#but like... is it technically a valid tactic

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

A Sparrow at Sea (3/4)

MDNI

Whitebeard pirates/reader (fem? functionally gender-neutral)

I do not curate tag lists, but I reply to comments on each chapter when the next goes live.

Summary: Turned into a bird as part of a slave-smuggling operation, you get your revenge - and then your revenge gets you. Panicked and alone, you crash land on a very large, very famous ship full of very large and quite infamous men.

Warnings: mild body horror, technically kidnapping, reasonable fear of death, crushing/suffocation

Master List

Marco, First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates, the legendary Phoenix, was a man clearly used to getting his way. If his handling of the discussion on deck wasn’t enough proof, the orderliness of his office suggested a classic type A(sshole).

So, you resolved to fuck up his shit.

At least until you’d come to a mutual agreement over how you weren’t pet material and it would be best for all involved if he just let you fly away for a peaceful voyage in the rigging.

Until then, it was war.

To a point.

This man killed people, and he did it very well. Since you weren’t looking to die at this time, you’d wage subtle battles, scheming like the human you were within the limits of your current shape. You wanted to exasperate. Not enrage.

Besides, shitting on his alphabetized catalogue would only validate the whole cage thing.

Instead, you went still. Simply looking around to memorize the route back to freedom and take stock of your options. Although his office had a window, you doubted the porthole opened, and he closed the door, out of habit or as a precaution against escape you had no idea. Fucking irritating either way. Why couldn’t one part of your day be easy? Just one. Surely karma owed you a few by this point.

Marco sized you up, his high, arching eyebrows naturally giving him a particular kind of expression. You wondered how close they could get to the tuft of hair on the crown of his head. If you weren’t so fixated on living, you might try an experiment or twelve.

“If I let you loose in here, are you going to make me regret it, yoi?” he asked.

You stared back in complete and total innocence, hoping he couldn’t feel your heart skip a beat at the suggestion.

I promise to make you regret it less than the alternative, you said.

Chirped.

Whatever.

He made a doubtful noise in the back of his throat, but he brought his hand to a clear space on his desk and – ever-so-slowly – released you. He hovered, waiting for you to go mental. But you could respect a man’s space. Especially when he was doing what you wanted.

Sitting with your wings tucked close and your belly pressed to the varnish, you met his gaze head-on. Body language and eye-contact would have to do, because even if you could scratch a message in the wood, you wouldn’t take the risk.

“Alright.” He turned, still keeping an eye on you, and started delicately rummaging through what looked like the ship’s lost and found collection. There were mate-less shoes, trinkets a-plenty, and a few swords in rough condition, but nothing resembling a birdcage.

Marco reached the same conclusion.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted, subconsciously trusting you enough to close his eyes as he massaged away the stress. Progress, you thought. You stayed exactly where he put you, so when he glanced at you under his wrist, your show of good behavior could coax his guard down.

It worked, and as he mumbled, moving around the room, you put your birdbrain to work.

If you got past the door, you could get back to the deck. If that door was also open, you’d be in the bright open. Marco had already demonstrated his skill in plucking you from the rigging, so you’d need to find an actual hiding place too narrow for his talons to fit. Somewhere inconvenient for swords, and fingers, and kitchen skewers. Same tactic you’d used against the owl, though this bird had more friends and better knowledge of the terrain.

Broken light fixtures might provide emergency shelter. If there were any. The ship was well-kept. But, provided you could shake any followers for a few moments, you could make a temporary roost just about anywhere. Glancing at the porthole, you spied a thick sill ringing the exterior, setting the glass deeper in the side of the ship and away from the elements. A good place to catch your breath while remaining out of sight and reach.

And you’d spotted all those gunports on your approach. If you needed to get back inside when bad weather struck, you could. Besides, if you escaped into the great outdoors, you doubted many crewmembers would think to look back inside.

You could make it work.

You could survive.

All you needed was an opportunity.

And one came a moment later with a careless knock and creaking hinges.

“Hey, Commander, did you need the…” A random pirate pushed open the door to Marco’s office, his head in a file full of lists and numbers, following a routine you’d unwittingly complicated.

You didn’t envy the tongue-lashing he’d get, but you thanked him with a victorious warble in passing.

Marco shouted something that probably ended in “yoi,” but you moved at the speed of sound, and his alarm just couldn’t keep up. A gasp and rustle of papers heralded your escape past the oblivious intruder.

You flew.

Out the door.

Down the corridor.

The Phoenix could easily outpace you in the open air, but inside the ship was another story. His wings were useless in close quarters while you were small and agile. He was a grown-ass man, and you soared between his crewmates with ease as he dodged on foot.

You swooped between legs like tree trunks and flitted over every hat and hair type imaginable. Whitebeard kept a colorful menagerie. Once you could breathe in peace, maybe you’d enjoy people-watching until the next port of call.

Daylight glowed ahead, and you tucked your wings in tight to slip between a pair of heavily-armed and wildly laughing fighters. Marco’s pursuit echoed behind you like a thundering gale, but neither of the men understood what their commander was shouting, and you blasted between their befuddled faces into the sunshine.

The line of sight was broken, and you sped over the rail, swooping low around the hull until you found a convenient nook. The Moby Dick’s anchor was appropriately scaled to the vessel. So was the chain. The links offered more than enough space and shelter from the wind. You settled in for the night, basking in the cursing and laughter left in your wake. There were still a few hours left in the most eventful day of your life, but you had nothing better to do and a dozen reasons to enjoy an early rest.

Maybe in the morning you’d see land. Maybe the pirates would assume you’d flapped off to your doom. Maybe you wouldn’t even die.

------------------------------------------------------------------

You met the dawn with a rumbling belly and a dry tongue.

Hunger drove you from your sanctuary and back to the deck, ready to pilfer and peck for what you needed. Like hell would you starve or die of thirst after coming so far. You’d escaped the literal grasp of Whitebeard’s top commanders. Dehydration would not win over slavers, fires, and pirates. The indignity couldn’t stand.

So, you listened well to your belly and found a tangle of crisscrossed lines strung between pulleys and sails from which to take stock of the potential menu.

The first available dish was a childishly obvious trap. A collection of what seemed to be nuts, seeds, and dried fruit sat in the shade of a tilted basket. The stick supporting the basket sported a string, and the string led to an eager-looking man in an orange hat. Fire-Fist Ace met your gaze with a hopeful, pleading expression.

“Come on, birdie,” he murmured. “All you gotta do is have breakfast. That’s it.”

How fucking stupid do I look? you demanded. Your feathers puffed, and you shivered them back in place, peering down your beak at the asshole. In your normal shape, a good meal may well get a cute guy to third base. In your current shape, you cared a lot more about that basket than you would if you outweighed it.

You weren’t starving yet. You could wait for a better opportunity.

Commanders came and went from the door Marco took you through before, and you vaguely recognized the gargantuan figure in the distance as the ship’s captain. It would be a long walk for a human, and in your case, he was practically miles off. If he stood up, you’d scrounge up enough spare anxiety to give a fuck. Until then, he was scenery.

Marco stopped to stare at you, and you returned the favor until he fucked off again. Thatch came out to set up a birdbath under a boobytrapped net. Whitebeard’s best (and supposedly brightest) had other things to do, though.

Pirates on duty moved up and down the ropes around you, none close enough for concern, and men at leisure enjoyed the fresh air with cards and drinks. There were far more than you didn’t recognize than the handful of famous faces you knew. Only one seemingly regular crewmember stuck in your brain: the one who’d cared so little for you that he’d suggested a good squashing. More or less. Certainly death in a shape that looked very much like his meaty paws.

That same disregard, however, may swing in your favor. The man liked to eat, and he was on his second pie since you’d taken your position. Laughing carelessly, he spouted crumbs like a fountain of pastry, and you eyed the mess with intent. Baked goods probably weren’t the best thing for a sparrow to eat, but you could think of worse. At the very least, the carbs may give you energy to hunt down better meals as men ate their lunch and dinner on deck.

Ace fell asleep, slumping at his post. The only other commander on deck was Izou, and based on the gunslinger’s earlier behavior, you doubted he’d join the chase with half his comrades’ enthusiasm.

After a thorough check of your surroundings, you decided it was the best opportunity the morning would offer, and you flitted out of the rigging. Breaking line of sight, you dipped over the rail, down and around the hull, coming back up as close as possible to the pie-eater’s position.

You hopped from shadow to shadow, lurking in moving shade from men, rigging, and even bigger birds. No one looked for motion in something they expected to move, and you were very, very small. The wooden deck provided shockingly good camouflage, too. When an eye drifted your way, you just hunkered down and pretended you were a knot in the wood, just another spiral in the grain that caught the light a little funny.

The big man sat in the center of the crumby field of treasure, though most of the biggest bits fell where he spat them with his roars and words. A few had bounced behind him, and you knew they were the safest bet. Creeping into range, you inched towards the food, trying not to let it fill your vision. Trying to remember the risks. Trying not to be distracted.

But it was so close. And if you stepped just a little closer…

There wasn’t time to scream as fingers curled around you a tight fist stinking of old cherry juice and lard. Darkness and pressure snapped down. You couldn’t twitch. Couldn’t breathe. He literally gave you no room to fight as vertigo wracked your gut, proof that you were swinging up and away.

“This what you all were trying so hard to catch?” he cackled, waving you like a prize in his suffocating hold. “Damn! Easy as pie.”

His own pun triggered a laughing jag, and he reflexively squeezed even harder. It pushed out a desperate scream that sounded too sweet and too quiet to do any good. Several feathers bent and pulled between his knuckles, giving the crushing pain a razor’s edge of something sharper.

The commanders would have a bad day. Even if they’d made a cage just for you, they’d have no bird to put in it. As your heart slammed out of rhythm under creaking bones, you knew you wouldn’t get out of this man’s grasp alive.

His hand swallowed you entirely. There was no light, no sun, no breeze. He’d probably wipe your smeared remains off on his trousers, like spilled pie filling.

You closed your eyes, too pressed to even get your beak around flesh, trying to wish yourself human. Not that it would help much. The rules of the world didn’t change when you grew feathers. The bigger you were, the stronger you were, and the less you needed to care. The smaller you were, the weaker you were, and the less you mattered.

Whitebeard was the strongest man alive, and you weren’t even the strongest fighter in your old hometown.

The end was inevitable, whether the pirate killed you intentionally or by accident.

Would you break or suffocate first?

“Give it to me, Teach.”

Instantly, the wild ride slowed. Your inner ear still spun, and as a bird, that was your entire ear. It was hard to hear past your pulse. Panic buzzed like a physical presence over your skin and behind your eyes, and the voice was familiar, but you couldn’t think beyond hope.

Who needed names when they needed air?

“Wasn’t planning on keeping it, Commander.”

The cage opened, you fell. You landed in something soft, dazzled by light and breath.

“There you go,” Teach said, unsettlingly affable.

“Thank you.” Crisp and chilly, your new keeper sounded anything but grateful.

Since you weren’t dead yet, you decided to open your eyes in an effort to stay that way. Izou’s painted face towered above where he held you, half-swaddled, in an old towel. He breezed past his fellow pirate, moving towards Thatch’s bird bath, which was little more than a shallow pan filled with water.

All things considered, the towel wasn’t so bad, but the net shook your calming mind like an earthquake. Thoughts scattered, new phobias screamed to life, and you wriggled despite the pain of deep bruises and broken feathers.

No more, you begged. Please, I won’t bother anyone. Keep your crumbs. I’ll mummify in the rigging, but don’t put me in some fucking –

“Settle,” Izou ordered, running a finger over the back of your head.

While the touching didn’t help, his voice did. He spoke to you like he thought you might understand, or he at least expected you to. He could believe you were an escaped pet. Or he’d seen past your… situation. That was too much to hope for, though you weren’t sure when you started hoping to regain fingers at the risk of exposure.

Maybe somewhere between the crushing and smothering. Dying as a bird was still death, wasn’t it? Fuck, you didn’t want to die like this.

Peering up at your savior, you blinked watery little sparrow eyes, and asked – or chirped at least – Don’t put me in a cage?

His lips pursed in thought, and he adjusted his grip as he pulled the pan of water away from the rigged net. Not that he needed it. He had you well in hand, and he was quick, so he might snare you even if you escaped the towel. As a sharp-shooter, his reflexes were a thing of legend.

But then he set you down, letting the protective fabric fall to the sides as he crouched, elbows on knees, before you and the birdbath.

For a second, you didn’t quite believe it. Stunned and still more than a little dizzy, you tried leaping into the air.

You didn’t make it more than a few inches off the ground, a chaotic mess that must’ve been fun to watch if Izou’s smirk was anything to go by.

“You’re covered in cherry juice,” he said, again taking on that expectant expression. “And most of your primaries are damaged. You won’t be flying more than a few feet for some time.”

Oh.

Unfurling a wing, you checked. Under the glistening smears of blood red syrup, what feathers remained stood at broken angles in half-stripped rows. You’re only real experience with birds was the occasional News Coo, but you’d heard about clipping wings and the value of feathers. In your attempt to leave, the air hadn’t held beneath you like it did before. Muscles relied on avian rudders that just weren’t there, pulling you off course with every effort to correct. So, you fell, and now you sat, helpless on a ship full of killers.

You sank low, pulling in your neck until your cheeks practically touched your shoulders. Your feet vanished into the soft feathers of your belly, and you pressed yourself into the towel, lifting your eyes to Izou and keeping them there.

Everyone was a giant to you now. Everyone was a monster. Without your one advantage, you were entirely at their mercy.

And you felt as small as you’d become.

Izou’s eyebrow rose, but he didn’t offer any words of comfort; he merely waited until you realized you were still terribly thirsty.

Creeping to the edge of the pan, you scooped up water one beak-full at a time, tilting your head back and mourning your lips. Real birds made this look graceful. You did not. The first attempt sent water dribbling everywhere, and the second was a slow-motion exercise in caution. But bit by bit, the water did its work, and some of the lingering fuzz in your brain cleared.

Apparently, hydration hadn’t been the Commander’s main goal, though.

When you stepped back from the rim, a hand scooped you up from behind, eliciting a single chirp of alarm before depositing you in the bath. The water immediately turned pink with flecks of cherry pulp, and you cringed.

Right. You weren’t just thirsty. You were sticky as the hell Teach nearly squeezed you to.

Bathing was even harder than drinking. Birds had parts that you instinctively reached for with parts they didn’t, and feathers were worse than hair. You felt the textures where bits should zip together, but the mechanism had some trick to it no one had taught you, and the sticky pie filling had infiltrated layers you did not know you had. You splashed and turned and chased your own bits in flapping circles, determined to banish the monster’s touch, entirely unaware of the gathering crowd.

“It’s cute, yoi.”

You froze, head still ducked under one outstretched wing as a chorus of rumbling chuckles agreed. When you dared peek out from your self-made shelter, Marco smiled. Thatch and a number of very large men – some of whom you knew from wanted posters – stood around, some clearly entertained but all attentive. Focused on you and your painfully awkward water dance.

“I guess we don’t need a cage,” Thatch said, instantly rising in your favor. You waded to his side of the bath pan.

“Still needs looking after,” one of the big men said. Jozu. Another commander you recognized.

“We can take turns,” Thatch suggested. “See who its more comfortable with. So long as we all keep an eye out, it should be fine. Right?”

Izou hummed, arranging a fresh towel by the pan’s edge for you to settle in when you’d finished cleaning up. “We’ll figure it out as we go.”

For a hot second, you’d forgotten yourself. Reality crawled up your throat, acidic and thick. Tasks made good distractions from trauma, and it pulled you so far out of your thoughts you’d been cursing aloud as you worked without a care for who heard you. Just like you were human again. The men around you hadn’t seen or heard that, though. They only saw a clever animal having a rough time.

Until you found a solution to your problem, though, that’s just what you were.

[aegonsvhagar]

Doing It All For Love

𐙚 Reeling after her meeting with Rhaenyra in the sept, she takes advantage of the one thing that reminds her most of her true love; you. Even if you are Aegon’s wife, Rhaenyra’s only daughter and technically, her step-granddaughter.

𐙚 Alicent x Rhaenyra's Daughter!Reader (tw: step-incest, age gap; alicent is reader's step-grandmother and 38/reader is 20, manipulation, slight dub-con)

AN: i am still writing lamb to slaughter i am just rlly turned on by alicent being manipulative and being in power <3 reader is of age, no i am not doing the math

Alicent can't breathe. The power, her very control on matters is slipping. Aegon is lost, Aemond a violent monster. Helaena lost to her grief. Matters possibly be any worse. Of course they could. They always can.

She had told Rhaenyra to her face that war was due, that it was inevitable. Alicent knew the succession had not been changed, that Viserys did not change his mind.

But was Alicent to blame for wanting power of her own? To have developed a taste for it since it was first forced down her throat? Was it so bad of her? Her father had drilled in her so hard Aegon’s claim that had to be what she truly wanted. Why else would she forcibly usurp the only person that has ever loved her.

But it was far too late. All of it set in place. The board was set. Time to play the game before them. But she couldn't deny her feelings. Noy truly. She was angry. Angry at her father, angry at her king, at Aegon.

“Your grace?” you call softly.

Alicent half smiles, but it isn't sincere. She isn't the queen anymore, you are. She foolishly thought if she rushed and married you to a newly crowned Aegon that Rhaenyra would bend. She didn't know Daemon would simply declare war for his better half as you were now considered a 'hostage’ in the capital.

“You are the queen. You can call me Alicent, or mother…” Alicent walks towards you, and allows her hand to reach your face. “...or grandmother.”

“You're so young to be a grandmother.” you assure her.

“You think I look young?” Alicent feeds off your validation, so eager to please. You don't know if it's sincere or a survival tactic but she doesn't care, it turns her on all the same. “You’re such a dove, aren't you? Flaunting about the keep as you please. So insistent on making me and your betters happy.”

“I just want to please you all so you don't take my head.” you admit rashly.

“Take your head?” she cocks hers. “Why would we?”

“Because my mother is…my mother is a traitor and so is my father. I have traitor’s blood.” you say softly.

“You have the blood of the dragon and you share Aegon’s blood. Not all is treacherous.” Alicent tries to calm you, even though the words affirm what you fear people say about you is true. You are the blood of a whore, a traitor. And the worst is you are no bastard, but the daughter of an even worse fate, Daemon Targaryen.

“I wish to be a good queen to you, to Aegon and them.” Alicent reaches to hold your hand and pulls you closer. You gaze up at her.

“You are a good queen. Probably more loved than I.” Alicent’s voice is calming, but not to be sweet or kind or caring. No. She wants you in a false state of comfort.

The more Alicent looks at you, studies your face. The more you look like Rhaenyra. She could see why the court confused you two at times. You didn't have a shred of Daemon in your face, she thanks the gods for that. But you have her former friend’s face. The friend she so desperately clung to as a child. The one who turned her back on her. And now her daughter was clinging to her.

Alicent leans in and kisses you, it’s gentle and she can physically feel you react to it.

You immediately pull back, “Your grace-”

“I am not the queen, you stupid girl.” she grabs your hands firmer, her nails digging into you. “You took that position, usurped it from me.”

“As you have usurped my mother.” you speak back, matching her cold tone. As soon as the words leave you, you regret it.

“I am so sorry, have I hurt you?” she asks as she brings your hands to her face to inspect. Her tone changes to soft again, as she watches blood pool around the moons her nails left in your skin.

“I want to go home!” you admit, tears streaming your face. “I want my mother.”

“I wanted your mother too once. She was my…friend. But she has turned her back on me, on you.” Alicent kisses your hands gently.

“You lie.”

“Do I sweetling? Where is your mother? If I had heard my daughter had married my enemy I’d swarm the palace with my dragon and burn it to ash. But she has not yet even made a move and it has been weeks.” she shakes her head at you, almost mocking you for being so naive.

Alicent holds your head, and leans in to kiss you again, this time more roughly. You don't react, you let it happen. Alicent controls it, every movement she has the power and orchestrates it. And you're so stupid, naive and powerless, you let her.

“What would Aegon say?” you break away, mostly to catch your breath.

“He's with painted whores as we speak.” She licks her lips. You taste like fruit, something she knew you were fond of. She watches your face fall. “Does that upset you?”

“No.” you shake your head. “I do not think so. I don't love him.”

“I know.” Alicent goes to kiss you again, and this time you kiss back.

Your hands go to her waist and you whimper into her mouth. Her hands begin peeling you of your gown, a soft white and gold, and you work to untie the strings on the back of hers.

It’s all happening so fast you can't control anything, she's in charge. You can't help it, you miss your mother. Your gown is slipped off onto the floor and Alicent reaches to pull you closer, gently turns you and then throws you lightly on her bed.

“Have you two lied together?” she asks, finishing stripping her gown down, the dark green material pooling at her feet.

You can't help but stare at her body, despite four pregnancies her body still was slender, and a soft warm color painted her skin. You watched Alicent remove her seven pointed star necklace, kiss it and set it down.

“Have you ever been with a woman?” she asks, beginning to sit beside you on the bed.

You shake your head and watch her take pieces of your silver hair in her hands. God you looked so much like Rhaenyra, she needed to have you.

“Can you kiss me again?” you ask, snapping her out of her trance.

She smiles, mostly because she knows she has you, and she does. She kisses you again, and places herself above you.

You wonder what Rhaenyra would say, what she would think. They had been childhood friends, and now you were kissing her old friend and newest enemy, about to sleep with her. It was all entrancing. Would Daemon have your head when they eventually stormed Kings Landing?

Alicent dips her fingers in her mouth, coating them with spit before settling inside your cunt. You groan, and arch your back at her touch. Pure pleasure shoots through you as she continues to pump her digits in and out of you. She watches you with hungry eyes, picturing your mother in your spot.

You're a gentle little girl, always so keen on pleasing others, Alicent smiled slightly at you finally being pleased. She knew Aegon did not take your pleasure into account, her nasty excuse of a son could not please anyone. Not even the maids he took his pleasure from.

“Feel good sweet dove?” Alicent coos, voice full of sex.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” you cry out, pressure building as you become closer to orgasm. “Please don't stop.”

“I won't, I won't.” she says softly, mostly to herself.

You looked good like this, sweat stuck to your forehead, writhing in pleasure, pleasure given by her. Alicent pulls her fingers out, which causes you to omit soft pleading for her to go back to what she was doing.

She settles between your legs, and gives small kisses on your thighs.

“Don't tease me, please your grace.” you beg.

“I’ll do what I want, won't I?” Alicent doesn't wait for your answer until she's latching her mouth on your now wet cunt, sucking and licking away, the sounds of your moans growing louder and filling the chamber.

She didn't care if maids heard, or passed by and saw. All she cared about was that you were close to cumming on her tongue. She traced your cunt up and down with the wet muscle, ensuring your clit got the most attention.

Your orgasm hits hard, causing you to wrap your legs around her head, “Gods gods gods gods!”

As you ride your wave of pleasure, Alicent licks up the mess and gives your cunt one last kiss before pulling up and looking at you. Her mouth was wet, no soaked with your cum. You blush at the sight.

“Sweet girl.” Alicent wipes her mouth on the duvet, and lays beside you.

“Do you want me to…please you, your grace?” you ask.

She shakes her head, “Dowager queen.”

As you cuddle into her side, still breathing heavily, the one thing that crosses Alicent’s mind is your mother.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Who do you think is the most popular dorm leader amongst their students. Like Leona's obviously kind of a dick but people love him and respect him, while Riddle is more controversial amongst the students. Like rank them based on popularity if you'd be so kind!

I think it really depends??? Like, it's obviously very different within a dorm versus outside of it. Then there's also the question of passion and how far the students that admire said dorm leader will go for them. For example, Diasomnia students are incredibly passionate and form literal angry mobs to defend Malleus's honor; this cannot be said for most of the other dorms. However, the love and admiration for Malleus stretches thin outside of his own dormitory.

Instead of ranking them overall, I think I would instead categorize them like this (note: Yuu is excluded because Ramshackle has fallen from its status as a dorm):

Popular, few to no strings attached:

Kalim is popular both in his dorm and outside of it. He is one of the few cheerful and friendly students on campus and is shown to be well-liked in Scarabia for his empathy and willingness to accept others as they are. Kalim is also generous, throwing parties that include guests from other dorms and often trying to buy expensive gifts like diamonds for his dorm members (until he is stopped by others). His naivety also means he’s easily fooled and taken advantage of, which… sounds like a bad thing, but would be seen as a positive by some of the less savory characters at NRC.

Vil is generally liked and respected. Pre-book 5 Epel is an exception to this. However, students from other dorms, particularly Savanaclaw, sometimes mock Vil and underestimate him until he proves himself to them (for example, in Beans Fest). In both cases, his doubters change their minds and come around to him one way or another. I'd also imagine that Vil being a celebrity and all gives him a HUGE boost in appeal among the general student body.

Popular-ish, terms and conditions apply:

Leona is decently popular, especially among first years, his club, and within his own dormitory. He tends to attract younger students seeking a cool and dependable older brother or mentor figure. Most others—especially in his own grade level—have beef with Leona and/or take issue with his attitude, which is fair and valid.

Known but… infamous:

Riddle seems to be seen in a relatively neutral light by most students. Some admire him for his diligence but more often than not, he’s deemed annoying or unreasonable for enforcing the rules, especially Heartslabyul’s ridiculous ones. His penchant for blowing up at people and being anal about adhering to rules in a very literal and absolutist way probably does not earn him brownie points.

Azul is technically well-known but not necessarily adored. The twins go around advertising his services and luring in potential clients. If you need something, you know he can help you out… for the right price. Azul also has notoriety thanks to running the Mostro Lounge. I don't think people like him very much though, considering that mob students complain about how he’s a scumbag, fellow dorm leaders like Vil express an inherent distrust of him, and Azul himself has zero qualms about using dirty tactics like blackmail to get his own dorm members under his thumb. It feels like people are polite to him out of obligation and fear or what would happen if they aren’t. So in a weird way, Azul is liked for what he can provide people, but isn’t genuinely liked as an individual.

Malleus is playing a game of emotional extremes. While he has fervent, die-hard Draconians like Sebek backing him, the majority of the NRC population holds the opposite opinion and is deathly afraid of him. If he so much as smiles at a mob student or attempts to approach them, most would scream and/or run away. There are certainly exceptions (Kalim, Rook, Yuu, etc.), but they’re in the minority. He’s hovering near the bottom, if only because of the overwhelming terror his name evokes, even if the Draconians attempt to balance it out. Their pushes to make others recognize the glory of their dorm leader only serves to further exacerbate existing tensions.

Not known and/or not popular:

Idia, well… Does bro touch grass and see the light of day enough to even be known by most of the students??? The students we do see Idia interact with tend to either ignore him (partly because he lurks in corners, away from people) or think of him as unpleasant to deal with. It’s hard for him to socialize, and when he does sometimes his Gamer ego gets the better of him and he mouths off an insult that catches him heat. Idia may get some street cred in his own dorm for his skills, but this largely doesn’t extend beyond Ignihyde. I wouldn’t even know if it would be right to say that the other Ignihyde students like Idia; everyone just stays in their own rooms way too much for me to properly gauge their relationship and so I’m left to take the opinions of the larger student body into account.

[penguinly]

Linked Universe Rock Climbing AU

Sky: Has zero fear of heights but struggles with stamina. He is absolutely insane in highball bouldering but starts to struggle a lot when lead climbing. In terms of comps, he'll do really well on the scarier dynamic and technical moves but tire out much faster than some of the other climbers. He's got the first ascent of the current hardest route in the world (named Demise).

Four: Probably the most versatile one. He repairs his own gear and has his own brand of competition shoes. His height does get in the way sometimes but he'll make up for it (unless it's physically impossible) with solid footwork, impressive strength, and a healthy dose of confidence. He might come off as cocky sometimes but he knows exactly how good he is and he's not afraid to show it.

Time: Technically retired from the competitive scene but he'll still show up to the random comp just because he can. He's just that good. Posters of him are in climbing gyms all over the world and he unofficially coaches the rest of the Chain. He's gotten a bunch of buzzer beater tops in his competitive career and some of them are extremely viral.

Legend: While he is definitely not the oldest, he's been climbing for forever (he was absolutely a team kid growing up). His ability to route read stuns people. He'll show up in front of any route and just know how to get through it because he's got so much experience. He hoards all of his gear way back to when he first started (and he's trying to convince Ravio that heights aren't that bad).

Hyrule: Crazy strong fingers. He is capable of climbing absolutely anything and the other Links joke that he could go ice climbing with rock climbing shoes and chalk. He's broken intended beta multiple times in competition by finding some invisible seam on a random hold and basically just doing pull ups on it.

Twilight: Gym bro but actually really good. His technique is on point but he's also so strong that on some climbs he'll brute strength his way through just because he can (valid tactic, no criticism). He's famous for finding the most atrocious no-hand kneebars on lead routes and no one can really explain how he's staying on the wall.

Wind: The definition of a team kid. He's been on the team for as long as the team's existed and he climbs like it, too. Confident, energetic, flexible, and also insane. He knows how cool he looks when he's on the wall. This kid might be a bit short but he's also bouncy as heck and basically flying every time he does a dyno.

Warriors: Technique climber. This man has never failed to top a slab route and doesn't plan on starting anytime soon. Famous for finding the most ridiculously complicated and precise footwork on hard routes and somehow making it look easy. He also somehow manages to never get chalk on himself. He can and will make hard routes look easy and graceful.

Wild: The coordination dyno-er. He's famously unlucky with rain on his outdoor days but he makes up for it by doing the impossible in competition. He almost never uses the intended beta and either manages to skip half of the holds or finds some mind-boggling yet effective way to twist his body just right and eek his way to the top.

[itsnotcasual]

you guys that keep assigning the marauders to one direction members have got it all wrong because you don’t know their hearts and their souls like i do!!! nobody asked me so im telling you my in-depth analysis anyways.

credentials:

i ran a larry account and still have zayn as my pfp. suck it.

i’m tired of you all leaving out louis so he’s going first as a very obvious sirius black. you keep assigning zayn because he’s gorgeous and wears a leather jacket but louis is literally right there pulling pranks, playing sports on the side, and having gay allegations thrown his way and you’re all just ignoring it and i’m SICK OF IT!!!!! NOT TO MENTION!!! HE IS ALSO GORGEOUS!!! AND ALSO CAN WEAR A LEATHER JACKET!!!!

liam is peter. you’re all blinded by the teddy bear nature of his face pre-surgery but if you even slightly kept up with them you’d know that he tried and failed to be as big as the other members on his own so he had to settle for talking shit about them on podcasts instead. and ykw!! liam was right when he said that he was supposed to be the front man, it was OBVIOUS (#whoremembers let niall sing) but it was even more obvious that a majority of people tuning into 1d were tuning in for harry, not liam. just like how peter was technically there first, best friend to james, but wasn’t the one people cared as much about. also yes, he’s dead but i also was keeping up with his allegations and went through hell online defending them as a teen so i’ll say what i want!!! liam died and i mourned for my childhood but he also objectively sucked at being a friend to the boys after the band!! he is my peter!!! he betrayed them and we would have never gotten a reunion anyways PURELY because of him (zouis would have made up eventually i just know it)

zayn is remus. boo me all you want but it’s true. zayn plays yu-gi-oh, he’s artistic, he owns a farm and can’t name the chickens because he’s afraid of getting attached. people who bought into the Bradford Bad Boy marketing tactic OPEN YOUR EYES!!! HE IS A NERD!!!!! HE IS A SOFTY!!!! HE HAS SOCIAL ANXIETY THAT HE OVERCOMES FOR HIS KID!!! he’s remus. i’ll accept no other answers.

niall is james! “but issitcasual-“ i don’t wanna hear it! niall gets away with fucking EVERYTHING!!! he caused a feud between ed sheeran and ellie goulding and came out of it completely unscathed. his biggest controversy is the japan incident and not seasoning his chicken. niall fans practically grew up in a stable household with 2 loving parents and its all because niall is a beloved creature of this earth. he can’t do wrong he’s a golden boy and so is james.

harry is the only one i could accept multiple answers for but they’re all still wrong answers because honestly??? i don’t think harry really knows himself yet or isn’t showing us that actual version of himself and is just relying on really good marketing (valid honestly the north remembers how you all treated underaged harry styles) some days he’s remus some days he’s sirius some days he’s james but most days to me he’s marlene. i think he struggles with his identity in a lot of ways that ive seen marlene portrayed, i think that he’s changed and grown a lot which is usually something i see done with marlene’s character (like after her trip in tcoptp). I think no matter if its sexuality or just fashion or personality that he has a lot of discovering to do still.

until then i’d also slightly accept harry as remus for wolfstar/larry purposes.

thanks for coming to my ted talk i have thought way too much about this

[cerastes]

This is absolutely the Lack Of Reading Comprehension Website, but there's another issue I've noticed that I never see brought up, and it doesn't exist completely excised from lacking reading comprehension, but it's definitely it's own topic.

Tumblr's a Bad Faith Website as well. Like the above, it's not something exclusive to Tumblr, but it definitely defines it in my opinion. A lot of people want to be Right, and disagreements are seen by a bunch of people as something to "win" rather than something to "have". You'll have randos that frame their entire argument against you based on latching onto technicalities to try to prove why you are wrong rather than actually engage with your argument to try and propose something else or turn it around. As someone who was in a debate club during university, I call it "debate-poisoned people" who see arguments and conversations as a sport more than an interaction or, well, an actual conversation to be had, or in other words, that consider every argument as a debate to be had, when a lot of the time, it's not that deep fam, and also the other person never really agreed to play under your rules, because, here's the thing, a debate is a very specific kind of interaction. In a debate, bad faith interaction and trying to erase the very floor the other party is standing on is a valid tactic, it's part of the game. In a conversation or an argument, bad faith interaction and trying to erase the floor the other party is standing on gets you rightfully called a moron who cannot use inference or extrapolation to actually engage with the topic at hand. I had one such weirdo like a week or so ago, even, who used so many words to say absolutely nothing, that I thought I accidentally performed a digital necromantic ritual and had actually found myself face to face with the spirit of Jacques Lacan.

Even in more innocuous, non-hostile scenarios, this still applies: A lot of people are so, so eager to Be Correct On The Internet, that they'll reblog something with a correction or an opinion seemingly so hastily that they did not in fact read the entire post or comprehend it. This feeds into the lack of reading comprehension, but in my opinion, it does also have to do with seeing something that they believe they can correct, and immediately chomping at the bit to correct it without stopping for a second to ask themselves, "Did I read this right? Does this need correction?", and a lot of the time, it turns out, yes, you did not in fact need to correct it, you just had to read it a bit slower without letting your quickdraw hand get the best of you, cowboy. The way I consider this to be Bad Faith, even if it's not really hostile or confrontational, is the long-held belief that The Internet Is Inhabited By People Stupid Enough To Actually Think Or Say Something This Stupid.

I'll be real with you: Yeah, you've seen wild stories on the internet, plenty of them true, about how stupid people can be. No, they do not define the majority of people that aren't you. A wild, flabbergasting story about idiocy gets traction because it's funny and wild. We don't hear stories about how User A made a compelling argument that seemed stupid at first but then turned out that their rationale was incredibly sound as much, because that's not funny and wild and doesn't make us feel good about ourselves, because we'd never make such a stupid mistake. You aren't a sage wearing the floatie of wisdom in an ocean of idiots, no matter what your echo chamber and/or carefully curated internet space makes you think. You are not exempt from having to think about things, and you are not exempt from having to acknowledge people that know things you don't, people wiser than you are out there. This isn't "you are dumb as shit, actually", because I personally believe most people are smart, this is "you are being superficial and too eager to be Correct, which only works to your detriment in the long run and makes you a rather unlikable person".

It's as simple as engaging in good faith, even when you disagree or dislike the other party. Rip apart their arguments properly, instead of trying to disqualify them with cheap gotchas from the get go just because you want to own someone. Yes, sometimes people don't make sense, period, but that's absolutely not as common as people like to claim it happens. Inevitably, you'll run into someone that will actually call out your bullshit and there goes your entire argument. And in less intense settings, really, no one likes a pedant who really wants to be Correct on fucking Tumblr of all places.

[superscrub323]

So a thought occurs to me...what does make a 'Good Ares'?

Well the tl;dr is basically Norse Era Kratos but he's renamed Ares but since I technically said that in a previous blog post I'll elaborate. Alright, we all know how most media just gets Ares...wrong. He's either evil, ineffective because Athena exists, or just plain an asshole. Which if I was a God of War and Bloodshed who Loves bringing Fear, Dread, Strife, and Destruction where ever I go on a battlefield I can see why people would call me an asshole but if you followed me or most of my mutuals you probably know that's not entirely the case which makes it sad when that's the part where post people home in on. So, going under the assumption that we have enough on Ares from original tellings to paint a full picture*, here's what I would use to paint a picture of a 'good Ares'

Well he has to be violent, I know shocking right? A God of War being violent! Alright serious time, While certain War Gods and Philosophers love to paint a picture of a War that can be won without fighting, that's called diplomacy, and while it is valid, wars are inherently violent and confrontational and any Ares needs to reflect that. And since being a hothead that always looks for a fight doesn't automatically designate one towards being an asshole as proud warrior race guys, and hotheads can attest, he can be violent and still not be an asshole. Second off he has to be handsome. Yeah apparently original tellings of Ares describe him as one of the handsome among Greek Gods which is really impressive when Apollo and Adonis, two names synonymous with male beauty, exist. Granted you think most would figure that out from his legendary love affair with Aphrodite but apparently some people just can't resist making him ugly, which sucks but long story short, he has to be handsome. Third off, no misogyny. The whole dubiousness of Ares being a 'Protector of Women' thing notwithstanding and the fact that Greece already had Goddess who were 'Protectors of Women' (whether or not they were good at it from the stories we have vs how they were worshipped I leave you), Ares is a God in a pantheon that follows 'no means yes and yes means anal' rules to a T and the fact that he's one of the primary Olympians who has a cleanish track record with the opposite gender and is patron to an Island Nation of Badass Female Warriors who would go on to inspire Wonder Woman herself shows that by Ancient Greek Standards he's...not a misogynistic asshole (which in Ancient Greek Terms makes him a radfem but again, that speaks more poorly on his male cohorts if anything else). Fourthly, he has to be effective contrast to Athena who's no less necessary in the Art of War. Okay the running joke among Greek Mythology nerds is that Ares is the 'crybaby War God who gets his ass kicked by Athena and her pet heroes and goes crying to mommy and daddy who tell him to stop being a little bitch' and if I were to take his 3 most embarrassing moments in a vacuum I might come to that agreement. But I didn't and what I instead see is that Ares is a physically and martially superior to Athena who has to resort to tactical yet dirty tricks to get the win. Which isn't bad in and off itself, I do like Athena being a boss bitch, but when we say 'Athena kicked Ares ass twice in the Iliad' without the 'by using an invisible helmet and a mortal as a misdirection the first time and by having Zeus's 'Everything Proof Shield' and taking advantage of him being distracted the second time' we get painted an...incomplete picture. Which would be all fine and dandy but while Athena's domain of Strategy and Wisdom are important as shown in those examples (and said examples are no less impressive even if the impressiveness lies in her preparedness and strategy rather than her pure martial ability) Ares and by proxy War...kind of need the whole...violence, fear, dread, chaos, and destruction as I said before. So a good Ares needs to be a reminder that wisdom, strategy, and even diplomacy are no less essential to warfare than violence and bloodshed. Heck Ares sired a Goddess of Harmony so he himself knows this. So yeah, that's my list on what makes a good Ares...now who did Ares best... Well...Hades by Supergiant Games has the best Ares by default. He's violent to a borderline creepy degree but not impolite and/or rude to any of the Chthonic Deities, we don't know if if he has any children, but if he does we can also confer that if how he treats Zag is any indication he doesn't treat them like shit, he's handsome in a boyish way and looks cute in a game where 'looking cute' is a requirement for all the character designs, and he's a good contrast to Athena who's conversations between the two are nothing but pure gold.**

* New things get discovered everyday.

** But if he turns out to be evil in Hades 2 I'm going to recant that while resisting every urge to send hate mail to Supergiant Games.

[psuedosugu]

You know something I've noticed? Yeah, Nifty is your typical yandere but can we talk about Vox? You technically don't even have to request him as a yandere unless you want it to be romanticized toward you and/or further explored because according to ALL of the recent regular Vox x readers (and the show itself), he clearly has many traits of one especially toward Alastor. He acts like a toxic, jealous ex 😂 He cyberstalks people for one, he's manipulative, insecure (this is where possessiveness and jealousy tends to stem from), doesn't take rejection well as we heard from Al, is capable of being obsessed with someone, and an overall control freak. He wants to keep the Vees' image and everything looking perfect. Imagine this guy being attached to you. An absolute nightmare. Never any privacy, eyes and ears everywhere, can teleport with or without a screen, blackmail is 100% on the table as well as other tactics, and constant validation for him whether your relationship is forced or not. What sucks about the last part is that it's a double-edged sword. If you fuel his ego, he's enabled but if you don't give him enough attention, he'll try harder and tighten his hold on you. So while Val absolutely horrible, it's like you can never win with Vox. Not when you don't have equal power and he's stated to be very strong. Especially these days, tech is an absolute must since even jobs heavily rely on it. Life and the afterlife here is much harder without a smartphone. He's literally a TV. He wants to be watched and noticed.

So he'll get it.

exactly brooo

cw: themes of manipulation, blackmail, and toxic, controlling relationships.

gender neutral

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

ੈ✧̣̇ || honestly atp he’s practically a canon yandere.

ੈ✧̣̇ || i kinda talked about this before but i feel like he would manipulate reader into thinking that they need him when its the other way around

ੈ✧̣̇ || as u said, he’s insecure as hell and he needs someone to boost his ego and make him look superior

ੈ✧̣̇ || he also needs some source of stability in his (after) life which is where you come in.

ੈ✧̣̇ || hed also never let things go or get over you.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he started beef with a dude that he hadn’t seen in 7 whole years, for gods sake 😭

ੈ✧̣̇ || bro will start fights over things that happened months ago and are over now done with

ੈ✧̣̇ || he also craves control, not only will he spy on you through your electronics but he’ll also try and control other things that he has no business controlling like what you wear, who you talk to, ect.

ੈ✧̣̇ || if you mention your concerns about it he’ll try and back off, but hes just so paranoid that something will happen to you even though he knows you’re capable of taking care of yourself.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he needs to feel like he’s needed.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he also exerts his control by threatening you with blackmail, wether it be secrets that you told him or pictures.

ੈ✧̣̇ || not like you don’t have a fair amount of dirt on him too, though.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he’d definitely fight a bitch for you, if you’re getting threatened, stalked, and/or harassed by someone (that isnt him ofc) said person better prepare for his wrath.

ੈ✧̣̇ || hes a whiny ass bitch which is either annoying or hot depending on who you ask and what the context is.

ੈ✧̣̇ || its also kind of confusing how he acts, he’ll be practically ignoring you one second and begging for your attention the next.

ੈ✧̣̇ || another reason why he’s so scared of you leaving is because of how vulnerable he’s been to you.

ੈ✧̣̇ || he’s told you things that he’s never told anyone, shown parts of him that no one has ever seen, and the thought of what you could do with this info if you ever were to turn on him makes him feel sick to the stomach.

ੈ✧̣̇ || despite how it feels sometimes he really does care about and love you, he just has an unhealthy mindset when it comes to love.

ੈ✧̣̇ || perhaps you should stay around (not like u rlly have a choice), teach him how to love someone properly. you wont regret it :)

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

i do requests!

check out my masterlist!

[aroaceleovaldez]

I need to see more demigods who bite. Like jason totally feels the need to bite stuff, and leo half-jokingly suggests getting him a chew toy (like a dog). Nico absolutely bites to show affection, (maybe not willy nilly like jason but still) like just randomly biting people he's close with shoulders or hands because he just loves them so much (jason both bite to express affection and stim)

Anyways petition to normalize neurodivergent people who bite as a form of expressing affection or stimming.

oh absolutely. I actually have a tier list of "which of the Argo II crew & co are most likely to bite:"

Jason gnaws on people to show affection. He is extremely "Everything I love belongs in my mouth and everything I hate belongs between my teeth." He mostly stopped doing it for awhile cause of the whole "being trained to be the Perfect Praetor™" and having to mask a lot more, but he picked it up again a bit when he and Reyna became friends cause she didn't care and then more with the Argo II crew. He definitely hoards chewlery. He also definitely bit Krios real bad when they were fighting, if not outright killed him with his teeth.

Nico is a younger sibling. He has no qualms against biting in fights, any fight, but he does associate biting with fights. Jason tries to friendly-bite him one time and Nico just takes it as declaration of war and they end up tussling for like five minutes. After he gets used to Jason though he picks it up a bit too, mostly just chewing on people's hands. Also I 100% hc that when he was in Tartarus he just went full teeth-and-claws mode to survive. Honestly he bites more in regular combat and even training than Jason does, mostly just cause he's not above fighting dirty. If it works, it works. Also I hc he has sharp canines and is small so he might as well.

Frank's third but only on technicality cause shapeshifting. When he's human he's pretty much equal level to everybody else which is "only bites as a last resort."

Everybody else is pretty on-par with each other but Percy is probably just sliiightly more likely to bite not for any particular reason, he just considers it a valid fight tactic in a pinch (unlike Nico, who just considers it a general fight tactic). Also he got the oral stim adhd vibes. He has a lot of chewlery. They're all sea-themed, of course. Thalia is also pretty equal to Percy in terms of "biting as a valid fighting tactic."

Annabeth is also like. She's less likely to bite than Percy but more likely to than the rest of the crew. It's just a valid battle tactic under certain scenarios to her (and that includes training). She does consider it a low-blow though. She's also definitely got the oral stim adhd too. Lots of chewlery, rip her pencils and pens, etc etc. Her and Percy probably have a shared chewlery collection.

Piper is not the bitey type but she does have little to no formal combat training so yknow, wet cat technique. I do also totally believe she'd also have a chewing stim though. Like yknow how I draw her with the little braid sidebangs? Yeah she definitely chews on those and that's part of why she wears her hair like that. The other reason is that braiding it is one of her other stims.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

stormverine | rolo week! day three | trust

wc: ~1800

a/n: expanded from an earlier wip post. technically gen, but definitely setting up the ship (and what i will probably have to tag as Power Dynamics, because i enjoy writing guard dogs what else is new)

//

Logan’s sanity has been in question for a good decade. Optimistically speaking, it’s a work-in-progress. When he was Weapon X for the Canadian government, Heather and Mac made an effort to keep him on an even keel.

More human than weapon. More reason than instinct.

He’d sensed he was hitting some kind of block by the time Xavier came to fetch him. Something that couldn’t be overcome by medicine or therapy prescribed by a bunch of doctors who pretended to understand what the hell was happening to him. 

And don’t get him wrong. Xavier pretends to understand too, but the professor’s got telepathy, and that at least gets him a better view of the struggle. It gets Logan the surety of a safety rope; painless, so he wouldn’t flinch and retaliate, and inexorable, so he couldn’t resist. The fact that the X-Men also gets him a front-row ticket to some of the worst mind-bending trips of Logan’s life is, well… 

Pessimistically speaking, Logan is losing the war to keep his goddamned mind. He’s lashing out on reflex and instinct, seeing enemies in his peripheral. His reasoning, his memory, it’s all going to pot.

It was bad under Scott’s leadership. It is worse now, but he won’t blame it on Ororo. 

The slide’s been building momentum. Too many slips without a save. Xavier can’t be there all the time, so Logan tries to keep rational on his own, tries to keep the bloodlust down now that there’s an actual kid at the mansion. Kurt seems to get it; he offers out of genuine sincerity to let Logan blow off steam with their games in the woods, and more than once, Logan is sure that Kurt’s had something to do with making sure Logan bumps into Ororo once a day. 

Which, on principle, Logan resents. 

Logan is a grown-ass mutant who doesn’t need minding. Never mind the evidence that Ororo helps, just by offering a word, a joke, or a mug of coffee. If Kurt indulges Logan’s bestial instincts, Ororo settles them. They aren’t pressed down like they are when Xavier intervenes. They aren’t even redirected to productive, if equally destructive, purposes, which was a favorite tactic of Scott’s. 

It’s not good. He shouldn’t be thinking of Ororo like a touchstone.

Yet when he breaks free from Doom’s cage, disoriented and half-mad, it’s Ororo he thinks of first. The team is scattered and the micro-transceivers aren’t working; the world outside the castle is clearly out of sorts with a wind howling as loud as the animal inside him. Logan doesn’t bother wasting time weighing his priorities—Ororo comes first.

He thinks in a different world, he throws in the towel and removes himself from the trappings of civilization altogether. It chafes to be restricted by things like orders, morals, ethics. He hadn’t liked it under the Canadian government, he hasn’t enjoyed the lectures from Cyclops and Xavier, and—the itch to act out and test the boundaries that Storm sets…

It’s still there. It’s nipping at his heels. Something’s going to give.

Before that, though, Logan can’t help but tie his fate to Ororo’s. When he and Kurt force Doom to revert the organic steel transformation and Storm emerges not just free but furious, Logan admittedly thinks twice about trying to restrain her.

Her rage is valid, isn’t it? Who has the right to leash a goddess?

So it’s not Logan who pulls Storm back, since he definitely lacks Colossus’s steady faith and firm trust in the human spirit. And in the chaotic rush to prevent Storm from going rogue, Logan’s thin and desperate plea to a higher being will be forgotten.

His thoughts are muddled throughout the aftermath, save for the instinctual training of his senses on where and what Storm does to negotiate their exit.

She uses the Wolverine’s name like a naked blade catching the light, and Logan isn’t even bothered. Let him be the threat. He’d relish the reputation if it got Doom’s slippery manners and hollow, courteous gestures to stop. 

When they agree to a truce, to a clean slate, Logan chews on the implications all the way home. He’s perversely glad that he can focus enough to puzzle over that last exchange.

Human enough to be jealous. Wonderful.

It’s something like a week after they return to the mansion, after Angel abruptly cuts from the team for greener (saner) pastures, that Logan remembers he’s human enough for the less pleasant sides of humanity too.

The nightmares have come back with a fucking vengeance.

Logan never remembers them, doesn’t have to, because what they do to his heart rate and sweat glands and sensory system says it all: he’s fucking terrified. Of what? The mansion creaks like it always does, old and reliable and drafty with all the recent repair work done to its walls and windows. The various scents are homely: blends of the incense sticks he burns, the remnants of meals, the smells of his teammates.

He should feel safe here. 

A memory snarls, a phantom sound. Logan wrenches himself out of bed and just barely restrains the claws from extending. His clothes do a lot to wick the sweat away, but it chills the back of his neck and raises the hairs, and he—

Logan lurches for the door. Ghosts. Spirits. He can’t trust his senses. He’s been put into too many situations where his heightened senses worked against him.

If the Professor isn’t reaching out to help him, isn’t beaming his deafening reprimand to calm down and be rational, then—! Logan doesn’t let himself finish that thought. If Xavier thought Logan was too far gone, he’d try and cage him in MacTaggert’s facility. No, maybe it’s more likely that Logan’s mutation has finally adapted to the invasive nature of Xavier’s mind-touches. Maybe Xavier needs to exert a little more conscious effort to catch when Logan’s about to let loose. 

Maybe Logan’s head is masking its own damn disintegration.

He slips into the hallway, barefoot. He eases the door shut behind him. He has to trust something. There is something in his head that is standing firm, steadfast, someone who smells like ozone and greenery, dust after rain.

The stairs up to Ororo’s attic-loft have never seemed farther, but Logan’s pushed himself through hell before. He steps silently, nimbly, until he’s ascending and at the door to Ororo’s personal haven.

Before he can stop himself, he’s—

“Ororo,” he calls out quietly.

The door swings open. “Logan?” she says, blinking. There are no curtains in her loft, and the moonlight washes her hair and the outline of her body in blue. The tension in his shoulders and spine vanishes. Logan digs his nails into his palms, clawing for clarity.

“‘Roro, I don’t—I don’t rightly know what the hell’s happenin’ to me right now. My head…”

“My friend, come in,” she says.

She’s worried. Obviously. It’s not every day that the Wolverine admits to a bit of headache and a spiraling feral temperament.

The door clicks shut, but she doesn’t switch the light on. Instead, Ororo draws him to the windows. Her eyes are steady on his, and when she reaches to touch his face to check for fever, Logan lets her. Her hands are a little chilled, wind-chapped too. “Is this something I can help you with? Shall I ask for the Professor?”

“If he had an idea, he’d have said it. Done it already.”

Ororo is silent. Belatedly, Logan realizes that he’s let his eyes shut, his vocal cords free. He’s goddamn purring like a rusty engine, and leaning into her hands to boot. He locks up and in like a good soldier. 

“Logan—”

“Sorry,” he croaks, and tries to pull away. “My control’s slippin’. I know it. The team knows it. I’m becomin’ as much a danger to the X-Men as to the creeps we fight.”

She holds him still. “Would you not say the same of me? I have never lost myself to my powers before. I hurt my team in an effort to stay as I was.”

“That’s different. You were—trapped—” Logan struggles to make the difference in their situations clear. Her brief foray into primal rage was born of a unique hell preying on her past, her fears, her innate desire to dance along the winds. He’s just like this. He’s always been like this. 

Her thumbs brush over his cheekbones; she is bold enough to card her fingers through his hair, and the long nails scratch Logan’s scalp like he’s some pet.

Fuck, maybe he is. Logan goes boneless, goes to his knees and tips his head to her, breathes out and in like meditation. His eyes close in anticipation of judgment.

“I do not accept your resignation from the X-Men,” Ororo says. “I will not accept any question of your leaving, unless there is some dire need of your presence elsewhere.”

“... Nice caveat.”

“I would not be who I was without some measure of freedom,” she responds wryly. “But I believe I am beginning to understand what might keep you here, beyond promises and vows.” The air shifts. He knows, without a doubt, that Ororo is kneeling too. “The Professor doubts your ability to reason in moments of crisis. I cannot seem to get it through his head that you, my friend, help me keep this team together.”

The affectionate nickname leaves his mouth without permission. “Darlin’,” he says, before snapping his teeth together with a click.

Ororo tugs his hair in reprimand, and Logan’s spine goes a little liquid. He cracks open his eyes, registers the slight smile, hears the quickened heartbeat. Her blue eyes are bright despite the dim illumination that pours through the skylights.

“Sorry,” he offers, guiltily. “I can be a professional about this.”

“If you were capable of being wholly professional, you would not be in this situation,” Ororo says. “Can you tell me what you need, Logan? Or shall I guide you in ignorance, as my predecessors did before me?”

Logan considers the request. Slowly, he says, “I ain’t askin’ for perfection. I don’t go lookin’ for it, either. I don’t care about the mistakes you’ve made, because the good you do outweighs all of that. Past, present, and future.”

She waits. He gives in first.

“Balance,” he says. “Don’t ask me to choose one or the other. Human or animal. Duty or freedom. The mission or—your life. I know what hard sacrifices are, and I’ll make them when I have to. I can’t promise to be your completely obedient servant—” Ororo interrupts him with a snort of derisive humor, and Logan flashes a quicksilver grin back, “—but I don’t mind deferrin’ to you. You’re team leader.”

“I am not as experienced as Scott was.”

“What’s that matter? There are dozens of ‘experienced’ team leaders that do worse with better people.” Logan hesitates, but finally catches Ororo’s wrists and takes her hands down, holds them in his, runs his thumbs over the fine knuckles and brown skin tinted blue. Then he lifts them and presses his lips to the slender digits, eyes cast down. Quietly, he murmurs, “Lead me, wind-rider.”

[jbk405]

I think Sunry's murder trial in Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic is the best example of "moral complexity" in the game, because I honestly don't know the "right" outcome.

For the immediate trial question of "Did Sunry murder Elassa?", the answer is simple: Sunry is guilty. He committed the crime, and in the course of your investigation you can find evidence to prove it and get him to confess in private.

However, despite Sunry's actual guilt, the Sith have still planted evidence and bribed witnesses in an attempt to manipulate the court case. They plan to use the trial to get the Selkath government to side against the Republic. Politics are supposed to stay out of legal proceedings, but it is impossible to deny that this trial will have an immediate effect on the war currently raging across the galaxy.

Elassa, the victim, was a Sith spy who had seduced Sunry with the intent of obtaining secret Republic information. She may have even been planning to kill him that same night. You could hypothetically argue that Sunry killing her was a legitimate part of the war or espionage, and not criminal murder. However in the course of questioning Sunry he admits that he didn't act on orders from the Republic and instead it was out of personal rage and betrayal when he learned that she was using him as an intelligence asset and was not attracted to him like he thought she was.

So, do you allow Sunry to be convicted for the crime he committed, knowing that it may cost thousands of Republic soldiers their lives if the Selkath restrict kolto exports as a result?

Do you get him acquitted to stymie the Sith plot, but allow Elassa's murder to go unpunished?

There isn't a simple answer here and I applaud the game for setting it up this way.

Normally I play the technicality game: I present all of my evidence about the Sith's manipulation of witnesses and evidence and highlight their lack of valid proof of Sunry's guilt, but I don't advance any of Sunry's justifications for his actions or accuse the Sith of killing Elassa themselves. I also do not present my own evidence of Sunry's guilt. I speak only the truth itself, but not the whole truth.

The outcome for my tactics is that Sunry is convicted, but the death penalty as waived and the Republic does not face any censure from the Selkath. However the Sith also do not face any censure. I think this is the closest we get to "justice" in this situation.

[taylor-tut-ocs]

New OCs!!!

okay so the concept of this lesbians on a game show much like the bachelor. it seems sweet and fluffy, but under the surface lurks a sinister network exec that is using cult-like tactics (sleep deprivation, humiliating and controlling activities, isolation, limiting food intake, etc) to earn worship, validation, and wildly undercompensated labor. though they're technically competing, the girls have to set aside their differences and band together to keep from losing themselves.

Alma

The bachelorette. Beautiful, kind, and charming, the singer songwriter hopes to get her foot in the Hollywood door. She's not sure she'll find love and is much more concerned with launching her career. She's legally blind and missing the fingers on her left hand from a battle with meningitis and sepsis as a teenager.

Holly

Used to be very successful in an MLM, but left when she learned how much it was taking advantage of people. She wrote a bestselling book warning about the dangers of these companies and spends a lot of her time doing public speaking gigs. The first to realize that the game show is up to no good. Hopes to find a wife.

Shoshana

She became a widow 10 years ago at the age of 22 and is finally allowing herself to find love again. Works as a children's speech therapist. Her father was a hoarder, so she's very particular about things being clean and orderly. Some might call her uptight, but she's really just a difficult nut to crack and slow to trust.

Kimmy

Camerawoman who spends a lot of time with the other girls when they're not filming. Very empathetic and wants to help the other girls stay safe, but there's little she can do given that she's being mistreated by the network, too. She'd hoped to find work on documentaries, but now that she's bonded with the other girls, this project is her passion.

Althea "Tea"

She's no stranger to television—she was in a reality show about a troubled teens camp when she was 16 and was subjected to horrors. She's deeply traumatized by it, but she was very popular and wants to change the reputation that show gave her. If she finds a wife along the way, that's a bonus. She works in retail.

Rickie

Serial dater who is looking to finally settle down. She works as a transcriber for movies. She's the literal gentlest person on the planet. She doesn't even swear, though she doesn't care when the other girls do. The picrew won't give me the option to give her tattoos, she's got a full sleeve on her right side.

[textualviolence]

Meng Yao/Jin Guangyao's Lovers Fuckability ranking

Level minus zero: Lan Xichen. Does not have even a shred of a fatherly relationship to JGY. Treats him like an equal. Is kind to him. Respects him as a person and genuinely likes who he is. Probably inspires JGY to become celibate so they can be chaste together. Some erotic tension if they don't fuck, brushes of hands, purity and chastity causing a rising of tension etc. But there's no way they can have actual sex outside of maybe the hiding from the Wen context. I bet they write poems to each other though. That's very nice. 2/10

Level 1: Nie Mingjue pre-Meng Yao's dismissal. Is technically probably Meng Yao's first dubious fatherbosslover figure. I do imagine he had a certain degree of guilt about it which isn't hot for anyone being victimized by an older authority figure. Definitely probably a lot of the sex they had and especially the kind they didn't have hinged on the fact that Meng Yao looks exactly like Nie Huaisang. I think if NMJ had been willing to cross that line and actually made Meng Yao kinda sorta pretend to be his little brother he would be further up the ranking, alas. The most morally dubious it gets is that Meng Yao is his servant and social inferior and probably aged around 15. However the incredibly high amount of approval he probably dished out regularly and easily alongside sex and orders did prepare the grounds for Meng Yao to then crave that kind of validation all the time and go to ridiculous lengths for it. 4/10

Level 2: Wen Ruohan. Will groom Meng Yao without subjecting him to his weird morality complex. WRH is just a bad guy and doesn't care. Also will favor Meng Yao over his actual blood children, partly as a manipulation tactic and also because his children kind of suck. Definitely loves to play people against each other and will use the trading of sexual favors as a political tool. Actually old enough to be his dad and is also in the same social position as his dad, currently beating his dad in a war, and acting as his dad dangling promises of legitimization in between throne room handjobs and prisoner torture sessions. Can humiliate both NMJ and JGS. Honestly the ideal situation. Too ideal? It's just too straightforward. Give yourself over to me body and soul and do my evil bidding and in exchange i'll give you all the validation you crave. That's so reliable that its suspicious and kind of a turn off. Where's the excitement and rollercoaster of unpredictable reward/punishment? 6/10

Level 5: Nie Mingjue post-Meng Yao's dismissal: No more little brother issue now it's all about how NMJ just wants to kill him at all cost and will risk political disaster in order to do so. NMJ who used to shower him with affection and validation, telling him all the time that he was proud of him and what a good job he was doing as a deputy, now wants him dead. The dick must be incredible. They probably don't have sex often & its never not violent & dangerous, but the high of it lasts for days. It doesn't lessen the rage in the long term but it evacuates it in the short term & where before the sex was coexisting with the validation now the sex IS the validation. Which makes it hot no matter how unvalidating its actually meant to be. Half those bruises he's hiding under his sleeves aren't from Madam Jin let me tell you. Plus he's writing poems to Lan Xichen and strongly considering the benefits of a chaste existence in between. The guilt and hypocrisy and having to lie to Lan Xichen's concerned and loving face when he sees the bruises is only making it more intense. 9/10

Level 7: Mo Xuanyu: He gets to become his dad(s) and take advantage of the willingness and admiration of a beautiful youth who would do anything for him. On top of that they're related. It's 100% reenactment power reversal fantasy combined with the horror of his marriage to Qin Su finding a concrete twisted sexual outlet. This time he fucked a half-sibling on purpose!!! And then he can dismiss him for sexual impropriety the second he comes to his senses and be rid of the sin forever which was half of the need. And then he can feel even more like his dad. 8/10

Level 10: Jin Guangshan: What more can I say. He slaps with one hand and caresses with another. Literally makes Jin Guangyao do the most secret taboo vile political tasks he can't offload onto anyone else and then refuses to touch him because of it until Meng Yao performs some kind of cleansing action, for which he is briefly rewarded with mild approval and even certain shows of affection, but never outside of the bedroom. Keeps a large retinue of whores and plays them off against each other, includes Meng Yao in the games to make sure he feels like one of them. No way to ever feel too comfortable in the certainty he has his father's anything because any shred of positive interaction is extremely hard-earned, unless he shows sign of wanting to leave or waver in his loyalties, in which case his father WILL pull him back with more love and care than he's ever shown which will feel like a drug. I bet he had more than one fight with NMJ over the issue of which groomer his son was to listen to and he won everytime. One show of possessiveness equivalent to 10'000 hours of basic respect in Meng Yao's heart. 10/10

[jungkoode]

So in a case that is not Jeon, unless you plan to address it in the future, how would they call the limit ? What about non exclusive but romantic attachments that would stay hidden ? What about undefined attachments ? it might be my aroace ass but i realistically struggle to conceptualize how they can build such a massive rule on the basis of hard to define feelings lmao. Like for Yunjin and V it seems like attraction (on yunjin's side) where they know nothing will lead from it but sex isnt a problem, obviously Jeon is on thin fucking ice... Im guessing these will remain answer-less questions in your inbox for a while lol

Roo… this question is so insanely valid and thoughtful I want to fold it into a journal page.

You’re right to struggle with this. Because the truth is—the rule doesn’t make clean logical sense. Not really. Not when you start pulling at the edges of human emotion and all its gray zones. “Non-exclusive romantic feelings”? “Hidden but mutual emotional attachment”? “Cuddling with intention but not a label”? These things exist. And RM’s rule doesn’t technically account for them. Because it’s not a rule rooted in emotional nuance. It’s a rule born out of trauma.

It feels like it makes sense in the context of Kkangpae—because it’s enforced, and obeyed, and framed like a pillar of survival. But when you zoom out from the chain of command, what you see is that it’s not a policy rooted in moral clarity or tactical truth. It’s RM’s trauma turned into law. And no one questions it—because he’s the leader, because everyone knows what happened to his brother and because RM has saved every single member in the Council, gave them a purpose. But that doesn’t mean it’s objectively rational. It’s not.

This rule isn’t a universal truth. It’s his truth. His wound. His way of controlling the uncontrollable.

The loss of his brother—who was betrayed by the woman he loved and killed because of it—became the central cautionary tale that RM built his entire command philosophy around. Romantic attachment—specifically reciprocal, emotional attachment—became synonymous with betrayal. With compromise. With vulnerability. So the rule he created is a kind of armor: if no one forms bonds that go both ways, no one can be manipulated. No one will hesitate. No one will be torn between love and loyalty.

So where’s the line, realistically? Truthfully? It moves. It shifts based on perception, power, precedent.

Jeon’s line is paper-thin because he already crossed it. And the consequences weren’t hypothetical—someone died. That’s why everything he does now is under scrutiny, even if it’s just desire. But someone like V? There is zero fear around V catching feelings. He’s widely perceived as incapable of romantic love. He can fuck. He can be physically close. But reciprocate love? It’s unthinkable. Which is why no one bats an eye if Yunjin is openly known to like him, or even sleep with him. The threat level is non-existent—not because Yunjin is safe, but because V is.

Y/N isn’t. Jeon isn’t x10000.

But imagine Yunjin started to get close to someone else—someone emotionally accessible, someone who could attach back. That’s where the problem would start. Because the fear isn’t love. It’s mutual romantic attachment. That’s what broke the gang once. That’s what killed RM’s brother. That’s the real danger.

So yes—your aroace mind is absolutely right to question how something as slippery and subjective as “romantic feelings” could be so heavily policed. Because it should be questioned. And the tragedy is—within the world of KGP, it isn’t. Not openly. But you, the reader, can see it for what it is.

A trauma response, institutionalized.

A wound turned into a doctrine.

And that, to me, is the kind of narrative contradiction that makes a world feel real. That lets characters act in ways that are both human and heartbreaking. Because sometimes, survival structures aren’t built on truth. They’re built on fear.

So no—there may not be a clean, answer-shaped answer to this question.

But that’s what makes it worth asking. 🫶🏻

[blindmagdalena]

I’ve been thinking a lot about the underwhelming reveal of homelander’s surrogate mother. I just kind of assume that she was a human.

But I’ve been wondering how that reunion would go had she not died. Homelander wanted to make a father-son connection with soldier boy because soldier boy was his hero growing up and he was powerful. A plain human woman cannot exactly measure up to that.

Ryan also has powers and Homelander can see himself in Ryan which is something he can’t really do with an older human woman.

Do you have any thoughts on if homelander would seek out his mom if Barbra had mentioned she was still alive? Homelander does have a strong sense of blood related family but I do think his mom would have to prove herself to him somehow.

i’m not entirely sure i buy the story about Homelander’s mother/surrogate. it’s so close to the lie that Vogelbaum told Homelander about Ryan, so it’s either also a cover story, or Vogelbaum tried to lie with the truth by attempting to pass off Homelander’s birth story as Ryan’s. to me it just felt like another manipulation tactic to throw him off the trail and make him feel even more alone, though. he’s easy to manipulate when he’s lonely.

either way, it wouldn’t matter to Homelander if his mother was exceptional or not. like Madelyn, his mother’s role is much less about what she is and what she’s capable of, and more about who she is and how she can make him feel. he would want her to validate him, see HIM as exceptional, and make HIM feel special. it doesn’t matter that she’s technically beneath him because he craves her approval and her love. he sought Vogelbaum’s approval just as much as Soldier Boy’s. it’s so much more about who they are in relation to him, and what roles he believes they should play in his own self image.

while he does regard supes as higher beings than humans, they’re all ultimately still below him. he’ll crush a supe without mercy just as swiftly as he will a human. the whole “supe supremacy” schtick doesn’t actually come from a place of respecting supes. it comes from a place of continuing to elevate himself above all others, and rejecting humanity for how it has hurt him. hurting them back.

she would be better than other humans based solely on her connection to him. she birthed a miracle and survived: that alone makes her worth more than comp v alone. she’s inherently elevated by her proximity to him. of course he would have lots of questions for her: did she know about him? does she care about him? why didn’t she seek him out? and those questions would matter.

imo the only thing she’d have to prove is that she—unlike so many before her—can actually love him.

[yellowocaballero]

writing even stupider things? <3

Oh my god this was the pilot episode/prototype of Sakuragakure!!! It was so high up because I was poking around at it recently. I wrote in literally 2021 and then decided it was unwritable. Looking through this, it's very funny how Obito is still basically the same even though the final story was written 3 years later and I had to change it a lot to make Sakuragakure. It's only eight pages and it ends very abruptly because it was not published and I wasn't feeling it.

Here it is!

Obito came back six months later.

It was less time than he wanted to stay away; more time than he technically should have. A responsible adult probably wouldn’t have left at all and stuck around to keep an eye on what was probably the world’s strangest social experiment. But Obito was pretty far from a responsible adult, and he believed strongly in not disrupting the scientific validity of experiments. Some plants grew the most successfully when left to their own devices. 

This was why orphans were so competent. It was a known fact. No bedtimes, no hard limits for stopping children from training all night. Obito was great with kids. 

Obito stopped in front of the tree, surveying it up and down. A tree might be a generous term: it was a true monster, outclassing the famed towering Hashirama trees by several orders of magnitude. Where Obito stood, it was more of a wall of bark and scuttling insects. If he hopped up high enough onto a neighboring similarly large tree, then he would see the curve of the bark forming the trunk. There were no branches or handholds in easy reach, with the tree’s branches blooming so high that they were abjectly impossible to reach without chakra infused tree walking. And any shinobi who tried out that tactic would be in for an even ruder surprise. 

Well. They hadn’t burned it down yet. Considering the fact that Obito had made it fireproof six ways to Sunday, he shouldn’t have felt as relieved as he did. 

He formed a seal, and with barely a thought a section of the tree melted back into the ground and left a doorway into the dark depths of the tree. Obito reached up, fixing his calloused thumb under the garish orange swirls of his mask, and pushed it off. He stowed the mask in a seal at his hip, grimacing slightly at the unfamiliar feeling of wind on his face. 

Obito entered the sakura tree, his footsteps muffled by sakura blossoms. 

*

The village had grown since the last time Obito was here. Significantly. So significantly that it deeply concerned him. He had left plenty of city planning manuals with the kids, but he hadn’t expected them to actually - yeah, he did. 

Pity he hadn’t been able to find any economics books. Oh, well. Kids knew economics. It couldn’t be that hard. That mindset had really propelled Obito through a great deal of this experiment, and it seemed to be paying off just fine.

It was immediately evident, upon walking into the village, that it was built up instead of out. One long and thick staircase wound its way along the inside circular walls of the trunk, and there were a few gear-powered lifts punctuating the staircase. There were no walls inside of the village, just growths within the tree. Restaurants and stores were fashioned from outcroppings of wood, and gnarled twists of wood provided shelter for restaurants. There were stalls lining the narrow streets outfitted from paper and bamboo, crowded with hagglers and shoppers. When Obito looked up, he saw winding curls of apartments for civilians and families both, so low to the market streets that a shinobi could easily jump between levels. Obito knew that if he were to jump onto the housing level, he would see another level above that was composed mostly of jutting empty platforms, marked by scorch marks and target practice posts. 

The school wasn’t where Obito remembered it being. Had they moved it? Obito craned his head, looking around at the thin stream of people wandering the streets. As usual, it looked like most of the village was out on missions, but the streets were congested with their usual thick crowds of playing children. Long, ropy strands of laundry lines fluttered between windows on the level above, and Obito saw one shinobi teenager jump effortlessly downwards from line to line until he landed on the bottom floor, almost capsizing an apple cart. 

He had time to gawk later. Obito carefully walked along the curving walls, eyeing the ceiling for a straight shot. An older kunoichi next to him crouched and jumped up, floating slightly in the air before landing solidly on a jutting branch on the second level, jumping off that branch onto another closer branch on the third level. Shinobi staircase - also new. What were those kids doing? Did he have to talk with them about compromising the structural integrity of the tree again? 

He never should have spent so long cleaning up that Oto problem. The worst thing about Orochimaru was that he minded his own business, and you always ended up dealing with him at the last minute after he had already turned an orphanage into werewolves or something. Obito sighed and jumped, effortlessly sailing onto the jutting branch and narrowly avoiding colliding with an older man herding goats up the staircase for...hopefully normal reasons. Were all of the shinobi still getting paid in random shit? Obito knew he should have found an economics book somewhere.

It was the work of a few seconds to scale the tree and land on the highest level built so far, still nowhere near the top of the tree. The building was upside down, its highest level built on a thick wood platform attached to the wall of the trunk with each successive level built beneath. Obito approved of the drama. The top opened almost directly onto a wide expanse of fruit and vegetable gardens, and platforms attached to the walls matched the upside-down tower. Obito recognized a few administrative buildings and some specialty shops - as well as a ramen shop that Obito knew used to be on the ground floor. 

Obito sighed, flared his chakra bright and hot as a warning, and hoisted himself into the Kage’s office in the misshapen and inverted Kage’s Tower.

“Guess who’s back!” Obito called, as obnoxiously as possible, “it’s your super-cute, super-cool, awesome Sensei Obito -”

A sandal collided with his face.

Obito went sailing out the window. He landed in a patch of ripe tomato plants, squashing many under his half-wood body. 

Fuck. Not the tomatoes. Sasuke was going to kill him. 

“You landed in the tomatoes!” his super cute, super sweet student called, jumping out the window after him. “Sasuke’s going to kill you!”

“Nice to see you too, Sakura,” Obito said weakly, working his jaw. “Have you gotten stronger?”

Sakura landed in front of him, scowling fiercely. She had cut her hair since he last saw her, the fringes brushing against the bottom of her chin in a very grown-up and cool look. It complemented the triangular white cap, posed in a jaunty angle on her head, and the forest green haori pulled over a pink shirt with a long-sleeved mesh undershirt. Combined with a knee-length green skirt and leggings, she looked like a twelve year old military dictator who had dressed herself. 

“You’re late!” Sakura cried, stomping her foot. Cracks split the wood, sending splinters flying. Obito winced, even as the wood smoothed over and healed itself. “You said that you’d be back three months ago!”

Obito rolled to his feet, holding his hands up placatingly. “I was back three months ago! I always keep my promises -”

“You were back for five minutes to drop off three more jinchuriki!” Sakura screamed. “You didn’t even come indoors! I needed you to kick out Jiraiya! You’re so useless!”

Obito was probably the only human being alive who could have tracked down three rogue jinchuriki, beat them all in single combat, and convinced them to join a brand new hidden village lead by an eleven year old. “Ah, sweetie, let’s not get too heated -”

“Lady Sakura, you need to sign these forms right now.” A small figure sat on the wooden windowsill behind them, waving a stack of paperwork. “I can beat up your sensei for you, if you wish.”

Sakura heaved an exaggerated, dramatic sigh. “It’s fine, Sai. The attention is what he wants.” Sai nodded sagely as Obito mimicked an arrow piercing his heart. “Are those the W-2s?”

“Yes. And the intake forms for ten new missing nin who wish to join. And allocation funds for the orphanage. And -”

“You sound really busy,” Obito said quickly, sidling away, “so I’ll just go say hello to your teammates, then. Have fun with your paperwork!”

“You’re such a bum, Sensei!” Sakura condemned. “Get a real job and do your own paperwork.”

“But I like being a bum,” the international terrorist whined. He opened his arms, smiling hopefully at Sakura. “So your old sensei gets a punch and no hug, huh?”

Sakura crossed her arms mulishly, looking away and pouting. “No way. You smell like dirt.” 

But then she hesitated - one second, two - before flying forwards, tackling him in a powerful hug that sent him skidding back half a foot before he dug his heels into the dirt in an attempt to save the rest of the tomatoes. She squeezed him tightly, face turned into his chest, angled hat almost hiding the sight of her silky pink hair. 

“Welcome home, Sensei,” Sakura said. 

As gently as he could, as if the little girl was made out of sakura petals instead of hard rock, Obito hugged her back. “Happy to be back in Sakagakure, Shodaime.”

*

The sequence of events was very straightforward.

If you were one of the kids. From Obito’s perspective, there were a few more twists and turns on the great journey of self-discovery and adventure. Some death, a few tedious years of brainwashing, a lot of wasted time in insanity. Some minor terrorism. Rethinking his life. Philosophical treatises on the nature of peace and prosperity. Minor forays into science. Some light kidnapping. What could he say? He got lost on the road of life a few times. 

Obito was no longer a chronically honest person, and it may be slightly more accurate to call him a pathological liar. The kids were blissfully unaware of some of Obito’s more dubiously moral actions. It was for the sake of the experiment: if they knew too much, then it would ruin their innocent and peaceful life. 

All they knew was that, two weeks after they had passed that useless no good idiot Kakashi’s bell test, they had been kidnapped by a mysterious figure in a cloak and a swirling mask, who had announced himself as their new sensei, I’m liberating you from Konoha, you’ll thank me later, stop screaming you’re hurting my ears.

 As far as kidnappings went, it had gone pretty well! After one week of life as a captive, Naruto had proclaimed that Obito was the nicest adult he had ever met and that they were best friends forever. After two weeks and certain Mokuton revelations, Sakura proclaimed Obito the smartest adult she had ever met and that he was going to be the best teacher ever and teach her how to make lots of poisonous flowers. After three weeks and a certain classified file, Sasuke had given up and accepted his change in circumstances and life goals. 

Obito liked being a teacher. He liked being a teacher more than he liked being anything else he had ever been: an Uchiha, a teammate, a tool, a terrorist. His dream of a better world was the fire within him, the never-ending energy source that kept him waking up and fighting to survive each day, but it was only through teaching that he realized how to build that better world. Children really were the post-apocalyptic future. 

Two weeks after kidnapping his mortal enemy’s students so he could brainwash them into fighting against Kakashi, forcing him to kill his ex-students and plunging him even further into well-deserved despair, Obito realized how short sighted he had been. Brainwashing the world into peace with a superpowered genjustsu from the moon suddenly seemed so strangely stupid. There were way easier ways to brainwash people than arcane alien magic. You just had to start them young!

After only a year of teaching, he had turned them into incredibly powerful ninja. After only a year of teaching her the Mokuton, he and Sakura had grown a village from nothing in the outskirts of Fire Country. And after six months of dropping undesirables in their laps like a cat with a dead rat, Sakura was now the Shodaime of a thriving hidden village so secret that only the underground ninja world had even heard of it. 

Kakashi had nothing on him. Obito: three adorable students. Kakashi: negative three adorable students. Obito: international terrorist, lots of friends, enough political power to elect a twelve year old as mayor. Kakashi: they literally called him ‘friend killer Kakashi’. Obito: ten thousand. Kakashi: zero.

He had visited Sakura first out of respect for village laws, such as they were, but it was easy to flare his chakra and ping Naruto and Sasuke. Sasuke was closer - in his own base of operations, strategically hidden invisibly within one of the impenetrable walls.

Obito carefully walked out of the garden, mindful of any stray soil, and then had to stop and wait for a small train of six year olds with little gloves and trowels to walk past. He fought the urge to rock on his heels. At the front of the train was an older kid, as impassive as ever. 

“Hey, Gaara,” Obito said, watching a kid accidentally run into the giant sand gourd. “Field trip?”

“Manual labor,” Gaara said serenely. “Say hello to Mr. Tobi, kids.”

“Hi Mr. Tobi,” every six year old chorused. 

Ah, the springtime of youth. “Grow up strong, our future generation of ninja,” Obito bluffed desperately, “and embody the Sakagakure ideal of peace!”

The children blinked up at him with wide eyes. Obito started sweating. Where had these children even come from? Why were they staring at him, so unblinkingly, so serenely?

“You’re old!” A six year old proclaimed - a death sentence, in Sakagakure.

“Why are you so old!”

“Are you a genin? Genin are old like you!”

Obito suddenly remembered, far too late, that he had accidentally dumped a huge package of small children liberated from ROOT on Sakagakure’s doorstep seven months ago. Whoops. 

“Remember, children,” Gaara said, “ninja over the age of fifteen are not allowed to hold positions of power within our government. Do we know why?”

“Because the adults of the world are poisoned by the well of conflict and greed, and a world without meaningless suffering can only be achieved through overwhelming power whose only ambition is peace?” A six year old volunteered. 

“Adults know what money is!” 

“Adults are stinky!”

“Mr. Tobi’s stinky!”

Gaara blinked solemnly at Obito. “I tried.”

This social experiment was working too well. They were striking back. “Great to see you again, say hi to your siblings for me -”

“They are in Suna, under the belief that I am dead.”

“ - and that’ll be great for diplomatic relations when we publically announce ourselves.”

“Diplomacy is next year. They’re learning tactics now.”

“Wow, I think Sasuke’s calling me,” Obito said, escaping the lurid scene as quickly as possible. 

Sasuke was, of course, not calling him. Sasuke wouldn’t ask for a bucket of water if he was on fire, because he was from a garbage family with garbage values. Obito had nothing to do with the massacre - which was only a little bit of a lie - but he sometimes wished that he had gotten to stab certain people himself. Itachi had all the luck. 

The kid was currently holding a meeting, in what Obito recognized as one of the standard debriefing and strategy rooms. Normally Obito would melt out of the wall, but Sasuke tended to yell a lot about ‘embarrassing him’ and ‘I can run my own black op missions’, so he settled for silently teleporting into the corner, letting the folds of his cloak blend in with the dark and knotted wood. 

The debriefing room was the same as the last few times Obito had stepped inside - a room identical to every other room in Sakagakure, wood walls with a wood floor and dim lighting. Seal tags were stuck to the walls, glowing faintly like lamps - fire was a no-no - and some of the most dangerous ninja in the world sat on folding chairs.

“We can’t kill the Daimyo,” Sasuke was saying, hands propped on his waist. “I don’t care how much of a dick he is. We can’t destabilize the economy of Konoha like that.”

“Why do we care so fucking much about the Konoha economy?” Hidan complained. He was leaning back in his chair, letting it balance on two legs. “Economies are fucking made up anyway. They’re like - uh, fucking astrology. Astrology for nerds.”

“Konoha is the only hidden village with a decent economy,” Sasori said, from where he sat next to him. He was whittling a hand from what Obito recognized as Mokuton wood - likely grown to be unnaturally soft and supple for crafting. “If we destabilize that then trade with the other hidden villages will be affected.” Hidan opened his mouth. “Which would be bad.”

“Idiots. Don’t presume knowledge on subjects you know nothing about.” Kakuzu, from where he was sitting across the aisle making prim marks on a ledger, stared with intense malice at an unrepentant Hidan. “Killing the Daimyo would endanger an already fragile relationship between the state and the ninja military. If we’re ever going to build an actual foothold in state politics, we can’t afford to stoke anti-ninja resentment.”

“Thank you,” Sasuke said, exasperated. “So let’s just maim him a little -”

“We kill the Treasury Minister instead,” Kakuzu continued, with no change in inflection. “As a warning to the successor. Treasury Ministers are hired, often from the middle class - they’re more anxious about keeping their job. We kill the current Treasurer. We threaten the next Treasurer into giving us favorable trade deals and looping us into current agreements with Konoha. Once we make our debut, we begin poaching contracts -”

“Will that really work?” Sasuke asked, clearly intrigued despite himself. “Konoha won’t get mad at us?”

“That’s why it will be covert.”

Sasuke ruminated on this for a while, obviously pretending that he knew anything about matters of state and finance. After pretending to come to a reasoned decision, he nodded firmly. “Then that’s what we’ll do. Kisame, please dispose of the current Treasury Minister. Make it look like a freak boating accident.”

Kisame saluted cheerfully. Next to him, Deidara snored almost pointedly. “The shark gambit. Nice.”

“Kakuzu, you’re in charge of settling out that deal with the new Treasury Minister.”

“Fine.” Kakuzu paused a beat. “Can you make me Treasurer now.”

Sasuke scowled at him. “No. That’s Neji’s job.”

“Neji is thirteen. I am ninety seven, and -”

“Now, Kakuzu! You have to know the rules, right?”

Everybody jumped. Obito smiled broadly, flashing two v-for-victory signs at the group. While they were talking, he had kamui’d to the front of the room next to Sasuke, badly startling everybody but Sasuke. He had beat situational awareness into Sasuke years ago, and he knew better than to be surprised by teleportation at this point.

The assembled members of the Akatsuki blanched. Deidara jolted awake, eyes widening and freezing in place like a rabbit. Sasuke just rolled his eyes and scowled. Kid needed to learn more than two facial expressions. Sometimes Obito could get a smirk out of him, which was highly rewarding each time. 

“What are you doing here, Sensei?” Sasuke hissed. “I’m holding a briefing!”

“Of course you are.” Obito patted Sasuke on the head, smashing his spiky hair and eliciting an even deeper scowl. He turned back to the Akatsuki, who seemed to believe that if they did not move then he could not see them. “A position in government? At your age, Kakuzu? Come on, you deserve to enjoy your retirement. Let the youth carry us, bright eyed, into the future!”

“Yeah, Kakuzu,” Kisame smirked, leaning back in his own chair and crossing his arms. “Don’t you have shogi to play in the park with Tsunade?”

“Rich coming from the Academy teacher,” Kakuzu snarled. “I will conquest -”

“Get off your shit, nobody cares.” Hidan yawned widely, casually and boredly sliding the edge of his scythe around his arm. Blood dripped down his arm, but after Sasuke’s look he wiped it on his pant legs. “I think it’s great we don’t have to do anything but kill dudes. Akatsuki had too many - uh, fucking, plots and shit. I couldn’t keep track.”

“You’re just stupid, un,” Deidara pointed out.

“Did you not like my plots?” Obito said, clutching his heart in faux-offense. “You kick Tobi? You kick him like the -”

“What are you doing here, Sensei?” Sasuke asked, cutting off one of the most powerful ninja in the elemental nations mid-sentence. “I thought you were off kidnapping random people again.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t?” Obito asked, offended. He had been finishing off the last of the Zetsus, but it wasn’t quite the time to admit that. “What if I missed my adorable little babies? What if I wanted to squish your little cheeks?”

Sasuke flushed a bright red as the Akatsuki snickered. “Sensei!”

“I just want to be involved in your life!”

Sasuke, still blushing deeply with a little expression contorted in miniature fury, tugged at Obito’s sleeve. Obito obligingly bent down slightly so Sasuke could whisper in his ear. “Sensei, you’re embarrassing me.”

“Oh, am I? My bad.” Obito straightened, flashing another peace sign at the assembly and unsettling them deeply. “I better go make myself scarce, then. I just wanted to stop in and make sure everybody was behaving themselves.”

“Tch. Of course they are. We are a perfectly functional Hidden Village.” Sasuke turned away from Obito, returning to facing the crowd. He put another transparency on the projector - this one a map of Sakagakure, with spaces to write in guard rotations. “We don’t need your babysitting. Onto the next order of business. Since we absorbed the Suna refugees and built Little Suna, we’ve needed extra security on the west trunk and our underground water supplies. The Shodaime is issuing a mission to -”

From his position behind Sasuke, Obito let his grin fall. He loomed down at the Akatsuki, who all abruptly froze in their seats. With excruciating slowness, he took an index finger and dragged it across his neck.