dead, and Val’s one-liners are so on point they should come with a fire emoji. Natasha, meanwhile, is playing it cool, but you can practically see the competitive flames dancing behind those Insta-filtered eyes every time she slaps down a winning hand.

“Nash, why so quiet?” Mirka teases with a cheeky smile, giving Natasha a playful nudge.

Natasha lowers her head, her fingers bending and flicking nervously over a card. “I know we’re here to celebrate Ad and Tommy tying the knot since it’s only been a week—”

“No need to keep up the act if something’s bugging you, Nash. Speak up,” Adria urges, gently squeezing her friend’s hand.

Natasha lets out a heavy sigh. “About this depersonalisation…derealisation…you name it…thing I mentioned before,” she admits, her voice shaking.

Val stuffs a hefty handful of popcorn into her mouth before chiming in. “What about it?” she inquires nonchalantly.

“About feeling like someone’s cranking up the volume on your own existence,” Natasha mumbles, her gaze flitting anxiously around our circle. “Suddenly, every mundane, everyday sensation feels way too real—the scrape of the toothbrush bristles against your teeth, the movement of your tongue, the flare of your nostrils with each breath…even the blink of your eyes almost echoing in your ears.”

Adria’s eyebrows are drawn together as she rubs her temples and squints her eyes as if trying to wrap her head around the concept. “Your Latina is too stunned to speak with your Yapanese, Nash,” she quips at the confession, though she immediately reconsiders and hastily raises her hand in apology. “Sorry, I don’t know what got into me… Go on—it happened again?” she mutters, a hair tie dangling from her mouth as she wrestles her hair into a messy bun.

“Yea… today morning, actually,” Natasha is quick to respond hoarsely, her voice cracking. “It’s like you’re watching yourself do something, but it doesn’t feel like you, you know? It’s this out-of-body experience, and suddenly, bam! The curtain gets violently ripped back, exposing the raw, unfiltered reality of living, breathing, feeling every damn twist and turn.” 

She pauses to draw a sharp breath before carrying on. “And then the ontological Wh- questions start flooding in, like, ‘What am I doing? Who am I, really? Why am I in this room, in this building, in this world, in this endless universe? Where will I go after I die?’ They crash into you like a cosmic truck—the idea of the soul being immortal and stretching on and on and on and on and on into eternity.” 

You’re glued in, hanging onto every letter as your friend bares her soul, your gaze stuck to her. Your fingers running through her hair are soothing enough to serve as her lifeline in moments like this. “Sometimes, our minds pull serious pranks on us, Nash,” you begin, your voice laced with sage-like wisdom, “especially when anxiety, an existential crisis, or just some old trauma is thrown in the mix. It’s like a defence mechanism, trying to shield us from emotions that could totally wreck our sanity.”

Natasha blinks rapidly as she shrugs you away, still grappling to make sense of it all. “But why? It hits me outta nowhere…when I least expect it...like, when I’m just chilling…Not even my therapist can solve the riddle.”

You take a moment, as if you’re mulling it over and finding the right words to put it. “Mhm, think of it like a mental reboot,” you explain, your voice like a smooth jazz track as you give her arm comforting rubs. “Your brain’s like ‘Whoa, hold up!’ and creates this buffer zone, making you feel a bit detached and dissociated. It’s like hitting pause to recalibrate and protect itself.”

After a long pause, Natasha sniffles and rubs her eyes, then nods. “Alright, I���ll tuck that away in my brain’s little filing cabinet for now, no biggie. Enough of me cosplaying Courage the Cowardly Dog, freaking out over every little thing. Let’s chat about something else,” she urges, clapping her hands together before taking a giant gulp of hot chocolate and munching on a marshmallow, whipped cream all over her mouth.

Just as the vibe gets brighter, your phone lights up with a WhatsApp notification. You glance down to see a message from Evan, and your heart does a little marathon in your chest—ground breaking reaction, Y/N—as you open it. (Cue the dramatic music!) The text is concise and sweet, but it’s the attachment that sends your head spinning — a VIP invite to the Emmy Awards afterparty, followed by another cute message, reading:

I’d love to have you there with me🥰

Shock paralyses you as a tsunami of questions smashes you. Is he asking you to be his arm candy or is this just a friendly gesture?

Needing a breather to let it all sink in, you pull the classic “gotta use the restroom” move and sneak away to a quiet corner of the house. The phone feels like a brick in your hand as you summon the courage to call Evan, your heart doing backflips just at the thought.

And just like that, he picks up almost instantly. “Hey, Y/N? How’s your sleepover?” His velvety voice—a familiar anchor in the storm of your head—flows through the line with a tinge of concern.

You gulp down a shaky breath, trying to regulate the rapid fluttering you feel in your throat. “Uh, all good... I mean... What’s with the invite?” you blurt out, involuntarily scratching your head and scrunching your nose in confusion. Meanwhile, you pace in the room like a caged tiger.

“I couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have with me and is not a blood relation,” he replies confidently, his determination practically oozing through the phone.

His statement hits you like a stampede of elephants in your stomach, robbing you of words as he barrels ahead with more enthusiasm than a kid at Disneyland. “It’ll be a night to remember, I promise.”

As your nerves begin to ease and excitement creeps in, you can’t help but wonder about your role at the event. “Congrats on your nomination, but, uh, may I ask, what exactly am I doing there?” you spill out, rightfully so, trying to sound casual despite the tornado swirling in your mind. “I mean, we’re not exactly best buds like you’re with Jeff, for example.”

But Evan, ever the smooth talker, doesn’t miss a beat. “You’ll be my plus one, my girlfriend,” he utters, his voice soft but resolute, like he’s making a declaration. Your breath hitches in your throat at the word ‘girlfriend,’ your whole body going numb.

You’re biting your lip so hard you’re practically taste-testing them, fists clenched and excitedly pounding against your thigh like it’s a drum solo. Girlfriend? You? At the Emmys? It’s like a scene ripped straight out of a rom-com, and you’re half-convinced you’ve somehow stumbled into an alternate universe.

“Uh, Evan, you do realise this is gonna stir up a whole pot of drama, right?” you slur, your voice barely louder than a mouse’s squeak as you nervously fidget with the hem of your pyjamas. “I mean, your fans are gonna go full FBI on me, crafting voodoo dolls and whatnot out of envy for not picking them. And then, there’s the paparazzi… those guys will do anything for a saucy headline…”

“I totally get your mini freakout, baby, and we can hash it out tomorrow after your stayover…but seriously, why stress?” He’s quick to fire back and rationalise the situation. Despite your semi-meltdown, his voice is calm and steady like he’s discussing the weather. “Just because a bunch of people recognise me from movies or TV doesn’t mean I’ll be sneaking around in a trench coat and shades, dodging public outings with my lover. I’ll do what makes me happy, protecting my relationship along the way, and if that means bringing my girlfriend to an event, then so be it…” He pauses for a minute before adding, “and I want it to be it.”

His words hang in the air, and for a hot second, all you hear is the relentless thud of your heart. You’re not usually one to lose sleep over what others think about you, even your nearest and dearest friends (since the idea of family has been absent throughout your lifetime), but let’s be real, the Evan situation is completely uncharted waters.

Following another deep breath, you finally muster up a response that you’ve been meaning to let out since you got the texts (but your overanalysing would never). “I want it too, Evan.” 

There’s a momentary hush, and you swear you can hear him doing a victory dance or something with the sound of rustling clothes in the background. Then, he lets out his signature throaty chuckle that always gets you on your knees. “Awesome! We’re gonna rock this. I’ll stick by your side, and we’ll handle this together, okay?”

You can’t help but grin at his reassurance, mindlessly twirling a lock of hair between your fingers like a schoolgirl, feeling a surge of excitement. “Yes, together. Honoured,” you reply as your heart keeps doing the happy shuffle. 

You gotta pinch yourself just to be sure you’re not stuck in some kind of matrix with Evan these past four months. Turns out, his stay in America got extended from the initial ten days thanks to some miraculous schedule reshuffling, and he’ll be shooting his scenes for Tron in Canada later this year. So, more hangout time with him, more dates…and yeah, more fucking. In his head, and apparently in his parents’ minds too—who you’re meeting soon (send help)—you’re practically official. 

And here you are now, cruising in the backseat all dolled up for the Emmys in your sparkling cocktail party dress. Evan’s looking smoking hot in his sharp tux and perfectly slick hair, making you feel like you need a paper bag to catch your breath. He’s holding onto your clammy hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish into thin air (and frankly, you’re starting to believe it). He’s giving you these adorable little kisses like he knows that your lipstick’s gotta stay put.

And to top it all off, you’ve met his stunning and bubbly sister, Michelle, and her husband. Amidst your anxiety-induced brain freeze, and out of all the phrases you could come up with to greet her for the first time, “lady in red” is all you chant to compliment her elegant red gown. Internally screaming and embarrassed, you wish you could facepalm yourself out of this world. No, but why did she serve so bad?

But guess what? She’s a massive Chris De Burgh fan and his titular song, so it’s safe to say you hit the jackpot with your accidental ice-breaker. She’s practically your biggest cheerleader now, cheering you both on as she chauffeurs you to the venue. So wholesome, you can’t even cope with it! 

The long car ride quickly morphs into a full-blown party on wheels, complete with blasting tunes and non-stop laughs. Evan’s hair has gotten hella wild lately, so he’s brought his gel along. You help him tame his mane while the chatter, mostly revolving around you, surprisingly chills you out big time. Evan keeps things snug, giving your hand a comforting squeeze or a peck on the forehead every now and then. 

At some point, you throw the ball at their court, and the couple starts dishing out stories about themselves; how they met at some random house party, bonding over their affinity for 90s hip-hop. Before you know it, Michelle is diving into hilarious childhood tales about Evan and their brother, Andrew. Like that time Evan attempted to build a treehouse but ended up face-planting into a mud pit, or when they all suited up as superheroes and terrorised the neighbourhood. And of course, there’s Evan’s legendary Sour Patch Kids and PlayStation commercials, complete with their wild backstories.

It’s an absolute blast, and you’re soaking up every juicy detail. With Evan right by you, throwing in his own anecdotes (like the deer mounting tradition with his friends every Christmas in the suburbs, which throws everyone for a loop because not much happens in Missouri), the whole vibe is elevated. You can’t help but laugh and feel all warm and fuzzy inside, realising you’re not just meeting his family—you’re becoming a part of it.

“Feeling okay, baby girl?” Evan whispers, leaving a tender smooch on your neck, his lips like a feather along your needy skin. 

You shiver at the touch, a jolt of electricity surging through you. Nodding, you try to wrangle the rave party inside you, but it’s like herding cats. 

He rests his head on the seat, facing you, the plush cushion cradling his head in comfort. “You’re sooo beautiful and hot, Y/N,” he mouths, subtly shaking his head as if he can’t believe his luck. “I wish I could kiss and use my fingers on you the way I want,” he blabs quietly, leaning in closer, his face nestled in the crook of your neck.

“Jail time for both of us if you pull that move here…Security,” you giggle softly, and you feel him join you with his shoulders bouncing with laughter. 

“I just want you to know how I feel right now, Y/N” he sighs, looking up at you again, his bottom lip rolling over his top one in his precious puppy-eyed pout.

“Evan crying in horny,” you tease in a sultry murmur, sneaking a glance up front to make sure the couple didn’t catch wind of your banter. With a sly grin, you adjust your strapless gown, adding a touch of allure to your playful attitude.

He shoots back with a playful finger-wag in your face, accompanied by a series of rapid “ts-ts-ts” sounds, as if he’s scolding you with his own audio of strong disapproval. “Evan crying in crazy about you,” he corrects, kissing your hand, his irresistibly handsome dark eyes peering into your soul from below.

Tell me you’re a die-hard, hopeless fangirl without telling me you’re a die-hard, hopeless fangirl. Despite Evan’s nudges, you choose to stealthily station in the corner, letting him slay the red carpet. It’s his night, his moment to shine, and you’re his hype woman.

With each flash of his charming smile—sometimes lowkey and tight-lipped, other times broad and toothy—you’re a flurry of activity, your phone’s storage maxing out with snapshots and videos faster than you can say “Blow Evan”. And when he pulls out that signature eye squint and eyebrow raise at the paparazzi’s obnoxious cues, you’re melting faster than ice cream in July.

His face card never freaking declines.

As you both waltz into the party ball, it’s like you’re attracting the night’s energy, twirling around you like a confetti vortex. Your shimmering dress catches the disco lights, transforming you into a walking glitter bomb. With just the right amount of makeup and your natural long hair cascading freely, you’re primed to own the dance floor.

You spot Niecy Nash, radiant in her black velvet off-the-shoulder gown, exuding vibes like she just won the lottery. Oh wait, she did—Supporting Actress in a Limited Series or TV Movie for Dahmer. She high-fives the four of you and fits you all into a hug tighter than a Victorian corset.

Evan introduces you to everyone from the Dahmer crew and other celebrities with the same wide grin, pride, and thrill of a kid who’s just aced a test. His hand remains glued to you throughout the night, caressing along your upper body and often inching towards your ass, as if he’s marking his territory. Possessive much? Yes, but you’re not complaining; you find it fascinating and such a turn-on, especially knowing how naturally affectionate and kind he is. You feel safe in his presence, your bodies are like magnets—drawn together by some transcendent gravitational pull. His grip is firm, but he looks at you with all the heart-eyed emojis in the world, fully smitten.

Poses? Oh, you all nail them like seasoned supermodels on the runway. It’s the typical hand-on-hip, the coy glance over the shoulder, and the patented “I just won an Emmy, bow down, peasants” pose—check, check, and check. And of course, there’s Evan with his props (pipe, avant-garde sunglasses, and black tie), covered in your lipstick marks as he’s photographed with you. The ladies, led by Jessica—Niecy’s wife—even bust out a new dance move right on the spot, celebrating Niecy’s win.

But it’s not just Niecy and Jessica stealing the spotlight tonight. You find yourself mingling with Pedro Pascal, who’s looking dapper as ever in his suit, and Kieran Culkin, who’s cracking jokes faster than the champagne is flowing. You’re laughing so hard, you almost forget you’re rubbing elbows with Hollywood royalty.

As the hours drift by like sand through an hourglass, Evan’s sister and her husband say their goodbyes, inviting you both over for dinner next week. Spotting the opportunity for a minute alone, you and Evan snag in a corner booth, swaying to the loud music beats with your earplugs, kissing in between giggles, clinking glasses, eyes locked, smiles broad. 

Close enough that you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips, Evan nuzzles his nose against yours, his eyes burning into yours. His brows furrow in a silent plea, his chest swelling with anticipation as his hands delicately cup your face.

Before you can even form a coherent thought, he’s already sealing your lips with his, his tongue slowly sliding into your mouth with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

“Do you kn—?” you attempt to articulate, but he’s not having any of it; he’s a changed man in need to do unholy things with you. He silences you with another passionate kiss, a soft, desperate moan escaping his lips along the process.

“Evan,” you manage to murmur into his lips as he subtly sucks your bottom lip.

“Yes, baby,” he hushes, his lips curling into a coy smile as his grip tightens around you.

You loop your arms around his neck, tilting your head with a mischievous grin as you stare deep into his eyes. “I wanna UNO card reverse you.” 

His eyebrow quirks up in amusement, his grin turning devilish. “UNO, what? Is this sexual? Subs, please,” he taunts, giving your butt cheeks a playful squeeze, totally unbothered by any nosy onlookers. In your defence, you’re not the only guests caught in a steamy make-out sesh at close vicinity, so why not have a little fun?

“My innocent, millennial baby,” you exclaim, squishing his adorable face with a giggle. “I’m saying, now that most of the press’ gone, how about we find a comfy spot by the beach where we can be alone?” you suggest, your voice dropping to a seductive whisper as you trace circles on his chest with your fingertips. “There, I’ll shower you with kisses,” you continue, and your wetness worsens as you imagine him fucking your mouth, “and finally, I’ll suck your dick until you’re gasping for air and bust in my mouth.”

His eyes darken with desire as you unravel your plan, a low groan slipping off his lips. “Sounds like heaven. Say no more.”

The distant thump of music and the soft glow of fairy lights fades as you and Evan bolt away from the bustling venue, his hand clasped firmly in yours as the adrenaline of the escape courses through your veins. With a shared glance and a mischievous grin, you dart through the shadows like a pair of rebels on the run, laughter fizzing up like a effervescent multivitamin.

Finally reaching the secluded shoreline, you both collapse onto the soft and warm sand — a delicious contrast to the cool breeze that envelops you like a fuzzy blanket. With a cheeky smile, you straddle his lap and sense him already rubbing his rock-hard boner against your pulsating cunt.

His hands find your hips, pulling you closer as he gazes up at you with smouldering intensity. With a low squeal, you lock eyes with him, teasingly licking his bottom lip before sensually sliding your tongue over his upper lip, his pupils following your every move.

With a hungry growl, he captures your lips in a sloppy kiss, his hands roaming over your body with a feverish, almost primal, urgency. The moon hangs low in the sky, casting a seductive, almost angelic, silver sheen on the rippling water and his chiselled abs as you loosen his bow tie and unbutton his shirt.

He squeezes your thighs gently, eliciting a soft whimper from you as he begins to explore beneath the hem of your dress. His eyes are immediately drawn to your cleavage, and you feel his heart rate accelerating. You squirm underneath his touch as he starts to trace figure eights on your puffy clit, making it increasingly difficult to focus on stroking his stiff length.

His thumb brushes against the sensitive skin just above the edge of your panties, sending a tremor across your body. “Gosh, you smell so divine...like strawberries,” he huffs, his voice low and husky as he dips his tongue in your mouth, as if he’s planning to bottle your scent up and promote it as the official elixir of happiness. “As sweet as you fucking taste.”

His fingers slip beneath your panties, stroking your bare flesh with deliberate intent. “You’re already so wet for me. Can’t wait for your little pussy to take my cock?” You nod, and your mewls intensify barely muffled by his blazer as you press against his shoulder. 

He grins, knowing very well that you’re struggling with your impending screams of pleasure. “Just thinking about how amazing it’s gonna feel when you fuck me,” you manage to coo, your voice thick with lust, and he lowers your strapless dress in a single move, his hands massaging your tits in no time and with expert skill. Meanwhile, he attacks your neck with open-mouthed kisses, his hot breath igniting a wildfire of sensations in you.

Your tits nestle on his chest — the feeling of his naked skin against your hardened nipples only worsens the pool between your thighs. Gathering your strength to strike back, your hand glides to the buckle of his belt, a wicked glint in your eye as you make your move. “But first, imagine my lips wrapped around your dick…” you breathe suggestively into his ear, trailing kisses down his collarbone.

He bobs his head to the side, his teeth clamping down on his bottom lip in a futile attempt to stifle his reactions as you gradually unzip his trousers to liberate the beast hidden behind the layers of fabric.

Just as you fumble around his bulge, your lips never leaving his, a flash of car headlights jolts you. “Evan, someone might catch us,” you gasp, panicking as you shrink into a ball on top of him, frantically adjusting your dress in any which way.

He shoots a quick glance over his shoulder, instinctively pulling you closer to him—his arms a sanctuary of safety. “Chances are slim to none of anyone finding us here, especially at this hour, but…” he trails off, scooping you up his arms in one swift motion. “I don’t want my girl feeling anxious,” he adds as he wades into the cool water, the waves licking gently at his calves. He leads you to a large rock, sheltered from any potential prying eyes.

Gently setting you down in the shallows, you both burst into laughter, splashing around like carefree youth, the water lapping at your skin like an affectionate caress. With each wave that rolls over your feet, the heat between you only escalates.

Pulling his head towards yours for a kiss, you hear him groan, and it instantly sends a shot of arousal through you. Palming and teasing his clothed, overstimulated crotch, you shove your tongue in his mouth, tangling with his and repeatedly sucking on its tip—soon turning the vanilla smooch into a heated, messy kiss that drives you both nuts.

Your mouth dances over the rapid pulse on his neck that’s pumping all the more quicker against your lips. “Someone seemed a tad jealous tonight,” your voice deep with desire yet your gaze holds an lustful mischief he can’t resist. You refrain from dropping any names, curious to see if he’ll take the bait.

“No, I wasn’t, Y/N. I’m not the controlling type of boyfriend who’s gonna stalk your every move like a creepo,” he defends with a furrow forming on his brow before his hands smooth over your ass and deliver a sharp yet affectionate smack. “I know you’re all mine, my girl… my dirty little slut when I want you to be,” the syllables come out strained like he’s on the brink of losing control.

Bingo—he falls right into your playful trap. You fix at him with an intense gaze, a triumphant grin already spreading across your face. “I never said it was you, poor, naïve baby of mine,” you chirp, puckering your lips as you punctuate each word with gentle, harmless slaps and pinches to his cheek.

He shoots you a glare when you burst out laughing, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Oh, you wanna play dirty, then? I’ll show you dirty, and you’ll be sorry,” he fights back. You feel his fingers sliding along your soaked slit, applying tantalising pressure on your sore clit.

Closing your eyes, you fight the urge to indulge in your orgasm, humming, “I won’t” as you nibble on his lower lip to tone down your little sobs of delight.

“Oh, yeah? You won’t?” he exclaims, and his touch becomes immediately rougher. His fingers plunge, twirl, and scissor in and out of you with increasing fervour. Your moans crescendo to a feverish pitch, drowning out his ragged breaths. You don’t even realise he’s muttering curses under his breath as he fingers you relentlessly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Evan,” you cry out the mantra as the familiar, tingly feeling at the pit of my stomach tips you over the edge of your high.

And just like that, he withdraws his fingers from your throbbing core. His gaze flickers downwards at his hand—now all drenched and glistening with your cum—as he cups your chin, his dark eyes locking onto yours. “Take back what you just said,” he demands, his voice tinged with desire.

“I won’t. You robbed me of my orgasm,” your protest, arms crossed over your chest in mock offence.

Tilting his head, he gives you a goofy smile, his eyes focused on your mouth as his fingers trace your pouted lips.

A mischievous smirk curls up the corners of your lips as you take his thumb in your mouth, sucking it seductively. “But I have a big heart, so I forgive you,” you mutter, releasing his thumb with a tantalising pop before kneeling down in front of his bulge. Your lips glisten with the precum from his boxers as you eagerly wet them, ready for what’s to come.

Before he can even register your moves, his head drops, jaw slackening until all twenty-eight of his teeth are on full display in a crooked, pearly smile. 

Your tongue glides down the length of his cock, taking him deeper until your lips are hugging snugly around the base. He can’t quite keep up with your fervent pace, his throat constricting as a chorus of desperate groans escape him. “F-fuckkk,” he stutters, his voice rising to a whimper, “Feels so good, baby. So goddamn good.” 

His rosy lips can’t stop their blabbering, mind shrinking into a blissful void, where the only thing of significance is your talented mouth working its magic between his legs. As your tongue flicks and swirls, he buckles his legs out, his soft touch on your head tightening, fisting up your strands almost aggressively.

Your nails drag lightly down his thighs, your shoulders rising as you splutter around him, choking on the way he fills you whole while you deep-throat him.

“Got the prettiest eyes. So-so fucking gorgeous,” he rasps, gazing back down at you with a mix of awe and adoration, his pupils blown in a battling mess of love and lust as your eyes find him. 

“D-don’t stop, please, please,” he gasps, a sudden thrust of his hips causing your teeth to slightly pierce against his sensitive flesh that keeps forcing itself down your throat.

Yet, his cries are cut short by a final, guttural moan that draws itself out long and conclusive. You watch as his body locks up and his Adam’s apple bounces like crazy, his muscles as solid as the rock he leans against.

His eyes glaze over all blank before they roll back, his long lashes casting a shadow against his flushed face. With your cheeks hollowed, you bob your head slowly, letting him plummet through the tides of euphoria. 

The impulse to milk him dry of absolutely everything he has to give consumes you, but you rein it to get your revenge, so you stop. He stares down at you with eyes wide open, his breath uneven. You can’t decipher his expression as you stand back up and land mere inches from his face.

Although you’re at your full height, he still towers over you, and you swallow nervously when he scoffs.

“You think you can slide away with that one so easily, huh?” he mumbles in a low, stern tone, his breaths coming in wheezy puffs. Running a hand from your jaw down to your chest, he gropes your boobs, biting his lip as he does.

You rest over the edge of the rock, your smirk and raised brow are what you hope to be indicators of your ‘playing cool’ demeanour despite your misconduct. 

“I might be head over heels for you,” he pauses, letting out a soft groan as his fingertips brush the slimy product of your arousal on the inside of your thigh.

You settle back onto the sandy surface of the water before the rock, murmuring, “Aham?” and biting your lip, your mocking gaze fixed on him.

“But…” he continues, halting only to clear his throat as if to regain his composure. “...it irks me when you blow me so damn well and then deny me the finish.”

“Awh… how dare I, baby Evan, right?” you scowl at him playfully, puckering your lips again in feigned shock. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You feel his erection against your lower stomach as he stretches out over you to grab his floating bow tie. “I’m gonna edge you until you’re crying and begging me to let you cum. Easy peasy.” 

“I’d never beg for you–” You don’t even get to complete your sentence, and his lips collide into yours in a raw, animalistic force that takes you by surprise. You already fold (Question is: when are you not folding for Evan Peters?), even knowing you’re just getting started. 

“You were warned,” he retorts, his voice a deep, commanding growl. Each word carries a weighty timbre, as if it’s coming from the depths of his chest. He ties your wrists above your head, securing them to a small stone jutting from the main rock, leaving you completely at his mercy with no wriggle room.

His lips leave a blazing path of kisses over your cleavage down to your stomach, his hot breath tingling your skin. Spreading your legs, he hovers over you with a sly grin.

You feel his quivery breath on your inner thighs as he plants tender pecks and playful nips, teasingly close to your folds. Arching your back, your dripping pussy convulses in anticipation. He giggles at your reaction, his stare fixed on you. Without warning, his tongue starts lapping up your juices, and you squeal in pleasure.

He can’t help but groan at your taste, his cock twitching in his trousers as he shifts up, his mouth latching onto your clit, sucking and nibbling.

“Fuck!” you gasp, your hands threading into his hair. You hold his face between your legs, and you can practically sense his smirk against your flesh as electricity sparks through you.

When he starts whirling your clit with his tongue, his growls vibrating through your core, you lose your shit. You feel like coming right away as he stimulates your most sensitive spot, but he draws back. “Beg,” he commands through gritted teeth. 

“Never,” you shoot back out of breath, and that’s when he dives in headfirst. His lips suck on your clit even harder while his tongue ruthlessly slides along your slit, leaving you crying out but not yet caving. 

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms, as you squirm under his touch. But he only tightens his grip on your thigh, devouring you like he’s famished.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he chuckles, momentarily backing away to catch his breath. His tongue then alternates between tracing patterns on your pulsing nub and flicking it with his tip. Your fingers scrape at his scalp as ecstasy builds higher and higher the faster he fucks into you.

He’s so invested in pleasuring you, his tongue twisting and twirling along your gummy, slopping walls. No one has ever volunteered to lick you up, let alone enjoy it themselves and make you see stars so effortlessly. You always had to ask for it like it’s a task, and all your pussy has only known is just some spit, a cursory touch down there just to moisture the area, and all in they went.

Evan’s nose lightly nuzzles against your clit as his tongue does wonders on your sobbing, red cunt, leaving your mind all foggy. You bite down on your hand to contain your moans, but they only get higher, and you accept your fate that you won’t last long.

Not wanting to let up, he merely grunts against you, sending seismic waves through your body that cause your pussy to pulsate around his mouth.

“Evan,” you choke out, tears streaming down your eyes from how amazing he makes you feel. You circle your hips against his face, whining when he pulls his tongue out of you but squealing when he slams two long fingers deep inside, hitting right at your g-spot. 

“Say it,” he hisses against your swollen cunt, his eyes on you. Your hips jolt up, the water becoming all foamy as you splash around, thighs shaking as he licks and fingers you through your orgasm.

“Okay… ahh… okay, f-fuck…” you stammer. “Let me cum p-please… I…I… ahh… I need to please.”

And right there, when you feel drained of dignity, he jams his tongue back inside. He performs a swirling dance, coupled with clit-sucking, that makes you lose your mind, your legs growing wobbly.

“That’s my girl…” he coos. “So fucking pretty for me. Such pretty fucking sounds.”

Your earth-shattering orgasm hits you like an earthquake, and you cry out his name loudly. Your vision blurs as you fight for breath. You’re always so gorgeous when you come for him— splayed out on display, legs spread, pussy leaking, tits flowing as your chest heaves, body coated in a shimmering of sweat. The look of sheer pleasure in your darkened eyes is a sight he’ll never tire of.

He slows his tongue, gently blowing warm air on the sides of your vulva, easing you through the aftershocks of your release. It’s exactly what you need right now to calm down, to be honest. He slips his fingers out of you, bringing them up to his lips, a greedy look in your eyes as you watch him suck his fingers clean. He nearly makes a show of it, groaning before letting them pop from his mouth.

“I was so right about the sweet taste,” he praises, “almost wondering what I should do with you next.” He smirks crookedly at the way you instantly pout, letting out a soft whine, “what, baby?”

“Need you,” you sigh, smiling lazily at him. 

“Yeah?” his hand comes back between your legs, palming at your throbbing cunt. “Need what? My fingers again?” His index delves back in, but only for one thrust, your pussy fluttering around his finger as it stretches you out, “My mouth? Or something else?”

“Your cock, please!”

He chuckles, reaching up to free you from the confines of his bow tie. You react instantly and lash out at him, plunging deeper into the water, the world above suddenly muted and serene. Underwater, you open your eyes, catching a blurry glimpse of Evan’s sly grin before he propels himself towards you with strong, graceful strokes.

You feel a gush of enthusiasm as he grabs you from the waist, drawing you close. The warmth of his body goes against the cool water, sending a tremor down your spine. With a quick, smooth motion, Evan leans in, capturing your lips in a passionate sub-aquatic kiss.

The sensation is electric. Surrounded by a bubble ring, your bodies entwine as you lose yourselves in each other, the salty water mingling with the sweet heat of the kiss. His hands explore your back, touching the curves of your body in well-executed strokes that make your heart go into override.

You both swim to the surface, gasping for air but not letting go of each other. The crispy evening air clashes sharply with your heated bodies. He breaks the kiss, a teasing spark in his eyes. “So, you accept defeat?” he murmurs huskily, wiping droplets from your plump lips with a mischievous smile.

You giggle, playfully pushing him back with a splash but maintaining the hold you have on him. “Never,” you reply, eyes daring him. He responds with a deep, hearty laugh that rumbles through you before he dives back underwater.

Emerging right in front you with a wide grin, he kisses you harder, hands framing your face, his tongue dancing with yours in a fiery connection. His fingers trace your jawline before tangling in your hair, gently tugging you closer. Your pulse races, and every nerve in your body seems to come alive with his touch.

“Okay, maybe I’ll accept a little defeat on one condition…” you hesitate, smiling bashfully as you run your hands through his hair.

Reciprocating the smile, he sweeps a wet strand of hair away from your face. “What is it? What do you need?" he asks, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Tell me, Y/N...I know you want it. Don’t be shy.”

You give him another playful nudge, rolling your eyes. “My condition’s that you go full force tonight, and fuck me hard.”

His eye pupils dilate with desire, a crooked smirk forming. “Oh, rest assured I plan to,” he affirms, his voice dripping with anticipation. “Consider it a done deal my dear,” he adds, sealing the “agreement” with one last, lingering kiss.

As you both stroll back to the place Evan recently rented near the venue, the salty night swim still clings on your skin. Your laughter mingles with the gentle chirping of crickets in the distance. Semi-damp from the ocean, the night breeze brings goosebumps.

Evan’s hand is warm and reassuring as he guides you inside. The place is spacious and welcoming, dimly lit with soft, ambient lighting that casts a romantic haze over everything. The furniture is arranged for comfort and intimacy—plush cushions adorn a deep sofa, inviting you to sink in. A rich throw blanket adds warmth. Nearby, a rustic coffee table holds curios and books, complementing the room’s cosy feel.

Tasteful artwork and subtle floral arrangements enhance the tranquil atmosphere, making it the perfect backdrop for a night of both erotic intimacy for cuddles or foreplay and the we-fuck-like-rabbits kind of sex.

He locks the door behind you, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re still dripping,” he teases, wiggling his brows with a mischievous grin even though he can clearly tell you’re almost dry.

“I think we should get out of these soaked clothes before we catch a cold,” he advises, tossing the keys in a bowl and peeling off his black blazer. “Then, it’s straight upstairs, hopping into the bed together. Instead of a tea and a blanket, how about we turn up the heat by banging till the crack of dawn?”

Your laughter fills the hallway at his suggestion as you unzip your gown, deliberately pausing halfway to glance back at him cheekily, your clutch bag still in your hands. He’s practically drooling like a cartoon dog, eyeing you. “Yeah, no kidding,” you quip, flashing him a wicked grin.

His gaze follows your every move, drinking in the sight of you, a coy smirk playing on his lips as he rolls up his shirt sleeves. You hold his gaze, daring him to look as you indulge in an impromptu striptease, each movement more sensual than the last.

He draws closer, his belt hanging loose, his shirt already halfway undone, showcasing the taut muscles of his chest. “Let me give you a hand,” he mumbles, deftly gliding the zipper down the curve of your ass.

His fingers travel along your lower back and hipbones, guiding you to turn and face him. Pulling you closer, he plants a trail of kisses from your collarbone to the gentle swell of your breasts.

“You’re not playing fair,” you whisper, your voice low and teasing. “But I love it.”

“Fair is boring and overrated,” he retorts with a smirk, and your breath hitches as his robust hands cup your bare tits, his tongue assaulting your mouth in ways that soak your panties. His hands roam over your body, tracing every contour as if memorising your shape and texture.

The air is charged, dense with unspoken desires. “Y/N,” his lips brush against yours, his hot and laboured breath fanning your face. He hoists you up onto a nearby surface, his bulge pressing against your heat. “I want all of you so badly, I’m not gonna get you pregnant,” he vows, and you both giggle.

For context, you’ve mutually been dealing with some serious baby fever lately and already had the talk—hence the inside joke lightening the mood.

His eyes lock onto yours as he helps you out of your gown, letting it pool at your feet before landing on the floor. He swallows hard at the sight of you in just your underwear. Holding his stare, his tongue gets all tangled with yours, his fingers shifting to stroke the hard nub of your clit. Broken sobs escape your mouth as your hips start to move in sync with the onslaught of his hand, turning you into a writhing, mewling mess.

Just as you feel yourself slipping off the furniture, Evan quickly and safely moves you both to a nearby kitchen chair, positioning you on top of him. Taking control, you roughen the kiss, fully removing his shirt and rubbing your wet centre against his overstimulated, erected member.

In this moment, time stands still, and you lose yourself in the intoxicating bliss of each other’s presence. It’s not just physical; it’s a meeting of minds, a fusion of hearts.

He grips your hips, matching your grinding rhythm as you feel him harden and twitch beneath you. 

“Fuck you’ve got me all wrapped around your little finger,” he growls, his cock almost weeping against your cunt, begging to be paid attention to.

Suddenly, his phone springs to life on the hallway, buzzing insistently, its screen lighting up like a beacon of disruption in the dim room. 

“Leave it,” he groans against your neck, evidently prioritising pleasure over duty. The sound is jarring, opposing the tender whispers and the heated panting that filled the space just moments before.

“Take it, Evan. It might be an emergency,” you prompt, climbing off him while his hands linger on your butt. 

With an exasperated huff, he rolls his eyes as you reach for the device. “It’s my mum,” he grumbles. His thumb hovers over the screen for a moment as if debating whether to answer or decline.

“Just take it,” you persist, and he clicks his tongue, picking it up with a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, mum?”

With a playful peck, signalling your intention to slip away, you mouth, “Give my regards.” 

He smirks slyly and gives your ass a playful smack before you gracefully slither toward the staircase. He watches you ascend with a bitten lip, torn between you and the conversation, only half-listening to his mom. As you reach the midpoint of the stairs, you pause to remove your panties, flicking towards him with a swift flourish. 

With reflexes rivalling those of a wild animal, he snatches them mid-air, his gaze never wavering from yours. Bringing the panties to his nose, he inhales your essence encapsulated within the fabric, a fond smile gracing his lips. Pretending as if you’re no longer around, he theatrically sneaks the underwear in his pocket, giving you a playful wink at the end of his act to reveal his true intentions.

“Yes, mum, the ceremony was spectacular,” he reports, his voice strained with distraction. “No, I didn’t win this time around, but it’s all good. No hard feelings. It was nice to hang out with Michelle and others at the party.”

A brief pause ensues before he adds, “Yeah, Y/N is here with me, says hi. Yes, mum...if you need to be sure of, it’s that I’m taking very good care of Y/N… We’re going to Michelle’s next Thursday for dinner…” His eyes stay locked on you as you reach the top of the stairs, his focus still divided.

You disappear into the bedroom, just as inviting, with a large, plush king-sized bed draped in soft linens. You leave the door slightly ajar and sprawl on the centre of the bed. You hear him carrying over the conversation, clearly flustered. “Soon. We’ll come round soon. Gotta go, mum, but we’ll catch up more tomorrow, okay? I’ll phone you. Kisses to dad and Andrew. Love you all.”

He ends the call hastily, tossing the phone aside, and practically flies up the stairs to join you. Eagerness and passion are written all over his face when he bursts into the room. “Couldn’t wait another sec–” he stops mid-sentence when he catches you right in action, dipping two fingers into your slick folds, mouth agape.

With his blazer and shirt back on probably to facetime his mum, he gulps hard and folds his arms across his chest, leaning against the door frame to admire you. You prop yourself on your elbows, knees bent and facing up as you gather your arousal and bring it up to your clit, swirling it in small, intricate circles.

“That should be my dick doing this to you, baby girl,” he protests, his brows knitted together, his tone rigid yet painted with passion. His expression softens to a hushed murmur when he observes you throw your head back, lips slightly parted in a seductive invite, softly whining his name as you continue to touch yourself.

As if in a trance, he kneels at the edge of the bed, chucking his blazer and shirt away. Crawling up towards you, he peppers tender kisses along your throbbing pussy, making you giggle in delight.

“Then, show me what your dick can do to me,” you challenge with a coy smirk, moaning softly as he licks his way up your lips for a harsh, heated kiss.

He groans, his forehead resting against yours, his breath heavy and ragged. “God, Y/N, you have no idea what you do to me,” he rasps, his voice thick with need.

He floats deep between your open legs, and you help him shuck his trousers off without breaking the kiss. His hand wraps around his cock as you hungrily fondle his muscular upper body, his thumb smearing the pre-cum around it as he lets out a soft grunt, “Fuck… you always get me so hard,” he sighs, his tip sliding along your slippery folds, coating it with your juices.

“Evan…please,” you moan, your hips desperately rocking in tune with his rhythm.

“Please what?” He beckons to you with a tilt of his chin and arches a brow in your direction as he slides a condom along his member. He continues his torturous movement, eliciting louder your whimpers from you.

“I want it.”

His devilish grin expands all over his face as he looks down on you.  “Use your words, baby girl,” he urges as his tongue grazes his side teeth, his lustful eyes narrowing.

“Please, fuck me!”

“That’s what I wanna hear, baby.” He leans over you again, capturing your thirsty lips in a kiss as he lines up his hips. Satisfied moans slip off you both as his cock sinks into your heat. He fills your warmth completely until his hips are seated against yours, and you can both feel your pussy clenching around him. 

“Stay in me for life,” you chuckle breathlessly, and nods eagerly, his hand holding your wrists over your head while pounding in and out with breathy groans.

Your legs eagerly wrap around his waist, pushing him deeper into you, and he makes a home in the edge of your lips, his breath searing on your skin as he starts panting. He sets a steady, agonising pace— just fast enough to have you shivering and mewling in his arms but still slow enough to savour every bit of it; to make sure you’re sensing every inch and drag of his thick dick buried in your cunt, to get it wetter with each thrust of his hips.

As you synchronise your tongue sucking with the way he slams into you, he can’t help but moan loud into your mouth, and your stomach flips. He bucks reflexly, and you begin to move up and down his satiny shaft.

“Let me ride you, baby Evan,” you sigh with begging eyes and taunt him by pulling out momentarily to slick his head with your cum.

He clasps onto your hips again and lifts you up. That’s to slide his cock in and join your lips together once more before you get on top. You gasp, clutching the broad, sturdy expanse of his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him.

You begin to bounce on his cock, throwing your head back as he marvels at your breasts, your nipples hard from excitement and titillation. “Boobs for days, I’m the luckiest guy alive,” he cries out, grinning and biting down his lips as he grabs your tits in each hand, kneading the sensitive mounds.

He then levers his torso up so your breasts can jiggle against his chest, his hands behind supporting you on the small of your back. The squelching noises of you pussy mixed with your mutual moans echo through the room, and every time he drives his cock deeper into it, you feel new sensations, your entire body starting to shake in pure euphoria.

“Holy shit, you ride my cock like my little naughty slut,” he praises as his dick drills into you again and again. 

“O-o-nly for you,” you stutter as you plop down on top of him with shallow groans. He smirks knowingly at you, his eyes drowning into yours. Running his fingers across your parted lips, he lets his hand and eyes glide along your upper half. With a hungry growl as if he can’t take it anymore, his hips begin to bounce into the air, making you lightheaded as he snaps into you even harder and faster.

“Don’t cum for your baby Evan just yet,” he pleads as he grabs onto your breasts again, circling his thumb and pointer finger around your erect nipples.

He releases your boobs and moves downwards to grab your thighs, using the leverage to flip you around so you’re on all fours. His hands rest lustfully between your neck and jaw as you look up at him with imploring eyes.

He clutches the back of your head, and your lips collide into a sloppy kiss before he stretches you out again with his impressive length. From that angle, your cunt eats up his cock hungrily as he soon begins to strike your cervix. You feel his cock jump inside you and his body jerks, his balls continuously slapping against your clit.

Your wailing sounds resonate in the room, his grip hardening on your hips and neck, and you know he’ll leave bruises but you couldn’t care less. You’ve never been fucked like this before, and you you’re now addicted. He works hard, drilling into you, until you feel the knot of your release stiffening.

Your legs quiver more as your orgasm rips and shudders through you with newfound potency, heightened by Evan unrelenting thrusts into you at his usual harsh pace.

Tears of overstimulation prickle your eyes until his hips finally still, and he spills his warm, fresh load onto you you with a primal growl. Collapsing lightly onto your back, he affectionately hugs you from behind, peppering soft kisses at the back of your neck with heaving gasps.

Your legs continue to shake as you tightly grip his forearm, your cunt spasming around his cock from the aftershocks of your multiple orgasms.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

“Perfect.” you exhale, smiling faintly, stealing another soft kiss.

The rest of the world fades away, leaving nothing but the two of you, lost in the outcome of pure passion.

You jump from the bathroom and flick off the light switch, the sound of the flushing toilet subsiding in the background. You stride across the dark room, vigorously shaking your hands dry. The moon’s silvery radiance seeps through the window and bathes your naked body, casting attractive shadows on your slender figure. 

You stop by the bedside table and take a few sips of water. Lying in bed, a sheet draped around his lower body and exposing his sculpted chest, Evan spies your every move. In one fluid motion, he sits up with a coy grin on his lips, his gaze always following you.

“You scrubbed every last bit of me in the bathroom, huh?” he mocks with a thumbs up, his lips curling into a crooked smile.

You glance back at him with a smirk, your hair flipping in the air with grace. “Didn’t you take off the condom and splatter all over my thighs? Well, I had to clean your babies off me and pee to avoid a UTI. It’s post-sex 101, didn’t you learn that in school, Mr. Know-It-All?” you fire back with a raised eyebrow. 

He chuckles, unable to resist his eyes wandering over you, appreciating your beauty. “I barely remember my name when I’m with you.” 

You tiptoe your way to him, playfully sweeping the blankets and cushions that now clutter the floor. As you climb up the bed, a mischievous grin adorns your face. With your eyes locked on him, you begin to crawl like a lioness, closing the distance between you with allure. 

His breath hitches as he watches you slither closer to him. Smiling mischievously, his eyes light up with a mixture of anticipation and passion.

He pretends to ponder over something, scratching his newly shaven chin, his eyes squinting in a mock display of deep thought. “Hmm, that’s a tough one. Give me a hint...like the initial?” 

Your eyes widen in theatrical surprise, your mouth resting slightly ajar as you feign mock-offence. You nudge his shoulder away, gently sending him tumbling him back in bed. 

You lie next to him, your eyes fixed on each other. You slide your hand down and playfully squeeze his knuckles together until he winces in slight discomfort. “Does it ring any bells now?” you insist and exert a bit more pressure.

Evan, caught off guard, finally gives in. “Y/N! Y/N! Your name’s Y/N!” he cries out and instinctively grips your wrist in defence, your bracelet subtly clinking.

He takes hold of your other wrist and playfully immobilises you on one of the pillows, sliding on top of you with ease.

You squeak in delight, a giggle rippling off your mouth. “You’re not just awesome, you’re practically a one-woman army,” he chuckles out with a wide grin, unable to look away from you. 

As you stare at each other intently, the erratic tempo of your heartbeats fills the silence. “I love you,” he murmurs out of the blue, his eyes swimming into yours.

Wheezing quietly, your eyes instinctively widen in shock at the three words that hang in the air between them. For a moment, the entire universe seems to stand still, suspended in the gravity of his confession. You feel a rush of emotions flood through you—joy, disbelief, and a profound sense of warmth that flushes your cheek.

“I... I love you too,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. A tremulous smile spreads across your lips, tears glistening in your eyes as he closes the distance between you in a heartbeat.

Without reluctance, you surrender, pouring all the love and tenderness you feel into the kiss.

“Y/N... Tron shoot’s kicking off again soon. Would you come to Canada with me?”

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Taglist: sillysillygyal, junkie4weezer, frankiesweird, divinerulerz, nickrhodeslittledarling

@evanchantingpeters — All rights reserved. Please do not modify, translate, or plagiarise my content.

[itsclydebitches]

Thinking back to the earlier volumes, isn't it weird that Ozpin either 1) didn't notice Jaune faked his transcripts (imagine if he was a Salem agent) or 2) decided to just trust this kid with fake transcripts when he is so paranoid that not even his inner circle has his complete trust?

I've always worked under the assumption that he had to have known. Even just ignoring the unlikely event that Jaune managed to secure transcripts that were that persuasive and Ozpin never followed up with/realized that Jaune didn't attend a previous school as he claimed (the huntsmen world seems to be a small one, increasing the likelihood of Ozpin hearing about potential new students, and Jaune couldn't have passed the test Blake, Ren, and Nora did for those students with unconventional educations prior to Beacon), he also just acts like he knows and is keeping it quiet. Ozpin is not at all surprised by Jaune's lack of knowledge regarding landing strategies, or his genuine fear about the initiation. Some like Ruby may be nervous about teams, but no one else is scared because to a Beacon level huntsmen there's nothing to be scared of - this stuff is easy-peasy. A guy asks for a parachute to safely land? That would have immediately tipped Ozpin off if he didn't already know. Plus, the person in these scenes who does pick up on these discrepancies, Glynda, is the one Ozpin ignores. "Oh, you think Mr. Arc isn't ready for Beacon? Haha, no reason to address that little observation..."

He had to have known, so the real question is why he'd allow this. You're right that it was a security risk, but it appears far riskier in a post-Fall story. Yes, of course Ozpin always knew about the threat Salem posed even if the audience did not, but the Fall wasn't just a shock to us and the other characters. I think people forget that it was absolutely a shock to Ozpin too. As far as he was aware, things were going swimmingly. It's that wonderful time of peace! Yeah, he starts hearing reports of enemy movements around the same time that Jaune was allowed in (meaning that any worry wouldn't have started until he'd already taken a risk on Jaune), but no one could have predicted that within a few months the entire school would be overrun with grimm. Meanwhile, telling people about Salem has been a known risk for at least several lifetimes. Letting Jaune into the school without credentials is only perceived as such a big risk after we've watched Cinder pull that exact stunt: sneaking into Beacon as a student and helping to destroy it from within. But, given the knowledge everyone had in Volumes 1-3, it doesn't surprise me that Ozpin would see one action as a STAGGERINGLY bigger risk than the other. He doesn't tell his inner circle about Salem because every time he tells people about Salem they drop the fight, betray him to her, or fall into such despair that they're functionally no longer allies - as the group beautifully demonstrated when the secrets came to light. Jaune is just... taking a chance on a kid with potential. One is a proven risk within a war that impacts all of Remnant; the other is only at that same level of risk if Ozpin were truly paranoid and spiraling when it came to imagining the worst possible scenario for every situation. What if this bumbling kid is secretly an intelligent spy sent to undermine my school from within, despite every possible proof to the contrary?

But it's details like this that make me roll my eyes so hard at the "Ozpin doesn't trust anyone" rhetoric of both the show and the fandom. Not trusting everyone with everything - because different people are more likely to be trustworthy or not; different pieces of information have the ability to do more damage than others - is not the same thing as not trusting, period. Ozpin, like Ironwood, has never been paranoid. Everything he fears is true, proven again and again across multiple lifetimes. It's not paranoia when people are literally betraying you left and right. Yet despite this, Ozpin extends a shocking amount of trust. It's as you say, he does let this unknown kid try his hand at being a huntsmen. He lets a former White Fang member into Jaune's class, allowing her to hide her status as a faunus the whole while, outright telling her that she can keep her secrets until she's ready to share them. He previously allowed two bandits into his school - who later revealed they'd come with the explicit purpose of learning how to murder huntsmen!! - and despite being betrayed by one he still keeps her brother as his second in command. He trusted his inner circle with everything but the secret that has screwed him over time and time again. He trusted a bunch of nobody students when they randomly showed up at his safehouse, demanding to be a part of this battle. He trusted them again despite the horrific way they put his trauma on full display. And then hit him. Screamed at him. Ignored him for months on end. He trusts them so much that when four of them came back with Emerald he didn't even question it. This 14yo boy I'm inhabiting wants to risk everything by "trusting love" in the woman who, just a few hours ago, was trying to help Cinder murder our Maiden? Lol yeah sure, why not.

Ozpin extends an extraordinary amount of trust given his circumstances. That's canon to my mind. What's ridiculous is that the comparatively few times he's held back have been blown into this inaccurate image of him being paranoid, or so manipulative that he refuses to allow anyone else agency through information. But Ozpin trusting others 99% of the time is the part of the story that has always made sense. Trusting others with caution during such a dangerous war is not - and should not - be criticized for this extent, especially when the other option presented is pure foolishness. Which, frankly, is where I think Oscar is at, surviving his blind faith in someone like Hazel purely because the plot bends to accommodate that. It also remains a strange theme in the face of Ruby's current characterization. Ozpin, according to the show, is flawed because he didn't trust love... yet this is the same volume when Ruby tells all of Remnant that Ironwood can't be trusted. No explanation, no attempt to reach out, just a black and white dismissal that he is an enemy now, full stop. And we can't even contextualize that with, "Well, Ironwood is too far gone to ever trust again. There are some cases where love just isn't enough" when we redeemed both Emerald and Hazel within episodes of each other. The PTSD riddled former-ally doing horrific things in the name of saving at least some of his kingdom is too far gone, but the guy who murdered the majority of Mistral's huntsmen, works directly for Salem, and has spent his two major appearances trying to kill/torture a kid is not? Yeeeaahh. That's really absurd to my mind. At the end of the day, RWBY's themes of trust are just fundamentally flawed. There is no solid foundation to work from and no continuity across the series, let alone across different characters. Ozpin trusted Jaune, but is said to be too untrusting because the show is basing "trust" on whichever characters it likes most in a given moment. It is, again, why we get a "Ruby will save the day because she's so trusting. More trusting than Ozpin ever was" while she is, in that exact moment, keeping these secrets from Ironwood. Or themes of Ruby uniting the world... while she explicitly says, "But not that guy." Any compelling story about trust we might have gotten died the day the group stole everything from Ozpin, punished him for things outside of his control, cut him out of their lives until the plot forced them to work together again, and the story never once went, "Hmm. Maybe our supposedly trusting, forgiving heroes shouldn't have done all that."

[shamandrummer]

Ritual Drumming: Invoking the Spirits

Ritual drumming is a tool used by shamanic practitioners to engage the powers of the unseen world to effect specific changes in the physical world. A shamanic ritual often begins with heating the drumhead over a fire to bring it up to the desired pitch. The sound of the drum is very important. Practitioners may strike certain parts of the drum to summon particular helping spirits. It is the subtle variations in timbre and ever-changing overtones of the drum that allow the practitioner to communicate with the spiritual realm. The practitioner uses the drum to create a bridge to the spirit world, while simultaneously opening the awareness of all the participants to that bridge. A master drummer can draw powerful rhythms from the drum that can transport others into specific dimensions of the spirit world.

All elements of drum music such as timbre, rhythm, volume and tempo play an important role in shamanic ritual. By using different parts of the drumstick to play on different parts of the drum, different timbres can be produced for transmitting different meanings. Different rhythms transmit different meanings and enable the practitioner to contact different beings in different realms of the cosmos. Volume and tempo arouse feelings in the listener and communicate symbolic meanings directly as aural sense experience.

A practitioner may have a repertory of established rhythms or improvise a new rhythm, uniquely indicated for the situation. The drumming is not restricted to a regular tempo, but may pause, speed up or slow down with irregular accents. The practitioner may stop playing altogether, or suddenly hoist the drum skyward and bang it violently, throwing the disease into the heavens; returning it to the spirit world.

Creating effective rituals

Ritual drumming is a universal way to address the spirit world and provide some kind of fundamental change in an individual's consciousness or in the ambience of a gathering. It is designed to engage the spirit world in helping us to do what we are unable to do for ourselves. With a strong connection to the powers of the spirit world, ritual becomes an effective tool for restoring or changing the status quo. By creating effective ritual, we can skillfully engage spirit in the processes we are involved in like healing, therapy or actualizing our goals. Potent rituals have similar foundational elements. Key elements of this foundation include:

1. Intention is the first element of effective ritual. You should have a clear idea of what you want to accomplish. Without a clear intention or desired outcome, the energy created in the ritual is poorly structured with little or no direction. Articulating your desired outcome is how you channel the energy of the performance toward the intended objective. One good way to think about it is by asking yourself what you want to happen as a result of the ritual. What effect do you want it to have on individuals, community and the world?

2. The creation of sacred space. Sacred space is that territory that we enter for spiritual and inner work. Regardless of your spiritual beliefs, having a special place in your home reserved for quiet introspection, reflection and spiritual connection can nourish your soul. A sacred space can be any location in your home where you can be by yourself and be fully self-expressed. Be creative with this, but find a special place for you to go at least once a day.

Consider setting up an altar that is appropriate for the purpose of your ritual or ceremony. Although an altar is not essential, it provides us with a focus to pray, meditate and listen. An altar is any structure upon which we place offerings and sacred objects that have spiritual or cosmological significance. It represents the center and axis of your sacred space. A simple altar can be created with a cloth, a candle and other symbols that mean something to you.

It is important to cleanse your sacred space before starting any spiritual work. Cleanse the space by smudging and/or spraying holy water around the perimeter. Preparing a purified sacred space shifts our awareness from ordinary waking consciousness to a more centered, meditative state. Ritual preparation awakens our connection to the web of life and structures a boundary that separates the sacred from the ordinary and profane.

3. The opening of sacred space. After preparing a purified sacred space, you may wish to ritually open the space. The opening of sacred space is essentially an invocation; calling in the spiritual energies of the seven directions: East, South, West, North, Up, Down and Within. Calling in the directions not only aligns you with their power, but is a spiritual activity in and of itself. The orientation embeds you in the living web of life, yielding greater awareness and perspective. It imparts a comprehensive recollection of the basic experience of being fully human. The ritual grounds you completely in the present moment to begin your day or to begin a specific spiritual practice.

Though there are no rules or restrictions, on most occasions a sacred circle is cast in a sun-wise direction. I would suggest you start in the East where the sun rises. Strike your drum four times to open a portal in the East to the spirit world. Using words, chanting or song, invite the benevolent spirit powers associated with that direction to participate and assist in the ritual or ceremony. Welcome the spirits with an open heart and mind. Some people will whistle or make animal sounds to call in spirit helpers. Trust your instincts and intuition in this process.

Pause after calling the spirit helpers of the East and listen for any guidance or wisdom that direction has to share. The spirits will always respond when you call them. Sound does not just travel out into oblivion. There is a call and then a response. Pay attention to any guidance that comes to you. Communication may enter your awareness as a flash of color in your mind's eye, a visual symbol, a tingling of the spine or an inaudible sound heard deep within your soul. It may be visual, auditory, intuitive or some combination of these. Sometimes it is just a knowing that your helping spirits and guides are now around you. You may feel energy flowing into your hands, feet or arms, or showering down through your crown. When I channel spirit energy, I often feel chills and goose-bumps.

Next, pivot around clockwise and repeat the same procedure to invoke the spirits of the South, the West and the North. After that, invoke Father Sky above and Mother Earth below. When invoking Father Sky, reach to the heavens; when invoking Mother Earth, reach down and touch the ground where you stand.

Finally, face the center of the circle and bring your hands to your heart to invite the spirit of Within. Call upon the spirit of divine unity that flows from within the center of your being where the six directions meet. Welcome the gifts of balance, oneness and connection with all things, for all things are one and all things are related.

4. The induction of altered states. Altered states of consciousness are induced through intense rhythmic drumming. An altered state of consciousness is any state of mind that is significantly different from normal waking consciousness. Altered states produce deeper self-awareness; allow us to connect with the power of the universe, to externalize our own knowledge and to internalize our answers.

5. The closure of sacred space. When you have finished your ritual, sacred space should be closed. Follow the same procedure as for the opening, but in reverse order. Begin by thanking the spiritual energies of Within, Mother Earth and Father Sky, and then the North, West, South and East in a counterclockwise movement. Play your drum to say farewell to the spirits. As you drum, give thanks to all your relations for the needs met. The phrase "all my relations" is used at the end of a prayer in many shamanic traditions, for all living things share in the relationships of life on Earth. Express your gratitude to the helping spirits for assisting you and send them off, releasing their energies to the seven directions. Remember that drumming opens portals to the spirit world, draws spirit in, and opens you up to receive it.

[whatiwillsay]

regarding your posts earlier: as a kaylor (if u don't mind) them possibly them being over is so upsetting to me and i'm definetly not there yet. i'm still hoping/believing. the thought of them going through so much shit, all the secrecy+stress added to the relationship for so many years, all the songs about being the one+soumates &then never having it pay off so to speak. to the GP it'll be like it never happened. i can't imagine what that must feel like for them if it makes me feel so sad

all kaylors are welcome here as long as they’re reasonable and kind.  you seem reasonable and kind so you are welcome!!! 💙🧡

i mean if you really want my thoughts i’ll give em to you

1.  kaylor could still be together or they could get back together.  i don’t know taylor, i don’t know karlie so you know...i only go off of the limited evidence we have.  folklore + some other evidence makes it seem like they’re apart.

2.  as far as this part of your question “the thought of them going through so much shit, all the secrecy+stress added to the relationship for so many years, all the songs about being the one+soumates &then never having it pay off so to speak. to the GP it'll be like it never happened. i can't imagine what that must feel like for them if it makes me feel so sad” 

^ regarding that - it’s the same with dianna.  except they had to break up due to being outed whereas taylor and karlie seemed to have broken up because karlie betrayed taylor.  dianna get’s painted as the toxic and bad ex but it seems like whatever parts of their relationship were up and down, in the end it didn’t matter, they chose one another until society/management/the industry chose to end the relationship for them “if one thing had been different...would everything be different?”

and regarding karlie’s supposed betrayal...i will say i went through ashley’s twitter account yesterday...she really is just on there to stan the la lakers basketball team and taylor.  she’s still very tight wth taylor and tay’s inner circle (Martha and gigi in particular).  ashley liking that perez tweet speaks volumes to me.  other than abigail she’s one of taylor’s oldest friends and she also doesn’t have to play games/frenemies with karlie like some of the other girls who are more established in the industry.  same with claire (i’ll be investigating her twitter account more in the near future)

ashley is fiercely loyal and fiercely protective of taylor and she’s liked more than just one of perez’s tweets - she seems to be cool with him...i don’t know i trust her and claire.

however i will concede that that was back in 2019 so it’s possible taylor and karlie have reconciled since then.  only time will tell (please wear a mask and vote for biden so we can get the pandemic under control and get more content of all our girls please)

but i have one more question and point for you kaylor friend, since you decided to come share, let me ask you this:

3.  why does it matter so much that she ends up with karlie?  like me and my people know we’re not getting a swiftgron endgame so we pull for a swiftgron friendship and funny swiftgron clues and content and other than that we just appreciate the past relationship and theorize about it.  

and other than that we just hope for a happy ending and true love for all of them.  

i have talked to so many kaylors who have an emotional attachment to a kaylor end game and no shade, there’s nothing wrong with that, and i can’t blame you because there was so much amazing content for so long it really must have seemed like you were gonna get kaylor end game - out as a power lesbian couple.

but like...shipping people irl isn’t like shipping a tv or movie couple.  with fictional ships you can tweet the producers/writers/networks/studios or even the actors and hope for it to be made canon or supported. for example the glee fandom managed to even get a few faberry scraps (comments about faberry from other characters) even after quinn was off the damn show.

but with irl people, we can’t control them. we can’t lobby any person in real life to be in love with any particular person - so instead of hoping for any particular end game i have more fun just observing the chaos and wondering what will happen next!  this seems to me, to be the best way to approach gaylor and irl shipping.  from a supportive distance - just watching and observing and then commenting instead of making super bold claims or predictions.  

my only hope for end game is true love and happiness for tay and the rest of the girls.  if that’s with karlie, amazing, but if not as long as they’re happy we should all be happy.

[littlemisssquiggles]

Squiggles, v8 will be 1-2 days in the rwby universe

…I’m sorry what?

What do you mean, 1 to 2 days?

They had an opportunity to give us a well-paced season that could’ve expanded days, perhaps even weeks. They left the story in a place where our heroes are divided and separated while on the brink of another kingdom falling prey to Salem who has decided to show herself to the world for the first time in centuries and they’re going to cram all of that…in ONE TO TWO DAYS?

WHAT?

To be fair, the entirety of V6 technically took place over the course of 4 days in the RWBY universe. But still…I…I don’t understand…THIS? I don’t understand these writers. It’s kind of bad enough that V7 felt kind of rushed since we didn’t spend enough time in Atlas and with the new characters (like the Ace Ops and the Happy Huntresses) before Salem’s arrival.  But they had a chance to make up for that in V8.

The had a chance to stretch the story. V8 is literally the longest season in all of RWBY and you’re going to have it all happen in 1-2 days…chronologically. WHAT?!

So…Salem’s attack on Atlas is only going to take part in 1-2 days. Oscar is only going to be presumed dead for 1-2 days? Oscar is only going to be separated from the group for 1-2 days? Oscar will only be on his own alone in Atlas with Oz for 1-2 days?

...I mean...okay...but...but...WHY? 

Unless it’s a scenario where Salem uses her magic to trap everyone in a sort of time vacuum where 1-2 days actually feels like 2 years on everyone psychologically then I don’t understand how this is going to…work?

I don’t know man; this news has left me more peeved than excited if I could be blunter.

So, basically if everything is only going to happen in the course of 1-2 days, then I guess I can kiss all my V8 Pinehead headcanons goodbye then?

No Oscar going on an emotional journey with Ozpin to reunite with everyone leading to the two souls growing closer and finally coming to understand each other/learning to live in harmony like their predecessors before them?

No the group discovering that Oscar was “killed” by Ironwood and the news of that leading to them all lamenting over his death for a while and finally coming to the conclusion that their previous actions against Ironwood contributed to that in a sense?

No emotional reunion between Oscar and everyone else; particularly the members of his inner circle---Ruby, Jaune, Nora and Ren?

No Oscar coming back stronger than he ever was before to save Ruby?

Can I basically say sayonara to all of that because…how is all of that emotional weight on top of everything else going to fit into 1-2 days!

I know a lot can happen in the span of 24-48 hours but…but…

AGAIN WHY??! 

I dunno man but to me, this is more sounding like a case where things are just going to happen to our heroes but they won’t be given the time they need to fully process everything since things have to keep moving. They have to keep moving.

I feel like I’m more likely to have Oscar’s so-called “death” from last season mean absolutely nothing in the grand scheme of things because…1-2 days????

I mean…again I know V6 took place in 4 days but…that was after 2 weeks. Is there going to be like another small time jump at the start of V8. Like could it be a case that the events of the season happens over the course of 2 days but it’s 2 days after a skip of a couple of weeks? Could it be that?

I’m sorry. I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around how they could just have everything happen only in 1-2 days. I don’t understand why they chose to do it like this? Why? I don’t understand the structure of this. It just feels odd to me.

They had a chance to pace out the story---really show us how time can affect our heroes by giving us a scenario where they’ve probably been fighting tirelessly for weeks since Salem’s attack has been going on for that long. But instead they do…this?

…I…am in awe at these writers right now. 

So much in awe that I don’t how to feel about this news. I don’t know about you Key but is it weird that I feel very mixed about this news? I feel neither happy or sad about these news. I just feel...weird about it.

I mean usually RWBY V8 news is supposed to get me hyped for the next volume. Instead it’s having the opposite effect. And what’s odd is that I’ll probably be in the minority who feel this way :/ 

But that’s how it is. I’m sorry if you were expecting me to be over the moon about this. I’m not. 

Oscar’s side of the story with Oz was what I was looking forward to the most for next season. But is that even going to be possible still if everything happens only in 1-2 days?

*sighs* I dunno. I guess I could wait for the trailer or what not. But for now, I just...this news hasn’t helped my overall enthusiasm for V8 at all. 

~LittleMissSquiggles (2020)

[zamilemzizi]

A trip down lockdown memory lane!

A trip down memory lane

As my business steadily builds itself back up, with a new face and some Covid-influenced changes, I look back at what it was like for a few months last year as just the “Mom.” The South African lockdown, one of the strictest in the world at that time, forced most of us Marketing and PR SME owners to close our doors and focus on creating a safe and “new normal” environment for ourselves and our families.

My parents both contracted the Corona Virus and so, it was left up to me to care for ALL five grandchildren for a few months. Including my own children, I had two five-year-olds’ (one boy; Wandi and one girl; Koli), one nine-year-old girl (Thotse), a twelve-year-old girl (Lungi) and the legend himself, my two-year-old son (Bugsy) whom you will have read a lot about on my personal Facebook page. As if that was not enough, we rescued an eight-week-old puppy (Luna) too!

Being a person known for preferring the company of all the Mzizi grandchildren, I was up for the challenge of this time spent being reacquainted with the daily struggle of just-being-the-mom-with-no-work without the pressure of having to go to work.

I acknowledge that my experience of this time is grossly different to that of a majority of my fellow countrymen/women, who struggled to make ends meet. Zam’s Hive started a fund, which generously received funds donated by almost ALL of my clients, close friends and colleagues from my place of work. We used these funds to assist families who wrote in via WhatsApp and SMS stating what their urgent needs were and paired them with the correct donor. I was astounded at how the people I knew were able to look beyond their own experience of the Lockdown, and were able to give the little (or lot) that they had to keep hope alive.

However, being the stay-at-home mom yielded quite a few hilarious experiences, which naturally, I shared on social media as they happened. Here are some of these posts. I hope they make you chuckle a bit at my expense. I hope they remind you that no matter how bleak the situation, our inner circle, our families, our children, the people that matter most to us are the ones we should keep our focus on.

How the wars began…

Wandi’s benevolent fart

Raising boys is a BREEZE!

My Wandi has reached that age where every hug and cuddle is a conscious decision on his part to be with me. It says, ' I choose to be near YOU. I choose you, mommy'

So imagine my joy as I was working in my office and my big boy chose that moment to sit on my lap...

He sat facing me, flashed his special smile and said' 'Mommy, let me show you how much I love you'

He put his hands on my shoulders and closed his beautiful brown eyes. I could see him mentally reaching deep within himself in order to share what he had to say. Then...

I felt it. A persistent drill-like hammering on my sturdy thigh where his bony bum was perched.

The stench was instant and the fog it created in my mind was confusion personified. I could not immediately compute that my baby came all this way just to fart on me. As realization dawned on me, my little angel held onto me just a little bit tighter to keep me in place as the hammer-drill was still operating. My thin leggings were no barrier from the barrage of bodily functions battering my poor skin.

During this assault, Wandi did not change his facial expression at all. He looked like a little Buddha bestowing a blessing upon a lesser mortal.

When he was done, he nimbly sprang off my leg and bestowed a beguiling cherubic smile upon me. Slowly reversing from the room with his cheesy smile and eyes closed, he blessed me with his benevolent ' enjoy the smell mommy' and quietly closed the door.

Bugsy drinks shit water

I'm on my knees begging for this changeling to be taken. Return Bugsy pre-terrible twos to me please!

I went into the toilet for a teensy while. I'd been holding it in for some time chasing my kids around. To my knowledge, fake Bugsy was safely chilling on my bed.

As my empty bladder and I float out the bathroom, changeling proudly displays a cup of water he is drinking...now this is a problem because all taps and cups are beyond his reach. This cup looks like the dirty one I ignored on the floor a teensy while back- are you judging me Karen?!

I frantically urge fake son to show me if he got water from the other toilet. He proudly replies, ' I no drink here Wandi peepee here' This is good. It's great actually. Wandi has diarrhea and drinking from his toilet could kill someone. Never mind Corona.

So I drag the smirking not-really-my-son into the kitchen to wash this mysterious cup. At this stage I'm fuming at the lord thinking 'turn this crap into wine NOW'

As I wash the still alcohol free cup, I turn to find swopped-at-birth guy smacking his lips and drinking from the bucket mqobothi style.

MY HEART SKIPS A BEAT!

I used water and Jik to clean dog poop just now. I spilled the water but clearly not all of it. What's worse here? Jik poisoning or dog poop poisoning?

The terror child is ok. I gave him milk and surrendered the rest to his creator.

I'm ok. I have a new twitch in my eye and I think I might have peed my pants a little. But otherwise baaah I'm good.

No really.

Just fine.

Look- fake son took the tin of milk and smeared the stuff on himself.

I'm just FINE!

Then the tensions were rising

The stand off

In a bid to demonstrate his defiance of my authority, my two year old has taken the long life milk and some shopping bags to an undesirable corner of the house. He has boldly announced that, 'I puttinnnin me in noty cona' This is his strategy to deprive my authority of putting him in a corner myself. The standoff continues...

Sulking in the shower

I swear I don't make this stuff up...

Wandi just played with matches and his cousins came to tell on him. Naturally I gave him 'the look' times 10. He says to me,

'I know you're cross with me and wont talk to me.'

He stalks off to the shower and sits there while singing his new and spontaneously composed struggle song. The words weren't too clear but this is what I heard:

Take me away in peace, take me away in peace.

 Please note he has taken to eating some of his meals in this shower.

Can someone please send me a bottle of gin??!      Its for the kids.

 The breaking point

Exacting revenge in small ways

My kids broke my hair clippers machine while I was cutting them. So now I'm leaving them with unfinished cuts because one needs to take revenge wherever the opportunity may present itself-even if it's your own kids. They think they know me. Mxim!

 Mom flu strike

I've been in bed with flu for a week now. During this my kids haven't given me an inch of space and rest.

I'm still a horse, jungle gym, chef, personal snot cleaner and unwilling audience to dance shows and song decompositions.

Tonight was just the worst! I went to the chemist for more meds and so needed a nap from the trip. Only to realize that I'd over slept and it was supper time.

After a mad dash to cook, serve and feed the royal highnesses, I'd had enough.

Where am I now? What am I doing now? These are all relevant questions I'm happy to answer for you.

I'm in my bedroom. For the first time since I became a mother, I have done the only sensible thing a tired parent can do...

I'VE LOCKED MY BEDROOM DOOR BIYAAACHES!

The situation update is as follows:

Hostile!

1.  Two year old has attempted breaking door down

I DON'T CARE!

2. Five year old has resorted to creepy body plastering against door and quietly chanting 'mooommyyyy can we have ice cream while you die?'

I  DON'T   CARE

3. In a rare show of solidarity the boys are now howling like wolves outside the door, throwing in the odd 'moooommmy where are youuuu'

I    D O N T   C A R E!

4. Nine year old niece has increased the volume and frequency of her coughing

IIIIIIIII DOOOOOOOONT CAAAAAAARE!

I'm at peace in my warm bed. Let the siege continue I have all that I need in here. A bathroom, all the toilet paper in the house, the only phone with airtime and did I mention -I'm the only person tall enough to cook. Muhahuahua!

They will know me!

 The resolution?

Wandi prays for peace

So as usual the kids were acting up and driving me crazy before bedtime. This time however, the transgressions were extreme.

Someone didn't pee INSIDE the toilet but decided to mark his territory next to it instead.

Another decided to generously leave food on a dinner plate and put it in the kitchen sink for Santa maybe.

Another was dejectedly roaming the passage without pajama bottoms like a homeless person. Left to wander the night in shame and bottomlessness.

This was the last straw and I blew my top off.

EVERYONE TO BED WITHOUT A STORY NOW!

Even the little one understood that Armageddon was nigh, and scurried into bed as fast as his fat stubby legs could carry him (only half way up the bed usually).

In an unusually respectful and hesitant tone, Wandi bravely reminded me that I forgot to pray. So fine! I asked God to please help me make my children good etc.

Wandi again bravely offered to pray too and this is where he played his master plan into action (he never wants to pray):

Wandi: Dear God, please make all my dreams come true. The end.

 Yes. He said the end and not AMEN. I felt a reluctant smile coming on but I was wise to the enemy.

The next morning the kids all came to greet me in that way guilty kids do hoping for a cease-fire.

'Good morning rakhali' etc.

Then the master played his Ace move.

Wandi: In the name of Jesus, good morning everyone!

 How could I remain grumpy after my son evoked the name of Jesus?!

He's goooooood. One point to Wandi. None to me.

 Please subscribe to my blog and follow me on social media for more insights into; what goes on in the life of a working mom building an empire. All the links are below. My women’s network as well as my courses are also available on this site.

[drshojo]

The World, My Childhood And My Hero Academia: Vigilantes

Hello friends!  

Its Dr. Shojo coming at you with a post that will be divided into three parts!

Part One: The world as we know it! 

The world has changed a lot since we last connected. For starters, TOILET BOUND HANAKO KUN HAS NOT ONLY A PHYSICAL RELEASE BUT A GORGEOUS ANIME! And not only that, but MY NEXT LIFE AS A VILLAINESS: ALL ROUTES LEAD TO DOOM! IS GETTING AN ANIME AS WELL! The last time I wrote about Katerina there wasn’t even an official English translation of that long-ass light-novel-title. And now?

A WHOLE ANIME. A BISEXUAL HAREM AWAITS! I am JAZZED!

Do you think it’s my fault? No matter, I’ll take all the credit. All the manga I talk about are getting anime adaptations. I’LL DO MY DUTY AND TALK ABOUT SOME MORE!

But first. Let us address the Covid-19 shaped elephant in the room

I deeply regret that it took a whole-ass pandemic to get me back to writing. In my defense, I bought an iPad and started drawing like 900 kokichi oumas. I was really busy with that. And then I started reading fanfiction. Then that got me thinking about how fanfiction such an interesting look into how people interpret fandom, use it for wish fulfillment and escapism, and good god is everyone OK cause that bulimia fan fic was super detailed....and I am officially on a tangent. Off track. Ahem.

We are all staying inside a whole lot more which means y’all probably need some reading material and Dr. Shojo has your back! Go read “Horimiya”! It’s amazing! Ahhhh, my work here is done! I'm serious, if you’re here for a Shojo rec, that’s it! There's also like 8 million more Otome Isekais to check out now. It’s like they’re multiplying like rabbits..............

As a Doctor, I must advise you to stay inside and read some manga and practice social distancing. Embrace your inner hikikomori. 

Allright? All good? Okay now one final disclaimer:

This post is going to be talking about something a little different than usual and I want to start by giving you some context about who Dr. Shojo is in real life. 

Part Two: Dr. Shojo Exposed 

You see, when I was little I was obsessed with Japanese media. This doesn't surprise you at all I can tell. Probably because I walk around calling myself Dr. Shojo and shout about manga that you should read.

Anyways, the reason why I was obsessed wasn’t because of the big eyes or the spikey hair or the interesting new culture. It was because it tended to have more character development and overarching plotlines than the media I was used to in Canada. Dexter’s Lab, Magic School Bus, pretty much everything I saw on TV was episodic in nature, so imagine how much my mind was blown when I saw Naruto and Card Captor Sakura, heck, even Pokémon had the Indigo Plateau! Here were kids that were learning more and more each day and got to see enemies become friends and vice versa. They lived and grew older just like me. Except they were cooler than me. And had more interesting lives than me. I gotta tell you, I was so sad when I was 12 and Kero didn’t tell me I had latent magical powers. But there was magic in my life and it was the magic of a complex narrative story. And not only that, it had a sense of movement and had cool costumes. I was hooked immediately.

Also, fun fact, at that age I happened to be a complete and utter tomboy! I loved pretending to fight my friends in the playground and was really worried that puberty would ruin my life because being a girl sounded so CUMBERSOME.

Which leads me up to my confession. Before I became Dr. Shojo, I was in fact......Dr. Shonen.

Bleach? Naruto? One Piece? I've read every single chapter there is.  

Hundreds of hours of watching fight sequences. Another fun fact, I only got into shojo because my aunt bought me volume 7 and 8 of Fruits Basket thinking “all mangas like the same right? Kids love comics?” It’s a tribute to how episodic western media was back then that she thought buying volume SEVEN and EIGHT was a REASONABLE PLACE TO START READING.

Now you might also say, Hey! Dr Shojo! Cardcaptors was a shojo! And you are right! but back then the anime was marketed to boys over here in the west and they actualy like, edited out episodes that they thought wouldn't interest boys?! Second fun fact, Once when I was in Grade 3 I was told I was not allowed to join a club under the stairs cause I was a girl and it was BOYS ONLY. The point of the club? To talk about how great Cardcaptors was! I Kid you not!

So anyways, your pall Dr. Shojo loves Shonen manga to this day!

The only reason I made this Dr. Shojo blog specifically about shojo is because, being a tomboy with no female friends, reading shojo manga was the first time I really thought about what it meant to be a girl and fall in love. And y i k e s. Shojo manga, like most media, fails miserably most of the time in displaying real world relationships. Or at least, it  doesn't prepare you for how disappointing everything can be. When I had my first kiss, I was thinking about how it didn’t feel at all like how I felt reading Zen and Shirayukis kiss in Akagame No Shirayuki Hime. Those were formative years, and shojo was one of the only places I saw romance being talked about for younger audiences. I liked reading romances where no one had any sexual experiences and were figuring out what love meant to them. But let’s shelve this topic for now.

The point is that gender roles are dumb and if you have an open mind there's a world of stories out there for you. Take this time inside to read something you wouldn’t normally. Critically think about the ways that the worlds you see in stories and how you experience the world differ. What are the messages a story is trying to tell you? And why do you like the stories you do? Reflect on how the stories you tell yourself color your view of the world. Even mindless entertainment leaves an impression on us. Anyways.

Whilst you're doing that, I'm going to absolutely lose my hecking mind over the Shonen Jump series MY HERO ACADEMIA: Vigilantes!

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

Part Three: I downloaded the one month free trial of the Shonen Jump app and made you read all that, so I can tell you that today Dr. Shojo is going to rant about a spin-off of a shonen manga

THAT’S RIGHT, OF COURSE I READ HERO ACA AND YES I DID PICK UP THE SPIN OFF SERIES. SHONEN JUMP LETS YOU READ ALL THE NEW CHAPTERS FOR FREE ON THEIR APP. KIDS, IF YOU LIKE SHONEN AND YOU’RE PIRATING ON A SCANLATION SITE STILL GET OUT BECAUSE YOU DON’T NEED TO SEE THOSE WEIRD PLASTIC SURGERY AND DENTISTRY ADDS ANY MORE.

SHONEN IS HERE AND ITS LEGAL AND ITS FREE FOR YOU. GET OFF MANGA FOX OR MANGA ROCK OR WHATEVER THE KIDS ARE USING THESE DAYS.

OK, so by this point in the article you have learned two very important things about me: 1) I love Shonen manga and 2) I read a lot of fanfiction.

Specifically, I read an absolutely biblical amount of My Hero Academia fan fiction and let me tell you, A solid chunk of it is vigilante/ Deadpool / criminal with a heart of gold themed.

So when I saw Hero Aca had a spin off, and it was about vigilantes, I was NOT SURPRISED IN THE SLIGHTEST. Ao3 sure is powerful.

Now, if you will permit me a tangent in a post full of tangents—HOLY CRAP, THERE ARE TOO MANY VIGILANTE AUS. I CAN'T KEEP TRACK OF EM. IT’S THE ISEKAI PROBLEM ALL OVER AGAIN. I GET AN EMAIL A FIC HAS UPDATED AND I’M LIKE IS THIS THE FIC WHERE DEKU HAS AN ABUSIVE MOM OR THE ONE WHERE HE HAS SPLIT PERSONALITY DISORDER OR THE ONE WHERE HE’S VIGILANTES WITH HITOSHI. OH WAIT, nvm, it’s the one where deku has a healing quirk.

OH WAIT WHICH OF THE 6 DEKU WITH HEALING QUIRK VIGILATE AU FICS IS THIS ONE?! ARGH WHY DIDN’T I WRITE A DESCRIPTION IN THE BOOKMARK FOR THIS!

My gripes aside, there's a reason why there's such an abundance of vigilante story telling—

Deadpool made like an absolute buttload of money and people love sass and memes.

People have a desire for a story in which they see themselves. Or, how they think of themselves.They like a story about someone who maybe came from nothing. Someone who has less money, maybe someone who is unlucky and had some bad breaks. Someone who never learned they had magic, never got their Hogwarts letter, never saw Kero, someone who never got that God-level quirk from All Might. And if your on Ao3 They want someone who also has seen a lot of memes and kind of wants taco bell and is also questioning their sexuality a bit?

Enter our new hero VIGILANTE DEKU.  

But the cannon can't do this, cause hey, Deku is the chosen one. Albeit, chosen by All Might, He’s got his own thing to do. But how can we still cash in on a vigilante story?

And thus enter our New-New hero KOICHI HAIMAWARI—code name Nice Guy and then later The Crawler. True to his relatable roots. He’s just a dude in an hoodie who can go about as fast as a bike.

First off, I love Koichi. He wants to be a hero and fight crime, but most of the time he has to run away because at the end of the day he's just a dude.

He’s cute but not wildly good-looking, A bit of a nerd but not like an extreme okaku. He’s got a part time job and hates violence.

And this is where Koichi really shines—in every day stuff. He helps out wherever he can. Often, that just means listening to people complain and maybe helping his friends out with whatever they’re going through. He’s the kind of guy who smiles, not because he's especially brave, but because he just takes things one at a time and doesn't sweat the past. I think it’s really telling that he missed getting into hero high-school because he skipped the entrance exam to help someone. He’s the kind of person who lets us experience the superpower of human decency and empathy. And you know what? That’s something the world need desperately.  

This theme of human decency is really the driving force of Vigilantes—it’s a manga about how the laws are there for a reason but sometimes they unfairly impact the poor and vulnerable. It's about how a lot of criminals are just people who fell into bad social circles or on bad times. People have the capacity for cruelty and violence but that’s never all they are.  

Now, speaking of crime, the entirety of Hero Aca falls into some murky water when it comes to its evil doers. Much of the fandom has a huuuuuge problem with how much the franchise is willing to sweep under the rug in the name of redeeming their baddies. RE: people getting mad about forgiving Endeavor’s child abuse, or Bakugo’s suicide baiting. Or Mineta’s blatant sexual harassment.

But this theme is in Vigilantes even more than it ever was in the main series. To start off with, there’s this guy who tries to rape Pop Step early on, and the later he later winds up befriending everybody. It becomes a running gag that each new villain winds up befriending the other villain guys and then they all open a cat café together.

Using jobs as a way to lift people out of lives of crime is great and all but in the story there is no nuance or consequences for past wrong and well.....it feels very weird.  It's like Vigilantes plays at having an opinion about moral ambiguity and the complexity of human existence and then just.......lets everyone get along because who has time to get into all that. Make of that what you will but it sits weird for me personally.

Anyway, let's move on and talk about POP STEP our main girl!

I love pop stars and I love vigilantes and a guerrilla performer is defiantly a character I could get behind. And I think they do a good job with Pop. She is actually kind of shy, but has this secret edgy persona she puts on when she performs. She is every girl on tumbler in the early 2000s. I also looooove that they make her not that great a singer. SHE’S GOT PASSION AND CHARISMA and maybe not born talent but like why should that stop you! Talent can be earned through practice and this is a great lesson to show people.

Unfortunately, Pop is also a great example of everything wrong with romance in Shonen.

It’s established early on that Pop loves Koichi because she is the girl he rescued all those years ago and yada yada yikes we’ve heard this one before. Many times before.

Sure, it's fine that they’ve met before, but gosh am I sick of damsels in distress. It's like she can't love him just because she respects what a great guy he is in her life and in the community at large, no no, she just needs to be rescued on top of that. And LOLOLOL isn't it funny he never noticed she was a girl because she was a child with short hair?! Once he realizes she has boobs now they will for sure fall in love! That’s how love works!

She's just with him all the time—nothing romantic ever happens she just gets a little tsundere.

I am never ever going to believe Koichi likes Pop because he spends like sooooo much time with her and they never have like, a moment. The first time he considers her is when Makoto is like, ‘hey I would love to get together with you, but have you thought about if you are crushing on Pop’. (Also this entire plot point is suspect—she's arbitrarily falling for Koichi cause he.......is the protagonist?)  

Say what you will about shojo, they give you the emotional conversations, the moments where you think.....ahhh I can see why she is falling for him. They give you context! Shonen likes to just say HERE’S A GIRL YOUR AGE. YOU CAN DATE LATER WHEN THE ADVENTURE IS DONE.

Just when they might get together, Pop suddenly turns evilllllll. The evilllll beeeees made her eeeevilllll (and more sexy).

*Siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiighhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh*

Because why on earth would they get together if Koichi didn’t get to rescue Pop one more time?

I’m tired. These troupes are tired. I’m sure you are too. HOWEVER! If your still with me, Let’s move into why I'm really writing this post. Let’s get to the part that got me screaming to my friends, who by the way, don’t even care bout Hero Aca….but listened anyways. May you all find nakama like these my friends.

Anyways,

HOLY FUCK ERASERHEAD’S ENTIRE BACK STORY IS IN THIS AROUND CHAPTER 60 AND IT IS WONDERFUL AND ABSOLUTLY HEARTBREAKING AND IS ONE OF THE BEST CHARACTER BACKSTORIES I HAVE EVER SEEN AND IS THE REASON WHY THIS SERIES IS A MUST-READ FOR MAIN SERIES FANS.

AND BY ALMIGHT.  

WHY. IS. IT HERE.  

I present to you my late night text messages to my friends

ALSO, AIZAWAS TEACHER IS PRINCE?!?!?!

AHEM, so as you can see, I kinda lost my shit.

And now, I would like to formally defend my claim that DESPITE HOW AMAZING IT WAS, ERASERHEAD’S BACKSTORY HAD NO BUISSNESS BEING IN THE VIGILANTES SPIN-OFF MANGA.

Eraserhead, aka Aizawa Shouta, is a side character who is working with the police on some crime stuff. He is not a main cast member in this spin off. He’s a guest character that fans of the main series will be like OH COOL. GRUMPY CAT MAN LIKES CATS ON HIS OFF HOURS TOO. LOVE THAT FOR HIM.

So, my imagine my absolute surprise when Aizawa runs into Koichi and the following happens:

It starts to rain, so, like in any good manga, this means some great FORCED BONDING TIME

Except no. It doesn't because rather than start talking, Aizawa JUST STARTS REMEMBERING—ABSOLUTLY SILENTLY TO HIS OWN PRIVETE SELF—HIS ENTIRE TRAGIC BACKSTORY.

AND THIS GOES ON FOR CHAPTERS.

THIS GOES ON LONGER THEN ARC ONE IT FEELS LIKE.

I LOVE IT, BUT KOICHI IS ABOUT TO JOIN ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA IN THE DUBIOUS CATEGORY OF “PROTAGONISTS THE SERIES FORGOT ABOUT IN LIEU OF COOLER SIDE CHARACTERS”.

AND LO IT HAS NO BEARING ON THE REST OF THE PLOT, CHARACTERS, OR STORY

What the ever-loving-just WHY?

WHY?

WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?

SURE, IT’S A COOL TIE-IN.

YES, OF COURSE I LOVED IT. I SHIP ERASER MIC, I DREW THIS FOR HECK’S SAKE:

AND YET I AM ANGRY.

I AM ANGRY BECAUSE MY FRIDAY WAS RUINED BECAUSE VIGILATES SUCKER PUNCHED ME WITH AN AMAZING STORY THAT REALLY WASN’T PLOT RELEVANT AND PROBABLY SHOULDN’T HAVE BEEN THERE.  

IS THIS WHY THEY TOOK LIKE NEXT-TO-NO CARE WITH POPS ARC?!?

I mean its ongoing, so it’s too early to say but—

In conclusion—

Excuse me one more,

AIZAWA WAS TAUGHT BY PRINCE!?!??!?!?!?!? PURPLE RAIN PRINCE!?!??!?!?!? WHAT!??!?!?!

It’s so ABSURD that I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING ABOUT IT. I HAD TO WRITE PARAGRAPHS TO JUSTIFY YELLING ABOUT THIS ONE THING. WHAT THE ABSOLUTE—

Ahem,

Anyways, I hope you liked this weird rant/personal-story/random-diatribe in three parts.

If you’re reading this, thank you, stay safe, and I’ll be back with more shojo manga next time.  

Ciao!

Dr. Shojo

(aka Dr. Shonen)

[calliecat93]

Top 5 Things I Liked About RWBY Volume 7

(Top Dislikes)

Gosh, we are so close to Volume 8 now, and it’s driving me crazy! But we’re not there yet. So let’s continue to remember what Volume 7 delivered upon us. Last time I did the Dislikes post, so now it’s time for the Top 5 Likes post! Which this was so, SO much easier to come up with than the Dislikes list! Like I said there, this volume is so well-written and jam-packed full-on content. It was a rollercoaster of a ride where even though I didn’t want to get back on for a while, that thrill was everlasting. Whether V8 will give the same result will be determined soon, but for now let’s go over the Top 5 Likes of RWBY Volume 7. As always, just my opinion, so take with a grain of salt~

Okay, let’s go!

#5. Oscar Development

By far one of the biggest criticisms against Volume 6 was how it handled Oscar. There was a LOT of good setup concerning his identity crisis as he struggled with keeping control, maintaining his own identity, and the potential burden of just being another of Oz’s wasted lives. While he DID reach a new confidence by the end which was nice, it... was more or less offscreen. To many, myself included, Oscar felt wasted and I specifically criticized how the execution made it feel like depite what Ruby said and what the narrative is trying to say, it DOES feel like Oscar’s viewed as just Oz’s vessel and that’s all his importance amounted to. I was hoping that Volume 7 was going to rectify this like they did with Ruby in Volume 6. Did they do so?

Absolutely yes.

While they still have a bad habit of setting up Oscar in trouble but it turning out to be a fake-out (his disappearance due to Neo), the volume did a LOT to improve his position. With Oz gone, Oscar has to be diplomatic on his own. He’s in a position where he can get close to Ironwood in a way that the others can’t and see him actually vulnerable. Unlike the others, who keep just pointing out to Ironwood how his actions are problematic to varying degrees, Oscar can see what’s really causing it: fear. Which is something that Oscar can relate to. After all, he was terrified when his quest began, but he always faced it and went forward everything to do what was right. Even when it meant leaving home, even when it meant facing unjust anger from others, he did so.

Oscar tries to reason with Ironwood. He tries to have him realize that it’s okay to be afraid. That it’s okay  to be honest with those around him. That it’s okay to be vulnerable. Ironwood isn’t the only one either. In the beginning, he’s worried about Ruby’s lie because of how much it reminds him of what Oz did to them. You could argue that he’s developed into the conscious of the group, but he knows how to reason with these matters in a peaceful way. He’s becoming more of a diplomat similar to Ozpin, which even Ironwood points out in Chapter 9.

Then there’s the finale. Sadly, despite all of his pleas and how much he reached out to him, Ironwood ultimately rejected him and Oz. He rejected the route of trust and embraced fear, sealing the deal by shooting Oscar. But while he couldn’t help Ironwood, he did help someone else: Ozpin. His words convinced the former headmaster to at last return and face his own fears, saving them both. It also allowed Oscar to gain more of Oz’s power and memories. The boy has gone form a scared teenager entering a world he doesn’t truly understand, to becoming a courageous young man filled with compassion and hope for those around him. And this time, we got to actually see that growth unfold. He’s still got a long path ahead of him, but this greatly amended Oscar’s character and I am grateful for it.

#4. Penny Polendina

SHE CAME BACK! YAY!!! I MISSED HER SO MUCH!!!

Every since hr death in V3, I fully expected Penny to come back at some point. And indeed, she did! And with her memory intact, thank goodness! While I do wish we got some more exploration in how she felt about dying and such, her role int his volume was so well done I can forgive it. She has more screentime in this volume than Volumes 1-3 combined, and I love it! A cute new design, her struggling between duty and her own wants, trying to understand feelings and finding them to be a beautiful thing, there is SO MUCH going on with her here.

Penny is part of Ironwood’s inner circle, having been assigned as he Protector of Mantle. She takes her job seriously and does her best to protect the citizens. She’s elated to see Ruby and the others again and tries to assist them as much as she can. But as the volume goes, we see how much she struggles between her dedication to Mantle and Ironwood’s orders. It’s especially clear fter she is framed for the massacre during the elections. The poor girl is mortified, everyone viewing her as just another of Ironwood’s robots. Even Ironwood feels this way with his insensitive comment bout her being ‘under his control’ during the Council Meeting. The poor girl just needs a hug.

But this helps set Penny apart from Atlas. Unlike the others, who are following orders, Penny is trying to follow her heart. She tries to encourage Winter to do the same when she snapped at Jaques, even saying that all she did was speak form the heart and has no reason to feel ashamed of it. After Ironwood declares martial law, she is clearly upset and outright says that it’s wrong. She even asks Winter if this bothers her, and isn’t very convinced by her argument about the general taking on the burden. Penny chooses to embrace her feelings, not reject them as Winter, the Ace-Ops, and Ironwood have done.

It ends with Penny comforting Fria as her Maiden powers go out of control. How does she do this? She simply goes up to her and gently asks her if she’s okay. She shows the old woman more compassion and care than she’s probably had in quite a while. As a result, Fria ultimately transfers the Winter Maiden powers ot her. It proves beyond a shadow of a doubt that despite being a robot, Penny is a real girl. Hell, she is by far the most human of the Atlesian characters in this volume. She ultimately feels disheartened by Fria’s death, but still goes with Ruby and the others because that’s the right thing.

Penny’s character arc was a delight. There were so many expectations with her return, and I am so happy with the result! Penny feels so much more three-dimensional now. She still has the sweetness that made us love her before, but she also grew as a character. She embraced her feelings, she made choices for herself after having to abide by Ironwood’s rules for so long, she even managed to get some payback on Cinder for her death. Her good-heart and kindness was rewarded at the end. I do worry for her, especially since Salem’s Whale Grimm is absolutely a Montstro reference, but I’m still so happy with her in this volume~

3. The Atlas/Mantle Conflict

I am... not good at talking about this kind of thing, so I apologize if this seems rambly or all over the place. The big conflict pf the volume was the division between Atlas and Mantle. We knew going in how Atlas was seen as a bastion of civilization, but also full of snobs and an army leader who doesn’t exactly have his priorities straight. We knew that Mantle was the former capital and it was easy to assume that it probably wasn’t in the best state... and HO BOY were we right.

While Atlas looks futuristic and pristine, Mantle is run-down and out-of-date. The former capital and it’s people have not been treated well and worse, Atlas controls everything including their heating system. Ironwood has forced the city to be without essential provisions for Amity, and has therefore left them vulnerable to the Grimm. It’s easy to see why Mantle would resent Ironwood and Atlas as a whole, and why it was easy for Watts and Tyrian to widen the divide. It’s like the Chorus conflict in the Chorus Trilogy in RvB, only we’re there to see the division outright instead of coming in many years later. Our heroes are trying to mend the divide, but it’s so much easier said than done when neither side will budge.

There’s a lot of contrast with the two sides. Ironwood is a seemingly cold man with an authoritarian streak. Robyn is more laid-back, if a little cocky but her heart is very much set on helping Mantle. Both can be very brash and place trust above all else. But they both run their respective groups very differently. Robyn views the Happy Huntresses as her friends, while Ironwood trained the Ace-Ops to be his loyal attack dogs. Robyn is willing to give her trust until it gets broken, while Ironwood is wrapped by his own paranoia. We see how these two groups function. They have similarities, but are also very different especially when it comes to how their leaders treat their respective groups.

There is a HUGE class issue between Atlas and Mantle. It’s not helped by Ironwood’s plans causing further suffering, and of course in the end he chooses to leave it open to Salem in favor of saving Atlas. The fandom has fought back and forth for months over if this was right or not, which only proves the point of the division. You can see where each side is coming from, and we care for the people on each side. The conflict was presented throughout the volume with the heroes trying to help, but they sadly fail. The moment Tyrian’s slaughter happens in Chapter 6, you can break the tension with a butter knife and it doesn’t let up. We’ll probably only see more of it with Volume 8 now that Mantle has no protection. But as far as this volume goes, it was presented very well and very strongly.

#2. The Fall of James Ironwood

Love him or hate him, Ironwood is by far one of the strongest written characters in the show. Ever since his intro in Volume 2, we have been building up to this moment. The man has a LO of flaws. He’s arrogant, brash, favors military might over being discreet, and has a bad tendency to not learn form his missteps. These flaws contributed to the Fall of Beacon. But we also saw a man who was honest, righteous, respected Ozpin, and for all had flaws seemed to have good intentions. He was always willing to put himself on the front lines and took none of Jaques’ elitist shit. Sure he caused the Dust Embargo and closed Atlas down, but he also defended Weiss in Volume 4 and was clearly upset about the Fall fo Beacon. We saw a flawed, but still good man and if he could just embrace his flaws and open his heart, he could have been the great hero that he appeared to be.

Sadly thought, that wasn’t meant to be.

Ironwood is shown to be dishelved and plagued by paranoia, but he HAS created a plan to re-establish communications and expose Salem. But his police state with Mantle has the heroes concerned, so they lie to him about Oz and the lamp. The man continues to make questionable decisions, like I already said about his treatment of Mantle. But he still seems devoted tot he cause and like despite these calls, his intentions are still good and it will pay off even with the bad press. Heck, after Robyn tells him to trust her in Chapter 9 and with a push form Oscar, he seemed to FINALLY be doing the right thing. he revealed the truth about Salem to everyone, he worked alongside Mantle, and he faced Watts in the same place where his greatest failure had occurred. It seemed like all the begging and pleading had worked.

Sadly though, it all fell apart once Ironwood saw the glass chess piece.

Ironwood’s greatest enemy isn’t Salem. It’s not Robyn. It’s not he council. No, it’s himself. He has closed up his emotions and his hear to everyone around him. He has buried himself in his paranoia and his pursuit in defeating Salem. With every mistake, Ironwood failed to learn and move forward. He just became more and more consumed by his own fear. He wanted to be a strong leader. To be like Oz. But like Oz, he ended up losing himself and unlike Oz, he couldn’t acknowledge where he went wrong. In many ways you can sympathize with him because of the bleak situation and him trying to do what he can with what he has. But sadly, none of that can justify the path that he ended up taking.

Ironwood is angry at Team RWBYs lies. This and Salem’s approach pretty much causes him to snap. He’s going to let Fria die so that Winter had the Maiden powers. He's going to abandon Mantle to their demise in a futile plan to raise Atlas into orbit. When RWBY opposes this, he orders them to be arrested. He even coldly confirms that he’s leaving Mantle to die. However one feels about this choice, as a cruel but necessary choice to save what can be saved, or a needless sacrifice made by a fascist dictator, one can at least make an argument about either point that makes it hard to say who was right. Him snapping at Oscar and knowingly shooting the kid to his demise? No. That one cannot be justified at all, especially since he was as cold as steel when he did it.

This moment has been built-up since we met him all those years ago. We wanted Ironwood to do the right thing. We all hoped that he would. But he didn’t, and it isn’t shocking at all. We saw enough to like Ironwood, but to also be very much aware of his faults that he just never seemed able to conquer. His fall form grace is tragic, yet done in such a satisfying way as well. I felt for him, but there was no justifying his actions. I kept hoping that he’d pull through, but once Chapter 11 hit, I knew we were at the point of no return. The James Ironwood we once knew is no more, consumed by his fear. What will happen to him next? Will he manage to realize his wrongs? Or will he continue to fall until there’s nothing left to salvage? It’s hard to say. But for now, the tin man has lost his heart,. A very sad, but very well done, character arc for sure.

1. The Theme of Trust and Fear

When I first heart this volume’s opening, Trust Love, I liked it... but the more the volume went, the more the optimistic song felt out of place for the dark volume. Considering this IS an anime, that’s probably intentional. But the more I examined the lyrics, especially after the full version came out, the more I truly realized how it fits with this volume. The song speaks of one trying to live in their dream world, but they need to face reality and trust those around them. They need to stop waiting for a miracle, they need to take control of their life now and move forward. hey need to... well, trust in love. Then you have the finale song, Fear, which  outright asks ‘who will you be when you are faced with fear? Will you see the person you hope to see? Or will you see a stranger?” Will you feel proud? Or will you feel betrayed?

This is the theme of the volume. The theme of trust and the right thing against fear. Ironwood claims to trust the heroes, yet he can’t trust anyone else and his own fear is slowly consuming him. The heroes are mistrustful of Ironwood, but they trust each other and want to help mend the divide between Ironwood and Mantle. But at every turn, fear gets ii n he way. Tyrian’s slaughter makes Mantle afraid and enraged. Ironwood’s fear keeps him from opening up and it leads to his downfall as I already described. The Ace-Ops don’t fight together as a team, which leads to Team RWBY who DO trust each other to defeat them. Clover is blinded by his loyalty to Ironwood to recognize that he’s doing the wrong thing, and it leads to his death. Not to mention the mistrust between him, Qrow, and Robyn lead tot he crash to begin with.

As Oz says in his monologue, fear is the greatest thing that everyone shares. We see everyone afraid. Ironwood is afraid. Ruby is afraid. Ozpin is afraid. Even Cinder is afraid. It’s all for different reasons. Ironwood is afraid of Salem. Ruby is afraid of the uncertainty ahead. Ren is afraid of failing Nora and the others. Cinder is afraid of failing to achieve her foals. Qrow is afraid of bonding with others, especially considering what happened to Clover. Ozpin...d o I even need to elaborate on him? The title to Chapter 13 is ‘The Enemy of Trust’. What is that enemy? Fear. Recently, I’ve been feeling that same fear of trust. Fear of being hurt. Fear of being betrayed. Fear of the unknown. It’s a VERY powerful force, and a tempting one at that.

The message of the volume ultimately si that it’s okay to be afraid. It’s perfectly human to feel that way. You don’t need to get over it. It doesn’t matter if you’re afraid, it’s what you do in the face of it that matters. Will you face it? Will you do what’s right? Will you find it in yourself to trust and love again? Or will you succumb to it? Will you end up repeating your mistakes because of your fear? Will you make the wrong choice? What will that say about the person you are? One way or another, we all will find out the answer to that question. We may not know the answers for a long time, but you ultimately need to try and do what’s right. You can’t let the fear control you. You need to decide who you will be when ti comes, and if in the end you will be happy with who you are left with.

Ironwood chose to repeat his mistakes, and is now a heartless tin soldier. Ozpin ultimately chose to return and face it and while only time will determine how that goes, it’s a step in the right direction. People like Ruby and Oscar still tried to do what thy knew was right. Weiss was afraid of her father, but faced him to gain her freedom. Blake feared Adam and the White Fang and chose to run, but eventually decided to fight back and ultimately won. Yang was afraid after losing her arm and of being abandoned, and while she struggled she ultimately faced it, proving herself stronger than her cowardly mother. Even after Ruby broke down when it became clear that Salem killed her mother, she still faced the wicked witch, told her off to her face, and pulled herself together enough to warn everyone about Ironwood and stand her ground. And there’s so any other examples that I could list. 

I think considering the times right now, this message is incredibly important. It’s been a major part of the series since the start, but Volume 7 especially made it prominent. We need to trust in love. We need to be courageous enough to do the right thing. We need to be able to express our fear and doubts with others to become better. In a world where everything 9si uncertain and everyone is on edge, I think that the themes here are more relevant than ever, and was handled very well. Especially with that monologue in Chapter 13. As such, this is my favorite part of RWBY Volume 7 without a doubt.

Well, that’s it folks! It was nice to revisit Volume 7 again after so long~ But as we close the book, we’re about to open another for Volume Eight. What’s gonna happen? I don’t know. Am I scared? Oh big time. But I’ve come this far, I’m not backing out until the very end. So I hope that you all enjoy Volume 8, and as always I look forward to reviewing it all~ See you all on premiere day~!

[momaeder]

REVIEW

REVIEW

The day has come, I had gotten a reservation at the restaurant that is most mysterious to the world. It is for that mystery that we decided to make an exception in the michelin policy of reviewing the restaurant with two inspectors, as the cook Lenny Bellardo only allows one single diner per night to enter his premises We know virtually nothing about this place, a lot has been said, nothing has ever been confirmed. We base our assumptions on the Trucks with foreign license plates entering the site and the single blank faces of the guest being spilled out at the end of each dinner. What morbid curiosity! The whole world is dying of curiosity.And it is absolutely to be expected it’s normal, we all want to see that which is hidden we all want to stare the forbidden in the face. [1] I turn the corner of Kundmanngasse and it appears infront of me. A dark place, and the veil in front. [2] at the back of which a three dimensional space is projected onto a two dimensional screen. [5] As If the lights coming from the house wanted to reveal to the world its inner workings. I hear the murmur of honey bees, the varied songs of many birds; riotously [36] tremendous flurry calling of slaves and butlers, and pandemonium among the cooks. [34] shaping, all, on one great tune with bees, insects, flowers and trees. [36] A man of stained white clothes welcomes me at the gate ushering me in. I feel a jet of warm air cascading over myself. [10] the smells are simple : roasting beef, some wine, presumably some scent of baking bread [11] and above my head, the birds chattering and singing in the elm trees. [18] There are truffles, tubers, and sponges; minerals, gems, and fossil woods; flowers, animals, fruits, grasses, and vegetables of the Old World and New; an aviary, so to speak, of magnificently depicted birds.[13] Along the retaining wall, a ramp sinks down into the earth..The space widens and the concrete wall becomes an opening. [15] Above the entrance to the open hall I see an array  of slow turning axial flow fans [17] whispering the scents of the kitchen into the atmosphere of the garden The hall is large, cold, and all but empty. [19] The merchants dealing with cooks with imports and sales settled over here. [20] The ingredients are sorted into 150 specific coded categories. [23] The most bizarre thing I see? That would have to be a frozen lizard. [17] freezing in a closed container, with water clocks and with air withdrawn or evacuated from a container [26] As we walk through the large gate. I feel a special sense of power, of entitlement as I walked through this gate and into the intestines, the inner working of this building. As if I was some kind of mobster in the movies walking through the dark and twisted hallways of the establishment he owns. I can’t help but picture myself walking through the kitchen experiencing all the scents and maybe even hear an ortolan squeal as it is drowned in armagnac. Open the wall, open the hymen, open the veil: death. [9] cold. Silence. a Catalogue of 10, 000 stars. [29] White light is broken [through the ice] into the spectrum of the rainbow and absorbs it, just as the tail of the peacock folds back after it spreads.If you want to become everything, accept being nothing.Yes.The transparent void. [31] 

In this closed cell, this temporary sepulchre, the myths of resurrection arise easily enough. [15] Locked in frozen layers, a universe of ancient creatures awaits another chance at life. [16] as we move to the kitchen. I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [27] there is nothing but the immense noise of the ocean. Chaos, noise, disorder. The base of existence. [...] Behind power, behind the ultimate power, behind the universal appetite, in their vicinity, on their edge, noise spills out into space. [24] And through the blazing mist of the shining red atmosphere of noise I see him for the first time. Through the noise produced by excited molecules. [...] Lenny Bellardo the mixer of meanings or voices, the dissolution of signals in the fog of noise, is thus this very same excitation, or the one who gets it.[...] It is not uninteresting to have a single operator. he warms the room, gives a fever, increases agitation and thermal disorder. [22] his arms raised if he were making a sign to someone I could not see, or like the conductor of an orchestra [...] violent rhythms succeed a graceful andante. As we move from the kitchen to the dining room a curtain is opened for me to move into the vast white space that is behind it. Defined by purely white walls and covered by a glass roof whose grid seems to structure the nothingnness and define the place for the sole table standing in the middle of the room. As I move forth under the glass cupola , I understand that it is not the environment that is unknown but rathermy, my own body, that becomes the point of interest of the room: the cover of white rhomboidal glass on the outside, and of hundreds of polished and colored crystals on the inside, that tinges with dozens of colors and marks of light any object and person that is within its interior. [34] The white space itself is in turn circumscribed, redoubled by a veil or a net which is superimposed, and gives it a volume, or rather what one calls in oceanography a shallow depth. [35] I take a seat on the rudimentary, singular chair and wait. Reflecting on the turbulence of the frozen ingredients, the frozen histories dissolved and ready to be reassembled. I remain alone in anticipation. Ataraxy is the material background of being, the permanent murmur against which the flying words stand out, birth and death. [...] The eternal silence of these infinite spaces soothes me  The circle, beginning in the hollow of the swell and passing through two neighbouring crests, includes the same space as those which delimit the high and low waves. [35] Then a sound of the soft fabric being pulled apart. Out of the passage I had just walked through arise two waiters, carrying together on their shoulders one single Platter. I try not to turn my head as to reveal my juvenile excitemennt. I wait patiently as the plate is slowly lowered on the table and the abundance of food on it is revealed.

Arranged like a still life, I see the finest of all delicacies. The plate contains the many coloured multiplicities as its object. [...]  garnished with every type of vegetable and fruit, macedoine, jardiniere, pudding, stuffing  farce, pate, stew, pot pourri or hodgepodge, not forgetting the meats. [39] Carrying colours, gestures and scents, this route traverses the basement window of their eyes, the orifices of their sense of smell or of their heat sensitive organs, and passes through the light of these narrow skylights; a few calls, sounds, certain words also cross their hearing. [36] Our movements through time and space seem somehow trivial compared to a heap of boiled meat in broth, the smell of saffron, garlic, fishbones, and Pernod. [38] The abundance emodied. Each delicacy slightly altered from what I’ve known and would have expected, arranged in uncommon constellations. through the fusion or confusion of vicinities, erasing its swirls of colour while preserving its effectiveness. [40] And in the center of all: The holy grail. The ortolan. Appearing miniscule among all those indulgences but bearing in itself the absolution of pleasure. Its force so strong that everything else seems to be rotating just around this tiny songbird. But as it is custom the ortolan will remain on the plate until everything else is eaten, being the pinnacle of all culinary sensation. The waiters leave and I am left alone with the indulgences. I take in the first bite. liquids dissolve into fluids, or solids, as poorly cohesive as flesh, into thin or thick sauces, thereby obtaining subtle liaisons.Where does meat end and stew begin? Sometimes even our sense of taste cannot distinguish. Our body has difficulty knowing where one sense, place or part begins, and where another sense, a second place or nearby patch ends. [41] it is the whole of things, between their birth and their collapse [...] An irreversible, irrevocable time, pointing like the endless flow of atoms, flowing, rushing, crashing towards fall and death. Things are heavy: they sink down, seeking their peaceful rest. [42] I gorge through the delicacies which for what seems like an eternity. I am not sure if that is so because it is the best meal I have ever had or because of my longing for the precious ortolan. But then, the moment has come, as I take the last bite I hear the curtain being pulled open again. Out of the darkness arises the figure I had seen last through the hazy red noise of the kitchen. But now he appears crystal clear. without the word, he walks up to the table. In awe I bow my head and look down at the ortolan a tiny, roasted bird. head, beak, and feet still attached, guts intact inside its plump little belly. I lean forward as the host high pours from a bottle of Armagnac, dousing the bird then ignites it [43] Eager to indulge upon the bird I look around the table for the napkin that is traditionally used to cover the faces of and allows diners to savor the aromas and enjoy some privacy while devouring the bird or hide their indulgence from the eyes of God.  But it is missing, instead Lenny looks me straight in the eye affirmatively as to tell me to go ahead. 

Here I am in turn, the last, at the pinnacle of power, at the very instant of committing the sin. [44] An internal law rules up to a threshold, after which the law is changed. [...] The five senses stop at these thresholds which it is now a question of going beyond. the Gates of Hell or Paradise. The horror, rather, of those who detest experience, or the ecstasy of those who bathe in it. Let’s go beyond these childish [...] The mouths of bodies and things open. [45] I take the ortolan, I close my eyes, and open my mouth. I accept my dissolution in the burning plasma of matter. [46] First comes the skin and the fat. It’s hot. So hot that I’m drawing short, panicky, circular breaths in and out like a high-speed trumpet player, breathing around the ortolan, shifting it gingerly around my mouth with my tongue so I don’t burn myself. [...]  There’s a vestigial flavor of Armagnac, low-hanging fumes of airborne fat particles, an intoxicating, delicious miasma. Time goes by. Seconds? Moments? I don’t know. [...] I bring my molars slowly down and through the bird’s rib cage with a wet crunch and am rewarded with a scalding hot rush of burning fat and guts down my throat. Rarely have pain and delight combined so well. I’m giddily uncomfortable, breathing in short, controlled gasps as I continue, slowly ever so slowly to chew. With every bite, as the thin bones and layers of fat, meat, skin, and organs compact in on themselves, there are sublime dribbles of varied and wondrous ancient flavors: figs, Armagnac, dark flesh slightly infused with the salty taste of my own blood as my mouth is pricked by the sharp bones. As I swallow, I draw in the head and beak, which, until now, had been hanging from my lips, and blithely crush the skull. What is left is the fat. A coating of nearly imperceptible yet unforgettable-tasting abdominal fat. [43] I witness a transformation of substances and a dissolution of forms, a passage to the limit or flight from contours in favor of fluid forces, flows, air, light, and matter, such that a body or a word does not end at a precise point. [27] Language or sounds, breezes, scents, shadows and songs, shapes, ecstasy? [47] They touch on the obscure sources of human pain and desire and can thus unleash very powerful emotions. [48] Dreams and madness then reveal themselves to be made of the same substance. [49] I take a second to let the last aromas dissolve on my tongue As I open my eyes again, I am blinded by the light of the room and as my eyes slowly get used to the light again I see Lenny. Not looking at me anymore but at the window in the ceiling. Where just moments ago the cloth of the veil covered the glass, now stands tall and judgingly the reflection of the moon mirrored in the façade of the neighbouring building.  Bright, distorted and fragmented by the still lit windows. My face is frozen in terror. [55] All the force goes from the inside to the outside, from the black box to its lit up threshold, from the hidden to the publicly posted, from veil to unveiling, from the entangled to taking apart thread by thread.  [50] Madness surges upon me. The justice of this form of madness lies precisely in its capacity to unveil the truth.Its truthfulness lies in the fact that in the vain delirium of my hallucinations [...] Truthfulness also lies in the fact that the crime that was hidden from all becomes apparent in the night of this strange punishment. [51]

I have no option but to consider myself guilty. My torture had been my glory: my deliverance was my humiliation. [52] I sit here in disbelief as the two waiters who had brought the food, come to escort me out of the building. We leave the white room through a door, I had not noticed until now. We enter an elevator. as the elevator moves downward crushing silence reigns. The doors open and I am placed out in the city again. Lost. I stop frozen with ecstasy on the sidewalk. [53] how can the resurrection of the body occur when the dead body has disintegrated so far as to be nearly impossible to re assemble? [54] Gluttony, laziness, lust, and anger pass from the confessional to the laboratory, from spiritual and subjective intention to rational evidence and obligation, both final and causal. [65] But the madman unveiled the terminal truth of man : he showed how far he could be pushed by the passions, life in society and everything that distanced him from a primitive nature that knew no madness. [57 he has only found a new way of judging life, of universalizing the condemnation of life, by internalizing sin” [58] The bringer of sin and death necessarily also brought healing and life. [59] I see that it has not changed; and yet I see it differently. [60] Why write about an object that is disappearing, in a language that is dying? [...]The five senses, still on the verge of departure towards another adventure, a ghost of the real timidly described in a ghost of language. this is my verdict. [61]

[1] The Young Pope [2] Serres, Rome [5] Ockmann, Architecture Culture 1943 1968 [36] Serres, Hominescence [34] Seneca, Complete Works [10] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [11] Bradley, Smell and the Ancient Senses [18] Hugo, Les Miserables [13] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [15] Leatherbarrow Eisenschmidt, Twentieth Century Architecture [17] Banham, The Architecture of the Well Tempered Enviroment [19] Asimov, Complete Robot Anthology [20] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [23] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [17] Zimring, Encyclopedia of Consumption and Waste [26] Schmitt, The Cambridge History of Renaissance Philosophy [9] Serres, Rome [29] Serres, History of Scientific Thought [31] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [15] Foucault, Discipline and Punish [16] Braidotti Hlavajova, Posthuman Glossary [27] Deleuze Guattari, A Thousand Plateaus [24] Serres, The Parasite [22] Serres, The Parasite [34] Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968 [35] Serres, The Birth of Physics [36] Serres, Hominescence [38] Bourdain [39] Serres, Rome [40] Serres, The Five Senses [41] Serres, The Five Senses [42] Serres, The Birth of Physics [43] Bourdain, Medium Raw [44] Serres, Troubadour of Knowledge [45] Serres, Statues [46] Serres, The Birth of Physics [47] Serres, The Five Senses [48] Armstrong, Jerusalem One City Three Faiths [49] Foucault, History of Madness [50] Serres, Rome [51] Foucault, History of Madness [52] Foucault, History of Madness [53] Kerouac, On The Road [54] Powers, The Overstory [55] Negarestani Mackay, Collapse Volume VII [56] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [57] Foucault, History of Madness [58] Deleuze, Pure Immanence [59] Foucault, History of Madness [60] Wittgenstein, Philosophical Investigations [61] Buehlmann, Mathematics and Information in the Philosophy of Michel Serres [62] Saunders, The Art and Architecture of London [63] Marzano, The Roman Villa in the Mediterranean Basin [64] Burros, New York Times [65] Serres Latour, Conversations on Science Culture and Time

[the-kiwi-is-not-a-pewee]

The RWBY+ crew fucking sucks at espionage and infiltration.

And yeah, I get it, some of it is supposed to be intentional for story purposes, but looking at them walk their obvious asses around Mantle without even trying to be discreet is killing me.

1. Anticipation

In the first episode of Volume 7, The Greatest Kingdom, the crew is where we left off in V6, flying to Atlas. As they enter Atlas airspace and Weiss realizes that the forces deployed for patrol en masse is unusual, she says this:

“If we land in a stolen ship, there’s no way the security team will let us anywhere near Ironwood.”

As if them landing a stolen ship on a non-maximum security Atlas would put them less at risk of being detained. They didn’t just steal any old aircraft either, they stole a military ship which is at higher risk of being noticed if it doesn’t land in the designated areas and would probably be landed in some sort of military airport.

That would be crawling with soldiers even in the best of times, and frankly the crew would get noticed immediately. Atlas’s military has a uniform policy, as we’ve seen with Winter, Ironwood, and the soldiers stationed at Argus. None of them are dressed nor own the dress that would allow them to sneak discreetly away after landing the airship.

Yes, yes, I know this “steal an airship” shenanigans was a desperate, last-minute thing. But it was not so last minute that there was no room to consider what happens when they landed. Jaune proposed this plan in the evening, and they enacted it in the day, presumably the morning.

That entire time, no one apparently thought to ask, “How do we not get arrested when we land the ship?” The way Blake goes “So...” after Weiss expresses that they would clearly be arrested when they touched down and Weiss’s tone expresses realization and not premeditated planning when she gets the idea to attempt calling Winter implies such.

They bought themselves some time by stealing a military airship, namely that it was recognized upon entering the airspace and not shot down on sight, but that’s all they did. Delay the inevitable.

If you are infiltrating an area, especially a technological and military-savvy kingdom like Mantle, you have to try and account for what will happen. Sure, predictions aren’t always right, the crew isn’t clairvoyant. But anticipation is key here, it culminates in less of the flying-by-the-seat-of-the-pants the crew has been doing lately.

~~~

Ditching the ship was fine, it means they’re no longer being tracked because of the airship. I do hope they landed it a fair distance away from Pietro’s home, if only to attempt to throw off anyone coming after them of their destination.

2. Disguise

I will be honest, there was not a ton the crew could’ve done to amend this in the state they were in when they initially landed.

But, ah...

Can y’all tell that they don’t belong?

Sure, from a visual perspective it’s good because we can easily pick out our group of brightly colored marshmallows, but for their particular purposes of being discreet, this is horrible. Everyone is too bright and vivid for the color scheme of Mantle, they’re as obvious as the neon signs above the doors.

That they’re such a big group sticking together is made all the worse because of the nearly-empty streets. I know the group is apparently allergic to splitting up, but they should’ve broken up their group here into a couple of smaller groups following at varying distances. At the very least to not follow so close behind each other. Most of the people in Mantle are walking individually, which makes their large group easier to remember along with the clothing.

Speaking of clothing.

As I said initially, not a lot they could do about their clothes initially. But there were some measures they should’ve taken as soon as they touched down, one of the most important being hiding their faces.

Ruby, Jaune, sweeties, pull up those hoods of yours.

Yang and Blake, put that long hair to use and pull it closer so it hides your side profile. You too, Ren.

Weiss, hide the literal family crest you have on the back of your V4-6 outfit somehow. Have someone lend you a jacket or something.

Everyone else, at the very least duck your heads down. There are cameras everywhere, which they realized at the latest when Yang kicked the bot. Don’t make it any easier to identify yourselves than it already is.

3. Attention

This actually might’ve been the one that killed (not literally) them.

The key to most infiltration is blending in with the background. Being faceless, not giving whatever you’re worried about any reason to give you a second look.

The crew fails at least three times.

The first is a couplet. A mobile camera bot takes a picture of Yang and then she kicks it. Big, unintentionally loud and flashy, overall very noticeable. The worst part of this entire thing is that the bot got a picture of Yang, which isn’t her fault. Kicking the bot also isn’t the worst thing, especially due to some dumb luck it got run over, but I’d also be highly worried that the feed that camera had or was transmitting would be missed. And now it has at least once face to pin the damage to.

The second is Weiss chucking a drunk racist in the trash for his comments on Blake being a Faunus.

This is... this is much worse than the bot.

Weiss’s Glyphs are distinct not only because they have her family crest on them. They are also distinct because Winter is a part of the Atlas army and occupies presumably an esteemed position given her quick promotion to Ironwood’s personal inner circle. It’s not exactly a secret or something conveniently unknown by most of the general populace.

Granted, Weiss used a black glyph which was harder to see on the dark ground, but the point still stands that someone recognized her because of her distinct semblance. Drunk Racist’s more sober friend made the connection and he’s still conscious.

So not only on top of a violent racket that would draw attention, Weiss also thoughtlessly gave more of a motive for the group to be tracked down. And she also increased her risks of being sent back to her father which was a concern she expressed on the airship.

Look, watching racists get yeeted by my favorite girl is cathartic, but it was unnecessary short-term gratification in exchange for detriment to their long-term goals. They can be against the racist without drawing more attention to themselves or Weiss outing herself.

And the third and final point that probably was what put the cuffs on their wrists, the fight.

Not that I’m saying they should’ve just plunked their asses down and watched the Grimm terrorize the streets while Penny made her way over, but it still stands that its hella bad with regards to being discreet.

Very few things are discreet about a big fight scene, and in this case the crew might as well have set off flares revealing their location. Gunshots make a distinct noise that can’t be excused as the Grimm breaking in.

What’s made even worse is that the cameras are picking up all of this. We saw it when Ironwood pulled up that frame of Blake’s broken sword blade. This is a city of eyes, the more attention and interest they draw to themselves the greater chance of them getting arrested.

Here it worked out, sure, but they couldn’t know if it would or not.

4. Discretion

Conversation:

Ren: “So... what do we do?”

Ruby: “I don’t know yet. But we should be careful with what we say.”

Yeah, uh, Ruby, you guys get a hardcore F- in that. If you want anywhere near a passing grade, maybe, I don’t know, NOT TELEGRAPH THAT YOU HAVE A SECRET IN AN ENCLOSED ELEVATOR WHEN TWO GUARDS ARE STANDING DIRECTLY IN FRONT OF YOU???

Fucking look at that, the episode goes out of its way to show us that one of them noticed! (hi, Brad) 

Blake also whispers, “We’ll follow your lead, Ruby.” Which is touching and all, but guys. Not the place for verbal communication. A shoulder squeeze would’ve sufficed, now you’ve also told the guards who report to Ironwood that the whole group is ready to lie at Ruby’s command.

Good lord next you’re going to tell me they don’t understand need-to-know basis as a security measure at all.

...I’m not opening that can of worms in this post.

[anne-lister-adventures]

Saturday, 1 March 1840

8

2 40/’’

Long in washing &c. Reaumur 12 1/2º on my table at 10 a.m. breakfast over at 11 – Reading Schnitzler vol.[volume] 2 p.[page] 684 et seq. Government of Saratof – Had our landlord up – No steppe on this side the Volga – No Eaux Minérales here – They are at the Caucasus – To go to Orenburg, must return to Simbirsk – 

500 v.[versts] from here to Uralsk the Eboulement – There was one in 1827 – One 3 years ago 2 v.[versts] from here – A brandy distillery slipped away – Only a brewery left there – The village is removed – Belongs to Government – The slip last summer was at Féodorofka 250 v.[versts] from here on the great road to Astrakhan no lives lost – 50 or 60 cottages slipped away – 

Mr. Stalepine has no verrerie here - No Tatar mosques or schools here – The Botanic Garden on the hill that we passed yesterday at 1st supposing it a vineyard – Mulberry trees there – These were what we took for vines in the distance but on nearing them (never very near) they looked like orchard trees – about 30,000 inhabitants – Trade in fish and caviar – Had just written so far at 12 55/’’ – 

Out at 1 1/2 A-[Ann] and I in a Traineau and pair (good horses as at Kazan) along our Street Rue de Moscou, some distance – Then turned right, along the street where the post office is, and then into the Great Astrakhan road for some way, and then left this and drove another road by which one goes to A-[Astrakhan] in summer, and then to the Botanic Garden! – A quiz upon Botanic Gardens if this be one – The serres that Schnitzler mentions are a small wooden erection heated certainly but only for a few hydrangeas oleanders geraniums and 1 or 2 species of huddled together on the floor there was also viburnum a few bulbs or onions – And in the lower part lettuces just come up – There must be some other Botanic Garden but the German colonist living there and inspector of the Silk Thread Manufactory a little building near, declared there was no other garden belonging to la ville – He shewed us a specimen of the silk thread – Yellow and white – Pretty good? 

The cheerful sleigh-ride by Pjotr C. Stojanow (Image Source)

Good road here a day or 2 ago – Now snowed up – Our horses lunged sank deep (several times) and we had to get as we could up to the house – Returned past the prison a large building full of people for Siberia – Our barrier that we entered by close by – We kept outside and drove along the Old Town – The Rue des Tatars down upon the Volga close to the great ravine which parts the town in 2 and in the bottom of which several brick-ovens and sheds – But saw nothing of the old rampart that Geography Dictionary speaks of – 

On getting upon the river drove Northwards to see the mountain slip of the last summer – It is a little beyond (North) of the 4 lines of Magazins à Sel – The Sokolof Mountains aboutissent, and a bit of the end of this sandy range slipped off its marly clayey bed in the great heat of August last (said our driver) – And just beyond this (North) was the larger slip in 1827 – A mere Isle of Wight landslip – No lives lost – Then at 3 1/2 drove across, 5 v.[versts], to the Pokrofsky Slobode in 1/2 hour – 

Drove to the Salt Warehouses (near one one of the 3 good churches in this village of peasants belonging to Government) – A crowd of Drovnis – Busy loading with the salt – Sells here at 1/40 per pood and at the lake itself the people gather the salt themselves and pay -/80 per pood for it – All broken pretty small – In very coarse grains – Looked like a coarse dusky gravel – But good salt (tasted it) and in this state the peasants use it; but if they want fine salt each can easily refine for himself by means of alum – 

Then drove about the village – Went in to one of the little Isbas – Apparently one of the worst – Very small – Always 2 rooms however small or they could not keep their living place warm enough the entrance room or vestibule is a sort of receptacle for everything – The inner room entered by a little low door that we had to creep in at, has the oven stove and shelf over it, the bench and a table – A white calf lay by the stove – The man of the house on the bench in his dark coloured shirt, and a young girl or 2 on the stove – Just room for all these people to turn themselves and not much more – The wife was not at home – The man put on his Shube, and came out with wondering why we should trouble ourselves to peep into such a place – He looked pale – How could he do otherwise – The heat and smell of the little hot place were intolerable – But this man at his ease – 3 cows – A horse – Some sheep, geese, pigs and poultry and a couple of Telegas, and a willow wattled round farmyard like all the rest of the people – Not a cottage without the like appurtenances – 

Interior of a Russian Peasant Izba by Karl Kolman (Image source)

The village has a striking appearance thus full of wattled enclosures a great out-buildings for the cattle and many of the huts of this sort of wicker work mud-plastered over – Passed near to each of the 3 good churches and went into one of them – Vespers – Full of Shubed people – The service well chauntered – Beautiful singing – I could have staid longer but A-[Ann] was cold and anxious to be off – We had put Reaumur on the snow a few minutes before, at 4 1/2, and it stood at only -7 1/2º - but there was a cold wind – The church all painted in fresco was even handsome seemed spacious for a Greek church the nave from the belfry and the great dome being all church – The prestole in the Apsis behind the dome – Square tower clocher, nave, dome, apsis – Such is the style of church here and all along since Kazan – The 5 dome-churches are rare hereabouts, and the little domes when they exist  are mere reminiscences – Little things like 4 chimneys – 

Very cold wind in our faces as we returned, and the snow blown up and driven about us – Returned up our street (the main street – Rue de Moscou), but turned left to see the large cathedral planted round at a little distance with trees (young) along a nice walk here is the Senate House – The large handsome house of Ivanof the Seigneur chez qui the Emperor stays when he comes – The clocher, at a little distance, is only about 1/2 built – The church is finished and has been finished did the man say 12 years – A largeish square finished in an inscribed circle of 2 grades from the highest of which springs the large handsome dome – Towards the clocher (West?) there is a hexastyle? and pediment – Opposite (East?) is one Apsis – The other 2 sides have each a hexastyle with architrave and cornice without pediment – This church standing on high ground is seen from far the most massive building in the town – As strikingly huge and massive here, as the new Town Hall is at Birmingham – 

Came in at 5 1/2 M.[Monsieur] and Madame Stalepine had called – Disappointed not to find us at home – Had invited us to dinner tomorrow at 12 – At noon! The Courier and Gross declared it was so – And they would send their carriage but had promised it yesterday to some friends – A great ball of the Noblesse tomorrow night – 

Ordered 2 horses to be put to our own Kibitka – Had the Courier and George – From here to Astrakhan the posting sans pour boire = 280/- - to give the Courier 400/- tomorrow – He is to inquire if there is a road from here to Uralsk – The distance – Road from thence to Orenburg and distance – From where to turn off to the Calmuck Encampment &c. &c. – 

Dinner at 6 1/2 – A bottle of red Donskoi 1/- sweetish and pleasant and a bottle of white Champagne-like Donskoi 3/- as yesterday – We finished the bottle as yesterday and sat over it till 8 – Then lay down for a few minutes – 

Could not be more than 8 1/2 when Madame Stalepine called and staid till 10 – Talked very agreeably – There is a better Inn than this – The Hotel de Petersburg – I said the Courier managed all these things – To dine at 4 p.m. tomorrow and the carriage to be sent for us – Mr. S-[Stalepine] has 4000 peasants – One village = 1000 – Connoisseur in sheep – Has made a contract for 10 years with a Mr. Cowley fermier from not far from London who pays 1/2 expense and ∴[therefore] takes 1/2 profits – M.[Monsieur] S-Stalepine finding, I conclude, the pasturage – Has 60,000 arpens of land – Mr. Cowley has sent over an English shepherd who brought his young wife with him – Arrived at St. P-[Petersburg] in June last and here in September – The sheep by water to St. P-[Petersburg] and ditto from there here – Mr. and Mrs. Cowley were here 2 or 3 months last summer he delighted with the place and would have been glad to remain here – 

The terre where the sheep are is 10 v.[versts] from the next Station from here on the Simbirsk road – Not far ∴[therefore] from Volsk – We at our last Station were 10 v.[versts] from our compatriot shepherd and our English long fine wool sheep – One ram cost 600/- and one Ewe 200/- Mr. S-[Stalepine] had 400 from England and several others of the Russian nobility of St. P-[Petersburg] and elsewhere had sheep of the same kind so that a large flock must have come – Madame S-Stalepine has 3 children the oldest Æt[aetatis] 5 – 2 girls and a boy – Looks young – And prettyish – Very civil – 

Tea after she went away – Then reading Dictionary Geography till 1 and then till 2 10/’’ wrote all but the first 13 lines of today – fine day but cold wind and cold this afternoon after between 2 and 3 p.m. 

[in the margin of the page:]            Pokrofsky

[in the margin of the page:]             Reaumur -7 1/2º at 4 1/2 p.m. dehors

Page References:  SH:7/ML/E/24/0028 and SH:7/ML/E/24/0029

[shamandrummer]

Five Groundbreaking Books on Shamanism

1. Shamanism: A Biopsychosocial Paradigm of Consciousness and Healing, by Michael Winkelman (2010): Michael Winkelman's volume on shamanism has replaced Mircea Eliade's classic text as the most authoritative and innovative book on the topic. This book examines shamanism from evolutionary and biological perspectives to identify the origins of shamanic healing in rituals that enhance individual and group function. Winkelman presents the shamanic paradigm within a biopsychosocial framework for explaining successful human evolution through group rituals. According to Winkelman, shamanism is rooted in innate functions of the brain, mind, and consciousness. As Winkelman puts it, "The cross-cultural manifestations of basic experiences related to shamanism (e.g., soul flight, death-and-rebirth, animal identities) illustrates that these practices are not strictly cultural but are structured by underlying, biologically inherent structures. These are neurobiological structures of knowing that provide the universal aspects of the human brain/mind." Winkelman's Shamanism is essential reading for anyone interested in shamanism, human evolution, the origin of religion, and traditional healing practices.

2. An Encyclopedia of Shamanism by Christina Pratt (2007): Christina Pratt's outstanding two-volume encyclopedia combines the philosophy, concepts, and practical elements that make up shamanism. Pratt has compiled a potentially useful -- although rather expensive -- reference tool that bears testimony to how far shamanism has come in the last few decades. Thirty years ago, shamanism was rarely discussed outside of scholarly anthropological circles. Today, we find this two-volume encyclopedia set offered by a mainstream academic press that specializes in educational books for young readers. Moreover, the set's contents are rich enough to provide shamanic practitioners with some stimulating windows into the transformative worlds of both traditional and contemporary shamanism. Unlike many cross-cultural overviews on shamanism, the essays and many of the entries in these volumes are enriched by the author's personal background in several experiential shamanic traditions.

3. Ecstatic Body Postures: An Alternate Reality Workbook (1995) by Belinda Gore. Anthropologist Felicitas Goodman discovered that specific yoga-like poses recur in the art and artifacts of world cultures, even societies widely separated by time and space. Goodman's hypothesis, therefore, was that these postures represented coded instructions on how to produce consistent trance-like effects. Goodman researched and explored ritual body postures as a means to achieve a bodily induced trance experience. She discovered that people who assume these body postures report strikingly similar trance experiences irrespective of their worldview or belief systems. With clear instructions and illustrations, Belinda Gore, one of Dr. Goodman's prominent students, demonstrates these shamanic postures and how to work with them. There are different postures that facilitate divination, shapeshifting, spirit journeys, and more.

4. Soul Retrieval: Mending the Fragmented Self, by Sandra Ingerman (1991): Ingerman's visionary book revives the ancient shamanic tradition of soul retrieval for healing emotional and physical illness. Most shamanic cultures around the world believe that whenever we suffer an emotional or physical trauma a part of our soul flees the body in order to survive the experience. By soul I mean our spiritual essence, life force, the part of our vitality that keeps us alive and thriving. It has always been the role of the shaman to go into an altered state of consciousness and track down where the soul fled to in the alternate realities and restore it. The loss of life force is known as soul loss. It is important to understand that soul loss is a natural thing that happens to us. It is how we survive pain. Our psyche cannot endure the kind of pain associated with a severe emotional or physical trauma. So our psyches have this self protect mechanism where a part of our essence or soul leaves the body so that we do not feel the full impact of a painful experience. In psychology we call this disassociation. The major characteristic of all dissociative phenomena involves a detachment from reality. It isn't hard to recognize that there is a lot of planetary soul loss today based on how we behave towards each other and the web of life.

5. The Way of the Shaman: A Guide to Power and Healing (1980) by Michael Harner. Founder of the Foundation for Shamanic Studies, Harner blazed the trail for the worldwide revival of shamanism and shamanic drumming with his 1980 seminal classic. This informative guide to core shamanic practice set me on a new course in life. From this guide, I learned to hone my skills of shamanic journeying. Harner teaches core shamanism, the universal and common methods of the shaman to enter "non-ordinary reality" for problem solving and healing. Particular emphasis is on the classic shamanic journey; one of the most remarkable visionary methods used by humankind to access inner wisdom and guidance by the teachers within. Learning to journey is the first step in becoming a shamanic practitioner.

[codylabs]

The Nomads: Part 1

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Long ago, a story was recorded. It told how after many months of careful listening, a lone astronaut learned to understand the language of her rescuers. Weeks more of practicing to herself within the privacy of her escape pod, and she had grown accustomed to shaping her tongue and lips around their strange syllables. Then one evening over dinner, when one of the boys made fun of her, the astronaut finally spoke. “Well I do not think my eyes are tiny.” She replied with a smile. “Maybe yours are just enormous.”

It had been a poor comeback to a poor insult, and had been half incomprehensible to them, but it caused quite an uproar nonetheless.

“Missus Fikes!” They all cheered. This was the only phrase she’d managed to teach them of her own language, and just as well, for it was her name. “You understood our language this entire time? Did you learn? When did you learn? Who taught you?” They prodded her with questions, speaking too quickly for her to distinguish. “We’re so proud of you!”

“I have been listening many nights!” Her concentration on her own words made them come out slowly, (and even she could hear the clumsy distortion of her own accent,) but they were coming. “Practicing many nights. Was become weary of sign language. Big thanks to friend Keeleeticktick for speaking so slowly at me.”

They laughed at that, and slapped Keeleeticktick on the back and congratulated him for being a good friend. “Oh.” One of them turned to her after the uproar quieted a bit. “That was good, but the word for ‘night’, you said it wrong. It’s more like…” His beak didn’t move when he made the correct pronunciation, (since they didn’t speak with their beaks,) but the clusters of high-voltage nerves in his tentacles pulsed and chimed with electrical interference, and her helmet radio picked it up and played it into her speaker in the form of sound.

“Nights.” She repeated back to him.

“Still not quite right.” Somebody else chimed in. “It’s like you’re only saying half of it.”

“You sound like a queeteekit with weevakik syndrome!” One of them teased her. She didn’t know a few of those words, but got the gist.

“Don’t be rough on him!” One of them smacked him. “He’s doing his best!”

“Is problem with my voice-maker.” She tapped the radio on her helmet with a helpless laugh. “It cannot do the frequencies so low. Cannot hear some of word.”

“Oh! Oh! I’ve got an idea!” One of them waved a tentacle toward the dish up in the crow’s nest. “Let’s go get the ship’s radio! It can do the whole range!”

“Hey yeah!” Somebody agreed. “We can just wire it right in! And then we’ll just turn the dish back toward us, turn down the volume, and we can all hear each other! Should work well enough until we can modify his radio.”

“Very good!” She followed after with an eager laugh.

They were awake for many long hours that night, laughing and talking and doing their best to help her learn. It seemed they all adored the excitement, and they nursed her for every bit of attention and strange newness she could provide. And they seemed to be growing to like her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, Missus Fikes, what are these things for anyway?” Keeleeticktick asked, reaching a tentacle forward to poke at her.

They’d been respecting her boundaries for the entirety of her stay so far, but now that she was starting to fit in, it seemed that the taboos were finally breaking down; this was the first question one of them had ever directly asked her about her human biology.

“Those are legs.” She smiled. The word had no direct translation that she knew of. “I guess you could call them hook-limbs? Crawlers? I don’t know… They let me move around.” She wiggled her boots to show that they were living parts of her, not just some kind of stiff horns.

“They don’t look like they help you move.” He seemed skeptical.

“Not way out here, no.” Her eyes wandered over the nomad’s small convoy of ships, and none of them had any habitation rings or rotating sections, or anything at all which could be used to generate artificial gravity. Their engines weren’t even powerful enough to provide thrust gravity. “I… I suppose I don’t have a way to show how they work.”

“Maybe if you took off your armor?” He poked curiously at her space suit. “Maybe you wouldn’t burn yourself?”

“No, they’re not thrusters.” She laughed. “They… If I was stuck to something… If I were being pulled…” She remembered that they didn’t have a word for ‘down’. “If I were being pulled on to something, then they would let me move.”

“…Huh?” He didn’t quite grasp the gist.

She pondered it a moment longer. And she remembered a history lesson from long ago, from before human spacecraft were large enough to mount entire rings. In the very early colonial age, when humans were still exploring their own solar system, their ships were often designed to stay attached to their last discarded booster stage, and reel it out on the end of a long cable. Then, by spinning end-over end, they could approximate enough of a radius and rotation to provide artificial gravity. “Okay, I have a idea.” She snapped her fingers. “Do you have a strong cable, and some mass equal to my pod you would allow me to risk?”

“Ohhhh…” He had access to the first one, but was hesitant on loaning the second; there wasn’t much mass out here they could spare. “We have silk cable that’s near indestructible… But how ‘risky’ are we talking?”

“I want to swing it around quickly. If the silk breaks, it would fly away from the convoy and be hard to get back.”

“I’ve got my dingy!” Keeleeticktick’s son, Thilykto, had been listening, and now spoke up. “I could just tie that to it, and that way if I fly away, I could just fly it back!”

“Oh yeah, that would be safe.” She nodded.

“…Alright.” Keeleeticktick nodded reluctantly. “But if this gets too crazy, Missus Fikes, I’m going to put a stop to it.”

“Of course.” She spread her arms and curled her fingers, a motion which, (as far as she had been able to tell) meant about the same as a courteous bow.

An hour later, they had her escape pod tied securely to the end of a narrow silken thread, and Thilykto was up on his dingy, tied to the other. His father looked on in growing disapproval (though not growing as fast as his curiosity, apparently.) Most or all of the other nomads, both on this ship and surrounding ships, had clustered to watch as well. Beneath the gaze of many eyes, she radioed over to Thilykto. “You ready, man?”

“I was born ready!” He curled one tentacle into the shape of a thumbs-up, a gesture he’d learned from her.

“Great!” She stepped into the airlock of her pod. “I don’t know how much fuel this will use, so if you waste more than quarter, call it off!”

“Okay!” He grabbed the controls of his dingy, and waited for her signal.

As for herself, she sealed the door behind her and cycled the airlock. The pressurized stiffness of her suit lightened as the chamber flooded, and then she drifted through the inner door into what counted as her home. There wasn’t much to it, just a few seats, a control panel, and some frayed wall insulation which she’d folded into a bed; it was little wonder she spent so much time outside.

Now she grasped the control panel, twisted herself around to right-side-up, and began tapping buttons for pre-ignition checks. She wondered for a moment if the escape pod’s thrusters still worked. She had run them completely dry of fuel during the leviathan attack, and nearly overheated them in the process. The Nomads had been kind enough to offer a refuel when they found her, but the quiet drifting ever since had never given her an opportunity to give them a test fire, and she worried whether or not they’d suffered permanent damage from her initial clumsiness. She held her breath as she threw the last switch.

To her relief, the pod’s propulsion roared to life with hardly a second’s hesitation, and the readouts all leveled out to green. She grasped the RCS joysticks to begin the maneuver. “Remember.” She radioed over. “Thrust opposite direction of me.”

“Yeah, I got it!”

The escape pod’s thrusters pushed it one way, the dingy pushed the other way, the silk went taught, and they began to rotate each other. As he watched it begin, Keeleeticktick turned in a nervous circle and curled his tentacles up around his head, while his eyestalks retracted back into a fold beneath his beak. “Oh, be careful!” He cried up at them.

“I’m good, I’m good!” His son called back. “Missus Fikes, how fast do we need to get going?”

“Very fast.” As the dingy and pod spun, the centrifugal force began to weigh on her body. It was light at first, a ghostly hint of drag in an unexpected direction, but it rapidly grew stronger and stronger. Now she was no longer floating, and her boots touched the floor. A wrench hit the wall behind her and bounced to a stop. The picture of her family by her bed began to slide. And now the suit was resting on her shoulders, now she felt the blood begin to drain from her head, and now her knees and back remembered the meaning of ‘down’. And then, they exploded in pain.

She’d been weightless 4 months now. The entire time she’d been drifting with the nomads, she’d never once dedicated herself to the least exercise, and it seems her back and legs had become next to useless by her neglect. “That’s enough!” She gasped, releasing her own controls and falling to her knees. “That’s enough!”

For the next minute or so, silent anticipation hung over the tribe, as they waited for her to make good on her claim of some unique and alien spectacle. Their eyes followed her pod around and around its circular path, and some of them began to rotate themselves to match, so as to make the watching easier. As for her, she clawed with her gloves at her suit’s latches, and managed to detach them. Then she wiggled out of it, like the weak and flaccid motions of a molting insect whose new shell was yet too soft to support it.

Now she was free of her suit, was on her hands and knees, staring at the metal floor with her own two eyes, feeling it with her own bony fingers. And then, with a force of will and a mighty complaint from every one of her joints, she grasped a railing on the wall and drew herself upright.

At this rate of spin and this length of silk, the ‘gravity’ in the pod was almost nothing. A bare 20% of Earth gravity, 20% of what she’d spent her entire life surviving, and which by rights she should be indestructible to. It was surely disheartening to see herself so weak… But perhaps fully developed strength didn’t matter tonight. To merely stand and walk, to give an introduction to human behavior however brief, that was all they needed.

As she opened the shutters of the pod window, and stood before her friends for the first time, she wondered what they would think.

At first they didn’t know what to think. They either didn’t understand what they were looking at, or didn’t understand the enormity of it, or maybe they didn’t even recognize her as herself without her suit, and thought her body was a piece of abstract furniture. It wasn’t until she began to walk, and paced the width of the pod a few times, that they started to understand the design of her, and the immense force she was under, and the strength of her legs, and the coordinated balance that kept her upright. One by one she heard the shocked realizations coming over the radio.

“That’s amazing!”

“How are you doing that?”

“He must have a crane or something built into the wall.”

“You must have a powerful heart!”

“Where else would those ever be useful??”

She hesitated at that last comment, and her smile faded. For she knew that these peoples’ culture relied entirely on thrusters, and fuel, and the delicate equations of propulsion and reaction. Wasted mass, be it clutter, garbage, or any kind of inefficiency or miscalculated baggage, was counted somewhere between a dreadful sin and an embarrassing faux pas; the nomads did not suffer things without use.

It occurred to her now that by their measure, a good portion of her physical body could be counted as waste. She looked down at herself, at her arms which weren’t as strong as they could be, at the layers of fat on her belly which she’d been meaning to shed for years, and at her thick, hard-boned, vestigial legs, for which she had no use at all in the foreseeable future, and which perhaps had become too weak to ever be used again. She also thought of her kidneys, and her liver, and the lengths of intestines, which were largely obsolete thanks to her diet on the pod’s genetically-perfected algae paste. Legs, fat, a complete digestive tract… Nose and hair and breasts and bones, space-bound castaways such as herself had no use for such things. Perhaps the reason she was so foreign to the nomads was that they had never imagined a creature like her. And they had never imagined it because, out here… It really made no sense at all.

“Legs were needed on our world.” She reminisced. “We needed them to move. To walk. Anywhere we went, our legs took us… They were my thrusters.”

“…What kind of world was this?” Keeleeticktick’s voice was quiet.

“A rock planet.” She told them, and let that sink in. “A planet named Earth. It had a great pull, and we lived our lives on its surface… It was full of… Of…” She searched her vocabulary for words of theirs which could properly carry the meaning of hers. “Steam… Ice? Gas. Covered in gas. Masses of gas. We walked on rock. Creatures walked on rock. Food grew on rock. We ate ice, ate food, and ate the gas, ate oxygen, for life…” She took a deep breath in and out to show them. “Mass was all around, all pulled down, all on the same…” She spread her palms like the line of a horizon. “Same surface…”

They were silent for a few seconds.

“Missus Fikes.” Keeleeticktick broke the silence. “I think you are a very, very long way from home.”

She nodded, in solemn and wholehearted agreement.

“Hey, uh, I don’t mean to interrupt, but how long are we gonna be spinning?” His son spoke up. “Feeling a bit sick over here, ha ha.”

With a start, she looked up through the window at the kid, who was swinging around on the other end of the line. Even such a small measure of artificial gravity had mashed him to the floor of his dingy, where his body bore more resemblance to washed-up seaweed than any kind of creature. “Oh, sorry!” She cried. “I’m so sorry! Yeah, we will spin down then. The demonstration is over.”

“Don’t worry about it, I know it looks bad, but it doesn’t really hurt at all.” He laughed. “I feel all limp and squished but uhhh yeah, I think you’re gonna have to spin it down with your thrusters. I can’t reach my controls.”

“Hang on kid, I got it.”

And for the second time in her life, but more sadly this time, she bid farewell to gravity.

[teamoliv-archive]

🔥

Send me a “ 🔥 “ for an unpopular opinion.

Because of the nature of this particular meme, all answers will be under a read more so people who don’t want controversial or fandom discussion topics on their dash don’t have to worry about it.

For those who want to continue on, let’s talk about side characters:

A common complaint I hear about the show is that side characters barely get any development- I’m here to say you’re foolish to expect it in the first place.

Perhaps I should start by clearing up a common writing misconception when it comes to the difference between character development and character building. Character development is something that’s typically reserved for the primary cast of characters, if not purely just the protagonist (and rarely the antagonist.) Development represents change in the character’s outlook, goals, personality, and general growth as a person as the story develops. You see how their experiences and struggles change them over time. That’s development. Character building is the simple addition to details and fleshing out of things that may or may not matter to the story. If it’s simply a fact about the character that doesn’t have any bearing on how they change or grow as a person, that’s building.

How this relates to side characters is that by virtue of the story not being about them, they are effectively plot devices and catalysts for the protagonist to grow off of. They can serve as benchmarks for world building, or give some more meat to the context of the story. Side characters aren’t meant to have development- their actions or influence facilitate the development in characters that matter more to the story than they do. They will get building, but only enough where that their purpose in the story is served properly.

As an example, let’s take a look at the most common targets of these complaints: These two.

Mercury and Emerald start the first few seasons as formidable antagonists with unknown motives other than being loyal to Cinder. We see them ruthlessly take out threats in her way, utterly thrash Coco and Yatsuhashi in the tournament, and were instrumental in destroying Beacon. This is important to the story because 1) We needed to understand the seriousness of the villains. 2) Their threat and power needed to be established by effortlessly destroying two members of a team we saw a season previous take out several Grimm Team RWBY were struggling with. This served as a baseline for power scaling and represented a goal for the main characters on a skill basis. 

Skip ahead to the final fight of Season 5 and we see their performance noticeably degrade (the fight choreography is fairly messy but that’s irrelevant to the point in this instance.) They simply aren’t the unsurpassed killers we saw in previous volumes not because the writing simply forgot, but Team RWBY and the rest of the primary cast has improved to match them- and that’s the point. The middle tiers of threats are gone and the larger threat of Salem’s true inner circle takes center stage. We don’t see improvement on Mercury and Emerald’s part in kind because their growth doesn’t matter to RWBY’s story; their role as a threat is done. Team RWBY, and to a lesser extent, Team JNPR are the main characters. It’s their growth, improvement, and maturity that matters because it’s their journey. To punctuate our starter villains’ status as no longer needed in the story, Cinder is loosed to go off on her own while they are left languishing in Salem’s castle with no direction.

Next volume the most we see from Mercury and Emerald is this scene. This a prime example of building over development. We learn a bit more about the pair and their opinions on what they’re doing and why as well as some extra details about their lives. However, at the end of the day this is just more explanation of the characters rather than furthering them in any way. Their personalities haven’t changed in the slightest since their introduction and nothing we learn here hints that they will. We haven’t seen any alterations in Mercury and Emerald’s outlooks since their debut. Emerald doubts her place in a world ending scheme while Mercury is content with just being angry at the world in general. Both rely more on each other than anyone else in Salem’s circle, mostly because the original lynchpin of their dynamic is gone.

With that in mind, at this point do we really need to know anything else about them? Will it change the stories of our main characters or even the events of the plot at all because we know this? No. This only acts as a reason for why they’re still in the story. Character stories are internal and focused on their growth and outlook, not just an alteration of outside events. The show clearly isn’t done with these two yet by sheer virtue of them getting screen time, so they may actually get some development at some point in the future, but until that furthers the growth of our main characters in some way, it won’t happen because that’s just not how concise storytelling works. 

My prediction is that Mercury and Emerald are going to facilitate something for our main characters’ stories in some way in later volumes, likely far closer to the end. They’re being shoved to the side because they don’t serve the story right now and will be brought back out when necessary. Remember, side characters serve the plot at large and the growth of the protagonists in some way, positive or negative. If they can’t, then their purpose in the story is superfluous at best and obstructing at worst. These two represent a solid unexplored foil to the cast being roughly the same age and also finding themselves embroiled in a scenario that’s way over their heads. I feel they’re going to serve as examples what could have been for some of our main characters. I think it’s too early to guess specifics since RT’s storytelling likes to opt for an infuriatingly minimalist “information only as you need it” pacing, but whatever they’re going to do next in the plot it’s possibly going to be the last time we see them. Their role in the story is almost over. Someone’s going to develop because of what they do, but it won’t be them because they were never intended for it, nor will we see this with any of the other villains.

That’s just the lot of a side character.

[geek-patient-zero]

Part 1, Chapter 2

Or: McCann Reads His Mail

Blood War: Masquerade of the Red Dead Trilogy Volume 1

Dire McCann returns to his office, in “the heart of the tenderloin district.”

Big, bold, black letters on the door proclaimed, D. McCann, Investigations. Beneath his name, in much smaller print, was the disclaimer Consultation by Appointment Only.

I guess even Dire knows his first name’s a little odd and abbreviated it. Who’d want to give work to a guy who looks like they’re trying to give themselves a nickname.

There’s several paragraphs describing the office. The outer office/reception area has a coffee table with old issues of Sports Illustrated and three red chairs, like a doctor’s office with an even more limited selection of outdated magazines.

It wasn’t much, but he didn’t require any better.  Recently, his only clients had been the Kindred, and none of them worried about his taste in furniture.

Not to his face, anyway. Vampires are like suburban parents that way.

The office proper, or his ”inner sanctum” as the narration calls it, is pretty standard; huge oak desk, “an elaborate telephone answering machine,” a table with a fax machine, PC, and printer on it, some metal cabinets, and more red chairs. It was also mentioned to have an “outrageous” rent that was almost worth it for the building’s cleaning lady.

The glow of a nearby streetlight gave the room an eerie, ghost-like interior.[...]No cheaply framed photos with hearty endorsements or tacky paint-by-numbers artwork hung on the walls. McCann believed in a strictly functional workplace. Besides which, it made a better impression on potential clients.

McCann sits behind his desk and reloads his submachine gun.

Considering what had happened already tonight, it seemed like good policy to stay ready for trouble.

For all the good it did him, but good thinking I guess. Proper paranoia helps in the World of Darkness.

Then he checks his answering machine. Two of the messages are for “divorce work.” That kind of stuff “didn’t interest” McCann, but there’s another detective in the building who specialized in it, and McCann trades him leads for favors, so he writes down the names and phone numbers. Another message is trying to sell him health insurance.

McCann grinned. Considering his present circumstances, he wasn’t sure he could afford the premiums.

Finally, McCann gets around to checking the mail he was carrying around during the first chapter. After separating the junk mail, he’s left with the small box, which was from Switzerland, three letters from Venice, Italy, another from Australia, and the last from Peru. He starts with the mail from Venice.

Dated approximately a week apart, the letters contained detailed records for financial deals made during the previous seven days.  The facts and figures covered hundreds of major business transactions throughout Europe and the United States. The detective scanned the documents carefully. There were no unusual expenditures or unexplained finances. Not that he expected to find any. The masterminds of the Giovanni Clan were the greatest financial wizards in the world. They kept a tight watch on their investments. McCann merely wanted to make sure no one other than him was skimming the profits.

Interesting. Despite doing work for the Camarilla, McCann also has connections to the independent Giovanni Clan, or at least is stealing money from them, and in a way that even their “financial wizards” can’t detect. There’s an even more interesting reveal at the end of the paragraph.

The longer he lived, the more cautious he became. And, though he appeared to be in his mid-thirties, Dire McCann lived a very long time.

Huh. The summary on the back cover describes him as “mortal.” Then again it also misspells his surname as McCannan, so...

Next he opens the latter from Darwin, Northern Territory Australia, which contains a newspaper clipping. Recently, “nomadic” Aborigines fled their reservation in the Tanami Desert and set up a shanty town outside the city. Officials tried to get the “troublemakers” to go back, “but with no success.”

No one could offer an explanation for the natives’ unexpected migration. Nor were the unwelcome Aboriginals willing to discuss why they had abandoned their primitive shelters and made the long trek to the coast. Their only reply was to point in the general direction of the Macdonnel Ranges and utter the word “Nuckalavee, Nuckalavee,” over and over again.

The hell’s a mythological Scottish demon doing in Australia?

Unfortunately, no one other than the natives understood what the term meant.

Have they tried asking a Scottish person? Maybe someone from the Orkney Islands? This is like Native Americans fleeing from the Loch Ness Monster or a kappa.

For those of you who’d never heard of it, or had never played The Bard’s Tale, the Nuckelavee is this big horse with the upper torso of a rider growing out of the middle of its back, and it has no skin.

The story ended with the mayor promising city residents that the shanty town would be gone shortly.

Australians being shitty to the Aboriginals. What a surprise.

I know, hypocritical coming from an American. But still.

McCann grimaced. He understood why the Aboriginals had fled. But he doubted that the government officials in Darwin would believe his answer. Or care. Mentally, McCann noted that he should request that his clipping service search for any follow-up stories. Or reports of unusual disappearances in the Northern Territories.

It’s a minor spoiler, but not an unsurprising one given the setting, but the World of Darkness version of the Nuckalavee is a vampire; a Nictuku, the name for a fourth generation Nosferatu. Father Naples mentioned them during the prologue when he was talking about the Nosferatu, remember?

“A few of their fourth-generation progeny are rumored to be grotesque monsters, known as the Nictuku.”

But whether it’s the mythological Nuckelavee or a vampire character based off of it, it’s bizarre that Weinberg took a mythological creature from one culture, transplanted it to a completely different one on a different continent, and act like it was always a part of that culture. Even in 1994, before Wikipedia, anyone familiar with Scottish folklore would know better. Hell, check that fan wiki page I linked just now. The reference used for the page came from VTM: Clanbook: Nosferatu. It came out in 1993, and it’s most likely what Robert Weinberg used for information on Nuckalavee too. If the information on the wiki is accurate to the book, then the book straight up says that the thing is Scottish. Even if the vampire migrated at some point, more people should know about it, at least as a legend, than some scared Aboriginals.

Speaking of... I’m no expert on Aboriginal cultures, living on the opposite side of the Pacific and all, but I’m sure they can communicate better than pointing at some mountains and grunting a monster’s name in fearful tones like some old Hollywood tribal character. At least enough to say “there’s something life threatening by our reservation and we’re getting away from it.” The story’s sympathetic to them at least, but that part rubs me the wrong way.

Next, McCann opens the envelope from Peru. It contains a photo and a handwritten note from a member of the Explorer’s Club. The photo makes McCann “swallow hard”. More bad news.

Scribbled in black ink around the margin of the photo were the words, “Found at entrance to huge cavern, Gran Vilaya ruins, Peru.” The picture showed a massive stone statue of a crouching demonic figure with a misshapen, bloated female body and the face of a snarling jaguar. Circling her feet in a ring were a dozen stone heads. Judging from the size of the skulls, the demon stood a least fifteen feet tall.[...]It fronted a huge network of previously unknown caves that honeycombed the Andes for miles. No one knew for certain the purpose of the underground warren. Several members of the expedition thought it might have served as a ritual burial ground for the mysterious Chachapoya civilization due to the numerous skeletons found scattered all through the tunnels. Which would therefore identify the demonic figure as the guardian of the dead.

Credit where it’s due, Robert Weinberg didn’t just make up the Chachapoya. Little’s known about their ancient civilization, and some of what we do know come from the Inca that conquered them and the Spanish, which aren’t what you’d call unbiased accounts. They even lived in the kind of “fog-shrouded region” or “cloud forests” that Gran Vilaya was described as being found in.

The writer ended his note with the hope that McCann felt his research money was being well spent.

McCann used money from a “secret Giovanni slush fund”, which of course none of the Giovanni clan elders know about, to fund the expedition. McCann feels the cost was justified, but would’ve preferred it it if they’d found nothing.

The statue was not a representation of the spirit guardian of the dead Chachapoyas. It showed their murderer..

Not sure why the Spanish had to build underground catacombs for the Chachapoyas to die of disease and poverty in when- No, wait, he’s talking about a vampire.

A creature who abhorred all life, she was named Gorgo, the One Who Screams in Darkness. And the empty caverns in Gran Vilaya indicated that once more she walked the Earth.

Turns out she’s another Nictuku, like Nuckalavee. One with a kickass title. It looks like some very old, very powerful vampires are waking up, and McCann is not happy about it. He opens the box from Switzerland. It came from “an old friend.”

Inside were photocopies of more than three hundred pages of hand-written memos and high level classified documents. They were a mixed selection from a half-dozen different European security agencies. All were marked TOP SECRET.

But we readers don’t get to learn what they say, because McCann checks his watch and learns he’s gotta be at the Club Diabolique to meet Alexander Vargoss in half an hour.

McCann’s preparing to leave when his phone rings. Remember his “elaborate telephone answering machine?” It’s got some spiffy futuristic tech in it like a “caller ID feature” and the ability to record phone calls. Stuff that only someone secretly skimming money from the Giovanni can afford. But seriously, I enjoy reading old stuff and seeing things that are common today described as rare and amazing. Hell, I didn’t know caller ID was a thing in 1994. My family’s middle class and we didn’t get phones with caller ID until the 2000′s.

Unfortunately, none of his phone system’s features come in handy in this case. He doesn’t recognize the number, but McCann answers the phone anyway.

A man whose voice McCann didn’t recognize spoke in clear, crisp tones. “Lameth,” said the stranger, “beware of the Red Death.”

Without another sound, the man hung up, leaving a stunned McCann holding the receiver. Lameth, the speaker had called him.

Nah, Dire, despite his clear, crisp tones the mysterious caller still has a bit of a lisp. He was actually calling you “lame-ass.”

It was a name from the dawn of history, one that McCann believed long forgotten. A master schemer, the detective did not like unexpected shocks. Especially ones of this magnitude.

McCann certainly has the connections and resources to be a master schemer. Still, I’d of liked to have seen him actually scheme before the narration straight up calls him one.

He tries to listen to the recording of the phone call, but turns out it didn’t record. The caller ID screen is blank, and even the phone number it picked up earlier disappeared. This is starting to sound familiar.

Luckily, McCann memorized the number despite his previous confidence in technology. He calls the local police station, specifically a cop named Harry. He asks for a favor due to him for a bottle of wine he sent Harry for his birthday; the location where his phone call was made from. Turns out, it’s from a booth in the front lobby of his building. One that’s been out of service for months.

Let’s recap. Assassins just tried to kill McCann. Powerful vampires are waking up abroad, which is worrying for a very old schemer with an eye towards international news like him. And an untraceable magic man just called him by a very old name no one should know and warned him of a threat with an ominous name. All before he’s gotta meet with the Prince of St. Louis. Good thing McCann’s a big tough book protagonist, ‘cause I’d certainly be a little anxious.

Not a believer in coincidence, the detective knew the three events had to be linked together. But how?

The voice on the phone had warned him to “beware the Red Death.” McCann had absolutely no idea who or what the Red Death might be. He had a terrible suspicion that he would soon find out.

[ill-skillsgard]

Damn Straight, Part 4 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Damn Straight

Description: Deceptions bring a young couple to Mirth Island, a place of natural beauty and the promise of inner healing. When one of them is introduced to a young man who lives on the island, their budding friendship threatens to destroy more than just trust.

Warning: 18+ sex/swearing/drug use/mentions of addiction and cheating

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

I laid in bed and waited for Cici to come back but the sun came up before that happened. I had shut the patio door and drew the curtains but still the rays beamed into the room and reminded me that it was a new day. Cici always came back after storming off. Always. Even if she said she was leaving she always skulked back within a couple of hours. I fell asleep on top of the blankets in my clothes from the night before and when I awoke, Cici still hadn't come back and if she did, she did not want me to know about it. I tried to make out the time on the clock but my eyes were bleary and sore. After a moment of adjusting to the light pouring into the suite, I realized it was already past noon. In the distance, the ocean was roaring and it felt the same in my head. My spine felt stiff as an iron rod and my mouth was parched, no doubt cracked in the corners and white from dehydration. I forced myself into the shower and sat on the tiled floor just absorbing the water until it ran cold and even then I stayed there for a while. I wasn't sure where Cici would have gone and I didn't want to alert anybody else that she had taken off. It was bad enough that people already knew how problematic our relationship was. Feeling downright embarrassed, I decided to stay in for most of the day. That was until there was an echoing knock on the glass of the patio door. When I drew back the curtains I saw Bill standing there. He was illuminated by the sun and had this look of concern on his face. I cracked the world's most pitiful smile and unlocked the latch on the sliding glass door. He noticed my struggle to get it moving across the track so he took over and pulled it open for me. "Hey." He said, grimacing in that way that told me he knew exactly what kind of shit pile I had been laying in all day. "Hi. Come in." I offered, stepping aside so he could enter. Bill was wearing a blue V-neck shirt and swim shorts that ended at his knees. Even in something simple like that outfit he looked remarkable. Anyone that tall usually stood out to me but he did especially and with a look of trepidation on his face, I couldn't tear my eyes off of him. He had his hands in his pockets and a million things buzzing around in his head, I could tell. I did too. We just stood to face each other in the middle of my suite, I with my arms crossed casually and him with one hand in his pocket and the other scratching the back of his head. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. If you got in trouble... I didn't mean to cause-" "Don't apologize, Bill. Nothing was your fault. Believe me." "I guess Cici probably hates me now, huh?" I shrugged. "I don't know. I know for sure that she hates me though. She left last night and hasn't been back." Bill cocked his head, lips falling apart in question. "Where did she go?" "She said she was leaving. She said a lot of things." "Like leaving, leaving?" I nodded my head. "Shit... I'm sorry Vye." Bill apologized. "It's all right. Last night put some things into perspective for me actually." "Like what?" "Like how Cici has been and will forever continue to be a hypocrite. You saw how she was practically riding Emilio's dick on the beach. Then she gets all steamed at me. She can do whatever she wants but if she thinks I am having even a hint of fun without her she loses her mind." "Maybe it was just the drugs. Maybe she will come back?" I sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't even know if I want her to come back. I don't think there is anything on this planet that will salvage our relationship." Bill sat down with me and laid his big spidery hand on my knee. "There has to be something. You two have been together for so long! Relationships like that can't just die." "I think it's dead," I said, voice small and serious. "Come on Vye. She loves you." I chuckled. "Actually, last night she told me she's only been pretending to love me." Bill ran his thumb over the skin of my knee cap and didn't say anything with his mouth. His eyes spoke volumes to me though. They urged me to continue. "She called me a fake lesbian... And you know what?" "What?" I breathed out and couldn't help the way my body shuddered in doing so. "I don't think she's wrong." Bill cocked his head again like a sweet little puppy with huge green eyes. "Why?" My breaths were falling out of me raggedly. I felt like all of everything I had been trying to mash down into the ground was suddenly coming back up, clawing its way to the surface for air. There was nothing I could do to stop it. "I... I don't think I'm gay." Bill withdrew his hand from my knee as though my proclamation made it inappropriate for him to be touching me. It was the first time I had ever said that out loud to anyone, let alone myself. All at once, giving voice to the thought that had been driving me crazy made it valid. I had thought about it so often that when it finally came out it made me feel like I wasn't lying anymore. "Maybe you're just open?" He suggested. I shook my head. "I haven't been sexually attracted to Cici for... A long fucking time. When I cheated on her with that guy I liked it... I liked it a lot. I tried to see if I was attracted to other girls besides her but I honestly don't think I am." "How long have you felt like that?" I blew out some hot air and shook my head. "Long time. Years maybe. I ignored it for a while but eventually, it just caught up with me. I thought it was just being intimate with Cici that was turning me off but then I would see attractive men and I would get curious. I had never even seen a naked guy outside of porn." "And you only slept with one guy?" Bill asked "Yeah just the once and I didn't really see much of him. It was dark and I was really drunk. I remember liking it but feeling disgusting about it too." Bill leaned back on his long arms, looking almost as surprised as I was. I suspected that he would want to go and leave me to sit on this new revelation but he didn't move. He only reached out to run his hand down my back, comforting me and silently assuring me that he was there for me. "Well, I do know one thing..." Bill began. "I am really hungry." I wrapped my arms around my stomach in agreement. "Me too." Bill sat up straight on the bed again, replacing his palm on my leg and leaning over to talk to me in a sweet, gentle tone that actually did wonders to calm my racing heart. "How about we go upstairs and I'll make us something to eat?" "You don't have better things to do?" I asked him. He drew back in surprise. "Better things? Than talking to you?" I blushed. "Okay." As we left, I didn't bother locking the door just in case Cici decided to come slithering back like the venomous snake she was. I wasn't sure what I was going to say to her the next time I saw her but I knew it wasn't going to be pleasant. After opening up and finally saying the thing that had been rotting my mind for so long, I decided that I was also going to stop taking her abuse. There was no way I was going to be manipulated anymore. I didn't care if she threatened to slit her arms from elbow to wrist, I had had enough of it. I knew things were going to get messy once I found her but until then, I followed Bill to his room and smiled as he shut and locked the door behind him. Bill was so bright and one of the kindest people I had ever met. He didn't tiptoe around me like I was a newborn baby, but he was gentle enough for me to take solace in his company. He suggested I sit on the bed so I could watch him making our food from the kitchen and like the thoughtful person he was, he brought me a Mimosa. "I'm still having trouble understanding why such a handsome guy from Sweden is living by himself on an island in the Pacific. How did that come to be?" I asked him from my spot on the bed. Amongst the clinking of dishes and the sound of a knife on a cutting board Bill just laughed. "I don't really know myself. I came here with my family just to visit my grandparents and I didn't want to leave. So I didn't." "Maybe I should just stay here too," I pondered. "You should! It's really nice here. I could take care of you." Bill was busy doing this and that in the kitchen and I watched him, a serious expression overtaking me. It was a wonder to me how calm and giving he was without expectation of anything in return. Maybe it was because I had spent so much time shut off from the world, taking orders from Cici and working the time-crunched job that I had grown to expect that people only did things for you to get something back. Bill just gave and gave and that made him content. The smell of Bill's cooking soon filled the suite and I started to get really hungry. It was interesting watching him move around, reaching effortlessly for things in the cupboards and cleaning as he went. Mostly I saw him from behind but once in a while he would turn his head to find me staring at him and he would smile. Something inside of me felt different. Any time Bill flashed a hint of a smile at me or turned his head so I could see his profile I felt a stirring in my chest that could only mean I was starting to develop a crush. It was scary and I wasn't sure how to handle it but I knew that with each passing moment, I was becoming more and more attracted to him. Bill did a good job of keeping my champagne flute full and when he finally brought me a plate of food I could have melted into the bed. He left only to return with his own and joined me sitting cross-legged. I ate meticulously to make sure that I didn't spill anything onto his nice duvet cover. "Are you going to circle tonight?" He asked me through a mouthful of crispy potatoes. I shook my head, swallowed and shrugged. "I don't think so. I might just stay in and veg out by myself." He furrowed his brow in protest. "No. Not by yourself." "Fine," I giggled. "We can stay in though if you want." "Hey, if you want to cook for me and feed me drinks I will gladly take up residence on this bed." Bill nodded his head, enjoying the sound of the idea almost as much as I did. We ate our food and I thanked him profusely for cooking it. It had been a long time since anyone had made me food simply because they wanted to. It was just another thing about Bill that made him seem like too good of a person. All my life I had backhanded suspicions of people being too nice but I think Bill was just that- too nice. He listened, he offered his opinion only as a means of carrying on a conversation and not simply to be heard, he was caring and gentle and talking to him was like jotting down all of my thoughts in a diary; I could say anything I wanted, tell him any secret and he would accept it without judgment. I found it funny the most therapeutic aspect of my trip so far hadn't been the circles or the voluntary counseling. It was him. Bill made it all feel better. He took my mind off of the inevitable encounter I knew was going to happen between Cici and I. He even promised he would be there if she did come back and caused a scene. He told me that he didn't want me to be alone. Watching him sprawled out on the bed was as captivating as it was informative. It was the most time I had ever spent with a man before. His mannerisms were so different. Bill was effortlessly cute and it made me wonder if he actually knew how he came off to other people. Surely he knew that when he laid out and lifted his arms over his head to interlock his fingers under his neck he looked a thousand beautiful miles long. We played cards and even the way he held his up like a fan in front of his mouth was satisfying to watch. When he broke for a cigarette I stared at him pacing the balcony and blowing smoke rings through his pouty lips that didn't last long before they disappeared into the humid night's air. We kept the balcony doors open and lounged on his bed for hours, upgraded our Mimosas for vodka and lime and stopped our game so Bill could pull a wooden box out from his side table. "You smoke right?" I rolled my eyes at him. "I'm from BC. Of course, I smoke." He held up one finger, telling me to hold on a moment. Inside the box, he had rolling papers and weed. I smirked at him. I didn't think there was any pot on the island. "How did you get that here?" I asked. He tossed me a dastardly animated face. "I have my ways." We puffed away on a joint that he rolled and continued our games well into the night. The sun went down and nobody came to disturb us at all. Bill got up to make us popcorn and put a movie on the TV that was mounted to the wall next to the balcony doors. I got under the covers of his bed and wondered what he was thinking. I didn't want to leave to go back to my own room. Truthfully, I didn't want to be alone at all and was secretly hoping Bill would ask me to stay. "So nobody really bothers you, huh?" I asked as he turned on the lights so we could see better. "Not really. If I leave my room I get people coming up to me but that's it." He answered. "Don't you get bored here by yourself?" "I'm only by myself when I want to be. You want another drink?" I glanced over at my empty glass and replied, "no thanks, I don't need to be getting sloppy." "You're tapping out on me already, Vye?" "I just want to be of sound mind if Cici comes back." Bill frowned at my statement. "Maybe we should go look for her?" "I thought about that too but I don't want to give her the satisfaction. Not yet anyway. She only took a bag with her. All of the clothes she brought are still here. She'll be back." "What are you going to do? When she comes back, I mean." He inquired. With a shrug and a sigh, I said, "I have no idea. Maybe tell her all the things I told you about today. I'm not afraid of her reaction anymore." "Do you think you guys are really done?" Bill climbed into the bed beside me and propped his head up with his elbow, those big glassy eyes tethered to me indefinitely. "I think so. God, it feels so weird to say that." He nodded his head and I continued to speak. "Last time I tried to suggest we take time apart it didn't end so well." "How so?" "Well..." I began. "Not sure if you've noticed the scars on her arms... But yeah, she didn't take it well. She tried to kill herself and she almost succeeded." "You think she will try it again?" "Who knows. Maybe, maybe not. It's a pretty good way to get what you want from people though. She's been using that to control everything that I do for the past few months." "I'm sorry Vye. I hope that doesn't happen again." I smiled at him thankfully. "You are too sweet. You know that? You are. I can't believe that you are for real." "I just want to help you," Bill said quietly. "Why though?" I asked. Bill shrugged but I knew that he knew the answer. "I like you, Vye. You're cool and when we hang out it's effortless. I don't feel that way with most people." "You like listening to a fake lesbian talk about her shitty problems?" "Hey...Don't say that. You're not a fake anything. You are what you are. And your problems are valid. You're allowed to talk to me. Everyone deserves to vent so don't feel bad about talking to me." He lifted himself up slowly so that he was sitting up again and moved closer to me. I watched as he leaned over, hand on my cheek, guiding my eyes to his. I couldn't help the way I was feeling at that moment. Nobody had ever said anything like that to me before. It was foreign and I wanted more of him. He kissed me and I welcomed it. At first, he was still, just absorbing the feeling of our lips pressed together. The softness of his pillowy mouth was so different than what I was used to and when he moved them against mine I shivered. Pulling away with a gentle sound of suction, I had to give his face one more look. There was no way I could resist that rosy mouth any longer. We kissed with a fever that grew hotter with each passing second. The TV played on in the background as he used both hands to hold my face in place so he could decide exactly how he wanted to kiss me; hard with his head tilted to one side, then to the other side more softly, with his tongue licking at mine. I was right into it as well. After all, I had never made out with a man like him in my entire life. A younger version of myself would have never ever given thought to kissing a boy. Boys were disgusting to me but Bill... Bill was special. Even the guy I cheated on Cici with paled in comparison to him. It became obvious that sexual tension was building between us and before it got too far he pulled away to let our energy simmer down. "Is this okay?" He asked. "I don't want to make things worse for you." "It's okay," I said, rather breathless and turned on by how passionately we had just been kissing each other. "I just... I don't want anything crazy happening. I don't know if Cici is going to come storming back any time now or what. She would rip this entire house apart looking for me and..." My eyes trailed to the door of Bill's suite. He followed where my stare went and then looked at me again. Without a word, he pushed the cover back and swung his legs out of the bed to walk to the front door so he could lock it. Then he strode over to the balcony doors and pulled the glass panel closed. He drew the curtains and then turned around to look at me. We stared at each other for but a moment before he came over, climbing onto the bed on his hands and knees so he could hover over me. He searched my expression for permission to kiss me again and I gave it to him by rising to meet his lips. His hands fell down my shoulders to my chest that he brushed over so lightly. I wanted to feel those big hands all over me. It was such a departure from Cici's tiny hands that I needed to feel more but he pulled away from me again and I noticed he was starting to get hard. My heart started racing at the thought of seeing him naked. I had never seen a cock before, not in the light. It was equal parts scary and exciting but I knew I wanted to see Bill. Something about him made me assume that what he had underneath his swim shorts was going to match up with the rest of his general bone structure and I was riddled with this teasing fear. He knew all of this. He knew that I was fearful and curious and brand-new at this. He knew the only time I had ever been with a man was in a drunken stupor and everything had been dark. Bill treated it as though it were my first time, never jumping the gun and always looking to make sure I was okay with what was happening. Even his consideration for my inexperience was a turn-on but I was done playing innocent newcomer. I wanted more of him. "Show me?" I asked him. Bill pulled off his shirt and I got to see all of his muscles moving and flexing. With his eyes locked on me, he began pulling down his swim shorts and I watched with subdued breath as he exposed himself to me. My mouth opened as I saw him for the first time, his hand around his partially erect shaft. It wasn't as shocking as I had expected, in fact, it was quite the opposite. His was smooth and the head of it was a pleasant pink colour but still just as long as I expected it to be. I had seen cocks in porn; huge, freakishly thick with blue veins and heads like shiny purple helmets. Bill's was pretty and I couldn't believe myself as I thought that. Never in my life had I ever thought I would be staring at a cock and thinking it looked beautiful. Maybe because it was attached to one of the most beautiful people I had ever met. He stroked himself a little to maintain his hardness and I blushed. Under the light, his skin looked so inviting, like untouched snow. I could feel myself getting wet simply by looking at him. "Play with it," I told him and he obliged. He stroked himself slowly until he was so engorged with blood that each movement sent a shudder of pleasure through his body. There was a small, glistening drop of liquid that emerged from the tip and I bristled with excitement. "You like watching me play with myself?" His question was this sensual whisper that aroused me even more. I nodded my head and got out from under the covers so I could take my own shorts off. Underneath I was wearing cotton panties and I couldn't help but be reminded of the times that Cici and I would do this kind of thing in high school before we had the nerve to actually have sex. We would both get naked save for our panties and we would watch each other tease ourselves through the fabric, waiting until the wetness would show through the material. It was a sexy little game that I forgot about until that moment. Bill's eyes widened as I leaned my back up against the headboard, spread my knees apart and ran my fingers slowly over the front of my panties. His strokes slowed to match mine. I pictured what it would feel like for him to be inside of me and that made me wetter, but I was really into enjoying the visual of us masturbating in front of each other. I moaned softly as I used my middle and index finger to rub my clit through the light cotton of my panties. Surely he could see the outline of my folds and the little wet stain beginning to soak through. He licked his lips and kept the same rhythm stroking his cock for me. He looked gorgeous and I couldn't take my eyes away from the tip of his leaking shaft. With an evil smirk, I asked, "do you want to see?" He nodded vigorously. "Yes. Show me." I lifted my legs and hooked my thumbs underneath the band of my panties and pulled them off so he could have a better look. Exposing myself to him sent this tingling roll of power and arousal through me, my nipples got hard and I started to feel the pulsing of blood rushing to every pleasure center of my body, especially when I touched myself again. "Oh fuck." He groaned. "Yes, baby. Play with that nice pussy for me." I rose my legs up and reached around them and made sure he was watching carefully as I slid a finger into myself and shuddered. I watched him melt as I began to work my finger in and out of myself slowly, putting on a show just for him. He had to slow down, I could tell. The image must have been overloading to him. His eyebrows rose to meet in the middle and he groaned, licking his lips with lust smoldering in his tone. "You want this pussy, don't you?" I asked. He nodded but made no move to come any closer. He liked this game, I could tell. It made me feel like a horny teenager again but it was so much better. It was so different. I couldn't believe the way he looked, borderline desperate, his pretty face contorted with pleasure and mixed emotions. "Are you thinking about my cock inside of you?" Bill's voice was hushed so only I could hear him. It was my turn to nod. I parted my legs again and continued drawing circles around my clit, making sure he could see every inch of me in the process. Bill purred and pumped himself a little harder. I hadn't felt this powerful in a long time and I really wanted to use it to reduce the man to a gorgeous, whimpering mess. With my two fingers, I spread myself open for him to see. "How badly do you want to fuck my tight hole?" Bill ground his teeth together, eyes rolling to the back of his head. "I want to be deep in that fucking wet, pink, pretty little pussy right now. So bad. So fucking bad." "Keep working that cock. I need to watch you come." I demanded. He listened to me and I loved it. I watched him stroke himself until he was nearly ready to bust. Simultaneously, I rubbed myself until I was just teetering on the edge of an orgasm. I could get myself there quickly but I wanted to draw it out as much as I possibly could. The sensual overload was weighing down on both of us though and I knew our climaxes were fast approaching. "You going to come with me?" He asked, voice shaking as he continued jerking himself off in front of me. "Yes, I'm almost there." He whimpered softly and I could tell by the way his strokes turned into short little bursts that he was going to let go at any second. "I'm going to come." He warned. I nodded simply because I couldn't say anything. He leaned back and I saw his entire body tense up as he came. As soon as I saw his cum springing from the head of his cock that was enough for me. That warm, rich tickle ended me and I shuddered, never taking my fingers off my sweet spot until I couldn't handle anymore. Bill moaned and didn't stop stroking himself until every last drop of cum had been coaxed out of him. Sitting back breathlessly, I watched that liquid glide down the underside of his shaft. It had been so much I thought it would never stop erupting from him and when it did, he looked up at me, chest heaving, eyes glistening at me with a smirk on his rosy lips. "Fuck." Was all he managed to say before he stood up and went into the bathroom to get a towel. When he came back he seemed completely unabashed, even as he stood there naked, his cock spent and skin looking radiant amidst the blood rush. "Wow. That was... Wow." Bill said. I laughed as I located my panties so I could put them back on. Bill turned from me and I took a moment to admire the back of him. He rummaged through the top drawer of his dresser and found a pair of boxer briefs to put on. He casually made his way back to the bed and slid in under the blankets beside me, eyes dragging from my crotch to my face. "Kiss me." He commanded. I leaned over and our lips met once more. When he pulled away his eyes were swimming with things he wanted to say. "I don't want to sound selfish but... If you end it with Cici, I can't promise I won't be there waiting for you right after. I also can't promise I won't beg you to stay here with me." "I want to stay here with you. I don't ever want to leave." Bill wiggled down into a laying position and pulled me close to him so I would lay down next to him. "Good." He said, pressing a hard kiss to my temple. "I don't want you to leave."