#but will likely be failed ultimately because the requirements said all sources had to be peer reviewed

[low-sodium-sri-rachaa]

rant because I need to blow off steam

[patricia-taxxon]

I want to address what’s being said about me regarding my behavior as a teenager, because some of it is true. However, more of it is greatly distorted, and some of it is false. I won’t be reproducing the video that was made about me, the creator has acknowledged the misinformation present in it & has unlisted it, willingly ceding ground for me to give my own testimony. Some of it will require me to admit to things I am still ashamed of, some of it will require me to revisit a traumatic time in my life that I have mostly blocked out. The short version is that I believe I was being groomed at the same time and in the same place as many of the people who came out against me, and my ultimate goal is to find solidarity with those people and begin the healing process. 

When I was 18, and just beginning to accrue an audience, I created a discord server. For a lot of external reasons, mainly spending my entire life up until this point being shuttled around different special ed schools, this ended up being the first real social circle I ever had. It represented the first positive attention I ever received from strangers. It’s a time where I made a lot of mistakes, it’s a time where I was gravely vulnerable. In all honesty, I was too young to manage a community of any kind, I was hot off the back of being desensitized in my adolescence by unrestricted access to early 2010s internet. I knew well enough to create special NSFW rooms, and was advised later to create further division by requiring users to self-apply for a special NSFW role to access those rooms This extra layer meant that the rooms wouldn’t even show up for people who didn’t have the role, which led to some believing they didn’t exist. 

However, I did not intuitively understand the “meaning” of sexual content, I didn’t understand the baggage that came with it. I used cropped fetish porn as emotes and indiscriminately showed the source to anyone who asked, sometimes outside of the NSFW rooms, because I found niche fetishes to be amusing, and since it was “funny” and not “sexy” it didn’t have to mean anything. The worst consequence of this happened when I was first formulating the ideas for my video about youtuber Rags, and I discovered that his youtube avatar was cropped from a NSFW image he had commissioned of his feral dog fursona. I sent this image to just about anyone who seemed interested, and this included a then 13 year old. I’m going to apologize just like I did when this first came out, but I will not be pressured as I was then into assuming predatory intent in myself. I’m not making excuses when I say that I had been a legal adult for under a year and thought of it as just an interaction between two teenagers, a kind of interaction I had with many of my friends (and some adults) before I turned 18. It was a misunderstanding, *and* I hurt you, and I’m deeply deeply sorry. 

There were some moderators besides myself, two were teenagers around my age, early adopters of the server who I felt I’d become friends with. One was a woman in her late twenties, who I won’t name simply because I’m not in the business of offloading my misery onto other people, but she knows who she is. She contacted me with a shower of attention & adoration, she left positive reviews for my albums when she noticed I was upset at their critical reception, she oversaw me as I posted my nudes in that server and later on my main twitter account. She encouraged this behavior in myself and others and participated in it too.

I want to make this clear, the bulk of the allegations against me boil down to punishing me for failing to surmise I was being exploited by the first social group I ever had. I jerked off in voice chats. I remember the day I started, I was surrounded by people older than me who were encouraging me to post my first nude pic in the self-nsfw channel, and I had to get hard for them first. I then considered this normal and did it often. At one point a 15 year old entered the room while I was doing it, and I went quiet until she left. I reconvened with this 15 year old recently, and she told me she only remembers being promptly told to leave. The claim that I “regularly jerked off in voice chat with minors” as if it were an orchestrated and habitual activity is an outright falsehood.  

I remember posting my nudes on twitter in a fevered haze of dissociation and dysphoria after being goaded by other users in my discord server. I remember doing it again and again, so that it could maybe eventually feel normal. I was 18, going on 19. I had twenty to thirty thousand subscribers, I was hot off the heels of being given 150 bucks for making thirty minutes of music for a much bigger youtuber. There are others who were in that server who were similarly exploited, and I am not here to contradict those testimonies, but I was uniquely denied the ability to understand what had happened to me as grooming, because I was technically of age and I had the very beginnings of a youtube audience. However, 20k subs didn’t give me more power than someone over ten years my senior. 

I was groomed, and just as I was beginning to understand what happened to me, the shame threatening to overtake me completely, I was slapped with the supposed news that I was the sole perpetrator of the entire situation that traumatized me so, that what I thought of as my first friend group all remembered me as a loathsome creep. The apology I wrote in abject panic was dissected and used as a cudgel against me in police-interrogation fashion, so I became afraid to say anything. A year and a half later, I made a post saying that I had been “groomed by a portion of my audience” and this immediately provoked a youtube video callout. I feel as if I have been beaten into silence and complicity, unable to form thoughts of my own regarding my experience. I am terrified, right now, writing this story that I firmly believe no one on earth will buy, because I have come to routinely doubt my own testimony.

Some accusations being made of me are so foreign that I have trouble piecing together what it could be referring to. I commissioned a NSFW size difference piece from dramamine, one where my lover is 11 feet tall, and I was pre transition at the time so I wanted a flat chest to help me feel feminine in my current body. It was wrongly tagged as “cub” (furry child porn) on E621, which I vocally protested at the time. This is the only thing I could point to as evidence for the claim that I commissioned cub porn of myself. I do not know how to convey the feeling of being flooded by accusations that require me to ponder what it could even be referring to, or to see my accuser insist that she’s receiving dozens of new horrible scoops on me without being able to see exactly what it is or what happened. I’m open to apologizing personally to anyone I ended up hurting in my adolescence who reaches out to me, I was a victim of grooming let off into a public space with a few thousand followers after all, but I’m not apologizing on behalf of people who might have heard something bad about me.

I am going to restate, my accuser has *of her own volition* unlisted the offending video & understands the misinformation she spread, there is nothing to gain from seeking her out and letting her know your opinion on the situation. I waited until this agreement was reached to make any statement at all for this exact reason. 

I am staying offline for about a day after posting this, I am under a lot of pressure, I am very tired.

[rjzimmerman]

How Colorado Cowboys and Conservationists Joined Forces to Stop Drilling. (New York Times)

Excerpt from this New York Times story:

The drilling leases in a pristine corner of Colorado seemed like a done deal. But then an unlikely alliance of cowboys and environmentalists emerged. And things changed.

The members of the group — a self-described ragtag organization that included ranchers, cyclists and snowmobilers — had little in common aside from a desire to protect the expanse, almost a quarter-million acres of public land known as the Thompson Divide. But they ultimately developed a novel legal strategy that helped win a 20-year pause on new oil and gas development across the area.

That strategy could serve as a model for future conservation efforts.

“It’s an incredible story of how it all came together,” said Zane Kessler, the founding executive director of the group, the Thompson Divide Coalition.

The area, in west-central Colorado, overlaps with part of the White River National Forest, one of the most visited national forests in the United States. The Thompson Divide is also home to endangered lynxes and to one of the expansive organisms in the world: the state’s largest Aspen stand, a colony of trees connected by a lateral root system.

The Bush administration started issuing oil and gas leases in the area in the early 2000s in an effort to expand production on public lands. Roughly 80 leases were issued on the Thompson Divide, with dozens more in adjacent parcels of land.

“It happened incredibly quickly,” said Peter Hart, who led the coalition’s legal team. “And it happened at a time when it was the beginning of people developing skills and knowledge to engage in these processes and actually push back.”

Mr. Hart and his colleagues sensed broad opposition to oil and gas development in the area from a diverse range of interest groups, including farmers who wanted to protect grazing land and conservationists concerned about preserving pristine forests and alpine meadows.

With that in mind, they set out in search of a new legal approach.

The coalition gained momentum, appearing at public meetings to provide comments and even staging an impromptu tractor parade down Main Street in Carbondale. “There was lots of local opposition and fear,” Mr. Hart said. “And in that fear was an opportunity for us to unify against what everybody perceived as the greatest threat to this landscape.”

The technology that had driven the oil and gas boom, fracking, was also a source of weakness in the leases. According to Mr. Hart and his team, the administration had failed to properly analyze and account for the technology in the required environmental review process.

Legal questions about the leases led to administrative challenges, which eventually sent one leaseholder to federal court against the Bureau of Land Management.

Initially, conservationists had intended to sue the government, contending that some of the leases were invalid because of noncompliance with the National Environmental Policy Act. But the work that exposed the legal and administrative problems with the leases had effectively flipped the script: The leaseholders who had declined to sell were now eyeing the exits in light of potential legal complications and public discontent around drilling.

[neonpiegon]

Persuasive Speech: Storytelling

I want to tell you about a boy, who thought he had no purpose in life. He could not find an individual passion, nor enjoyment in any kind of activities. He thought that because he had no passion, he had no purpose in this world. That there was no need for him and no point in being alive. That boy could be you, or anyone. But that boy was me.

Many years I spent as such, until I realized there was already something that I thought was worth continuing for: stories. Good stories. Impactful narratives showing an interesting, intricate world full of compelling and developed characters. But it is not only experiencing different stories through different mediums that brought me joy… it was realizing that I could create new stories on my own.

Developing, narrating or writing your own stories is an activity, or rather, a process, I find to be very therapeutic and fun. Even telling your own personal stories and pouring your thoughts and emotions into a script is a unique experience sure to boost your artistic creativity and mental health. But, as I said, it is a process. It is that final draft your ultimate objective, that has the potential to change the world, because good stories can certainly change the world, as they have done so many times before… Lord of the Rings, Romeo and Juliet, Astroboy… The Bible… inordinate narratives have been forever able to shift history.

The world needs more stories that can generate a revolution. We’re experiencing a worldwide drought of creativity and writers, where old stories are being constantly butchered for profit and new ones are quickly forgotten in a rapid digital era because they didn’t make enough money for the higher ups. For new stories, the world also requires new storytellers that care not of failing the corporate industry that controls so much of the art; storytellers that are not afraid of experimenting with new, reckless and controversial ideas; we all need storytellers who want to change the world.

Anyone can be that kind of storyteller, and any kind of story has the potential to catalyze that transformation.

A story doesn’t have to be perfect; in fact, it won’t be, it’s not possible for it to be perfect. If you try too hard to make it perfect, then you will never make any progress with it. A story just has to be what its writer wants it to be. The first drafts are always the hardest, but there are always elements that can be salvaged and replaced in the newer writings; however, it is that first word, first sentence, first paragraph or page that really is the hardest for any writer. The beginning of writing is full of hurdles and obstacles created by yourself that can only be overcome through the act of writing itself. After that, you feel like your hands are moving on their own.

For any story, the medium and length are irrelevant. Because a good story can, and will, for sure transcend them. It depends on the quality of a writer how well can they exploit the characteristics of the medium they prefer to work on and add the details necessary for it to feel complete.

But how can someone actually make a good story? It is very subjective to try an explain such a quality, so I can only say the most important tip I can give when storytelling: “write the story you would want to read”. I can assure you, then, your feelings towards your creation will be felt by the readers.

The second most indispensable tip to writing is to actually continue to write, or narrate, or draw or however you want to share your story. “If you keep your pen in the same spot for too long, you'll just get a big, dark puddle of ink. So just move your hand, and go with the flow”. That was one of the best advice I have ever heard from one of the most unexpected sources: a free anime dating simulator with a horror twist, and it forever changed my life, after it showed me how much you can do with so little.

But then, why do so many stories and storytellers fail to bring such revolution? And I think everyone knows, in short, the answer: money. It is the desire of writing for profit, complying with deadlines, ripping off and committing plagiarism from other colossal creatives that hides the characteristics of both the story and the storyteller to be transcendent. It creates a cycle of copying what was once successful, until there are no original ideas left to be told, for the sake of a desperate creator selling the idea to desperate companies who acknowledge there is a famine of creativity and will try to bake every crumb into a loaf of bread. I know almost everyone feels tired of always seeing the same couple of movies being remade, or being given more unnecessary sequels, because I know I am. It is like being fed the same vomit, over and over again, and there needs to be someone who can break these cycles. I know everyone has their favorite food, but it feels amazing and extraordinary to taste something diverse from one’s usual kitchen.

It does not matter if a story is “too short” or “too long”, or if money goes into big film productions instead of your preferred channel, or if it's a premise everyone has seen before; what matters is how you get to handle that premise, give it your own unique touch of originality and passion, and create something that feels different, fresh, unusual. Something that gets people to say it feels new and innovative. So keep that pen moving, and sooner or later you’ll find your purpose as well, writing brilliant pieces of storytelling that could someday change the world.

[likealittleheartbeat]

I deeply appreciate how ATLA depicts all the main characters responses to trauma. Aang’s, for me, however, stands out for its rareness in media. And we are not hammered over the head with the idea that Aang (or any other characters) repeatedly act certain ways because of a single traumatic event. Sure, there are key moments in our lives when a certain event comes to the forefront, but no one experiences the world as constant flashbacks. Rather, we see only in retrospect the way our sarcastic sense of humor or our heightened friendliness were protective responses to a deep emotional injury. Being able to understand Aang’s approach to loss is essential for the show. The structure of the series is founded on his arc (despite an incredible foil provided by Zuko). Our little air nomad initially confronts the loss of his people with a full-on meltdown in the episode “The Southern Air Temple,” where Katara’s offering of familial belonging soothes him. But this kind of outburst is not Aang’s primary response (and actually the literally out-of-character apocalyptic tantrums align with Aang’s overall process of grieving). Instead of constantly brooding (hey Zuko!), Aang leans heavily toward the monk’s pacifist teachings and toward his assumed destiny “to save the world.” He becomes overtly accommodating and joyful, constantly trying to see “the good” in everything with a perfectionist’s zeal. This is not to ascribe his bubbliness only to his trauma. Rather, he comes to emphasize this part of his personality for reasons related to the negative emotions he struggles to face.  Book 1: Water

In the first season, Aang is simply rediscovering his place in the world. “Water is the element of change. The people of the water tribe are capable of adapting to many things. They have a sense of community and love that holds them together.” This is vital to Aang as he initially faces his experience. He won’t get through this if he is not prepared for his life to change. Even if he hadn’t been frozen for 100 years, his world would never be the same. This fact involves eventually finding new people that he feels safe with. After such a massive loss, he’s learning who to trust, and also often making mistakes; not only does he find Sokka and Katara (and I’d argue he’s actually slow to truly open up to them), this is the season where he helps save a fire nation citizen who betrays him to soldiers, befriends the rebel extremist Jet, and attempts to befriend an actively belligerent Zuko (his moral complexity had only JUST! been revealed to the kid!). He’s constantly offering trust to others and seeking their approval in opposition to the deep well of shame and guilt he carries as a survivor of violence. This is also the season where Aang swears off firebending after burning Katara in an overeager attempt to master the element (one will note how fire throughout the series is aligned with, above all else, assertiveness and yang). Aang is so eager to be seen as morally good to others that he refuses to risk any possible harm to them.  And asserting himself carries a danger, in one sense, that he might make a mistake and lose someone’s positive regard, and, in another sense, that he is replicating the anger and violence he’s witnessed. He has no relationship to his anger at this stage of his grief, so it comes out uncontrollably, both in firebending and the Avatar State. It’s through the patience of his new family that he can begin to feel unashamed about his past and about the ways his shame is finding (sometimes violent) expression in the present. Book 2: Earth In the second season he begins to trust himself and stand his ground. Earth, after all, is the element of substance, persistence, and endurance. The “Bitter Work” episode encapsulates how Aang must come to a more sturdy sense of his values. First, there is the transition of pedagogical style. While Katara emphasized support and kindness, Toph insists on blunt and threatening instruction, not for a lack of care towards Aang. Instead, it’s so Aang learns how to stop placing the desires of others above his own--to stop accommodating everyone else above his own needs. Toph taunts Aang by stealing one of the few keepsakes from the monastery that he holds onto. This attachment to the lost airbending culture is echoed in the larger arc with Appa. And, by the end of this episode, it is Aang’s attachment to Sokka that allows him to stand firm. This foreshadows the capital T Tragic downfall in the “Crossroads of Destiny.” Aang gives up his attachment to the other member of his new found family, Katara, despite his moral qualms. Although he has access to all the power of the Avatar state, his sacrifice is not rewarded. Season 2 illustrates Aang coming to terms with his values. He is learning about what he stands for, what holds meaning to him. Understanding himself also includes integrating his grief, and there’s a lonely and dangerous aspect to that exploration. We see Aang’s anger and hopelessness over longer stretches rather than outbursts in this season. It’s hard to watch and hard to root for him. That depressive state leads to actions that counter his previous sense of morality, as he decisively kills an animal, treats his friends unkindly, and blames others for his loss. Letting these harsher feelings emerge is an experiment, and most people discover their boundaries by crossing them. Finding ways to hold compassion for himself, even the harm he causes others, is the other side of this process. Our past and our challenging emotions are a part of us, but they are only a part. Since Aang now has a strong sense of community and is learning to be himself rather than simply seeking validation, we also see him having more healthy boundaries with new people. He’s no longer befriending villains in the second season! He’s respectful and trusting enough, but he’s not putting himself in vulnerable situations nor blindly trusting everyone. Instead, he’s more likely to listen to his friends’ opinions or think about how the monks might’ve been critical towards something (they’re complaints about Ba Sing Se, for example). By knowing what he cares for, he can know himself, the powerful, loving, grief-struck monk. And he can trust that, though he might not be everyone’s favorite person, he does not need to feel ashamed or guilty for who he is or what he’s been through. Book 3: Fire However, despite a sense of self and a sense of belonging, Aang and the group still find themselves constantly asking for permission throughout their time in Ba Sing Se. It’s in the third season, Fire, that initiative and assertiveness become the focus. And who better to provide guidance in this than the official prince of “you never think these things through,” Zuko. It’s no longer a time for avoidance or sturdy defensiveness. It is the season of action. Fire is the element of power, desire, and will, all of which require us to impact others.  We see the motif of initiative throughout the season: the rebels attempt to storm the Firelord on the Day of the Black Sun; Aang attempts to share his feelings and kiss Katara; Katara bends Hama and a couple of fire nation soldiers to her will. In each of these examples, the initiators face disgrace. Positive intent does not bring forth success, by any means, only more consequences to be dealt with. This is perhaps Aang’s biggest challenge. He is afraid that his actions will fail, or worse, they will succeed but he will be wrong in what he has chosen. The sequencing in the series, here, is important. We have already seen how Aang has worked to care for (and appreciate) the well-being of others and how he has learned to care for his own needs. With this in mind, he should be able to trust that his actions will derive from these wells of compassion. But easier said than done. Compassion can also trap him into indecision, hearkening back to his avoidant mistake in the storm, in which the whole mess began. Aang’s internal conflict, here, becomes more pronounced as the finale draws nearer. I think it’s especially significant that we witness Aang disagreeing with his mentors and friends. He must act in a way that will contradict and even threaten his sources of support if he is to trust his own desires. Even the fandom disagrees about the choice Aang makes, which further highlights the fact that making a decisive choice is contentious. There is no point in believing it will grant you love or admiration or success. For someone who began (and spent much of) the series regularly sacrificing himself just to bring others peace, Aang’s decision to prioritize his own interests despite the very explicit possibility of failure is the ultimate growth his character can have and the ultimate representation of him processing his trauma. (This arc was echoed and made even more explicit in many ways with Adora in the She-ra finale.) The last significant time Aang followed his desire, in his mind, was when he escaped the Air Temple in the storm. To want something, to trust his desire and act on it, is an act of incredible courage for him, and whether it succeeded or failed, whether anyone agrees or disagrees with it, it offered Aang a sense of peace and resolution. Now I appreciate and love Zuko’s iconic redemption arc, but Aang’s subtler arc, which subverts the “chosen one” narrative and broke ground to represent a prevalent emotional experience, stands out to me as the foundation for the show I love so much.

[aggressive-positivity-network]

Tf2 headcanons? Aw yeah! So let's say a new merc joins the team. They're a total asshole: Cocky, sarcastic, overconfident, refuse help. But both Spy and Scout see right through that, it's a defense mechanism. How do they go about making this person comfortable enough to not be an asshole?

*chanting* HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMFORT HURT COMF

Okay, jokes aside, this is one of my favorite tropes. Maybe I’m too naïve to believe that some people are just mean to be mean, or maybe it’s a sort of comfort to know that even the worst people can be understood, but either way, WOOOOOOOOO!

*****************

An Ass For An Ass

Headcanons

Scout:

To be honest, Scout’s threshold for asshole-ery is pretty high. Growing up with eight brothers will do that to you.

But when the new recruit came around, something immediately rubbed him the wrong way.

Recruit always stole his thunder with the crass jokes and over-the-top displays. Every battle turned into a competition, which messed with Scout’s system of fighting. He never had to focus much on his own team before, and now he had to worry about keeping his own reputation upheld while trying not to get stabbed, shot, or blown up.

Recruit also kept hitting on Miss Pauling - even after reminding them again and again that she was lesbian, and was not and never will be into dudes.

“Come on…you just haven’t been with a real man yet…”

“No, no, I’ve been with a lot of men. Real men. I just wasn’t into any of them. After a while, it was kind of obvious.”

But what really pissed a lot of people off was Recruit’s fighting style.

They were an absolute monster on the field - that’s why they were chosen - but every interaction was treated as some sort of survival scenario.

One would think that would be a good thing, but Recruit was ridiculous.

No matter what the situation was, he was fine, he was okay, he could take it, he could fix it.

He could be killed only inches away from a Medic because he would never yell for one. Sometimes Recruit would even show visible anger at being healed. It got to the point where Medic didn’t heal him at all, and just allowed him to die as to not waste time he could give too more grateful patients.

Missions were even worse.

He followed orders to a T, but Pauling had to beg him to leave a failed mission, or to leave without completely destroying the site.

Everyone just took it as Recruit showing off, or having something to prove as a rookie.

It was annoying, but ultimately harmless in most circumstances.

However, it all came to a head when Recruit tried disengage a sentry by himself and was severely injured.

Both Engineer and Medic, who had had to fix most of Recruit’s past and current recklessness, ripped him a new one, one chewing out after the other.

“What we’re you thinkin’, son?! One crossed wire and you woulda blown the whole base!”

“Zhe only reason you are allowed in my lab at all is because it’s in my contract. Personally, I vould have rather left nature to it…”

Since then, Recruit did exactly as he was told, and nothing else. And most of the team liked it that way.

But Scout recognized some warning signs immediately. Fatigue, near silence except for missions, self-isolation, snapping when people got too close…it all paved the way for a pretty nasty (and, for Scout, very familiar) result.

One night, Recruit was sitting on the balcony, and Scout came out with two bottles - a beer for Recruit and a root beer for himself.

(Scout can only drink on the weekends because one, unlike most, he can’t go to work hung over because his job requires a lot of movement, and two, he has no restraint and can’t stop once he starts.)

“What do you want?”

Scout shrugged. “Depends.”

“On what?!”

“What are ya willin’ to tell me?”

Recruit just looked at the beer and sneered.

“Can’t we just skip this?” Scout said. “Maybe get to the part where you tell me what kinda Sally Sob Story we’re dealin’ with here?”

Recruit looked away.

“Aw, c’mon, don’t tell me you don’t got one. ‘Cause you do. I can see it a mile away. So what happened? Pop leave? Somebody died? Lotta brothers and sisters? Ma had a few too many and smacked ya around?”

Recruit didn’t turn around, but Scout could tell he was crying. He had hit a sore spot. Hard.

“Hey, pal, listen…”

Scout trailed off, then slowly began again.

“…the only reason I know is ‘cause I’ve been through it, ‘kay? Outta everybody I knew, I only trusted me. And that was great when I did a good job, ‘cause I knew I put me there.”

Scout opened his bottle of root beer and took a long swig.

“But when I screwed somethin’ up, it’s like everybody I ever knew just let me down. The one thing I could count on was gone.”

Recruit looked at Scout with tears in his eyes.

“But ya can’t do everything by yourself,” Scout continued. “Believe me. I learned that the hard way.”

Scout laughed, but it was mostly to clear the air. He didn’t get serious very often.

Recruit hadn’t touched his beer, but was leaned over the balcony with his head in his hands.

Scout sighed and looked up at the stars.

“But here’s somethin’ that nobody told me - it gets easier, y’know that? You just gotta relax and cut yourself some slack.”

Recruit shifted uncomfortably. “But the Administrator said…”

“Yeah yeah yeah, I know what she said. Gave ya that whole speech about how bein’ part of the team means discipline and focus and whatever. It’s all bull crap. She don’t know the first thing about bein’ on the field. If she did, why’d she hire us?”

“Sh-she said my perseverance was an asset to the team.”

“Perseverance, my ass. You know what would be an asset to the team? Stayin’ alive for more than fifteen minutes!”

Recruit looked at his feet. He had blinked away his tears, but he still looked on the verge of falling apart.

Scout put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it a little.

“You’re a great fighter, Recruit. You’re one of the best…that’s why you’re here. You got nothin’ to prove to nobody. Not to me, not to the team, not to the Administrator…not even to yourself. You’ve made it, kid. You’ve made it.”

Scout slid his hand off Recruit and started to walk away.

“Hey.”

Scout turned to see Recruit in the process of opening his beer.

“Thanks.”

Scout smiled. “No problem, pal. Plenty more under Demo’s mattress.”

“No, I mean…for that. I needed that tonight.”

“Oh…yeah! Sure. Don’t worry about it.”

Scout went back inside and to his room - but not before checking the cameras on the balcony a few times. Just in case.

Over the next few months, Scout kept helping Recruit break some old bad habits.

Recruit learned to take criticism without getting angry, to leave tanked missions, and to take care of himself.

He still occasionally flirted with Miss Pauling, but it was now more of an inside joke than anything.

Recruit still isn’t perfect - he still cringes a little when he’s healed, and falls back into survival mode when times are stressful - but he is now a much happier, much healthier person.

Spy:

Spy’s asshole wasn’t a merc, per se.

They were more of an informant, usually giving out important facts about locations, missions, and a target’s history.

Sometimes they would even use the Administrator’s PA system to announce new rules and reminders.

This would be perfectly fine - after all, you get kind of tired of hearing the Administrator all the time - except for the fact that Informant was the most sarcastic, most nasally, most apathetic, most matter-of-fact person on earth.

Even outside of a work setting, which was rare because they stayed in their office most of the time, Informant would go out of their way to be as condescending as possible.

Especially to whoever they considered to be in the “less intelligent” category: Heavy, Pyro, Scout, Demo, and Soldier.

To all the “others,” he turned every briefing into a contest to see who knew more at any given time…which, of course, usually meant he won.

“Now, does anyone know where his address is? Come on, any takers? Yeah, I thought so.”

Unlike Recruit, which would only warrant a few grumbles here and there from the team, Informant was the subject of a lot of hissed complaints and terrible rants from even the calmest of members.

Informant was the only one who could get under Heavy’s skin - a personal pet peeve of his was being considered less intelligent or less of a human being because English wasn’t his first language, which Informant chose to remind him of constantly.

It began with a few simple jabs at his grammar or word structure, but once Informant figured out that Heavy wouldn’t hurt a fly outside of battle, the taunts grew more and more daring.

Heavy would usually ignore Informant, which would only exacerbate their need to be noticed. This led to some pretty nasty interactions - from spouting the statistics of Russia’s average intelligence to even saying Heavy was a disgrace to his country by being a literature major.

“How’s that Russian literature major treating you? You know - in America.”

Sniper and Medic had tried to set Informant straight, but Heavy refused to accept any help. This was something that was his to bear, and his alone. He knew that they both took their own helping of harassment.

But one day, Informant went a little to far.

He did the one thing you should never do: insult Heavy’s family.

“You mother and sisters can’t do anything more than wait for you. No wonder you’re the only source of income.”

Before he knew it, Informant was against a wall, struggling to breathe, blood running into his eyes.

Heavy walked away after the incident, and told Medic about it, but he refused to heal him. Informant had called Medic a Nazi on more than one occasion.

This, finally, is where Spy comes in.

Spy was walking by Informant’s office, when he heard a strange sound - barely suppressed hiccups and sobs.

Despite his aversion to displays of emotion, the promise of seeing one of his greatest enemies as their lowest was too amusing to resist.

He knocked lightly on the door, then slowly opened it - always the master of drama.

Informant was under their desk, bloodied and bruised, sobbing into their knees.

Spy entered noiselessly, sitting in Informant’s office chair and lighting a cigarette.

It was only when Spy made a dramatic exhale of the smoke that Informant looked up, tears streaking their face.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Spy finally spoke.

“Oh, how the mighty fall. Flown too close to the sun, have we?”

Informant couldn’t do much more than snivel and retreat farther below the desk.

“Who did it?” Spy asked. “I want to give them my regards…and maybe a bottle of wine.”

“H-Heavy…”

“Oh? Well, if anyone can bring him to blows, it’s you.”

Spy put his feet on the desk and continued to blow smoke out of his nose, thinking.

“It’s strange,” he said. “Most offices have at least a few pictures of family. A trip to the beach, perhaps the zoo…?”

He took a quick glance around.

“No children. No army mates. No graduation photos or a large catch at a local lake. The only personal item you have is this…”

Spy picked up a Rubik’s Cube. The plastic still around it crinkled.

“Unused.”

Informant looked at the floor.

“I like to keep my personal and professional life separate.”

Spy pursed his lips and squinted.

“How noble of you. But I don’t think that’s the case. You know what I think, Informant?”

Spy took his feet of the desk and bent down, looking Informant in the eyes.

“I don’t think you have a life.”

Informant’s eyes went wide for a moment, then his face immediately crumpled. Bullseye.

Spy smirked and got up from the chair, starting to leave.

Informant’s sniffling turned into sobbing, and before Spy could put his hand on the doorknob, muffled wailing filled the office.

Spy closed his eyes and clenched his teeth. He was trying not to remember something. But the imagery was too strong.

He remembered hiding under a table, like Informant was. People screaming and cursing at each other in French. His knees all scarred and his nose runny from a cold that should have resolved weeks ago. Waltz music coming from next door, trying to drown out the fighting. Glass breaking. Biting his knuckles so he wouldn’t whimper or cry.

Spy’s hand closed into fist. He took a deep breath, and turned to face Informant again.

“But to be fair…”

He walked towards the desk, putting his hand in his suit pocket. He got on his knees and pulled out a pink handkerchief.

“…I don’t have one either.”

He offered the handkerchief to Informant, who put it to his face, still staring at Spy through red eyes.

The pair were silent for a moment, with Spy putting out his cigarette and lighting a new one while Informant cleaned themselves up.

“But the difference between you and I,” Spy said, his voice wavering a bit, “is that I am a Spy. If my information got into the wrong hands, it could be the end of me and my team.”

He tapped his cigarette on a nearby trash can, letting the ashes fall into it.

“But what are you hiding from?”

Informant took a shaky inhale, the handkerchief still covering his nose and mouth.

“W-what?”

“Why do you feel the need to be, as Scout puts it, a tier five jerkazoid?”

Informant sniffled. “I…I didn’t think I took it that far.”

“Took what that far?”

“I just…snrk…I thought that’s what I had to do to get them to take me seriously.”

Informant laughed, but their heart wasn’t in it.

“I’m five foot four with red hair and freckles. I look more like someone’s Andy doll than a contract killer. I thought maybe if I knew everything…I’d be worth it.”

They shrugged.

“At best, they’d be impressed. At worst, they would never get close enough to me to know the truth: the only reason why I’m here is because I can rattle off a few names and that I had good grades in school because I had nothing better to do.”

Spy’s chest ached. He didn’t know why, but it was a strange feeling to him.

“Mon ami…”

He cleared his throat.

“If half of the team is any indication, you don’t need to be Nikola Tesla to be hired. Hell, the fact you can read is an anomaly in itself. But there is something you must understand…”

Spy cleared his throat again. His voice had gotten quite unstable all of a sudden.

“Intelligence is measured in different ways. Scout could never read even the simplest of children’s books, but his physical intelligence - reflexes, spatial awareness, aim - is phenomenal. Medic would have to put my spine back together if I even attempted to do what he does on the field.”

Informant snickered at the joke, or perhaps the image it conjured.

“And me,” Spy continued. “I can speak almost any language, adjust to any social setting, charm anyone, fool anyone…kill anyone. Just like you, I can remember, and I use the information I absorb mostly to show how superior I am to all my lowly colleagues.”

Spy furrowed his brow and looked away.

“But I know less about myself than even my enemies. I have hidden it so deep within my mind that I can hardly remember…or perhaps would rather not remember…who I was before this mask of mine.”

Informant hesitated. “I…I’m sorry, Spy.”

Spy sneered and puffed a few smoke rings.

“I don’t want your sympathy. I want you to have some self-respect - and respect for my teammates. Because next time you are beaten within an inch of your life, you might catch me in a less generous mood.”

With that, Spy got up, reached into his suit pocket and presented a small MediKit, which he tossed to Informant.

“I’d suggest freshening up before going to any more briefings.”

Informant nodded, and set to work healing himself.

Spy started to leave, then stuck his head back in.

“And hang a few posters, would you? Your office looks like a prison cell.”

Finally, the Frenchman took his leave, adjusting his suit and nodding solemnly to the team members he happened to pass - or scowling at them, depending.

He glanced over the security feed, and once he was satisfied, made his way to his smoking room.

Spy closed the heavy oak door, poured himself a small glass of scotch, and sat down in his chair next to the fireplace.

He put a magazine on his knee and began to flip through the pages, but his gaze soon started to wander.

He closed the magazine, tossed it into the fire, leaned into his hand, and wept.

…So what became of Informant?

Well, after a reluctant heal from Medic and a few well-deserved apologies, Informant began to try and break the cycle of self-sabotage.

The process took a lot longer than Recruit’s did - especially since Informant’s transgressions were a lot more egregious - but, little by little, they began to heal.

A lot of the time, the other mercs would have to tell them to tone it down a bit, or to cut him off completely if necessary.

Informant still almost has a panic attack if he doesn’t have the right papers, and his office is still pretty bare, but he took Spy’s advice - a few AC/DC posters hang on the leftmost wall.

As for Spy, well…he needs to have a talk with Medic.

******************

I am so sorry…this is all so messy and weird. One is so much longer than the other, and I’m not even sure half the dialogue sounds right.

The two headcanons were just typed out at different times, the first where I had less motivation and the second when I had more motivation. This wasn’t on purpose, it just happened.

I hope you still like it, though!

[demonslayedher]

Love Breathing Not Fully Bloomed: A Kanroji Mitsuri Meta

Some thoughts that have been brewing since we got a deeper look at the birth of the Breath of Love in the Rengoku Gaiden, boiling down to that Mitsuri had not yet reached her full potential.

SPOILERS AHEAD~!

While we don't have any reliable timeline for this series, we know that Mitsuri has been practicing swordsmanship for only about two years, likely less. The "two years ago" stated in her flashback to her failed engagement was back when she was 17, so let's be generous and say that was 2.5 years ago. But, we must also keep in mind that she's been a Pillar for at least several months by the time Swordsmith Village arc takes place. The Pillar meeting Tanjiro met her at was possibly her first of the twice-a-year meetings, but I wouldn't put it anywhere beyond her second. After the failed marriage discussion she would have spent some unknown period of time dying her hair and starving herself, before deciding to join the Demon Slayers. She accomplished her Flame Breathing training under Rengoku in six months, roughly half the time most Breath users train under their cultivators. Tokito is noted for becoming a Pillar in two months after taking up the sword, but Mitsuri probably stumbled her way into Pillarhood within months of passing the Final Selection; making the Kamaboko squad's quick ascension up the ranks look like nothing as she blows away the usual five years it takes someone to become a Pillar (or if they are especially skilled, more like two years, as stated by Gotouge in Taisho Secrets). While the way of swordsmanship and battle became Mitsuri’s everyday way of life, thereby leading to huge improvements, that's a really short time to develop actual battlefield experience. Among the Pillars, she is the least seasoned or naturally inclined for battle, it really is by accident of her bizarre strength that she’s gotten so far. That's hardly surprising, given her background and motives. For context, her interests are very domestic what with all the pet-keeping (four cats, a rabbit, and a whole hive of bees, by my count) and sweets and recipes, and her stated hometown would have been in the heart of developing city culture, with shopping and restaurants and movie theaters. There would have been no exposure to swords and the culture that goes with them, making her justifiably embarrassed of how monstrously her strength makes her stick out. Her inability to fit into a normal family life makes her feel worthless, even if she does have a base of love and support. (*Put a pin in these things, I'll be drawing a comparison to another character later.*) However it was that she was introduced to the Corp, it must have taken a huge leap of hope and/or desperation to leave the otherwise comfortable lifestyle for a life of battle. While Rengoku's home is not terribly far from hers, it still would have been a total break from the life she knew before, so she must had been betting everything on both her ultimate wishes; living in accordance with who she is, and finding a husband. Let's refer to these respectively as Wish A and Wish B. Note that "becoming a strong swordsman" and "elimating demons" are not among these goals; they are merely means to her goals. Now if we try to to follow her path as a swordsman chronologically, six months since taking up the sword under Rengoku, she's passed the Final Selection. On a mission with Rengoku, who now treats her as a peer, she's nonetheless filled with shame that she hasn't really picked up much skill and just waves her sword around with brute strength. 

I love this bit of characterization because that is so, so easy a trap to fall into with martial arts. Even if you understand things in theory and do your best on proper form when taking things slowly, all of that very easily goes out the window when you're using them in the heat of the moment. The less experience you have, the far more likely one is to do this. Falling back on just throwing a punch as hard as you can instead of throwing a good punch makes Mitsuri so, so, so relatable. She is a normal girl with abnormal strength, not a battle genius. Like us normal people, and even like Tanjiro, she can only improve her battle sense with experience. This puts her in a very different situation than the other Pillars, who she meets either when they are very experienced, or when they are outright geniuses. This gives her a different sense of shame, which we'll come back to. While feeling ashamed that she can't live up to Rengoku's teaching, her fighting suffers with this lack of self-confidence (which, again, makes her very relatable because this is applicable to just about all of us normal people), and she only realizes the Breath technique when applying it through her own unique emotion-driven fighting style. While she goes on to name this Breath after Wish B (given that this is a romantic version of "Love"), it's powered more by a philanthropic love, realized only when she is protecting other people. This becomes a newly discovered third wish, as well as a source of confidence.

In the side story novels, Mitsuri later on suffers another blow to her confidence which compromises her fighting and makes her fall back into wanting to hide herself, for she is ashamed of how her motives compare to Shinobu's. Besides Shinobu's encouragement and giving Mitsuri a venue in which to openly express her love and appreciation for other people, another child whom Mitsuri has rescued looks up to her and says a few things to restore her confidence. Getting that feedback and being able to express herself openly (Wish A) is the cycle that powers Mitsuri's confidence and keeps her ultimate weakness, shame, at bay. This, combined with words of encouragement from Ubuyashiki and Rengoku, is what really empowers her to embrace her unusual constitution and develop the Breath of Love. While it's said that this is an offshoot of the Flame Breathing she's formally trained in, it's more of a stretch than the relationship between something like Snake Breathing stemming from Water Breathing, and more like she's hit at the basis of Breathing itself to create a technique suited to her, like Inosuke did with his entirely self-taught Beast Breathing. (*Put a pin in this self-created Breath style thing, we're going to come back to this too.*) So, Mitsuri went on to become the Love Pillar. With the rate at which Pillars cycle in and out (based on how many the Upper Moons claim to have killed), I have to wonder how fast the Lower Moons getting cycled in and out too.  Even though these are her peers and we never see any other Pillars looking down on her, she sees herself in a lower position than the rest of them. Case in point, one thing I love that the anime did is that when Tokito chips the rock at Tanjiro and tells him off, Mitsuri is silently fangirling, and then when Tokito orders the Kakushi to draw back/leave, Mitsuri silently and automatically obeys and shrinks back. That wasn’t directed at you, silly!

Though her Breath requires confidence, she still has a ways to go. When we see her again later, she's in a position of being a protector to everyone around her; the swordsmiths and her juniors, and she's treated with the awe and respect and acceptance of a Pillar; in this kind of setting she is fully in accord with Wish A (reinforced by her less formal third wish) and, thanks to Shinobu's encouragement, not ashamed of Wish B, thereby eliminating a big part of her shame-based weakness. She's added all this power and just as importantly, experience to her preexisting raw strength and flexibility.

The experience is key here; she's gained a lot of battle sense since her first mission. She's not as taken off guard by demon abilities, and with her risen confidence, she's also gained more flexible thinking and can make quick adjustments in battle as needed. 

Not entirely, though. At her core, she still relies on that brute strength.

Ultimately, though toward the end she thinks she might be overpowered after all, it's that boost of confidence and cycle of philanthropic love from her juniors and desire to protect them than she recovers and makes use of her mark. (I'm glad no one's told her that this means she's doomed to a short marriage, should she ever even get one.)

Following this historic feat; acting in a way that is natural to her and to her Breath to unlock a mark she didn't even know existed, she still feels a little shamed among the other Pillars for being so shamefully inarticulate about battle technique; despite this being what she's dedicated her life to. Again, it was never her natural desire to be a fighter, so it’s unsurprising that this part doesn’t come as naturally to her as it does to all those geniuses in the room.

Moving on to the battle with Nakime, this is mostly played for laughs because Mitsuri's lack of battle sense compared to other characters is put on full display. She's emotional from the get-go and easily overwhelmed and this affects her concentration drastically, leading to stupid mistakes and ultimately having to fall back on her brute strength to break through pieces of the fortress instead of survive and fight through observation. Getting called out on this is meant to help her, and she absolutely does her best to summon back her battle sense, but it's all downhill for Mitsuri and her Love Breathing technique from here.

As the battle with Muzan starts, that third wish is thrown back in her face as so many of her juniors die protecting her. Since he's powered by philanthropic love and confidence, she cannot recover any battle sense, and quickly falters so much that she must be removed from the battle rather than weigh everyone down. The difference between her and the other Pillars here is stark; her inexperience and lack of natural fighting inclination is, again, painfully obvious and relatable to a lot of readers. She has natural strength, but not natural talent. When she does return to battle, she only has that core strength to rely on again--no room for peace of mind, only brute emotional strength resulting in a panel that made me throw my fist in the air and cheer out loud because damn, that is hardcore, girl.

But, in the end, Mitsuri succumbs to her injuries, and only right before death does she get closer to Wish B. Even with Iguro's promise, it's too late.

This is super frustrating for a number of reasons, but if we're focused solely on the actualization of Love Breathing, it's because Iguro could have said something much, much, much sooner if he wasn't so ashamed of his own blood tainting her in this lifetime (not that she would have cared). Words from other people have such a huge influence on Mitsuri that if she had actualized Wish B, for which her Breath is named, she could have made humongous gains in confidence before being romantically loved, and having someone to openly shower in love. Imagine what she could have unlocked, if that shame she still carried for being too monstrous to be married could have been eliminated. But that's not all. What if the timeline had been different? What if she had not two, but five years’ experience? Or even more than that? What if, for a long duration of her experience as a swordsman, she was also experiencing a happy marriage? I invite you to consider the implications of a Mrs. Iguro Mitsuri who has the comfort and confidence of being herself with a husband, in addition to being in a leadership role in the Corp? A Mrs. Iguro who, with a little honesty from her husband who feels bothered that she’s embarrassed, stands up to Maeda-san and says that as a married woman she needs a more modest uniform?* A Mrs. Iguro who gained a level-headed battle sense that can only be refined through experience, not based in brute strength alone? She'd be such a happy badass. *(Not looking for a modern-era Western culture based debate on this; this is defined based on Mitsuri's desire for a proper Taisho Era marriage.) Now, remember those pins I put in place? Consider someone else who realized a natural Breath technique all on their own, who attained a mark without any intention to, who felt like a monster due to super human abilities that made them shamefully unable to fit into the ideal family life, despite only wanting a peaceful, happy wedded life? Someone who valued bonds with other people, a kind person who lived to protect others? Now, I'm not saying that Love Breathing is as powerful as the Breath of the Sun, or that Mitsuri is as innately powerful as Yoriichi (their natural skills were of different types entirely). But, as all Breath techniques stem from the same natural Sun Breathing source, Love Breathing might have found its way back a little closer to that source, in some way or another. Which is all to say, never look down on Love Breathing or on Mitsuri just because she didn't play as big of a role as the others in the final showdown. After all, that Breath was not yet all it could have been, and as a swordsman, she was not yet in full bloom.

[ariainstars]

The Mandalorian: Is He “Better Vader”?

This may sound funny, but please hear me out for a moment. 

The further I watch Star Wars’ new live-action tv show, the more I get the impression is that Mando is meant to be a positive version of Darth Vader (the “dark father”). 

Father figures usually don’t have a thankful role in this galaxy - either they are absent like Anakin’s, terrifying like Luke’s, or well-meaning but failing in their primary duty of keeping their child safe, like Ben’s. 

Not a few fans, though a little mockingly, like to call Kylo Ren “better Anakin” since his conflict is more fleshed out and the whole figure inspires more sympathy. My theory: is Mando meant to be “better Vader”? 

It was repeatedly and amply shown that the cause for the never-ending conflicts in the galaxy lie for a large part on the side of the Jedi, whose stuck-up attitude ultimately failed. Their order prohibited personal attachments, and even the wisest among them were not affectionate. This was what drove the all-powerful but passionate Anakin, who desperately wanted to have someone he could love and protect, to his ruin: the moment he finally became a father he also became a ruthless monster. Mando is introduced as a merciless bounty hunter, but as he opens up to the child, he becomes kinder and begins to find friends. He grows even more valiant, but also learns how to be gentle and caring. 

Since the Jedi are almost all extinct, but Force-sensitive children still are born throughout the galaxy, we are left with the question of what is to become of them. Some were brought to Luke’s new temple later, but we can assume that not all were identified. 

Mando’s little protegee is staying and making life experiences with a guy who doesn’t know anything about the Jedi and has no clue of the source of the child’s mysterious powers, but instinctively does the right things: he keeps him safe, instructs him, scolds him when necessary, and offers him friendship and companionship. (The Mandalorian who adopted him probably was a good father figure, too.) The child never sees his “father’s” face, but nevertheless he trusts him explicitly. Mando is the living proof that coolness and fighting qualities are not opposed to being gentle and caring.

Ben Solo’s tragic fate was the result of failed fatherhood: Luke did not know how to be a father because he had no children of his own and had had no role model, while Han did not trust his capacity to protect his son from his own powers.

The Parallels

Both Vader and Mando are soldiers. Though not Force-sensitive, Mando is extremely strong and well-versed in martial arts; he never shows his face; he wears an armor completed by a black cape which does not seem to have much practical use. He usually speaks only in short, clipped sentences and has a wry, sarcastic kind of humor. 

Vader was a follower of the Emperor, factually a slave who had no choice but to obey his master, and wherever he went he wreaked terror. Mando does take jobs from the bounty hunter’s guild, but essentially, he is a free man and often offers his services negotiating on his own terms. Noticeably, he fights against raiders and mercenaries or remnants of the Empire, peace following in his wake.

When he first reaches out for the baby, it looks like the opposite to another famous scene in the saga: here we have the adoptive but good father, while the other was the biological but cruel father.  Luke did not take his father’s hand, while the baby instinctively reached out to the man who had protected him.

Note also the scenic reversal: one figure is standing on the right side, hand with upturned fingers reaching out into a void, the scene is bathed in cold light. The other figure is standing on the left, hand reaching down, illuminated by warm light. 

When we do see his face once, Mando is lying down and helpless like Vader; he is not disfigured though and despite being injured, he is not dying. Shortly after this he finally accepts his task as the child’s father figure, while Vader died a few minutes after his unmasking and could not fulfil his fatherly task any more. Also, in both cases we learned the person’s real name not long before the mask went off: Anakin Skywalker respectively Din Djarin.

Given the saga’s love for cyclical narrative, this would make a lot of sense. Star Wars is telling us once more how important a protective and kind father is for a child, both as a role model and an attachment figure. We do not know yet how baby Yoda will turn out; but it would have made little sense for the storytellers to think up such a figure in the first place if they didn’t want him to go another (possibly better) way than his more famous predecessor. 

Is the galaxy at last healing after the terrible conflicts caused by both Jedi and Sith, and will the good fathers be responsible for a better future, maybe even for the long-awaited Balance in the Force? I hope so.

May the Force be with the Clan of Two. 😉

(On a side note: Vader / Anakin was in his mid-forties when he died. Din Djarin is about the same age.)

After the closure of Season 2, I would like to add a few details that also set Din Djarin apart from Anakin.

 Attachment vs. Affection

Anakin’s greatest weakness was his anxiety to lose the ones he loved. In the end, he sacrificed all of his ideals for the purpose of saving his pregnant wife. Luke also loved his friends and wanted to save them, but in that fateful moment before Palpatine, he realized that he would have had to give up his integrity for the purpose, and that was when he decided to throw away his weapon.

Din suffers deeply when he has to give up “his” child to a literal stranger for an indefinite time. However, he knows that it must be done because he does not have the knowledge to train him. Grogu also, reluctantly, lets go when he sees that his “father” is doing the same. This goes to show, again, that he is much stronger than Anakin.

 Following Rules vs Following One’s Heart

Like Anakin / Vader, Din takes his helmet off the moment he has to say goodbye to his child. The famous sentence “Just once, let me look on you with my own eyes” comes to mind. Vader was a Sith Lord and Anakin had been a Jedi. Both adhered strictly to their code: Anakin was a faithful Jedi until he became a Sith and Vader obeyed to the rules of the Sith until for a brief moment he acted like a Jedi again (and, also, like a father, which was a first). Mando unmasks not only before Grogu but also

-     Luke, who is a total stranger -     Moff Gideon, an enemy -     Bo-Katan, a possible potential enemy since she pursues the Dark Saber -     Fennec, an ally but not a friend -     Cara, a friend who never saw his face.

That he is willing for all of them to witness the moment he lifts his incognito shows that Mando is finally listening only to his heart. The Way of the Mandalore, which was his guideline for his entire adolescence and adult life (i.e. thirty years or more), has become less significant to him than the bond he has with Grogu.

Anakin’s tragedy was that he could not follow his heart but that some rules defined by an outside source always were in control. He wanted to be a husband and father and loyal friend, a mechanic and a pilot, not a Jedi or a Sith.

Ben Solo’s tragedy was the same; though not born a slave, he also had no choice about what to do with himself and his life. It was either being a Jedi or a Sith. But we know that he wanted to be a son and a lover, and a pilot.

The same fate occurred to Luke, many years later: the kind-hearted, affectionate young man from Tatooine, who so easily befriended everyone and always was compassionate and helpful became aloof and detached on being a Jedi, because he thought that was what this task required. But in the end, it was exactly what made him not understand and even fear his nephew, with disastrous results.

Din Djarin chose the way of the heart, he is no longer adhering to “the Way”: he said himself that now he can’t put his helmet back on. (Alternatively, he could put it on again, but that would mean defying the Way otherwise.) Grogu has witnessed that a man can very well choose family over a code that was taught to him, even if he adhered to it all of his life. Luke is the one who carries him away, but Grogu looks over his shoulder to his “father”. Luke may become his teacher, but Grogu’s role model, his hero, will always be Din; as it was for Ben with his father Han.

 Hints at the Future

Anakin died twice: once on Mustafar, where he also lost his blue light sabre, and on the second Death Star, where he had lost the red one. Din Djarin, at the end of this part of this journey, receives a sabre, although he never wanted it.

With the Dark Saber, a new fate is awaiting Mando. Is his destiny that of being the warrior-king, protective and honorable, that ought to have been Anakin’s place? Maybe. As they say, the best leaders are the reluctant ones. 😊

[journalxxx]

By Hook or by Crook (1)

"Is it possible to become a hero like you even without using any quirks?" Toshinori thought that it was a strange question. Strangely worded, and with too obvious an answer to be worth asking. Still, he stopped. The memory of a similarly naive middle-schooler from way too long ago made him pause. He shouldn't have paused. Another impossibly shrill scream erupted from the boy when Toshinori tried to reassure him of his identity, and turned up with a mouthful of blood instead. What a charming day this was proving to be. Almost an entire night spent awake due to his old wound deciding to make a fuss and disregard any sort of painkillers he threw at it, a frustrating morning followed by an equally frustrating afternoon he had struggled to navigate through with the alertness of a drunken sloth, which had caused him to get lost in the sewers while chasing a dangerous criminal, as well as fail to notice a whole human being sticking to his leg as he took off at the speed of several hundreds kilometres per hour, and now this.

Toshinori took a proper gander at the brand new crack in his privacy. He was a freckled, scrawny thing, with unruly green hair and enough jitters to be picked up by the nearest seismographs, probably.

"How... How? Is it- are you- are..." The boy stuttered, pale and physically shivering from the shock. "Is... was that your quirk? A transformation quirk?" He brought a hand to his mouth, subconsciously mimicking Toshinori as he wiped the blood from his lips. "That hurts you when you use it?" "...Something of the sort." It was an explanation as good as any. They stared at each other for a few moments, before the kid dropped his gaze and started muttering to himself. Toshinori could barely make out the words, but it seemed to be something about internet forums and theories about All Might's quirk. Toshinori sighed and sat down on the concrete, leaning his back against the railing to catch some much needed breath. There was no point in running off now, was there? He supposed the most sensible thing to do at this point was to have a little chat with the boy, if only to ascertain whether he was capable or willing to keep such a momentous secret. He waited for the boy to finish his quiet soliloquy... for two or three minutes, during which the onslaught of words didn't show any sign of dwindling. He politely cleared his throat, and the young man's attention was immediately back on him. "What's your name, boy?" "Uh... Izuku. Izuku Midoriya." "Midoriya." Toshinori acknowledged with a nod. "And you're quirkless, I take it." "Oh... Uh... Uhm..." Midoriya snappily clasped his hands behind his back and his eyes darted around as if caught stealing jam. It was an understandable reaction, if a tad overblown, Toshinori thought. Quirklessness was rare these days, and never something one could be proud of. His own powerlessness had frustrated him in his youth, and it positively tore at him in the present, now that his physical condition rendered him functionally quirkless for more than twenty hours a day. "Regarding your first question..." Toshinori paused, running a hand through his hair tiredly. Was there any way of putting this kindly? "Surely you realize the huge dangers and requirements that come with a hero's profession. Pros risk their lives every day, and in order to even make a livelihood out of it, they need to achieve a certain amount of success and visibility. Frankly, I'd advise anyone with a less than exceptional quirk, either in terms of combat ability or versatility, to think very carefully about undertaking this career path. To think of someone without a quirk attempting it..." Midoriya's head dropped again. "I... I see... But what if...?" The boy bit his lip and trailed off with a conflicted look. He shook his head, apparently reaching some private conclusion, and continued. "It's just... I've always admired you so much! Saving people with a fearless smile is just about the most inspiring and incredible thing one can do! If only everyone followed your example-" "I should hope they wouldn't have to!" Toshinori interjected decisively. "You know, the world I dream of is one where only few of the very strongest have to bear the hero's burden, so that all the more people can be free to enjoy their lives without fear or extreme sacrifices. We aren't there yet, not by a long shot, but..." He allowed himself a little smile. "I'm sure happy to know I'm inspiring courageous and driven citizens such as yourself." Midoriya's face immediately acquired a marked tomato hue. A small barrage of stuttered thanks followed. Toshinori raised a hand to stop him. "Look, kid. Your heart is in the right place and there's nothing worthier in life than pursuing your dreams, but... I cannot in good conscience encourage you to follow a path that would ultimately destroy you. You have no hope of becoming a hero - no hope to survive as a hero without a quirk, and a damn good one at that. As you can see..." Toshinori gestured towards himself, unable to keep his smile from turning sour. "Not even I can be a hero like me without using my quirk." Midoriya took it better than Toshinori was expecting, all things considered. Those anxious eyes roved around his gaunt form for a few moments, sympathetic and a tad disturbed. But the boy's features soon composed themselves into a look of calm thoughtfulness. "I understand." He nodded, straightening up his back, only to curl slightly upon himself all over when doubt reared its head again. "I guess... I'll just have to find a different solution..." "Indeed. If helping people is your goal, there are plenty of professions that regularly achieve that. Healthcare professionals, lawyers, policemen, firefighters, social workers-" "I know, I know..." Midoriya's expression became distant. No doubt it wasn't the first time he received such a speech. Children these days received their first career advice as early as primary school, during the mandatory quirk counselling sessions, to help them better understand how their abilities could be nurtured and directed into constructive endeavors for the benefit of the whole community. Now that Toshinori thought of it... did quirkless children like Midoriya even receive any such counselling? The program didn't exist when Toshinori himself was a kid, so he realized he didn't quite know. A lack of career counselling would explain the boy's irrealistic hopes. "If you are dead set on working in the heroics field, there are options there as well." Toshinori added, determined to do at least one thing right that day and offer the poor kid a grain of useful advice. "Have you considered working as a support item engineer or as a quirk analyst, for example? You certainly seem to have the qualities for jobs like these." "Uh? How can you say that?" "I took the liberty of flipping through your notebook before signing it." Toshinori tapped his temple as the boy's cheek tinged with pink again. He really wore his heart on his sleeve, didn't he? "You seem to have quite a well-organized mind, and keen observation skills. If I were you, I wouldn't underestimate how far those two talents could bring you in the right field." "Ah... Thank you! I- it's just a hobby, nothing more! But thank you! I really appreciate you taking the time to answer my question! And give me advice! And listen to-" It devolved into another short stream of gratefulness and humility. Toshinori deemed his impromptu orientation session a job decently done and he finally stood up. His left side gave a sharp twinge. He couldn't wait to be back home, stun it with a generous helping of ibuprofen and hopefully catch up on a few hours of sl- ah crap, he'd left his grocery bag near the manhole he had emerged from, hadn't he? Maybe it would be quicker to just do the whole shopping again at the closest convenience store... "Now, about what you just saw..." Toshinori approached the boy, lowered his voice and scanned his surroundings automatically, as if there was anyone who could overhear them on the small rooftop they were standing on. "I don't think I need to point out that it would be really, really bad if voices of a secretly emaciated Symbol of Peace were to start circulating, on the web or by other venues-" Midoriya raised his head from the deep bow he had maintained for the last good minute, eyes wide. "O-oh! Of course-" "But I'm going to do it anyway. It would be really bad. Catastrophic. Not only for me, because I would know exactly who put the rumors forth and I would have some choice words for said source, smash being one of them." He had meant it in jest, but the terrified expression on Midoriya's face warned him not to put too much faith on the boy's sense of humour. He showed the palms of his hands in the universal gesture for I'm not going to smash anything. "...I'm joking! Obviously. But I do need to know if I can count on your utmost discretion." "O-Of course! Your secret is safe! I swear it on my life, All Might! No one will know!" There was no doubting the fervor radiating from Midoriya's every pore. Toshinori nodded and squeezed the boy's shoulder while also not-so-subtly pushing him towards the door to the stairs. "Good to know, good to know. Now, let us both be off." Toshinori moved towards the exit as well, patting the pocket of his cargo pants. "I have to hand this guy over to the nearest precinct before-" His hand patted rough cloth and the wiry muscle of his thigh, and nothing inbetween. Toshinori stopped in his tracks and checked his right pocket. Then his left one. Both empty. He gazed around the rooftop in confusion, noticing a clear lack of plastic containers on the barren expanse of concrete. "Hey, have you seen..." He started, glancing at Midoriya. Who was staring at his empty pockets in obvious distress, both hands covering his mouth as if to keep himself silent. Something cold gripped Toshinori's scrambled insides. "...the bottles... where..." Toshinori's sleep-deprived brain pieced it all together with frustrating slowness. Loose trousers pockets. Clingy boy. Hundreds of kilometres per hour. Gravity. RIght on cue, a loud explosion made them turn their heads in unison, and a black cloud of smoke erupted among a cluster of buildings a little to the south of the one they were standing on. "...Shit." A small part of Toshinori's mind added 'cursing in front of a child' to the impressive streak of fuck-ups he was accumulating in a single day, but most of his evidently dwindling faculties were busy trying to come up with a way to unravel the current predicament. He marched to the door without wasting another moment. "Go home. Take a detour if you have to, just stay well away from there." "It's my fault." Once again, despite Toshinori's better judgement, the boy's words compelled him stop. Even muffled by Midoriya's hands, his whispers sounded positively agonized. "I made you drop them. It's my fault. Oh God, what do I...?" "What? Don't be absurd! You didn't do anything, I should have-" It came out more harshly than he thought, and the kid's horrified eyes snapped back to him. God, he hated seeing him blame himself for what was clearly Toshinori's blunder - a blunder unworthy of the greenest of rookies, let alone of the celebrated number one hero - but there was really no time to waste self-recriminating. "Look, just go home. I'll-" "I can't! None of this would have happened if I'd just-" Midoriya burst out, halting his own words just as abruptly and wringing his hands guiltily. "I have to help! I can help! Let me-" "All right then." Toshinori said, and his ready agreement shocked the boy into silence just as he had expected. Telling him to wait around and do nothing wasn't going to work with that hero-obsessed mentality of his, so he chose a different approach. "Here's what you'll do. You'll stay here until you've calmed down enough to keep your wits about you. Then you'll go to the nearest police station - there's one just over there - and tell the officers what just happened. Minus the part where you've seen me like this, obviously-" "How's that going to help?! They can see the smoke, by the time I get there they'll already know-" "We don't know if that explosion is the villain's doing. It might be unrelated, and in that case the villain would be still at large." Toshinori explained with his most commanding tone, despite the urge to dash off. "Even if it is connected to the villain, I scooped him up into two bottles. We don't know if each half is capable of causing damage on its own. You have to alert the police so that they can start searching for both as quickly as possible. I'll take care of whatever that accident is." Despite the panic, Midoriya seemed to process his words. He gulped, and gave him a worried once-over. "But... can you fight again? Even like that?" "Tsk! I'd expect more trust from a fan." One more for the road, Toshinori coached himself. He reached into his quirk and flexed, his muscle form puffing up dutifully and his trademark smile slotting back in place. He gave the boy a confident thumbs up. "I'll have this solved before you can blink!" Toshinori flung himself down the stairway before Midoriya could come up with more objections. He managed five flights of stairs before his quirk failed him again and one hundred and eighty kilos of muscles went up in steam. He stumbled as he coughed up more blood, his scar hurting like it was trying to murder him, but he didn't stop. Hopefully the boy would follow his orders and make himself marginally useful, and more importantly he would keep himself out of trouble and away from the danger zone. Meanwhile, Toshinori... well, he'd have to clean up his own mess in some way or another.

Izuku stood stock-still for a good minute before his body reconnected to his brain. A lot had happened in the last half an hour, there was... there was a lot to unpack there. First things first, his duty. The admittedly sensible instructions given to him by All Might himself. Point number one was regaining a semblance of lucidity. His legs felt like jelly, so he simply let himself slump to the ground and breathe deeply. Never in a million years, not even in the darkest and most conspiratorial corners of the net, Izuku would have ever imagined to discover what he had discovered about All Might. All Might had a quirk... that debilitated him? Some sort of temporary performance-enhancing boost that wore his body down whenever he used it? Because what Izuku had just seen wasn't the body of a healthy person, not even remotely. Pale, hunched, with barely any flesh hanging from his still oversized bones, with sunken eyes and non-existent cheeks. Totally unperturbed by the gush of blood spurting from his mouth, as if that was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. Was it the result of decades of continued usage? Was Japan's Symbol of Peace constantly and deliberately harming himself in order to do his job? Izuku had experienced firsthand that powerful quirks came with unforeseen drawbacks, but this... this was... This was none of his business, Izuku chided himself. All Might was... All Might. Number one hero. An unprecedent and yet unsurpassed phenomenon. He knew what he was doing, for sure. It was presumptuous of Izuku to even doubt that he did. He had said he would take care of things, and he was certainly going to. Izuku scratched his head furiously, as if to rid himself of those intrusive thoughts. He felt better, more grounded. Time to move onto step two. He made his way down the stairs and out of the building, slowly, mindful of the lingering dizziness, careful not to trip and cause himself and others further troubles. The street was full of curious onlookers glancing at the rising column of smoke, filming it with their phones and chattering about it among themselves. Luckily, Izuku spotted a policeman almost immediately, as he was busy trying to disperse the small crowds and redirect the traffic. He recounted his tale, purged from gossip-inducing details, to the zealous officer, who promptly reported it to his superiors via his radio. There, he'd accomplished his task. Quick and effortless. The last item on his to-do last was heading home. Izuku stood on the sidewalk, contemplating the enlarging black cloud. Smaller explosions could still be heard popping in the air now and then. It had been at least ten minutes since All Might's departure and, judging by the heated talking coming from the officer nearby, the crisis hadn't been solved yet. Izuku thought back of how All Might had left the building using the stairs, instead of one of his much quicker, much more efficient leaps. A gnarling unease gripped his stomach, and his feet started moving on their own. He just couldn't get it out of his head. His idol's shrunken body, the immense tiredness that seeped through his every movement when in that form, his stern request for discretion. Your very life and safety may depend on your discretion, Izuku. Izuku shivered. Accidents aside, he had acted for the best, hadn't he? Despite everything... Civilians were not allowed to use quirks freely on public grounds, even though exceptions could be made in case of blatant self-defense. But even if he had used his quirk to stop the sludge villain by himself, what would he have done afterwards? He doubted he could use his newly acquired quirk effectively, and in a quirkless fight against an adult, he would have gotten the short end of the stick anyway. Not to mention the aftermath. Questions. His quirk revealed. Suspicion and distrust. Izuku's legs brought him to the site of the accident in a rushed daze, as his thoughts wandered in circles. He peered beyond the crowd of onlookers, and the scene he witnessed froze the blood in his veins. It was a disaster. The sludge villain was indeed responsible for it, and he had a hostage as well, tightly wrapped in layers and layers of goo. Numerous fires surrounded the captor and his victim, the heat and destruction giving them an almost hellish appearance. Almost half a dozen of heroes were already involved, but none of them seemed capable of creating an opening or coming up with a plan to face the situation. A veritable tragedy was unfolding before everyone's eyes, and no one was moving an inch to stop it. Izuku gazed around in a frenzy, searching for the one man who could and would solve it all. He spotted him quickly enough, his wild blond mane making him easy to pinpoint even with his gaunt frame huddled against a wall. All Might, the number one hero, looked like he was barely managing to stand on his feet. Hunched over, jaw clenched, one hand holding onto the nearest lamppost, the other clutching his side tightly, bright blue eyes dimmed in frustration and trained on the grim spectacle unfolding in the fiery lane. The sight dispelled any remaining doubt in Izuku's mind. All Might couldn't intervene. He couldn't use his quirk freely, either because of some pre-existing hard limit, or in fear of the repercussions it would have on his body. He had had to waste some of his limited stamina to save Izuku earlier that day - save him from a danger that Izuku could have, should have at least tried to handle himself - and now he was too drained to help. And the current hostage was paying for that - Izuku's heart nearly stopped as said hostage suddenly thrashed about enough to free a small portion of his face, enough for Izuku to recognize him, as more explosions boomed and set ablaze more of the surrounding buildings. Kacchan. Izuku moved without thinking, his mind blank. In that moment, he couldn't think about anything - not his father's recommendation, not his fear of exposure, not his weakness or inexperience, not the Symbol of Peace, not even his crushing guilt - except one thing. He couldn't let Kacchan die for his mistakes. A lot happened, very quickly, too quickly for him to process. The crowd and the heroes screamed. The villain saw him and readied a blow. Izuku barely dodged it by bodily throwing himself to the side, blindly. He landed hard on something that felt like overheated metal, but it didn't hurt too much. A slimy arm impacted solidly against the asphalt, missing him by mere centimetres. Goo from the monstruous limb splattered all around, staining his clothes. Without thinking, he reached for the green mass with both hands, let his palms sink into it, closed his eyed to focus and just did it. There was a strong gust of wind, as if a very fast car had suddenly raced past him and barely missed him, at the same time as he heard the asphalt crack a little to his left. Suddenly, all went perfectly still and silent. Izuku gulped, and forced his eyes open. The first thing he saw was All Might's massive back. Roaring muscles filling his oversized clothes amidst thin strands of steam, the hero was standing in full bulk right between him and the villain, his right arm raised and poised as if charging a punch, but completely motionless. There was no more sludge around Izuku's hands, nor anywhere in the street. Peeking between All Might's legs, Izuku saw Kacchan twitching weakly on the ground, and another person standing beside him. A thin, flabby-looking guy, with an ashen complexion and not a single hair on his head, face or bare chest. A blood-curling scream erupted from the man's - the villain's - mouth. As he stared in stark horror at himself - probably seeing his human limbs for the first time in his life, Izuku realized - the weird silence and stillness instantly receded. The heroes rushed forward to help Kacchan and apprehend the panicking criminal, the crowd cheered, and All Might turned to look at Izuku. There was no smile on his face. Izuku had never seen the Symbol of Peace without his usual cheery attitude. He realized the hero looked a lot less reassuring without it, and a lot more... purely, bleakly intimidating. The sheer magnitude of what Izuku had just done suddenly hit him like a train. He scrambled to his feet, heart beating wildly in his chest, and sprinted towards the closest alley. He heard All Might's voice calling to him, but he ignored it and ran, ran until his lungs burned with the effort and the tears made it impossible to see where he was going.

An undefined number of streets and turns and forks later, Izuku stopped. He collapsed against the closest wall, gasping for air and clutching at his jacket in a desperate effort not to succumb to hysteria. He'd done it. He'd used his quirk in front of a whole crowd of civilians and heroes. There was no hope of avoiding the consequences of that. Kacchan would dispel any doubt the police may have about what had transpired. Even though his childhood friend had kept quiet about it for years, out of... Fear? Respect? Leverage? Izuku honestly had no idea - there was no reason for him to shield him from the official investigations. It was out of Izuku's hands now. But maybe... maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. He had saved his friend from a gruesome fate, first of all, which was undoubtedly good. And maybe his father was plainly wrong, maybe their quirk could be tolerated, even accepted by society at large. Maybe even trained for the purpose of- "Midoriya!" Izuku's stomach did another somersault. All Might's skinny silhouette had just emerged from a nearby road and was approaching him quickly, one long arm raised to catch his attention. Oh God, Izuku had hoped he'd be too busy to chase him right off the bat. He'd hoped he could at least make it back home and talk with his father, with his mother before... "There you are! Why did you run off like- Hey, are you hurt?" All Might asked, immediately grabbing his arm to support him when Izuku wobbled dangerously. The man eyed his side worriedly, and Izuku finally remembered to check it himself. His jacket was torn and singed where he had fallen on the burning debris, but the layers of clothing underneath were surprisingly intact, and so was Izuku. "No no, I'm fine, thank you. I just... I guess I was scared of being told off for rushing in." Izuku offered with a poor attempt at a smile. "More afraid of being reproached than of facing a villain head on? You're an odd one, all right." All Might chuckled, visibly amused. "Law enforcers can be sticklers for non-professional quirk usage rules, but I don't think you would have gotten into too much trouble, all things considered." "I-I see... well... I guess I'll have to deal with it anyway, sooner or later..." "Ah... Not necessarily. I don't think anyone other than me realized what you did. In fact..." All Might rubbed the back of his neck with an oddly embarassed grimace. "I think I may have... sort of accidentally taken the merit of what happened back there. People saw me and just assumed I smashed the sludge off the villain faster than the eye can see. Journalists were already showing up and I was running quite low on stamina, so I scampered off before, you know... " He gestured at himself eloquently. "I can release an official statement later to rectify the matter, if you want. I'd hate to steal the spotlight of an aspiring hero." Izuku blinked. No one else knew? Kacchan hadn't talked? Or had All Might fled before he could hear his account? Probably the latter. And... "Aspiring hero?" "Indeed. It seems I have made some wrong assumptions about you." All Might positively beamed, ruffling his own hair and regarding Izuku with a sort of challenging grin that made Izuku squirm on the spot. "You aren't quirkless at all, are you?" "I never said I was..." Izuku tried to deflect lamely, hoping not to sound too cheeky. All Might merely laughed in response. "Very true! A variant of Erasure, isn't it? I've never seen any Erasure quirk work on mutant types, but I guess it is true that the new generations are naturally more endowed." "Uh... Y... Yeah..." Izuku heard himself say. He... He didn't want to lie. There wasn't even any point in lying considering that Kacchan was going to expose the truth anyway. But Izuku's mouth had been basically running on autopilot since his idol had materialized into his life, and his brain seemed to have lost the computational power to rein it in when said hero was in the vicinity. "That's good! Very good! Why would you be concerned about not using your quirk?" All Might scratched his chin thoughtfully. He seemed strangely unbothered by the fact that Izuku hadn't corrected him earlier, prompting him to waste valuable time of his day to bestow misplaced advice. "I guess Erasers tend to be somewhat at a disadvantage with rescue operations and solo missions... But I can assure you that, when it comes to apprehending villains, any combat specialist would beg to be teamed up with an Eraser. They're the absolute best support in case of quirk misfires and misuse... As you've just proven yourself." All Might seemed hell bent on encouraging Izuku's dream, now that he saw a real chance of success for him. Izuku was... moved, honestly, and sincerely grateful. But the hero was, once again, wasting his words. That wasn't Izuku's quirk, Izuku's quirk was far more sinister in its mechanics, far less likely to be requested or even endorsed by the hero community. Far more powerful, frighteningly so. Would All Might even be standing so close to the boy, within an arm's length, if he knew what would befall him if a hint of greed or envy pushed Izuku to- "Don't look down on yourself, kid." A bony yet amicable hand squeezed Izuku's shoulder, ripping him out of his meandering thoughts. All Might was smiling openly, his voice tinged with a softness that was entirely at odds with his haggard looks. "Your quirk might be less flashy than others, but I've seen enough today to know that you're definitely hero material, both in skills and heart." The really important thing is recognizing your own flesh and blood. Recognizing yourself. Izuku had been thinking a lot about that old interview of All Might's lately. The closer the UA admission test got, the more he found himself doubting his father's pessimistic take on the villainous nature of their quirk, and the more he wondered if he shouldn't trust himself, recognize himself, with enough conviction that everyone else would simply have to trust and recognize him too, eventually. It was easier said than done, of course. Spending the first twelve years of his life as quirkless hadn't exactly geared him towards building oodles of self-confidence. But he had to start somewhere. And if there was anyone in the world who was likely to see and trust and recognize Izuku for who he was, villanous quirk or not... it had to be him. The man who was the living embodiment of hope, reliability, rectitude and positivity. The man who apparently had a quirk with such a detrimental side effect that he ought to avoid resorting to it like the plague, and yet who kept using anyway, for the sake of the people. The man who was standing right in front of Izuku, giving it his all to obliterate his insecurities with sensible and kind words, with something awfully akin to pride for him shining in his clear eyes. If there was anyone that could change Izuku's world, it was All Might. "I, ah... actually, I... that isn't my quirk." "Oh?" All Might would have raised an eyebrow, if he had any. "Then what is it?" "I..." Izuku gulped. "I can take quirks. From other people. Permanently. And use them as my own." Silence. Not a muscle had moved on All Might's face, but suddenly his smile seemed a lot less alive, and a lot more set in stone. Izuku willed himself to keep speaking. "That's what I did to the villain. I stole- I took his quirk. It was the fastest way to stop him. The only way I could think of. It... worked quite well, uh?" Izuku offered a tentative smile, at the same time as All Might's started to fade. That... didn't bode well. But of course not even All Might could react to such a piece of information with immediate enthusiasm, it was a lot to take in, Izuku understood that. No doubt any moment now he'd slip back into his pep talk, reassure him of his chances to become a hero, wipe away his insecurities with a blinding smile and a boisterous laugh- "Do you still have it? The villain's quirk?" All Might asked in a whisper. "I do." Izuku knew, without really needing to try it out. He knew it with the same certainty as he knew that he was thirsty, or that his side did in fact hurt a little bit, or that most of skin was constantly brushing against his clothes. It was an almost visceral sensation, both conscious and subconscious, that he couldn't quite put into words. "I could try to use it too, if I wanted. Although I d-don't, really. I don't think I'll want to see any more slime for the next ten years or so, especially not on myself. Or as myself..." Izuku chuckled nervously, his heart growing heavier as All Might's expression reverted to one of studied, rigid neutrality. For once in his life, words failed him completely. He wrung his hands in discomfort, hoping that All Might would be the one to break that increasingly worrying silence. But his fidgeting caught the hero's attention. Very slowly, as if trying not to spook a wild animal, All Might's hand left Izuku's shoulder and took the boy's hand in his own, turning it over. He straightened the curled fingers with his thumb, fully exposing his palm and the small, circular hole right in the center of it. And then all of Izuku's hopes crumbled to dust. Very scary, very disturbing things had happened to him that day. He had almost died, he had almost accidentally killed a friend, he had inadvertedly learned a potentially peace-endangering secret, he had been forced to reveal a personally-endangering secret. He could have lived with all of that, probably. But nothing could have prepared him for the subtle shaking of All Might's hand as he observed the stigmata of Izuku's quirk. Nothing could have humiliated more than the sharp inhale of his idol, than the way his breath caught in his throat in obvious shock. Nothing could have confirmed his father's warnings more than the one thing he would have never, never, never expected to see - let alone cause - in the eyes of the Symbol of Peace. Fear.

[overthinkinglotr]

Can I just ask what...is the contest for the Boorman adaptation? I mean... This is not a normal movie script, right?

YAY OBSCURE LOTR ADAPTATIONS TALK TIME!!! (We’re talking about the context of John Boorman’s LOTR, the one where Frodo has sex with Galadriel)

OK SO

Yes, John Boorman’s screenplay is so completely baffling and incoherent that it seems like it can’t possibly be real. I really don’t know for sure if the draft that’s floating around the internet is really the Real Thing. However-- the weirdest aspects of that screenplay seem to be corroborated by other sources?

Some sources say the screenplay exists in physical form at Marquette University, but idk if that’s the version that’s online. Maybe it is!

And I’ve come across multiple sources discussing the scene where Gimli gets beaten up and buried alive to “unlock his magic ancestral memories,” the infamous poorly written Frodo/Galadriel sex scene, etc.

But again! I personally don’t know how reliable all these sources are. A lot of the old Reliable Sources discussing the screenplay have kinda just Vanished off the internet, and finding Definitive Confirmation would take some digging. That someone else can do, because I’m not good at this. :P

But I’ll throw information at you and you can decide what’s real--

Here’s what I DO know for certain is true:

In the 1970s, John Boorman approached United Artists with a pitch for a movie based on Arthurian legends (which would later become the film Excalibur.) UA turned him down, thinking Arthurian legends weren’t marketable enough.

They instead commissioned him to write a screenplay for a live-action film adaptation of Lord of the Rings.They were kinda like “Lord of the Rings, Arthurian legends....same thing, they both have a wizard and a medieval sword guy in it. But Lotr is popular right now, so well have this guy write a tolkien thing. Someone who likes arthur legends will also be good at writing lord of the rings, because they’re basically the same.”

(But like...they’re not, obviously. King Arthur legends are a bunch of folklore that doesn’t have one single ‘plot.” Writing a King Arthur film means using a few characters and some famous imagery and throwing them in a medieval setting to vibe together, creating the film’s plot by cherry-picking the Arthur stories you like most and throwing them together in a blender. But Lord of the Rings isn’t like that! It isn’t a collection of folkloric stories with no clear plot! Lord of the Rings is ultimately a single story with a single coherent plot! Someone who wants to adapt their own take on something as plotless as  folklore might really Struggle to adapt a plot-heavy book like LOTR!)

So anyway, John Boorman wrote this screenplay for them.

But John Boorman’s movie was never made.

Why was it never made?

Here’s where we get into some SUPER FUN “unreliable narrator” territory!!!!

John Boorman’s claim:

According to John Boorman in his biography, the film was never made because UA was tight on money and the special effects required were simply too expensive for the 1970s.

Boorman really did try very hard to make his screenplay good! According to Boorman, he and his writing partner Rospo Pallenberg  “covered all the walls of a room with a breakdown of all the scenes in all three volumes,” “drew a map of middle earth,” “wrote detailed analyses of all the characters,” and spent several weeks devising a structure for the film. Then they wrote the script together-- Boorman wrote one scene, Pallenberg the next.

But alas, it was too expensive to film in live-action. The technology just wasn’t there yet.

So the studio was forced to have the film made by an animator, Ralph Bakshi.

Boorman says that Tolkien wrote a letter to him saying that he approved of his screenplay (which Tolkien hadn’t read) solely because it was going to be a live-action movie. Tolkien hated animation. Boorman says that Tolkien’s death “spared him” the horrible pain of seeing his story adapted into animation. According to Boorman the problem with the Bakshi film (which he never saw) was that it was animated, and therefore inherently bad. Unlike Boorman’s script, which was an amazing work of art that would’ve been a wonderful live-action (and therefore inherently superior) movie!!! If only it was made! Boorman mentions that the working conditions on the Bakshi film were horrible (because they were) and laments that budget constraints meant the studio was forced to sell the movie to a low-down NO GOOD “ANIMATOR!” >:((((

BUT

Ralph Bakshi, obviously, tells a very different story!

Ralph Bakshi’s Claim:

According to Bakshi, John Boorman’s screenplay was so UTTERLY incoherent that it was unusable. UA gave Bakshi the rights to make a film because they had paid a million dollars for a trash script, and now they were dealing with the Sunk Cost Fallacy(tm). Bakshi was allowed to make his film because UA had wasted so much money on Boorman that they were desperate for ANYONE to use the Lord of the Rings IP in a way that wasn’t completely incoherent and could make sOME money:

“I thought, ‘Wait a minute, why don’t I go make the film?’ recalls Bakshi. “So I call up Mike Medavoy and I go to United Artists, which in those days were on the same lot as MGM. In the main building on one side of the building was MGM — which Dan Melnick ran in those days — and on the other side was Mike Medavoy at UA. I went to see Mike in his office and he says,

“Look, I’ve got this (John Boorman) script and I don’t understand it. I never read the book. We don’t want to make the picture. What do you want to do?’ I said, ‘I want to animate it. Three pictures.’

He said, ‘We don’t want the picture. What we want is our three million dollars back for the screenplay that we paid Boorman. So I’ll give you the rights, and if you can get our money back you can make the picture any way you want.’ True story.”

So it is a fun game of, which director of a failed unfinished LOTR project do you believe?

John Boorman later reused a lot of his Lord of the Rings script ideas for his film Excalibur. I haven’t seen the full thing, but the film kinda feels like proto-Game of Thrones? I feel like it adds credence to the idea that the bad screenplay was real-- a lot of the weird way Boorman writes women/gender in Excalibur is reflected in the parodically awful FrodoXGaladriel Fanfic Stuff.

Plus, I’ve seen the Andrew Davies BBC adaptation of Les Miserables! And ithat adaptation is so terrible that I can believe that the nonsense in the Boorman screenplay, like FrodoxGaladriel, can seem perfectly reasonable if you approach it from the perspective of a mediocre middle-aged male writer. :/ Anyway! But my BBC Les Mis Salt isn’t really relevant here! :D

But yeah! That’s some context I have on hand. The exciting fun story of the Lotr movie that was never made! Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

[linklethehistorian]

Randou and the Sins of Season 3's Fifteen Adaption (Part 49/???)

Bones' Biggest Changes & Greatest Failures — The Tragedy of Arthur Rimbaud (28/?)

The problems born out of this come in multitudes.

Naturally, the most unmistakable side-effect of this dilemma that we can see unfold in Fifteen are the times when Arthur fails at being able to figure out the precise details of a much emotionally and mentally darker individual’s reason for an action or idea, and the thought processes behind it.

His distinct part — or rather, total lack thereof — in the speculation about GSS’ motive for the attack on his mansion is one such instance, wherein we watch him greatly struggle with viewing things from the perspective of his would-be assailants, unable to truly understand on his own the exact motive they might have had for what they had done to him.

Astonishingly, I must confess that this is one of those very few moments in which the anime was much more obvious and direct in its display of Rimbaud’s true nature than even its source material had been — choosing, in lieu of having him simply not try to take any active part in the discussion at all, as was the traditional route, to instead make him openly, audibly express his ineptitude at discerning GSS’ incentive to the two young teens that had come to his rescue in words, asking them for their thoughts on why someone would ever want to do something so brutal, and why it was happening to *him* specifically, because he could not even begin to imagine it for himself.

With the novel’s context in mind, this makes perfect sense for his character; after all, as I said before and as Asagiri makes absolutely certain is clear to everyone with that one and only truly canonical version of the tale, throughout the entirety of his existence, Randou had never acted with his own self-interest in mind, nor was he really even truly capable of ever gaining such a mindset, when it came to the things he had done — especially not over something that could negatively impact another person’s life. Thus, in cases like GSS’ sudden attack on his mansion, where the exact reasoning behind the incident requires solving and the answer is not even remotely so pure or selfless as Arthur’s own motives tend to be, it is genuinely no surprise whatsoever that, rather than wasting any time on trying to figure it out himself — a task that he no doubt knew he stood no chance at completing, all too self-aware as he clearly was of his own weaknesses — he would instantly seek and ask for the expertise of others far less disadvantaged than he on the matter, in his place.

Of course, even with all of that being the case, that still doesn’t mean that I’m anywhere near naive enough to think that this change within the show was really being done with the ultimate preservation of Rimbaud’s authentic personality in mind, because it’s very apparent that that is in no way the case; in fact, if anything, I dare say I’m quite confident in affirming that their intent was most probably the exact opposite, considering that, paying due mind to all of Bones’ later actions with this adaption as a whole, and the false narrative that they had plainly chosen to tell therein, it seems much, much more likely that this scene was meant to play a different role and purpose entirely — one which would actually serve to further their agenda, rather than do harm to it. Yes, while it could very well have just been an innocent change made with no ill will behind it, I must admit that it is far easier to think, given their track record, that it is hardly an accident that to the average anime-only viewer, this altered scene could now work to accomplish nothing but to make the associate executive’s meekness and innocence merely seem even more terribly unbelievable and suspect once the disingenuous, forced shift in his character and tone is eventually ‘revealed’ at the end of the episode.

Nonetheless, whether it was truthfully done with good or bad intentions in mind, or even no intentions at all but to simplify the dialogue and make for a faster progression of the scene — which is another, albeit less interesting, possibility — the fact of the matter still remains that when looked at through the lens of a person who is aware of the character’s true self, these changes still served the best of these three possibilities very well, working as a much more on-the-nose interpretation of his thinking and behavior than its progenitor. 

Indeed, the anime’s idea was grand and, had it honestly been done with such noble aims as I would have liked to have been able to believe that it was, I would even have gone so far as to say it was an absolutely brilliant way to get the concept across in a largely visual and audio-based medium, but at the same, I also do not want to completely distract away from or totally ignore the original telling of this moment, either, as even if the book’s approach was a more subtle one that handled the subject in a somewhat more roundabout way compared to the television series’ interpretation, it nevertheless did manage to display Rimbaud’s authentic nature fairly nicely, itself, and was equally excellent in its own right.

Although no actual, verbal questioning of motive may have taken place on Randou’s part in said original version as it did in its derivative, by having the poor eternally freezing man fail to even make an attempt at contributing in any way to the conversation on why the attack occurred until after the boys hand him the answers, it nevertheless manages to achieve the same affect, with his silence clearly demonstrating to the reader his utter helplessness in this situation — a helplessness that even Bones themselves were able to read between the lines in order to recognize and decided to acknowledge within the anime, whatever their reason for doing so.

(...Well, either that or Asagiri took the time to stress that part to them, but I’m trying to use a more generous interpretation here...) [Next]

[Previous]

[Beginning]

[view the masterlist]

[syllvaiin]

Oh i have a halloween request! How about some headcanons for vampire dimitri and vampire felix (separate pls🥺) × a f!reader thats their girlfriend? And she has like, a really rare blood that is also the most delicious? And so they always try to restrain themselves from sucking her blood? But one day they kinda snap and just bite her neck? Thank you! You are really amazing at writing and i really like all your works! (I literally spent all night reading them👉👈🤍)

(This is right up my alley, thank you, pumpkin! And that is way too sweet of you to say!!! 💕💕 It really made my entire day, so I want you to know that, my special anon! 💖 This was fun to write, and I went a little overboard with Dimitri’s, but I hope you enjoy!)

Vampire Dimitri

Because the Blaiyddid bloodline is known for their immense strength, those who have become vampires also boast heightened abilities beyond the realm of an average vampire; such as, better hearing, improved night vision, and a keener sense of smell. All of these abilities give them a natural advantage over other creatures of the night, which extends into their well-known leadership roles as the heads of a prominent vampire clan

These heightened senses can have a downside however, as their natural desire to feed is much higher than normal, prompting them to require more frequent feedings, and it can also lead to going overboard when drawing blood from a victim — though Dimitri is a vampire, he loathes killing his victims; instead, he opts to drain as much blood as he can before he withdraws himself, but mistakes do happen more often than he would prefer, especially when he encounters such a strong, enticing scent, such as the one belonging to his partner

He tried, although fruitlessly, many times to distance himself from you, and was extremely tentative to the idea of starting a relationship with you, as his worse fear is that he would accidentally kill you. No matter how hard he tried, he just kept coming back to you — your blood was the most inviting that he had ever come across, and your warm, welcoming demeanor would have drawn him to you otherwise, vampire or not. So he was always so careful with you, taking extra precautions to keep himself from succumbing to his nocturnal instincts

Dimitri almost always tries to satiate his innate cravings by draining from other victims, seldom from you, but one evening, his lust was sickeningly high, and you kindly offered up your neck with a small turn of your head, and he could not find it in himself to refuse you. Like a moth to a flame, he latched himself to your exposed neck, punctured your unmarked skin and experienced a euphoria he has yet to find elsewhere. He tried so hard to hold you as gingerly as possible; your subtle gasp of pain at the initial bite pained him, but it failed to deter him. Your blood was far too sweet and smooth and much too warm — flowing like honey down his frigid throat — that he could only continue to indulge himself further, until!

In the back of his mind, he heard a voice urging him to stop, and it wasn’t until he felt a force attempting to push him away, that he realized the voice was that of his lover. Your weakening cries grew in volume, ringing in his ears and bringing him back to reality. When he finally retreated, he was afraid that he was too late.

Your complexion had fallen ashen and appeared an unhealthy pale color, your skin grew clammy and cold to the touch, and you had collapsed, unconscious, in his arms. Every bone in his body was yelling at him to act! Save you! There still might be a chance! But a haunting thought crept forward and taunted him, ‘Too late! You shouldn’t have done that! Boar! Boar!’ it said, roaring in a threatening tone.

With a ferocious growl, he demanded a healer to come, and when you were removed from his arms to be examined, he fell to his knees and wailed an ugly, thundering cry that sent the night birds that perched atop the castle a flutter in a cacophony of cawing and flapping wings. He cradled his head in his hands, and when he examined his open palms, they were wet with tears and stained red from your blood. ‘Too late!’ the voice laughed. ‘Too late!’

“It’s not too late! Your highness, please, it’s not too late!” This voice was prompt and loud, but it was not the same teasing voice in his head. Dimitri looks up and he meets the hopeful eyes of the healer who has you lying across their lap, the soft glow of healing magic radiating from their palm; and it may be subtle, but the beating of your heart is nonetheless present, and he feels a heavy weight lift off of his chest. While the healer works their magic, he does not leave your side

Vampire Felix

Unlike Dimitri, Felix does not share the same qualms about completely draining his victims of their life force; but do not be fooled, it isn’t something he takes particular pleasure in either! He does face some trepidation when drinking your blood at first, but he has far better self-control than Dimitri — it just isn’t something he does all the time, maybe two or three times a month, as he wants to give you ample time to recover properly from each feeding.

He is someone who enjoys the thrill of the hunt, and he likes the sensation of adrenaline that he gets when he stalks a victim and he finally subdues them, piercing their skin and ingesting their blood — it makes it much more rewarding for him.

But, his absolute favorite way to feed is by steadying you in his arms and indulging himself in the divine taste of your sweet, intoxicating blood. He is not always the most romantic person, yet this act is more intimate than nearly any mortal one. There is complete and utter trust between you two; if he truly wanted, he could kill you. It’s extremely special to him to know that you would allow yourself to put your life in his hands and is the ultimate act of your love and devotion to him.

Although, there was one instance where he may have gone too far — you had been ill the previous day, but had insisted that you fully recovered from your short bout of illness. Felix did deny you, insisting that you must rest and that he can find another source to quench his thirst, and yet, he ended up drinking from your neck despite his objections. There was something a little off in terms of the taste of your blood, a sour aftertaste, but it wasn’t until he had pulled away and assessed you that he realized you were still sick! His first reaction was to scold you for being so careless, but he thought better of it and instead focused his efforts on getting you comfortable and fetching you some water

He did tell you that the next time you were fighting an illness, to remind him not to drink your blood for at least a week because it was too sour, but you knew it was just his way of saying that he gets worried about you

[incarnateirony]

So recently I made a post (x) about reasons behind the fanon schisms that divorce themselves from the actual canon. Some of it has to do with people hyper-identifying and not being ready for the message, others come with people that spent far too many years with open and loosely filled sandboxes and character definition in early seasons that gave the characters a certain plasticity.

So @dotthings ​ recently made a post (x) in sync with this to some level as well, focusing more on one particular lane’s behaviors.

This, ultimately, sent me off onto a rant in my server’s meta-salt section (aka #meta-pickling) that I figured I’d immortalize in the public view as well:

Bronlies were honestly who I had in mind when it came to things like early open sandbox vs archetypes. Loose archetypes let them imagine very openly what the characters were like. The loose canon sandbox was also very wide and flexible, the text (much less subtext) wasn't as dense.

But the longer SPN went on the less room there was and the more it required them directly pushing back against the canon content, recalibrating it, warping it. Early canon didn't make them confront where their readings were off base because the base was already slim. As the canon evolved and they drifted left of it, they still had several years where they could kind of do fuck all, and by the time canon was boxing them in, they had years of patterned behavior of denying/sculpting canon.

Key moments I can think of are S5 with Dark Side of the Moon active misinterpretation or that accursed Zachariah line where they ignore the end of the episode showing it was horse shit.

At this point they were already running into canon walls they kept trying to make me about them, but no matter how many circular arguments they ran with the content while missing the entire point, they remained objectively wrong, even if they wanted to convince themselves they were right, so they continued veering more and more aggressively left.

Gamble era didn't help at all, and it's probably why they love her, bc once again the text got, IDK. It was diet text. Lots of bounce around room for chaotic reads. So by the time Carver came back and as showrunner and hit the reset button they were already way the fuck off center.

S4-5, and S8+ is when, for lack of a better phrase, the characters got souls--not like in literal storyline, but in the complexity of their vision and coming to life.

Sometimes those souls did things we do or don't like, but the expansion of those souls over the kripkegamblecarverdabb sandbox that proves fairly hollow without it, is also what makes it very hard for people that just wanna use them as barbies to have... room to interpret the canon text/world as that.

I remember on rewatch how utterly painful watching S6 was, and it has nothing to do with Cas' story for me as for many people. The characters were... plastic. They were barely even representative of their old archetypes. After a few dense years of serialization and expansion in S4-5, all of a sudden they were acting like teenage girls, but it was boy drama!!!

S6 bros didn't even resemble what S4-5 bros had grown into, not even remotely.

I'm gonna say it: in this metaphor, Cas is the serpent that gave a soul to the show. Gamble try to shovel him off, frame him as a villain, and remove him from the picture and it straight-up backfired. Think gnostic, where Chuck (the author) created the bodies that became man, but it wasn’t until something that existed outside of it reached through that they became humanity as we know it, complete with souls.

It’s no surprise how often villain-Chuck-the-bad-writer brings up her work and ideas as awesome, either. Leviathans are great! Monsters! Rararar. Ooga booga. What’s a Cas.

He yielded a whole level of complexity that there was no “putting back in the box.” Gamble tried, but the show started crashing and burning. By S7, she tried to revert to “cardboard cutout guys dancing in loosely defined world with a year long monster of the week” storyline and honestly, we saw the results. The same people deny what the results were despite all existing information to the contrary, but that’s nothing new.

But at the end of the day, doubling down and failing to figure out where they veered off course while insisting on playing barbies with S1-3 style characters and demanding their fanon ideas of the characters from those seasons remain the current course leads to being wildly divorced from the show while ignoring what gave the show it’s complexity, it’s strength, and it’s soul. A show that started failing without that element -- both the thing/character who was the original source but also the native complexity and wide-spanning emotional spectrum each character themselves develops after this point, independent of the original creature/character of the advent. 

Carver era may have done some things other parts of fandom don’t like, too. The characters disappoint people at times and challenge them at others. But the Carver reset seems to be when the schism completely manifested, because those minor areas of story-disappointment were still getting warped by habit into other schemas, and by the time we drifted into Dabb era, who completely opted to subvert the old ways, in ways Carver only flirted with, these people were off in some whole-assed AU not too dissimilar from the random shoddy drafts in Chuck’s head, which aren’t The Ones. Not the Real Sam and Dean, as even Chuck put it. Not this Sam. Not this Dean. As the characters said. Just plastic playthings.

Which is utterly fascinating because while these same fandom people understand Chuck is a shot at them (one even called Dabb’s writing “vindictive”), they also choose to align themselves with Chuck’s POV to this day, despite knowing the futility of rooting for the bad guy. They know the bad guy is going to lose. But the bad guy is the only one that endorses their plastique character ideas and creates the worlds and settings they want, rather than rooting for the individualized characters as people all their own, outside of Chuck’s point of view. And due to upend it. 

I can’t imagine trying to watch canon on that level, where historically you’ve fused the villain viewpoint to the heroes’ and identify the heroes as their suffering, rather than their victory. Chuck is the highlighter on it, but this tracks--such as back to DSOTM I mentioned above, where they embraced an old Zachariah line that Zachariah himself even said was bullshit at the end of the episode. This litters time and again through the show, lording how Michael talks down a character they didn’t like or X, Y, and Z elements; wanting these heroes to fail, to be reduced to their barest blackened form and never regrow. To remove the soul of the show and watch them melt in a loosely constructed sandbox.

I fear inquiring how they watch other TV shows.

[ibethalantyr]

The old conjurer is holed up in his stately house, besieged by an army of the undead.  The tedium is starting to get to him.

First, some background.  In the Spring of the year preceding, the town had been visited by a priest of the Mad God.  This caused a great deal of unease among the local notables.  The Smith argued quite forcefully that such priests are almost always mad themselves, and that this one should be packed off back to the east before he could cause any trouble.  The old conjurer himself was inclined to agree, though with the important caveat that priests of the Mad God are not necessarily mad themselves (he’s not prejudiced, after all), though it seemed to be true of a fair few of them.  In any case, most did mad things given the opportunity, making the denial of such an opportunity highly desirable.

But the Governor would have his own way, and the Governor, in his horizonless justice, decreed that no being would be driven from HIS town for the crime of worshiping the divinity of their choosing.

(This is all the Governor’s fault.  Yes, the old conjurer IS prejudiced when it comes to the Governor.)

So the priest is allowed to stay in town, and even to preach several midnight sermons of the usual sort: the eternal war of all against all, the supremacy of strength over all things, the Black Sun as the only true source of strength.  If there was one unusual note in the otherwise familiar symphony it was an emphasis on “the strength to make a new family together.”  Followers of the Mad God aren’t usually ones for family, after all.  Whether it was this unusual emphasis on familial bonds or the usual drivers of darkness and despair, the Mad God’s priest (who had not yet given evidence of his own madness) led a group of about dozen followers up into the hills south of town to offer prayer to the Black Sun.

What happened next is not clearly known, because the one surviving witness has not been in her right mind since.  What seems clear is that some kind of blood sacrifice began.  Whether the first victim was taken from among the Mad Priest’s following from town or was some unfortunate passerby taken more violently is unclear.  What is clear is that the poor unfortunate was not allowed even the peace of death.  No sooner had they succumbed than the priest had raised them up into undeath, saluted them as his beloved consort, and bid them greet the members of their new family.  Thereupon, the priest and the dead thing set upon the gathered worshipers, raising all who fell as more undead.  Only one poor woman escaped, and, last the old conjurer heard, she has still not fully recovered from the horrors she witnessed.  She, at least, had been seeking some kind of new family that would help her stand against the brutality of the one in which she had been trapped.  Thankfully, she did not end up trapped in (and as) something worse.

Throughout the summer, the undead waylaid unwary travelers on the road south, and as fall came in even to kidnap inhabitants from outlying farmsteads, dragging them off to join the “family.”  The notables met again, this time in council of war.  The Smith counseled decisive action, but well tempered with prudence.  A miscarried counterstroke would only swell the ranks of the undead.  Perhaps the Flaming Fist should be summoned?

The Governor, not to be out-prudenced, favored a defensive strategy.  Might some sort of magical barrier be erected, denying entry to the town and its environs to undead creatures?  The old conjurer explained - not for the first time, and it must be admitted none too patiently - that the erection of such a barrier would require an enormous outlay of both time and resources, comparable to the labor and cost of simply building a physical wall, and far exceeding the trouble of simply denying the priest entry to the town in the first place.  The Governor responded that he had been greatly underestimating the wizard’s power, if he was in fact proposing to travel back in time and offer a better argument at the earlier meeting.  The old conjurer cannot clearly remember his own retort, but a suggestion that the Governor spend the long winter nights invoking his own god in the town square until the crisis had passed was the main thrust, and an unkind epithet (”most arrogant of Lathander”?) was in the mix as well.

This is all the Governor’s fault.

No, “all” is too much.  He had stung the old conjurer’s pride, to be sure, but old age must learn to own its pride, even if it cannot quite learn humility.  While magic might not make a practical defense, it could provide a means of attack.  The site of the ghastly temple was fairly well established, thanks to the survivor’s testimony.  A sufficiently powerful discharge of positive energy might serve to destroy much or all of the assembled undead, thus greatly increasing the chances of a direct attack succeeding. 

The mechanism would need to be considered carefully, however.  Unrestrained positive plane energies would cause problems nearly as large as a growing horde of skeletons.  Ultimately, the old conjurer settled on what he considered to be a quite ingenious approach, involving an interlinked planar portal system, accessing the Positive not directly but through the adjacent demiplanes of radiance, steam, minerals, and lightning (the latter two being specialties of his).  This would allow a more gradual charge build up, as well as a failsafe involving the venting of excess energies into the deeper elemental planes (full notes: 113.xliv.1-7).

Unfortunately, the old conjurer failed to heed his own advice regarding cost and effort.  The charging process was very labor intensive, and as such took much longer than he had been expecting.  What’s more, even with his considerable safety precautions, enough positive plane energy escaped from the apparatus to attract attention.  After charging the crystal for most of the winter, but with a full round of the elements still to complete before casting was possible (requiring at minimum another four days), he received intelligence that the undead were on the move.  Skeletons in huge numbers were drawing near to the house not only from the temple to the south but from the countryside all around.

The old conjurer wasn’t worried at the report.  The house is sufficiently well protected that such minor undead would be unable to gain entry no matter their numbers.  It might even make the objective easier to achieve.  If he could redirect the stored energy to reinforce the house’s defenses, the attacking skeletons might simply destroy themselves in their attempts to gain access.  It is both the strength and the weakness of the undead that they are relentless in obtaining the desires of their masters.  If the skeletons had been ordered to stop the casting, they would continue to try, no matter how many of their fellows had been blasted to dust in the same attempt.

But he has, once again, miscalculated.  Why?  Perhaps the madness of their master shook their normally unshakeable resolve.  The adventurers who put an end to the Mad God’s priest reported that he was, by the time they met him, quite mad himself, believing the undead he created to be his parents, siblings, and other relatives.  Was he mad all along?  This is a distinct possibility, but not the only one.  It may be that the strain of maintaining so great an army of the dead had a deleterious effect on the mad priest’s sanity.  Such things have been known to happen, though not usually, it must be said, to clerics.  To necromancers certainly.  They are, as a profession, unusually prone to madness.  (Though some are perfectly sane, and indeed, perfectly congenial colleagues; once again, the old conjurer is not prejudiced).  Perhaps this cleric fell into madness from drawing so much power from his Mad God?

Or perhaps it had something to do with the way in which he made them?  These undead are unusually, and dangerously, intelligent.  The first several waves, hundreds of skeletons in all, threw themselves into the lightning fields as expected.  The rest, however, seemed to learn from their example.  They hung back, and have been loitering around the house in groups of five or six ever since.  Meanwhile, more and more keep wandering in.  How many people did the man kill?  Or did he somehow enspell the skeletons to raise the bodies of their victims even without his direct intervention?  Appalling thought, but even if it was true, it seems that the priest’s death has at least stopped new undead from being raised.

But the scale of his killing spree, and the old conjurer’s own miscalculations, have left him in a most uncomfortable position.  Simply put: he cannot leave the house.  Nor does he feel he can disassemble the elemental channeling apparatus that is both fueling his enhanced defenses and attracting the surrounding undead like a flame attracts moths.  And that, too, is highly uncomfortable, as said apparatus occupies a considerable portion of the house’s main hall.

There is some comfort to be had.  While he did not succeed in directly destroying the undead before an attack, by drawing off and scattering the assembled skeletons, he indirectly aided the assault that was the mad priest’s undoing.  He considered mentioning this to the adventurers themselves, who were apparently very well paid by the Governor for their efforts, but has decided that it would give the pompous windbag too much satisfaction if he were to hear of it.  Furthermore, in continuing to maintain his “lantern,” he has redirected the ire of the remaining skeletons toward himself, transforming a potential crisis into a minor nuisance.

And even for himself, it is mostly a nuisance.  He must maintain the lantern, it is true, and every gem he receives in trade goes immediately into the mortar or the vinegar barrel so he can keep teleporting into town.  (He has heard that the Smith isn’t buying gems in town, and, suspecting that it is him that the Smith is looking out for, he blesses his name).  Some trouble and expense for the safety of others, and for his own safety, is surely trouble worth taking.

Still, he wishes he could take a walk...

[cienie-isengardu]

The development of Law’s relationship with Zoro - Part 4: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (Birdcage, Pica & Doflamingo)

<<Part I: Before Meeting>> <<Part II: Sabaody Archipelago, The First Meeting>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (A)>> <<Part III: Punk Hazard, The Alliance (B)>>  <<Part IV: Dressrosa, The Breaking Point (The Plan Failed)__ (Saving Law)__(Protecting Law)__ (Birdcage, Pica and Doflamingo)__ (Aftermath)>>

Once the two pirate captains were alone (with additional presence of Abdullah & Jet, who despite Luffy’s complaint did ride on the bull’s back with them), Law finally opened about his true goal. Though the plan he brought to Straw Hat was the safer option, in truth he wanted to take down Doflamingo by himself...

and explained his hatred:  

Thirteen years ago, Doflamingo murdered someone I loved… His name was Corazon. He was once a Supreme Officer in the Doflamingo Family [...] He was the one who gave me my life. He was Doflamingo’s younger brother!!!

Zoro wasn’t there to hear Law’s story. A story that proves the existence of the hidden goal thus Roronoa’s instinct (the eventual suspicion) was foolproof. He may learn about it after battle, depending on Luffy or Law’s willingness to share. For now, Law opened himself only to Straw Hat yet I wouldn’t say he didn’t do that earlier due to Zoro’s presence - after all, there were still Abdullah and Jet to witness it, and both men were even more strangers than Zoro who up to this moment proved to be reliable and understanding ally. Looking at Trafalgar’s face and the “inner thought” bubble with three dots, seems like Law decided to talk about past in that moment because of what was happening - though fighting was the only one way for survival, everyone was determined to get Doffy’s head without caring for consequences (angry Kaido) and maybe Zoro facing Pica (who already was hit by three powerful fighters yet came out unharmed) all by himself so Luffy could get to the palace was another impulse affecting him. 

In all fairness, the lack of Zoro’s grounding presence left Law alone to deal with Luffy’s madness and uncaring nature. The moments in question, where:

♠ Law asked how Straw Hat plans to get rid of seastone handcuffs blocking his Ope Ope no Mi powers - a matter that Luffy kind of ignored, thinking it will sort itself out somehow (chapter 751). Trafalgar absolutely disagreed. Though Zoro did not raise the matter before, there was a chance he would support Law’s objection. Up to this point, Zoro always secured (guarded) Trafalgar when the situation required it but in direct combat with Doflamingo, it could be too dangerous not only for Law, but for Straw Hats too. Fighting when one must look after a totally powerless ally was just a death sentence. Of course, Zoro could agree with Law’s demand either out of worry for Trafalgar or solely for pragmatism, which still would be better than Luffy’s lack of worry.

(On second thought, Law should be happy to not heard any Zoro’s hardcore idea of cutting his hands to free him from seastone so he could heal himself with recovered powers of Ope Ope no Mi. Frankly, I’m surprised Zoro didn’t bring up this morbid possibility).

In the end, Team Robin-Bartolomeo-Rebecca managed to smuggle the key past the enemy line and freed Law. Zoro had his part in it - he didn’t let Pica hurt (stop) them and secured their passage to rendezvous point with pirate captains (chapter 754). 

♠ Luffy got tricked by Funk Brothers. As much as Zoro’s presence wouldn’t prevent them going straight into the enemy's trap, at least the two captains would have a non-devil fruit user to protect them from danger (the assassin, Doflamingo’s clone and water) instead rely on luck someone will come to save them. Frankly, the fact that Doflamingo saved them from Funk Brothers only adds insult to the injury (chapter 752).

Of course, the two Supernovas were thankfully saved by Abdullah and Jet, but once again it was more a matter of luck than any real control over the situation. With Zoro, Law at least had some comfort of security. Literally Roronoa disappeared for a moment, and Law & Luffy once again were close to dying in a pathetic way.

♠ After surviving the trap, Luffy made his own shortcut and carried Law alongside. At some point, they met Cavendish and Kyros. Together on Cavendish’s horse rode to the palace. Once again, the matter who should defeat Doflamingo arose and all four men argued. One would hope after learning about Law’s past, Luffy was going to respect his need for revenge. Except nope. Even though Kyros and Law have many more reasons to take Doffy’s head, Luffy was as selfish and irrational as before (chapter 754). None of the men thought about working together and really, up to this moment Zoro was the only one person who showed a will to cooperate while Luffy and Law still argued about who should finish off the enemy. 

It seems like Zoro was in fact the only person who truly considered himself, Law and Luffy a team, while the captains were more interested in their personal goal - taking down Doflamingo, but for different reasons. Roronoa was the least emotionally involved in the conflict and simply judged the situation by cold logic rather than empathic nature (Luffy) or  traumatic past (Law).

Ultimately, under attack of Donquixote’s officers, the colosseum fighters decided to unite and kept enemies from Luffy and Law - something that Zoro proposed from the start, but was then shut down. Now, the fighters, Kyros and dwarves, Candevish and Bartolomeo, Robin and Rebecca, Usopp and Zoro, all thanks to them, the two Supernova captains safely got to the fourth (the last) plateau leading directly to the palace. With Law freed from seastone cuffs, he and Luffy finally faced Donquixote Doflamingo (chapter 758). The matter of who should take down the enemy at last was put aside for teamwork. 

Zoro and Law were busy with their own respective fights that for most happened at the same time in different places: Law & Luffy vs Doflamingo & Trebol in New Palace and Zoro vs Pica on Pica Statue (later, shifting the fight to other plateaus). On the farest left, in an old palace plateau, King Riku, Viola, Usopp and samurais gathered.

After Kyros defeated Diamante, Pica started attacking injured fighters and then tried to kill King Riku, Viola and Usopp, who were at the mentioned former palace plateau. He changed his stone body into gigant - and this gigantic man was hard to miss. Zoro came up with a daring plan to stop the enemy and to do so, he used special powers of other fighters.

Zoro cut Pica’s stone body into pieces, defeated him and - thanks to coordinating his attack with King Elizabetto - ensured that stone remains will not fall down on King Riku, Usopp and unarmed civilians (chapter 778).

With the gigantic stone body towering above town, Zoro’s action didn’t go unnoticed - Trebol informed Doflamingo about Pica’s fate and mentioned destruction of the factory (done by Franky). Law most likely didn’t have a chance to see it for himself - unless he already switched his place with the dead body, using it as decoy and could allow himself a moment of distraction. 

Similarly, Zoro remained far away from the main battle between Law & Luffy vs Doflamingo, but once he joined King Riku on plateau, Viola became his reliable source about the ongoing fight. There is a high possibility she did summarize what Zoro missed due to fighting with Pica. For sure she told him about Law’s bad condition (chapter 780) and that birdcage is slowly shrinking.

Thanks to Viola, Zoro may more or less have known the course of the fight - and with that, guessing the emotional state of Supernova pirates. Ultimately, Law was hurt badly, so Luffy entrusted him to Robin’s care while he alone took on Doflamingo.

Despite the danger, Law decided to stay where he was, so he could either see Doflamingo’s defeat with his own eyes, or die alongside Luffy.

Cavendish remained with him, to protect in case of Doflamingo’s attack, so Robin could get Rebecca and the rest of their little group to relative safety (chapter 783). Once again, depending how much Robin and Zoro share information off-panel, she could tell him about Law’s choice. Another missing puzzle that she and him started putting in the whole picture. Even more important, since it speaks about Law’s loyalty and determination when he previously at least twice dismissed the bond with Luffy - threatening him and denied their friendship (Luffy’s idea of alliance) in front of Zoro.

With Gear Four, Luffy managed to overpower Doflamingo (chapter 784) but his stamina ran out before he could finish the enemy. Only thanks to the help of Gyats, the colosseum announcer and remaining gladiators - and later, Sabo, Viola and Law - Luffy was kept safe from Doflamingo. For ten minutes needed to regenerate his strength, Straw Hat was protected by people who didn’t lend him a hand before, but now believed in his promise to defeat the tyrannical Shichibukai. And for that were willing to put their life on the line. At some point of that, thanks to the narrator box, it was outright said that Luffy needed 4 minutes to recover while birdcage would kill everyone in three.

Around the time Luffy passed Law to Robin and his fourth gear, Zoro already left Viola’s group (chapter 783/784), taking with himself two samurai. He decided to stop or at least slow down the shrinking birdcage, to buy as much time as it was possible. 

In all fairness, he was the only one person who thought about such a solution - who thought it was a possible thing to do. Everyone was so sure of its invincibility; Doflamingo, Law (who reacted with fear at the mere mention of Doffy’s technique), the samurais, the common people running in fear for their life. Kinemon outright called Zoro’s plan a madness to which Roronoa asked back how he could know that. Because after all, the birdcage was a power of just one man thus shouldn’t be unstoppable.

On his way, Zoro passed his plan to Franky who decided to use the factory building made of seastone (thus invincible to Doffy’s strings). With the help of dwarves, Franky did the same as Zoro, only in a different part of the area. 

The Pirate Hunter was the spark that mobilized other people to do the impossible - stopping birdcage. Following in his footsteps, other colosseum fighters

and marines (with admiral Issho himself aiding Zoro)

and even simple citizens

all of them joined forces to stop shrinking birdcage. AND IT STOPPED. For a moment, but still stopped and that brought hope to all people. Even though it moved again, with their determination, the birdcage shrinking slowed enough to buy Luffy so needed time (chapter 788)

While Zoro focused on buying Luffy time to recover, Law took Straw Hat into safety and guarded him, while Gyats focused all Doflamingo’s attention on himself. And then Luffy came back.  

Law didn’t take part in that last fight, but assisted Luffy in saving Straw Hat’s new friends - Viola and Rebecca from enemy’s attack and later, saved unconscious and exhausted Luffy from falling.

Without anyone in the way, Luffy could finally  knock out Doffy once and for good. With that, the birdcage disappeared and Dressrosa became a free country again (chapter 791).

The next part: Aftermath

[hi-epervier]

Two Heartbeats, part 1

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

The mission should have been Sasuke's stepping stone to demonstrating his worth in such a way that none of them could ignore it.

He'd pleaded with Itachi to let him tag along, knowing that the punishment would be harsh when Father ultimately discovered that they had disobeyed. But Sasuke was sixteen, had mastered the Gōkakyū no Jutsu ages ago, submitted himself through a brutal training regimen, was a better fighter than most of the elite, and still, they treated him with more contempt than a child, for relying on his body rather than the link even their best elements used as a crutch. Normal children at least got to be peers, if not equals. Sasuke was a pariah amongst his own kind, until he reached his full potential.

Which would never happen, because Sasuke's bonded one was out there somewhere, beyond the borders of the mountains the Uchiha clan called home.

An outsider. Impossibly. Infuriatingly. And yet.

He was sure if it.

What other choice did he have? Stay put, and be looked down on all his life? He'd rather slit his own throat, get it over with.

The mission had been simple. Get in, eliminate the target, leave only the evidence necessary to claim the kill. Their reputation stemmed from their ability to work from the shadows. Anybody could kill, but the Uchiha had turned doing so with both precision and ruthlessness into an art. There was no room for mistakes.

He'd been poised to make the kill, had secured the target while Itachi and Shisui worked in unison to keep the bodyguard team engaged.

The anomaly in the frequency had stilled his hand.

There was a popular saying amongst the clan: they said that an Uchiha's heart beat twice. It was one of the very few family secrets they shared with clients around bottles of sake, and the quaint nod to the clan's obsession with their teams never failed to draw good humor from these people who would stop at nothing to weaponize others' aptitudes for their own benefit. Perhaps they would laugh less, if they knew that every single word rang true.

That was the joke. Hiding in plain sight, still unseen.

Sasuke tilted his head up toward the nightsky, like a dog listening for some noise beyond humans' faculty to pick up.

In his distraction, he let his hold grow slack. The man in his grasp noticed his mistake, immediately doing away with the meek display of a trembling old man to seize the hilt of the tantō at Sasuke's hip, raising it to strike.

Only for the blade to stop mid-motion, inches from Sasuke's flank, seemingly out of its own will.

Behind his cloth mask, Itachi slanted his younger brother a frown. He pulled. During the space of a second, wire glimmered in the light of a nearby street lamp. The tantō jerked away, and with it went Shimura Danzō, falling to the ground.

Sasuke turned his attention inward.

If he focused enough, he could feel it. The source, behind the heartbeat. It had slipped his notice until just now, when the frequency had changed from its peaceful rhythm to an heart rate too chaotic to match that of an Uchiha in the near meditative state they entered when they hunted; and the chakra had spiked into existence.

'Close...'

Now, the heart rate was settling again, and the chakra receding. His pathway was being shut down, but that didn't matter. Sasuke had already pinpointed its rough destination. Pinpointed him.

A glance confirmed that the fight was nearing its end. Only one bodyguard remained standing, but he was apparently skilled and angry enough to require both his brother and Shisui's attention at the moment. A kunai speared in the skull would do that to someone, if it didn't kill them on the spot. Meanwhile, the target was making a run for it. Sasuke could intercept him. It would be the matter of seconds, an easy kill.

Sasuke leaped for the roof. There, he paused for an instant, tuning out his surroundings to feel around for their joined senses -flashes, unphatomable jumbles of colors, the smell of fresh linen, an open window up high, chatter from the lively street below- before taking off running.

Straight toward the heart of the village.