#comrades practicing comradery

[johankasas]

What did he tell him

[saishuu-heiki-a]

No oaths were uttered, and no processions of honour followed the enlisting of men to the SOLDIER program. Every soul who signed their life away to Shinra were just that . . pawns on leashes with souls designated to the devil. However that was not to say honour was completely void. He did not twist mentality to justify actions , cruel or otherwise , instead there lied the genuine belief that honour followed all of his actions . . and that honour should have followed in the steps of SOLDIERs. For a select few , he found himself as proud as one could be for another.

Blood relations and the brotherhood of the SOLIDER program accounted for nothing if orders were not followed and sacrifices were not made. Genesis Rhapsodos @poeticphoenix was one of the newest faces of the SOLDIER program , and Sephiroth kept judgements and opinions to himself until actions spoke louder than enthusiasm. Enthusiasm was bountiful in all the soulless of Shinra. Enthusiasm did not win wars , and enthusiasm did not strike the final blow. Sadism and a sense of superiority were motivators some used . . Sephiroth had witnessed it.

Dishonourable , and they argued there was nothing honourable even being associated with Shinra. He did not partake in the squabbles of morality with those who used guns as toys. In Sephiroth's and Genesis' first mission together , the prodigal SOLDIER spoke only when necessary. He did not allow his own opinions to leak out ; not wishing to influence Genesis' actions in an unnatural manner. For the thousandth or millionth time , Sephiroth's sword glided with ease even as the turmoil died down . . even as cries of pain amplified. No Survivors , orders had been made abundantly clear.

Their opponents were enemies of Shinra , and the heads of the serpents needed to be cleaved to prevent further uprising. It was easy for him in the sense he was a practiced warrior by the time Genesis was at his side , though would a task come easily for the other man? The last of their targets was without arms and chanting prayers from memory. Sephiroth was silent and a face of stoicism , harder to decipher than a slab of granite. Perhaps it was such a quality which turned out to be readily decipherable for his brother-at-arms elevated face and met his stare.

The intensity between them could lead one to believe the two SOLDIERs communicated telepathically. Such a thing was not true , however enough was spoken through actions. Genesis' own sword moved through their enemy's neck cleaner than heated knife to butter. It spoke to the weapon's strength and that of the man who wielded it. His fortitude. There was the strangle of pain , the gurgle of blood , and then nothingness. Sephiroth's eyes , often described in infamy , had to look no further than his comrade's face to know the job was done; he was a man of honour.

He did not smile , but he was pleased. He tipped his head forward , and then very swiftly swung his massive weapon in the air to remove the excessive amount of blood from the gleaming edge. He would clean it properly at a later time. There was an eeriness in the sound of his boots hitting the ground, but what the SOLDIERs felt was triumph for Shinra was made proud. A gloved hand landed on Genesis' shoulder in the briefest gesture of comradery and pride.

❛ It is done. ❜

[jpnfilmhistorynmore]

Seven Samurai

Seven Samurai, directed by Akira Kurosawa, is an exciting, action-packed, and at times solemn movie. While the movie holds shots for longer than you would expect in a modern Hollywood film, the movie doesn’t feel slow or poorly paced. I loved watching the film and the ending left me contemplating once I had finished it. I believe that in Seven Samurai, Akira Kurosawa comments on class-divides, and the lack of care shown by both sides. The movie follows the peasants of a village that realize they will soon be raided by bandits. In a act of desperation, the peasants, lower class citizens, begin begging samurai for assistance and offering them food as payment. Many samurai refuse to help, as they have no reason to and it would even damage their reputation to do so. Despite this, eventually they find a great samurai who is willing to help for no reason other than his desire to do so. Through this great samurai, they successfully recruit 6 more samurai, totaling 7 samurai (hence the film’s name). As the film goes on, the level of distrust and hostility commonly found between samurai and peasants becomes apparent. The peasants are afraid to meet with the samurai until they believe the bandits are coming, they cut their daughters’ hair short to keep the samurais from laying with them, and eventually admit that they had killed many injured samurai in the fields nearby after a battle. While these display the peasants in a negative light, distrust and hostility goes both ways. Kikuchiyo, one of the 7 samurai, was actually a peasant earlier in his life. In a monologue, he confesses to the 2-faced nature of peasants, but goes on to claim that they have to be 2-faced due to the samurai’s abuse of them. Samurai would come into town and demand to be housed or fed, and would take peasants’ belongings for their own. Additionally, earlier in the film, upon being asked to help, a few samurai went as far as to physically beat the peasants. During the time period the film took place, the Sengoku period, there was also a practice known as Tsujigiri, during which a samurai would test a new weapon or technique on a random passerby, often peasants. Despite this historical distrust and hostility, the samurai and the peasants cooperate to protect the village. During this time, one samurai even falls in love with a peasant girl, only to be told the romance isn’t possible due to their class divide. Upon finding out about this romance, the father went as far as to beat his daughter. By the end of the film, 4 of the 7 samurai had died protecting the village. There is no grand celebration for the samurai’s victory or help, and we are left with a solemn scene. The samurai stand to the side, watching as the villagers plant their next crop while singing. The samurai turn and look to the burial mounds of their fallen comrades, and one remarks that they had ‘lost this battle as well’. He elaborates that ‘the samurai hadn’t won, the peasants did’. As soon as the peasants didn’t have a reason to continue interacting with the samurai, their sense of comradery had disappeared and they had once again become strangers.

[meteor-sword]

hi vae may i possibly,,get some pianjeong? 🥺 (also the way i considered going on anon for this and then realized u would 100% know who i was. brain egg. fried) -abby

ok this will be interesting bc idk what the established tropes are or not (i’ve read a handful of pianjeong fics but 🤔)

setting: post canon. they knew each other before jeong jeong’s desertion, but only in passing in military service. maybe they were trained in the same cohort, but separated according to bender status 

i feel that although they are both very perceptive and observant, it would be jeong jeong who notices piandao more, back then (because piandao is a star pupil, right? he’s an excellent swordfighter and tactician)

(but maybe that’s jeong jeong’s perception, that piandao doesn’t notice him. but jeong jeong is also an excellent cadet during training, and piandao IS observant, but also subtle. jeong jeong maybe overestimates his ability to gauge other’s perceptions of him) 

(SO after training is done and they are all deployed separately, and news breaks YEARS later of a high ranking officer defecting, piandao recognizes the name. he remembers on some level the young man who trained parallel to him in the bending troops)

FAST FORWARD that’s all just the setting

post canon. they have recaptured ba sing se. pakku and iroh and bumi have other things to do (including not leaving a 16 year old in charge of a country alone, but that’s another thread) SO i mean is piandao gonna let his new/old comrade just go back to living in the forest when there’s no need??? 

so jeong jeong comes to piandao’s castle. which i imagine this a common theme? :) idk

but he still has his issues with firebending. and he’s a bit standoffish because this man he’d always noticed from afar has invited him to his castle but he doesn’t even know who jeong jeong is (but he does)

so while they take meals and tea together, very little conversation happens for the first week or two. piandao finds it enjoyable but jeong jeong finds it uncomfortable 

AT SOME POINT they do talk,, and piandao discovers jeong jeong’s feelings about firebending and offers to teach him swordsmanship as an alternative ??? outlet? a non-traumatizing physical outlet ?

so he teaches jeong jeong to paint, and to do calligraphy in an expressive way, not just utilitarian writing they were taught in school. painting is not very engaging for jeong jeong, but he’s good

calligraphy is much more difficult. he has very good handwriting but it is not expressive at all, so the lessons stretch from an afternoon to several days to a couple of weeks, focused on calligraphy. 

cue... piandao helping him with his grip, pointing out ways he could improve or what he’s already improved on. instructions expanding into quiet conversations as they took breaks for tea and meals 

listen you see where this is going. jeong jeong asks finally when they’re going to move to swords and piandao shrugs. maybe never. why learn another skill just to kill. i want to see what calligraphy you can create

and jeong jeong realizes how meditative it’s been, practicing calligraphy and chatting with piandao, and also realizes that piandao has stayed with him, giving weeks of attention to jeong jeong, teaching him, pouring his tea, guiding his hands..................... and it clicks (or maybe it has been clicking, slowly) 

in the end i think it’s kind of a silent understanding between them that this has grown from mere onesided observation, then comradery and mutual appreciation for arts and whatever in the white lotus, to........ more

and i imagine this comes after an evening calligraphy session, with the windows thrown open and the sun having set over the mountains in the distance and the light disappearing from the sky yet no candles lit in the study yet, and one of them (both of them) lean in and kiss

[redundantz]

Found an old write up of my Star War OCs Backstory and info 🤔

I’m not really a writer and usually don’t enjoy it at all so this is pretty big for me ahha

Yanna Sen'ka

Born on a distant planet, not uncivilized but not refined. A place full of plant life living in a small village on the edge of a forest near a large river.

She is an only child raised by her mother and father.

Her strong force sensitivity was noticed early on by Supreme Leader Snoke. Moulding and manipulating her thoughts and actions. Small whispers in her ear, little seeds of doubt, fear and anger. Building on her childlike fears and worries.

She clashed often with her strong willed mother. Who became distrusting of her daughters troubling and sinister behaviour. Only growing worse when she would go to her father for everything and get dotted on by him. Jealousy bloomed. Her mother was jealous of the great attention she got from him. And how she never came to her for help or comfort. All the while Snoke fanning the flames of your bitterness and resentment towards her. Becoming a dark ball of hate whenever near her. Often causing Yanna to lash out or run off sometimes for days.

Growing up in the forest she knew her way around well. What plants to eat and how to trap animals for food. She could spend days by herself. And she did. Not entirely out of her own desire. The other kids were also wary of her.

Her unstable behaviour and rumours surrounding her that strange and awful things happen.

On one of her outings by the waterfall, she was practicing her use of the force. Stacking rocks, building a little dam to catch the fish in the pond.

One of the village boys came through the brush spotting her using her powers. Startled, and still very angry the rock she had been floating flung into him with a startling velocity and power. So much so that his gasp of surprise was cut short and his limp body fell to the ground. In shock, she could only gape as blood started running down the stones into the pool. Dying it red.

Snapping out of it she started to panic and breathing hard, tears welled up in her eyes.

In shock, she just stared as the blood washed away. And a small consciousness came into the back of her mind saying. "You did nothing wrong my child. He saw you, you know what they would do if he told everyone. Imagine how disappointed your father would be if he found out? You don't want that....

Now, imagine how glad the other children will be now that he's gone. He was a useless boy, did nothing of value and lorded his false power over others.

And you my child have true power. Look what you did without even trying. Imagine what you could do with my full tutelage.

All of them would listen, never question you.

Your scum mother would never dare raise her voice at you...

And your papa would be so proud to look upon such a strong and accomplished daughter.

Now.... get rid off the body!”

Still horrified by what she's done yet with new found resolve she moves over to the corpse. Grabbing him by the back of his shirt she hauls him into the pool to be carried down river.

Washing away any of the blood on the stones and the evidence of her presence there. She glances at the body as it bobs down the river out of her sight before darting into the woods.

Frantic, she just couldn't get away from there fast enough still terrified by what she's done. She ran and wandered until her legs ached. The sun was setting causing the shadows in the forest to deepen before she climbed s tree to find a safe perch for the night.

Finally settling down and alone with her thoughts. The edge of panic had creeped off and she was surprisingly calm and serene. a voice in the night whispered "you've done well child...."

Looking up to the small group of stars she could see through the thick canopy. The fear and panic from earlier settled into the back of her mind she could only think of how glad she was rid of the boy.

None in the village could figure out what happened to the boy but everyone was on edge. And Yanna was put under more scrutiny. She couldn’t understand why everyone was so upset over the useless kid. Getting more and more withdrawn and angry.

Her mother was getting even worse to her as she got older and she got confronted by her if it was she who was the cause of the boys disappearance. Yelling and screaming, calling her a cursed child and that she stole everything from her. She was holding a knife in defence afraid of her own child or ready to attack..? Yanna looked for her father but he just looked at her with fear and uncertainty in his eyes. She felt despair. But really he was looking at his wife, maybe with clear eyes for the first time. As she went in to the attack, Yanna was able to avoid and fight back for the most part but her father tried to intervene and save her getting stabbed in the process. He wasn’t critically injured but she saw red and high pitched screaming filled her ears. Next thing she woke up to was her fathers body shielding her and the house, the village, and forest was on fire. Her mother was dead and her father was dead. Her mind was blank.

“It’s time”

When Snoke came to get her she was alone in the forest she couldn't stand to be around what she had done. Refusing to think about it as her rage died down. She couldn't. She just repeated what leader Snoke said to her before.

The code of the dark side.

Her only salvation.

She met Kylo Ren when she was 14. Only a few years older than her he was gangly yet exuded a great sense of power that radiated from him crackling and angry. He was reckless and had a childlike temperament.

She got on his nerves a lot and not always in purpose. Unlike him she has learned to focus her anger and fear. Her calculated control bothered him as she would look down on him every time he would throw a fit.

Often it would cause them to fight.

She wouldn't admit that she just liked to get on his nerves and show him how little control he had by flaunting hers. Also that she wanted to help teach him to master himself. Even though it should have been the other way around.

She knew it was not in her best interest but she grew quite attached to him. She was a decent comrade to the others. Especially Kuruk ren. He made her laugh with jokes and a sick sense of humour. Always having the most ridiculous of stories to tell. He even wanted to get in her pants a few times. She was tempted to be sure. Mostly to just get it over with and see what it's like. She really didn't enjoy his company "that" much. In either case she has never felt more included. she's finally a part of a group and working towards something bigger than herself. She was determined to be useful and prove herself. She wanted to make leader Snoke proud. He was the only one there for her her whole life guiding her, who truly understood her.

Master Snoke would train them all when he could but for the most part it was up to them to keep up their practices. Their fitness, saber wielding, meditation and use of the force. Most of the Knights would work independently as comradery was not something adherent to their teachings. Mostly sparing together to blow off extra energy and test their might.

Kylo was the over all strongest beating most of the Knights easily. A few where much more adept at swordplay and gymnastics each having their own strong suit . Some even preferring blasters and other physical weapons.

Yanna was not the best at swordplay, but was quite nimble and able to move around with a purpose from many years in the forests.

She would focus and use of the force to read movements and work around them. Reading their minds or just straight up using her powers to physically beat them or trip them. Usually that wasn't allowed in sparing but she didnt always listen.

Snoke chose Kylo to be the Master of the Knights of Ren and it must have been for a good reason. She just couldn't help but let a small part of herself felt slighted and jealous.

She was there when they helped kill all the Jedi training under Luke Skywalker. Snoke told her about Luke and how Kylo trained under him until he was shown the way to the dark side. How he was the cause of Vaders death. The Shinning example of pure darkness.

As a part of the Knights they all admired him greatly. None more so as Kylo. Not quite sure how deep his attachment goes.

They wore clothes and helmets in honour of him. Hoping to take up where he left off. Show the universe what true power is.

She has a special way she typically used her force powers. By exploding people's hearts. Not very messy but effective. Didn't require her to use her sword which was more for defence and secondary offence than anything.

Where would your character fall on a politeness/rudeness scale?

In the middle, she respects her elders and superiors but holds nothing back for her peers and children. Most rudeness is nonverbal just ignoring or blatant disregard.

How many friends does your character have?

Virtually none. The Knights of Ren are her closest allies. Kylo in particular and Kuruk. Leader Snoke himself has been her closest friend and Mentor.

Also Captain Phasma share a fun friendship the rare chance the meet.

How many friends does your character want?

She would say none. That ties to others always just end up in pain and are a weakness. In reality a few close good friends is what she wants and needs. People to share experience with and shared ambition.

How does your character feel about sex?

Not something she's particularly interested in. Neither is romance. Her life has been to driven and hectic to think of such things. Even being older it’s not really on her mind. If the fancy ever struck her she wouldn't say no. A few men/women and even the other Knights have tried. All their efforts just irritate her.

She does masterbate now and again, for release only when she's sure no one would know.

What was the best thing in your character’s life?

Her Father was her best friend and mentor. He would teach her all about living in the forest and wouldn’t treat her like a child. letting her figure stuff out on her own and make mistakes but always there to help out. But was also there to comfort her but was also a bit of a coward when it came to standing up to his wife.

[littlemisssquiggles]

RWBY Musings #74: Brother of the Tin Soldier. What if…General Ironwood has a brother that no one knew about; not even Professor Ozpin?

This theory came to mind while considering the thought of what Oscar’s experience with General Ironwood might be like once the two finally meet in Atlas. We know Ironwood was presumably a close comrade of Professor Ozpin; in spite of his momentary backstab back in RWBY V2. It’s also been established by the villains that Ozpin is currently the one person that Ironwood would be willing to listen to in his current state of mind. This actually makes me curious about how current Ironwood would take to the young Oscar; especially given the events of V6.

Ozpin is still technically missing in action; still playing hideaway deep within Oscar’s mind and given Qrow’s reaction to learning the full truth of Ozma and the Wizards’ connection to Salem, this leaves me to believe that if Qrow didn’t know then neither does Ironwood. And if the truth garnered such as an unexpectedly hostile reaction from Qrow; considerably Ozpin’s closest most trusted ally then can you imagine how it would be should Ironwood learned the full truth. Especially in his current mind set.

I’m not saying that Ironwood would flat out try to take out his anger at Ozpin on Oscar (and should he, I pray that Qrow Branwen is there to accompany Oscar and actually step in this time to intervene any harsh confrontation that might occur between the General and our young farm boy). I’m just saying, I’m unsure of what Oscar’s relations with the General are going to be like for Atlas.

On one end, I’m hoping its respectful and pleasant in the sense that Ironwood might try to be a mentor to the impressionable young Oscar, offering to mould him as a young protégé. However on the other end, I also feel like that could potentially backfire with Ironwood’s true colours manifesting with his fears turning him into a control freak who ends up trying to manipulate and/enforce his ideologies onto poor Oscar.

I don’t particularly like this idea since I’ll let you guys in on something. This squiggle meister actually really likes General Ironwood. I admittedly like him more for the strong badass appeal his character exerts as opposed to his actions. I know Ironwood has been painted as somewhat untrustworthy in the past. As a matter of fact, some folks might’ve even suspected Ironwood to be the one to betray Ozpin first instead of Lionheart. Technically he kind of did but what makes James different than Leo is that, despite his actions similarly being fuelled by fear, James did it out of devotion to protecting the people of Remnant.

At the end of the day, James Ironwood is a solider for mankind who willingly devoted his life to help defend humanity. James does what he thinks is best to protect the people. Lionheart, on the other hand, was a coward who stood back and allowed Salem to mercilessly slaughter his own huntsmen because he was more afraid of what she might do to him than the lives of others. In the end, Leo looked out mostly for himself and was more scared for his own life than anyone else’s. This small detail is what sets him and Ironwood apart in my eyes. Separating the sheep from the goat or more fittingly, the cowardly lion whose own cowardice was used to tame him by the hands of our primary villainess vs the tinman without a heart who would rather lock himself and his own kingdom away from the rest of the world if it meant keeping everyone safe.

While I empathized with Leonardo Lionheart as a character, his actions and the lives he sacrificed during his contributions to Salem’s schemes were still downright despicable and now I wonder how Ironwood would fare.

I believe Glynda once commented that James is a good man and I believe her. In spite of seeming heartless based on his past actions, Ironwood’s heart is in the right place. There is a sliver of merit to what he tries to do since you can tell he’s doing it because he believes his ideas can be used for the greater good of humanity even if he has as rather unorthodox way of  showing it. It’s just his mind and sense of rationale that’s currently Ironwood’s crutch and I’m especially curious to see how he will be for V7. I’m not exactly sure how the FNDM feels toward the General Ironwood especially now. From what I’ve seen the main perception seems to be concern for our heroes under the General’s reign as some folks believe his authoritarian ways might prove adversarial.

While I too share those concerns, I’d also like to believe there’s more layers to James. He certain gives the impression of a complicated man made up of more parts and delicate intricacies that he likes to reveal to others; even his most trusted. Like a machine. Following the epic reveal of Ironwood’s bionic half, this peaked my intrigue to learn more of the war dog tale that led to such a drastic modification to the General’s body. An elaborative and downright freaking awesome detail such as that must have a compelling backstory to it and I hope that the CRWBY Writers flesh that out for the Atlas Trilogy. Can’t wait to hear all about it, hopefully.

This is why I’ve taken to this small theory of mine of General Ironwood having family that he’s distanced himself from. Possibly a former close relative---like a brother that not even his most trusted knew about. Not Winter Schnee. Not Glynda. Not even Ozpin knew. I kind of dig the notion of Ozpin (Ozma) being trusting enough of James to entrust him with his most important secret while Ironwood couldn’t be bothered to so much as mention to his friend and headmaster in arms that he had a brother.

Does that seem like something Ironwood would possibly do? By my impression of his character, probably yeah.

 The Ironwood Brothers

I like the idea of James possibly having a younger brother who is his sole living relative.

And because of this thought, this squiggle meister is additionally digging the idea of…what if…Oscar were to unexpectedly meet this brother character of Ironwood’s and the two were to form a close comradery akin to James and Ozpin.

I think that could be kind of interesting. What if…General Ironwood does have a baby brother and if Ironwood is supposed to be based off of the Tin Man who shares a connection to the Wizard of Oz, perhaps…Ironwood’s baby brother can be inspired loosely by the Scarecrow. He’s not a member of Ozpin’s Inner Circle of course since most RWBY theorists believe that Qrow Branwen is the embodiment of the Scarecrow character from the Wizard of Oz.

However; I really, really like the concept of two brothers being based off a tin man and a scarecrow. One is made of metal and the other is made of straw. Straw is soft to represent warmth and an openness to accept others while tin is tough to represent durability and a power to withstand anything thrown one’s way.

The brother made of straw---the Scarecrow, is very open and friendly; trusting to every new stranger he meets regardless of who they are or where they came from. He may not be the brightest mind but what he lacks in intelligence he makes up for it with a heart that’s willing to understand anything and anyone within the world around him.

The other brother, the one made of metal---the Tinman was not so naïve. He was of course; tough.  Tenacious even and possessed an innovative brilliance about him that was only supported by hard-hitting exterior. But because of this, the Tinman was often alone for many found him too intimidating and often cowered in fear in front of him.

The one person who wasn’t afraid of the Tinman was his brother. The Scarecrow understood the Tinman and saw past his outward coldness into the mechanical heart that beat inside. And because of this understanding and willingness to understand him, the Tinman was very appreciative of the Scarecrow’s company and was able to trust in him; not being afraid to allow him into his heart in spite of shutting so many others out.

For you see, the brothers were made for each. Though very different, the two complemented each other perfectly and made up for each other’s faults. While Scarecrow taught his brother how to be kind and not be afraid to put his faith in other people, the Tinman protected his younger brother and ensured that no harm ever befell his more fragile form. They created a nice balance between each other and this formed the nature of what made the brothers’ bond stronger than either of them combined.

This is my perception of the Ironwood Brothers dynamic. If Ironwood is the brother made of tin then his brother would be the one made of straw. I love the idea of James Ironwood once being very close to a baby brother Ironwood character but at some point in their past, the two went their separate ways. They still keep in touch occasionally but then again, this doesn’t change the fact that James has shut his brother out despite his numerous attempts to keep knocking on this walls outside. The Scarecrow desperately trying to convince the Tinman to let him back in.

 A Man Named Tip

Time for the meat of my musing. Remember that time I shared the theory about Oscar and RWBY’s version of Pumpkinhead?

In my ‘Pumpkinhead’ RWBY Squiggle Script, I depicted this story of Oscar receiving detention during his enrolment at Atlas Academy after refusing to fight the Pumpkinhead robot model during a practice simulation where the robot showed signs of unwillingness to combat. Thus Oscar forfeited their duel and was punished by his teacher; forced to work in maintenance of the Atlas Academy practice droids as part of his punishment.

I’d actually love to revisit that Pinehead headcanon of mine and elaborate more on it. As a matter of fact, I’d like to make a sort of prequel script that to introduce my interpretation of General Ironwood’s baby brother character.

For the sake of this musing, I’m going to dub my fanon version of General Ironwood’s brother as Tippetarius Ironwood---drawing inspiration from the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz (to give him a correlation to Ironwood being the Tinman) and Tippetarius from the Marvellous Land of Oz (to give him a connection to Oscar who is RWBY’s version of Princess Ozma). I figured RWBY could potentially make a new canon character named Tip despite them not being based of the actual Oz character. 

After all, there is a character named Ozma despite Oscar being the one based off Princess Ozma. Still Ozma is technically connected to Oscar so I guess that counts. Just as how I like the idea of my Tip character sharing a friendship with Oscar Pine. Saddle up for this squiggly story, fellow Pineheads.

In my story, Tippetarius Ironwood is the sole technician of the Scrap Farm---a designated underground warehouse section of Atlas Academy responsible for the maintenance and repairs of all machinery and equipment utilized by Atlas Academy including their practice droids like Pumpkinhead (or Atlesian Battle Droid Series PMKN. ID: 4340)

And as a means of further drawing inspiration from Princess Ozma’s story, what if…my Tippetarius Ironwood worked underneath a wicked old women named after the wicked witch Mombi while sharing slight influence from her Oz counterpart. I know I’ve already shared a concept for another Mombi-inspired RWBY character before however…again, for the sake of this headcanon of mine, let’s just roll with this; shall we?

I shall christen this old lady person as Ms. Dolores Mombi and yes, you are indeed correct in thinking that I named her after Dolores Umbridge of the Harry Potter series so you can clearly see where I’m going with this character.

Ms. Mombi is the chief supervisor of the Scrap Farm where Tip works. Despite Tip actually being the one who takes care of all the machinery, he is forced to work with Mombi as his boss and the two share a dynamic where Mombi constantly berates and overworks Tip to the bone. However Tip doesn’t let her get under his skin since he loves his job and has a personal investment at Atlas as a means of staying connected to his family---working those extra hours to care for his pregnant wife and their current toddler children while also trying to rekindle his relationship with his brother James which has unfortunately strayed over the years.

If I were to describe Tippetarius Ironwood, I can picture him being a copy of James in terms of height and build (although not as blocky as he appeared in V4). I’m not a fan of V4 Ironwood. I don’t mind the rugged look, I just didn’t like how square his new model made him appear in that season, y’know what I mean? I quite preferred the less boxy yet muscular, tall and lean look of his previous models. I don’t know what it is. Maybe this is just me but Ironwood’s V4 model seemed a bit off to me. Maybe it’s because they designed him more broader in the shoulders which in terms made his arms seem proportionately shorter in my eyes. I dunno. Maybe I’ll grow more adjusted to his new build by V6.

Anyways, if I had to picture Tip’s build, he’d look more like V2-V3 Ironwood. I also imagine him being a couple inches taller than James. I like the quip of James having a younger brother who’s actually taller than him. I can definitely imagine Qrow being the type to poking fun at James for being shorter than his baby brother. I still remember Glynda Goodwitch’s infamous comment from V2 with Ozpin’s hilariously timed interruption.

So Tippetarius would be a tall handsome middle-aged man with a muscular build. While I more picture Tip having brown hair instead of black like James (feeding into my Ironwood headcanon where he takes after his father---Ironwood Sr even following in his footsteps as a solider and leading general of the Atlesian military), he still shares the same metallic blue eyes as his older brother and of course, the trademark Ironwood dimple cheeks.

You can’t be an Ironwood without dem dimples. What? Let me indulge in my headcanons, okay.

I also like the idea of Tippetarius rocking some tatts on his arms of the most important people in his life. On his right arm, he branded an image of his loving wife which he got after they got engaged since she’s his right hand woman and on his left arm is a portrait of his daughters---all three of them which he got after their second birthday. Y’know with all the fairy-tale influences that helped shape RWBY’s cast of characters, I’m surprised we have yet to meet characters based off the Three Little Pigs.

Since this is my RWBY OC concept, let’s say Tip’s daughters are 7-year-old triplets based off the Three Little Pigs. Boom! And once his fourth child is born, Tip was going to get another tattoo of said new-born right underneath their sisters.

So those are this squiggle meister’s ideas for Tippetarius Ironwood. Now that you have a sense of how he looks, it’s time to get a sense of who he is or at least how I would envision a character like him to be.

Personality-wise, I’m picturing Tip being the complete opposite of James Ironwood. A very open-minded family man who is friendly and inviting to everyone he meets. But his friendliness betrays the heart of a hurt individual who has lost a bond that was once dear to him. A lost connection he desperately desires to rekindle. Though a bit naive at times, Tip is a handy man who knows his stuff when it comes to repairs which interests the young Oscar Pine placed in his custody and the two easily form a tight dynamic as they bond in the Scrap Farm of Atlas Academy as Junkrats.

Oh? What is a junkrat you might ask? Well by my headcanon, Junkrats are what the workers within the Scrap Farm are known as at Atlas Academy. It was a term Ms. Mombi came up with to use on Tip whenever she dared to scold and make a mockery of him and his contributions in the workplace. It was originally meant to be an offensive term however Tip turned it into something positive made even more endearing by Oscar’s inclusion as a fellow Junkrat.  

That’s the idea boys and girl.

But why stop just here. What better way for me to shape out Tip than with a good ole fashioned RWBY Squiggle Script, ey? I figured this post can be both a new RWBY Musing with a dash of another Pinehead headcanon all served together with a delicious side of another Oscar-centric Squiggle Script for some added zest for all you peckish pining readers.

That being said, I shall conclude this musing with said script so I hope you guys will enjoy. At the end, please let me know what you guys think of this theory as well as your thoughts on my ideas for this Tippetarius fella I made up just now.

Ever since I first thought up Pumpkinhead (the robot) and Rosaline Fox, I’m beginning to like sharing ideas for potential RWBY Characters. Whether they become canon or not, these concepts have kind of become my own string band of RWBY OCs. I know I definitely wanna do more with Pumpkinhead and I’m currently in the making of something more for Rose Fox, but I’m loving Tippetarius Ironwood too. Even if I don’t get the chance to illustrate him, I’d still love to bring Tip to life in another creative format like my writing.

As I’ve mentioned before, my squiggle scripts are the closest thing to fanfiction that I’ll ever write for RWBY. It’s been an enjoyment writing for my headcanon spawned Squiggly RWBY OCs since it helps bring them to life. I enjoyed doing that Pumpkinhead and Rose Fox and I can’t wait to hear what you guys think of Tippetarius Ironwood.

I may delve deeper into this whole Brother of Ironwood headcanon of mine if motivated. But for now, enjoy this fun script I concocted from just his small theory.

Read RWBY Squiggle Script #19

More Squiggles’ RWBY Content!

 ~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

[lightshineinc]

The Manifesto and Metrist: A Constitutional Implementation

To Ascertain Forever

1Ones Liberty is the Dimension to Ones Awareness. By the Principality that is Progression; Intelligence is the Consequence to our Information and Trust. 2 That is Integrity. 3 In the Pursuit of Progression the Clarity to Ones own Vexation is the Experience that is first Intuition and Second Persuasion. 4 To Know what is Continual in the Production of ones Constitute, Submission must become the Confidence to the Multitudes of Practices, Passions, and Constitutes to Exercise ones Liberty and Intuition, Forever. 5 That is Satisfaction to the Regrets of our Youth And the Wisdom to our Maturity; Past Present and Future.

To Manifest Forever

1 In the Passions that We do Admire in Youth, These are our Aesthetics that Transition into our Sanctuary.2 By the Means of our Wisdom; the Integrity to our Intelligence to Create, Work, and Progress; 3 In the Efforts of a Valuable Equitation, We are Regret Free by the hands and Body that Prodigiously Inhale and Exhale our Manifestations. 4 that is our Meditation and grace in Cognition. 5 To Exercise our Liberties in Intelligence. 6 To be Aware and Learn from our Vexations. 7 To Destroy What is Self which are our Ignorance’s we become so Aware of in Youth; 8 Maturity is the Genesis to our Liberties Constitute, the Force and Chemistry that Moves the Soul on behalf of What is Heard and Felt. 9That is the fruit of our Majesty, Expression, and Memory in Communication. 10 this is our Authenticity and Rendition of our own Identity our beloved Aesthetics we know within our Sanctuary.

To Celebrate Forever

1 To Dance within the Sciences of the All Compelling and Cunning Aesthetics in a Dimension, Dominion and Cognition; 2 Intelligence to Translate and Inform, That is Order, We Must Trust our own Scurity. 3 The Confidence to Protect in an Equitable Dominion and Cognition Followed by a Coagulation of a Sincere Comradery, Family, and a Marriage.

To Socialize Forever

1To be the Care, Trust, and Awareness of a Comradery;2 Integrity is to the Purpose of ones Liberty, and the Matrix to a Dominion and Cognition. 3That is Felicity. 4 To Inform in the Deposition of Intelligence; To Trust in another’s Nourishment, To Project Gratitude with Confidence; 5What we Hear, Visualize and See, Speak, Taste, and Ingest are our own Vexations. What we Persuay and Extort are our Prayers. 6 That is the Intelligence to a Body and Party;7 A Cognition and Dominions Honor. 8With Permission and the Continual Grace of the Experience of Intelligence, Clarity and Education, How we Perform Salutations are the Prime Compliments that Translate a Conceived Authenticity. 9 That is Euphemism in an Anaphoric Relationship that Is Produced in Trust. A Family.

To Conceive Forever

1 Education is Learning in a Liberal Dimension and Cognition that Exercises wonder and Extort the Youths Felicity into Maturence of the Fidelity of Information. 2 That is Maternity.

The Manifesto

1 For the Dominion we Dream, and the Cognition that is Land and Sea. 2 The Validity where we stand is Loathing to our Contentment. That is the Notoriety to our liberty as a State.3 The Energy that is our Light, The Confidence to what is Form., the Restraint that is our Property, Prosperity, and Serenity;4 Our anomaly is Instantaneous as an Identity, but Grace as a Family. 5 Fire as her Life Force we Baptize and Conceive a Meek Dominion; Our Passions Hurricane and Touch, we Perform our Wisdoms Individually.

6The Seeds which our Words Plant; 7 Our fantasy that we think and become, the Cognition we are, are the Concentrations we Focus and Trust in. 8 That is our Ability. That is our Liberty. That is Order. 9 The Supplication of our Heart is Permutability by the Definition of our Communication. 10 To Translate Gratitude is our Censorship in a Compelling trust we Respect by our Comrades Ability. 11As a Fear to break our Neighboring Dominions hearts, Let Sincerity be our Intelligence. The Grass That is of a Confident Family. A Tree that Breaths Serenity; 12That is Admiration in the fidelity of Truth and Trust.

13 The Coordination of our Consequences; 14 The Reality that is Integrity, Ones Ability is the Clarity to our Transcending Progression. Our Principalities are our Vexations for Intelligence is as a Sincere Pollination. 15 For the Hate of our own Ignorance’s, Let your Intent Refine over Time. 16 Patience, The Virtue to an Eternal Life Force, Pour your Light through the Vision of Purpose. 17 That is Learning.

18 As a Chaste Experience we wake up Sober to Accumulate and Collect our Information. 19 We will Wake up Responsible and Retire our Vexations that Persuay ones Voice. 20 that is our Compliment, this our Marriage. 21 Cunning is the Snow when it Falls. The Realization of our Restraint our Ability and Power is Extorted outside of our Absence and Inside our Sanctuary. 22 This is our Ostentation and our Assets.

23 As Love is Sanitation to Fornication, Potency is Conversation. 24 The Prime to our Translation, the Recovery to Ones Validity, we hold our Intelligence and Information Relentlessly. 25 Liberty is Entertainment in Silence but the Voice of a Manifesto. Harmony in the Stimulation that is Wisdom, we do Vigorously Notarize our own Value on Liberties Accord. 26 That is our Atmosphere; That is our Gravity.

27As we Preserve through the Fog, which is our Confidence and Inspiration; Positivity and Celebration, We will Artesunate a trust in a Genesis, and Projections we Discern in the hands of our Information.28 The Terrestrial beings we are; That sit under the Celestial Clarity We become, Prejudice is our Affinity in the Absence of Intelligence. 29 This is Hereditary. 30 Polymerization of our Wisdom and Creativity; Our Efforts and Integrity, is our Ability Attainted to on the Gratitude of Liberty being the Essence of our Equitability.

31The Predominance to the Earths Fertility is our Felicity. 32 Our Appreciation is our Fortune. The Rendition and Integration of our Collection is as an Aquatic Atmosphere. 33 We are a Spectrum of Liberties. 34 Sound Light and a Diametric Touch; Kindness is Sincere to Ones Productivity. 35 Ones work is another’s Trust. 36 Trust is another’s Security. Together is a Progression, an Intent to Representation.

37We will Explore Space with Conversations. We Will Bring Rhythm to Wonder and Trust to Education. 38 this is the Chemistry to a Mountain, Geometric Gyronomy that Concentrates with no Effort. 39 To Loath in Contentment about its own Validity; 40 To equitably Predominate. 41 That is Prolificism. 42 As Atoms Formulate Naturally, and move through Aeronautics, and Dances as Pyrotechnics, The Savory Taste of Liberties Song is Holographic. We Live for One another as a Reciprocity to our Integral Information. As a Meek Comradery Humor is our Entertainment within the Cognition of our Intelligence.

43The Infatuations we Convince within our Liberties are our Physicality’s. 44 No Prohibition can Restrain Creativity, Ones Works, and Vexations. 45 your Consequences is your Rehabilitation. 46 An Elaboration to Exercise ones Liberty. Our Trust, Intelligence, Information and Projection; 47 Our Means of Exchange; In Trust, Value, and Intelligence projected onto our Statements; Money.

To Educate Forever

1By the Ability which is Maternal, and the wisdom and execution of our similitude and identity that is Integrity; 2Education is the awareness before our experience Terrestrially, Celestially, and Predominantly. That is Universal. 3The Force that is Continual in ones Tongue are the Mechanics into Maturity from Youth, Forever.

To Accumulate Forever

1For the Essence that is Forever, Wonder, Grace and Sincerity; 2A Family is a Constellate Coagulate Fellowship of Concentrated Identities, Anomalies, and Majesties that physically and internally progress within the evidence of their livelihood. That is a state. 3The affinity for self-awareness of purpose which is learning, Is the Constitute and passion that connects contentment with truth. 4Our Vexations are our own. 5Our Integrity are our values. 6Our Meekness follows our Truths. 7Our Questions Complete our voice. That is Sincerity.

The Metrist

1Our Voice is one voice and that is truth. Our Actions are our own and that is truth. Principalities as a state followed by our ability are our Representations. 2We are a fire that knows not water but are aware of the wind. 3To be doused are our vexations and our consequence is discontentment. 4This is emancipation to our patients, our liberty as a cognition and a state to fear ourselves by loving our works. 5That is Euphemism. The hands that we are blessed with will speak forever. 6They will tell stories, compose order, manifest fire, and talk back in the times we fall short. 7To be we must loath in our satisfactions that are validated in our efforts, works, and progress.

8The process and phase which are our own absences are a void filled with coordination and perseverance. 9Our repentance are our youths and past, faulted by zeal but delivered with consequence with a reward of education and a result of passions and manifestations. This is our Ability.

10Our extortion is our own, that is truth, Our information and intelligence are our integrity, that is truth. 11To deposit within a deposition of gratuity are our authentic expressions in the focus of communication transactions and translations. This is Trust. This is Security.

12To Know and be known is fortune. That is truth. Passion for self-progression is volatile. That is Truth. 13To reason and discern with self are the wisdoms to ones maternity; Male and Female. 14This is the Confidence in our efforts to an equitable state and cognition. 15We as a Family will harvest truth and water the absolute with virtue and definition. This is Purpose.

16For the intelligence that is natural and our conversations that are sincere. Our Creations that are dense, and our aesthetics that we cherish; For the dominion as a state we tread, a state of mind and a state of being; 17Wisdom and truth of which we translate and commute daily, this is information. This is Ability. This is Creativity. 18This is Love.

[theseviolentdelightss]

Counting Paths X

Series Summary: After a lifetime on the run from the Empire, Reader makes a move that could have drastic impacts for both friend and foe. A Reader insert/fanfic. Gifs belong to their respective owners.

Word Count: 6204

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this newest chapter and I’m so happy that I’m finally getting over my writer’s block hence the massive word count. Thank you all for sticking around and showing your support with likes and reblogs. It is always much appreciated.

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI Part VII Part VIII Part IX

If there was one universal truth you knew, it was that fear is poison. If you allow, it will fester and spread to the furthermost corners of your life. In war it's even worse, it's contagious...

Years ago, shortly after being bumped up to sergeant you had been sent to hold the line during a two month skirmish on a cold forest planet. A small faction of the rebellion had been almost entirely encircled by Imperial troops. It was a battle that should have been won in a matter of hours but instead dragged on for days. The shift in the world's climate brought on sudden fierce blizzards making air cover and evacuation virtually impossible. Thankfully it also kept the Empire from reinforcing their troops. Leaving you and your comrades no choice but to dig in, suppress any Imperial offensives, and maintain your position.  

Whatever the Empire lacked in numbers they made up for in artillery. Every few hours they would barrage your positions with bombing raids. It was unlike anything you had ever experienced. One minute your dug in your ranger grave, drying out your socks and suddenly the sky is exploding above you. Splitting the tops of decades old trees into splinters in bright flashes. The colors bursting in the sky were terrifyingly beautiful yet whenever they ceased came the screams. The near endless sea of voices crying out as your fellow Rebels lay broken and in pieces around you. The sight before you wasn't beautiful, only terrifying. This was hell, and you were living in it.

You watched more of your comrades die in those few short days than you cared to think of. Losing a person you care about is always a shit situation. There is no debating that, but seeing someone you've shared meals with, someone you've laughed, fought, cried with, watching them die is something else entirely. To have to listen to them wail in agony for their mother as you struggle to ebb the flow of blood inside the mess of red and wood that once was their chest. To feel a body grow still in your hands. To witness the light fade from their eyes. Moments such as that stick with you.

Simply put, it fucks you up.

There may be a more poetic way of saying it but it's the harsh truth of the matter. You're never really the same after seeing it. The true ugly face of death. Each time it happens it chips away a bit more of the person you thought you were.

One night you found one of the greener solders in your squad trying to dig a ranger grave with his bare hands. He didn't even seem to notice that he had torn off his fingernails in the process. You got him out of there quickly, set him as far back from the line as possible and told him to find a hot meal. It wasn't just for his own good, it was for all of you. Morale in combat is a domino effect. One slips and the rest gradually follow. It was part of the reason why the Rebellion warned their recruits about the dangers of forming relationships while enlisted. Caring too deeply about a particular person was a liability. If something should happen to one the other would undoubtedly struggle moving forward. Hell, they might even question rather it was worth it to fight.

Sure, they wanted you all to care about each other but preferably in a platonic manner. Not that there weren't rebels in relationships with one another. In fact many were. It was simply best if those relationships didn't take place between team members. It created too large a chance for a conflict of interest. Consider this, if one had to chose between their team members and the person they love most in the world how many wouldn't choose the latter? That was why they didn't want anyone getting too close.

Comradery was what held you all together, love had the capability to tear you apart.

Two days later you read the same soldier's name on the list of casualties and felt next to nothing. The letters of his name scribbled in small text. The paper wrinkled and torn at the side from having been passed through too many hands. The further down the list you went the more the handwriting changed. Each person updating it before passing it along. It was such an archaic form of keeping up with the dead but it was the least you all could do. There wasn't any time to mourn. All you could do was read the names and hope that when their time came it was quick and painless, however unrealistic a hope that might be.

Among the names there were a handful you recognized but far more that you didn't. The vast majority were low ranking new recruits. That in itself was telling. You weren't losing fellow sergeants of other NCOs. You were losing replacements. Such a reason was partly to blame for why you had long ago given up on befriending new recruits. They all came in the same. All geared and ready for a fight. Half the time you didn't even bother to learn their names. There was too many of them, rushing in all piss and vinegar, replacing high ranking veteran officers that other dumb new recruits got killed. Couple days later and the're lying on the ground with their guts spread out, screaming for help, begging for their mothers.

They never seemed to realize they were already dead.

When the weather finally cleared enough for your troops to evacuate there was no choice but to leave the bodies behind. Rebels aren't often lucky enough to be afforded a funeral or even a grave for that matter. Be that as it may, upon returning to base you found yourself gathering the young man's belongings from his barracks and bringing them to his mother. His jacket, a stack of notebooks, a spare pair of boots, and a photo of home. All that was left for a mother to remember her son by.

That had been the first time you traveled to Nar Shaddaa.

“I'm not typically one to pass judgement but this seems incredibly sketchy.” You mused simply. Turning to your companion and ignoring the irritated look on his face. 

Roland had filled you in on only the minor details involving his mission on the off chance that things went badly and he had to make a sudden run for it. Bringing you back to Yavin IV safely was clearly not a high priority of his. He had provided a ride to Nar Shaddaa as he had promised. Being true to his word in the simplest of measures. If he had to leave without you he would. After all, Theodren never said anything about bringing you back.

Outside the ship's windshield the smuggler's moon grew larger with each passing second. Its lights shining as brightly as they had when you had passed through a second time, nearly a year before. After fleeing from the Empire you had decided to lie low. A densely populated moon in the outer rim seemed as good a place as any. It was easy to keep your head down, take odd jobs when you could, and never stay in the same place for too long.

It wasn't exactly ideal. Try as you may to deny it you knew that deep down some part of you wanted some semblance of a normal life. To survive pass the war and know what it feels like to truly live in peace. The rational part of you argued that such dreams were unrealistic. That they would make doing what was necessary to survive that much more difficult. Truth be told you had long ago come to terms with your own mortality. That the chances of you someday seeing thirty, or even your next birthday for that matter, were debatable at best. It was better to simply accept the worse rather than to merely expect it.  

“Well I didn't ask for your opinion did I little miss 'I like to point out the fucking obvious for no fucking reason' did I?” Roland practically barked. Taking the time to mimic you and even going so far as to add overly dramatic air quotes.

By this point you were used to it. The man was unspeakably crass but after a few hours it became obvious he was just a blow hard. All bark and no bite. He cursed rampantly which was perfectly fine by you but he was also easily irritated. Other than that he was merely another solider going through the motions. Doing whatever the Rebellion required of him. Yet without a doubt, better cut out for solo missions.

“I'm not calling bullshit!” You replied, matching the volume of your voice to Roland's. “I'm simply saying that it would appear as if the Rebellion has had very little contact with this arms dealer that your procuring this shipment from. Perhaps a bit of-”

“Hush it tutz!” He barked again. “You've got your own bullshit to worry about.”

Sighing you pushed yourself out of your seat and moved to gather your things. Knowing that you would be landing soon. Shuffling through your bag you double and triple checked your belongings. Blaster, extra ammo, first aid, and macro binoculars all exactly where they should be. The ship shook beneath your feet as it entered the moon's atmosphere. The speed quickly decreasing as it began its slow decent. Tossing your pack over your shoulder you holstered your blaster beneath your coat and tried to calm yourself with the few remaining moments you had left. Assuring yourself that despite your normally pessimistic nature you were not going to fail.

You were going to find Cassian. You didn't care if it seemed crazy. You were going to find him and you were going to bring him home.

“You've got six hours” Roland shouted as you exited the ship. He had decided to dock his ship on the furthest spaceport possible. Even so, it was still fairly packed with other ships and shuttles. 98 percent of the Nar Shaddaa's surface was consumed by its ever growing cities. You could hardly walk a half a foot without crossing paths with someone. Privacy in a place such as this was a luxury few could afford.

Though it made sense for Roland to dock his ship so far out considering what he was there for it certainly didn't help him look any less conspicuous. Not to mention it would take you over an hour just to make your way into Hutta Town. Still, it was better than being stuck on base doing nothing.

“I will fucking leave you!” Roland shouted, his voice echoing through the massive loading bay.

“Your loss!” You replied, waving over your shoulder at the grumpy pilot. Clearly not distraught over the thought of being left behind. Stepping into the nearest elevator you avoid eye contact with its other occupants as floors fly by rapidly above you. The spaceport was huge but there was little to no security.  Saving you some much needed time as you slid pass the oblivious guards and made your way through one of its exists. The crisp night air blew back your hair as you stepped outside the spaceport's thick walls. Carrying with it the sounds and smells of the city that lay ahead. Instinctively you began scanning the horizon and trying to memorize landmarks. Making your way towards the bustling city streets. Cold sweat clinging to your skin like wet clothing as you finally pushed into the minor thoroughfares.

Theodren's intel hadn't given you much to go on but it had suggested a small handful of locations that had been scouted for Cassian's mission. The only option you had was to bounce between each of them and hope the dark eyed Captain would show up in one. It was too risky to ask questions, if Cassian was still working it might blow his cover. When it came to his mission all you knew was that he had been sent to make contact with a Rebel informative that may be leaking information to the Empire and to determine the truth of the matter. If the rebel that Cassian sought had in fact turned coat than Cassian's mission would have become one of assassination. Not that it would have been the first time. Given the way people spoke of him, it would seem as if Captain Andor was well versed in the act of killing. It was one of the few things the two of you shared in common. For the most part he and you were as different from each other as the sun and the moon. 

If only there could have been more happy exceptions.

In a city as crowded as this you knew that simply making your way through the streets would eat through too much of your time and time was currently of limited supply. After a fair bit of searching you at last found a building tall enough to grant you a solid vantage point and piping strong enough to climb upon. Most of the outlying buildings were condemned at best but it would have to do. Finally reaching the top you pull yourself over the small wall that separates you between the roof and what would surely be a fatal fall. Positioning yourself safely against the cool stone you carefully retrieved your macro binoculars and began scanning the vast array of buildings and crowded streets beneath you. Finding Cassian would be like finding a needle in a haystack; yet, if you could at least pinpoint the specific locations that had been scouted out for him you'd have a place to start.

It took a fair amount of searching and manuvering to finally locate one of the named locations. The sign shone a bright shade of crimson in the distance. Arcadia had been listed as a smuggler's hideout in Cassian's mission dosier. Though, its owners had done one hell of a job disguising it as what could only be described as a high class dive bar. If such a thing even exists. The inside wasn't much to look at either. Weaving through the miss matched tables and various other patrons you made your way to the bar. Unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching you. Waving over the bartender you quickly ordered your drink. Making sure to tip him well. Knowing the importance of not offending the locals as you kept your time on the clock. Though Nar Shaddah was tidally locked there were still routine doc scans implemented to civilians every hour on the hour. Bars such as Arcadia were like beacons for the Empire. They practically screamed 'criminal activity' meaning they were the first ones they hit. As the minutes ticked on you knew you had to get moving. Glancing around the room a last time before making your way back into the congested street.

All of the other locations were more of the same. You stayed long enough to look for Cassian but never long enough to raise suspicion. More often than not people were happy to ignore you and you were happy to ignore them. Even so, you couldn't shake that sensation of being watched every where you went. Finishing off your third drink you slid your money across the bar and made your way towards the exit. Thanking whatever twist of fate had granted you the capability to hold your liquor. 

Occasional alcoholism seeming to strong a term.

Hurrying out the doorway you felt that unforgiving feeling of weightlessness that preludes a sudden fall. The tip of your boot had caught on the edge of an unevenly placed brick and sent you hurdling into the passing crowd. Closing your eyes tightly you braced for the coming impact.

“The hell!” A voice shouted loudly as your bodies collided and fell in a heap on the ground. It hadn't been intentional but you had inadvertently taken some poor stranger down with you. “Y/N?”

Your head snapped up so quickly it sent a bolt of white hot pain across the back of your neck. You had become unaccustomed to being called by your true name. There were so few people left alive that even knew it. Merely a handful. Perhaps that is why you recognized this particular one instantly. Some faces are harder to forget.

“Han?” Your voice was laced with muted excitement as you spoke. 

“Its Captain.” He boasted, that same unwavering charm about him still very much intact since you had last seen him.

“Pardon me for skipping the formalities Captain Solo. Would you mind helping a girl to her feet?” 

Han had always been fairly quick on his feet and had manged to keep the two of you upright long enough to lessen the impact of your fall. Still, you weren't particularly content being pinned beneath him atop the grimy sidewalk. Just as smoothly as he spoke Han lifted you up and set you right. His hands remaining atop your shoulders as you gained your balance.

“Nice of you to drop by.” He chuckled, watching as you dusted yourself off. Your braid having came loose, allowing your normally tame curls to fall about your face. Tentatively Han brushed them aside and helped tuck them behind you ears.

“Sorry about that.” You apologized, now dusting off his vest and the side of his arms.

“What is there to be sorry for?” He teased.  “You're welcome to fall into my arms anytime you like.”

You couldn't help but chuckle, giving up the tough facade you normally wore. Feeling that false exterior fade was a welcome change. It wasn't terribly often that you found someone you felt comfortable enough to be yourself around. Han; however, was one of the few. If you ever had to choose a small group of individuals you truly trusted Han would undoubtedly be one of them. Accompanied by his fury companion, Theodren and perhaps even Cassian. The list was small but it was more than enough by your standards. Though Han did a truly spectacular job of acting like he didn't care about anyone but himself and that Wookie;  truth be told, he was a good man. When you were on the run and in desperate need of work Han had taken a risk on you with nothing to gain.  

Perhaps that is why for a time you had allowed yourself to care so deeply for him.

“You working?” You asked quietly, moving in closer to allow the strangers passing by on their way.

“Always.” He replied, leaning down to your level as he spoke. Even with the considerable height difference between the two of you this move was totally unnecessary. It was an old habit he never seemed to break, particularly not after you made it clear how you felt about personal space. Han knew what he was doing, and he damn well knew the effect it had. No matter how aggravated or frustrated you were it always managed to make your heart skip a beat. Leaving behind an uneasy fluttering that lingered.  “And what brings a lovely girl like you to a dump like this?”

“I'm looking for someone.” Your voice was little more than a whisper as you spoke but you knew he heard. Immediately his eyes drifted from your own.

“A man?” He asked simply, seeming instantly distracted.

“Yes.”

“Tan skin, dark hair?” He continued, his inquiry taking you slightly off guard as his eyes wandered towards a spot in the distance.

“How'd you know?” You asked, trying to follow his line of sight and discover how his speculation was so spot on.

“Because that broody looking fella heading this way has been watching you since you came out that door. Looks pissed at one of us. I just assumed it was me.”

Sure enough, from out of the crowded streets appeared a fiery Cassian Andor. You may have ran up to him and pulled him tightly into a hug if it weren't for the look on his face. Han was right, Cassian looked pissed.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed under his breath, those deep brown eyes boring holes into you. Demanding an answer. If only you could remember any of the dozen you had prepared. In the few seconds it took for Cassian to reach you, your heart had swelled and melted. The relief pouring over you in waves. Cassian was alive and unhurt.

“Hi.” Was all you managed. Beside you Han straightened his back, bringing himself to his full height. One hand moved to rest atop his blaster as the other found its way to the small of your back. The smuggler in him always kept Han at the ready. Papered for a fight if ever it should break out. He had no way of knowing that Cassian was your ally. Which meant it was time to get the awkward introductions out of the way if you wanted to avoid violence.  “Cass, this is Han. Han, this is Cass, we work together.“

The two men eyed each other carefully, sizing the other up. Cassian's eyes darted between you and Han, brow furrowed in confusion. You could feel Han's arm slink its way around your waist, pulling you closer, and trying to nudge you to stand behind him. It never surprised you how quickly he could shift between his gruff smuggler self to that of a gentleman. That was just Han. Granted, it was totally unnecessary, you were perfectly capable of taking yourself. Not to mention, had proven yourself a better shot than Han on numerous occasions. A fact you knew drove him mad.

“Looks like a rebel to me.” Han said, treading carefully. Clearly aware of the rising shade of red that was beginning to overcome Cassian's face. If he was pissed off before now he was furious. Not only had you gone off world but you were here, on Nar Shaddaa of all places, with this stranger it appeared you knew very well.

“Han...” You warned, moving away from the smuggler and positioning yourself between the two men. “Please.”

“Thought you swore you'd never go back to that loss cause.” Han scoffed slightly, genuinely surprised by your apparent return to the Rebellion.

“You know me, I have weakness for causes once they're truly lost.” You smiled softly, comfortable admitting it.

All those nights Han and you had laid together. Speaking in soft voices about both of your past and the pain that came from it. So many times you had sworn you would never return to the Rebellion. To never put yourself within the Empire's grasp and yet here you were. The more the smuggler looked you over the more obvious it became. Something in you had shifted since the two of you had last seen each other. A readiness to make difficult choices. To do whatever was necessary to make things right. Judging by the unwelcome grimace on the face of the man who now stood beside you it was obvious that he was your partner of some sort. Though he couldn't pin point exactly what, Han couldn't deny there was obviously something unspoken that lingered between the two rebels that stood before him.

“I was beginning to wonder where you were!” You cheered, finally glancing the large Wookie pushing through to crowd towards the three of you.

Unfazed by the tension Chewie stepped in front of his Captain and spread his arms wide. Grinning from ear to ear you hurried forward and into the welcome hug. Burying your face into his fur and closing your eyes tightly. It had been months since anyone had shown you such open kindness. Chewie roared joyfully, lifting you off the ground and taking Cassian slightly by surprise.

“I missed you too big guy.” You patted Chewie kindly on the chest as he set you on your feet. Your cheeks flushed with joy. Out of all the people you had encountered in you life there weren’t many as kind and loving, as Chewbaca. At first you had just assumed that all Wookies were simply like that; yet as you spent weeks working along side him aboard the Millennium Falcon you came to realize that he was one of the purest souls you had met. His kindness was infectious to you and made it impossible not to smile. Cassian hadn't seen you this happy since the day he took you to Sky Gazer Hill. It was evident you had a past with these two strangers. Though one was purely platonic he didn't care for the way the other man's eyes lingered on you.

“I need to speak to you.” Cassian lent forward, taking a light hold of your arm and whispering into your ear. “In private.”

The combination of the feel of Cassian's breath on your neck and his tone caused the goosebumps to raise atop your skin while simultaneously forming knots in your stomach. He would no doubt have countless questions as to why, and how you had gotten here. This sudden meeting with Han would undoubtedly require some explaining as well. The idea of having to justify your actions to Cassian was daunting. Even so, he was alive which was more than you had been told to expect. Nodding you motion for Cassian to wait as you turned your attention back towards Han and Chewie.

“It was good seeing you again.“ You began, moving towards the tall smuggler.

“You too doll.” Han replied, stepping forward and pulling you tightly into a hug. Nuzzled against his chest you could tell he was still using the aftershave you had bought him while on a job in Courusant. One of your rare happy memories. As you began to pull away he bent forward and placed a firm kiss atop your forehead. His eyes on Cassian, and not at all surprised by his obvious look of disapproval.

“Take care of him Chewie.” You instructed as you lent forward and hugged the Wookie again.

Waving to your old friends a final time before you allow Cassian to begin pulling you through the crowd. Your heart in your throat as you trailed beside the dark haired rebel. His grip still firmly on your arm. The two of you hurried like alley cats through the busy streets. Weaving in an out of the endless crowd until Cassian finally spotted a small gap in between buildings and lead you into it.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Cassian hissed, his cheeks red with anger. Standing this close you could practically feel the heat radiating off him. He wasn't just mad, he was fuming. That didn't take long. Sighing you tried to compose yourself. It might have helped if you had a bit more space to yourself but the small gap between the crumbling bricks left little wiggle room.

“I was getting cooped up on base so Theodren pulled some strings-”

“Like our trip to Skygazer Hill?” He asked coolly.

“Yes.” You stammered.

“You do know Theodren told me you asked him, right?” Again Cassian's voice was icy as he spoke. The anger inside him threatening to boil over. You weren’t exactly doing yourself any favors. If anything your were confirming a pattern.

“I-I just needed to get off world for awhile. Theodren found a job I could assist on.”

Cassian rolled his eyes, angrily pushing the hair out of his face. You hated seeing him like this, so full of aggression and frustration. It all now directed at you. Suddenly, you felt like a child trying to lie for the first time. All of that confidence, that poise  you prided yourself on was stripped away. 

“On Nar Shaddaa of all places, and you expect me to not find that odd?” Cassian replied sarcastically, he clearly wasn't buying it.

“Yes!” You snapped, the pain at having been left in the dark causing your heart to thump angrily against your chest. “It's not like I could have known you were here. You didn't tell me anything, you just left!”

Sighing, you turned your attention towards the street beside you. Desperate to escape this moment. As bad as you felt about lying to Cassian you were equally hurt by what he had done. You would have never asked him to stay behind. You knew too well just how much the Rebellion meant to him. How important of an asset he was to them. You simply wished he trusted you enough to have told you he was leaving. A simple heads up would have been appreciated.

“Look I'm-” Cassian began, but as your eyes continued to gaze over the mass of faces passing by the sight in front of you caused you to cut him off.

“Fuck!” You gasped, your eyes glued to the polished white uniforms heading your way. “Troopers.”

Cassian's eyes widened with worry for a moment before he began searching for a possible escape. It was futile. The two of you were literally squeezed inside a 4 by 4 stone box with the only possible exit being the street. That was a definitive no. If Cassian and you suddenly took off it would raise even more suspicion. Granted the two of you were currently nuzzled into a small confine space, speaking in hushed voices, and looking rather out of place so your chances weren't terribly high to begin with. If you were found the troopers would undoubtedly ask to see papers.

“We're trapped.” Cassian said, his voice quite but definite. Once again carefully glancing into the street. Only this time he wasn't searching for a chance at escape, he was counting heads, weapons, searching for any possible way to high ground. Ignoring the odds and the high probability of death. He just needed to think of something quickly.

“We can't just stand here waiting to be caught.” You insisted, the sudden fear growing inside you like a cancer. Branching out from inside your chest. From the heels of your feet to the tips of your fingers it felt as if every muscle tensed. That instinctual reflex of bracing for a crash once you know it’s inevitable. This was why you had always detested the way fear effected you. It made you rash, on edge, never considering the long term consequences of your actions until it was too late. Until you had already dove head first into whatever foolish situation you had found yourself in.

“They’re checking scan docs.”

“How many are there?” You asked, trying to at least get an idea of what you were up against. 

“Too many. ” Cassian said even as he readied his blaster. Reaching forward you took a hold of his hands. Pulling the blaster from his grip you slid it beneath his jacket. Reaching around his waist to place it firmly in its holster. “What are you doing?”

“We can't fight our way out.” You muttered. “And we can't run.”

“Then what do you suggest we do?” Cassian demanded, he hadn't expected you to give up so easily. That wasn't the women he had come to know. Even now, you didn't look defeated, as if you had something up your sleeve. Knowing you, it would be something reckless and likely result in you getting yourself killed. As your hand began its slow crawl for your own blaster it became obvious that Cassian's assumptions had been correct.

“We can’t, but you can.” You stated firmly. Quickly pulling out your blaster and willing Cassian to do as you said. Praying that he would listen and resist the urge to be a hero. Instead he reached forward and gripped your wrist tightly.

“Don't!” He shouted. The volume of his voice was far louder than he had intended.

“We're not both getting out of here Cassian.” You insisted, trying to free your wrist from the Captain's grip but he wasn't letting up. The steady thump, thump, of the troopers synchronized footsteps moving closer. Sighing you tried again to free yourself but to no avail. You were already too late. The window of opportunity had passed. Even if you fired upon the troopers now they would still capture Cassian. The tightness grew and twisted inside your chest. “I can't let you die here.”

Cassian could see the panic washing over your face. That far away look of failure in your eyes. The  faint sound of your voice breaking as you spoke. For all the countless hours spent together he had never seen you express so much emotion. You were kind, funny, and even sarcastic at times; but, for the most part you kept your emotions to yourself. The only person he had ever seen you become worked up over was Theodren and the two of you had been friends for years. That made sense. This, however, took him by surprise. He had been so angry with you for following him here, and truthfully he likely still would be if you two somehow managed to survive this. Even so, for all his anger he couldn't deny the pang in his heart at the idea of you caring enough to do so.

“We aren't going to die here.” He uttered in a low whisper, the sound of the troopers radio conversation now near enough to hear. There was no more time for waiting. Leaning forward Cassian cradled your neck in his hand and kissed you firmly. You couldn't help but gasp as he pressed his body flush against yours. Now wrapping his other hand around your waist, leaning you against the wall as he deepened his kiss. Though the shock had yet to wear off as the troopers grew closer you began to understand the strategy at play here. This wasn't merely some outburst of emotions during a moment of desperation. It was a distraction. Typically, most people turn away from the sight of two strangers going at it. Troopers, for all their training, are no different.

That; however, didn't seem to stop Cassian from making this moment appear as authentic as possible. As his tongue grazed your bottom lip you did your best not to let it unsteady you. This was all an act after all and if you wanted those troopers to buy it than you needed it to be convincing. Playing the part you draped your arms over Cassian’s shoulders and returned his kiss. Weaving a single hand through his hair, admiring the softness off it as it slid gently through your fingers. Though you tried to fight it, the true reason for your current situation began to disappear into the far recesses of your mind. Instead you focused on the warmth of Cassian's hand pushing underneath the hem of your shirt and to flesh beneath. His rough fingers squeezing your hip as he pulled you even closer. 

Two dozen white suits passed by with hardly a glance in your direction. The coast was now clear. It had worked. If you had been thinking clearly you would have stopped then and there. Pulled apart from Cassian, and tried to laugh it up as a win. Ignoring the very unnerving truth of it.

You should have stopped, but you didn't. 

Something unspoken had passed between the two of you. Leaving each of you breathless and grasping for more. You weren't sure how long you may have continued if you hadn't felt an old familiar sting. That drop in your stomach that you always tried so hard to ignore.

Pulling away from Cassian the two of you stood breathlessly in front of each other. Hair and clothing out of place. Faces covered in cool sweat.  Neither of you had been expecting such a moment and now neither of you knew how to address it. Even with everything clamoring in your mind something told you that you had to leave. That something was wrong. That someone else needed you. It was an unnerving and unignoble feeling. That feeling of falling that capitulates you awake.

Something terrible was about to happen.

“I have to go.” You mumbled, squeezing out from between the wall and Cassian before hurrying down the busy street. Unable to catch your breath as you pushed through the endless stream of bodies, unsure of where it was you were even going. It was as if some invisible rope was pulling you forward, leading you down the alleyways and around corners. Taking you further away from the very real truth of what had just happened. Of what it meant. 

That's the thing about fear. We spend the majority of our lives afraid of what could happen, what might happen, what might not happen.  We fight wars because of it. With each other. With ourselves. Never truly realizing that fear is the real enemy.

[doomonfilm]

Review : Da 5 Bloods (2020)

In Netflix’s ever-continuing quest to take over the world of film, they made a number of bold, attention-capturing deals with A-list, legendary talent.  One of the names that immediately jumped out at me was Spike Lee, and when his first film under the deal, Da 5 Bloods, was announced, I was immediately interested.  While it wouldn’t be his first film centered around war, it would be his first foray into the world of Vietnam, a conflict that has fascinated me since my youth.  With 2020 wrapping up, I decided it was time to play catch-up in terms of my film viewing, and Da 5 Bloods was at the top of my list. 

Paul (Delroy Lindo), Otis (Clarke Peters), Eddie (Norm Lewis) and Melvin (Isiah Whitlock Jr.) are former members of Da 5 Bloods, a squad of Black US 1st Infantry Division soldiers that included their fallen comrade, “Stormin’” Norman (Chadwick Boseman).  The surviving members return to Ho Chi Minh City decades later and enlist the help of Vietnamese jungle guide Vinh (Johnny Trí Nguyễn) to help recover Norman’s body and return it home.  In reality, however, the Bloods have returned to Vietnam for a different reason : to recover and smuggle a large sum of gold discovered in a CIA plane crash during a tour of duty.  The plan was to recover the gold, which was buried near Norman’s body, and get it smuggled out of the country with the help of Desroche (Jean Reno), a French businessman connected to Otis’ former Vietnamese lover, Tiên (Lê Y Lan).  Plans are complicated when Paul’s son David (Jonathan Majors) uncovers the secret of the gold and makes a surprise trip to Vietnam to force his way into the scheme.  With literal and emotional baggage in tow, the group wanders into the jungle to hopefully recover their fallen brother and the stolen gold.

I would certainly hate to disparage Spike Lee in any way, shape or form, but it’s no secret that his films of the last decade or so have been the recipient of mixed to negative reviews.  Da 5 Bloods not only marks a return to form, but in many ways, it shows a new sense of life and love for creativity, not to mention an evolution in his long-established style.  Lee has always been a very immersive filmmaker, and the intensity of a subject matter like Vietnam gives him a rich set of ingredients to mix and match, resulting in some of the most wonderfully nuanced subtext he has ever presented in his career.  Aspects of family strife and secrets, political stances as a front for personal turmoil, war as a mechanism for fracturing human connection and growth, capitalism as a moral line drawn in the sand and so much more is laid out in the course of the narrative, and where another filmmaker (and even at a point in his career, Lee himself) would have presented a jumbled and schizophrenic mish-mash of these ideas, Lee finds a wonderful balance and harmony between how all of these elements are not only examined, but how they impact one another and the actions of the characters we are following.

Lee has always been strong in the realm of including educational aspects into his film, and while many of his inclusions in this film come off as footnotes or parentheticals that pop off of main conversations, it works in a very weird way.  It is not necessarily even jarring when Lee flashes to footage or images depicting the historical information espoused by the characters.  It is also surprising (and somewhat refreshing) that a film about the Black experience in Vietman does not contain any White American soldiers, as many films of this nature tend to do.  The main participants of the events presented to us are Black Americans, the Vietnamese and the French, with Paul Walter Hauser’s portrayal of Simon being the lone exception.

It’s the technical aspects of this film where Lee shows the largest growth.  The way that Lee alternates between aspect ratios is a subtle but immediate indicator of both era and mind-state to the viewer, with frame serving as Vietnam flashbacks, extreme scope as the modern world of Ho Chi Minh City, and widescreen engulfing the entire frame with the Vietnamese jungle.  There are moments of shocking and graphic violence connected to the war aspects of this film, and they are presented with enough flare to rock our sense of comfort, but not so gratuitously that it shocks us out of our connection to the story.  The soundtrack is extremely strong, with the deep dives into Marvin Gaye’s eternal classic album What’s Going On? helping to perfectly punctuate most every emotional and historical beat presented.  The colors of Ho Chi Minh City are rich, deeply contrasted and pop out of the screen to an almost hypnotic measure, which makes the jolting jumps to the jungle much punchier.  The cinematography, stunt work on the battle aspects and the gunplay are all stellar, with professional and assured editing driving the experience home.

Sadly, Da 5 Bloods would be the last film released prior to the sudden and shocking death of Chadwick Boseman from complications connected to colon cancer.  Boseman continued acting right up until his death (with Ma Rainey’s Black Bottom posthumously serving as the final film of his career), and while his performance in Da 5 Bloods is powerful, hindsight allows us to see that he was certainly deep in the grips of his battle with his health.  Despite this massive obstacle, his role served as the central grounding force of the film, with all of the comradery, education and drive originating from his presence within the narrative.  His calm and focused intensity offset the rage and emotion of his fellow Bloods, while his heart and soul helped inspire them in turn.  For one of his final roles, Boseman could not have picked a more appropriate and inspiring presence to occupy the screen with.  

Delroy Lindo does some powerful work in this film by bringing the sense of a man with massive demons that haunt him and feeding us a certain sense of what those demons may entail, only to turn all that we think we know on its head as he comes undone.  The cast of Jonathan Majors as his son is brilliant, as his similar build and unique profile match the intensity that is presented (both parallel to and in contrast of) Lindo.  Clarke Peters carries the weight of time with him, allowing himself to be an open receptor to all that life brings his way, and very much acting as an audience surrogate immersed into a harrowing situation while attempting to keep an anchor that tethers him to the ‘world’.  Norm Lewis gives a nuance, complex performance full of optimism that masks deep pain, while Isiah Whitlock Jr. approaches things with an ‘it is what it is’ attitude.  Johnny Trí Nguyễn and Mélanie Thierry present voices of reason and alternative points of view, while Paul Walter Hauser and Jasper Pääkkönen bring voices of doubt and resentment to the table in alternate extremes.  Jean Reno and his opportunistic, self-gratifying approach play an odd mirror of Donald Trump in an absurdist manner (in my opinion).  Lê Y Lan and Sandy Hương Phạm represent light emerging from a darkness of the past, and bring a wonderful sense of loving and support to a film that thrives on fractured dynamics.  Veronica Ngo is memorable as Hanoi Hannah as she directly voices the reasons why Black troops struggle in the face of war while also echoing the infamous performance of Lynne Thigpen in The Warriors. 

With 2020 being such an odd year in terms of the way film has been presented to us, it’s been an interesting process in trying to wrap up the year.  One thing I do know for sure, despite whether I continue my practice of ranking the top films of the year or simply decide to just group films in terms of quality, Da 5 Bloods will stand near the top regardless.  Hopefully it can garner Lee another late career award in 2021, but whether or not it manages to make that happen, I am almost certain that it will stand as a testament to the longevity and talent of Spike Lee. 

[eene-fangirl]

Inciner-ED [An Ed, Edd n Eddy/Toy Story Crossover]

NOTE: Can anyone who reads this please leave a review? It is for my senior thesis. Thank you!

When the kids opened their eyes nothing but darkness impacted their vision. Only little fragments of light from passing street light along the road lit up the inside of the dump truck. The kids were safe. For now at least. Eddy’s brother was somewhere unconscious in the confines of the truck.

“Can everyone hear me?” Kevin called out through the darkness. “Are you okay?

“Of course not you imbecile, we’re doomed!” Sarah shouted.

Just when Kevin thought they’d never be able to locate one another a green light lit up the dark space. “Double Dee, these green glow lights you made really work!” Ed exclaimed having a dozen stored in his pocket.

Kevin instructed for everyone to meet up where Ed stood. They climbed over mounds of garbage. The insides of these trucks were bigger then they thought. Nazz fell against Kevin struggling to keep her balance. The two looked at each other forcing a smile to keep one another calm.

“Are we all here? Jimmy? Sarah? R-”

The kids were knocked off their feet when the garbage truck halted. Everything shook and the darkness seized. Everyone looked up to see the truck’s hatch open and more piles of junk came careening into the truck.

“Against the walls!” Kevin ordered. Everyone followed along, all except Eddy who knew something wasn’t right.

“Edd, Edd, where are you?” Eddy called out in his amnesia like state. Eddy couldn’t forget about the cute boy who had such an infectious smile. He was so smart figuring out calculations in a heartbeat.

“Eddy!” A panicked voice echoed from the far corner of the dumpster. Only his frightened eyes were visible through the trash bags piling all over him.

It was almost like a movie as the kids watched Eddy run and duck through the falling trash. He narrowly missed a couple of glasses which smashed to the ground merely inches from him. When he reached Edd he removed the gigantic bags of trash. He couldn’t stand however as his ankle twisted from the fall into the garbage truck.

Before Edd knew it Eddy was carrying him bridal style and racing to the sides of the walls for safety.

Edd stared Eddy’s marveling over his deep blue eyes. Feeling himself blush from the comradery Edd embarrassingly looked away, unbeknownst that he gripped Eddy a little tighter. Interlacing his arms around Eddy’s neck Eddy turned and gave him this look. A smile filled with warmth and a sense of protection. It was the most beautiful look Edd could ever receive as Edd’s heart fluttered returning the smile to thank him. It gave him a sense of belonging. And a sense of… love?

No. No, this wasn’t Eddy. Yes, Eddy would rescue and help him whenever he was in a predicament. His brother had whacked Eddy over the head so hard that he had no idea who any of them were. Or who he was. He remained glued to Edd telling him how handsome he was ever since his brother threw him back into the basement. Was that how Eddy felt too?

“Look out!” Ed called out.

Edd was so encased in the moment that he forgot what was happening. Eddy stopped in place and staring up above. Following his gaze a big TV screen tipped over the edge of the garbage bin and descended to fall right on top of Edd and Eddy.

It all happened so fast.

Edd was thrown to the side as Eddy lay on the ground with the TV lying in heaps of broken glass right next to him. A trickle of blood dripped off his head.

“Eddy!” Edd bellowed immediately running to his friend’s side.

The garbage truck was dark once more. The only light there was was the green glow of lights Ed had stuffed in his pockets.

The kids all surrounded their fallen comrade as Edd was almost violently shaking Eddy to wake up.

“Eddy, speak to me! Are you alright?” Edd begged for him to answer. Eddy lay motionless with his head bleeding. It wasn’t much blood, but Edd covered it anyway with a tissue for safety. Ed joined Edd by his side holding his shaking friend by the shoulders. Edd was growing more hysterical each moment the longer Eddy was unresponsive.

Kevin was beside himself staring in complete horror at the scene. He made a promise they were all going to get out of their together. Before Eddy received amnesia he told Eddy how this predicament was all his fault. And then he snuck off to save himself. If Kevin didn’t leave would Eddy have received amnesia? Or would they even be here now? He was never going to forgive himself if Eddy was… no.

“Eddy!” Edd shouted once more pleading for his friend to wake up. Edd’s screams of despair made everyone tear up.

“This better not be another joke!” Edd’s voice was hoarse from the sobs trapped in his throat. A part of him was hoping that Eddy’s eyes would pop open at the mention, or even snicker. He was famous for jokes. Nobody was this good at acting dead. Edd wanted to commend Eddy for doing such a good job until he needed to break the awful truth to himself. Burying his face into Eddy’s chest and sobbing he cried out, “I never received a chance to tell you!”

To everyone’s relief Eddy’s chest heaved upwards letting out a cough. Ed took Edd by the shoulders raising him from their friend so he he had room to breathe. Eddy moaned about his injured head which had been given two hard hits in the past day.

“Ugh, sockhead did you cut the cheese?”

Edd never felt so relieved in his life that he started laughing. Eddy looked at him as if he were bonkers.

“Oh, Eddy!” Edd flung himself into Eddy’s arms hugging his dear friend. He could hardly contain himself as he jumped all around kicking his feet in the air. “You’re back! You’re back! You’re back!” He exclaimed countless times.

Eddy was perplexed. Not just because Edd was on top of him holding him so tightly, but because of where they were. This wasn’t his brothers basement. The last thing he remembered before blacking out was… was… what?

“Yes, I’m back,” Eddy answered still bewildered. Before he could ask where he’d been the mood in the dump truck took an even more perplexing turn when Edd laid a big wet kiss on his cheek.

Edd and Eddy stared at one another with wide eyes. Eddy could feel something warm against his chest. Edd had placed his hand on his heart. Both their cheeks flushed, but they didn’t seem to mind. It almost felt as if they were picking up where they left off before he was going to try and break out from the basement.

“Forgive me, Eddy. I don’t know what came over me,” Edd spoke in a rushed voice taking his hand away from Eddy’s chest.

“S’okay, uh… where are we?” he asked now changing the subject.

“In the garbage truck on the way to the dump!” Jonny announced as if it were the most exciting thing ever.

Eddy had a billion questions swarming his mind, but they had to wait when the garbage truck came to a stop.

Everything was eerily quiet for a few seconds. Nothing had been quiet in the three days they all remained locked in Eddy’s brother’s basement. The instant they wished for a sound wasn’t the right time as the lid of the garbage truck opened. The floor in which they were standing on ascended.

“Hold on, we’re going in!” Kevin shouted holding onto anything that wouldn’t give way. They were all dumped out landing in piles of rubbage. They were practically submerged beneath trash fighting their way out as if they’d been caved in by an avalanche of rocks.

“Kevin, the trash mouth on wheels is leaving!” Rolf shouted in the instant he crawled out from the rubble.

Nobody had time to grab the attention of the garbage truck driver. They were on their own to get out from this junk yard. It was a tougher journey than expected as they had no idea where they were. If it were the junkyard from back home they’d know it like the back of their hands. Heaps of trash towered over everywhere they looked as if they were skyscrapers.

“Look, it’s a crane!” Sarah pointed out. “A crane always means that’s where the junk yard opens up.”

“Sarah’s right, let’s go.”

Sarah and Jimmy were already running off blind to where they were going.

“Sarah, come back! Don’t wander off!” Ed called out.

The ground started rumbling under their feet. The tractor came through so quickly. Sarah and Jimmy’s screams were heard as no one had time to catch the tractor picking them up with the other junk. Ed screamed for his baby sister wanting to run to her as Eddy held his friend back. Now Ed began to cry falling to his knees.

Another tractor was on the trail. Before anyone could think to run they were scooped off their feet being sent against their will to a dark open crevice. How could the person working the tractor not see them?

“Hang on!” Kevin called out. He didn’t know how much that saying would help. The next thing the kids knew they were falling into a dark hole.

It was a tunnel. They were on a conveyor belt slowly moving into the darkness.

“Kev, what do we do?” Nazz called out.

“It’ll be okay if we stay…”

Rolf yelped upon being pulled off his feet. The metal from his horse shoe necklace hooked to the ceiling. Anything metal was attracted to the ceiling. It was a much faster conveyor belt above them carrying Rolf away from them. The kids raced after their friend trying to stay together.

“Don’t worry, Rolf! We’ll get you down!” Kevin had no idea how they would, but up until now they had varying luck throughout their capture.

Rolf’s eyes grew at what he saw at the end of the tunnel. “Look beyond what you see.”

The piled of trash were so high that the kids needed to climb over just to see. If the kids didn’t see their destination they’d be lost due to the shredder at the end of the pathway ripping apart anything in its sharp teeth.

“Grab something metal!” Edd screamed. He took hold of a hammer while the others grabbed any metal object. A pot, a cheese grater, and even a metal lunch box. Once they were on the ceiling they held on for dear life as they drew nearer to the shredder. All seemed calm knowing they were going to make it out of this mess.

“Eddy!” A voice screamed out from below.

Eddy turned to meet eyes with his brother who was down below with his leg snagged under a golf bag. His brother. The man who always got his way no matter what looked scared. He kept struggling to get himself out but nothing worked.

He’d never be seen or heard from again. Eddy would never have to fear if he were out there wanting to kill him.

“Help, please! Please, Eddy!” A tear escaped from his eye.

Eddy leaped down from the ceiling hearing Edd scream his name.

Eddy belted across the conveyor belt having jumped inches away from the shredder. He fell to his knees immediately trying to move the heavy bag off him.

“Thank you,” His brother said to him. And he meant it. There was no tone which said that he tricked him. For the first time fear resided in his brother's face. Eddy never thought change was real until now.

The bag was tougher to move then he thought. As Eddy struggled to move it he could hear Edd’s voice from above telling him to hurry. Don’t look back, don’t look back, Eddy kept telling himself. The shredder grew louder by each second.

All of a sudden there was someone else next to Eddy lending a helping hand.

Eddy and Kevin had no time mince words trying to lift the heavy bag off from Eddy’s brother.

Spotting a golf club they were able to lift the golf bag and Bro crawled out.

Seconds before they met their inevitable doom they were magnified to the ceiling once more.

Eddy looked at his brother who was still feverishly looking back at the shredder. And then he turned to Eddy giving him the most thankful smile. It actually made Eddy feel all warm inside.

“Thank you, little bro.” He said giving Eddy’s a hand a tighter grip.

Kevin could only grunt. The only reason he dropped down from the ceiling was Eddy’s sake. Not that man. Whenever he looked into his eyes there was complete evil. A part of him knew this was only a trick to capture them again. His mood soon changed when he looked around at all the vacant metal the kids used for safety.

“Where did everyone go?” There was a great amount of fear in Kevin’s voice.

Eddy’s heart was going to burst when a familiar voice came from below.

“Down here, Eddy!” Ed shouted out on a new conveyor belt.

Kevin was hesitant to let go of the golf club especially with Eddy’s brother now tagging along. They fell through the air until landing in shredded material below.

“Oh, Eddy!” Edd was practically crying as he held Eddy in his arms. Ed hugged his friends closely. After all the calamities and darkness that happened in the past years the three of them were never to be separated. They remained together going to fight the darkness together.

Noticing Eddy’s brother looming over them Edd was afraid to say something. He locked them in his basement for three days threatening to kill them if they as dared shouted. His brother wouldn’t make eye contact with any of them.

Eddy finally remembered the moment before he was knocked out. He snuck up the stairs only to hear his brother crying in thick, heavy sobs. And that’s why Eddy stopped his escape. There was something more to his brother. He was hiding, knowing how messed up his mind was. Nobody to help because he refused it.

Reaching out, Eddy took his brother's hand and give it a squeeze.

Bro looked at their hands together. He almost looked angry, but didn’t take it away.

“Guys, look!” Jonny called out. “I can see daylight, Plank!” Jonny said to the block of wood. “We’re gonna be okay!”

The group was relieved celebrating to themselves. But, there was something off about the glowing light at the end of the tunnel.

It was red mixed with a bright orange. A rather warm heat was heating up the claustrophobic tunnel. And then they heard noises none of them wanted to hear.

Flames!

“It’s an incinerator! Run!” Kevin screamed.

Running away would have been a lot easier if they weren’t on a conveyor belt moving faster in the opposite direction. The group ran as fast as they could trying to run back through the dark tunnel. Neither way seemed safe. None of them had any idea if the way they came would bring them to safety.

The scraps of garbage made it harder to run and their were hidden little barricades which kept the trash separated in piles.

Kevin grabbed Nazz’s hand the instant she slipped up. They looked into one another’s eyes.

“Run fast or the demons of flames will nab us all”

In the corner of his eye Eddy saw his brother slip up and disappear from his eye. Instead of turning back to see if he was okay he held Edd’s hand a little tighter. He and Ed held Edd who was stumbling along due to his twisted ankle.

“Eddy!”

Eddy turned around to see his brother clinging to a ladder. He pointed to a flashing red light above.

Letting go of Ed’s hand and letting himself be taken by the motion of the conveyor belt he pushed his brother to the ladder. Now they were all inches away from falling into the fiery room as his brother climbed each step.

And then his brother stood on flat land standing inches from the flashing red button which would turn off the conveyor belt.

“Just push it! Push it!” Eddy screamed along with the other kids.

And then his brother made that smile. A smile so dark and pure evil that was enough to make you freeze up in terror. No, it was all just an act.

“Where’s your brother now, pipsqueak.” And with that he ran off.

“No! Ma-”

And then the kids found themselves falling through the air. The entryway grew smaller and farther away. They landed hard in the many bits of trash which surrounded them. They practically rolled all the way down the steep mountain until coming to a stop.

There wasn’t much time to recover seeing as they were looming closer to the incinerator engulfing flames about a hundred feet away.

The kids wasted no time trying to hike through the mounds of trash racing their way to the top. They were such a distance away from where they could get out. Escape was going to be a more difficult process. For now, they had to climb up to the edge of the walls where they could be safe.

They barely moved from their spots. It was just like the conveyor belt only a much worser fate in front of them.

Jonny got trapped in a tidal wave of trash which took him past the group. Kevin reached out to take his hand only to slip up and taking everyone back with them in the ricochet of trash falling.

The hungry flames kept pulling the kids into its empty stomach. The heat was enough to make their skin burn.

“Eddy!” Edd screamed snapping Eddy out from his thoughts. When Eddy turned around he was met with a frightened, shaking boy. “What do we do?”

Eddy’s heart shattered. He opened his mouth to answer. Nothing. Eddy lead his friends through any danger. But, now… it was impossible.

Eddy caught sight of Edd’s shaking hand.

He reached out and gently wrapped his hand around his.

Edd looked at him with questioning look.

There wasn’t much Eddy could say, instead of through his eyes.

Eddy witnessed Edd make the most unsettling face. It was enough to break Eddy’s heart fearing that he wasn’t thinking hard enough. It was a miracle if anyone escaped from here.

Instead of anger his hand was gripped tighter.

Ed was struggling to hold balance in the slippery trash. His heart was pounding.

And Edd reached out to take his hand. Ed calmed down relaxing in whatever way he could.

Nazz witnessed this heroic move. Turning up to Jonny she held out her hand. Jonny took it and offered a hand to Rolf. It was tough for the son of a shepherd to accept it as he was not one to give in so easy.

Kevin was still fighting his way through the trash when he stopped to notice his friends quietly sitting and holding hands.

Kevin and Eddy locked eyes.

No words were expressed as Eddy offered his hand.

Kevin couldn’t believe his eyes. They couldn’t give up. The top of the incinerator was so far away. There was no way they could make it unless they kept going.

Kevin reached out and grabbed Eddy’s hand.

‘Kevin, I’m sorry I trusted him. It’s my fault. Please, forgive me.’

As if Kevin could hear his thoughts he gave his hand a squeeze.

And Kevin took Nazz’s hand to complete the chain.

Now they were looming closer towards the flames ready to accept their fate together.

So much undone, unsaid. It should not end like this. None of them deserved this.

The kids hearts pounded holding one another’s hands tighter. Nazz gripped Jonny’s hand a little tighter apologizing for the years she ignored him. What made this doom a little better was that they were all together. Yes, the cul-de-sac kids grew up together each getting to know one another. Through thick and thin they’ve helped one another through their demons.

Nazz placed her head against Kevin’s shoulder. They messed up their time as a couple all because of a stupid bike. In these last few seconds they could be a couple protecting one another.

Ed’s eyes closed, tearing up. Although he wanted Sarah here it was best that she was somewhere safe. He prayed that she was still alive going to carry on with her life.

Taking his eyes off the flames Eddy looked at Edd who was hyperventilating.

All the wasted years.

Closing his eyes and held Edd’s hand to his chest.

Something bumped against his body. It was Edd’s head cuddling into his shoulder.

It wasn’t the awful thought that they were going to die that made Eddy so emotional. Sitting in the trash in which surrounded them Eddy held his own head against Edd’s in whatever way of comfort. In the seconds before they were about to be engulfed in the flames Eddy realized he never came true to his feelings.

I love you, Edd. Holding Edd’s hand tighter he vowed to keep him safe until the very end.

Just when they thought all hope was lost a light shined over head.

Looking up a huge crane came down picking them up along with a whole pile of trash. and they rose through the air away from the danger.

And the crane stopped next to a big window.

“We did it, Sarah!” Jimmy yelled.

“Told you all those video games would come in handy!”

The kids had never been so happy in their lives. Kevin looked back at where their life was about to end only seconds ago. The fire engulfed the trash belching flames in the process. He couldn’t help but laugh.

They were gently dropped to the ground taking everything in.

“Rolf will never make fun of a cellar again.” Rolf spoke having never experience anything more horrifying compared to this.

As Kevin helped Nazz to her feet, Edd and Eddy sat up.

They noticed something odd.

Their hands were still hooked together.

Eddy met eyes with Edd who was smiling so timidly at him. Giving a knowing smile Eddy gripped Edd’s hand a little tighter.

Running feet were heard. “Are you guys okay?” Sarah asked immediately wrapping her arms around her brother.

Ed scooped his sister into a big hug. “We are now. Thanks to you.”

Eddy walked up to Sarah still holding Edd’s hand. “Yeah, thanks.”

And Sarah and Eddy hugged. They were going to be friends after years of being enemies.

“Hey, where’s that brother of yours?” Jonny called out rolling his hands into fists.

“Yes, Rolf would like to loosen his…”

“Forget it,” Eddy spoke. He was still holding Edd’s hand as they climbed down from the mound of trash. “He isn’t worth it.”

Revenge wouldn’t do anything. What was important was that they were alive to live another day.

It was a new beginning.

[saishuu-heiki-a]

Traditions — a queer idea. The only thing Sephiroth practiced were honoured actions before battle and afterwards ; actions solely serving to honour his own self , or whatever semblance of right and wrong he had pieced together as a child. As he stepped foot in the world and observed other people ( normal people ), he surmised that traditions were staked when feelings of familial and hometown love were inside grasp. People in a household forming and keeping to tradition as a way to bond. Villagers in a town celebrating centuries old traditions as a feeling of comradery .. and normalcy. There was no home for such things in a place that was no home.

If Professor Hojo had traditions , it was those tied to sadism , whatever they may have been. Traditions and holidays were such abstract notions. People suffered around the Earth , and while Sephiroth could see how even the smallest speck of merriment would be clutched with diamonds in the dirt , it simply was not for him. As a toddler , he would have greedily consumed even in the slightest glimmer of home. He had no use for it was a soldier — a harbinger of death. It isolated him even further from his comrades at ShinRa , but the chasm between him and them was beyond repair.

So he believed. What would Sephiroth even do practically? Buy a dead tree to simply look at it? Buy lights when he would likely never see them? And presents ... there was no one to give. Formerly. Holidays were foreign tongue on ears no matter intention. All days were equal in his eyes , and it was nothing special which led his body to halls which had no right being so downright eerie. Where monsters were made. Where monsters worked. Whatever horrors were present remained hidden beyond his gaze. Perhaps the celebrations had raptured the humans , leaving everything else to remain in stasis.

All days were equal to those who were jaded , and she , for all her tribulation , was not quite broken. He cared not for the string lights , however found the sight of the light reflected in the child's eyes captivating. Naturally there was illumination in her orbs , but he swore he could see a psychological spark of promise. Sephiroth attempted to be quiet , but in the sprawl of cold floors and walls void of any lively noise , the click of his boots was harsh even to his own ears.

He did not want to disturb whatever moment of peace Rem @axgmented was experiencing. He felt a spectre to her entranced moment and acted as such — quiet and polite , folding his body downwards to sit on the ground beside her. His serpentine eyes gave the lights a bored glance , finding more delight in watching the girl's face.

[eyesonworldcultures]

Shanghai-New York Twin Cities Theater Forum

Shanghai-New York Twin Cities Theater Forum

By Alex Roe

Convened in a spirit of civic boosterism and international sister city comradery, if some measure of sibling rivalry, the inaugural Shanghai-New York Twin Cities Theater Forum took place on July 12, 2019.  An all-day affair at the Huang pu theater in Shanghai’s Huangpu district, the city’s economic and administrative center, the forum featured an array civic leaders from Shanghai and experts in their respective cultural fields from Shanghai and New York.  Before an audience of students, scholars, and local arts and civic leaders, the 17 speakers engaged one another with brief addresses, followed by two very brief panel discussions, as well as lunch, tea, and an ample dinner to follow.

In my capacity as Producing Artistic Director of New York’s Metropolitan Playhouse—a resident theater in Manhattan’s East Village—I was more than honored to be one of the featured speakers, and only too happy to spend several days by my own lights beginning to know the City by the Sea as a guest of the generous Shanghai Theatre Academy.

A little background from the event’s program: In 2018, with an eye to “accelerate the high quality development of the Peoples Square theater cluster,” the Publicity Department of the Municipal Government and the Huangpu District Government christened a new initiative “Show Life,” the civic brand around which to develop “an active zone of performing arts with the ‘highest’ theatre density, the ‘biggest’ clustering effect, the ‘strongest’ collaboration, the ‘widest’ market space and the ‘best’ service environment.”

As a contribution to the Show Life mission, Prof. Huang Changyong, president of the Shanghai Theatre Academy, conceived of an annual forum bringing together New York and Shanghai theater experts to exchange perspectives on their respective cities’ theaters.  Prof. Huang is uniquely positioned to do so. Established in 1945, the Shanghai Theater Academy (formerly the Shanghai Municipal Experimental Drama School) is a school for professional theater and dance training, as well as study of literature and arts management. The academy is also home to the Marvin Carlson Theatre Center, an office and workspace named for the renowned CUNY Graduate Center scholar and devoted to academic exchange and research between Asia and the Americas through structured cooperation between CUNY and STA. Seminars, courses, symposia and conferences are offered under the aegis of the Center, and it has coordinated study in New York for scholars from Shanghai, as well as instruction in Shanghai by CUNY PhD students and faculty.

Building on this collaboration between the two institutions, President Huang invited Dr. Carlson to gather four New York theater mavens to describe our respective institutions in relation to New York City and its theater. Joining us were Dr. Carlson himself and two officials of the Carlson Center, one based in Shanghai, the other in New York. Altogether, 7 New York and 10 Shanghai delegates, each simultaneously translated, presented their visions of their respective cities’ theater cultures, now and to come.

Over the course of the day, one recalled Oscar Wilde’s framing, that bankers discuss Art, while artists discuss Money, if his quip might be refracted through the lenses worn by the ambitious civic and cultural shapers, on the one hand, and those of the presumed enshrined cultural leaders on the other. The Chinese speakers spoke of money, envisioning the promise of the theater industry in Shanghai, taking as their model a light and power that reaches around the globe, in both cultural prestige and economic strength: Broadway. Meanwhile, the New York speakers—largely artists and scholars in their own right—focused mostly on the content and intent of their art.

Shanghai presenters offered vision and perspective from the promotional to the analytic to the theoretical.  With a sleek and energizing video promotion, Cao Xiaomin, Deputy Director of the Publicity Department of the Huangpu District, presented Show Life as a promotion and development effort to build a vibrant theater to equal Broadway, drawing the most elite performers to create the highest level productions in a new era of cultural accomplishment for the cosmopolitan city.

Kaiqi Hu, translator, dramaturg, and Liason Officer of the Carlson Center at the Shanghai Theatre Academy, offered a slide presentation illustrating Shanghai producers’ ability to mount confident Chinese productions of Tony-winning Broadway shows.  

Founding his presentation on Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of human needs, Tu Qiyu, Deputy Director of the Institute of Urban and Population Development at the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences addressed the need for civil and economic development to adequately support culture, and notably theater, as a part of a fully self-actualized contemporary city’s identity—essential for a city to be an international leader.  

He Jianhua, Former Vice President of the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences, gave a diverting and aspirational description of a Shanghai as historically a cultured city that must continue its development, setting its American sister as a “benchmark.”  Such a city could not be, in his words, a handsome and muscled boy with an underdeveloped brain—attractive perhaps, but not one the girls would like—but rather worthy of recognition and equal to its international comrade, a “new New York.”

Ye Changhai, Professor of Dramatic Literature at the Shanghai Theater Academy, took a 40 year historical perspective and reflected on the Chinese stage as recovering from the crisis of the Cultural Revolution.

Sun Wenqian, Executive Director of The Power Station of Art, articulated the need for cross border communication and sharing of influences.

Zhou Hanmin, Vice Chairman of the China Democratic Construction Association and Vice Chairman of the Shanghai Political Consultative Conference, framed an enthusiasm for the energy of the urban environment, for the promise of open and inclusive culture, for the importance seeing culture as an industry, and for an embrace of pluralism. He also took a surprisingly direct aim at “my country firstism” and condemned efforts to “make a country great” that depended on preventing another country’s thriving.

Chen Chao, Director of the Shanghai Library, articulated a vision of the library’s role in preserving and promoting culture, with particular focus on the development of artificial intelligence, questions of the nature of inspiration and creation, and the potential of big data in relation to these questions. 

Bao Yaming, Director of Technology and Humanity Research Unit of the Literature Department at the Shanghai Academy of Social Sciences, chose as a case study the Punchdrunk Theater’s Sleep No More -—currently playing in Shanghai and assuredly appraised as “better than New York”—to show how the impact of cultural offerings may be measured and quantified as economic and civic forces. Replete with demographic studies and thermal imaging maps of the city, he demonstrated how patrons, citizens—consumers—were drawn to cultural districts, and commerce and industry are driven by theatrical offerings. 

Wang Guowei, Director of the Institute of Art and Media Industry at Tongji University, prioritized the understanding of space as the most important topic for a discussion of theater and culture, a refreshingly theoretical approach to a practical consideration. His talk ranged from considerations of rural and urban spaces, and different types of space, informed by the intersections of our physical with our psychological experience. 

Fan Yong, Director of the Asian Institute of Art and Finance, described a mutual reinforcement of financial services and cultural empowerment, citing auction trends in the art market and a thumbnail history of financial support for the fine arts. Interspersed among these corporate presentations were the New York speakers. 

Marvin Carlson described the Theatre Center named for him at the Shanghai Theater Academy, its history, philosophy, and programs in international exchange. 

To give a sense of the breadth of theatrical offerings in New York, Peter Eckersall, Professor of Theatre Studies at The CUNY Graduate Center (and Deputy Director of the Marvin Carlson Theatre Center at STA), provided an overview of the many different types of production activity there, from off-off-Broadway to Broadway, explaining the defining influence of professional unions and geography on the different categories, and then described the work of a few of the least conventional theater producers. 

Jacqueline Z. Davis, Executive Director of the New York Public Library for the Performing Arts, painted a comprehensive picture of the library’s participation in New York’s theater culture through its work as an educator, not only through housing unique and historically valuable resources for research, but also through numerous workshops, performances, exhibitions, and new media creations. 

Kate Loewald, Artistic Director of The Play Company, provided an overview of the history of her company and its dedication to introducing new work and international collaborations to New York, followed by a detailed description of two exemplary productions.   

Jim Niesen, Artistic Director of Irondale Ensemble Project, spoke of the challenges of producing non-profit theater in New York and the artist’s role as both a “canary in the coalmine” and the sparring partner with culture, bound to speak to the current moment and announce civic and social concerns.   

As Producing Artistic Director of Metropolitan Playhouse, I framed the work of Metropolitan Playhouse in context of America’s familiar history and mythology, proposing the rediscovery of forgotten plays and perspectives to be a valuable a reminder of the foundation, challenges, and promises of the past that can be lost in a nation whose defining character is defiance and reinvention.

Following the individual addresses were two brief round tables, the asking what Show Life might learn from Broadway as an industry, the other more broadly comparing the cultural dynamics of the two cities.

Out of this cordial and optimistic gathering emerged a few dominant impressions.  The one is a concerted will among the Shanghai sponsors and speakers to see Shanghai as filled with ambition, energy, talent, and promise. The city in this light may be measured against the reputation of New York and found possessed of equal dynamism and skill, ready to take its place in the sun alongside, if not a step above, its American sister. 

 A second, corollary to the first, is the aspiration to attain the commercial, artistic, and reputational success of Broadway, by learning the practical tools and techniques that support that industry and so reproduce Broadway in Shanghai. 

Meanwhile, in response to these assertions, comes a third, held by many of the New York guests and optimistically shared with the hosts: that the dynamism of New York theater depends on its engagement with its local circumstance, and often that which is not Broadway. Alongside those commercial productions are theaters, producers, and artists thriving Off- and Off-Off-Broadway, reaching audiences with work ranging in size, subject, style, and target audience.  Indeed, through their work developing new productions, embracing challenging subjects, cultivating new talents, daring new performance styles, and exciting local audiences, these theaters provide glittering, internationally famous Broadway its most enduring and enlivening work.    

A professional director for 37 years, Alex Roe studied literature and theater at Harvard University. He began his career directing, acting, writing, and teaching for theaters across the United States and abroad, often producing new English adaptations of Western classics. In 2001, he became Producing Artistic Director of Metropolitan Playhouse, a company in New York City devoted to exploring American culture and history through America’s theater. He has directed 35 productions at Metropolitan, and under his leadership, the theater has consistently been described in the press as an “invaluable” cultural institution.

Alex Roe Artistic Director Metropolitan Playhouse Finding America, One Play at a Time www.metropolitanplayhouse.org 212 995 8410

[blazedreaper]

Life & Death: Vallar Shadowbourn

What is that someone wants most out of life? To be rich, to be famous, or perhaps even to be a god? Every soul be it man, woman, or simply mortal want something great out of their journey on earth. Something to make their name or themselves great or perhaps leave something behind for the next era of people. No matter the reason or dream we try to strive for the best. I merely wanted to be strong for myself, for others who’d need it, and for my family more than anything. I was a young man who wanted to be the big and strong man of the Alliance military, just like any other kid. For days, which turned to weeks to begin training my mind, body, and soul for whatever would come to me and to threaten my home and loved ones. Day after day I would train my body till it couldn’t work no longer. I would take breaks as little as a few days to rest off the work out.

Not the best of training routines or the wisest but I would do what I thought was best to better prepare myself the age when I could be a soldier. My family had great praise for me, my parents were proud to where’d I would serve the Alliance and my little brother looked up to me as a future hero. I would join at an early age to get a head start in my career, seventeen was perhaps to young for some, but it was my first steps into the solider’s life for me.

To be among my fellow brothers and sisters of the Alliance was like a dream come true, something that I thought I’d be to weak to even attempt at. But as I trained and fought  under the lion’s banner I understood what a brotherhood was like, to meet a whole new family in arms and in comradery. Just like when I first begun my training I’d enjoy all the time I could get out of it. Whether that be sparing with my friends or fighting with them all in whatever war would come for our homeland and family. Eventually what felt like mere months became years, twelve to be exact, twelve long good serviced years and wasn’t about to retire either. For even when I became old and gray, I would give my life to the Alliance for my strength was theirs as much as their will was my own.

There was one tour of duty that I’ll never forget for as long I as walk this forsaken world. A world breaking war with demons was thought to be the end of all life and good that was in Azeroth, so many cities would burn, even our own world. However, by some miracle and great unbreakable will, we all lived and fought back the demons to their twisting hells. I thought that to be the end of all war, for it took the combined might of both factions to combat this threat. But alas war never changes anything,  no matter the foe and so it would be that the call to war was blown. I remember the faces of worry and fear my family had, but like the solider I was I’d assure them I’d return with a letter of hope for them and so soldiers like me set sail for the cold north known as Northrend. I’ve been to the land, only ever heard stories of the frozen land far across the sea. Tales of waters so deathly cold that merely falling the sea would freeze you dead.

I was at first not used to the cold harsh winds that blew past me and into my steel blue plated armor which only made me hate the coldness of the land ever more. What was worse I was a deployment of vanguard, soldiers who’d be put in the upfront battles of both the Horde and the true enemy the Scourge. How the Alliance would manage to fight two heads at the same time was beyond of position of thinking or questioning. I would follow my orders given by my generals and commanders alike. I will admit for I can not lie, war had always been horrible for both sides only wanted the same thing: peace and good health for their people. But war against the Scourge was something else entirely, the minions of death didn’t want land, power, or wealth. No the servants of the Lich King only wanted to bring death and decay to any land they could taint and defile. Walking the dreaded frozen plains of Icecrown could only be described as nightmares. Battlefields always carried the stench of death, but the field for Scourge was natural for them. Anyone that fell from combat, Alliance or Horde would be marked by death and be risen as a new soldier of undeath. With only the will of the their Lich King to guide them.

I’ve always been told when death comes for us, there was a certain peace that came to it. For us in this war, the peace of death was a lie. For there was none in the frozen north to begin with. What I wanted to be months were mere weeks as the casualties would pile up for both sides and which only lead to a greater force for the undead legion. I just wanted now was to go home for no one should die in a pointless blood war only to feed a greater foe’s strength. Alas, I was a soldier and would get out a soldier’s way; by service. Then one day it finally came, a mission which was to bring a turn of tables to this war. Our Job was for a battalion of us to team up with the crusaders of the Agrent Crusade for a special task. The objective was to recover a relic that was previously lost when a gargoyle took fallen crusader’s body deep into Icecrown. Our job was to journey with the crusaders to a place known as the ‘Cathdral of Darkness’. It supposedly a place where the cult of the Damned would preach and practice the influence of the Lich King.

How some little relic would change the tide of war against the Lich King was once again beyond I, but would follow orders as followed: “Troops of the Alliance are to delve into the midst of Scourge territory with crusaders of the Argent Crusade and recover the holy relic known as ‘Light’s Cleansing’.” The goal was to drop from a skybreaker as close down to the cathdral as possible. Once on the ground the force would travel up and through the cathdral, killing any Scourge that was in the way. But on the journey to the dark church however they’d come in contact with little undead, which seemed odd to me. But the crusaders would assure me and any other worrying troop that is was the ‘Light’ watching over us, yeah what little comfort that brought us. But after another hour or so we’d all arrive at the entrance to the dark cathdral.

This supposed ‘cathdral’ looked more like a small fortress as I recalled. Even something so small seemed so terrifying. Never the less I’d ignore the chill down my spine and march with my comrades into the cathdral of darkness, the stench of death wasn’t much but the utter feeling of dread as we walked the unholy halls of that cathdral. Everything was wrong, from the arts that went on here to the lack of enemies. In the end we’d find the fallen crusader’s corpse at the center of it. Our mission was complete, that’s what we thought, no. The ‘holy’ crusaders wanted us to take part in the ‘cleansing’ as to make sure the cult couldn’t use this place for their practice anymore. We wanted to get the hell out of there, but were compelled to aid them as orders dictated. We the troops would set up around the cathdral as the crusaders prepared their ritual for ‘cleansing’.

It seemed like ages as the crusaders  began their ritual to cleanse the cathdral, to in their words would burn all undeath presence around the area. But as their ritual was nearly over a grip of fear blew over everyone, it was as if death itself was breathing down their necks or perhaps standing behind them. At the entrance to the cathdral was blocked by shadowed wall and out stepped our demise. The Lich King himself his own force of knights in black armor, we’d been led to a trap.

After what seemed like a nightmare only became a reality as I awoke to find chains wrapped around my whole body as well find my allies and even members of the Horde were taken prisoner. When the Lich King granted them his presence I was sure we’d die, but it seemed the King of death saw to torture our minds and bodies till we were dead then raise us to serve. It was horrific to see and watch one by one of my friends and comrades being succumbed to disease, slowly watching their skin decay. Or perhaps freezing slowly from the inside out till they were a frozen husk. Even the torture of blood magic was enough to instill fear as even imagining having one’s own blood boil till exploding into a pile of gusts and blood.

The Scourge was truly a foe like Azeroth’s never seen, an enemy which not even the laws of nature can abide. I wanted to be able be strong enough to spit in the eyes of death itself, but found myself being reborn into something much greater. I was reborn into death, I die and would be risen into a death knight.

Taking the first breath of undeath was cold, but a chilling sense of peace. More peace than I was lead to believe when I was alive. I was a man who feared death and tried to fight it off, even more so think that death could be overwhelmed. But such burdens were gone as my unlife was to begin and his service to a new King. I soon and quickly came to see the perks of undeath. I found my strength greater than any normal mortal warrior or magic caster, the Lich King bestowed his death knights with his own power over death. I found myself enthralled by the power of both frost and unholy; freezing the living to a fate worse than frostbite or laughing as the smooth flesh of any mortal becoming diseased and decaying.

Truly the tools of death were something to behold, for I would serve the Lich King as any loyal knight would to his or her king. I would’ve gladly brought defilement to every inch of this world, but it wasn’t to be as once a traitor always a traitor for our own king would plot to throw our lives away to a battle that couldn’t never be won. Once such battle was at Light’s Hope, the famous chapel that held the oldest crusaders and paladins of ages. Such a small temple seemed easy to crush, but it was in our arrogance as we charged onto holy ground we were sealed. No matter how hard we fought, how many paladins died by our blades we found our troops being purged before us.

Defeat had come, I was again broken before the mercy of judgement. I thought to finally see peace in death but to my surprise our defeat became a lecture in how we were blind, how our faith in our king was false. Hearing the words back then was enough make raise my blade again into that old Highlord’s throat. But his old wise words would be true, for at that moment our Lich King would grace us but became more of a disgrace. He’d go to boast how our lives were nothing to him, how’d he’d all his death knights to die a thousand times to secure victory. We were fools indeed. The old Highlord Darion Mograine enraged at his betrayal attempted to slay him only to be cast aside like nothing.The other ebon knights could do nothing to the Lich King either and so he turned his attention to Tirion.

The Lich King sought to kill the Highlord and corrupt his soul as he did ours, but like our victory it was not meant to be. Darion Mograine would give his corrupted Ashbringer to Tirion purging it  once more and breaking the Lich King’s hold on his soul. Fearing the divine power of the old man he’d retreat and curse that we’d all die. Our defeat had open our eyes and freed our souls from being slaves to the Lich King. We had a new purpose,to bring redemption to our order and bring the fall of the Lich King. What seemed like an era of war was finally coming to an end. Crusaders, death knights, and all living combatants were at the gates of icecrown to end the reign of death once and for all.

It was over, the Lich King had fallen. His cursed sword Frostmourne had been broken and with it the souls of all it’s ever consumed were free. We were free, but as we all made our peace with the victory over death, some of us didn’t feel the true peace of the burden. Why you may ask yourself? Because we would be the last of the Scourge. No matter how it seemed or how it was, we knights of the Ebon Blade would always be seen as agents of the damned. Our crimes never to be redeemed, we had been freed yes. But the world would never accept us for who and what we are. But we didn’t care, our goal was now to make a place for our kind in this world. Watching out for each other and those alike. We had sacrificed much to bring an end to the traitorous king and their wasn’t much of us left after it all. My purpose now was to follow my brothers and sisters of the Ebon Blade and serve them all and anyway I could. For in death they are bound together and would stand together.

Ages have past since the old Scourge war but I continue to remember it as if it just happened. I write this biography of my two lives so one could understand what it meant to be a death knight, what it means to be an Ebon Knight. But always know that I will stand for my people first, for they are my true family and family is all that matters in this cruel forsaken world. Always know that I Vallar Shadowbourn will stand by my kin and kill all who would threaten us.

[sirwyattsylvester]

Scene Week || Wyatt/Auggie

Date: Tuesday May 23

Location: Wyatt’s Dorm

Class: Bondage and Sensory.

Party enrolled in the class: Both

Triggers/Other Notes: Iceplay, no triggers. Incomplete, mostly done.

Wyatt had a few ideas in mind, but he hadn't talked with Auggie enough to really figure out what they were going to be doing, though he had a few ideas, of course. Since he was planning a lot of things he set up rooms for different things so at least his dorm would be ready for a variety of scenes. Once he heard that Auggie had announced his presence, he walked over to his door in some slim fitting black pants and dark blue tank top. Pulling the door open, he looked him over and stepped back. "Come in. I saw your ad, which was helpful to learn about your limits and what you want to practice, I just want to go over a couple of things first."

Auggie nodded, moving to stand from where he knelt and walking into the Dominant's dorm. He slid off his shoes out of habit in the entryway, glancing around curiously. "Of course, Sir," he replied, trying to think of what he'd even written on the ad a week or two back. "Thank you again for agreeing to scene with me this week-- Sebastian seems to like your company, Sir, and I was curious to get to know you better."

Wyatt worked his mouth to fight the pleased smile from the reason as to why Auggie was curious about him, nodding once. "Always good to have, ah, comradery among your peers, wouldn't you say so? Well, Sebastian doesn't know much about my Domming skills, but it is always good to know someone you respect gives someone else you an idea that they might be good people. "Come, kneel by the couch. Why don't you start by telling me which classes you're in?"

Auggie raised an eyebrow at the choice word but ignored it, unsure when Sebastian had ever referred to someone as a comrade. "I'd imagine he doesn't, Sir, but I happen to agree, and as I said, was curious," he responded, obeying and making his way over to the couch. He leaned down, kneeling with his knees slightly spread and palms resting on each thigh. "I'm currently enrolled in the bondage, sensory play, and sub 101, and the male-female claim class, Sir."

Wyatt didn't much like the look of Auggie's raised eyebrow, but he had no idea what the boy knew or thought he knew and he wasn't one to be open about such things, especially to strangers. "I'm afraid I haven't heard much about you, but that's better than having heard anything bad." Wyatt nodded at the class choices. Apart from the latter two, they shared the same classes, which meant he was trying to figure out what ideas to go along with. "Have you played with wax play before?"

Auggie considered Wyatt's comment for a moment, admittedly not too surprised. He'd spent most of his free time with Sebastian since arriving, but the Dominant had zero reason to bother mentioning him to others. "I'll take it as a good thing you haven't heard anything yet then, and yes, actually... With Sebastian on one occasion, and my brother intends to use it in our presentation at the end of the month."

Wyatt tilted his head at the explanation and nodded. "All right, that's off the table for you, then. Sounds like you'll have more than enough of that in the coming week. What about ice play? I haven't quite had a nice ice play session since I got here and I generally prefer it to wax. Generally. I know coldness doesn't exactly... encourage the loins, as it were." He shrugged his shoulders, searching the submissive's face.

Auggie turned, looking directly at Wyatt at the mention of ice play. "Never, actually... Perhaps that's why though? I'm not opposed to trying it though, Sir, and one could argue it serves as nice contrast-- or a way to cool down perhaps when a bit swept up in the moment, couldn't they? ...Though I have to admit you do appear to be a minority compared to most of our peers. I rarely hear ice mentioned." He shrugged in return, glancing down at his clothing. "Will I need to strip off any clothing for this, Sir?"

Wyatt listened to Auggie, he shrugged. "I think people have different reactions to it. After all, ice and water have always been show to have a sexual appeal within media culture. And I think it's still a bit chilly to be taking you outside and spraying you with a hose." Shaking his head, he smirked just slightly before he looked down at Auggie's clothes and then back up to his face. "Will that be a problem for you? I don't think sense play would be very fun if your senses are muted by cloth."

Auggie was shocked at the thought of being sprayed with a hose outside, suddenly questioning if approaching Wyatt had been as bright of an idea as he thought. "I- no, Sir... It's not a problem. Just let me know what you'd like removed, and I'll take it off-- but a hose? Couldn't that... hurt? It sounds more like a punishment to be sprayed with a hose outside, Sir."

Wyatt looked confused by Auggie's question, shaking his head as he stood up. "Hurt? Only if I was talking about a fireman's hose? And while I wouldn't be surprised if my mother had one of those here, I certainly wouldn't be using it, especially unskilled. If I can be left out in the middle of the lake all night, you can certainly tough out being sprayed with water. But that's not what we're doing." He rolled his neck, offering his hand down to the submissive to help him up. "Here, I'll show you to a room where you can take off your clothes. All of them, if that's not objectionable to you."

Auggie mirrored Wyatt's confusion at the comment about the lake, unsure as to what he was referring to or what it had to do with the hose-- which sure, wouldn't hurt, but he couldn't help but picture the fact it would probably hurt if targeted at his cock or face for any period of time. "That's fine," he replied taking Wyatt's politely offered hand and moving to stand. He was getting use to being asked to strip by now in the presence of Dominants, and while it slightly unnerved him that it was so common and expected of submissives, on the scale of things that actually bothered him it was a 1, and not worth mentioning if it pleased the Dominant. What did surprise him, however, was the room. "A room, Sir? You don't just... want me to strip right here?"

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders and shook his head at the question. "If we were doing the scene in here, yes, but I had rather thought of taking you into one of my guest rooms for it. Though..." He glanced back at the kitchen in thought. "Chaining you to the island counter would be fun, too... yes, actually, let's do that. Strip for me, won't you, Augustus?" He stood back, fully intending to enjoy the show.

Auggie had been ready to walk into the other room, fine with the explanation when he faulted, eyes widening and glancing towards the kitchen island. "Y-yes, Sir," he replied, blushing and reaching for the hem of his shirt. "Where should I put my clothing? Here? Folded on the kitchen table, or?" He asked, slipping off his shirt with ease and sliding off his socks as well, waiting for somewhere to put them down before dealing with his pants.

Wyatt went into the kitchen, reaching in and finding a cloth table cloth and draping it over the counter top, digging into another drawer for something before he was pulling out a pair of handcuffs. "Mmm?" He looked up. "Oh, just put them on the coffee table for now, then come over here, sweets." He was moving about the kitchen, grabbing an ice cube tray, a hand cloth, and a long handled lighter.

Auggie nodded obediently, stripping off his closing and setting it folded on the coffee table, one arm across his mid-section, holding onto the other arm's elbow as he approached Wyatt. His eyes watched Wyatt curiously, noting handcuffs-- something he hadn't used yet with keen interest. "I'm ready, Sir... Where would you like me?"

Wyatt watched Auggie holding his mid-section in what he could only assume was a defensive or introverted position, watching him come over. "You look a little uncomfortable there, Augustus. Is there something I can do that would make you feel more relaxed before I put you up on the counter?" He questioned as he reached for Auggie's wrist to draw him slowly closer to him, looking over his face.

Auggie shook his head, blushing softly as he felt Wyatt take his arm and pull him closer. "No, Sir.. I'm okay. I just-- believe it or not, I've never had a scene using cuffs before. I'm not opposed to them by any means. I guess I'm just unsure what to expect. You can put me up on the counter now though-- I promise it's okay."

Wyatt nodded as he looked over his face. "All right, if you're sure." He licked his lips. "It's not that shocking, actually. A lot of people came here not having tried this or that. But if you're sure and ready to go, we'll get this going." He drew Auggie in front of his island counter before he lifted him up by the waist and set his ass down on the counter top, his hands caressing their way down onto his hips. "Now, lie back, arms above your head." He went around to the other side after picking up the hand cuffs, letting them clink together.

Auggie inhaled audibly as Wyatt lifted him with apparent ease onto the table. He immediately laid back as instructed, grateful for the soft cloth over the counter to make it slightly more comfortable. He then moved his arms back his head, glancing towards Wyatt's form and ignoring the fact he was bound naked in a near stranger's kitchen. He couldn't deny he already found part of it pretty hot-- he'd never done a scene in a kitchen. The Dom was winning points for originality without even knowing, and Auggie just hoped he enjoyed the scene as much as the setup. "This good, Sir?" He asked, legs hanging on the table at one end and arms ever so slightly on the other.

Wyatt scanned the view of Auggie on his counter top, splayed out, ready for use and his cock twitched as he nodded. "Very." He closed one cuff around Auggie's wrist before he slid the slightly longer than average chain through a drawer handle below and then closed the other on the submissive's free wrist before he slowly ran his hand down along the submissive's side as he moved around to get the rest of his tools, setting ice on his hand cloth, so it wouldn't melt quite as quickly, at least not more quickly than he'd like. "All right... let's try this out, shall we?" His eyes were twinkling with excitement and he picked up an ice cube with one hand and the lighter with the other, flicking it on and melting one end of it slightly so it would be wet. Then he set down the lighter and brought down the ice, resting it gently next to Auggie's nipple before he circled it.

Auggie watched Wyatt like a hawk, curious and almost nervous for a moment when he saw the lighter pulled out, relieved to see it was just to melt the ice cube. He could do this.. He was pretty confident, at least, until Wyatt finally acted, going immediately for the submissive's chest. Auggie inhaled sharply, almost letting out a squeak at how cold it felt compared to the room's temperature, nipples immediately getting hard.

Wyatt watched Auggie's face in glances and flicked back to the ice cube as he circled, then lifted if off him, circling the other nipple before he slowly drew it down to his navel. "How's that feel?" He murmured, his eyes following the wet trail the ice was leaving behind. "Compared to say, the wax?"

Auggie did his best to relax, not straining his neck further trying to watch, and instead letting it rest back against the table. He bit his lip, holding back a strangled whimper as he nodded. Wax tended to leave behind a light warmth, but the skin was covered then and dulled almost when it came to additional wax poured in the same area. The ice left his skin feeling extra sensitive though-- nerves on high alert "Cold," he replied as his stomach tensed, almost ticklish. "A lot more sensitive, Sir."

Wyatt listened to the boy's description, nodding slowly as he watched his hand and the ice running down to his navel, circling that now, watching a little water droplet run into his navel. "Yeah? So does it feel more intense when I do this?" He removed the ice for a moment and leaned down to lick where he just had run the ice on his navel, briefly dipping into his navel to try and catch that water droplet, but leaving it wetter than he found it as he lifted his head up, to look up at his face.

Auggie hadn't expected Wyatt's actions, a soft moan slipping out of the submissive's mouth when he felt the ice traded out for the Dominant's tongue. His back arched into the touch, arms tensing and pulling on the cuffs. "Yeah- it does," he answered, blushing faintly and hoping Wyatt didn't stop. "Feels way more intense, Sir."

Wyatt nodded and lifted his head to look up at his face, the soft moan definitely making his half-hard cock twitch again in his pants. Auggie definitely looked splayed out and ready for him, but he wanted to make sure they could both comfortably say they had done a scene. "I'll keep that in mind." He placed the ice back on his skin, having switched hands so he could warm up the other. He pressed it against his hip bone before making a slow trail down over his thigh, soaking up reactions.

Auggie gasped, muscles in his thighs tensing for a moment, almost ticklish when he felt the ice cube run along them. "S-Sir?" His voice was hesitant, but needy, neck straining to raise his head for a moment so he could see what Wyatt was doing. So close. The ice cube had his legs tensing, hips pressing into the counter as he tried to stay still for the Dominant. As uncomfortably cold as it felt though, he couldn't help but find it equally arousing, cock half-hard and eager for attention the longer the ice slid over his skin. Wyatt's hand seemed tauntingly close, and he wasn't sure how to get the Dominant's lips back on his skin, but he wanted it.

Wyatt looked up when Auggie said his title like that, his eyebrows raising. "Yes, Auggie? Don't tell me you're scared of a little ice?" He tilted his head as he searched the sub's face, his ice sliding down his inner thigh before he rubbed it behind the knee. Lifting it up since it was starting to get small and less effective, he put it between his own lips, letting their heat melt it some as he held his head above Auggie's crotch and reached in to press his cock against his stomach and out of the way, so when droplets of water fell at an increasing rate, the cold droplets dropped and splashed onto the sub's balls.

Auggie shook his head, trying his best to not jerky his knee away from the sudden cold. "N-not scared, Sir." Wyatt's hand was a welcome surprise until he realized who the Dominant was even bothering, groaning as he felt the cold water drip onto his balls. He lifted his head again, watching how close Wyatt was to his own cock, and swallowed hard. His cock twitched again the Dominant's hand, despite the cold, and he forced himself to relax back against the table again, gaze aimed at the ceiling.

Wyatt watched as it dripped for a while longer before he swallowed the tiny piece it had become, stroking over Auggie's cock as he took his hand back. "So far so good... let's see if we can't battle what the cold does, hmm?" He tried not to smirk, instead just bouncing his eyebrows as he took up another piece of ice and melted it some with the fire until it was wet pretty much all over, droplets falling onto Auggie's stomach. Setting the lighter aside, he leaned down over Auggie's cock. Taking the head in his mouth, he sucked as he started to gently run the ice cube against his cock down the vein and around the side as he bobbed his head and swirled his tongue around it.

Auggie moaned audibly, shocked by Wyatt's mouth suddenly on his cock, a stark contrast to the cold against his stomach and now his cock. "Sir-- please. That feels so good," he whined, hips squirming. They hadn't negotiated it being a chastity scene- just sensory-- but now he was wondering if he'd get to cum in the blatantly sexual scene.

Wyatt lapped slowly at Auggie's cock, interested to see that Auggie was saying it was so good, even with the ice. He leaned back up and blew air against his cock before he swirled the ice around down the length of his cock and down to lightly touch against his balls. "Still good?" His voice had a teasing edge, but he wouldn't mind if Auggie though it was.

.Auggie gasped, the mixed sensations of hot and cold along his cock making him almost dizzy with arousal. When Wyatt's lips receded though, the cold became more prominent, legs tensing as the icy cold slide across his balls. It was too much "N-no, Sir," he replied shortly, trying to keep his voice level. "It's too cold."

Wyatt lifted the ice away after he had said "no" and then nodded in understanding, leaning in to follow the trail the ice had just made up with his tongue, briefly sucking his balls into his hot mouth before lifting his head. "One more game, then... a race of pleasure versus pain or discomfort. I put a piece of ice on your body, somewhat pre-melted, and then suck you off. I either stop when you've cum or the ice has melted, or you've begged for me to take it off your skin."

.Auggie groaned, eyes rolling back from the constant torture that the ice play seemed to be, cock stirring again with interest when the cold sensation disappeared and was replaced with Wyatt's warm mouth. The rules of Wyatt's game seemed simple enough, but there had to be a catch-- surely wherever the ice was wouldn't be comfortable based on his description of pain versus pleasure. Depending on where it was too, the ice could no doubt melt fast, meaning his chances of cumming were slim. "Sounds good, Sir... I'm game," he replied back, though his voice lacked any earlier confidence, driven mostly by the want for Wyatt's hands or lips around his needy cock again, hips thrusting into a phantom sensation, in search of contact.

Wyatt nodded as Auggie said he was game, however unconvincing he might sound, figuring he ought to let the boy try, if nothing else. "After this, we can put you in a nice warm bath, how does that sound?" He prepped a different ice cube, melting it down a little on all sides and making sure it didn't have any sharp edges. Leaning in, he pulled Auggie closer to the edge of the counter, looking him over between the legs before he almost simultaneously closed his lips on his cock and pressed the ice cube gently against his asshole. He wasn't going to try and make this stacked against the sub, however, so he pulled out all the stops, sucking hard and bobbing his head, not letting there be much more than a second without his lips on the sub's cock.

.Auggie nodded, moaning as he felt Wyatt's lips slide back over cock. The pleasure was halted abruptly when he felt the ice though, legs tensing and ass clenching around the cool cube. "F-fuck." The curse word slipped from his lips, hips thrusting forward, as if it would chase away the cold. His wrists pulled at the cuffs as he let out another audible moan, overwhelmed by the sensations. As uncomfortable as the ice was, it didn't detract from how hard he was and how badly be wanted to cum. Auggie knew the ice would no doubt melt quickly, but he could feel himself inching closer cumming and he silently prayed the ice would somehow last long enough. "Ah- please don't stop-- feels amazing, Sir," he begged, struggling to keep his hips still.

Wyatt kept bobbing his head quickly, wanting to give Auggie as much of a chance to beat the ice melting, even if it was pressed to a hot crease of his body, held in place by the tip of Wyatt's finger. He hollowed out his cheeks as he drew his mouth up and then pushed down until he had taken the sub into the back of his throat and swallowed around him.

[maximuswolf]

Differences between Western Communist Party and Eastern Communist Parties. via /r/communism

Differences between Western Communist Party and Eastern Communist Parties.

I'm a member of the KPRF (Communist Party of the Russian Federation). We currently have many left-leaning parties within Russia and not too long ago, made an attempt to organize a "united left front" to make a "left turn". However, each party does have it's own unique set of ideologies. The KPRF has been criticized for being "controlled opposition" who are puppets of the ruling class. Young communists like the nascent "Union of Marxists" are taking a more hard-lined economic view, where they stick to traditional dogma of Marxism-Leninism. Despite the differences in ideologies, I've noticed that one thing unites Russia's communist movements; their rejection of Liberalism and Liberalist values.

As I understand it, (and correct me if I'm wrong) communists in the West, align themselves with the Black-Lives-Matter ideology of systemic racism, police brutality, gender fluidity, freedom of expression and democracy. However, here in the Russian Federation, Communists take a starkly opposing view. We are "internationals" in the sense that comradery and solidarity should be expressed by all people, but most communists in Russia, and perhaps even Russians in general, do not believe in the idea of a "melting pot" and multi-culturalism. Communist civic leaders from the KPRF make promises to their constituents of curbing the mass migration of Central Asians (Tajik, Kyrgiz, Uzbek) into Russia. In-fact, multiculturalism has dogmatically been seen as an exploitative tool of the bourgeoisie to bring in and exploit cheaper labor from poorer countries. Creating cultural friction between the aboriginals (term we use for locals) and the migrant workers. As I understand it, in the United States or Canada, the Russian Communist would be seen as racist for this kind of thinking. Additionally, gender fluidity is something strongly rejected by my party (KPRF) and other parties. Of course, we've (KPRF) have also been accused of getting in bed with the ROC (Russian Orthodox Church); which I'm sad to say, I also feel. Regardless, 'traditional values" are framed as an ideal framework for raising families and typically are not connected with a belief in God. I myself am an atheist, as are most of my comrades. However, I think our party head (Ginady Zyuganov) believes that there is a cultural aspect to the ROC that needs to be nurtured within Russian society. I'm indifferent, but I would like them to stip building all those goddamned Churches in my city (Yekaterinburg). Freedom of expression as well as "democracy" in the western sense are also rejected by most left leaning people I know. For one, we are indeed attempting to achieve a dictatorship of the proletariat. Our democracy is much more direct and is based off of worker elections, not career politicians.

I wrote this because I wanted to see how Western Communists, and American Communists in particular related to their Russian counterparts? For one, I think that perhaps we have the most points of contact (i.e. commonalities) with how we view economics. Means of production should be owned and managed by the state etc. Culturally, I think we differ significantly. While Marx never laid out a framework for the most fruitful cultural practices, I think each organization has been left to fill in the gaps. I find it funny, how the Western Media, such as Fax New (Yes, we have youtube in Russia lol) says that the Left are turning the USA into the USSR because they fight for same-sex marriage equality, but these people don't realize that same-sex couples would have been thrown into the gulag in the Soviet Union; some possibly executed. And the sad reality is, there are a lot (perhaps even a majority) who would make homosexuality illegal again. Personally, I'm indifferent to this because it doesn't necessarily have any economic implications (short of decreasing the birth rate, but I suspect that loss in new human resources is negligible). Anyway, please forgive the long rant, but I'm genuinely curious what comrades in the west think about the differences between Western and Eastern Communist Parties.

Spasibo!

Submitted August 09, 2020 at 10:37PM by MedinaPharma via reddit https://ift.tt/3kwxSms

[specialchan]

Differences between Western Communist Party and Eastern Communist Parties. via /r/communism

Differences between Western Communist Party and Eastern Communist Parties.

I'm a member of the KPRF (Communist Party of the Russian Federation). We currently have many left-leaning parties within Russia and not too long ago, made an attempt to organize a "united left front" to make a "left turn". However, each party does have it's own unique set of ideologies. The KPRF has been criticized for being "controlled opposition" who are puppets of the ruling class. Young communists like the nascent "Union of Marxists" are taking a more hard-lined economic view, where they stick to traditional dogma of Marxism-Leninism. Despite the differences in ideologies, I've noticed that one thing unites Russia's communist movements; their rejection of Liberalism and Liberalist values.

As I understand it, (and correct me if I'm wrong) communists in the West, align themselves with the Black-Lives-Matter ideology of systemic racism, police brutality, gender fluidity, freedom of expression and democracy. However, here in the Russian Federation, Communists take a starkly opposing view. We are "internationals" in the sense that comradery and solidarity should be expressed by all people, but most communists in Russia, and perhaps even Russians in general, do not believe in the idea of a "melting pot" and multi-culturalism. Communist civic leaders from the KPRF make promises to their constituents of curbing the mass migration of Central Asians (Tajik, Kyrgiz, Uzbek) into Russia. In-fact, multiculturalism has dogmatically been seen as an exploitative tool of the bourgeoisie to bring in and exploit cheaper labor from poorer countries. Creating cultural friction between the aboriginals (term we use for locals) and the migrant workers. As I understand it, in the United States or Canada, the Russian Communist would be seen as racist for this kind of thinking. Additionally, gender fluidity is something strongly rejected by my party (KPRF) and other parties. Of course, we've (KPRF) have also been accused of getting in bed with the ROC (Russian Orthodox Church); which I'm sad to say, I also feel. Regardless, 'traditional values" are framed as an ideal framework for raising families and typically are not connected with a belief in God. I myself am an atheist, as are most of my comrades. However, I think our party head (Ginady Zyuganov) believes that there is a cultural aspect to the ROC that needs to be nurtured within Russian society. I'm indifferent, but I would like them to stip building all those goddamned Churches in my city (Yekaterinburg). Freedom of expression as well as "democracy" in the western sense are also rejected by most left leaning people I know. For one, we are indeed attempting to achieve a dictatorship of the proletariat. Our democracy is much more direct and is based off of worker elections, not career politicians.

I wrote this because I wanted to see how Western Communists, and American Communists in particular related to their Russian counterparts? For one, I think that perhaps we have the most points of contact (i.e. commonalities) with how we view economics. Means of production should be owned and managed by the state etc. Culturally, I think we differ significantly. While Marx never laid out a framework for the most fruitful cultural practices, I think each organization has been left to fill in the gaps. I find it funny, how the Western Media, such as Fax New (Yes, we have youtube in Russia lol) says that the Left are turning the USA into the USSR because they fight for same-sex marriage equality, but these people don't realize that same-sex couples would have been thrown into the gulag in the Soviet Union; some possibly executed. And the sad reality is, there are a lot (perhaps even a majority) who would make homosexuality illegal again. Personally, I'm indifferent to this because it doesn't necessarily have any economic implications (short of decreasing the birth rate, but I suspect that loss in new human resources is negligible). Anyway, please forgive the long rant, but I'm genuinely curious what comrades in the west think about the differences between Western and Eastern Communist Parties.

Spasibo!

Submitted August 09, 2020 at 10:37PM by MedinaPharma via reddit https://ift.tt/3kwxSms