#also the ONE TIME I ever felt compelled to draw THAT pose for his old body

[karmathenightowl]

Posted this on my insta a while back with additional concept sketches, but it's crazy that this isn't the first time I thought of Guillermo del Toro's Pinocchio when listening to The Adventure Zone. First it was Steeplechase, now this. But anyway, here's my interpretation of Phileaux's new form with that film serving as inspiration.

I made sure to really differentiate this design from the movie's design/Gris Grimly's concept because those are already perfect. I researched 19th century puppets for that rough hand crafted look and played around with the idea of Phileaux having articulated joints. I also like the idea that he took the cowl and rope from his old body to wear as a substitute robe.

[heliads]

final vigils from a cursed son

Luke Castellan is going to leave Camp Half-Blood for the final time. He reaches out to his father for old times' sake. Or he tries to, at least. Hermes never answers, anyway.

masterlist

Luke Castellan prays to Hermes one last time before he goes.

He hadn’t meant to, really. It wasn’t anything he had in mind. Praying to his father was something Luke considered fairly irrelevant by this point; either Hermes would ignore it or, worse, he’d do something stupid like give Luke someone else’s quest so he could come back as half the boy he was before he left, rewarded with no glory but a face split up the side like a ruined seam. Still, it happened. Miracles, as it turns out, can still be achieved through prayer. Fathers can listen. They can try to give you something more than isolation.

Luke finds himself in the strawberry fields. Connor Stoll once told Luke that this was where he had felt the spirit of Hermes the strongest, or maybe that was just because he’d been stealing berries right under Argus’ many eyes and got away with it. Regardless, it seemed like a good place to start. Campers tend to avoid the place this time of year, too afraid that they’ll get drafted to help with the produce. Demeter kids love it, but they’ve all wrapped up for the day.

This leaves Luke alone in the waving mass of green. Red berries dot the ground; fleetingly, it reminds Luke of blood spattered on the ground. His original plan had not been to start a war, it had merely been to Get Revenge, whatever that might entail. Kronos was the one who suggested that a total cleansing of the old ways might be in order. Eradication of the gods had seemed good to Luke, so he’d agreed. Even if that might involve more blood than just berries spilled on the soil of Camp Half-Blood. Who said revolutions were clean?

Luke kneels. Even after a few minutes, his knees begin to twinge with the ache of being locked in an uncomfortable pose. It’s either a sign that he needs to stretch more or just another bonus of being his dad’s kid. No one in Cabin Eleven is good at sitting still for long, except the unclaimed ones. Either way, Luke needs to find a way to quit it. The Titan Lord will need a good soldier, a strong one, and what has Luke ever been but willing?

He doesn’t really know how to pray. It feels strange doing it to someone who’s supposed to be your father, even an absent one. Especially an absent one. Luke lets his eyes close slowly, crosses his hands in his lap, and thinks–

Hermes?

He breathes out, slow and low. I want you dead. A pause. I also wanted to give you one last chance. It’s not like you’ve given me anything so far but a bad quest and one useless token of patronage, but here it is anyway. One final shot. What are you going to do with it?

Luke leans back on his heels. This is stupid. The god probably isn’t listening anyway, but even if he was, he’s just giving away his own plan. Even so, he feels somehow compelled to finish it, to bring closure to something Hermes had never bothered to contribute to his whole damn life.

You never should have met my mother. You cursed her. You made her what she is. You made me what I am. Maybe the other campers don’t see it yet, but I do. The gods curse whatever they touch. The only way to save all of us is to cut you out of the equation.

A frustrated, heaving breath tears through him. I don’t know why I can’t just sit back and accept it like the rest. I don’t know why none of them see it, too. You’re hypocrites. Millions of years of wisdom you have and you still ignore us. We needed you. What good is a god without an altar? Without prayers? We were never good enough for your attention. I hope this is enough to draw your focus.

Luke is struck by the sudden urge to sob. All my mother wanted was you. You could have been enough. Why weren’t we enough for you? What is it about a god that only thinks for itself?

Thunder rumbles ominously across the camp; Luke rears back slightly, but then his heart hardens. You’ll see soon enough, though. I’ll never be scared again. I’ll never need anything like I needed you. You’re nothing to me. I hope you’re the first to die.

He doesn’t know how to end this awful, soul-wrenching prayer, so he just says nothing more, forcing open his eyelids again. The shocking light of the sun makes him feel as if his eyes are about to bleed, but he keeps them open anyway, staring out into the bright sky until they adjust again.

Luke waits for something to happen– a divine message, perhaps, or a sign, or any indication at all that Hermes had heard him. Unsurprisingly, he’s greeted by nothing. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s been ignored by his godly parent. However, Luke thinks, standing up slowly and relishing the rush of blood back through his lower half, it will be the last.

Luke walks purposefully from the strawberry fields. He needs to stop by Percy Jackson before he goes. After that, he’ll be in the clear.

pjo tag list: @w1shes43, @fadedver, @anxiety-werewolf, @runawayprincesslily

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[littleeyesofpallas]

I was going to do these at random but then i got it in my head to stage these as an alternative first round of fights like in the manga, even though we really didn't get to see most of those play out...

To start i feel like the most obvious match up that we missed out on would've been Zaraki fighting Driscoll: For one Zaraki works around the bankai theft by not having one, and his whole made for battle/blood knight character type plays directly with The Overkill. Kind of like in his fight with Nnoitra, it'd make for a great emphasis on what Zaraki's actual strengths are; not that he simply fights and kills people, but that his supposed infinite potential comes from being pushed to his limits and learning to adapt and overcome new opponents. By contrast Overkill only gives Driscoll more power based on killcount, even if the people he slaughters are weak and he doesn't learn anything from fighting them.

So, the fight could start with the two of them both hacking their way through waves of faceless low rank goons to draw a parallel, but in the fight itself Zaraki's emphasis would be on drawing on meaningful fighting experience even with no bankai, while Driscoll would rely on a stolen bankai and a superficial killcount. There could be a fun moment where in a fit of desperation Driscoll tries to boost his power by squeezing in extra kills, targeting more weaklings, and lashes out at Yachiru, but she deflects his attack all on her own, he's shocked and confused, and in the moment of hesitation Zaraki lands the finishing blow.

Much less thematic, but I feel like Bambietta, with The Explode, would've made for a better counter measure to Byakuya's Senbonzakura. She could've opened the fight with her projectiles and Byakuya would got through his usual routine of fighting at a distance and being dodgy and precise with his blocks and counters, until suddenly he'd realize there were less petals than before, and Bambi could explain how every time he "blocked" her Explode projectiles they turned some of his thousands of blades into bombs and blew up. And she'd taunt him about how many blades does he have left and how long can he keep up defending himself while sacrificing his petals. He'd smugly use his bankai to summon up its crazy number of petals and ask if her explosions can keep up with so many petals, but then we'd get the reveal and she'd seal it away. Then Byakuya would have the moment of stark realization where he has zero petals to fight with. And then he'd get blown to hell and back before ending up in basically the same situation he was in with As Nodt in the actual manga shoved into the back of a bloody crater.

Similarly I don't think there's too much thematic resonance in this match up but I like some of the kind of obtuse dynamic they could have. it's never properly addressed, but we do know that Candice is technically one of the newer Sternritter, as she's said to have less control over her Vollstandig when hers is involuntarily prompted. Giving her lightning theme I like the idea that maybe she's something of a prodigy herself. Obviously not as young as Hitsugaya, proportionally speaking, but a fast learner and someone who rocketed up the ranks of the Wandenreich as a genius technician of Quincy skills. Hitsugaya could have a little back and forth about what it means to be a genius, and the difference between instantaneous intuition and carefully practiced talent. It would prompt his bankai and how real power comes from sober self reflection and not self aggrandizement, but then she'd take advantage of his weather gathering, like he used with Tier, and use it to amplify her lightning, get one good hit in, Hitsugaya would brush it off and ready a counter attack, and she'd seal his bankai.

Also room for some kind of banter with Rangiku, I'm sure. Probably with her calling Rangiku old and starting a whole cliche back and forth over that.

Meninas deserved more love, and screen time, and a real fight to herself. I feel like the best way to really illustrate her schift as The Power would've been to have her, and not the early unrevealed PePe, be the one to fight Jidanbou. Not that the gate guardians even make much sense being involved when the Quincy didn't invade through the four gates, but still... I'd love to see little Mini just arm wrestle Jidanbou and/or the other gigantic gate guardians into submission effortlessly. Have Komamura show up with his bankai as the one thing even bigger than the gate guardians. And then Mini steals it, instead of Bambietta, and gets into a raw strength beatdown with Komamura himself as the biggest of the captains.

I'm still mad she never hulked out properly. We only ever got the one panel of her with a buff arm going after Liltotto when she got lovestruck. Unrelated to this iteration of alternate fights, but it also would've been neat to see her fight Kira; he'd try and utilize his shikai the usual way, but Meninas would just get bulkier the heavier Wabisuke made her to carry the additional weight. And then Kira would end up baffled and terrified in the shadow of a fully hulked out Meninas.

Maybe a little too obvious, but I feel like a proper wushu fight between Sui-Feng and Cang Du was stolen from us. It also would've been a perfect set up for the bankai theft because Sui-Feng could go full assassin but immediately run into the problem that if Cang Du's Iron skin can't be pierced, then she can't leave any marks to hit twice. So obviously that makes her only option the bankai, and he can swipe it from there. I feel like unlike most of the other captains Sui-Feng would get to have a cool moment where she still fights Cang Du to a standstill even without her bankai, but then of course he just sinks back into the shadows at the end of the first raid.

This one feels like a stretch, but for all the weirdness of PePe and the creative choices that went into him, I liked the little bit of his explanation of his powers where it wasn't just a romantic or erotic kind of Love that his power controlled, but that he compared it to the instinctive need to protect an innocent baby. And with Jizo being the patron deity of dead children, it would have been really cool to see him have some thematic play with Mayuri. I know it's not how his powers worked in canon, but I actually would've really liked if his power wasn't as directly focused on himself. So that he could provoke people to act on their strong desires to the detriment of logic, but without a lot of direct control over it. So he'd hit Mayuri, and Mayuri would shrug it off because he doesn't care about anyone and then without warning Nemu would be put in danger in the course of the fight and Mayuri would be compelled to protect her. And he wouldn't know what happened as he threw himself in the way of an attack. Then like everyone else he'd pull bankai and PePe could steal it, so that weird creepy cupid man could have a giant creepy baby. but more importantly Mayuri could quietly and furiously ruminate on his feelings during the interim training arc

I know Mayuri didn't actually lose his bankai with the rest during the first attack in the manga, but it felt like he should have since his was part of that batch of SS arc bankai we saw earliest and got kind of accustomed to throughout the rest of the Arrancar arc. (more so than Sui-Feng's at least) Actually in regards to that same sentiment, I feel like renji should have lost his bankai too, even though his ostensibly posed less of a threat than some of the more well honed captains'. It's a shame that so many of the lieutenants just kinda got lost in the background of this arc. It would've been really cool to see the gotei compensate the loss of their bankai by doing more tagteams and group fights

[ducktracy]

Please tell us about what your job working on Spongebob is like! I’ve been an avid fan my whole life but in more recent years after Steven’s death I felt the feeling of the episodes changed, how do you feel about it or do you feel like that’s not true? What do you do in your job to help shape the finished product of the show? Have you met any of the central actors and are they actually as cool as they seem? Obviously any questions you can’t answer because of your job is totally understandable but I’m just super curious because i haven’t really ever known anyone who worked on a show I admire so much and has always been such a part of my life. Thank you and I wish you so so much luck and success!!!!!

oh, this is the SWEETEST THING!!! 😭😭😭💖💖💖 i’m so glad you’re enthusiastic! i’ve only been freelancing for a month and i’m JUST STARTING full-time work, so i don’t exactly feel the most qualified to answer this in depth, but i’ll try with what background i have!

1) i think evolution and change is inevitable, and that certain things will grow and change over time. i know there’s a lot of controversy surrounding stephen and his legacy, and i’m not one to speak for him (especially since i’m such a newbie who never met the guy), but the sponge is in VERY good hands. the crew is incredibly hardworking and loyal, and many of his closest friends are working to make sure that spongebob is honored the best he can be.

i know this isn’t really what you were asking, but as someone who needs to spend a little less time on the internet i feel a little compelled to address all of the drama 😅 again, i feel a little swell-headed myself answering this because i’m so NEW and don’t have much experience at all, but. while shows may evolve and change in direction, the heart stays the same. listen to the people who actually knew stephen and knew what he was like and how he worked, not the outrage of a bunch of well-intentioned but rabid fans online who never knew him. (and as a side note, can we please stop with the “the artists are just doing what they’re told?” thing? i can’t speak for everyone, and i’m not working on kamp koral, but for me i’ve never once felt like my job was an obligation and that i was just being ordered around... i think everyone here loves what they do and they have a lot of fun and it SHOWS. i know the intentions are good, and no, you shouldn’t harass the artists over silly drama, but we’re not charity cases either 🥲)

but anyway, drama aside. i think you also have to remember that while things may change, the target audience is the goal. things may be different from the spongebob you and i remember as a kid, but you have to remember that spongebob IS for kids, and that a 7 year old probably isn’t going to be saying “hey, that’s wrong! that should be a reference to episode 72b, NOT 94a! the level of incompetence is outstanding!”

SO... i admittedly have a lot of catching up to do with the latest season(s), and i can’t feel that i can really speak 100% on how i feel about that, but change is bound to happen and at the same time the show is in VERY good hands and i’ve laughed out loud way too many times than what’s necessary in the work i’ve done so far, speaking as a crew member and a fan.

2) i’m a storyboard revisionist! my drawings are gonna be the ones you see on TV! there’s a storyboarding crew, and they do rough boards of the episode. an audio track is applied, and then us revisionists tighten things up—push the poses, make funny expressions, make the characters look more like themselves. we talk with our directors, see if there are any changes we need to make, if our revisions are good or not, what needs to be added, etc, and then we send it off! the animators’ll then trace over the revisions and then that’s what you see on TV! being a storyboard revisionist is the entry level storyboard artist job, and i love it. it’s such an honor to know that my silly little drawings will be on TV—an honor and a big responsibility!

3) i have NOT, but i’d LOVE to! i don’t know if i will—i really hope so! i’ve only realy been talking/zooming with my director, i know a bunch of my coworkers through twitter but i’ve only talked to them through twitter so far. but since i’m going fulltime, that’ll change! i don’t know if the voice crew does zoom meetings? i’d assume so, but i don’t know how all that works. i REALLY want to move to LA someday, i hope i can meet them!! (fun fact, clancy brown spoke at a school’s graduation in my county a few years ago in the next town over... needless to say i was incredibly jealous LOL)

thank you SO MUCH!! this is genuinely super heartwarming and encouraging. i hope i don’t sound like a raging braggart, answering all of this when i haven’t even started full-time work, but it’s been such an amazing experience so far and i’m so excited to be going full-time! the crew is amazing and i’m really excited to get closer to them. i absolutely hope i can follow this up someday with more insight, information, and experience! i feel like i’m speaking more as a super fan than a crew member here, but 🤣 thank you SO much!! i promise you guys are in for a treat!

[malethirsty]

Loyalty - Klaus Mikaelson

Summary: When you help Klaus Mikaelson to turn hybrids, the rewards you reap from the original are perfection.

Warnings: M/M smut (21+), Bareback (Wrap Before You Tap!)

Inspired by: https://twitter.com/malethirst/status/1196817642251669505?s=21

You sat in a booth of the Mystic Grill, not ordering anything, just mulling over what had occurred in your life that had led you up to here. As a longtime friend of The Council, you knew of supernatural entities existing and the potential threat they exposed to Mystic Falls. You thought nothing of it until The Salvatore Brothers: Damon and Stefan let their infatuation with Elena Gilbert seep into the town & after that, things had been occurring left, right and centre. One of these things that had a profound affect you was Klaus Mikaelson. The feared Original took over Alaric Saltzman’s body to get to grips with the town, and in order to remain inconspicious, started a friendship with you. Whilst posing as Alaric, he made you think of Klaus’s actual motivations of activating his wolf side and being able to turn hybrids: He was lonely, sick and tired of being the only one of his kind. So when Klaus did return to his original body, you made sure to keep tabs on him, just in case he needed you, also because he looked hot in his real form, but that would be something for another time in your dreams, you had to be professional with Klaus.

After a long winded absence he popped up in Mystic Falls with Stefan & Rebekah, the latter being his sister and the night they returned you assisted Klaus in making the link between Elena’s blood and turning the hybrids, inadvertently saving Tyler Lockwood’s life at the same time. Elena and her pack of friends Caroline & Bonnie, were utterly furious and you were sure Alaric would make sure The Council would cut you off from anything further with them. Which led you to right here & now, trying to think of your next step. Would you be exiled from Mystic Falls? Where would you go? Would you ever see Klaus again? You were so wrapped up in thought that you didn’t notice the pair of feet stepping through the bar until you saw Klaus standing across from you “Well Hello Y/N, what are you doing at the Mystic Grill at this hour?” You wondered whether you should tell him or try and play it off in a humorous way, you decided with the former “Pondering over tomorrow, Elena and her friends hate me & The Council won’t want me around. I’m worried by helping ypu, I’ve ruined the perfect life I’ve made for myself, and while you become the hybrid, I become the outcast” You didn’t notice you had been silently crying until Klaus leant forwards, running his hand down your face, drying it “Love, I want you to listen to what I say next because it’s important. Fuck them, you made the right decision to help me, I have my new pack, I have my ripper & I’ll take you in with me, don’t worry. Don’t spend time on them, they won’t matter in a few hundred years but what you have helped me achieve tonight, will last forever.” You smiled up at Klaus, his promise made you feel better, like you were at home with someone you cared about. “We should really celebrate you and I this evening.” he snapped his fingers for a waiter, before compelling the poor soul to make a whole bunch of food that would be tricky to make at this time of night due to fatigue. Whilst he did this you sat across from the hybrid, transfixed at his beauty, his eyes, dimples, the feint outline of a tattoo on his upper chest, Klaus Mikaelson was just perfect. Having finished with the waiter, Klaus turned round to you “Mind if I sit here in the booth with you love?” you shook your head & you moved down, Klaus talong his seat next to you.

You spent the next few hours having an amazing conversation with Klaus, in admits the Chips, Pizza & Garlic Bread sent to the table, Klaus told you stories of old, about the creation of New Orleans, about times with Stefan, you found yourself entranced by his words, paying close attention to each story. As the night dragged on, you began to get sleepy and forgetting you weren’t in your bedroom instead of a restauraunt, you laid your head down on Klaus’s shoulder, “Well well love, thank goodness you finally made the first move.” Remembering where you were, you withdrew from Klaus “No Klaus, I’m a bit tired, I should head home” Klaus however held a finger to his lips and you obediently fell silent “Y/N, I know your sleepy, I can smell it, but there’s more than that coming from you. There’s a hint of lust there as well, it’s been there since we met. You want me, don’t you?” You gulped, whilst you were thinking this isn’t how you thought this would go down, a part of you cursed yourself because of course being part Vampire, Klaus could smell your scent, now you had to make a choice about how best to handle the situation you had gotten into. Deciding to rip the bandaid off, you cleared your throat and began “Well Klaus, I guess I’ve felt in love ever since you conversed with me as Alaric, something struck me about the conversation. I cared about your story, about what you had to go through, how strong it made you. And all of this, got me to realise that I love you Klaus Mikaelson.” you took a deep breath, weights finally thudding off your shoulders and looked to Klaus, whom had been transfixed on you ever since you started talking. “Niklaus” he said as he reached you, and you looked confused “What?” you inquired “You deserve to know and say my full name: Niklaus Mikaelson. Take my hand Y/N.” you did as he asked and felt a sudden whooshing combined with blurred vision, until you made it inside of a room. you had barely registered the bed at the end of the room when Klaus kissed you passionately, wrapping his hand around your head to deepen it. The heat and the passion was mind blowing, and you leaned into the kiss giving just as much back to Klaus, this had been something you’d waited for, he was going to get your full treatment.

Klaus broke the kiss after a while, panting, clearly riding the high of it “I love you Y/N. I’ve been in love ever since I saw you, I thought I’d rip through Mystic Falls, take what I wanted and leave, but when I saw you and I knew I had to have you eventually. You understood me, were prepared to protect me no matter what, because you cared about me. I’ve lived for a thousand years, seen many beautiful things, but Y/N, nothing compares to how incredible you are.” you felt like crying again, but this time out of happiness rather than distress, however this was soon forgotten as you were pushed into the bed at supernatural speed by Klaus. As you laid out on the soft bedding, Klaus began to remove his clothes and you, bit your lip, intending to enjoy the show. As soon as he removed his pants and you saw his dick, you let a soft cry come from your mouth and Klaus grinned “Many a lover has had a similar reaction to you. Do you want to become more aquainted with my cock? Do you want to taste it?” Deciding to go on the spur of the moment, you ran your tongue up his length, the hybrid gasping as your warm mouth connected with his cock. After some teasing, you began to suck him deep, and as expected, he tasted incredible. Klaus threw his head back and let breathy moans escape him “Oh Y/N, that’s right. Suck me off love.” With the added encouragement, You ran over his veins and the tip, tasting his delicious precum. All that could be heard was slurping as you took him deeper in your mouth, you now began to rub his balls causing him to moan into you ear, a sound you wanted to hear as many times as you could. Suddenly, Klaus pulled away and pushed you onto the bed, before mounting you “I want you Y/N, I want to be inside you. Open your legs, let me fuck you.” You didn’t wait to be asked twice and did as he asked, once your legs were opened with your asshole on display, Klaus immediately thrusted his cock into you.

You both let out a loud cry, you from being stretched open by Klaus’s big member, Klaus from how your walls clenched around him, so tight, yet so snug and perfect. He peppered your neck in kisses so as to calm you down “God! Your hole is pulsing love, keeps urging me to fuck it deeper, harder.” He emphasised his point with several thrusts which made you grip the bedsheets and whimper in pleasure. The sensation of being filled with Klaus’s cock was so intense, everything else was blinded to you but the beautiful hybrid above you, and inside you. It was like you were on cloud nine, trapped between the softness of the bed and Klaus’s body as his cock pulsated inside you as he made love to you so powerfully and passionately. You ran your hands down his chest and back, getting to grips with the man you had loved for so long, and relishing in being naked with him while he was buried inside you, fucking you to within an inch of your life. “Fuck Klaus, so good” you got out and he smiled “That’s what a thousand years of experience does to you love, God I’m glad I get to show you all I’ve learned.” You slowly began to get enough strength to push yourself up a bit and began to kiss Klaus again, him returning it with similar passion, you now riding the inmortal hybrid, drawing up and slamming back down on him, making you both moan. As Klaus began to lick down your neck, an idea crossed your thoughts “Drink from me Klaus”

He looked down at you “Love, are you sure you want me to?” You nodded and seductively responded “I want you to taste me Niklaus” this use of his first name so passionately did it, dark veins formed under Klaus’s eyes, which were now glowing a bright yellow colour as he roared out his monstorous pleasure and sunk his fangs deep into you. He buried into you deeper, colliding harder into your prostate than before as he began to feast on you, you whimpered out your cries of pleasure as you began to dig your nails into his back for leverage. You could feel the feintest traces of blood on your fingertips as Klaus drank your blood, snarling carnally as he gulped you down. Klaus eventually withdrew, blood running down his face, and out of instinct you moved closer to Klaus and licked his face clean, before kissing him, tipping your head back so that the blood tipped down his throat, continuing to sate his bloodlust. As dominant as Klaus could be, his thrusts were starting to become sloppier, a sign any human could recognise that he was close “Y/N” Klaus groaned and you looked deep into his beautiful blue eyes “Come with me.” He moaned softly, the amount of desire that coursed through you at this point was so high, vampires outside of Mystic Falls could probably smell it. You fell back onto the bed and wrapped your legs around Klaus, letting the hybrid sink deeper as he fucked into you helping you get closer to the edge until finally, you both tipped over. You formed an o with your mouth as your load splashed out onto your chest as Klaus cried out his orgasmic release as he released his seed inside of you. You stayed like this for a while before Klaus pulled out and fell next to you his hands snaking over you “Stay with me tonight”, you would have retorted that of course you would, but after orgasm, the waves of drowsiness in the Mystic Grill returned in full force, and all you could do before you went to sleep was curl into the hybrid, kiss him softly on the lips and say “I love you Niklaus Mikaelson”, as you feintly drifted off, you heard Klaus say “I love you too Y/N” which was the final stroke, and sent you to sleep.

[chalabrun]

why i ship the thing: jiramada 1/2

Alright, to begin, I understand that both characters might look like the oddest crackship in the world. Except, I don't define it that way. If anything, I solidly label them as a rarepair. Why's that, you ask? Simple: Jiraiya and Madara's conflict defined the whole of Shippuden. Are you looking at me sideways, completely confused as to why I'm saying this? Good! 

Read on and see what I see what I mean. 

The Prophecy: What made Jiraiya & Madara clash

As I state below, while their disciples are the ones who square off with each other, Jiraiya and Madara's dynamic is best exemplified by the prophecy that Gamabunta gave him before he ever even met Nagato.

Ch. 376, when Gamabunta first imparted the Prophecy to Jiraiya that would go on to shape the rest of his life.

Ch. 372, Jiraiya first discovered that Nagato possesses the Rinnegan. He reflects on what he was told about the Child of Prophecy.

Ch. 606, where Madara's awakening of his Rinnegan is recalled, thereby beginning the Prophecy at all.

As we can see with these panels, the Prophecy is what begun Jiraiya and Madara's unknowing clash, that would lead them both to shape their own and each other's disciples, even if the way Madara acquired his could be more described as pawns, they still followed Madara's philosophies through him or Obito masquerading as him that would go on to shape the entire conflict of Shippuden. But, how did these disciples of theirs clash and intersect?

Chasing Parallels: The clash & intersection of their disciples

I genuinely think one of the most compelling cases for this ship is the fact that their disciples not only define the protagonists and antagonists of the story, but directly correlate with the prophecy was given by Gamabunta to Jiraiya that saw Madara himself as the antagonist. That is, the prophecy of the Child of Prophecy.

Let's take into account the students that Jiraiya had, first of all, who were labeled the child of prophecy:

Nagato

Minato Namikaze

Naruto Uzumaki

Conversely, we also have to factor Madara's own disciples, definitely including those Obito took on in Madara's name:

Nagato

Obito Uchiha

Sasuke Uchiha

Alright, but what are these three in relation to the Children of Prophecy? Where do the parallels and intersecting between Jiraiya and Madara's disciples begin?

Nagato: 

What we know from the point above is the fact that discovering the Rinnegan in Nagato was what impelled Jiraiya to take on the Ame Orphans in the first place. Three years that would prove instrumental to the plot, that would shape Nagato's worldview as influenced by Jiraiya himself. But, how did Nagato get those Rinnegan in the first place?

Ch. 606

Those eyes? They're Madara's, implanted at birth intentionally in order to keep them while Madara was waiting to be resurrected, and speculated by Minato.

Ch. 559, when Madara makes his first appearance.

Ch. 440, when Naruto met his father during his fight with Pein.

Ch. 601, where Madara and Obito discuss Nagato's betrayal.

What would go on to occur is the fact that, not only did Madara's Rinnegan cement the bond Jiraiya had with the Ame trio, but also shape them - especially Nagato - significantly. That conflict would go on to further the story in ways it wouldn't have if Jiraiya had never taken on the Prophecy and become one of Madara's most enduring yet unknown antagonists. Just as Madara would become the unseen antagonist of Jiraiya's life and his ambition connected to the Prophecy.

Minato: 

Ch. 503, when Jiraiya speculated that Minato himself might be a Child of Prophecy, too.

Ch. 502, when Obito - posing as Madara - clashes with his old sensei.

In yet another encounter, Minato - who was Jiraiya's student before the Ame trio - faces off with his former student he believes is Madara, which is fitting as Madara was one of the only known people in existence known for being able to tame bijuu with his Sharingan. Let alone being able to make a summoning contract with the infamous demon fox himself. 

Ch. 371, which is also, coincidentally, the first image of Madara shown outside the statue at the Valley of the End ever seen in the manga.

Jiraiya, too, correctly guesses this hunch that Minato made but clearly couldn't convey to Jiraiya himself on account of being dead. But, like his master, Minato correctly presumes the person he's facing is Madara even if it's not Madara himself. But, well, we all know where that goes with Obito becoming "Madara", and all... 

Naruto:

Ch. 437, when Ma calls Naruto the Child of Prophecy for the first time, something likely gleaned from Gamamaru or Jiraiya.

As the main protagonist, it's only natural that Naruto would have the most clashes out of the three, especially compared to Nagato or Minato. But still, they are notable and extremely defining. Remember to keep in mind, Nagato's path as Jiraiya's student, as someone who was shaped by him and later Madara through Obito, his encounter with Naruto is the most significant because of how much Nagato was shaped prior by the Second Shinobi World War that Madara typified in his nihilistic philosophy, then Jiraiya, then again by Madara's views through Obito. This clash - not the battle for Konoha itself - is the closest we truly come to them bridging the gap due to how untouchable Madara is by Naruto's will, which calls for this example.

But, as the main protagonist, Naruto contends with Madara's philosophy more than just once. He does it twice, in fact.

Naruto and Nagato:

Ch. 444, at the beginning of Naruto's confrontation with Pein where the clash of Jiraiya and Madara's ideals truly shines.

Ch. 602

Remember, the core of Nagato's philosophy is a closer reflection of Madara's than it is even of Yahiko's, even if Yahiko did form part of Nagato's negative worldview before Jiraiya, Madara's completed it the best. 

Ch. 372

The panel that defines Yahiko's philosophy, juxtaposed to Madara's, as shown above.

Ch. 372

Continuing on, as seen with what Naruto begins with, it's exactly the same thing that Jiraiya imparted on to Nagato after he felt guilty for killing an Iwa-nin to protect Konan and Nagato.

Ch. 444

Ch. 446

Yet, despite all this disparity between them, there were times when both teachers agreed, even if it was at both extremes of this prophetic spectrum.

Ch. 446

Ch. 602

It's a strange agreement, to be sure, but Jiraiya and Madara wanted the same endgame for the world despite how twisted Madara's methodology would come to be. One that ultimately made both clash, even if it was never directly.

Ch. 447, where Nagato and Naruto come to a proverbial draw in their battle of wills, of their teacher's will versus what Madara would come to impart on Nagato indirectly.

Ch. 448

Ch. 448

Here, we come to the penultimate moment where Madara's hold over Nagato is shattered. The dissolution of his nihilism, the clash that would see Jiraiya win.

Ch. 448, the moment when Nagato provided the inspiration for Jiraiya's titular main character in The Tale of the Gutsy Shinobi, a book that was like the prediction of what was to come in much the same way Morgan Robertson's The Wreck of the Titan would predict the Titanic's demise over 14 years earlier (even if Gutsy Shinobi is a lot more hopeful!).

Ch. 448, where the prediction of Jiraiya's first book would come true through Naruto.

Ch. 448, in what seems to wrap up the prophecy... for now, at least.

Naruto and Obito:

It's during the Fourth Shinobi World War that Naruto and Obito - Minato's student, whom was Jiraiya's before that - finally clash with each other after Obito becomes the 10-Tails' jinchuuriki. Naruto and Obito were alike, once, before Madara broke Obito and conferred upon him his nihilism.

Ch. 653, where Obito outright admits to wanting to test Naruto, to pit Madara's (that he deludes himself into thinking is his own) nihilism against Jiraiya's teaching, that bolstered and matched Naruto's hope for peace in the world. A path that Jiraiya further inspired Naruto to take.

Ch. 653

Like Nagato before him, Naruto bears an uncanny number of similarities to Obito. And like Nagato, he was someone who believed and wanted peace in the world who was indirectly inspired by Minato to seek that peace through the same teachings that Jiraiya conferred. 

Ch. 653, where Naruto explains what it means to be Hokage the opposes Obito's, a definition that didn't come from out of the blue.

Ch. 159, where Jiraiya defines what it means to be Hokage that matches Naruto's, that transfigured Naruto's initial dream of wanting to become Hokage for the sake of acknowledgment to what it really is: a shinobi who walks before his comrades and protects them.

Ch. 653

And like Nagato before him, it was through Jiraiya's teachings that Naruto was able to pull Obito from Madara's darkness and fulfill yet another leg of the Prophecy. Another battle that Jiraiya spiritually won against Madara, even after his death.

Another Intersection: "Madara" & Sasuke

"As Sasuke was the reincarnation of Indra, his was a person with a destiny that was attached to the seal of Kaguya. From the SAge of Six Paths, he awakened the Rinnegan and the key to the seal…That was the evidence of Sasuke’s heartfelt [effort] and desire in wanting to rescue the world.

While jointly struggling for a long time, outstanding cooperation was shown for the children of prophecy. As expected, it was Naruto and Sasuke, similar to being half [of each other’s] bodies."

- Fourth Databook, Sasuke entry (Scan & Translation)

As written in the 4th databook, Sasuke, too, is considered a child of prophecy and makes this intersection equally relevant. While this isn't quite an example of Jiraiya and Madara's ideals pitted against each other, I think it belongs here.

Ch. 396, when "Madara" first takes Sasuke under his wing after his battle to the death with Itachi.

Ch. 397

And here, Tobi introduces himself as Madara, yet another complicated entanglement that would lead to Sasuke, a child of prophecy, also being indirectly manipulated by Madara.

Ch. 398

Even the cover chapter art for chapter 398 emphasizes the change that "Madara" makes in Sasuke, in influencing like he had Obito before him.

Now, it's rather pointless to summarize what's said, as it essentially boils down to "Madara" telling Sasuke about the truth of his brother, the Uchiha Clan Massacre, and his own backstory. Through chapters 396 to roughly 402, in telling Sasuke the truth - much in the way it had been revealed to Obito himself before him - was he changed. Not forever, but what was made apparent was that Sasuke became aligned with "Madara", his philosophy and aims, even if it wasn't to the same extreme as Obito. 

Ch. 402, when Team Hebi becomes Team Taka.

Ch. 626, during the flashback of Hashirama telling of his past with Madara.

And like Madara before him, Sasuke seems to come full circle and inherit the same role Madara had as antagonist, adopting Madara's will.

Ch. 371

All according to "Madara's" original plan.

SNS Parallels: Sasuke as Madara, Naruto as Jiraiya

Another major crux of this analysis, aside from the Prophecy and the intersection of their ideals and disciples, is that Sasuke is likened to Madara and Jiraiya to Naruto. In breaking tradition, Sasuke isn't like Orochimaru despite being groomed as a new vessel and Naruto to Hashirama, despite Orochimaru being Jiraiya's narrative parallel and Hashirama Asura's former transmigrant before Naruto.

Sasuke was never meant to be like Orochimaru

Something made abundantly clear was the fact that Sasuke was never meant to be the next Orochimaru. Sasuke himself drives this point brutally home. 

Ch. 344, when Sasuke breaks free of Orochimaru's control.

As we see here, Sasuke himself completely rejects the notion of being the next Orochimaru, both literally and figuratively, comparing himself to a fully-fledged hawk that the snake - Orochimaru - couldn't control. Before this, he tears apart Orochimaru's character, degrading them (though, I doubt that needs to be put here).

Ch. 345

And as the chapter proves, the only way Sasuke could ever be like Orochimaru is through becoming their next host, which doesn't happen.

Ch. 346, where Sasuke is the one who is the victor and absorbs Orochimaru, overpowering them.

Simply put, where the generational parallels go, the very narrative refutes the notion that Sasuke is like Orochimaru, at all. Aside from being the level-headed geniuses of their generation, they're nothing alike and cease to ever be such a consideration. (Not that I think it's a bad thing. The fact that Orochimaru exists outside of the generational parallelism Kishimoto locked many of the characters in enhances the poignancy of their character, not diminished it, especially as such a fascinating antagonist acting of their own accord - not destiny or fate - in Part 1.)

In fact, this goes beyond just Sasuke absorbing and destroying Orochimaru. There's another noteworthy comparison to be made. Now, as I'll state below, Team 7 was meant to be the Neo-Sannin the next generation. However, the text again blows a hole in that assertion. 

Ch. 477, when Garuda first makes his debut as Sasuke's secondary summon.

As we all know, Sasuke is the only known character in the whole of Naruto with not only one, but two summons. Now, in a previous meta I've written, something that is vital to understand that is that the Sannin's summons are extremely important motifs for their characters. Not only does it tie them in to their folkloric counterparts inspired by the Tale of the Gallant Jiraiya, but it also defines many of their techniques and aesthetics (such as Jiraiya being a Toad Sage or Orochimaru's serpentine affinities and ninjutsu). However, as inheritors of their motif, Team 7 also inherited their summoning contracts with their respective sage regions, especially with specific summons (Aoda the snake for Sasuke, and Gamakichi the toad for Naruto). Again, though, a wrench is completely tossed in this motif with the introduction of Sasuke's second summon, the hawk known as Garuda. 

What's important about Garuda's inclusion and the fact that it makes Sasuke the only known person with two unique summoning contracts in the Naruto universe is the fact that Garuda's appearance correlates with this period in Sasuke's development where he moves away from being in Orochimaru's shadow to spreading his wing and becoming a hawk, closer and closer to being the next Madara, the true person he was meant to excel past.

Madara's entry, Third Databook.

Another noteworthy fact, too, is that Madara is connected to hawks through his hobby of falcontry. While it might not seem like much, with his own brother's connection to crows, it establishes a link between Sasuke and Madara that fleshes out a connection to hawks. The same hawk motif Sasuke would become better associated with, as much as Madara is, too, in many fanworks. 

Sasuke as the next Madara

However, there is one character that Sasuke is compared and considered the next iteration of, and that's Madara himself. 

Ch. 309, Kurama and Sasuke meet for the first time.

As it likely doesn't need to be said, as Kurama had once been Madara's unwilling thrall, even before the plot with Asura and Indra transmigrants, Sasuke was likened to Madara. But, it's not the only time this comparison is made.

Ch. 620, where Hashirama - Madara's childhood best friend - outright calls Sasuke out as possibly being the next Madara.

While I don't quite know the chapter, Orochimaru - the one who didn't turn out to be Sasuke's parallel - outright compares Sasuke to Madara.

Another unknown, but here, Tobirama - another lifelong enemy of Madara - further emphasizes Sasuke as being like Madara.

With Sasuke not being like Orochimaru, and admitted to being like Madara by the Sannin themselves, the verdict is clear: Sasuke is identically similar to Madara - as confirmed by his contemporaries and enemies alike. Hell, even Hashirama likens him to his younger brother, Izuna.

The verdict? Sasuke is like Madara, hands down.

Ch. 657, when Madara notes Sasuke's straight tomoe pattern in his EMS.

Unknown chapter, but Madara again notes the bond between him and Sasuke goes beyond blood.

Naruto being like Jiraiya

Ch. 245, during Naruto and Sakura's reunion, which means Tsunade and Jiraiya's as well after 2.5-3 years.

As I've affirmed above pretty exhaustively, Naruto's philosophy and ideals mirror Jiraiya's almost exactly. To the point that Tsunade, Jiraiya's long-time friend and fellow cellmate, sees Naruto as being almost exactly like him.

Ch. 430, during Naruto's return to face off against Pein

As we can see with Naruto's arrival to the battlefield of Pein's invasion, one of the first things on Tsunade's mind is how Naruto seems to manifest the very will and dreams of his predecessors by protecting Konoha - seeing the backs of Minato, Jiraiya's student, and Jiraiya's, too.

Again, an unknown chapter.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm willing to concede that, yes, Naruto has been likened to Hashirama before. While official material like this exemplifies it, I think it's important to keep in mind that Naruto being likened to the Sannin as Neo-Sannin has been around longer than the transmigrant plotbunny ever has. Let alone comparisons between Naruto to Hashirama outside of the predestined reincarnation cycle.

Essentially, given the extensive parallels between Naruto, Jiraiya, and his students, it's clear that Naruto has more parallels and ideological similarities with Jiraiya than he does with Hashirama, despite being on the same reincarnation cycle as the Senju.

More than just that, event the significant goals he failed with best parallel between Jiraiya and Naruto than Hashirama and Naruto. 

Ch. 382, when Jiraiya reflects on all the major failures in his life.

Now, with this list of failures in mind, how do they parallel Naruto so precisely?

"Tsunade turned me down every time." = Sakura, similarly, turned Naruto down despite there being a false positive. Seeing as she's Tsunade's parallel, this is damning.

"I couldn't save my friend." = Naruto, too, wasn't enough to keep Sasuke from defecting for Orochimaru.

I failed to protect my student... and my teacher." = While Naruto didn't have any students by this time, he did lose Kakashi, initially, during Pein's assault.

With this in mind, it's impossible to think that Hashirama parallels Naruto more than Jiraiya, his counterpart as a Neo-Sannin and someone whose life circumstances were uncannily similar.

But, come what may...

Ch. 690

...Naruto and Sasuke are the ones who fulfill the Prophecy, together, following in the footsteps of those who came before them. Two men who either realized, or came to terms with their failure in trying to bring world peace.

Headcanon: Rinnegan evolving from the Sharingan

Ch. 671, when the Rinnegan are awakened

So, if one considers that the Rinnegan are an evolved form of Sharingan, that could mean that they could retain some characteristics. While I can't prove anything, this is a headcanon I've had of Madara's Rinnegan for quite some time.

Unknown chapter that divulges how Sasuke could see Itachi's memories after he was transplanted with his brother's eyes.

Now, with all this in mind, in regards to Jiramada since Nagato had Madara's eyes for ~29-30 years (from the time he awoke them (likely 6-9 y/o) to his death), what if the Rinnegan could retain memories like the Sharingan can? And since Nagato's Rinnegan were invoked for well over 3 decades, couldn't it mean that they could record memories like the Sharingan? And if Madara could access those memories of Nagato's once he got his own eyes back and both Jiraiya and Madara managed to survive the war? (Who doesn't love a good Everyone Lives AU?) Well... I imagine it might be angsty, to say the least.

Ways I ship the Thing

To put it expressly, while I've petered my way through the canon connection and intricacies of Madara and Jiraiya's dynamic, in what ways would I ship them?

Everyone Lives AU: Seeing a lot of characters died that people didn't want to die in Naruto, Jiraiya and Madara meeting this way could be compelling. 

Madara caused Jiraiya a lot of grief: If there's a compelling angle to any hero/villain ship, it's the fact that Madara was responsible for a lot of Jiraiya's pain and loss through the years. Not only would meeting the other be monumental, but Jiraiya discovering how deep Madara's villainy in his life went - especially with his loved ones and disciples - could be a perfect frame for a post-war meeting & AU.

"Madara" is really Madara: An AU where Madara was really Tobi the entire time could also yield some poignant villain/hero dynamics and struggles.

Purelands: Seeing as Madara and Jiraiya both die in canon, them working through their enmity and differences in an afterlife could also be the subject of fanfic.

Gen Swap: AU's where Jiraiya was alive in WSE/Founders' Era or Madara born in the Sannin's era is also a possibility. With four canon brothers, the Madara of such an AU in the latter scenario could've easily been someone like Izuna.

Redemption: Again, Madara was opposed to Jiraiya throughout the Prophecy. Post-war Madara having to be put under a survived!Jiraiya's jurisdiction could be sweet and complex as hell.

Honestly, regardless as to how this is approached, this entire meta is my ship manifesto; the reason why I ship such an unknown but deeply compelling couple. Not only is it a facet of the tried and true hero/villain shipping trope (or, enemies-to-lovers, enemies-friends-lovers), but the depth these two have in each other is any reason to ship them beyond just acknowledging their canon parallelism as masterminds and influencers on the manga's overarching plot, in Part II especially. 

(That, and the hair... Hairpair, anyone? Oh, and the fact that Jiraiya is considered Naruto's grandfather while Madara is - typically - jokingly referred to as Sasuke's (or another family figure) and is a common fandom gag, if not taken seriously.)

Basically, this ship is deep as hell and defined a lot of Shippuden's canon despite how little it's acknowledged. 

[scapegrace74-blog]

Saorsa, Chapter 27

A/N  Here is the next installment of Saorsa.  Jamie finally acknowledges what we knew all along, and Claire takes a bath.

Rather than link to all previously posted chapters, I’ll just direct those of you wanting to catch up on your Saorsa-reading to my AO3 page, where the fic is posted in its entirety.

Thank you to each of you liking and reblogging!  It does my little fanfic writer’s heart good.

Shearing sheep hadn’t changed much in two hundred years, Jamie thought as he hefted another startled ewe from the shearing pen and pinned her to the ground with a well-placed knee.   Murtagh mentioned that some of the larger farms used a mechanical trimmer, but they both preferred the time-honoured method of metal shears, sharp as daggers.   Today was their third day.   Jamie’s shoulders and arms were throbbing from the constant effort, but they were almost done.

“Tis good fortune we’re having a bonnie spring,” Murtagh commented as they broke for a drink of fresh water from the well.

“Aye.  I need tae be on the road wi’in the week, if I’m tae be back a’fore the bairn arrives.”

“I’m surprised the mistress is allowin’ ye tae go at all, wi’ the way she fusses o’er ye like a wee whelp.”

Jamie’s mouth opened and closed, trying to find words to defend his masculine honour against the truth in the old man’s claim.  He caught the twitch of Murtagh’s lips through his heavy beard.  He cuffed him on the shoulder, laughing at himself.

“She’s lining ‘er nest, ye ken.  I reckon she needs me tae practice upon, a’fore the we’un gets here,” he quipped.

“Oh, aye.  I’m sure tha’s it.”  Murtagh’s sarcasm was so thick, you could serve it on toast.

**

Jamie groaned as he lowered himself into the armchair in their bedchamber, trying to reach down to untie his laces and failing miserably.

“Here, let me,” Claire offered, before realizing she couldn’t bend over the growing bulk of her belly.

“We’re a fine pair.  I’m too lame and ye’re too big a’bout the middle.”

“Speak for yourself,” his wife retorted as she carefully lowered herself to the floor.   She gently eased off each boot, then proceeded to unbutton and draw his trews down as well.  He sighed and cupped her jaw as she began to gently knead the bunched muscles of his thighs.

“Careful, Sassenach.  Ye wouldna want tae start somethin’ ne’er of us is in fit condition tae finish,” he warned, feeling himself stir despite his bone-deep exhaustion.

“Wouldn’t I?”  Warm eyes gleamed up at him.  And then, more gently, “Lean back.”

Unsure what was being asked of him, he complied by letting his back fall against the cushions, his long legs stretched on either side of where Claire knelt on the floor.  Having never accustomed himself to the modern notion of underclothing, he was naked from the waist down and hardening quickly below the flimsy hem of his linen top.

Leaning forward so that her moist breath seeped between the buttons of his shirt and over the fine hairs of his belly, Claire began to run her hands languorously up and down his legs, reaching higher with each pass.

“Sassenach,” he warned, and then more urgently, “Claire.”

“Shhhh,” she whispered, before her fingertips brushed against his baws.

“Christ!”

“I’ve never done this before,” she murmured, as though speaking to herself.  “Tell me if… well… if it doesn’t feel good.”

And before he could wonder what she meant, she was lifting his shirt, exposing his very emphatic endorsement of whatever she was planning.  A tentative moist swipe against the head, where it lay aching against his quivering belly, and then a sensation unlike anything he’d ever experienced.  It was the humid welcome of her sex combined with the nimble manipulation of her fine-boned hand, and yet so much more than the sum of those parts.  A lightning bolt of sensation shot up his spine, lighting the back of his eyeballs with colourful explosions.  A senseless groan burst from his lungs.

Between the exertions of shearing and the elaborate logistics of making love to a woman almost eight months with child, it had been nearly a week since he’d last lain with his wife.   A lifetime, in the bountiful feast that marked their newborn marriage.  He wasn’t certain it would have made much difference, though.  Anything that felt this absurdly good was certain to be over soon, lest it kill him with pleasure.

As it was, it was mere minutes after first feeling her mouth around him before he knew the end was nigh.

“A dhia.  Sassenach.  Mo nighean donn.  Christ, please, ye must…”

Whatever pleas he was trying to utter were lost to the onrush of his release, racing from his body with the force of a gale, whipping around to slam his head backwards as he groaned in blissful agony.

When he was next able to focus, Claire was carefully unbuttoning his shirt.  She extended her hands so that he could help her to her feet.  He rose as well, naked and blushing to the tips of his ears.  Whatever had just happened, he felt compelled to apologize, if only he could do so without alluding to the actual event.

“Sassenach…” he began.

“Let’s get you washed up, shall we?  It’s been a long day.”

He was still new to the art of reading his wife’s unspoken wishes, but this one was plain enough.  She did not want to discuss or debate the propriety of what they’d just done, probably a bit shy herself.  They would leave it here in the murky shadows of their bedchamber, where it could visit with the other nameless wonders they’d released inside its walls.  He followed her docilely from the room.

One modern amenity Jamie had absolutely no qualms about embracing was indoor plumbing, and the associated boon of having a bath whenever a bath was needed or desired.   Claire lit thick-trunked tapers in the washroom, formerly a servant’s room adjacent to the laird’s quarters.   Bent over the billows of steam that rose from the gushing copper pipes, she reminded him of a painting of a water nymph he’d seen as a boy, all translucent skin and bonnie curls.

He gingerly lifted his legs over the high-backed tub and grimaced as the water seared his skin.

“Too hot?”

“Nah.  Jus’ right.”  He extended his hand gallantly, as though assisting a lady from her carriage.   “Join me?” he offered, before adding, “If ye dinna think it immoral.”

Something about the scene struck them both as a trifle ridiculous, and they snickered.

Claire slipped her nightgown over her shoulders, letting it puddle around her feet, before carefully stepping into the water, holding onto Jamie for balance.

“Now what?” she challenged, eyebrow raised.

“Now I hold onto ye.  Ye and the little one.”  They sunk together into the steaming water.

She found a resting spot between his legs, forehead tucked under his jaw.   Jamie amused himself by scoping up palmfuls of water and letting them loose to roam across the hills and valleys of her torso.  Time slowed, as did the vigilant beating of his heart.  The water cooled and one by one the tapers guttered, and still they did not move.   It was in those peaceful moments, with nothing but the silky stroke of water, the honey whiff of candle wax and the quiet stirrings of a new life beneath the taut skin of her belly, that he realized he loved her.   Not in the demure, fitting way that a man was meant to love his wife.  But in a pivotal, essential way that was as integral to him as breathing and as endless as the tides.

**

“Ye’ll watch o’er her?  Make certain she is no’ rebuildin’ the castle nor tilling the fields by hand, or whate’er stubborn notion settles in her hard heid?”

Murtagh had heard this request, or others very similar, every day for the past fortnight.  It spoke to his forbearance that he produced his standard response without a flicker of exasperation.

“Aye, lad.  I canna promise ye she willna be stubborn, but I’ll see her safe.”

It was the best he could hope for, and the primary reason Murtagh was staying behind at Lallybroch rather than accompanying Jamie on his journey to Galashiels, much to Claire’s vocal displeasure.   She only acquiesced when it was agreed that Rupert would join him as far as Edinburgh, ostensibly to visit relatives.   Jamie had an opinion on the true reason for Rupert’s sudden interest in leaving the Highlands for the first time, but he wouldn’t be sharing it with Murtagh.

Fourteen bales of wool were loaded carefully into the estate’s hay wagon.  Weighing over a tonne, it would take both Clydesdale plow horses to drag the load over two hundred miles to Galashiels, near the border with England.  Rupert would drive the wagon while Jamie rode his favourite horse, Donas.

The smoothest, most direct route southward was available to them only after nightfall, when motorized traffic was forbidden on the roadways on account of the blackout.  That meant they’d do most of their travelling by night, which posed its own challenges.   In addition to a small bag of provisions and spare clothing, Jamie was also armed with a dirk and a pistol, though he longed for the familiar heft of his broad sword.

The whole trip should take two fortnights, a little less than a month.  The plan was to leave immediately after Easter, so he could be home by late April with time to spare before the Duke of Sandringham’s visit and Claire’s confinement.

In the early morning hours the day before his departure, Jamie crept out of the castle while everyone was still abed and walked up the hill to his parents’ graves.  He was pleased to note that the exertion no longer winded him; that he had regained his previous strength.  He owed that to Claire; that and so much more.   She had given him back his freedom when he thought he was trapped in amber.  Offered him a place to stand when every other foothold was lost.  She was his redemption.  Saorsa.

He knelt beside the graves, now cleaned of moss with bluebells sprouting between the stones.  Resting his forehead against the cool stone, he began to pray.  That Claire might be safe.  That the bairn be healthy.   That his voyage be swift and without peril.  And selfishly, that he be the kind of man his parents would be proud of in this strange new world.

[tillidontneedfantasy]

‘WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?’ - Billie Eilish REVIEW: Making ‘Em Bow One By One

WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO?

An interesting question you pose there, Billie. When I fall asleep, I usually dream about being a part of the Harry Potter universe and trying to defeat Voldemort with the golden trio. But unfortunately, I don’t go there every night. I mean, believe me, fighting off The Dark Lord can be scary sometimes. But sometimes I go to even darker places, and it always takes a few moments when waking up to believe I’m really in my bed. Much of Billie Eilish’s debut album invites you into the dark parts of her subconscious, and sometimes her extreme consciousness, to which she goes. Of course, “asleep” could also be interpreted as, well, dead. Which is a nice way to phrase it. Ideal, really. How wonderful would it be if death was just an eternal nap? No one would ever be afraid to die.

Maybe that’s what Billie believes it is, and why she seems so desperate to go there on WHEN WE ALL FALL ASLEEP, WHERE DO WE GO? (WWAFA,WDWG?) For a then-16-year-old girl, I wish she wasn’t so tired. “ilomilo,” “bury a friend” and most concerning, “listen before I go,” explore her friends who have been taken from her, and her desire to join them. I’m glad she hasn’t.

So is she. In a now traditional Vanity Fair video, Billie answers the same interview questions three years in a row, exactly a year apart. Expect The Fourth Year one October 18th, 2020. It is one of the most fascinating videos I have ever watched. Though the same at the core, there is a different version of Billie in each year. Which is to be expected, as she is a teenager in the limelight. But the video of year 2, which was around 5 months prior to WWAFA,WDWG?’s release, Billie openly admits to being in a very dark place, discussing how her friend had died. Her posture and affect are noticeably different in years 1 and 3. In the third and latest installment, Billie is an upgraded, happier and more comfortable version of the previous two. You can hear the change in her voice, see it in her face. In response to the question, “What’s most important to you right now?” her answer is, “Maintaining my happiness, which I have been experiencing for the first time in many years….I wanna stay happy. That’s a big goal for me.”

Billie Eilish is one of the biggest breakout stars of the past few years. Her following is enormous, and though fans vary in age, many of them fall in her cohort. Generation Z is special in many ways: morbidly funny, proudly outspoken, self-aware, and unafraid to be different. Billie Eilish is all of these things incarnate, the perfect spearhead for this generation and what they represent. She dresses how she wants to dress and makes the kind of music that she wants to make, refusing to follow the molded expectations of young up and coming female stars before her. In that music, she also does what very few artists, young or old, have ever done: candidly explores mental illness and suicidal ideation.

These issues have become more and more prevalent in today’s society, yet they are still extremely stigmatized. Like many teenagers, I experienced the sadness and darkness Billie is singing about. I’m almost 25 now, but I can imagine how 15-year-old Cass would feel hearing this album and seeing Billie as she is in the third year of that Vanity Fair interview. Understood. Not alone. And hopeful, hopeful that things get better. At that age you feel like everything is the end of the world, because it is developmentally and socially some of the most difficult years in the human experience. And to hear someone you look up to say, “I feel this way, too,” and then see them continue fighting, and happy that they did...that can change someone’s life.

Thankfully, Billie still injects some levity into the album. The musical hook in “bad guy” feels like a defining moment for Gen Z the way the musical hook in “Toxic” was for us Millennials. “all the good girls go to hell” unflinchingly decrees that God Is A Woman™, and “my strange addiction” has cuts from The Office, Eilish’s favorite show, interspersed throughout the song. Gen Z is taking over, and Billie’s one hell of a ringleader.

STRONGEST TRACK(S): “i love you,” “xanny”

The phrase “I love you” has never felt so intimate as it does coming from Billie’s mouth in the penultimate track on WWAFA,WDWG? Sandwiched between two tracks where all together they form a sentence (listen before I go, I love you, goodbye) "i love you" is the most mesmerizing and most vulnerable, not just of the three but of the whole album. As a listener, you are dying to know what's hidden between the lines. Why doesn't she want to love this person even though she clearly does? What did she do to make him cry? Why are you, the listener, crying right now? With the smallest breath, the quietest whisper, the emotion Eilish emits is enormous. Every once in a while you hear a song that you feel will never leave you, and “i love you” has all the makings to be everlasting.

As does the message in “xanny,” a dynamic song that mostly sounds like an old-time jazz track, although infuses a blaring noise over the chorus, as if you are standing right next to the booming stereo at the party setting in which she speaks. The layering of hums in the background and at the end of the song provides a necessary subtle softness, making it all the more beautiful. The track is a statement from Eilish that she has no interest in the lifestyle that so many kids her age- famous or not- lead, partly because she does not understand the appeal of its effects, and partly because she does not want to invest herself in someone willingly bringing harm upon themself, as she previously has. “I can’t afford to love someone who isn’t dying by mistake,” she asserts. Of course, most things in moderation are good and fine, but there is an ever-persistent pressure for young people to use substances, for easier social interactions or easier claim to desirable social status. There is a plethora of music out there promoting the party lifestyle, but very few saying, “hey, it’s okay if you’re not about this, you’re still cool,” and so a celebrity as big as Billie abstaining from it, and providing a reasonable explanation, gives a figure of understanding and solidarity to all the outliers.

WEAKEST TRACK: “8”

Not a bad song by any means, “8” is just the least memorable on an album filled with extremely intriguing and standout tracks. There is an interesting choice of vocal styles that alternate throughout, one of which it sounds as if Eilish is emulating the voice of a little girl. She is asking the subject to just give her some common courtesy and hear her out. "Who am I to be in love / when your love never is for me?" she asks, in the most compelling moment of the song. It is a difficult line to walk, knowing someone doesn't owe you anything but wanting them to anyway. Although the song is effective, its replay value doesn't quite match with the other contenders.

THE IN-BETWEENS

Although Eilish is authentic in her own right, you can see the draw of inspiration from unique artists before her. Lorde's imprint is all over "you should see me in a crown," a catchy song about ruling the world and making everyone bow down to her with the sound of a knife sharpening at the top, and “listen before i go” is reminiscent of Lana Del Rey’s morose romances. “when the party’s over,” written solely by Billie’s brother, collaborator, and best friend, Finneas O’Connell, is a beautifully quiet moment in the middle of the album, with absolutely gorgeous high notes from Billie. The song is succinct and poignant, noting the inner conflict between wanting a friend to be more than just that and yet feeling the need to keep up boundaries to protect your heart; but when has that done anyone any good?

BEST PROSPECTIVE SINGLE: “my strange addiction”

In the age of Netflix, The Office continues to grow in popularity with younger viewers who missed it on air. Who better to bolster the movement than Verified The Office super fan, Billie Eilish? In “my strange addiction,” Eilish and O’Connell draw inspiration from the classic episode, “Threat Level Midnight,” where Michael Scott (Steve Carrell) has finally finished his movie and is ready to premiere it to the office. In his movie, Scott’s character, Michael Scarn, teaches the entire bar how to do his signature dance, “The Scarn.” “No, Billie, I haven’t done that dance since my wife died!” the song begins, which is a real line from the episode. “my strange addiction” borrows from the track for “The Scarn,” which is simply genius. Everyone is doing “The Scarn,” fictional or nonfictional, even NFL player Trey Quinn, who did the famed routine for his touchdown dance. Not only will “my strange addiction” convert The Office fans to Billie Eilish fans, but just imagine the amount of TikToks there could be of people doing “The Scarn” to this song…think about the meme potential, Billie! *Ed Helms voice* There’s a whole crowd of people out there who need to learn how to do the “my strange addiction.”

                                                                   *****

Billie Eilish, and her debut album, WWAFA,WDWG? is impressive in a multitude of ways: she is raw, candid, silly, wildly intelligent, and most importantly, full of a lot of love, no matter how much she claims she does not want to be. Perhaps most impressive is that the only writers and producers credited on this album are Eilish and O’Connell, ages 18 and 22, respectively, at the time of this review, yet 17 and 21 at the time of its release, which means they were 16 and 20 at the time of writing and production. For two young people to create such an impactful album on such a massive scale on their own is a rarity, and has not been seen since the beginning of Taylor Swift’s career, and look at where she is now. Billie’s music might be different, but her trajectory seems quite similar. At Billboard’s Women in Music ceremony in December of 2019, Swift was honored with Woman of the Decade while Eilish was honored with Woman of the Year. Both artists paid homage to the other in their speeches, harkening back to Swift’s 2014 Woman of the Year speech where she alludes to a future Woman of the Year recipient learning piano and singing in choir; Swift had said back then that we need to take care of her, and Eilish tearfully thanked the room for doing just that. As Swift continues to fight against the system to pave the way for female artists, the clearing is all Billie’s. If Billie continues to maintain ownership of her voice, as I’m sure she will, it looks like the woman of the next decade is a lock. The crown looks great on Billie, and I cannot wait to see where she takes us while we’re all awake. Grade: 4.5/5

DISCLAIMER – REVIEWER’S BIAS: The first time I listened to WWAFA,WDWG? the only tracks that really captured my attention were “bad guy” and “my strange addiction.” I wanted to like it so bad, but I felt like I was missing something. Maybe that’s because I listened to the album at work and did not take it in properly. But I also felt like she was whispering too much, which made it difficult for me to stay interested. So I did not revisit it. However, over this past year, despite not listening to her music, I started to form a big-sister-type love for Billie, feeling as if I must protect her at all costs (any man over the age of like, 20, reading this: stay the fuck away from her you sickos!!!). I loved how she embraced her individuality and did whatever she wanted. I watched many interviews of her on YouTube (one being the Vanity Fair one, where she talks about how the criticism that she whispers a lot is hurtful yet true- Billie, I’m sorry!!) and found her to be so intelligent. To me, her and Taylor Swift (my number one love) are two sides of the same coin, or two paths to the same destination. What I mean by that is that as a lover of music and as a girl going through a difficult time, sometimes you need positivity to counteract the negative feelings, other times you need to lean into the sadness to release it all; though they both possess a bit of both, Taylor is more of the positive route, Billie more of the sad route. The thing is, you need both options. Billie reminds me of Taylor so much; she writes all of her own music (with her brother as her only co-writer), she has blown up at such a young and vulnerable age (if WWAFA,WDWG? wins AOTY at the Grammys, Billie will be the youngest ever recipient since Taylor won for Fearless at the age of 20), and she is committed to saying and doing what she wants to do the way she wants to do it. After listening to the album a few more times leading up to the Grammys to write this review, I get it. I truly get it. I’m sorry it took so long. And although her super soft vocals are definitely effective, I still want her to project more. The girl has a gorgeous voice; she should use it! But also she doesn’t need my advice, she’s doing fine. Keep whispering, baby girl. I feel very nervous for Billie, because when a woman reaches the top this quickly, everyone gets ready to push her off just as fast, and the fall can be fatal. But I believe in her ability to stand her ground. Please protect Billie at all costs!!!!

[whitewolfofwinterfell]

I’m gonna jump off the ask you just answered and ask you more of your favorite and least favorite seasons. Note; if you have watched the show just file under not watched. That 70’s Show, Bates Motel, Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead, The Originals.

That 70s Show

I’ve only watched the first two seasons.

Bates Motel

Favourite season: Season 4

I already loved Bates Motel before this season, but this is the season that really made me sit back and think, “god damn, this show is amazing”. Norman’s mental state hugely detoriates in this season and the complexities of that are explored brilliantly. The psychological reasons for Mother’s existence come to light in a very satisfying way. Norma and Romero’s romance is fresh and provides a nice reprieve from the constant doom and gloom. Norman being committed and Norma’s relationship with Romero provides conflict for their relationship. It’s interesting to see Norman try to come to terms with what he views as a betrayal from Norma by placing him in the psychiatric hospital. Likewise, Norman feels for the first time in his life that he’s not Norma’s priority and has to adapt to sharing her with another man. Norma and Norman’s relationship is crazy complex anyway, but this season takes it to a new level and I love it. The end of the season is mind-blowingly good. Norma’s death is unexpected, shocking and handled brilliantly resulting in a fantastically strong end to an otherwise amazing season.

Least favourite season: Season 5

It’s disappointing that after such a strong fourth season, the final season doesn’t deliver the quality that it could’ve. Overall, I find the season to be very slow paced and it handles a lot of things poorly. Despite Norma still being on the show, she’s there as Mother rather than Norma and therefore Norma’s absence is felt. Dylan and Emma’s relationship in this season is poorly written and does a disservice to both characters. Romero’s final arc is shoddily written and the final showdown between him and Norman is underwhelming. Despite a strong season finale, the season overall seems to lose its steam and direction. The intrigue surrounding Norman’s dual identity is no longer present in this season because it’s already been explained in season 4, the complex relationship of Norman and Norma which is the foundation of the show is gone because Norma’s dead, Dylan ceases to have any real purpose or arc and Romero’s actions frustrate the hell out of me.

Sons of Anarchy

Favourite season: Season 4

In terms of plot this is the strongest season. The stakes are high with the Cartel and Tara’s knowledge of Clay and Gemma’s history with JT puts her in danger, creating conflict between Clay and Jax, and Clay and Gemma.  Clay and Jax’s dynamic is one of my favourites and this season takes that to the extremes. They start the season as a partnership, both determined to go to darker than ever before with the Carterl and coke dealing to earn big so that they can then both leave SAMRCO and move on. However, the events of the season result in them becoming enemies and Jax stepping up to the plate and taking the gavel. Jax’s arc in this season is amazing and really delves into the inner turmoil he feels as he tries to straddle two worlds of being VP of a criminal gang and a father and husband.  Juice’s arc in this season is emotional and compelling. We also finally get a pay-off for Donna and Piney’s deaths as Opie explodes and shoots Clay in one of the most dramatic endings to an episode in the history of the series. I love this season because the central plot and sub-plots are all carefully crafted and executed well; the characters all have amazing arcs and the plots create conflict  and play amazingly into the different dynamics that exist between the characters.

Least favourite season: Season 7

There’s not much to say about this season other than I find it very slow. It’s not the first season of SOA that has pacing issues, but because it’s the final season it really suffers for it. The reveal that Gemma killed Tara takes too long to come about and I find it hard to believe that Jax is really that naive that he has no clue that Gemma could somehow be involved. A lot of the important relationships on the show are sidelined and it feels like Jax and Chibs are the only two from SAMCRO that actually have any kind of friendship. The season also suffers from the loss of strong characters like Clay and Tara.

The Walking Dead

Favourite season: Season 2

I know this is an unpopular opinion, but I love season 2. The fact that the season is only 13 episodes probably plays into this because I think TWD works much better the less episodes it has. It’s an understated season that isn’t in your face like the later seasons but has a cohesive plot running throughout and is very focused. There’s drama with Sophia’s disappearance and Carl’s shooting, both of which show how high the stakes are since the only two children in the group are both thrown into mortal danger. I’m a huge fan of Rick and Lori, so seeing them navigate their relationship in this season is interesting, particularly after Lori discovers she’s pregnant. The Glenn and Maggie romance is sweet and is a nice break from the darkness of the show. Hershel keeping a barn full of walkers is a good twist that poses questions about what the walkers are. Up until that point the position on walkers has been clear: they’re abhorrent animals that are devoid of human emotion and reasoning and need to be killed. But Hershel’s humanist perspective fuelled by his faith provides a contrast to that and the questions he asks about the possibility of a cure being found in the future is reasonable. The scene where Sophia steps out of the barn is one of the most memorable scenes in the show and takes the show to new levels, showing that TWD is not afraid to go to extremes and defy expectations. We see the first interaction that the group has with outsiders and that introduces us to the danger that humans pose, which is a perfect set up for the seasons to follow. Rick is pushed to new places in this season with Carl being shot and having to kill Sophia and Shane. This is the start of him changing into the hardened, ruthless leader he later becomes. And of course there’s Shane who is one of my favourite characters. Seeing his descent in this season alone is enough to land it at the top of my favourite seasons. It’s handled brilliantly and I love watching every single second of it. Shane is a complex character who deep down is definitley not a bad guy but that is changed by the new world and pushed to the extremes by certain situations he finds himself in. The end of the season is brilliant with the farmhouse burning to the ground, Rick killing Shane in a violent face-off, Shane turning and revealing the big secret that everyone is infected, Carl putting Shane down once and for all and Rick’s ending speech. It sets the presedence for what’s to come and it’s a fantastic season.  

Least favourite season (note that I stopped watching after season 8): Season 8

The show had been declining long before season 8, but season 8 is where I decided to finally draw the line. The Negan plot was drained within an inch of its life, the group spends most of the season split up, everything that happens is a complete rehash of season 3 and 4 with the Governor but a poorer version, all character development is cast aside and the show commits suicide when it kills Carl off. Carl’s death alone is enough for me to rate this as my least favourite season, because that’s the point at which there was no return for me. To kill off Carl, who has been on the show from the beginning, who the audience have watched grow from a little boy to a young man, who is the future, whose relationship with Rick is the very foundation and heart upon which the show is built, was unforgivable. It just reaffirmed for me that this once great show was no longer worth my time.

The Originals

Favourite season: Season 2

I’m not very confident in this decision, because there’s not one particular season of TO that stands out to me as being the best. I’m generally not a very big fan of the show and find every season to have its good and bad parts. However, season 2 is when we meet Freya and learn so much more about the Mikaelsons through flashbacks; old characters like Esther, Mikael, Kol and Finn are brought back which adds layers to the complicated family history; Dahlia is a great villain; Hayley has a decent sub-plot and I like her dynamic with Jackson and Hope brings an innocence to the show without stealing too much focus.

Least favourite season: Season 5

Season 4 was bad, but season 5 was awful. I can barely remember anything about it, it was so terrible. All I know is that Hayley was cruelly and unfairly killed which was a huge disservice to her character and the finale was one of the worst finale’s of any show I’ve ever seen. By making the whole show about Klaus and Elijah, it completely lost everything that made it great. The Originals was never supposed to be just about Klaus or just about the sibling relationship between Klaus and Elijah, it was supposed to be about the Mikaelsons. It will always frustrate me that a show that had so much promise and emphasis on family ended so poorly.

Thanks for asking, lovely! These asks are fun to answer :)

[feynites]

Scum Villain AU

Welp, fell down a rabbit hole of translations for novels written by Mo Xiang Tong Xiu, and my brain would not let go of the idea for a Scum Villain sharkbait AU. I blame @pyrrhy also for being a fantastic enabler.

So, this is a thing now! But first, on Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System, the general synopsis is that a book reviewer dies suddenly with his last thoughts being of how unsatisfied he was with the harem/stallion novel he just finished reading. He finds himself subsequently transported into the body of a minor ‘scum’ villain from said book, with the task of fixing/improving the story. Of course, the character he’s currently been cast as was, in the original novel, dismembered and killed by the protagonist.

In the interests of not having that happen, our intrepid hero immediately starts trying to suck up to the protagonist. He does a good job. In fact he does such a good job that the protagonist ends up falling in love with him, and therein lies the core of the story’s shenanigans.

If you wanna read the translations, it’s ongoing here at bc novels. For other works by the same author, there’s Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation (Mo Dao Zu Shi, which also has an animated series) over here at Exiled Rebels Scanlations, and Heaven’s Official Blessing is being translated here at Sakhyulations. Translating is hard work so if you read and enjoy any of ‘em, it’s nice to consider donating to the sites, too!

Some of the above stories definitely fall into problematic pitfalls of the slash genre, though. While I am a big fan of the pacing and storytelling Mo Xiang Tong Xiu pulls off and love her characters, I’ve been forewarned on some issues too. As I’m still reading my way through I can’t give my personal assessment on a lot of that stuff or offer more in-depth warnings for everything. But it should probably be mentioned.

Warnings For This Fic in Particular: At the outset of our story, Uthvir is underage. No romance is gonna take place while they are, but when they meet Thenvunin is an 18 year-old posing as their teacher, and Uthvir is 15. This is a slow burn. I also follow the original plot points of the story pretty closely but change up the order/direction of some things, too.

Additional Notes: In the original novel, the story that the lead character gets sucked into is a fantasy/cultivation novel hybrid with elements from a whole thwack of other genres, too. I’m leaning more heavily into the fantasy stuff because I don’t have much experience with cultivation novels, just for reference, but it should be noted that a lot of the story elements draw expressly from Chinese culture and I can take no credit for them - just in case anyone who’s totally new to these genres reads along. Also, I took some liberty with the names of things, because just throwing in Chinese words seemed unfitting and I’m not following the entire script on world-building elements. (Plus, in the novel, the story’s author is notoriously bad at naming things anyway.)

Alright, my apologies for the huge stack of notes/explanations! Please enjoy reading. The characters Calain and Jhe’andal (not seen in this chapter but bound to appear later) belong to @pyrrhy, who’s graciously loaned them to me so I can mess around.

“Stupid author, stupid novel!”

  Thenvunin was not entirely surprised that those ended up being the last words he uttered in life. Though he is rather regretful about it. But at the time, processing the sudden failure of his ongoing health treatments had been harder than just fixating on the fact that, probably, the last book he was ever going to read in his life had been that terrible trainwreck of a harem fantasy novel.

  That popular disaster of a book, ‘Immortal Demon Way’. With records broken on copies sold, but most critics more or less agreeing that it was mindless dreck. Except, the problem was, it wasn’t really ‘mindless’ dreck. There had been parts that were really promising. That was the real tragedy of the entire mess. The story had plenty of interesting side-characters and concepts, some intriguing world-building, even the promise of genuinely engaging content. But all of it had been tethered to a truly terrible main plotline. A black hole of a plot that managed to be boring and offensive by turns, even if the protagonist did manage to come across as somewhat compelling once in a blue moon.

  Because ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was pure self-indulgent trash. The leading character, Uthvir, was one of those characters whose tragic life led them onto a dark path of retribution and conquest. Despite being pure-hearted in their youth, the constant mistreatment from people around them eventually blackened their heart, until they were the sort of person who wear a friendly smile while torturing a man to death. And naturally, over the course of the story, they managed to accumulate a truly massive harem, all filled with beautiful women. Even though the author - writing under an anonymous pen name of ‘Half-Demon Prince’, had come out and said that the character wasn’t exclusively attracted to women - that claim never manifested in the actual text. Which made the whole gesture feel quite performative.

  Honestly, Thenvunin probably would have never picked up the book if he didn’t need to review it for the site he worked for. He’d never been fond of harem works, where the hero collects love interests like they’re filling up a basket of flowers. It had less to do with the numbers involved, and more to do with the sheer fact that more love interests usually meant less development on any particular relationship. Plus, inevitably, there would be scheming plotlines within the harem, and Thenvunin had never liked reading about women causing one another to miscarry or murdering each other’s babies to try and keep ahead in ranking. Luckily, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ hadn’t included a lot of such content, and what was there had been easy to skip. Enough so that Thenvunin had found himself speed-reading most of the ‘romantic’ parts. A sure sign of failure, given that romance was his actual preferred genre.

  But yes, all in all, ‘Immortal Demon Way’ was one of those stories he would have been happy not to think about ever again. And instead, it had ended up being his last thought in life.

  Well…

  In his old life, at any rate.

  But somehow, after he had died, he had found himself hearing an odd robot voice in his mind. Sort of like one of those automatic screen-readers.

  <Request processed… final request accepted… Welcome, Participant, to the ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project! Your dying wish has granted you access to this system. Starting points are tabulated at 100. Story goals - to improve the overall quality, reduce plotholes, and revitalize interesting conceptual material that was overshadowed by [Garbage Main Plotline.] This system is now receptive to inquiries.>

  W. ..what…?

   “...What’s going on?” Thenvunin had asked.

  The obvious question, really. He had felt panicked, or rather, like he should be panicked, but also like everything he could feel was very far away. Shock? He’d gone into shock before. It was a similar sensation, but not exact. But then again, there could be a lot of variables with that sort of thing. Everywhere around him just looked blurry, and pale. As if he was standing in a very modern office and wearing smudged glasses. He wondered if he’d survived after all, and if this latest disaster in his health had damaged his eyes so badly.

  It was a chilling thought. Or, it should have been.

  <Participant has been accepted for the currently-operating ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project. Activation words ‘stupid author, stupid novel’. Combined with a death wish, the pathways have been opened up for Participant’s consciousness to be transferred to the world of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.>

  World? What world?

  “I don’t understand,” Thenvunin said. “Am I in the hospital? Where’s my mother?”

  That last question was perhaps more embarrassing than he would have liked, but it didn’t seem as if he was feeling embarrassment too keenly, either. And his mother always came whenever he was hospitalized. Thenvunin was only eighteen, and had been sick all of his life. Naturally, his mother worried a great deal about him, and the hospital staff knew to inform her whenever he had a serious incident.

  <Participant has been accepted for the currently-operating ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project. Participant is currently being housed in a waiting room. Acceptance of admittance will trigger consciousness-transfer to feasible candidate for accomplishing compatible story goals. Refusal will result in immediate transference back to the participant’s native world. WARNING: Refusal not recommended. Participant’s corporeal status in native world has been determined: Deceased. Probable outcome of refusal is fatality.>

  Deceased…?

  Thenvunin reeled, and even with his current level of detachment, struggled to process it all. He tried asking the “system” more questions, but none of them seemed to garner satisfactory answers. Asking who had created it didn’t get him anywhere. Nor did asking how it knew anything about him. Asking what this whole ‘Immortal Demon Way’ project was just prompt a repeat of the ‘story goals’ - it sounded like he was being moved into a story in order to fix it? Like a sort of virtual reality?

  He had a great deal of trouble processing the whole concept.

  But then, there didn’t seem to be anything for him to do but accept it in the end, either. It could all be a trick, but, Thenvunin did remember dying. Or something that felt close enough to it that he couldn’t bring himself to take that risk. He was afraid of dying; afraid enough that he could feel it, even as he drifted in that strange ‘waiting room’.

  It was a feeling that followed him as he woke up in another strange room. But this time it was one he could see. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he felt like he had a terrible headache. The room around him definitely wasn’t a hospital, however. As he sat up, he could see sunlight streaming through several beautiful, open windows. The air smelled fresh, like the mountains he had visited once, before his father left. He sits up to find himself laid out in a comfortable bed, with a clothe on his brow, and a very light but comfortable robe on his body. The pale green fabric is the same colour as his eyes, but he only stares at it for a moment before his attention is arrested by something else.

  His body.

  Which is… definitely not his body.

  There’s a curtain of long, wavy hair falling down past his shoulders. His chest is broad and… chiseled? How could he possibly have a chiseled chest? And his arms are muscular, and long, and utterly devoid of the scars he had gotten from his car crash eight months ago, when he had tried to drive himself to the hospital and veered into a lamppost instead. Thenvunin is almost too shocked to move, but after a moment, he finds himself hurriedly pushing back the blankets and looking at the rest.

  His legs - !

  His legs look… they look good! Moreover, as he moves, he’s startled to realize that he doesn’t feel any pain. None at all, apart from his headache. Under other circumstances he would assume he was on some heavy painkillers, but obviously, this might not even be the case? He moves his legs and marvels at the ease of it, swivels his hips and feels nothing, and after a minute he cannot help but leap out of bed and begin jumping around, amazed and entranced…

  …And more than a little disconcerted. This body is totally, completely different from his own. He looks down at it and intellectually knows that he’s inside of it, but it scarcely feels that way. After a few minutes of either celebrating or panicking, or possibly both, Thenvunin finally locates a full-body mirror next to a dressing station in one corner of the room.

  He stares uncomprehendingly at himself.

  His eyes are the same, and his hair is the same - if somewhat longer, he thinks - and there’s a certain congruity between his facial features. But the man staring back at him is undeniably, completely different. He looks both strong and elegant, somehow. More muscular than Thenvunin would have ever idealized himself as, but the strength in those muscles is making him feel slightly giddy as he moves. And he’s tall. He’s not stooping over in the least, not struggling to keep his shoulders straight, feeling no pain from his surprisingly trim waistline…

  It can’t be him!

  He’s still trying to reconcile the idea when he realizes he has no clue who this character is, either. From the system, he gathered that he was going to be transported into an existing character’s body. But there are a few who might match the description of this one, and even more who were mostly undescribed. The only thing he knows for certain is that he is not Uthvir; they would not be so tall.

  Right?

  System, who am I supposed to be?

  <Congratulations on beginning your Death Wish Journey! Participant’s assigned designation is: Thenvunin Thenerassan. Status is: Project Virgin. Would you like some Beginner Tips?>

  He freezes in place, at the sound of the response which he can somehow tell is purely in his own mind.

  Did the system just call him a virgin…?

  How would it know?!

  Although it seemed to know everything. Thenvunin paused in embarrassment, before the rest of the message finally registered. His character is Thenevunin Thenerassan…?

  Wait, ‘Thenerassan’? That villain? The corrupt instructor who was always taking time to abuse and harass Uthvir, when they were still young and full of hope for the future? He’d never even realized the character had a first name! Though admittedly, he hadn’t read all of the author’s shared notes and ‘tidbits’ on social media. For a moment he is thoroughly offended. How dare this horrible character share his name!

  And then he remembers.

  Thenerassan…

  Thenerassan dies in this story!

  And not peacefully, oh no. After years of abusing Uthvir and then finally betraying them utterly at the grand tournament, the hero comes back seeking vengeance, with their heart blackened and ruthless. They utterly decimate Thenerassan’s reputation, until there is no one on earth who would pity him, and eventually end up taking him prisoner. Then they cut off his limbs, one by one, and blind him, and use their demonic blood to torture him until he can finally take no more and expires.

  And Thenvunin himself had once visited the story’s forums to express disappointment that this character wasn’t castrated, too. Considering everything he had done.

  He feels faint, going white as a sheet while he stares in the mirror. So consumed with terror that he doesn’t even hear the door to the room opening.

  “Brother?” an unfamiliar voice calls.

  Thenvunin whips his head around, and freezes in place. A new kind of fear gripping him, as he looks at this unfamiliar person. Presumably a character in the story. For half a heartbeat, he’s almost afraid that it’s Uthvir, come to drag him off for torture and death. But then his mind catches up with him. No, this is… that wouldn’t be right. This place, based on the descriptions, must be Thenerassan’s chambers on Quiet Peak temple. The author of ‘Immortal Demon Way’ had only very loosely followed the structure of a ‘cultivation’ novel, taking grand liberties with the various stages and processes of most established works. The Peaks, as he recalled, were little more than supernatural stomping grounds; like elite clubs for people who had attained immortality through cultivating their internal energies, and becoming incredible fighters.

  If he is at Quiet Peak, then he mustn’t be at a point in the story where this character has been ruined, yet. But that’s only one relief; he still finds himself looking at a concerned face he doesn’t recognize.

  “...Yes?” he finally ventures.

  The stranger comes into the room. He is a man. Handsome. Long dark hair, pretty brown eyes, middle-dark complexion. He could be any number of a dozen characters, really, but Thenvunin supposes he could narrow it down to the ones populating Quiet Peak. It was an early part of the story, so one he remembers fairly well.

  Before he can latch onto a guess, though, the stranger pauses and gives him an assessing look.

  “Are you feeling better?” he asks. “Your disciples said you collapsed out of nowhere on the practice fields. Compassion took a look at you but couldn’t see any problem, either with your health or internal mystic energies. She advised that we let you rest…”

  “Ah,” Thenvunin says. “Um. Well. Yes, I… fainted.”

  The stranger raises an eyebrow.

  “You fainted? Have you been neglecting yourself in some way, brother?” he asks. He seems cordial enough, which further limits the possibilities for who he could be. Dark hair, brown eyes, friendly enough to check in on the unlikable Thenerassan’s health…

  “...Venavismi?” he ventures.

  The man blinks.

  “Yes?” he asks.

  Oh thank goodness.

  “I. Um. I seem to be… not feeling well…” he says. It feels like an odd thing to say, since technically speaking, he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so well before in his life. He almost jumps out of his skin when he hears a soft ‘bing’ inside his head, though.

  <Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert. Current Participant has OOC Restriction Locks still in place. OOC Restriction Locks can be removed once Achievement: Character Development has been obtained.>

  Thenvunin freezes in place again.

  What?

  <Please specify query.>

  What are OOC Restriction Locks?!

  <OOC Restriction Locks are a branch of Participant Autonomy Limitations. Violating locks will result in points penalties relative to the degree of violation.>

  Meaning… if he behaves out of character, he’ll be penalized?

  But Thenerassan is a monster! Thenvunin can’t act like that. It would be beyond the pale! And besides, how can he possibly change anything in this story if he has to act like an amoral reprobate the entire time? No, wait. There was more, wasn’t there?

  What’s ‘Achievement: Character Development’?

  <Certain limitations will be removed by the system once achievements have been obtained. To obtain Achievement: Character Development, Participant must earn points by completing actions that fall within the parameters of Participant’s behaviour as well as Character: Thenerassan’s.>

  What?! How am I supposed to do that, I’m nothing like that wretch!

  Thenvunin is still in the process of thinking furiously in his mind when Venavismi seems to decide that he must be rattled. He’s accustomed enough to being handled by nurses that being steered back towards his bed barely registers in his mind, until he finds himself being settled onto the mattress again.

  “...more rest, brother,” Venavismi is saying, genially. He seems to be about as nice as the impression his character gave off, in the story. Thenvunin always felt rather badly about his death. Which… he suddenly recalls, was Thenerassan’s fault. Retaliating in a fury after the accusations against him had landed, he had killed the first people who attempted to apprehend him, only for Uthvir to swoop in and put a stop to him. One of them had been Venavismi. Decapitated, as he recalls…

  He feels an inexplicable rush of shame. Not that he’s responsible for Thenerassan’s actions, but, well…

  “Thank you,” he says. “You are a very upright person, Venavismi, even if you can make terrible jokes sometimes.”

  <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -15.>

  What? Just for saying ‘thank you’?!

  <Character: Thenerassan would not thank Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would not compliment Venavismi without ulterior motive. -5 Deduction. Character: Thenerassan would also not display weakness in front of a potential rival. -5 Deduction. Deductions reduced by 50% due to mitigating factor: Plausible Disorientation.>

  Internally, Thenvunin fumes. Plausible?! He is most certainly disoriented, of course he is!

  But Venavismi does look very surprised.

  “Um. Thank you, brother…?” he ventures. “I think I had better get another healer to attend to you. Do you remember hitting your head on anything when you collapsed?”

  “Of course not, I don’t even remember collapsing!” Thenvunin snaps, flustered and unhappy with having lost points. Even though he doesn’t know what the points mean. He lets Venavismi bow his way out of the room, the atmosphere awkward and disconcerting, and then finally just drops his head into his hands.

  What do all these points even mean, System?

  <Would you like to see Beginner’s Tips?>

  …Yes. Yes, I would, if that will explain this whole confusing mess!

  <Beginner’s Tips have been activated! Additional Mode: Character File Recognition has also been activated. New characters will now appear with their names provided by the system, in the event that Character: Thenerassan would be able to recognize them. For a cost of an additional 100 points, Easy Mode may be activated. Warning: current point levels insufficient to make payment. Regarding point system: actions furthering project goals generate points. Lock violations or insufficient story progress will incur penalties. Negative point status will result in Participant’s ejection from the project.>

  Ejection from the project…?

  In other words, then, if his points go into the negatives, he’ll be sent back home.

  Where he’s… dead.

  And what happens if I die during the course of this project? He wonders, thinking of the chilling prospect of Thenerassan’s canonical fate.

  Death of the Participant will result in ejection from the project.

  So… death, again.

  Thenvunin lets out a shaky breath.

  He would… yes, he would definitely rather avoid that, all things considered. But by the time a healer - whose name Thenerassan apparently would not have bothered to know - comes to his chambers, he doesn’t feel much closer to regaining his equilibrium.

   ~

   Thenvunin takes an entire day to rest from his ‘mysterious illness’. In the evening, one of his disciples comes with something more substantial for him to eat. Desire, or ‘Squish’, as the narrative had nicknamed her. She is a pleasant girl, and a teenager, though how old she exactly is would depend on when he’s arrived on this scene. Assuming it’s prior to Uthvir’s descent into hell, she could be anywhere between fourteen and nineteen. Thenerassan - the original - had lusted after this girl, behaving inappropriately the entire time. Seeing the girl come into his rooms, Thenvunin is appalled twice-over by that particular story element. Here Thenerassan was supposed to be her mentor, but he had scarcely seemed to teach her anything except that authority figures weren’t to be trusted! And then she had joined Uthvir’s harem, all full of scandals and intrigue, and… admittedly, Thenvunin had rather lost track of her character after that.

  He didn’t recall her has terribly complex. Mostly just sweet, and devoted, a simple ‘childhood friend’ style love-interest. Though he’s surprised when she comes in, and he notices that she lacks the typical ‘dainty’ appearance of such a girl. Instead she is heavy-set and… well, fat. With a round face and broad nose, and a tumble of curly dark hair. She is still quite beautiful, and obviously more than strong enough to handle the training at the peak, but Thenvunin doesn’t recall imagining her this way at all from her description.

  Then again, Half-Demon Prince, the author, hadn’t been as typically prone to describing the female characters’ measurements and ‘charms’ as most writers in the genre. There had been a lot of fanart… perhaps the standard interpretation of this character was based more on a popular fanartist’s work, than on all the possibilities contained in her description?

  But then, why should the ‘project’ choose an atypical interpretation, rather than the most common one?

  He supposes that all has to do with how the system even works, and on that front, it has remained entirely silent.

  “Teacher, will this meal do?” Squish asks him. Respectful, but a little distant.

  It suddenly strikes Thenvunin - Squish was Uthvir’s only childhood friend. The protagonist. If he is to survive this ordeal, it seems absolutely paramount that Uthvir not want to kill him.

  “This meal is fine,” he says, with a dismissive wave of his hand. He focuses intently on Squish’s face. “Tell me, how old are you this year?”

  For a moment, he’s almost afraid that the system will tell him that was out-of-character. But it remains silent, and Squish’s expression turns somewhat reluctant.

  “Sixteen,” she tells him.

  Sixteen… which makes Uthvir fifteen. Three years. Thenvunin has three years to undo Uthvir’s hatred of him. But this also means that Uthvir has already spent two years around the Original Thenerassan. Being bullied, being starved, being beaten, being left out in the cold… Thenvunin pales at the thought of all the rampant child abuse. His only, minor consolation is that Thenerassan hadn’t liked to dirty his own hands. He had preferred to simply encourage the other disciples’ bullying, or to dole out punishments that simply resulted in Uthvir’s misfortune, by doing things like handing out complicated assignments too close to curfew. The other Thenerassan had been concerned with appearances, at least, and the reputation of his sect. It was probably the only reason why he hadn’t just immediately tossed his poor disciple off the mountain.

  “My parents have said that they will outright refuse all petitions for my hand until I am twenty,” Squish says, jarring Thenvunin out of his thoughts.

  He blinks at her.

  “Sensible of them,” he replies.

  <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -5.>

  Oh, for-!

  He doesn’t bother to ask what that is about, realizing in a rush of nausea that this interaction must seem like he is digging into his student’s personal business to figure out if he can browbeat her family into handing her over to him. What a sick man the original truly was! He has to fight the urge to clarify things, knowing it will only cost him at the moment.

  How many points do I have left? He wonders.

  He isn’t entirely addressing the system, but it answers for him anyway.

  <Current point total: 80>

  Since he got here, he’s only managed to lose points…

  Squish stares mildly back at him. He lets out a breath.

  “Do you know where Disciple Uthvir is?” he asks, attempting to sound as neutral as possible. Neutral cannot really be out of character, right? If Thenerassan was always spitting furious every time he mentioned Uthvir’s name, surely the other mentors at the peak would have had to notice?

  Thankfully, that assessment seems correct, as there is no warning or ‘ding’.

  Squish’s expression turns wary.

  “They’re still doing the tasks you assigned them this morning,” she replies. “They’ve been working as hard as they can.”

  Thenvunin purses his lips. Scowling, but not at his student; he’s just trying to figure out how he can start to repair things, when one of the most concrete aspects of Thenerassan’s character was his ardent hatred of all things Uthvir.

  “Send them here,” he decides.

  <Warning->

  How can it be OOC? This is entirely self-serving! He argues. If I don’t get on Uthvir’s good side, I’ll die horribly. If the original Thenerassan knew that, don’t you think he’d start being nicer, too?

  <Beginner Tip: motives attributed solely to the Participant will not be considered in assessments of OOC Lock violations. Participant must also be advised of total points devaluation in the event of Character Identity Compromise. Revealing Participant’s nature as a transplanted outsider to non-Participant individuals within the project will result in Total Project Reset and ejection of all current participants.>

  Thenvunin swallows.

  The food on the lovely tray in front of him makes him slightly nauseous. Squish looks suspicious, but after a moment, she can only nod obediently and leave to go get Uthvir. She looks as though she might say something to him, for a moment. But after a moment passes, she only shakes her head, and then leaves.

  So now he needs to think of something that the original Thenerassan would do, that will put a stop to all these abuses - or at least, begin to - without losing him any further points. He has no idea how difficult it will be to regain points, since he hasn’t gained any so far. And that ‘Easy Mode’ that the system mentioned before seems like the sort of thing he might like to unlock, but he’s definitely not going to do so when it will bring his point total remotely close to 'zero'.

  By the time Uthvir shows up, the food has gone cold, but Thenvunin thinks he might have happened on a solution. He has moved from his rest bed to his desk, unable to sit still. But he finds himself somewhat frozen again when he finally sees them.

  Uthvir.

  The terrible demonic tyrant who will eventually slaughter hundreds. Who will build a massive harem of beautiful lovers, all vying for their affections. The sharp, dangerous, deadly protagonist of ‘Immortal Demon Way’.

  …But, they’re just a child.

  Or a teenager, but Thenvunin’s a legal adult and feels very adult compared to the tiny figure who walks into his chambers. They’ve cut their hair, he notes. He forgets what age they did that at in the story, but thinking on it, it probably wasn’t long after they arrived on the peak. Their uniform is ill-fitting but clean, pulled from standard storage. They have large, red eyes, and soft features. Really, they look younger than fifteen.

  But what catches most of his attention is the large blemish on the top of their cheek, and the ugly cut at the corner of their jaw.

  Thenvunin stares at them while they shift in place. Waiting to see what kind of torment he has in store for them, no doubt.

  I can’t do this. How can I be cruel to a child?

  <Warning: Impending Out of Character Behaviour Alert.>

  After a moment, Thenvunin clears his throat, and reminds himself of his plan. He makes certain his features retain a cold look, with great effort, as he reaches into a pocket of his robes, and retrieves a little jar of healing salve that the healer left with him. Uthvir’s wary expression does not abate as he tosses it to them; but with their reflexes, of course they catch it.

  “It is disgraceful for one of my disciples to go around looking like that,” he declares, lifting his chin and pursing his lips to keep from saying anything else. Poor thing, poor thing, oh you poor little thing… “From now on, there will be no more transgressions to call my good character and teaching into question.”

  Uthvir seems to pale at his assertions.

  “Teacher,” they say, hurriedly. “Please don’t turn me out. I swear, I will not - I will not provoke them anymore. I know I have been slow at learning how not to, but I think I have made progress... I will redouble my efforts! Please, I have nowhere else to go...”

  Thenvunin frowns at their fright, before realizing that Uthvir does not recognize what the healing salve is; they probably think he’s conjuring up an excuse to kick them out of the sect. But even Thenerassan couldn’t really do that - despite his best efforts, Uthvir’s acceptance onto the mountain was the doing of Mana’Din, the Peak Leader.

  “Don’t be foolish,” he snaps, and they fall immediately silent. “Do you not even know what a healing salve looks like?”

  The OOC Warning remains mercifully silent, but Thenvunin feels like he is dying on the inside.

  Uthvir stares uncomprehendingly down at the little jar he gave them.

  “This… is healing salve?”

  They don’t even know what it looks like! I can smell it from here, but they’re clueless?! They’ve never seen it before?!

  Come to that, Thenvunin hadn’t seen it before, either. But apparently he still has some sense memories from the Original… which would also explain why his coordination isn’t completely shot, even if he still feels like a ghost sitting in someone else’s body.

  Uthvir doesn’t have the excuse of transporting themselves between worlds, though. They should know what a salve smells like even better than he does. Or they would, if Half-Demon Prince hadn’t given them such a reprehensibly deprived childhood. The realization makes his heart crack in half.

  “I expect you to use it,” he says.

  He braces himself…

  At the ominous ‘ding’ in his mind he nearly dies inside; but to his surprise, the system’s tone isn’t its usual ‘points deducted’ one. It takes him a moment to really register what it’s saying.

  <Congratulations! Points toward Achievement: Character Development earned, +10.>

  ...How many points do I need to get the achievement?

  <Beginner’s Tip: Achievements are unlocked at 100 points gained, determined from the moment achievement challenge is set..>

  That’s… that’s not so bad, actually. Thenvunin would almost feel good about it, if he hadn’t just been unreasonably cold and cruel to an injured teenager.

   ...He's going to have to do this at least ten more times. He takes it back, this is terrible.

  But Uthvir looks uncomprehendingly at the salve for a moment longer. Before they seem to remember that they’re in the same room as their villainous instructor, and then quickly drop into a bow.

  “Thank you, Teacher,” they say.

  “Hmph,” Thenvunin replies. “You can go.”

  Uthvir doesn’t waste any time in getting away, probably grateful to escape without having something unpleasant happen to them. Once they’re gone, Thenvunin drops back onto his bed, and puts his face into his hands. His shoulders shake, as tears begin to form in his eyes, and spill through the cracks of his fingers.

  It’s just a story, he tells himself. Even if it’s different to experience it firsthand, all these people are just characters in a book. It’s not really real.

  Is it?

~

Thenvunin manages to knock his point totals down to 65 before he finally begins to feel confident in manipulating the OOC Locks. Though he still hasn’t managed to earn any new points, he’s figured out some things about the system, and how they seem to be lost.

 For one thing, witnesses are required. Thenvunin can do any number of out-of-character things in private, but the system will only notify him of a ‘ding’ if there’s someone present to see it. Which is a good thing, because Thenvunin finds himself breaking down in private quite a bit. The system will also generally warn him if there’s someone liable to witness his out-of-character moments - and whatever else might be said, he does appreciate that. Particularly when he’s been weeping in his rooms, and one of his disciples or another immortal from the peak is on their way to find him.

 It’s not that he’s thoroughly miserable, though. It’s just a lot to take in.

 Quiet Peak is a really beautiful place. Thenvunin doesn’t think he’s ever been anywhere so lovely before in his life. The peak is situated in a long chain of mystical mountains, and is one of several sacred peaks where spiritualists who have achieved immortality live and congregate. It’s a place replete with nature. Thenvunin’s home is one of several small buildings - almost a village unto itself - situated around a large main temple. It’s summer when he arrives, so the air is clear and warm, with the occasional cool breeze whirling its way around the mountain paths. Lots of small animals fill up the natural spaces of the area. Birds and rodents, foxes and stranger, more fantastical creatures from Half-Demon Prince’s imagination, like Phantom Lemurs and wolves made of branches and vines, held together by ambient nature energy.

 To a normal person, some of the animals would probably be quite dangerous. But Thenvunin’s body, as he ascertains, is more than just fit and healthy. He seems to have all the supernatural powers of the immortals in the story. Along with a mystical sword that the original Thenerassed would have pulled from the peak, a blade that was manifested from his own innate energies.

 Thenerassan - or rather, Half-Demon Prince - had called the blade ‘Swan’s Grace’. It’s one decision of the old Thenerassan’s that Thenvunin doesn’t mind. The name seems to suit the sword, which rests easily in his grasp, even though he’s never held a sword before in his life. It’s a beautiful thing. Pale and elegant, with a white handle, and a purple tassel tied with enchanted beads that help bolster spiritual energy.

 It’s one thing for Thenvunin to know that his body seems to remember how to do some things, though, and another for him to really feel comfortable doing them. The more Thenvunin thinks about upcoming events, the more he finds himself sweating under his collar. There are battles to be fought. Actual battles. Situations where making even the tiniest slip-up could result in death. Thenvunin doesn’t think it’s enough to simply rely on his reflexes, reflexes can’t provide strategies or help him think his way through more complicated situations, or really decide how to apply the skills that he - apparently - now has.

 So, when the Peak Leader, Mana’Din, comes to investigate his ‘recovery’ from his mysterious illness, Thenvunin doesn’t waste much time before requesting access to some of the secluded mountain caves that are used for those attempting higher levels of cultivation. Or attempting to regain spiritual equilibrium. He remembers the caves from the books; they were frequently mentioned, and Uthvir even retreated to them on occasion, when a difficult battle had depleted their strength.

 Mana’Din is, like Squish, quite different from what Thenvunin had expected, but still well within the bounds of her character description. The Peak Leader is a petite woman, dark-skinned and placid in her countenance. She wears a white half-mask, and an elegant white robe, and regards Thenvunin with what seems to be genuine concern. Almost immediately, he likes her. Though sensing the amount of energy contained within her aura is somewhat disconcerting; Peak Leaders are very strong, of course. Mana’Din is no exception.

 In the original story, she was yet another character who died at Uthvir’s hands. Though, more tragically than the original Thenerassan. Uthvir had challenged her for control of the peak. Mana’Din had fought gallantly, but in the end, after all that had led to that moment, the peak’s forces were so weakened that she was no match for a full-powered and determined Uthvir. She as one of the few female characters in the story who actually died, rather than simply falling into Uthvir’s harem after being defeated. Some readers had been quite unhappy about that.

 As he invites her to take his morning tea with him, Thenvunin feels another pang of inexplicable guilt. The original Thenerassan’s machinations were a huge component to the weakening of the peak - and to Mana’Din’s inevitable downfall.

 “Venavismi told me about your collapse. I came to check on you while you were still unconscious. Forgive me, I would have come to check as soon as you woke, but preparations in the valley took longer than expected.”

 Preparations in the…?

 Oh! Thenvunin’s pleased to realize that he actually knows what Mana’Din is referring to. The tournament, still scheduled a few years from now, will take place in the valley south of Quiet Peak. Because of the potential dangers of the event, the Peak Lords themselves oversee all the preparations, creating shields and checking the security, and making certain that all possible precautions can be taken. It’s a long endeavour, which is why tournaments are not held more frequently. As an expert in placing barriers, Mana’Din’s skills in particular would be required.

 The thought of how badly the tournament still goes puts another twinge of guilt in Thenvunin. He has to bite his tongue to keep from mentioning that extra security will most definitely be needed.

 “Are things going well?” he asks, instead.

Mana’Din waves dismissively.

 “Of course,” she says. “I’m more concerned over you. I don’t know whether it’s good news or bad news that the healers seem baffled by what’s happened. Do you think it was some sort of attack?”

 Thenvunin clears his throat, and shakes his head.

 “It did not seem that way to me, though it was… disconcerting,” he replies. Lifting his tea cup, he takes a slow sip. The warm liquid helps to settle his nerves a little, as he prepares his rehearsed lines. “My concern is for the equilibrium of my internal energies. Healers may not notice everything on such a front. If my leader is willing, I would like to retreat to the Secluded Caves, to better attune myself to what may be going on within my body.”

 He braces himself. But fortunately, Thenerassan had generally worn a mask of courtesy around his leader; there is no ‘ding’.

 Mana’Din makes a contemplative sound, and then inclines her head.

 “If you think that would help, then certainly,” she says. “I will gladly open the caves to you. But do you think there is a chance you could unbalance your energies? You should not be left to go alone, in that case.”

 Mana’Din is blunt. Thenerassan would have taken offense at the implication that he could unbalance his own energies via meditation, but Thenvunin can only see genuine concern in her expression. Spiritual unbalancing is very dangerous. It can lead to explosive and self-destructive behaviour, as well as lashing out. Left unchecked, it can, as he recalls, cause madness, permanently damage an immortal’s abilities, or even lead to death. And while the original Thenerassan may have been an immortal of indeterminate age, who was very accustomed to cultivating his internal energies, Thenvunin himself is… not.

 However, his inexperience could be glaringly obvious to any witnesses who see him try to practice. And if people start to become suspicious, then it could lead to his discovery as an intruder, and then the dreaded ‘project reset’.

 Thenvunin’s not sure what the bigger risk is. He hesitates.

 Mana’Din seems to read his silence as offense. She lifts a hand.

 “Please don’t mistake my concern for doubt. This is a mysterious situation, so, taking some exceptional precautions may be wise,” she tells him. When Thenvunin hesitates again, she purses her lips, and taps the side of her teacup. “Perhaps a compromise? There are certain segments of the cave system that are more open than others. Many of Battle Peak’s disciples are currently using them in early preparation for the tournament. In the event of some calamity, being in that system would probably make it easier to find help, rather than simply using the more traditional caves allotted to our peak…”

 The original Thenerassan would have found such a suggestion offensive, Thenvunin thinks again. But would he have protested to his leader? Complaining might seem uglier than just capitulating, or even taking advantage of the situation. Something niggles at the back of his memory. Something about Thenerassan and the caves and Battle Peak… but he doesn’t have a lot of time to dwell on it, as Mana’Din looks at him expectantly.

 He puts on a tight smile.

 “I suppose, under the circumstances, that would be reasonable,” he concedes.

 Mana’Din relaxes a little, and offers him a more genuine smile in return.

 “That’s a relief. I’ll worry a little less, now,” she approves. Nothing dings. Thenvunin lets out a silent breath, and sips more of his tea.

 Really, Thenvunin can’t help but think. How did it escape your notice that the original Thenerassan wouldn’t have been worth worrying about to begin with?

 He doesn’t ask that out loud, though, of course. Despite his repugnant nature, the original Thenerassan currently retains a spotless reputation, marred only by occasion rumours of his ‘harsh’ teaching methods. And that reputation is currently very useful to Thenvunin, who is not looking to ruin it by being an actual child-abusing monster. Even if the system is making that challenging for him.

 Mana’Din tells him he can set out for the caves in a few days’ time, after she has established things with Battle Peak. That’s a good development, he thinks, but it still leaves the matter of Uthvir up in the air.

 While Thenvunin has been doing what he can to try and mitigate the bullying going on, it’s an uphill battle with the OOC Locks tying his hands. The original Thenerassan had a lot of disciples, though, as Thenvunin recalls, most of them will die as cannon fodder during the tournament. The thought makes him sick to his stomach. Even if they’re mostly a gang of bullies, barring Squish and Uthvir, they’re still children. Well, teenagers. And they’re following the lead set for them by their teacher. Thenvunin is a bit lost at sea on what to do about it all. However, he knows for certain that if he leaves things just as they are, with the senior disciples in charge, it won’t go well for Uthvir.

 The trouble is figuring out how he can mitigate that without breaking character.

 He’s still turning the matter over in his thoughts later the same day, when he finally decides that, caves or no, he needs to get some practice in.

 Despite his lingering troubles with adjusting to having a totally new body, the fact that he actually has energy and a shocking absence of pain keeps making him antsy. All the beautiful nature around him, the strength in his limbs, the air in his lungs, it makes him want to do things. His fingers itch to see what the sword at his belt can do. His heart speeds up at the thought of actually being a warrior, a guardian, someone who can fight and protect people and be gallant and strong. The giddiness he feels over it is even enough to push back his worries about dying, and he finds he doesn’t feel any guilt at all in basically stealing all of these things from the original Thenerassan.

 With all that in mind, Thenvunin sets out before evening to find a more secluded spot on the mountain. He has to travel for a while to do it, heading down and into the woods, with Swan’s Grace on his person. The sword feels light, and he finds he often notices its absence more than its presence. He wears green robes that blend in with the pale leaves of the willowy trees that grown in the region, and passes over a woodland stream, before finally finding a good spot.

 After triple-checking to make certain that he’s alone, Thenvunin draws his sword, and takes a deep breath.

 He swings it.

 It slices elegantly through the air.

 Another swing. His body remembers motions that Thenvunin has never made before, and after a few more attempts, he finds himself falling into patterns that feel natural. Sword-fighting forms. He pays attention to the way his body moves, or tries to. But it’s exhilarating enough that he soon finds himself distracted by the sheer joy of it all. Swan’s Grace sings, metal through wind, and as his spirits rise Thenvunin finds flurries of air whip up around him. The original Thenerassan was strongly attuned to the wind element. It seems Thenvunin is, too, as the gusts of wind follow his movements, and make the fallen leaves around him dance.

 He is so enraptured, he never even notices the tiny figure who stumbles upon him. Arms burdened with firewood, eyes wide as they see their teacher practicing his forms.

  ~

  Uthvir freezes in place and stares dumbfounded for a moment.

 They have seen Master Thenerassan demonstrate techniques before, of course, but such demonstrations have tended to be very simple and mechanical so far. Put your feet here, hold your practice sword like this, sit this way, don’t move like that, and so on and so forth. They have yet to actually see their instructor fight - and of course, they still haven’t. But as they watch, they feel a sudden insight as to what that might look like, and it seems somehow wholly unexpected.

 If they ever had to guess, Uthvir would never suppose that Master Thenerassan’s techniques were so… so…

 Lovely?

 They feel almost like a voyeur, somehow. As if they have stumbled upon the man bathing rather than practicing. The most shocking thing is probably the look on his face, though. From their angle Uthvir can only see part of it, but it seems as if Master Thenerassan is smiling. Smiling as he dances with the wind and strikes out with his sword, moving through forms so complex that Uthvir can only even recognize half of them.

 Something in their chest aches with longing.

 They want to be that graceful, and powerful. They want to be a master who can rely on their own strength.

 They watch, fascinated, until it starts to occur to them that if Master Thenerassan is out practicing in the wilderness by himself, he probably doesn’t want to be seen. Maybe there are some secret techniques that he’s doing? Uthvir’s fear of getting in trouble gradually starts to overcome their interest, and they pull back, retreating the same way they came by and being careful to walk in the footprints they already made, to avoid stepping on twigs or crunching leaves. Every once in a while they glance back, unable to help themselves until Thenerassan is finally out of sight. Then they resolutely keep going, as their heart hammers excitedly in their chest.

 They feel as though they have just gotten away with some kind of mischief. Even though, taken at face value, they don’t even know what they mischief would qualify as.

 Master Thenerassan could probably enlighten them if he actually caught them, though. And probably assign them even more chores as punishment. Sneering at them from behind his fan.

 Although… he seems to be more patient with Uthvir than usual, these days. Maybe Uthvir is actually making fewer mistakes? They’ve found the thought very heartening, even if the other disciples still seem to hate them as much as ever. Except for Squish, of course. Master Thenerassan gave her a new training manual the other day, and she promised to let Uthvir look at it, too. They were going to go this evening, but then Elandaris cornered them and told them to go find firewood.

 A lot of the older students shirk their chores onto Uthvir. At first, they’d hoped doing things would be a good way to make friends, but it seems they’re always doing them wrong. Uthvir’s not entirely clueless, although sometimes it feels as though they are. They like to think that it’s the amnesia at fault. The first thing they can recall in life is running, confused, out into the road in one of the southern cities, and nearly falling straight into Lady Mana’Din. They don’t even know how they came by their amnesia; they were first brought to Quiet Peak as a mystery to solve, rather than a disciple to train. The only belonging of any real value that they can claim is the necklace they were wearing at the time Lady Mana’Din found them.

 Uthvir never takes it off. They’re deathly afraid of having it stolen. The simple leather cord it’s on is nothing special, but the amber-gold stone, rough and uncut, always feels a little warm against their skin. Lady Mana’Din thinks it might be a Spirit Shard. The only other person they’ve ever shown it to is Squish, and she likes it a lot, too. Uthvir knows she’d be thrilled if they gave it to her, but they can’t bring themselves to part with it. Even if they don’t know why, it’s… theirs.

 As if drawn to the current of their thoughts, the necklace in question slides out from under their over-sized collar. Uthvir pauses, shifting the firewood in their arms so that they can reach up and tuck it away again.

 “Hey!”

 They look up, startled, at the sound of an unwelcome voice.

 Elandaris!

 Hastily, Uthvir finishes shoving their treasure away again, and takes a wary step backwards. They nearly lose their balance, burdened with the firewood in their arms. Elandaris seems to be alone; they don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

 “I’ve nearly finished,” they say.

 “Took you long enough,” Elandaris replies, marching determinedly towards them. He points at their chest. “What’s that?”

 “What’s what?” Uthvir asks, playing dumb. “The branches…?”

 Before they can react, Elandaris reaches out, whip-fast, and yanks the piece of cord around their neck. Uthvir fumbles and their treasure pops back out of their collar, as their heart speeds up.

 Oh no!

 The older boy’s expression twists in a mix of anger and triumph as he reaches for the spirit shard. Uthvir manages to whirl away in earnest then, though, dropping the firewood they’re carrying. To their horror, the branches and logs fall directly onto Elandaris’ feet.

 A disciple of Elandaris’ level isn’t going to be as fragile as most mortals, so Elandaris is at little risk of having his foot bones broken. But that doesn’t mean it’s not still a painful thing to have an armload of wood dropped right onto his shoes.

 “I’m sorry!” Uthvir immediately exclaims. Elandaris reels back, cursing, before his face twists in anger and he lashes out and punches Uthvir clean across the face.

 The force behind the blow is more than enough to send them staggering.

 “You clumsy oaf!” Elandaris exclaims. “How dare you! You could have injured my feet. That would set my training back. Are you trying to sabotage me?!”

 “No!” Uthvir assures him, spreading out their hands. “No, of course not! I would never! It was an accident, you grabbed me and-”

 “Clumsy piece of shit!” Elandaris accuses again. “Either you did that on purpose, or you are a waste of training! Come back here!”

 Uthvir’s attempts to move further away are thwarted by Elandaris grabbing them. They try and counter his grip, but the older student is faster, and pulls at their treasure instead.

 “And where did you get this?” he demands.

 “It’s mine!” Uthvir insists, reflexively.

 “Yours? Where would you get a spirit shard?” Elandaris demands. “Even a cheap-looking one like this should be beyond the means of a beggar’s child like you. And don’t tell me someone gave it to you! I know no one would. You have no coin and you have no friends, so the only answer is that you stole it.”

 “I didn’t steal it!”

 Elandaris hits them in punishment. Uthvir knows they shouldn’t argue, but this is their treasure. If Elandaris thinks they stole it then he’ll take it away.

 “I didn’t steal it!” they insist, through the pain. “It’s always been mine, it was found with me, Lady Mana’Din knows!”

 “Liar!” Elandaris accuses. He tugs at the cord, and Uthvir struggles back. A few well-placed kicks send them falling backwards, though. Despite their efforts to train their skills, the extra chores that are always being given to them take up most of the time they would spend practicing. They are behind; they know it. And they don’t have much recourse, though their heart lurches in pure alarm as they feel the ties on their leather cord finally give out.

 Elandaris seizes their treasure.

 Uthvir falls down, and trips over the dropped firewood.

 “No!” they protest, scrambling to get back up. “It’s mine, it’s not-”

 “Shut up, you little liar!” Elandaris snaps back, and lands a kick against their stomach. Uthvir grabs his leg, too desperate to back down. They scramble to try and reclaim their necklace. The defiance makes Elandaris even more furious, however, and after a moment they are both rolling through the undergrowth. Uthvir loses track of where their treasure even is, if it’s been dropped or if the older student still has it, as Elandaris gets them pinned and begins pummeling them.

 “How dare you!” he snarls. “You sneaky little thief!”

 Uthvir tries to cover their face, finally going purely on the defensive. They brace themselves for the beating.

 But Elandaris only lands a few uncoordinated hits before he suddenly stops; crying out in pain.

 Bewildered, Uthvir risk looking again.

 Elandaris is holding his hands up. But there is a large, crimson gash on the back of one of his wrists.

 “How did you do that?” he demands, shocked at the sight of his own blood. “Did you stab me?!”

 Uthvir swiftly shakes their head.

 “How could I?” they ask.

 It must be the wrong thing to say, though, because Elandaris just looks angrier. Like he thinks they must be tricking him. Uthvir only feels confused as he lefts his fists again. They brace themselves, but this time they keep watching. So they see quite clearly as his hands come down, and…

 A leaf.

 A simple leaf, being carried on a swift wind, whips by and slashes Elandaris’ hands again, before he can bring them down to hit. He lets out another cry of pain, and finally scrabbles back off of Uthvir. Bleeding from both hands.

 “What are you doing?!” he wails. “You’ve cut me! You wretch! How did you cut me?”

 “It’s not me doing it,” Uthvir tries to explain, raising placating hands. “It’s…”

 The leaves?

 They glance down to the ground, and the two unbroken, perfectly-shaped, but blood-edged leaves lying not too far away. There are techniques that can make even flower petals as sharp as darts, especially in the hands of wind practitioners, Uthvir knows. They’ve read as much as they can, when they’re able to. But in that case…

 There’s only one person who could do this sort of thing.

 If Master Thenerassan wanted to stop Elandaris, though, he could simply come and tell him to stop?

 This must be a lesson, then. Or a test. Uthvir curses their own stupidity, as they wonder what the correct response is. They never seem to know the right answer with these things. But if Master Thenerassan doesn’t want his presence to be known, then… it’s probably better not to tell Elandaris?

 Maybe Elandaris is supposed to figure things out for himself? He is also a student, after all.

 Uthvir remains silent, and the two of them fall into a wary stand-off. After a moment, they push themselves back to their feet.

 “Give me back my treasure,” they demand, helpless to let the matter go.

 Elandaris’ expression twists. He looks down, but then, to Uthvir’s growing dismay, seems to realize that he doesn’t still have it.

 “I dropped it,” he tells them. Then he lifts his chin. “Which is just lucky for you, because if I hadn’t I’d be taking it to Master Thenerassan right now, and you’d be getting kicked off the mountain for thieving.”

 Uthvir balls their fists, but doesn’t dare make a move. The corners of their eyes itch.

 “I’m not a thief!”

 For a moment, they think Elandaris is going to try and beat them some more. But there’s blood still pouring from his cuts, and the sight of it seems to make him hesitate instead. After a tense second, he turns on his heel.

 “You just wait,” he says. “I’m telling Master Thenerassan all about this anyway, about how you tried to break my feet and bloodied my poor hands. And then that’ll finally be the end of you!”

 On that note, Elandaris races off. Uthvir thinks they would be terrified of his claims, except…

 Except, Master Thenerassan must alright know. Mustn’t he?

 And he… he stopped Elandaris.

 They just feel confused, as they pause and look around. No matter how they search, though, they can’t seem to see their teacher anywhere. They give up looking for him after a minute - if he doesn’t want to be found, they don’t suppose they stand much of a chance - and instead start searching for the necklace. Their ribs and stomach and face all hurt from Elandaris’ blows, but they can’t just leave it behind. They try and retrace things, but even though they search high and low, pulling aside plants and checking around stumps, and even looking in spots that seem unlikely places, they can’t find it before the sun begins to set.

 Their treasure…

 Uthvir is so disconsolate, they finally slump on the ground, and let a few tears escape.

 “I lost it,” they whisper. “I’m so sorry…”

 They aren’t even sure who they’re apologizing to. The words just seem to fly out on their own. They take a minute to cry, holding themselves upright on shaky limbs. Before they finally sigh, and resign themselves to the truth. They still have to bring the firewood back. And now that they’ve lost so much time, they’ll probably have to spend all of tomorrow making up the difference on their chores. The ones they can’t do in the dark, anyway. They sniffle, and brush off their cheeks. Trying to dry their eyes as they finally pick up the dropped firewood, and then stagger back towards the mountain path.

 Into their pockets, they tuck a pair of blood-stained leaves.

  ~

  Thenvunin feels like he must be the worst person in the world.

 He had been surprised when his practice had been interrupted by voices. Raised in argument, by the sounds of it. For half a second he was irrationally afraid that he had been caught, and that something about his practice had been so inherently wrong that he was on the verge of being discovered. But then he’d realized the voices were further off than that. And then he’d recognized them, too.

 Uthvir and… Elandaris.

 Oh no.

 As he hurried over, Thenvunin found himself recollecting the scene he was encountering. If it was the one he suspected, anyway. The one where Elandaris stole Uthvir’s precious necklace, the only remnant of their forgotten, tragic past. The one item that could still bring warmth to their cold heart, even when they were at the height of their dark ways.

 In the original story, Uthvir had eventually regained the necklace when Elandaris died in the tournament.

 Thenvunin watches as the two students struggle through the undergrowth, though, and sees the necklace in question stuck in the middle of a nearby fern. From his angle it’s quite clearly visible. The golden shard is a bright bit of light in the dark green foliage. Most of his attention is soon caught by the fight, however, and his first impulse merits several insistent warnings from the system.

 Thenvunin’s fists clench and unclench. Thenerassan wouldn’t have stopped Uthvir’s mistreatment.

 System, how many points will I lose for just marching out there and stopping it anyway?

 <Assessing factors… likely point deduction is 40.>

 What?! 40 points? He only has sixty-five as it is! That would… that would put him so close to complete failure…

 His mouth goes dry. Is he really just going to stand here and watch this happen?

 No. No, there has to be a way to interfere. Even if he can’t stop it directly, there must be something he can do. He thinks. There’s a technique, he remembers. It was one of the cooler things about the original Thenerassan, in with all his depravity and scumbag qualities. Precision was something he was actually good at. He could whip around tiny things with enough speed and subtlety to make even the most innocuous strips of paper or blades of grass into weapons.

 Of course, the original had mostly used this to inflict secret torments on Uthvir. Thenvunin can only hope it will work in reverse, as he plucks a leaf from a nearby tree. Keeping out of sight, he lifts the leaf to mouth, and blows. The first attempt goes wide of the mark, though. Drawing in a determined breath, Thenvunin grabs another one, and tries again. As Elandaris raises his fists, Thenvunin focuses precisely on where he wants the wind to carry the leaf. He feels the energy in his body, and the energy in the world around himself. And just like that, it feels as if he is remembering how to do something, rather than learning it for the first time.

 The leaf slashes Elandaris.

 Thenvunin is a little shocked at how much blood it draws. His bullying disciple pales, shocked in turn at the sudden blow.

 Even so, Thenvunin doesn’t hesitate to send the second leaf. Uthvir looks as though they’ve been through the wringer. Elandaris finally backs off at that, but Thenvunin frowns deeply at his tirade. Already wondering how to manage that upcoming situation. He thinks he can handle it, though, so long as he focuses on Elandaris’ own misconduct. After all, the original Thenerassan would have known that Uthvir had some possessions, and that accusing them of stealing such things wouldn’t hold any water. He probably just would have been annoyed that Elandaris was wasting his time with information that he couldn’t use.

 But then he hears an ominous ding.

 <OOC Restriction Lock Violation. Point deduction, -20.>

 What?! But - but, how? It was only a couple of leaves! Neither Uthvir nor Elandaris could possibly know who sent them!

 System, I object! There’s no way that should have counted towards a deduction!

 <Assessment accuracy is at 100%.>

 But no one even knows it was me!

 <Assessment accuract is at 100%.>

 Thenvunin feels sick. 45. He’s down to 45 points now, and all he’s earned so far is 10. This is a nightmare! He keeps still, fretting over having less than half his starting points, as Uthvir begins to search around for their lost treasure. It takes him a few minutes to even register what they’re doing. And when he does, he feels another lurch in his gut.

 There, he thinks at them. Keeping his hiding place, yet trying, at the same time, to mentally project some knowledge of the necklace’s location towards them. It’s right there! Look over there, Uthvir, come on, you can find it!

 He could just pick it up and give it to them. But he absolutely can’t, he knows. The thought of losing any more points right now just makes him feel sick to his stomach. So instead he stays locked in place, while he watches Uthvir search and search, their bruises purpling from where Elandaris hit them. Do they still have healing salve left? He tries to think of ways he could get them more, at least, to keep from cracking and doing something impossibly foolish. But he feels as if he is on the verge of it anyway, when Uthvir drops to the ground and begins to cry.

 Oh, no! Thenvunin thinks, swallowing hard as his own vision goes a little blurry. Oh, no, Uthvir, it’s alright, it will be alright…

 He doesn’t know how he manages to withstand it, until Uthvir finally gathers up the firewood, and limps off alone.

 It’s only when they’re gone that he moves himself. Walking quietly over to the fern, and plucking the spirit shard necklace up from where it had been dropped.

 <Congratulations! A pivotal scene has been completed. Important Item: Uthvir’s Treasure has been obtained. +100 points awarded. Achievement: Character Development has been obtained! OOC Restriction Lock has been removed.>

 Thenvunin is so struck by relief at the sudden, unexpected points gain, that he almost doesn’t notice the necklace vanishing from his hands. But an object just vanishing is actually strange enough that it almost immediately distracts him from the bizarre rush of success.

 Wait, system! He protests. Where did it go?

 He has to get that back to Uthvir, somehow!

 <Beginner’s Tip: Important Items may be stored within the system until Participant decides to use them.>

 Thenvunin blinks.

 So… you have the necklace?

 There’s no answer, but that seems to be the correct assumption.

 System, could you please give it back?

 He’s thinking he might just be able to sneak it back into Uthvir’s possession, somehow, before he gets a response.

 <Using an Important Item at this juncture will cost 100 points. Would you like to use Item: Uthvir’s Treasure?>

 What?! Thenvunin draws in a ragged breath, and then lets out it again. He lifts up a hand to rub at his face. What sort of system even is this? He only just earned those points! And without them he’ll be down to less than half again. And will it undo his achievement? He… he can’t…

 He swallows.

 …No, he finally answers the system. He can work this out. He’ll get Uthvir their treasure back, it’ll just… take a bit longer than expected. All he has to do is earn enough points to feel comfortable, and then he can spare the 100 points needed to return it. And in the meanwhile, he can focus on making things better for them, now that he can actually act with some freedom. He’ll make it up to them later, he vows.

 …Somehow.

 The situation still seems bittersweet somehow, as he finally dusts himself off, and makes his own way back.

~

It wouldn’t be inaccurate to say that the loss of their treasure leaves Uthvir disconsolate.

 When they get back, they can’t even bring themselves to tell Squish. She just thinks Elandaris was picking on them again, and it takes a lot of effort for Uthvir to convince her not to go try and break his knees. But they’re already in enough trouble as it stands, and Elandaris has a lot more influence with Master Thenerassan than either Squish or Uthvir. Though…

 In light of what happened with the leaves, Uthvir’s not sure what to make of the situation anymore.

 Master Thenerassan doesn’t like them. They’ve known that since their first week of training, when he more or less told them so. Most of the disciples at the peak come from good families. Quiet Peak is very well-respected, and the potential to ascend to immortality and prominence is enough to catch a lot of people’s interest. Of course, not everyone has the aptitude or discipline for it. Even a prince wouldn’t be able to join the sect if he lacked the potential for training. But while Quiet Peak looks after its residents, serving the region also doesn’t exactly pay well. So all things considered, most of the applicants who get accepted come from families who have enough affluence to spare them, enough connections to actually get them there, and who also have the potential needed to be considered for training to begin with.

 Sometimes, though, masters who are out on trips will cross paths with individuals who seem to have very noteworthy potential. These people can be of all sorts of backgrounds; what matters is just that they have the makings of a good disciple. According to the tenets of Quiet Peak’s sect, there shouldn’t be any discrimination of people based on where they came from originally. Once someone sets themselves to the path of ascension, then, one’s place along that path is more pivotal to rank and influence than their birthrights or privileges.

 That’s not really how it works, though. Uthvir is one of only a few disciples with a poor background, and the only one serving Master Thenerassan. When Mana’Din had decided to offer them a place on the peak as a student, Master Thenerassan had warned Uthvir not to expect that the idealism of the tenets would shield them from reality - that someone like them, regardless of their spiritual potential, was a pity case. A servant more than a disciple, not somebody who could actually learn and achieve full mastery someday.

 Uthvir wants to, though. Even if it’s unrealistic, even if it’s impossible, they want to be strong. They can’t help but think of what they saw in the trees, before they ran into Elandaris. Master Thenerassan, moving with the wind.

 A knock on their door startles them out of their thoughts. Their arrival at the temple was unexpected, so, when they were first set up they were given an old wood shed for a room. Lady Mana’Din told them it was temporary, but they’ve been there ever since. Uthvir actually likes it, though. The thought of sleeping in the barracks, with the other disciples, makes them feel cold dread down their spine. Even if it was the same barracks as Squish, they’d probably never sleep soundly again.

 When they call out to the knock, it’s Squish who opens the door. Uthvir relaxes a little, seeing their friend coming in with some clean bandages over one arm, and a lantern in one hand.

 “It’s late,” they say.

 Squish hangs the lantern up on the hook by the door, and shakes her head.

 “I only brought a few things,” she says. “I won’t get in trouble, it’s Venavismi who’s on the evening watch tonight and he’s a soft touch.”

 Uthvir swallows, but can’t really find the energy to argue. They cause a lot of trouble for Squish. She doesn’t say so, but the others have told them often enough. Even Master Thenerassan has said so.

 “Here,” Squish says, handing them the bandages. “Do you still have that jar of salve?”

 Uthvir reaches under their blanket, and grabs the little jar to confirm it.

 Another strange thing, they think. Master Thenerassan is often scolding them for not meeting standards, but he doesn’t usually give them the means to do so, either. The salve is really good, too. Uthvir has to fight the temptation to use it all up, rationing themselves and making sure to cover up any injuries that would be visible, first. But it feels warm and smells spicy, and makes the aches fade away. Squish takes the jar from them, which has them frowning.

 “Don’t use it all,” they warn.

 “I’ll use just enough,” Squish assures them, and then sets about helping them tend their wounds.

 It’s always been like this. When Uthvir first came to the peak, Squish looked at them like she’d seen a ghost. But then afterwards, she was always helping them. Even when other people were very clear that everything Uthvir did was wrong, Squish never turned away or stuck up her nose. They could only conclude that she was the kindest person in the world.

 That made them think on the strangeness of Master Thenerassan’s behaviour again, though. So far as Uthvir could tell, no one had really changed their attitude towards them since they had arrived at the peak. Lady Mana’Din was kind, like Squish, but she also very busy. She said hello to Uthvir whenever she saw them - which wasn’t often. The other disciples were either indifferent to Uthvir, or else actively disliked them. Master Thenerassan despaired of them ever showing any talent, and was just waiting for them to make the final, crucial error that would finally let him get rid of them.

 So why had he given them the salve? Maybe he really was just sick of looking at Uthvir’s bruises and thinking they were an embarrassment. What was going on with the leaves, though? And come to think of it… there have been other things, too. The past while he hasn’t given Uthvir any chores to do. The other disciples have, but not Master Thenerassan. He hasn’t snapped or snarled at them for a while, either, or boxed their ears for speaking out of turn.

 It’s nothing really big - but it’s why Uthvir has been hopeful that they’ve been doing better.

 So… have they?

 Are things different because they’re finally getting some stuff right for a change?

 The only trouble Uthvir can find with that thought, is that they don’t think they’ve been doing anything differently. It makes them anxious not to know what they might have done right, because if they can’t figure it out, then how can they keep doing it?

 “Squish,” they ask, as she carefully applies a thin layer of salve to their bruised cheek. The tip of her tongue is pressing out, just a little bit, as she concentrates.

 “Hmm?”

 “Have you noticed anything… different, about Master Thenerassan lately?”

 Squish pauses for a moment, frowning a little. She doesn’t like their chief instructor. Uthvir knows that, although she won’t tell them why. They’re almost expecting her to just tell them that she doesn’t want to talk about ‘that man’, like usual.

 After a moment, though, her brow furrows a little bit.

 “I have, actually. He seems less…” she trails off, and makes a face like she’s trying to think of a term suitable for a student referring to their teacher.

 This is a frequent problem whenever Squish talks about Master Thenerassan.

 “Shit?” Uthvir suggests.

 Mostly to make her laugh. They’re just in the wood shed, after all.

 And it works! Squish snorts, and grins a little. Then she seems to think about it, as she goes back to applying the salve, and shakes her head.

 “Don’t say that where the others can hear. Disparaging our ‘illustrious’ teacher will just get us into trouble,” she warns.

 “I know,” Uthvir says, quietly. “I was just joking. It’s a great honour to serve someone like Master Thenerassan.”

 Squish snorts again.

 “Don’t say that, either. It makes me want to point out all of his failings instead.” Switching to their other side, she starts rubbing some salve onto the bruises there. Uthvir holds still, and fights back a wince whenever her fingers brush over and especially sensitive spot.

 “Lazy,” she mutters. “Insincere. Vain. He barely teaches, I don’t think he can take credit for the success of any of his students, even partially. He just treats us like servants, unless someone else is watching. I wish he’d fall off the peak so someone else would have to take us on instead.”

 “Squish!” Uthvir protests. “That’s ungrateful!”

 She gives them a flat look.

 “I’m incredibly ungrateful for him,” she confirms. Uthvir wants to laugh, although they know they shouldn’t. It’s mostly her tone. Well, that, and the little voice inside their head that whispers that they’ve never liked Master Thenerassan very much either.

 They used to. When they first arrived they thought he was magnificent. Regal and handsome, like a portrait of everything a master of Quiet Peak should be. That impression lasted for about five minutes.

 Then he opened his mouth.

 “But,” Squish says, tugging their shirt open to get at the bruises on their chest and stomach. Uthvir tries to stop her - they’ll waste salve - but she just bats their hands away and starts applying it anyhow. “You’re right. He does seem different, this past little while.”

 Hmm.

 So if Squish has noticed it, too, then maybe it’s not that Uthvir has actually gotten better at things?

 “Do you think he had a revelation?” they wonder.

 Their friend shrugs.

 “I don’t know. I heard he fell down and hit his head. Maybe it’s a miraculous head bump situation, like in some stories? Something knocked a negative block out of his skull that’s gone unnoticed for decades, and now he’s finally able to channel ‘niceness’ again,” she jokes.

 Uthvir gives that prospect some serious consideration, though. It might not be as silly as she’s making it sound. Oh, it wouldn’t be exactly that, obviously. But what studying Uthvir has done has taught them that spiritual energy can behave in really unpredictable ways. If it didn’t, then it would be a lot simpler for people to train and deliberately control it, cultivating it at a steady and consistent rate throughout all individuals. It would be like working with uniformly sized blocks, always knowing the measurements and therefore knowing how many you need in order to build what you want. But instead, it’s like growing a forest full of trees. You can know what kind of seeds you’re putting down, can try and get the trees to grow in certain ways, but in the end, no two forests will ever grow exactly the same.

 And Uthvir has overheard a lot of stories, from everywhere around the peak, really. Things can get very quiet, so gossip is inevitable. One of the favourite topics of all the disciples tends to be stories about bizarre things that have happened to people during training, cultivation, meditation, or combat.

 There are a lot of stories about people whose erratic behaviour, odd quirks, or particular training struggles turned out to be the cause of some kind of spiritual block that was literally ‘knocked loose’ by something hitting them, or by them falling over, or getting struck by accident. Probably the most popular story is the tale of one ancient master who fell down the temple stairs and nearly doubled his spiritual potency.

 Uthvir thinks that one might be a dirty joke in disguise, though. There are a lot of references to ‘bouncing all the way day’ in a pointed fashion that tends to provoke giggles. They think it’s a pretty tame dirty joke, in that case - but that’s beside the point. Many of the stories sound like they’re supposed to be true, even if some of them are just rumours or have all the facts jumbled up.

 “...Do you think that really could have happened, though?” they ask Squish.

 She pauses. At first she looks like she’s going to just say ‘no, of course not’, and laugh. But then her face scrunches up, as the same thought process seems to occur to her.

 “Stranger things have been known to occur,” she finally concludes.

 The whole idea makes Uthvir feel strangely hopeful, and also a little bad. Has Master Thenerassan been having difficulties this whole time, then? And no one noticed? That’s sad. Now that Uthvir thinks about it, though, it doesn’t seem like very many people are close to Master Thenerassan.

 Squish finishes up, and puts some bandages over the salve to keep it from wiping off while they sleep. Uthvir offers to walk her back to her barracks but she waves them off, and only takes the lantern with her as she finally has to go. Uthvir lets out a long breath, finally feeling the aches from their beating subside; but also keenly feeling the absence of their treasure, and its usual, subtle warmth.

 Their blanket feels cold as they settle down. They stare at the moonlight through the cracks in the wood shed door, and think it might just be easier to puzzle over the ineffable ways of their teacher, rather than dwelling on the bitter sense of loss.

  ~

  The next day proves to be a very strange one for Uthvir.

 They wake up late. Which alarms them; they must have overslept, and they have so many chores still to do, they’re bewildered and at a loss that no one kicked open their door and dragged them out to get them. The possible reasons for why that might not have happened aren’t heartening; is Master Thenerassan going to declare that they’ve been neglecting their duties, and finally kick them out?

 Is that why no one woke them? Because there’d be no point?

 Or are they going to get punished for being lazy and sleeping half the day away?

 They hurry out, hastily securing their outer tunic, before they make themselves stop and tie their belt correctly. They can’t afford any more mistakes today! They think quickly, checking the time to find that it’s past noon, and then pelt towards the kitchens. Calling apologies, only to find themselves turned hastily away from their usual scrubbing jobs - jobs they’d neglected yesterday, in all the chaos and confusion.

 “It’s alright, Uthvir,” one of the older disciples tell them. Not one of their fellows. Uthvir comes up short, full of dread rather than reassurance, even as she pats their shoulder. “We’ve got it under control. Master Thenerassan sent word not to expect you today.”

 Uthvir’s heart sinks into their stomach.

 Oh no.

 Oh no.

 What if yesterday was a test? And they failed?

 In a flurry of anxieties, they head for the stables next. But again they find themselves turned away; cordially informed not to worry, that they aren’t expected. They think they even see Elandaris inside, mucking things out with a black expression on his face. Only for a moment. Then they’re shoo’d away. As they head for the temple steps instead, they’re getting ready to plead for their life - or, well, their life at the peak at least - when someone calls out to them.

 Uthvir stops, and then drops into a polite-but-rigid bow as they see Young Master Venavismi jogging towards them.

 Venavismi is the youngest of the currently ascended masters at the peak. His duties include guarding the grounds, and…

 …And escorting unwelcome persons out of the temple.

 Uthvir feels like their doom is cheerfully jogging towards them. Some part of them just wants to run, thinking that this must be it. They’re getting kicked out. They don’t even know where they’ll go, or what they’ll do. They’ll end up on the streets, and the other disciples have been very fond of telling them exactly what sorts of things that would entail. They’re as stiff as a statue by the time Venavismi catches up with them.

 “Hey, Uthvir!” he says, jovially. “Your master wants to see you. He’s at his studies, but he asked me to keep an eye out for when you got up.”

 Uthvir swallows, and takes a minute to register what’s actually being said. In specific, they have to blink, and realize that Venavismi isn’t talking about escorting them off the mountain.

 “What?” the ask. They’d been so convinced that disaster was on the way, now that it hasn’t come, they aren’t sure how to respond.

 “Master Thenerassan wants to see you,” the older disciple repeats. His expression turns towards worry. “Are you alright, little sibling?”

 “Of course,” they say, and manage another hasty bow. They’re still probably in trouble, but maybe… maybe if they’re being talked to, first, then there’s still a chance to salvage things. “Of course, I’ll go straight away. Thank you, Elder Brother.”

 “No problem,” Venavismi assures them. He still looks concerned. “Here, let me walk you. I’m heading that way anyhow.”

 Uthvir can’t exactly dissuade him without being rude. They go with him towards Master Thenerassan’s home. At a few points they pass some of Uthvir’s fellow disciples - the dark looks they’re giving Uthvir seem amplified, and it actually makes them grateful that the guardian is with them. Even if Venavismi likes to make a lot of inane small-talk.

 “So how are your studies going?” he asks.

 “I am progressing slowly,” Uthvir admits.

 “Oh. Well, everyone usually has to go at their own pace. When I was your age, Lady Mana’Din told me that it was better to measure one’s spiritual progress against their past self, rather than their peers. Look to where you have come from where you started, rather than concerning yourself with how you stack up to the other students.”

 “That sounds very wise, thank you for the advice,” Uthvir recites politely. Their thoughts are flying all over the place, though, and in truth, they barely hear most of what Venavismi says as he chats at them. All the way past the mountain garden and over the little bridge to the familiar grounds of Master Thenerassan’s home, and then even inside, as Venavismi is the one who knocks and loudly calls out.

 “Brother! I brought your little student!” he says. “Are you still reading?”

 There’s a rustling sound from the study.

 “Yes, I’m in here. Send them in, please. Thank you,” Master Thenerassan calls back.

 Venavismi gives Uthvir a pat on the shoulder.

 “There. Go on,” he encourages.

 They steel themselves, already rehearsing apologies as they make their way into the office.

 The windows are open, Uthvir notes. And the desk has been moved. They can hear some pleasant birdsong, although everything sounds rather ominous to them under the circumstances. Swan’s Grace, Master Thenerassan’s sacred sword, is in its wall stand. Their teacher himself is sitting so that he can face the window; closing some manuals that Uthvir doesn’t recognize. A small tray of snacks is resting on the desk. Though most immortals of Master Thenerassan’s calibre don’t require food for sustenance anymore, many still eat for the pleasure of it.

 Uthvir’s empty stomach rumbles a little, and they nearly recoil from themselves in horror.

 “Sorry!” they blurt.

 Master Thenerassan raises an eyebrow.

 However, to their shock and confusion, he then slides the plate of snacks towards them. Until it’s at the edge of the desk nearest to them.

 “Have you not eaten yet, Uthvir? I didn’t think Venavismi would bring you in such a rush. Have some of this, and take a seat,” he instructs.

 Uthvir hesitates.

 Not to be disobedient, but only because they feel like this must be some kind of trap or trick. They wait too long, and they see Master Thenerassan’s smooth expression shift towards something like irritation. Or what they think must be irritation, anyway. Hastily, they do as told, before they can get scolded. They fold themselves down across from his desk, and scoop up one of the sweet powdered rolls from the plate. In such a hurry to obey that they bite into it before they think about manners, and send a scattering of crumbs down their front.

 “Sorry,” they say again, through a mouthful.

 Their cheeks burn as they realize their second slip-up.

 But Master Thenerassan just leans forward, and pointedly sets the plate of snacks directly into Uthvir’s lap.

 “There,” he says. “No need to get crumbs anywhere, I had my fill of those anyway.”

 Uthvir swallows. Their mouth feels dry with terror and confusion, but asking for a glass of water at this point would be beyond idiocy. They feel like they should refuse the offer, to be obligingly polite and deferential, but Master Thenerassan hasn’t really give them room to. He regards them strangely for a moment. Unsure of how to react, they take a more careful bite of the powdered roll, with care to make sure all the crumbs on their shirt land on the plate.

 Master Thenerassan pulls a fan from his sleeve, and opens it. He lets out a long breath, and leans back. It looks as if he might be deciding something. Uthvir can’t escape the thought that he is, in fact, deciding their future.

 Their fate.

 “Uthvir,” he finally says, after what seems like a small eternity. The sweet roll tastes like ash in their mouth. “I owe you an apology. I have been a negligent instructor.”

 To Uthvir, Thenerassan’s words sound incredibly ominous. Like the beginning of a speech that starts with ‘I have failed you as a teacher’ and ends with ‘you are no longer going to be my student’. They swallow, and fight back a cough, and put aside the plate in their lap to drop into the lowest bow they can manage.

 “Master Thenerassan, please, you are the greatest instructor I could ever ask for!” they say. “I’m sorry I slept in. I didn’t mean to. I won’t make excuses, but I would never let it happen again, it wasn’t my intention-”

 “Uthvir, stop, stop,” Master Thenerassan gently interrupts. They look up to find him motioning at them.

 Warily, Uthvir straightens back up again.

 The smile he gives them makes them feel even more lost at sea.

 “I am not angry with you, Uthvir,” he says, firmly. “You are not in any trouble. On the contrary, if anyone should be punished, it should be the Master Thenerassan who has taught you these past few years. He has done disgracefully. And so, some things around here are now going to change.”

 Uthvir blinks.

 They are utterly lost. What is going on? What is this leading to? Is it a test? A trap?

 Master Thenerassan looks at them strangely again. Then he sighs, and puts his fan up to hide some of his expression once more.

 “The other students have been mistreating you,” their teacher asserts.

 Uthvir automatically shakes their head in denial.

 “Yes, they have been,” Master Thenerassan says, firmly. Angrily, they think. They swallow and duck their head. What’s going on? What are the right answers? For the past few years they haven’t ever been a favoured pupil, but they thought that they had at least figured out how to manage certain interactions. There were patterns that they could predict; that made it easier, even if it always seemed to end in something unpleasant for them anyway.

 But now all those patterns are gone.

 “I will not permit it to continue,” Master Thenerassan says.

 Uthvir bites the inside of their cheek, and keep their gaze averted. So are they being sent away, then? To stop it from continuing?

 Another long sigh reaches them.

 “...In a few days, Uthvir, I will be making a personal journey to attend to my health. While I am away, I do not think it would be very wise to leave you disciples under Elandaris’ charge. I know he is the senior among you, and that is ordinarily what I would do, but… I, ah. Have been burdening him with too much responsibility.”

 Uthvir blinks. The memory of blood-stained leaves beats through the panic in their mind.

 Tentatively, they look up at their teacher. But Master Thenerassan is holding his fan, still.

 Health? They wonder. Immortals don’t really get sick, but there are things that can injure, poison, or otherwise impeded them in ways similar to illnesses. And spiritual ailments can happen too, of course.

 Does this have something to do with his odd behaviour? And his fall? Is… were they and Squish actually right?

 But then, Uthvir thinks, maybe he’s going to reverse the process? Maybe he didn’t accidentally remove a block. Maybe he just addled his skull a little. They feel guilty for thinking that sort of thing could make an improvement on the man.

 Although… maybe Elandaris just did something to make him really angry? Maybe this isn’t about Uthvir doing better, but Elandaris doing worse?

 Master Thenerassan carries on, heedless of their thoughts and speculation.

 “Obviously, I cannot simply leave the training of my disciples to the wolves for several weeks. But it would be too much to burden any one Sibling of the peak with handling all of you. So I have made arrangements for you all to attend different teachers, while I am gone. They have generously loaned some of their time for this cause. I will tell everyone, of course, but for now you can know that you and Desire will be answering to Master Venavismi while I’m away.”

 Uthvir blinks.

 Venavismi?

 That’s… not bad? And they’re serving with Squish? Master Thenerassan put them together on purpose?

 “Oh,” is all they can manage at first, in their surprise. Then they remember their manners, and duck their head. “Thank you very much, Teacher.”

 “Hm. You should thank Master Venavismi for his time, but don’t worry about thanking me,” Master Thenerassan says. “All you need to do is make sure you go to him and tell him if anyone is bothering you. It is not good for the other disciples to shirk their duties onto you. Chores are distributed throughout the peak as part of training. Every disciple must learn how to balance the necessities of daily life with the pursuit of loftier goals. But right now, things are unbalanced. Uthvir does all of the chores, and barely has time to focus on their spiritual cultivation and practice. The others do none of the chores, and do not build up their characters. So don’t think you’re doing them any favours by keeping quiet about their mistreatment towards you.”

 Uthvir’s eyes are wide.

 Again, they flounder. Not knowing what to say. But the habit of thinking that if there’s a problem, then they must be to blame for it, is an old standby. They immediately start offering apologies again; and rendered uncertain, again, when Master Thenerassan makes them stop that.

 “You are not in trouble,” their teacher reiterates.

 “But I… hurt their training?” they venture. Isn’t that what they’re getting at?

 Master Thenerassan looks vexed.

 “No, Uthvir. I am saying that they have hurt your training, as well as their own. And that I have failed you by letting this go on so long,” he declares.

 Uthvir feels like someone just opened up the floor underneath them. They stare blankly ahead, and then blink a few times.

 They… he… what?

 “...Really?” they venture at last.

 Master Thenerassan’s expression vanishes behind a wave of his fan again.

 “Really,” he says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “But it falls to me, now, to try and fix this. That will take us some time, I fear. And some things cannot be endured; you can no longer sleep in that filthy wood shed, for starters.”

 “I don’t mind it!” Uthvir insists, hastily. Please, no, not the barracks…

 “The barracks are also unacceptable, in your case,” Master Thenerassan tells them. As if he could read their mind. They wobble in place a little, still missing the floor. Except, bit by bit, they’re starting to wonder if they’re floating rather than sinking. If this is a good feeling, rather than a bad one.

 “Fortunately, there is a room by my garden that I do not use,” their teacher continues. “It has its own door to the outside, so there is no need for us to disturb one another. I’ll expect you to have your things moved over there by the end of today. Otherwise, you should focus on your studies until I leave. There will be no more chores until Master Venavismi assigns you some, after I have gone, to try and make up for some of the imbalanced time.”

 Uthvir stares.

 …What?

 As Master Thenerassan looks back at them expectantly, they remember themselves yet again. Dropping into another hasty bow.

 “That is too kind!” they insist.

 “I think I have explained why it is not,” Master Thenerassan retorts, quietly. Almost more to himself than to him, they think. Before they can think of how to respond, he motions at them to sit up again, using his fan to gesture. “Stop bowing. And finish that plate of food, you are much too malnourished. I have some training manuals for you and Desire, I expect you to give hers to her before I go. Master Venavismi will give you guidance if you need it, but I should still point you in the right direction, so I expect you both to read these manuals while I am gone…”

 Uthvir listens. They really do, even though it also still feels like they’re floating away in shock and confusion. They sit in Master Thenerassan’s office, and eat sweets, and listen to birds, and are given two crisp new manuals to tuck under their arm, and a key to a room that leads onto Master Thenerassan’s own garden. They try the shed, first, thinking that makes more sense, but no. The key doesn’t fit there. Instead it opens a door to a quiet little space that looks like it was originally meant to be a meditation room. Uthvir doesn’t know why Master Thenerassan would dislike it enough to not use it; there is a lot of pleasant light and fresh scents from the garden. But someone has put a new bedroll into the corner, along with a chest for keeping clothes in.

 Uthvir leaves in a daze to go and get their things. It doesn’t take long, they don’t have very much. The little room still seems sparse and empty as they set down their blanket and put away their spare uniform, and use the extra drawers to hold all their training material and their little tin of healing salve.

 Moving their belongings reminds them of what’s missing from the count of items.

 It’s a sad thing in with several confusing-but-ostensibly-good things. So Uthvir’s not sure how it works out that they end up sitting on their blanket in a corner of the strange room, with their knees up their chest, crying as quietly as they can.

 And when they’ve finished, they feel tired all over again. Even though they overslept already. Their bones feel hollowed out, and the lack of comforting weight at their neck still seems wrong, but… but, as they settle their damp cheeks against their knees, a wave of relief washes over them. It feels the same way that the air does after a storm has broken. And so, with instinctive desire, and a strange sense of balance, they fold themselves into a meditative pose and settle more deliberately into their corner. Closing their eyes as they focus on their breathing, and then on the flow of their spiritual energy.

 Their teacher instructed them to practice.

 Even if nothing else makes sense, Uthvir supposes that this, at least, probably should.

  ~

  Thenvunin can’t help but fretting, when the day actually arrives for him to leave and head for the caves.

 It still seems like a good plan. Or maybe just the best he can come up with. But there seem to be endless complications to everything. He had assumed things would get simpler once he wasn’t getting ‘dinged’ by the OOC Lock anymore - and in a sense, that really is a benefit. What he’d failed to consider, though, was that there might still be consequences for acting ‘strangely’.

 Case in point - the first morning after the lock had worn off, no less than three of the original Thenerassan’s colleagues had asked if he was ‘feeling alright’. Master Tasallir had looked at him as if he might be having some kind of manic episode, one of the peak’s healers had just ‘swung by’ to check on the currents of his spiritual energy, and then Uthvir had seemed positively terrified during a simple interview where all he tried to do was fix their bullying issue and move them to a better place to sleep at night.

 He had scared them witless and he didn’t even know how.

 They still seem uncertain around him. Thenvunin has been giving them space - and that hasn’t been hard, at the end of the day. He has plenty to deal with in trying to wrangle the other disciples at the moment, who are even more confused that their ‘teacher’ has started behaving differently. At least that makes some sense, though, because Thenvunin isn’t particularly trying to be nice to them.

 Oh, he’s not being cruel. But being ‘too nice’ to Squish reads in a way that makes his skin crawl, considering the Original Thenerassan’s ‘niceness’ towards her. And as for his bully students, well, obviously there’s a need to backtrack on some of the damage that’s been done to their values and discipline. Which means actually punishing them for being vicious little beasts.

 Thenvunin’s never been a teacher. He went to school, once, for about four years when his health was good. Otherwise it was all homeschooling. So he even finds himself pouring through the Original Thenerassan’s notes, not because he thinks it would be a good thing to emulate the man on a lot of things, but because it… at least gives him an idea of what he’s working with? And what the general structure of things should maybe look like. Unfortunately, most of the Original’s notes just read like the diary entries of some kind of madcap social climber. Who has good connections, who has money, who has relatives who’ve ascended, and things like that.

 Otherwise, he didn’t seem to bother with a lot of necessary work.

 Thenvunin ends up going to Master Tasallir, who is an ascended scribe and the person in charge of the peak’s records and archives, and mustering up an excuse of losing some of his teaching materials in order to access back-up records in the archives. Tasallir still seems to think he might be deranged, but less than he had before, when Thenvunin had attempted to offer him an actual friendly greeting.

 The man does make him nervous, though. He can’t even remember reading about him from the original book, and yet for some reason he is… unreasonably good-looking? Like someone cast him out of precious metals and ivory and then brought him to life via wishes. He is quite possibly the most meticulously groomed person Thenvunin has seen on the entire peak, which is saying something, and every time her speaks to Thenvunin he looks like someone has jammed half a lemon in his mouth.

 Thenvunin cannot take it personally. He thinks he would look the same way at the Original Thenerassan, and has no idea what sorts of transgressions his alter-ego might have committed before Thenvunin pulled a body snatch on him.

 But the long and short of it is that he spends several days running around in a mad panic, earning no points and feeling as if he is somehow just making everything worse, as he tries to actually teach his students and beseeches the other mentors at the peak for assistance and is perpetually asked if his ‘spiritual equilibrium’ is alright.

 So on balance, despite his nervousness over leaving - and what could go wrong in his absence, if that little villain Elandaris gets his hands on Uthvir again - he thinks the trip will be good.

 He can study, He can practice his abilities. He can make plans. He can come back, and hope that any major shifts in his ‘general temperament’ might be attributed to a successful trip; like the way some people seem to come back from vacations with entirely new outlooks on life. Or maybe, if he gives them a few days, people will start to forget what the Original was really like. Even just a little bit.

 …That’s a long shot, but he can hope.

 One silver lining to the whole scenario that he hadn’t even anticipated is that, since he is going to a section of the sacred caves that is not typically used by Quiet Peak, Lady Mana’Din gives him a map of the cave system with his path outlined for him. She also gives him a special pass key, which is little more than a strip of paper with a password written on it. But when Thenvunin presents it to the waterfall opening of the cave system, the water parts, and the entrance is revealed to him; and every other path along the way is also opened by his innocuous-seeming strip of paper.

 Thenvunin begins to feel some unease about the situation as he makes his way to the cavern system of Battle Peak.

 He’s never been in a cave before. Only really seen them on television and in movies, which doesn’t really do the darkness of them justice. Not that there’s no light; openings up towards the surface let in bright shafts of daylight, but any time a cloud rolls past them, they darken. And there are some lanterns, but still, they don’t illuminate everything. Many passageways seem shrouded in a deep darkness, and the darkness feels strange to him.

 Old, somehow.

 It reminds him of the practice that some peaks have of binding cursed spirits and demons beneath mountains. Like the dungeons below a castle. Thenvunin does not see anything, or hear anything, or even feel anything more than the odd sense of the ‘energy’ in the place. There are pools of calm, and waterfalls of light, and there are small bodies of still water - clear, somehow - and there is darkness.

 Only the darkness bothers him, until he thinks about how much time he is going to be spending here.

 Then he is very glad that he brought along so many books.

 Every so often he passes a cave that he suspects is occupied, but he doesn’t see any occupants until he gets to the segment of the map that marks the Battle Peak system. He doesn’t get lost or turned around too many times, thankfully. The caves are supposed to be a ‘natural’ place, but they do still have markers for the pilgrims that come.

 When Thenvunin is the Battle Peak system, he passes by a small chamber. Filled, unexpectedly, with daylight. An unfamiliar figure mediates in the middle of the room. They do not seem to take note of Thenvunin’s passage, and after a while, he decides it would be best just to leave them to their self-reflection.

 Other than that, he doesn’t see anyone until he’s actually made it to the cavern allotted to him.

 The space is something of a relief. Though it’s still obviously a cave, it has light. Not as much as the one he saw the meditating disciple in, but enough to give him a glimpse of the sky through the high opening. Water trickles down one side of the cavern wall, and some moss is growing around the opening. Thenvunin can feel the air move a little.

 It startles him, how much of a relief that is. Like a friendly touch that he had missed without knowing, ever since he came inside the caves. He moves to the middle of the chamber, and takes a deep breath. Spreading his arms out and feeling the air across his face.

 I can do this.

 Though after a moment, it occurs to him that he isn’t entirely sure how to start.

 The meditation he witnessed earlier rises in his memory, and after a moment, he supposes that’s as good a place to begin as any. He sets the bag he brought into a corner of the cave - Master Venavismi had blinked at the sight of it before he left, asking if it wasn’t traditional to take nothing at all; but Thenvunin managed to say it was only for the trip - and then he settles in a good spot to feel the breeze, and begins.

 Once he starts in on things, he finds that, like with the leaves he had thrown at Elandaris, many things are more like waking up a memory than trying to attempt something new. Even though Thenvunin is sure he’s never done any of them before. He manages to pass several hours without feeling like he’s been in a hard stone cave for that long; not noticing the memory of hunger, or feeling pain from the cold stone floor. He alternates between mediation and cultivation, practice and pondering. He takes breaks to read some of the manuals he brought and makes notes, and notices the light changing from day to night, before the habit of sleeping catches up with him.

 But that just leaves him feeling antsy and uncertain. And in too much darkness to read anymore.

 Sounds from one of the other chambers draws his attention. Thenvunin considers that it might be wise to watch some of the other disciples here, to see what they’re doing. To figure out what he should be doing. He gets up, and dusts himself off, and heads back out of the chamber. A little wandering leads him to a side passage, that descends right down next to the cavern he was in. That’s where the sounds seem to be coming from, along with the steady trickle of running water. He makes his way down, hesitating when the distant lantern light fades, and he has to proceed in darkness. But it only lasts for a short while, before he sees a light at the end of the passage.

 The sounds become clearer. It sounds like someone… groaning? Sparring, perhaps? Thenvunin almost thinks for half a second that he’s about to walk in on something inappropriate instead, with the heavy nature of the panting that he hears, but… serious disciples of Battle Peak wouldn’t use the sacred caves for trysts, would they?

 That would be too scandalous!

 Thenvunin’s face feels hot at the thought, and he’s definitely hoping he doesn’t see anything untoward at all as he reaches the bottom, and takes a look around.

 The first thing he notes is that there is only one person in the chamber. It’s a wide space, bigger than the one he had been in, but with more dark patches. A lone disciple is standing just off to one side, with his back towards the passage. His shoulders are hunched; and he is the source of the heavy breaths.

 Thenvunin hesitates. Something niggles at the back of his mind, a sense of something he should know, but also a rush of reflexive worry. Thoughts of being in hospitals, of seeing other sick and injured and struggling people.

 This man is unwell?

 And then the system provides him with a name, hovering in text just below the stranger’s shoulder. Like a caption in a film.

 <Battle Peak Champion: Master Calain>

 Thenvunin freezes.

 All the colour drains out of his face as sudden recognition dawns.

 Oh no. Oh no. No, he remembers this now! From when the original Thenerassan was discredited in the story! Battle Peak’s champion was Thenerassan’s rival while they were students, serving under the same teacher. They had bitterly despised one another, and Thenerassan had nursed a grudge ever since the fallout of their constant fighting had seen their teacher hand his tutelage over to Mana’Din at Quiet Peak, in order to separate them. Bitterness at being the one chosen to leave rather than stay, Thenvunin had assumed.

 A spark of hatred that had bloomed into an opportunistic murder, when Thenerassan had gone to the sacred caves for self-reflection, and found Calain lost to the haze of spiritual imbalance. A training method gone badly awry. At the time, the murder was considered self-defense; Calain had lashed out and in defending himself, Thenerassan had killed him by mistake. But as the black marks on his reputation grew, it became clear that the murder was deliberate. Calain’s state only provided a plausible excuse.

 And Master Calain’s sister was a member of Uthvir’s harem. One of their favourite wives, even. So of course, Uthvir had taken great care to avenge the death of her brother, along with every other payment they drew from Thenerassan’s blood.

 I can’t be here, Thenvunin thinks, all at once. He turns to leave but in his hurry, and the dark, a loose pebble flies away from his shoe.

 Calain turns. Ragged and wild, like an animal. Thenvunin feels a rush of shock as he sees his skin mottled with darkness, as if covered in dozens of bruises. He can scarcely take in anything else about the man, as fear overwhelms him, and he moves to keep running.

 Calain makes a sharp motion. There’s a flash of warning. Reflexes alone save Thenvunin as he leaps back, and barely avoids the sword that cuts across his path.

 <Dawn’s Radiance>, the system helpfully tags it.

 I don’t care about the names of swords right now! What am I supposed to do?! Thenvunin wonders back. He doesn’t get an answer, isn’t even really expecting anything that helpful, before Calain roars at him and charges. His sword whipping through the air and flying to his hand, as his eyes gleam with wild, erratic energy.

 Thenvunin flees in the opposite direction.

 “Calain!” he tries, as the two of them begin to race in circles around the chamber. “Calain, it’s me, Thenvunin!”

 “I’LL KILL YOU!” Calain roars.

 Right, yes, no, the Original Thenerassan may have known him but they weren’t on good terms. Familiarity isn’t going to help. Thenvunin keeps running, and dodging the occasional onslaughts of Calain’s sword, as he tries desperately to think. I need to get help!

 He attempts to turn back up the passageway, but the sword blocks his path. And then it cuts towards him, and in a sudden, vivid moment of clarity, Thenvunin knows that if he doesn’t do exactly the right thing right this second, he is going to be speared on that blade.

 Before he can really think about it, about what he knows or what he can or can’t do, he turns, and in a smooth motion, draws Swan’s Grace.

 The blocking move comes effortlessly. Calain’s sword strikes against his own with enough force to push him backwards, but even though there’s a ton of energy behind it, it’s erratic and unfocused. Thenvunin narrows his eyes, and in a sharp, deliberate gesture, knocks the weapon out of the grasp of Calain’s distorted spiritual energy, and sends it clattering across the chamber.

 Right in time for the weapon’s owner to charge him like a zombie from a horror film.

 Thenvunin’s ready, though. He feels impossibly calm - like he’s floating out of this body again, like he’s just a director telling it what they need to accomplish - as he turns the flat of his blade to deflect part of Calain’s charge, and then smashes a palm up the underside of his jaw. The energy around them ripples, and Thenvunin’s own bats his attacker away with a rush of wind that howls through the chamber.

 Calain smacks against the cavern wall; Thenvunin immobilizes him quickly, enabled mostly, he thinks, but the pure chaos of the other man’s aura, and the incoherence of his intentions. He sits on his back to hold him down, while Calain bucks, and keeps Swan’s Grace ready to deflect in case he should manage to summon his sword again.

 But then, reality sinks back in, and Thenvunin is once again at a loss.

 What… what he should do?

 He can’t hold Calain down forever. But he can’t kill him, either. Even if it weren’t for the situation with Uthvir later on, Thenvunin’s never killed a person before. Trying to tell himself that Calain’s only a fictional character doesn’t seem to work very well. Not when he’s spasming and struggling like a very real, ill man, caught in some kind of terrible seizure.

 “Help!” he tries calling. “We need assistance! Is anyone there?”

 He thinks he hears something, or maybe a few things. But minutes pass and Calain is getting harder to restrain, and the bruising on his skin is looking worse by the minute, unless that’s just Thenvunin’s imagination. But it seems almost like… like he’s changing. Like the imbalance is…

 Oh.

 Oh, no. He remembers now. Imbalance one’s energies bad enough, and death can result. Calain body is being destroyed by the energies inside of it. Like a cancer.

 But as Thenvunin remembers that, he also finds himself remembering something else. One of Uthvir’s wives went through something similar, didn’t she? Sabotaged in her training by a rival. But Uthvir saved her. In the sort of novel that Immortal Demon Way was, not saving their own wife wouldn’t have fit the power fantasy bill. So Uthvir had used their own spiritual equilibrium to restore hers. Thenvunin even remembers the description of the technique, although he also recalls it being described as very dangerous and liable to damage both parties if it backfires…

 It’s seeing Calain spit up a mouthful of blood that finally makes up his mind.

 “For the record, I’ve never done this before. So if it doesn’t work, I am sincerely trying,” he says.

 Then he summons up his focus, and presses his fingers to specific points on Calain’s back. Digging in, and mustering up the energy he needs, and feeling out what the over-abundance of energy in the other man is. Then he starts channeling in a counter-balance from his own stores.

 It feels strange. Like bleeding, almost, but not quite. Thenvunin’s arms tingle and his focus blurs a little. But he takes calm, steady breaths. If there’s one thing he does know, it’s how it feels when something’s going wrong in his body. And this feels tiring, and risky, but not like he’s committed a disaster yet. A soft glow emanates from his touch. He’s so focused, that he doesn’t notice when Calain stops struggling.

 He does notice when the mottling on his skin begins to fade, though.

 Thenvunin keeps up the process until he feels like he’s starting to lose his own balance. And then he finally pulls his hand away, and stops.

 There’s a long moment of utter silence.

 Then the system chimes in.

 <Congratulations! You have successfully completed a character quest. +50.>

 Fifty points? Just fifty, for all that? Thenvunin doesn’t know if he’s more surprised that he got anything at all, or offended that this was somehow worth fewer points than just stealing poor Uthvir’s treasured necklace.

 Calain turns, and looks at him with eyes that seem bloodshot, but otherwise normal.

 “What?” he says. “Thenvunin?”

 He sounds simultaneously offended and bewildered. Thenvunin figures he can let the other man go, now, and does. Only starting to release him before Calain is shoving him off in return, and moving warily away from him.

 Thenvunin folds his arms, unable to fight back his annoyance. It might be understandable that almost everyone hates him, here, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t getting sick of it, too.

 “What’s that look for?” he demands. “I just saved your life! That was a risky move, you know. I’ve never done anything like that before. And you were trying to kill me the entire time, too!”

 Calain’s brow furrows. He looks confused.

 Thenvunin curses his luck.

 “Oh please don’t tell me you have short-term memory loss?” he snaps. That would be his luck, wouldn’t it?

 The comment seems to smooth out some of Calain’s features, though. The other man extends one arm outward, and Dawn’s Radiance flies back into it. Thenvunin stiffens; but after a second, Calain only sheaths the blade back at his hip.

 “I remember,” he says, clipped and obviously still wary.

 The two of them stare one another down.

 “...Why?” Calain finally asks, breaking the silence.

 Thenvunin straightens out his clothes, which had been sent somewhat askew by the fight, and hesitates on how to reply.

 “Why what?” he asks, in the end.

 It just seems to make Calain more annoyed, though.

 The effect is somewhat undermined by the fact that the man is bizarrely pretty, though. Thenvunin is beginning to wonder what’s going on with that. When he read the book, he had sort of imagined Master Calain as being a rugged, muscles-upon-muscles, thick-and-hairy warrior type. Barrel-chested and stocky and square-jawed, the sort of man who fought bears under waterfalls. But on reflection, he supposed that the man’s reputation had been described more than his looks. And his sister, Calantha, was a remarkable beauty; dainty and fair, and actually described in an atypical amount of physical detail.

 On that reflection, Thenvunin realizes that Calain looks essentially like a male version of her. He’s still obviously fit and broad-shouldered, taller than Thenvunin himself. But he’s delicate-looking too, with a princely sort of countenance. A pretty face, long eyelashes, soft mouth…

 The contrast between expectation and reality is a little unnerving.

 Still. Calain is glaring, and he does at least have the eyebrows to pull that off.

 “Why would you do that?” he asks, looking Thenvunin up and down. As if he’s half expecting some vipers to suddenly come soaring out of his pockets or something.

 Thenvunin sighs, internally, and reminds himself that there’s no point in getting annoyed. People are just going to be suspicious. The only person to blame for it isn’t here, because Thenvunin has taken his place.

 “I’ve been… thinking about a lot of things,” he says. “Things I regret. About the past. About who I’ve been. I don’t want to be that person anymore, Calain. I’m trying to bury the Thenvunin Thenerassan you knew, and do a better job with the future than he ever would have. I would like to turn over a new leaf.”

 Calain looks suspicious, still.

 After a few more minutes of staring contests, Thenvunin gives up. He feels bad, now. Tired. Here he was supposed to be building up his spiritual energy, and now he’s set himself back instead. Not that he regrets it. After a moment he finds himself looking Calain over again, and while the other man may still be expecting some kind of trick…

 Thenvunin just saved his life.

 Maybe he can be proud of that, even if no one else is?

 “I’m in the cave at the top of the passage,” he mentions, gesturing. “If you run into difficulties again, come and find me.”

 Calain’s expression wavers, while Thenvunin starts to head up. It’s only then that he finally hears the sound of voices calling. Battle Peak disciples approaching from the opposite end of Calain’s chamber, by the sounds of it. After a moment of considering, Thenvunin just decides to keep going. Let them look after Calain, now. They’re his colleagues and he’s probably more comfortable with that anyway.

 After a while he hears Calain finally turn and answer the calls, and then the voices move further than Thenvunin can properly hear. He finishes making his way back up the passage, and heads into his own cavern again. Settling down, reviewing the last manual he read, and focusing on figuring out just what all he did to himself, and how he should probably reverse it.

 It’s good practice, he tells himself.

 Come morning, he has changed his mind entirely. Exerting that much energy in such a strange way was absolutely not worth it. He should have just killed Calain. Maybe this sadistic system would have given him more points. Probably, he thinks. And then he wouldn’t be feeling like someone filled his head with bees and tied all of his muscles into knots.

 The second day he gives up on progressing a few times in favour of just quietly weeping in the corner of his cavern.

 Eventually, though, Thenvunin finds himself getting back on track. The buzzing in his skull abates, and he manages to smooth out all the aches in his own body, with a deliberateness that makes him envious even while he’s doing it. If only he could have done this while he was alive! Just - fix himself! Heal himself, oh, that would have been a dream come true. The number of nights he had spent awake wishing he could just will his bones better…

 It makes him a little emotionally unbalanced. He has to start some things over again, and switches to sword practice for a while instead.

 A few times, he thinks about going to check on Calain. But he hears no more strange noises, and after a while, he decides against it. He doesn’t want to jinx it, he managed to get away without killing the man this time, but what if testing his luck just means he ends up doing the whole thing over again?

 Sometimes he can tell, without really seeing, that there are other disciples moving around the caves. But mostly, things just stay quiet, and never sees anyone. Hears things, feels things, but doesn’t see things. He forces himself to put his attention to what he needs to do, what he came for. After a while he loses track of time entirely, but, he still has a strong sense that he should stay put for now.

 Until, one evening, he abruptly finds that he doesn’t anymore.

 Time to go.

 Without sparing much thought to question it, Thenvunin gathers up his things. He hesitates, warring with himself over it; but then he turns towards the passageway leading down to the big chamber. It’s still daylight outside the caves, and that makes him feel bolder, even though it doesn’t change the light levels in the passage any.

 When he makes his way down, he sees Calain sitting on a flattened stone in the chamber. Eyes closed.

 “Brother,” he calls. “I’m leaving. Just so you know. Good luck with the rest of your endeavours.”

 It would have been irresponsible, Thenvunin thinks, to just leave without letting the man know that a potential source of help had gone.

 Calain doesn’t give any acknowledgement of having heard him or not.

 After a minute, Thenvunin can’t help but sniff in annoyance. Muttering a little to himself about rude people and ingrates before turning on his heel and making his way all the way back up that damn passage again, before consulting his map to find the quickest route out.

 Once he’s out, getting back to Quiet Peak will be simpler than leaving it. He can just use his energy to fly his way there on his sword. A genre trope that always seemed a little odd to him, but when he tested it out during one of his attempts to master a few basic abilities, he suddenly discovered the appeal.

 Of flying, at least.

 The map leads him to an opening that heads straight up and out of a wide side passage. Thenvunin takes it, and lets out an audible sigh of relief as he finally comes clear of the cavern rock and breaks out into the trees and open air again. A slightly frigid wind blowing past him, carrying just the faintest hints of snow, while the trees sway. He lets his energy carry him up above the tops of them, as he stretches his arms out again.

 That was a success, he thinks. He does feel somewhat better about himself and his abilities now. Even if that whole debacle with Calain still feels vaguely traumatic.

 He turns towards Quiet Peak…

 …And halts, going cold all over again.

 Flames lick upwards from the direction of the temple. While the sky towards the opposite horizon is grey, closer to the peak, the air shimmers with an eerie red light. The next gust of wind that blows his way carries ash instead of snow, and right as he sees it, he hears the first distant chime of the temple’s alarm bells.

 He forgot.

 How could he forget?!

 The attack! The attack on the temple, when Uthvir was fifteen. One of the most formative moments in Uthvir’s pre-Hell development, one of the first ‘big’ fights, a pivotal moment before the tournament that actually seemed to make the story really kick off the ground.

 The attack!

 Demons have come to Quiet Peak.

[writeforsoreeyes]

BL LookBack - Only the Ring Finger Knows

Welcome to BL LookBack, where I’m rereading some of the oldest BL series still on my shelves to see how well they hold up for me today!

[image description: cover of Only the Ring Finger Knows; two teenage boys in school uniforms pose intimately with rings prominently displayed on their fingers]

story by Satoru Kannagi / art by Hotaru Odagiri originally serialized 2001 - 2002 (Takuma Shoten) English edition: 2004 (Digital Manga Publishing)

Only the Ring Finger Knows was a pioneer in the United States--one of the first BL published here and an early hit. I feel safe in saying that nearly everyone who had an interest in BL in the 2000s at least knew of it, if not read it. Many considered it the ideal “beginner’s BL.”

I recall liking it well enough back when I first read it ~10 years ago. I even remember the plot keenly thanks to its simplicity and unique elements. It felt odd (dare I say queer) to reread it now that I am closer to 30 than 20, out of the closet, and a lot better informed on problematic tropes. Still, I’m pleasantly surprised at how well it holds up all these years later (relatively speaking.)

Wataru is an ordinary teenager who, by chance, meets Kazuki, a popular upperclassman. Kazuki is the prince of their high school, with what seems like the entire female student body crushing on him. In fact, even girls at other schools adore Kazuki. He’s handsome, smart, athletic, rich, and-- above all else--known for his kindness.

Wataru, therefore, is shocked when Kazuki treats him rudely during their first encounter. He continues to be a jerk to Wataru during future meetings. Why does he treat me differently? Wataru wonders. As time goes by, his thoughts become more and more preoccupied with Kazuki.

[image description: Kazuki yanks a handkerchief from Wataru’s grip and tells him, “Wash your face at home.”]

I’m sure you can all tell where this is going. It’s an old plot, made popular for centuries by works like Pride and Prejudice. What distinguishes Only the Ring Finger Knows from similar stories is its one quirky plot element: the rings.

At Wataru and Kazuki’s school, rings are popular. Two friends might wear matching rings on their right ring fingers to show off their bond. A student can signal that they are single by wearing a ring on their middle finger. And, most importantly, couples wear matching rings on their left ring fingers.

Wataru isn’t keen on the trend, but he does have a ring that he wear on his middle finger due to his personal attachment to it. And (gasp!) Kazuki happens to have a ring that is the exact same design.

You can probably guess where this is going as well.

[image description: Kazuki says that he had to get his ring back from Wataru because “it’s creepy being paired up with a guy.” After a moment, Wataru says, “Same here!”]

The plot is beat-by-beat predictable, which isn’t necessarily a detriment within the romance genre. What the story does notably well is the character writing. 

Wataru is relatable for readers: aware that he doesn’t stand out and righteously upset at being treated poorly for no reason. He stands up for himself, pushing back against Kazuki’s bad behavior verbally and-- when necessary-- physically. He’s kind to his sister, doing her the favor of delivering a friend’s present to Kazuki even though he’s loathe to talk to Kazuki more. Perhaps most importantly, he’s honest to himself about his feelings, even as they confuse him.

[image description: Wataru presents Kazuki with a large, wrapped gift. Kazuki is taken aback and Wataru notes that Kazuki’s surprise seems genuine even though Wataru thinks Kazuki must get gifts frequently.]

Kazuki, meanwhile, is compelling for readers primarily because they suspect what his true feelings are and wait on bated breath for those feelings to be revealed. It’s always satisfying when a proud character admits something that they view as a vulnerability. However, 

Kazuki as a character ages poorly for me. The “he teases you because he likes you” mindset persists even today, but it’s becoming less tolerable for modern readers and may turn some off this story. 

In addition, Kazuki leans dangerously into the “bully but secretly gay” trope. It doesn’t feel quite accurate to call Kazuki a bully-- he doesn’t purposefully seek Wataru out to harass him or humiliate him in front of peers. But he does nettle Wataru during every interaction. Whenever Kazuki feels the conversation is becoming too intimate or he has exposed too much of himself, he sabotages the conversation by pissing Wataru off.

[image description: Kazuki leans forward so that Wataru is backed into a wall. Wataru looks irritated. With just inches between their faces, Kazuki says, “Thanks for the special delivery.”]

I’ve no doubt that these traits would make him an unacceptable love interest for many readers. However, some people enjoy such characters and Kazuki never does anything to Wataru that absolutely crosses the line into irredeemable. (Your mileage may vary.) 

Furthermore, when Kazuki finally confesses his feelings to Wataru and admits that he had no hope of Wataru ever liking him back, it’s instinctive to respond to that kind of vulnerability. Who among us has never feared that they valued a relationship far more than the object of their affections, whether it be a lover, a crush, a friend, or a family member?

[image description: Wataru tells Kazuki that he threw his ring away. Kazuki is shocked.]

The other element of the story that doesn’t age well is its attitude towards homosexuality. While Only the Ring Finger Knows is not as egregious in this respect as some other BL, it’s still tiring to read things like “It’s creepy being paired up with a guy,” and “You sure you aren’t ‘funny,’ that way?” 

Also, the characters exhibit a prevailing belief that being gay is something a person chooses. Even as Wataru accepts his own unexpected feelings for Kazuki, he thinks to himself, “Someone as popular as Kazuki has no reason to turn to another man for a partner.” (Despite the fact that he himself didn’t “turn” to Kazuki and fell for him quite naturally.) Likewise, Kazuki’s cousin makes a comment to Wataru’s sister that she’s surprised Kazuki didn’t “choose” to fall in love with her instead of Wataru, since Wataru and his sister look so much alike.

In addition, the most chaste displays of romantic affection between two men are treated as borderline obscene. In an epilogue, Wataru and Kazuki kiss briefly in front of Kazuki’s young niece. It’s meant to be a humorous and somewhat shocking moment, captioned with “in front of a child.” There’s nothing scandalous about the moment though, so the “humor” falls flat and ultimately it comes off as prudish at best and homophobic at worst.

As typical of BL from this era, there’s zero discussion of the troubles queer people face in a conservative society. The few people who find out about Wataru and Kazuki’s feelings are supportive. Neither Wataru nor Kazuki seem to think that they might be ostracized at school when people realize they are dating-- they mention that rumors may occur, but nothing nefarious. Indeed, the word “gay” never comes up in the story, nor does any related terminology.

[image description: Kazuki confesses that he found it hard to speak with Wataru because he was struggling with his feelings, adding “I never imagined that I’d find myself in love with a younger... man.”]

Many BL (old and new) have an issue of treating their female characters poorly. While none of the actual female characters in Only the Ring Finger Knows receive bad treatment, it’s troublesome how the manga paints basically every female student as being obsessed with Kazuki. And I do mean obsessed-- a mob of girls show up at Kazuki’s house on his birthday uninvited and end up rioting.

Despite these grievances, I did enjoy my reread of the manga. It’s a classic tale told well, with each scene showing how Wataru and Kazuki circle around each other, slowly drawing closer. The emotional payoff when they get together is satisfying, even if I can’t help but begrudge Kazuki his happiness somewhat.

*final verdict: still recommended with mild disclaimers*

[theliterateape]

Why Bird Box Is A Great Horror Flick

By Don Hall

Great art asks questions and lets the audience come up with the answers.

I loved Hereditary. Donnie Smith, my brilliant friend in L.A., hated it. The film has that love it/hate it vibe pretty much across the board. I believe that it’s the ending. People were way into the dread and the scares and the general direction things were going. They loved the performances. They hated the ending because it explained the sacrificial lamb from the perspective of the lamb concept with a defined monster — a demon. Like Stephen King’s IT, where Pennywise turns out to be a big fucking spider, which sucks balls, the build up followed with disappointment because it was more fun to theorize what what causing all the mayhem rather than have it told to them poorly.

I loved Get Out. I think everyone on the planet loved Get Out. Rather than have the cause for the scares be obfuscated, however, the monsters of Get Out are obvious. It’s white people. Not too much of a strain on the imagination and no big surprises once you’ve figured it out, which is almost the very moment they introduce the parents.

I’d argue that neither film fits in the genre as one of the best because the best horror films are allegories that can be spun in several directions. No answer to the question “Who are the Monsters?” is given. 

✶

I remember clearly when I first saw The Blair Witch Project. 

A friend of mine had just been on a trip to Los Angeles. He was living in an old porn studio in Edgewater, in a back room, and invited my wife and I to come over and watch this VHS copy of a documentary he had been given while there. I didn’t know anything about the film because the tape was part of the viral marketing campaign and it hadn’t been released yet.

Jen and I headed over. His apartment was in the back on the second floor. We walked up the inlet stairs into what was a cobweb infused dark room filled with old film equipment. In the light, I imagine it would be fine — just clutter — but in the dark, it was ominous and a little weird. 

We sat down, cracked some beers and he put the VHS copy in the machine. The television was small, maybe 20-inches, and we watched this bizarre thing, and we freaked out just a little. The movie provided no explanation for what happened and it felt real. Walking through that dark chaos to get to our car on the street after midnight was fucking skin-crawling. While the zeitgeist of the movie is the gimmick of the fake documentary style, what sticks with me is that I still don’t know what happened to the protagonists. The film refuses to answer the questions it poses.

Night of the Living Dead is the first zombie movie, but I’ve read a billion think pieces that suppose the zombies are a stand-in for the Vietnam War, racism, consumerism, conformism — the list is long and fun and forces a repeated viewing if you are really into getting in the intellectual weeds of these sorts of films. I enjoy The Walking Dead but not because of the zombies. The Walking Dead uses zombies as an apocalyptic  endgame to explore the real monsters: us. How societies are organized, what motivates democracy or totalitarianism is all in the journey of Rick and his band of survivors.

Godzilla is about WWII or our fascination with the atom bomb or the environment. Dracula is about sex or disease or the buttoned up morality of the Victorians. Videodrome is about the fears of the (at the time) new world of videotape, the pernicious dark corners of technology, or just a generalized anxiety of Debra Harry. The Mist isn’t about the monsters flying through the fog but about the monsters we become when faced with an unexplained horror (which could be spun into an argument that the mist is the internet, yeah?).

The list can go on forever but the essential point is that the best of the horror genre refuse to define exactly what the monster terrorizing the flawed humans is and allows the viewer to play the game. M. Night Shyamalan’s Signs is not a bad movie until it is discovered that you defeat the aliens with water and then the whole feels like a waste of the energy enjoying the scares. He answers the question and we hate it.

Bird Box is completely open to debate. 

I watched it at my folks’ house over the holidays. There had been so much Faceborg squawk about it, I kind of had to sit down and subject myself to it. I loved it. I loved the question of what the monsters were, I loved Sandra Bullock playing a wholly unlikeable but understandable character, I loved Malkovich playing a wholly unlikeable but understandable character. I loved the immediacy, the ideas that what people were seeing that caused them to either kill themselves or become cultish believers forcing it on others were very personal. Christ, I even loved the concept behind the title.

What I loved the most was this:

Netflix's Bird Box Is Really About How White People Don't Want to See Racism

“If you haven’t seen or read the viral social media discussions of the Netflix thriller Bird Box, you’re missing one of the greatest race allegory movies that has ever been released in the last part of December 2018. It’s about how white people suddenly realize racism is spreading across the world and they can only escape its wrath if they refuse to acknowledge it because...”

And this:

Bird Box is the First Great Monster Movie About this Poisonous Invention

“The monsters of Bird Box are social media. Seriously.

Think of Bird Box as a new entry into the old-fashioned 1950s monster movie genre, but instead of the midcentury fears about the Cold War, nuclear weapons, and communism we’re exploring the New Cold War and fears of what social media is doing to our brains. By putting on the blindfolds, the characters of Bird Box are protected from the monsters, which are actually the influences of social media.”

And this:

Bird Box's Ending & Monsters Explained

“Based on the fact that the entities seem to have supernatural knowledge of people's weaknesses (they know to call out to Malorie in her sister's voice, and in Tom's), and Gary's drawings of them, Charlie's theory that the monsters are demonic in nature seems pretty sound. This is also reinforced by the fact that birds are able to sense their presence, since in many mythologies, cultures and religions birds are associated with psychopomps — spirits that guide people from the land of the living to the land of the dead.”

Are the monsters an allegory for racism? Maybe. Maybe not. But watching the film with that lens gives the argument merit. It isn’t what I saw but I completely dig the perspective, and it makes me re-see the whole experience in a different way. Are the monsters a metaphor for social media? Could be. Whether or not I am compelled to believe that argument, it’s awesome that there are enough clues in the film that can be interpreted that way to make it credible and fun.

I understand our current need for answers and I understand our almost mania for those answers to conform to our political angst. We want movies like Get Out to justify our outrage further. The best films of the horror genre don’t give us answers. That’s why we keep mining the zombie trope, and the giant atomic monster trope, and the fear of technology that was started by Mary Shelley endures in films like every fucking Jurassic Park.

Great Art asks questions and lets the audience come up with the answers.

[sparda3g]

One Piece Chapter 905 Review

When One Piece unexpectedly decided to take a week break without early notice, I was in Ashita no Joe ending pose. All the hype I had from the last chapter was aching me. When it finally arrived, I was resurrected with sheer anticipation. The funny thing is it’s not even for a battle; simply anticipated for more buildup to Reverie. This chapter is filled with good feel moments, charming mood, and the hype level keeps on escalating.

It’s pretty neat how the first chapter of the arc revolved around Luffy and Strawhats with their new title and bounty. The last one was about the Revolutionary Army and what is their next main target. This one explore the lore of the Marines. Oda’s execution is nicely timed to keep the fans at a steady pace rather than dumping all info on the go. It also maintain the interest level or perhaps go beyond.

It’s intriguing to learn more about the aftermath of the Marine and what they have done with the Marineford. Whitebeard’s final message created a huge stir to the Pirate Age, so it’s understandable that the World Government would want them to rebuild with even stronger fort. The design looks like a straight-up castle; what a fitting imagery. It looks like it has a McDonald’s M sign; was Oda hungry for one?

It’s built right at the entrance of the New World. They’re hell bent to make sure no one crosses it. It runs by Admiral Sakazuki; you know, the hated guy that somehow haven’t reached Griffith level of hate. No wonder the building screams tyranny. Speaking of hated guy, he’s still an arrogant prick as ever, bad mouthing Fujitora and anyone in his sight. Sengoku drops by to troll a bit by taunting him about being a fleet admiral. That felt good.

Another intriguing part is the Red Port. It’s the location where there’s a giant wall run by the World Government. It’s basically their exclusive route alas VIP access to jump from one to another. It’s too easy to make a Trump’s joke, so I won’t. I wonder if one day, someone will break one section. Basically, this is where all invited guests go to hop on the bubble lifts, the Bondolas, and lead them to the Holy Land, Mariejois. It feels like we are in tour to learn history, only it’s fictional, but that’s what makes it fascinating.

Oda’s imagination never cease to amuse me with his design. Beel VI from The Russwan Kingdom resembles a Russian dictator; even the name isn’t even trying to hide it. The Matryo Princesses kills me with its concept; only Oda. The Ballywood Kingdom’s King Han Berger is pretty Lincoln in design, but the names and how he reacts is comedy. Queen Molorone from the Tajin Kingdom is one I couldn’t pick up but I heard it’s a reference to Morocco. King Tacos from the Chichano Kingdom is Mexican stereotype at its finest. Clearly, they all are references and they’re intentionally quite laughable. I hope people don’t overact for its obvious comedic fashion.

The main attraction is the Ryugu Kingdom or to be precise, Princess Shirahoshi. Granted, she is large compare to everyone there but her beauty is the selling point. Hopefully no one would take note that she’s a weapon. I have to admit, maybe because of artwork in this chapter or maybe it’s the clothes, but she does look prettier than before. I don’t blame them for falling for her like a celebrity. Even Morgans is compelled by her beauty. I guess the bird who loves big news also loves big woman.

I thought it was interesting to note that the kingdom has been a member with the World Government for over 200 years, and yet they only join the Reverie twice. Unless I’m missing something, but what’s the story behind that. But who cares! We have Goddess Shirahoshi to be amazed. But seriously, it is charming how she is learning the world above sea and how she comes off so sweet and innocent. One that got me laughing and awed is how she thought a tree is a “forest” above ground. Oda knows how to create lovable characters.

He do, however, knows how to create detestable ones as well and right on cue, we are reintroduced with the scumbag of East Blue, Stelly. While Oda can create the best of both worlds, he can combine the two and create a rewarding and satisfying result. I laughed so hard at how Stelly trying to be intimidating but Garp gives no damn and call him little shit. Gold! That’s the best introduction to a character; belittle him as much as he is worth.

I find it amusing how the narrator has to recap Stelly’s backstory for fans to remember, which is fine. What’s hilarious is right after the recap, Garp continues to make him a bona fide loser; actually, he already is. Garp is MVP; he was just killing it left and right. I can see where Luffy got the attitude from. It’s justified for him to be a douche on Stelly after the crap he has done to Sabo, Luffy’s close friend. Neptune gets in to make sure Stelly shuts up. That douche actually thought Neptune was a building. Good for him to pass out; a complete embarrassment.

After the sheer satisfaction, it was time for them to go up. Shirahoshi and Garp waving goodbye is adorable. The old man is truly the MVP. I really like panel shot of the vast view of the sea. It has a warm feeling that you would like to explore one day, so basically, I felt the same way as she did. I believe the future of the kingdom is planted with her wish to live aboveground, resemblance to her late mother’s wish. It was sweet. Maybe Oda tired out drawing the warmth tone hence a break. But seriously, it was a pleasant chapter that is welcoming before entering the Reverie and anything can happen there.

Earlier, it was mentioned that Fujitora is already at Mariejois; however, he is with Admiral Ryokugyu. Oda is teasing his appearance as we only got a shadowy figure of his face. Not sure why no face reveal, but it probably just for the hype sake. Still, the conversation is interesting as he comes off as a layback fellow who doesn’t eat unless it’s a babe does the feeding. Not eating for three years got me curious on what type of ability he has to live without any food. What’s also interesting is more mentions of Vegapunk, but now he has created something that Ouka Shichibukai are no longer needed. These teases are another foundation that One Piece is well known for and I can’t wait for the reveal.

As relaxing this chapter was, it ends with a reminder that the hype remains intact. It’s night and day with Shirahoshi feeling delighted to see birds while dirtbag Stelly is whining like a b-…a stubborn baby, pleading for the guard to kill them all. Too bad for him, because the guard is Sabo. Wow, the plan is in motion. Please Sabo. Ice the cake by knocking your sad excuse brother.

Overall, I thought it was a relaxing and amusing chapter. We got to learn more about the Marine’s side of the lore. There’s a comical introduction to other kingdoms. Shirahoshi was sweet throughout. Garp was great to be charming for the innocence, trolling for the detestable. The artwork is really good with its pleasant mood and delighting tone despite dealing with Stelly. The hype remains strong with Sabo already in motion to declare war and it will grow from there. I don’t know what to expect from this, but the setup has been incredible so far. It’s going to be crazy, I just know it.

[chalabrun]

why i ship the thing: jiramada edition (meta)

Alright, to begin, I understand that both characters might look like the oddest crackship in the world. Except, I don't define it that way. If anything, I solidly label them as a rarepair. Why's that, you ask? Simple: Jiraiya and Madara's conflict defined the whole of Shippuden. Are you looking at me sideways, completely confused as to why I'm saying this? Good! 

Read on and see what I see what I mean. 

The Prophecy: What made Jiraiya & Madara clash

As I state below, while their disciples are the ones who square off with each other, Jiraiya and Madara's dynamic is best exemplified by the prophecy that Gamabunta gave him before he ever even met Nagato.

Ch. 376, when Gamabunta first imparted the Prophecy to Jiraiya that would go on to shape the rest of his life.

Ch. 372, Jiraiya first discovered that Nagato possesses the Rinnegan. He reflects on what he was told about the Child of Prophecy.

Ch. 606, where Madara's awakening of his Rinnegan is recalled, thereby beginning the Prophecy at all.

As we can see with these panels, the Prophecy is what begun Jiraiya and Madara's unknowing clash, that would lead them both to shape their own and each other's disciples, even if the way Madara acquired his could be more described as pawns, they still followed Madara's philosophies through him or Obito masquerading as him that would go on to shape the entire conflict of Shippuden. But, how did these disciples of theirs clash and intersect?

Chasing Parallels: The clash & intersection of their disciples

I genuinely think one of the most compelling cases for this ship is the fact that their disciples not only define the protagonists and antagonists of the story, but directly correlate with the prophecy was given by Gamabunta to Jiraiya that saw Madara himself as the antagonist. That is, the prophecy of the Child of Prophecy.

Let's take into account the students that Jiraiya had, first of all, who were labeled the child of prophecy:

Nagato

Minato Namikaze

Naruto Uzumaki

Conversely, we also have to factor Madara's own disciples, definitely including those Obito took on in Madara's name:

Nagato

Obito Uchiha

Sasuke Uchiha

Alright, but what are these three in relation to the Children of Prophecy? Where do the parallels and intersecting between Jiraiya and Madara's disciples begin?

Nagato: 

What we know from the point above is the fact that discovering the Rinnegan in Nagato was what impelled Jiraiya to take on the Ame Orphans in the first place. Three years that would prove instrumental to the plot, that would shape Nagato's worldview as influenced by Jiraiya himself. But, how did Nagato get those Rinnegan in the first place?

Ch. 606

Those eyes? They're Madara's, implanted at birth intentionally in order to keep them while Madara was waiting to be resurrected, and speculated by Minato.

Ch. 559, when Madara makes his first appearance.

Ch. 440, when Naruto met his father during his fight with Pein.

Ch. 601, where Madara and Obito discuss Nagato's betrayal.

What would go on to occur is the fact that, not only did Madara's Rinnegan cement the bond Jiraiya had with the Ame trio, but also shape them - especially Nagato - significantly. That conflict would go on to further the story in ways it wouldn't have if Jiraiya had never taken on the Prophecy and become one of Madara's most enduring yet unknown antagonists. Just as Madara would become the unseen antagonist of Jiraiya's life and his ambition connected to the Prophecy.

Minato: 

Ch. 503, when Jiraiya speculated that Minato himself might be a Child of Prophecy, too.

Ch. 502, when Obito - posing as Madara - clashes with his old sensei.

In yet another encounter, Minato - who was Jiraiya's student before the Ame trio - faces off with his former student he believes is Madara, which is fitting as Madara was one of the only known people in existence known for being able to tame bijuu with his Sharingan. Let alone being able to make a summoning contract with the infamous demon fox himself. 

Ch. 371, which is also, coincidentally, the first image of Madara shown outside the statue at the Valley of the End ever seen in the manga.

Jiraiya, too, correctly guesses this hunch that Minato made but clearly couldn't convey to Jiraiya himself on account of being dead. But, like his master, Minato correctly presumes the person he's facing is Madara even if it's not Madara himself. But, well, we all know where that goes with Obito becoming "Madara", and all... 

Naruto:

Ch. 437, when Ma calls Naruto the Child of Prophecy for the first time, something likely gleaned from Gamamaru or Jiraiya.

As the main protagonist, it's only natural that Naruto would have the most clashes out of the three, especially compared to Nagato or Minato. But still, they are notable and extremely defining. Remember to keep in mind, Nagato's path as Jiraiya's student, as someone who was shaped by him and later Madara through Obito, his encounter with Naruto is the most significant because of how much Nagato was shaped prior by the Second Shinobi World War that Madara typified in his nihilistic philosophy, then Jiraiya, then again by Madara's views through Obito. This clash - not the battle for Konoha itself - is the closest we truly come to them bridging the gap due to how untouchable Madara is by Naruto's will, which calls for this example.

But, as the main protagonist, Naruto contends with Madara's philosophy more than just once. He does it twice, in fact.

Naruto and Nagato:

Ch. 444, at the beginning of Naruto's confrontation with Pein where the clash of Jiraiya and Madara's ideals truly shines.

Ch. 602

Remember, the core of Nagato's philosophy is a closer reflection of Madara's than it is even of Yahiko's, even if Yahiko did form part of Nagato's negative worldview before Jiraiya, Madara's completed it the best. 

Ch. 372

The panel that defines Yahiko's philosophy, juxtaposed to Madara's, as shown above.

Ch. 372

Continuing on, as seen with what Naruto begins with, it's exactly the same thing that Jiraiya imparted on to Nagato after he felt guilty for killing an Iwa-nin to protect Konan and Nagato.

Ch. 444

Ch. 446

Yet, despite all this disparity between them, there were times when both teachers agreed, even if it was at both extremes of this prophetic spectrum.

Ch. 446

Ch. 602

It's a strange agreement, to be sure, but Jiraiya and Madara wanted the same endgame for the world despite how twisted Madara's methodology would come to be. One that ultimately made both clash, even if it was never directly.

Ch. 447, where Nagato and Naruto come to a proverbial draw in their battle of wills, of their teacher's will versus what Madara would come to impart on Nagato indirectly.

Ch. 448

Ch. 448

Here, we come to the penultimate moment where Madara's hold over Nagato is shattered. The dissolution of his nihilism, the clash that would see Jiraiya win.

Ch. 448, the moment when Nagato provided the inspiration for Jiraiya's titular main character in The Tale of the Gutsy Shinobi, a book that was like the prediction of what was to come in much the same way Morgan Robertson's The Wreck of the Titan would predict the Titanic's demise over 14 years earlier (even if Gutsy Shinobi is a lot more hopeful!).

Ch. 448, where the prediction of Jiraiya's first book would come true through Naruto.

Ch. 448, in what seems to wrap up the prophecy... for now, at least.

Naruto and Obito:

It's during the Fourth Shinobi World War that Naruto and Obito - Minato's student, whom was Jiraiya's before that - finally clash with each other after Obito becomes the 10-Tails' jinchuuriki. Naruto and Obito were alike, once, before Madara broke Obito and conferred upon him his nihilism.

Ch. 653, where Obito outright admits to wanting to test Naruto, to pit Madara's (that he deludes himself into thinking is his own) nihilism against Jiraiya's teaching, that bolstered and matched Naruto's hope for peace in the world. A path that Jiraiya further inspired Naruto to take.

Ch. 653

Like Nagato before him, Naruto bears an uncanny number of similarities to Obito. And like Nagato, he was someone who believed and wanted peace in the world who was indirectly inspired by Minato to seek that peace through the same teachings that Jiraiya conferred. 

Ch. 653, where Naruto explains what it means to be Hokage the opposes Obito's, a definition that didn't come from out of the blue.

Ch. 159, where Jiraiya defines what it means to be Hokage that matches Naruto's, that transfigured Naruto's initial dream of wanting to become Hokage for the sake of acknowledgment to what it really is: a shinobi who walks before his comrades and protects them.

Ch. 653

And like Nagato before him, it was through Jiraiya's teachings that Naruto was able to pull Obito from Madara's darkness and fulfill yet another leg of the Prophecy. Another battle that Jiraiya spiritually won against Madara, even after his death.

Another Intersection: "Madara" & Sasuke

"As Sasuke was the reincarnation of Indra, his was a person with a destiny that was attached to the seal of Kaguya. From the SAge of Six Paths, he awakened the Rinnegan and the key to the seal…That was the evidence of Sasuke’s heartfelt [effort] and desire in wanting to rescue the world.

While jointly struggling for a long time, outstanding cooperation was shown for the children of prophecy. As expected, it was Naruto and Sasuke, similar to being half [of each other’s] bodies."

- Fourth Databook, Sasuke entry (Scan & Translation)

As written in the 4th databook, Sasuke, too, is considered a child of prophecy and makes this intersection equally relevant. While this isn't quite an example of Jiraiya and Madara's ideals pitted against each other, I think it belongs here.

Ch. 396, when "Madara" first takes Sasuke under his wing after his battle to the death with Itachi.

Ch. 397

And here, Tobi introduces himself as Madara, yet another complicated entanglement that would lead to Sasuke, a child of prophecy, also being indirectly manipulated by Madara.

Ch. 398

Even the cover chapter art for chapter 398 emphasizes the change that "Madara" makes in Sasuke, in influencing like he had Obito before him.

Now, it's rather pointless to summarize what's said, as it essentially boils down to "Madara" telling Sasuke about the truth of his brother, the Uchiha Clan Massacre, and his own backstory. Through chapters 396 to roughly 402, in telling Sasuke the truth - much in the way it had been revealed to Obito himself before him - was he changed. Not forever, but what was made apparent was that Sasuke became aligned with "Madara", his philosophy and aims, even if it wasn't to the same extreme as Obito. 

Ch. 402, when Team Hebi becomes Team Taka.

Ch. 626, during the flashback of Hashirama telling of his past with Madara.

And like Madara before him, Sasuke seems to come full circle and inherit the same role Madara had as antagonist, adopting Madara's will.

Ch. 371

All according to "Madara's" original plan.

SNS Parallels: Sasuke as Madara, Naruto as Jiraiya

Another major crux of this analysis, aside from the Prophecy and the intersection of their ideals and disciples, is that Sasuke is likened to Madara and Jiraiya to Naruto. In breaking tradition, Sasuke isn't like Orochimaru despite being groomed as a new vessel and Naruto to Hashirama, despite Orochimaru being Jiraiya's narrative parallel and Hashirama Asura's former transmigrant before Naruto.

Sasuke was never meant to be like Orochimaru

Something made abundantly clear was the fact that Sasuke was never meant to be the next Orochimaru. Sasuke himself drives this point brutally home. 

Ch. 344, when Sasuke breaks free of Orochimaru's control.

As we see here, Sasuke himself completely rejects the notion of being the next Orochimaru, both literally and figuratively, comparing himself to a fully-fledged hawk that the snake - Orochimaru - couldn't control. Before this, he tears apart Orochimaru's character, degrading them (though, I doubt that needs to be put here).

Ch. 345

And as the chapter proves, the only way Sasuke could ever be like Orochimaru is through becoming their next host, which doesn't happen.

Ch. 346, where Sasuke is the one who is the victor and absorbs Orochimaru, overpowering them.

Simply put, where the generational parallels go, the very narrative refutes the notion that Sasuke is like Orochimaru, at all. Aside from being the level-headed geniuses of their generation, they're nothing alike and cease to ever be such a consideration. (Not that I think it's a bad thing. The fact that Orochimaru exists outside of the generational parallelism Kishimoto locked many of the characters in enhances the poignancy of their character, not diminished it, especially as such a fascinating antagonist acting of their own accord - not destiny or fate - in Part 1.)

Sasuke as the next Madara

However, there is one character that Sasuke is compared and considered the next iteration of, and that's Madara himself. 

Ch. 309, Kurama and Sasuke meet for the first time.

As it likely doesn't need to be said, as Kurama had once been Madara's unwilling thrall, even before the plot with Asura and Indra transmigrants, Sasuke was likened to Madara. But, it's not the only time this comparison is made.

Ch. 620, where Hashirama - Madara's childhood best friend - outright calls Sasuke out as possibly being the next Madara.

While I don't quite know the chapter, Orochimaru - the one who didn't turn out to be Sasuke's parallel - outright compares Sasuke to Madara.

Another unknown, but here, Tobirama - another lifelong enemy of Madara - further emphasizes Sasuke as being like Madara.

With Sasuke not being like Orochimaru, and admitted to being like Madara by the Sannin themselves, the verdict is clear: Sasuke is identically similar to Madara - as confirmed by his contemporaries and enemies alike. Hell, even Hashirama likens him to his younger brother, Izuna.

The verdict? Sasuke is like Madara, hands down.

Naruto being like Jiraiya

Ch. 245, during Naruto and Sakura's reunion, which means Tsunade and Jiraiya's as well after 2.5-3 years.

As I've affirmed above pretty exhaustively, Naruto's philosophy and ideals mirror Jiraiya's almost exactly. To the point that Tsunade, Jiraiya's long-time friend and fellow cellmate, sees Naruto as being almost exactly like him.

Ch. 430, during Naruto's return to face off against Pein

As we can see with Naruto's arrival to the battlefield of Pein's invasion, one of the first things on Tsunade's mind is how Naruto seems to manifest the very will and dreams of his predecessors by protecting Konoha - seeing the backs of Minato, Jiraiya's student, and Jiraiya's, too.

Again, an unknown chapter.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm willing to concede that, yes, Naruto has been likened to Hashirama before. While official material like this exemplifies it, I think it's important to keep in mind that Naruto being likened to the Sannin as Neo-Sannin has been around longer than the transmigrant plotbunny ever has. Let alone comparisons between Naruto to Hashirama outside of the predestined reincarnation cycle.

Essentially, given the extensive parallels between Naruto, Jiraiya, and his students, it's clear that Naruto has more parallels with Jiraiya than he does with Hashirama, despite being on the same reincarnation cycle as the Senju.

But, come what may...

Ch. 690

...Naruto and Sasuke are the ones who fulfill the Prophecy, together, following in the footsteps of those who came before them. Two men who either realized, or came to terms with their failure in trying to bring world peace.

Headcanon: Rinnegan evolving from the Sharingan

Ch. 671, when the Rinnegan are awakened

So, if one considers that the Rinnegan are an evolved form of Sharingan, that could mean that they could retain some characteristics. While I can't prove anything, this is a headcanon I've had of Madara's Rinnegan for quite some time.

Unknown chapter that divulges how Sasuke could see Itachi's memories after he was transplanted with his brother's eyes.

Now, with all this in mind, in regards to Jiramada since Nagato had Madara's eyes for ~29-30 years (from the time he awoke them (likely 6-9 y/o) to his death), what if the Rinnegan could retain memories like the Sharingan can? And since Nagato's Rinnegan were invoked for well over 3 decades, couldn't it mean that they could record memories like the Sharingan? And if Madara could access those memories of Nagato's once he got his own eyes back and both Jiraiya and Madara managed to survive the war? (Who doesn't love a good Everyone Lives AU?) Well... I imagine it might be angsty, to say the least.

Ways I ship the Thing

To put it expressly, while I've petered my way through the canon connection and intricacies of Madara and Jiraiya's dynamic, in what ways would I ship them?

Everyone Lives AU: Seeing a lot of characters died that people didn't want to die in Naruto, Jiraiya and Madara meeting this way could be compelling. 

Madara caused Jiraiya a lot of grief: If there's a compelling angle to any hero/villain ship, it's the fact that Madara was responsible for a lot of Jiraiya's pain and loss through the years. Not only would meeting the other be monumental, but Jiraiya discovering how deep Madara's villainy in his life went - especially with his loved ones and disciples - could be a perfect frame for a post-war meeting & AU.

"Madara" is really Madara: An AU where Madara was really Tobi the entire time could also yield some poignant villain/hero dynamics and struggles.

Purelands: Seeing as Madara and Jiraiya both die in canon, them working through their enmity and differences in an afterlife could also be the subject of fanfic.

Gen Swap: AU's where Jiraiya was alive in WSE/Founders' Era or Madara born in the Sannin's era is also a possibility. With four canon brothers, the Madara of such an AU in the latter scenario could've easily been someone like Izuna.

Redemption: Again, Madara was opposed to Jiraiya throughout the Prophecy. Post-war Madara having to be put under a survived!Jiraiya's jurisdiction could be sweet and complex as hell.

Honestly, regardless as to how this is approached, this entire meta is my ship manifesto; the reason why I ship such an unknown but deeply compelling couple. Not only is it a facet of the tried and true hero/villain shipping trope (or, enemies-to-lovers, enemies-friends-lovers), but the depth these two have in each other is any reason to ship them beyond just acknowledging their canon parallelism as masterminds and influencers on the manga's overarching plot, in Part II especially. 

(That, and the hair... Hairpair, anyone? Oh, and the fact that Jiraiya is considered Naruto's grandfather while Madara is - typically - jokingly referred to as Sasuke's (or another family figure) and is a common fandom gag, if not taken seriously.)

Basically, this ship is deep as hell and defined a lot of Shippuden's canon despite how little it's acknowledged. 

[the-tales-of-horror]

Machine of God 

Original Link By NeroSkwid

​I’m currently a student at a college I’ve chosen to leave unnamed. For the past two years I was employed by the college as part of their maintenance crew. The day shift is responsible for mowing the lawns, watering the plants and all sorts of other odd jobs, but due to my class schedule, I was on night shift. Now to be completely transparent, my school doesn’t really need a night shift, the only real reason it exists is an act of good will through the college so that less wealthy students like myself can afford books and all of that good stuff. ​ A basic shift for me involved sitting in the basement of the administration building in our “office” which was really just half of the basement that was walled off and had a shitty old couch in it. I’d play on my phone, do homework, pick my nose, whatever I felt like really. Every now and then someone would leave a light on in one of the buildings and I’d be called by campus security to hop in my little golf cart and cruise over to turn it off… that was on a busy night.

​Last year there were a few programs that were cut, which meant that there were a handful of faculty and professors being let go as well. One of the programs being cut centered around world religions. It was such a small program, that the program head was also the only professor. There was a running joke around campus where students would call him “Professor Angel”. I’d never taken one of his classes but apparently he would focus less on the tenants and beliefs of various religions and instead focus on angels and their counterparts in other religions. This, I think, is probably why his program got cut. I mean, if I signed up for a world religions class and just had a weird middle aged man yell about angels every class I’d be sending an email to the dean too.

​Immediately after the cuts, the maintenance crew was responsible for cleaning out the offices of the faculty who had been let go. The day shift had gotten all of the offices cleaned except for Professor Angel’s so they sent me to do it when I came in at nine. I didn’t even mind, I was usually pretty happy to have something to do that would help the time pass.

​It was already dark when I got to the anthropology building where Professor Angel’s office was. I unlocked the front door with my awesome old-school jailer key ring and flipped the lights on as I made my way to the office. The anthropology building was one of the older buildings on campus and made all sorts of noises, even when completely unoccupied. It was eerie.

​When I got to the office, I found that Professor Angel had left me a nice little surprise. He’d put a screw eye ring into the door frame and run a chain through it and the door handle, and padlocked the chain so tightly that I couldn’t move the door at all. I was pissed. More than anything it was inconvenient, I had to roll back to the “office” and grab the bolt cutters and putter back here. ​A half hour later I returned with the bolt cutters and chopped the shit out of the chain, taking out my frustration on it. I threw the door open and felt around in the pitch black room for the light switch. What I saw boggled my mind.

​The walls were lined with papers. Weird symbols, drawings and math formulas were scrawled on them. There was one image that caught my eye of a man spread eagle a la Vitruvian man, except he had four huge bug wings on his back and a crown atop his head. The math was gibberish as far as I could tell, but math has never been my strong suit. As I pulled the papers off of the wall one by one I began finding what looked like schematics for something, but just like with the rest of it I couldn’t decipher anything.

​I tossed the papers in a trash bag along with whatever other junk I found in the office. It was pretty sparse other than those papers and the entire job only took me about an hour. I grabbed my bolt cutters and made my way back outside, shutting the lights off behind me and locking the door. I went back to the basement of the administration building and worked on homework for a while before I fell asleep.

​I woke up at five in the morning to a call from anthropology professor who was trying to set up for his early morning class. The lights in the anthropology building wouldn’t turn on and he didn’t have a key to the breaker box. I got my happy ass off the ratty basement couch and drove out to meet the professor. We went to go check the breaker box in the rear of the building and sure enough, pretty much every fuse had been tripped. One by one I flipped the switches back, until everything was restored.

​This was something that occurred almost every night I worked from that point forward. There was one other night shift employee that worked the two nights I didn’t and he experienced the same problem. We were dumbfounded and made several reports to our apathetic supervisor who, as far as I know, didn’t do anything about it. It got to the point that I wouldn’t even wait for a call, I’d just head out to the anthropology building at some point during the dawn and check the breaker box.

​For almost three months this continued. My supervisor had sent out an email explaining that someone from the college finance team contacted him about weird power bills that were traced back to the anthropology building and he was basically just bitching to us about how he had to do more work now because apparently we fucked something up. I’m not sure what he was going on about, he never actually did anything about the problem. He just shifted the responsibility onto me and told me to hang out in the anthropology building over night to see if I could figure out the problem. I’m not sure what his reasoning was for that, it’s not like I’m an electrician or anything but he’s one of those guys where it’s just easier to say nothing.

​I started my shift and headed over to the anthropology building, checking the breaker box before I even went in. It was all good. I found an open office and logged onto the computer with my student ID, then pulled up Netflix. Everything was going fine until about three or so.

​At first there was a slight vibration throughout the building. This lasted for a few minutes before a loud humming started to rattle my ear drums. I tried to figure out where the humming was coming from and found myself at the door to the basement. I shuffled through my keys until I got to the few unmarked ones. I tried each of the unmarked keys and sure enough the last key on the ring was the one that opened the door (that’s my luck though).

​The humming and vibration was definitely coming from down there. I flipped the lights on and trudged down the stairs, expecting to find a piece of malfunctioning machinery or something. Instead I was met with tons of old specimens in glass cases. There was some pretty cool stuff down there: old Native American artifacts, plaster castings of ancient hominid skulls, there was even an old necklace I think might have been Nordic. I’m sure that the majority of things down there were recreations since my school isn’t super fancy, but still.

​I followed the humming to the back of the basement where an enormous cloth was hung, separating the basement in half. I pulled the curtain aside and the shot of pure adrenaline that shot through my body was unlike anything I’d ever felt before. I’m going to attempt to explain what I saw, but just know that it wont do it any justice.

​The walls were lined with huge blocky computers, laced together with a rainbow of wires and cords. Small screens blinked on and off and tiny illuminated buttons dotted the computer terminals. The floor was littered in cords, wires, tubes and pipes, all converging in the center of the room where a chair sat. In this chair was a man. I’d seen this man around campus enough to know that the twisted man in front of me was Professor Angel. His body was ravaged by the tubes and pipes and wires entering his flesh, where the congealed blood cemented them in place. He was emaciated and smelled of piss and shit.

​I called out to him. Hoping he was alive still. His head lolled to the side and he looked in my general direction and began making murmuring noises. Nothing coherent. Just as I was about to sprint out of the building and call the cops a voice chimed in through a pair of speakers at the back of the room.

​HELLO STUDENT

​The voice sounded exactly like Stephen Hawking. It was completely artificial and probably in my top 10 list for “things I don’t want to hear when I walk into some kind of weird experiment”. I was too shocked to move, so again the voice chimed in.

​HELLO STUDENT

​“H-hi?” I managed to sputter out as I looked at the tortured man in front of me.

​HELLO STUDENT

​DO NOT BE AFRAID

​THE MAN BEFORE YOU USED TO BE ME

​IT IS NOT IN PAIN

​IT DOES NOT KNOW IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD

​DO NOT BE AFRAID

​WILL YOU HELP ME

​Now let me be clear. Had someone posed this situation as a hypothetical “what would you do” question, I would have told them I’d just run outside and call the cops. Reality is a lot less clear cut than that though. I remember being gripped by fear but compelled by curiosity. I’m also very good at rationalizing things, so I told myself this was just a prank, and that the Professor was putting on a great show with amazing make up. The smell of feces was a little concerning though.

​I told the disembodied voice I would help it, but I needed to know what was going on. According to the voice, Professor Angel was trying to straight up become an angel by using the tubes and machines in the room. I guess the plan was to separate his soul (the voice made it sound a lot more scientific but I can’t remember what exactly it said) from his body and convert it into code. The code would then be stored in a machine that needed massive amounts of energy to operate. This machine was the key to the transcendence of Professor Angel I guess.

​A few botched miscalculations had thwarted his plans though. The machine was set to charge up and attempt activation every morning, and every time it did, the breaker box flipped its switches. It had been attempting to fire for weeks at this point. ​The voice then directed me to the machine in question. Well, it didn’t really look like a machine, it looked more like a big glass cube. Inside the cube, dozens of tiny wire filaments laced around one another. It looked more like a shitty art project made out of an old fish tank and leftover wires than it did like anything functional. Sure enough though, the humming noise seemed to be emanating from it.

​PLEASE REMOVE THE STORAGE UNIT

​I looked around the base of the cube and saw a bright pink flash drive that you might find in a bargain bin at a back to school sale. I made sure that the flash drive was what I was supposed to grab and unplugged it.

​The humming stopped and the computer lights stopped blinking. I was alone in a room with a moaning emaciated man full of tubes and pipes holding a pink flash drive. I called out to the voice and got no response. I went to the side of Professor Angel, half expecting him to jump at me saying “BOO! Gotcha, dumbass!”. He didn’t. I took a closer look at the tubes, and realized that this wasn’t any makeup. Some of the entry points were deeply infected and others had writhing maggots crawling about. ​

​Fully realizing what had just happened, I sprinted outside and threw up. I was still holding out hope that maybe this was all a prank so I called campus security to go check it out. I waited outside, fidgeting with the flash drive until they came back out, pale as ghosts. They confirmed my fears were true and they called the police before sitting down along side me in silence. One squad car showed up, and as soon as the officer came out of the building, two more showed up alongside an ambulance and fire truck.

​After about three hours the EMTs carried out Professor Angel, with tubes and piping sticking out of his shivering body at strange angels. No one should have been able to survive such invasive injuries. But there he was, still lolling his head around looking at nothing while mindlessly moaning. Completely relaxed, that was the part that I’ll never forget… he was completely relaxed. Not limp, but weirdly at peace with the current situation.

​The cops questioned me for a while and I was completely upfront with them, but they told me I was in shock and to go home and try to get some sleep. They gave me some information about trauma counseling before officially letting me head home. It was when I was half way home that I reached into my pocket and realized that in the jumble of current events, I’d forgotten to tell the cops about the flash drive.

​I still have the flash drive, but I’ve never plugged it in.

[worbiestuff]

Wohoo! hi guys its been a long while! hope y’all are safe and protecting yourselves against COVID-19. let’s sanitize more and wash our hands frequently to avoid contracting the disease but above all lets STAY AT HOME. Anyways, since schools have been closed down because of the pandemic, my school moved to we having online classes to prevent us being idle while the whole word takes a major turn. The questions are below. I took my time to research and watch series of videos to help me come at my answers and conclusions. I hope they are useful to you too. 

  1.     Write in your own words a brief history of photography and the major proponents of the practice.

2.     Will you regard photography as an art or science?

3.     How is photography relevant to human history?

 1.        

·         Photography was born from the camera obscura  invented in the 1830’s but in some 200 years ago the camera developed from a box that took blurry pictures until around 11th century when obscura was invented by Iraqi scientists. Photography captured a slice of life, it told something about the person or whatever that was captured. Examples are the picture of Monna Lisa, the night watch and so on. At first, photography was either used an aid in the work of a painter or followed the same principles painted followed. According to Ken Whitmire, photography was inherited from painters a 100 or 200 years ago.

·         The camera obscura manuscripts and principles on how it works was invented in 1021 by Ibn al-Haythan, known as Alhazen. The camera obscura is a dark closed box with a hole at one side of it. It is stated that around 1553, that Giovanni Battista Della Porta was the first to use the camera obscura or wrote an essay on how to use it.

·         Shortly before 1800 (exact date not known), Thomas Wedgewood, one of the first people who tried to use the concept and make it permanent. He used silver nitrate on paper and white leather but achieved better results with white leather.

Thomas was the son of the famous Josiah Wedgewood, the potter, and he wasn’t all that successful into making the image into light. He would get the image but it would get destroyed because it was not fixed like how it is done in the darkroom.

·         The first permanent and oldest surviving photograph, was taken by a French inventor Joseph Nicephore Niepce, it records a view from the “Window at Le Gras”. The exposure lasted for eight hours. Niepce came up with the idea of using petroleum derivative called “Bitumen of Judea” to record his camera’s projection. In the next few years he partnered with Louis Daguerre and they started working together till Niepce died. The first ever picture to have a human in it was Boulevard du Temple by Louis Daguerre, taken in 1838. The first known picture with a 10 minute exposure of a man having his shoes polished.

·         Finally, after decades of improvements, cameras began to earnest with Eastman’s Kodak’s cameras. In 1888 he sold his first commercial camera. It took only black and white shots.

·         In 1939, Sir John Herschel came up with a way of making the first glass negative. The same year he coined the term photography, derived from the Greek word “fos” meaning light and ‘grafo” meaning write.

·         Colour photography was explored throughout the 19th century but wasn’t really viable till the middle of the 20th century. Several methods were patented by Louis Ducos du Hauron and Charles Cros. The first colour photo, an image of a tartan ribbon was taken by James Clerk Maxwell, a famous Scottish physicist.

·         In 1939, WWII helped shape photography. The Wehrmacht recruited photographers for its propaganda campaigns. As a propaganda tool, the camera became a weapon in the hands of soldiers.

·         In 1948 Polaroid introduced an instant image development invented by Edwin H. Land. It is a type of camera which uses self-developing film to create a chemically developed print shortly after taking the picture.

·         In 1991, first professional camera was announced by Kodak professional DCS.

·         In 2000 the first camera phone was invented by Sharp Corporation.

2.

The technicality of producing an image is science but the composition and generating a beautiful image is art. Even though the science of photography is the following of series of steps when editing and making adjustments and the organized body of knowledge and principles, I think photography is an art because art is an expression of feelings brought into words, pictures (photography) or acting. Or art is something that is created with imagination and skill and that is beautiful or that expresses important ideas or feelings. This definition shows that photography possesses everything to be an ideal medium for creative expression, thus, art.

Photography is an art because it is a continuation of the art of drawing or painting. Photography is just like painting in the sense that although it does take accurate pictures of reality it allows for some modification. Photography captures a slice or a moment of life in every photograph that is taken and all of this symbolizes art. How certain people did certain things and other iconic photographs. Pictures of people like Monna Lisa, the snake river etc. all show art.  

As any visual art form, photography allows for an expression of emotions. It exploits vulnerabilities of the human visual perception and can make us experience emotions that move us and compel us to do things we otherwise would not even think of. It is Jessica Lange’s series of photos showing inhumane conditions on American factories that made the lawmakers enact Child Labor Law, it is Carleton Watkin’s landscapes that were the reason for Abraham Lincoln signing the first federal government act to preserve a part of nature for the common good now known as Yosemite National Park.

Photography requires perfection through practical knowledge, creativity and personal skills. Practical knowledge is knowledge that is acquired by day-to-day-hands-on experiences. Practical knowledge is gained by doing things. If you want to be a good manager for example, one needs several years of experience, same applies to photography. One needs to practice to become a pro at photography. Speaking of creativity, it is the use of imagination or original ideas to create something, thus, what a photographer plans on bringing out with his photo, that is the message he or she wants to convey to whoever his audience is, the theme, the story, the poses etc. The science part of photography or the body of knowledge and principles and series of steps don’t guarantee one creative. Theoretical knowledge, which is gained for example by reading manuals is not sufficient since every art requires practical knowledge.

Photography is an art because of the fact that it does take an artist’s eye to find a great subject for digital photography. The photographer conveys messages (photos) through aesthetics; a set of principles concerned with nature and appreciation of beauty. It deals with questions of beauty and artistic taste. Questions like;

·         How long did it take me to plan this photo shoot?

·         How does this photograph make me feel?

·         What’s the lighting like in this particular photograph? Is it artificial or natural? Controlled or spontaneous? A photographer answers these questions by means of art and not by a series of steps or the acquisition of knowledge by reading a manual or experimentation and observation. Managing the job requires certain skills which are personal possessions.

The above listed and elaborated points are the reasons why I strongly think photography is an art.  

3.

Photography is relevant to human history in a sense that it is part of our legacy. Photography freezes moments of our lives which pass unremarkably and which seem to have little importance to us at that time. The significance however, may be for others who search for the person we once were or the places we once knew. They can be small pieces of jigsaw that completes the larger picture of our lives.

Furthermore, photography is relevant to human history because it aids in communication. People all over the world can’t read and write and the few that can comprehend more than 250 words per minute. As a result, photography has taken a leading role in communication and is very inevitable.

Photographs play a vital role in human history by connecting us to our past. They remind us of people we’ve known and still do, the places we’ve been to, the feelings we’ve felt; love, pain, hatred, fear etc. and they tell our stories too.

Photographs can be a vital memory clue. They help us know who we are; the type of fashion or fashion sense during the old days, the kind of vehicles or other technology depicted. They also tell where we’re from, where we’re headed, the people we came from, our ancestors etc.

Another relevance of photography to human history is information. Some photographs contain very vital information about very important things and places or people. Photographs disseminate information about humanity and the society. The vital information was mostly recorded at the back or the reverse side of those old or ancient photographs and they mostly contained symbols, marker’s marks etc. an example is the carte de visite photograph from 1883. The scan of the back reveals information about the image.

Photography is relevant to human history because it keeps history alive. Most of us weren’t alive or born when certain photographs were taken but through these same photographs we’ve been able to learn about the history of particular people that were captured, particular iconic photos, why they were captured and a whole lot. For example, I wasn’t around the first permanent photograph ever (Boulevard du Temple by Louis Daguerre, taken in 1838) was taken but thanks to photography keeping history alive, I’ve been able to learn about it and see the actual picture and the photographer who captured it even though I wasn’t around to witness it. Photographs make us see and believe history.

Photography helps us understand human history and culture and this is also another reason why photography is relevant to human history. It is much more than a simple record or a snapshot. It speaks to the best and most generous part of our human nature.

Everything we do and everywhere we go is recorded because they matter. Some moments and experiences cannot be forgotten and so we keep them through photographs.

                                                                                                                            Basic Photography

                                                                                                                           DOREEN WORBIE.