#i support women's wrongs etc

[yellowocaballero]

oh geez kakashi of the roleswap au is rin?? That's why Obito stabbed him bc he got the sanbi and then they thought he was dead but he was in akatsuki- is this anything am i crazy (if this is spoilers then you don't have to answer but) WOW if I'm right this is really big brain roleswap, bigger brained than what i already glimpsed of this 😍😍😍😍

I don't want to say everything, partly because it's not very definite and set in stone for me, and partly to preserve some of the mystery (Also partly because you guys have such good ideas, I wasn't planning on keeping her alive before you guys made me think about it jkasldf) .

Once you decide that Kakashi just doesn't have the right kind of crazy to do the shit canon!Obito does, and that we need to dedicate the story to women's wrongs, the roleswap gets really hard. Because a) Rin has no character. and b) there's no third person to swap with Rin. It ended up becoming a sort of shell game, where Obito's role got split up and Rin ended up adopting some other roles from other characters. Lots of room for creative freedom. Maybe the essential evil of the story can be a girl who saw the world fail the people she cared about, and decided to rewrite the world to create a safe place for the people she loved. In Naruto, it takes a very kind and loving person to be a genocidal megalomaniac.

Kakashi, meanwhile, is somebody most marked by his loyalty. His love is less idealistic and large, and more cynical and gritty. I connect him to Konan: somebody who follows the dreams of the person they love, and who makes the dreams happen. Yes he is absolutely just fucking around in the Akatsuki, being a lazy bum and annoying Kakuzu and Hidan to death. Yes he is Rin's personal assassin and shadow monster. He has layers. To me, he's a somewhat-comedic loyal goon/wifeguy who loves his partner-in-crime/world peace and who sometimes enters a dissociative state and commits atrocities. What, is that a crime all of a sudden.

The Ame 3 ended up being a big part of the swap, and a lot of the swap ended up happening between Rin & Nagato and Kakashi & Konan. Yahiko, this is YOUR hero academia! The Akatsuki are NOT a terrorist organization! They're nice guys! Look, Deidara and Sasori are artists, they're respectable - okay, Hidan and Kakuzu aren't respectable, why are they in our peace loving organization - why do our political enemies keep dying - Konan, what do you mean 'don't worry about it' -

[adraveins]

Playing around with Hero Forge updates, and realizing I never made this bad bitch with it. Dherys the Iconoclast (pronounced "ther-EES" I guess, figured out that Glanfathans don't use y in their names too late 😔), Glanfathan elf, faithful and beloved of Galawain (until she learns some things), member of the Three-Tusk Stelgaer, cipher/fighter, mind hunter, and animancer who was exiled for desecrating ruins one too many times (and also for murder), after she helped to advance animancy the Dyrwood. First (in recorded history, at least) to theorize that Eora has (had) a soul and that gravity is a separate force from the Wheel, which has alternately gotten Leaden Key and Hand Occult assassins sent after her (they never succeeded) and gotten her laughed at by her academic colleagues (to her immense ire). Kit's erstwhile mentor and mother figure, quasi-cult leader, and huge asshole!

[adhd-merlin]

I didn't hate dead and buried tbh. possibly because I had very low expectations

[gravelorded]

this is halgaste abyth's world. i'm just living in it

[sydmarch]

whiterose is honestly so tragic

[eunnieboo]

half-hanged mary

[glitterslag]

ok this is my last one of these. maybe

[gemsofthegalaxy]

i knew the freaks on tumblr would have my back rise up people who love Judith from 36 questions the podcast musical

[baltharino]

[halcyon-autumn]

Maybe Kipperlilly just needs more enrichment in her enclosure. Let her team up with Bud Cuddy to destroy the government. Anarchy would fix her, I think.

[astramachina]

Character Intro

Dr. Farris Thorne — Field of study: Classified. Current "Official" status: Head researcher at the Institute for Glaciate Molecular Preservation.

art by the wonderful @hrgwin (Wait, if she's a molecular scientist, why does she have a blowtorch—do NOT worry about it. It is in your best interest to not question it.)

Colleagues simply refer to her as Thorne as a tongue-in-cheek joke since she tends to be a thorn on other researchers' sides. Her work ethic is pristine but her methods are, at best, eccentric, and at worst, downright dangerous. The only rules she abides by are the rules she has set in place in her own lab, because who knows the space and its infinite intricacies better than herself? Clearly not the higher-ups pushing for far weirder experiments than the ones she's already been working on for the past twenty years.

She gets answers without asking questions, mostly because she has a tendency to break into classified servers to get the information she wants. This is how she learns about the continued existence of Project Callan, a highly classified endeavor that allegedly shut down on claims of pseudoscience and bloated government spending during the 60s. But the files are actively being updated with live footage of a location labeled only as "The Enclosure".

Thorne knew about Project Callan though, courtesy of the elite "boys only club" her father used to be a part of. There's a reason why Daddy Dearest is no longer on the IGMP researcher roster. And there's a reason why, after taking up his mysteriously vacated position at the tender age of sixteen, her personal files became redacted.

"Knowledge is power" is true in a plethora of ways, and while her chattiness often gets mistaken for charisma, she knows how to weaponize her silence. Project Callan is functioning under a different name, sponsored by an unknown organization dating back to the late 1800s, and she will do anything to get her hands on the reality-shattering "artifact" at its core.

She's 6'3". She's mean. She has, in fact, bitten people. She has serious beef with one Dr. Verne Krasner and the reason he's still alive is because he's really good at disappearing off the face of the planet. She's a pastel nightmare and thinks she might be a lesbian but unfortunately she has a job and the idea of engaging in social rituals exhausts her. RIP Dana and the rest of Thorne's acolytes, they never had a chance.

Dr. Thorne is one (of several) antagonists from The Singularity Project (title pending), a multi-media sci-fi horror webseries!

[cto10121]

But Elphaba was furious at them all. She and the Commander had words every day. Elphie forbade him to allow Liir to tag along—and she forbade Liir himself—to absolutely no effect. Her first true motherly feelings were of incompetence and of being blithely ignored as inconsequential. She could not understand how the human race had ever managed to develop past a single generation. She continually wanted to strangle Liir, as a means of saving him from smooth-talking father figures. (p. 197).

🎵 A single mom who works too hard Who loves her kid and never stops With talon hands and the heart of a fighter She’s a survivor🎵

[ehlnofay]

Summerfest Day 2 - SECRET

All the air in the room shivers and gusts like an expulsion of breath; the sluggish, oil-slick water below resumes its flowing; Arabella, liquid metal curled lacelike over her skin, starts laughing.

It’s dark, in this dank cavern. Karliah left the lamp she carried outside and did not suggest lighting another. Perhaps it would be sacrilege. For several minutes, all had been shadow; but now if Arabella squints, she can vaguely make out the motion of the water, the distant shine of filigreed armour, the bird-mark on the floor. She can make out Karliah on the middle plinth and Brynjolf on the distant one; she can make out the cracked stone below her; she sinks down, low, into a crouch, hood pulled down over her forehead, and cackles. It echoes in her mouth, against the fabric-smoothness of her mask.

“Well,” says Brynjolf’s voice, blankly, from across the room, and again, “well.”

“The first meeting can be… overwhelming,” Karliah says, tactful. Like Arabella’s cracked under the pressure of watching someone talk to a big not-light in a hole so soggy-stale it feels as familiar as the cistern. She is still laughing – she can’t help it (it’s either funny or it’s very serious, and she’d rather not take it seriously) – as she rolls her shoulders back the way she practiced in the armoury, lets the metallic carapace unravel itself, shrinking and sinking again into her skin, to the cold metal mark she pressed like tattoo ink into the back of her neck. (She’s been branded – she’s been gulled – perhaps she should be taking it seriously, but it’s so ridiculous that she doesn’t want to.) The armour goes away. She can, just about, see her skin again.

She is still laughing, birdlike high and delighted.

Brynjolf shakes his head – she catches it only because of the way his eyes glint in the mask – and says, “Didn’t wake up this morning thinking I’d be meeting a Daedric Prince.” He sounds very deliberately careless; taking everything, very intentionally, in stride. “Suppose I’m honoured.”

“Oh, yes,” Arabella crows, “most honoured bargaining chip –” and she goes off in peals of laughter again. Her language is bleeding into Bos, a little – she’s getting her grammar mixed up in her head, blending her words in ways that should give them layers but instead just turns them to gibberish. Most-honoured, ill-weighted, played like lamb-tendon lute-strings, all an unintelligible mess of sounds. It’s all so patently ridiculous.

Brynjolf pauses, asks, “Does this happen, often?” with a nigh-audible furrow of the brow.

“Arabella,” Karliah says. “Arabella. What, the hysterics? No, or, I’ve never – Arabella, pull it together.”

“Lest your Lady think –” and the rest of it is lost to scrambled syntax, but then Arabella wipes her mouth – probably smudging her paint, she realises after the fact, damn it – and stands up straight and says, gleeful, “You liar. Well done.”

“Are you listening, now?” Karliah asks; when she moves, she gleams, ever-faint.

Arabella echoes, “Will you tell us, now? You’ve been so dreadfully surreptitious.”

Karliah gleams again. “I’ve been sworn to secrecy. I’m sorry I’ve had to mete out information so slowly. But now that you’ve transacted the oath –”

“Such a vague oath,” Arabella remarks, shark-toothed.

“I would like to hear more about the oath,” Brynjolf puts in, “and whatever else, but do we have to have this out in the dark?”

“I would like to hear about how it’s supposed to make us more powerful,” Arabella says, “and why I can’t feel any bloody difference.”

Karliah moves – coils her fingers, maybe, so her armour can slink off to puddle in her hand, pulled night-dark in toward the mark at her wrists – and Arabella can see her a little better, then, a ghostlike shape standing ill-defined on the platform. “That,” she says, soft-voiced, “relates to what I was going to say; Mercer’s –”

“Do you feel a difference, Brynjolf?” Arabella calls.

Sharply, Karliah says, “Stop interrupting.”

The water burbles quiet below them. Arabella’s smile is pinned so broadly to her face that her cheeks sting.

“We’re going back into the hall,” Brynjolf decides. His armour sloughs off as he starts picking his way back down the shadow-cracked stone. Halfway down, he looks over, his face a smudge in the dark. “No. But it’s new.”

“New indeed,” Arabella agrees, the soles of her shoes ringing against the marks in the stone; she holds her arms steady for balance as she steps onto the spit of rock. “Whatever power we expect, Karliah – it won’t come up until we’ve made amends with your goddess, will it?”

She is so very spectral, in the dark. Blue-grey, distant-pale. “Nocturnal’s favour alone is a powerful thing,” she says, clipped. “It will give us an edge.”

“Will it,” Arabella says. It is not a question. She is putting considerable effort into not giggling again.

Even in the dark, even without the masks, she can just about catch the shine of Karliah’s eyes as she looks at her. There is a lengthy pause. “It might.”

Brynjolf, a shadow almost at the end of his stone-spit tightrope, pauses. “Ah,” he says, and then, faintly disgruntled, “Really?”

“She played us well,” Arabella tells him with airy unconcern; her teeth scratch against the meat of her lip. “Very cleverly. I bought it just about enough.”

“It might help,” Karliah insists, dogged; “I – I hope it will. And I couldn’t tell you the whole truth if you remained outsiders – we would have been ineffective, barely a chance –”

Arabella slides the last half-metre of damp stone on the flat soles of her shoes, skirt flaring, hair in her mouth. She says into the dank cavern, “You sold us to curry favour.”

“Yes,” Karliah snaps; she strides down back to the ground, quick and practiced, a blur against the stone. “Yes, all right – we need her favour if we’re going to be able to return what Mercer stole, which you still won’t let me tell you about, we need – it’s been a decade.” (Arabella remembers the thick patterns of dust in these strange halls.) “It’s been a decade, Arabella, this is my life, and if bringing it back isn’t – maybe it won’t help! But I told you, it’s business.” She tosses her head; she’s still hooded, and it’s still dark, so this conveys very little. “Yes. I negotiated acquittal. And if you want to be angry about it, that’s fine, but do it less obtrusively so we can actually start –”

“I’m not angry,” Arabella says, and she licks her teeth. Karliah looks at her; in the dark, her eyes don’t flash. Her face is an ink-smudge. Arabella grins. “I just wanted you to admit it. That’s truly astoundingly selfish.”

“In fairness,” Brynjolf says, before Karliah has a chance to rail at that, and he gestures, quick and loose and just fast enough for her eyes to register it, to the lax little circle they stand in, like the points of a lopsided triangle. “Would you expect anything less?”

It’s still so dark – so little light comes in even through the entryway – but the water sounds cold and quick as it runs, and Arabella is good at taking up all manner of sensory space. “Touché,” she says through beaming teeth; shrugs, exaggerated, the motion rippling the metalline mark pressed into the back of her neck. “Really, Karliah, I don’t mind. Nocturnal can have my soul. What worth is it to me?”

[theophagie]

Some of you people would manage to find a reason to blame Ver for 9/11 too

[passionfruitbowls]

ok if i was in this universe marceline would’ve sucked out my soul in a matter of seconds bc i’d be so taken aback by how gorgeous she is

[tomsensibly]

no you guys dont get it. shes a teenager with rage issues and the only therapy she was getting was from the counselor of her school, who by the end of her first year became the foster father of 3 of the people she has been complaining about. to his face. he's doing his best to remain neutral but she knows his relationship to the bad kids. she must have been wondering if he's secretly thinking less and less of her each time they had a session. can you imagine what that would do to a teenager with an already deep seated issues.