red-frame

Me: Hey memory, what do you call the little stiff thing on the end of a shoelace?

Memory: An aglet.

Me: And how do you jumpstart a car?

Memory: Red to red, black to frame.

Me: And what’s the name of the computer game I played at a friend’s house once in 1998?

Memory: Bad Mojo.

Me: And what’s the name of this person that I’ve met several times recently and am about to socialize with?

Memory: lol idc

scars [peter parker]

Originally posted by peterparkerimagine


warnings: mentions of sex, heavy make out, a bit of sadness in the beginning

request: @pradabiatch655 

word count: 1655


    Today had been one of the worst days of your life.

    It had started out just like any other day, you walked to school beside your boyfriend of two years, Peter Parker. The two of you always walked to school every morning, seeing as you lived in apartments that were close together. It was almost like a tradition for the two of you; meeting at the corner of the two of your building, before walking the fifteen minutes it took to get to school.

    Once the two of you had arrived at school, everything went downhill, fast.

    The moment you stepped into your first period class, your stomach had turned sideways, feeling as though your guts were turning themselves inside out. It felt as though something bad was going to happen as soon as you sat in your desk.

    And something bad was happening, indeed.

    Sitting in the cold, wooden desk aside Peter, you lowered your arm so that you could grab ahold of your bag. Pulling out a pencil, you straightened your back and relaxed into the seat. Raising your eyes, you noticed your teacher standing at the front of the room, a stack of paper in his hands.

    Pop quiz.

    An hour later, there were tears in your eyes, as you knew that you had down awful on the quiz. With the grade that you already had, this quiz would have decided your grade for the next few weeks.

    And that was not the end of the story.

    By the end of the school day, you had taken three tests, been bullied by the most popular girls in school, and tripped into the mud outside the school’s front doors on the way home. Now, you stood in front of Peter’s apartment, tears in your eyes. The cold, salty tears stung your dulled eyes as you knocked on his front door. Peter opened a few moments later, his body wrapped in a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. His wide eyes scanned your shivering frame before he was immediately grabbing you by your waist. He pulled you into his chest, strong arms wrapping around your hips. You inhaled his familiar scent as he pulled you closer to his chest, something that seemed almost impossible. The teen in front of you seemed sympathetic, his eyes filled with sadness and his heart filled with hurt.

    If Peter was being honest, when he saw the tears in your eyes, he was filled with a sudden rage. He wanted to find whoever had done this to you and use his newfound powers to show them that they should never hurt you. The teenage, human spider hated that you were in pain, even if it were not physical.

    Peter pulled you out of the rain, his grip never leaving your body. He pulled you into his apartment with strong hands guiding you to his room. He ducked past his Aunt May, trying to avoid her pestering questions, wanting nothing more than to get you warm and happy.

    When he reached his room, he grabbed a pair of his old sweats and a large shirt of his. He handed them to you, not uttering a word before gently pushing on the small of your back. He pushed you towards his bathroom, letting you get changed out of your wet clothes and into his fresh, warm ones. While you changed, Peter moved across his room, turning on his television screen. He let the vibrant screen play quietly in the background of his room for a few moments before he grabbed a movie beside the television. He pushed it into the slot of the screen before moving back to his bedside, moving the blankets and bunching them up in order to make part of a fort.

    When you exited Peter’s bathroom, you were surprised to see what he had done. Your eyes scanned the small room and laid them upon Peter’s figure; he was sorting the blankets and pushing pillows to the side of his bed so that there would be room for the two of you.

    Making a sound from the back of your throat, you alerted Peter of your presence. The teen turned his attention in your direction, his eyes immediately falling upon your frame. His chocolate brown eyes took in your broken stature; scrubby, red eyes, sunken-in frame, and wet, knotted hair.

    “Oh, baby,” Peter spoke sadly, moving the distance to take you back into his arms. He let your forehead fall against his broad chest, new tears soaking his sweatshirt. Peter rubbed small circles into your back, his head laying atop of yours, breathing in your scent. He let you cry for a few more minutes before he pulled you towards his bed. He layed you down in front of him, letting him lay behind you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you back into him. The position felt natural, as if he were meant to lay beside you.

    For the next hour or so, you and Peter cuddled into each other and watched movies, letting you get more comfortable.

    While you were focused on the movie, you did not see Peter watching you. You did not notice Peter’s eyes as he scanned your face with adoration in his eyes. He watched your eyes as they crinkled when you laughed, and the way that your lips curled at the end when you smiled. His eyes shined and reflected immense happiness when you smiled, grinning happily when you did. His eyes roamed every inch of your face, from the scars and lines. He knew that you did not like the scars and acne marks on your face. You claimed that they were ugly; that they made you look different and not perfect.

    But Peter thought differently.

    He thought the marks made you beautiful. He thought they made you look strong; as if you had survived through hell and much more. Peter thought that scars were not a sign of imperfection; they were a sign of strength and beauty. He loved the scars on your body, even if you did not.

    Lifting his hand, he let the tip of his index finger trail along the scar behind your ear, dropping it to follow the short line to its end. He moved his hand again, towards another one of your scars. It was one caused by acne, a scar that you hated because it was on your face, right underneath your cheekbone.

    When you felt the tip of his finger trail across his face, you turned, watching Peter as he stared at your face. His chocolate brown orbs gazed into your eyes, taking in every feature of your face with complete and utter awe. His lips twisted into a smile as he watched you take in his features as he did to you.

    With one final look, Peter lowered his lips until they were inches away from yours, “You are so gorgeous, love.”

    You shook your head with a blush, before you leaned up to connect your lips to his. Peter responded almost immediately, his lips moving against yours. He tilted his head so that his lips could slot against yours in a smoother fashion. You groaned against his lips, moving your lips faster so that you could keep up with him. Peter moved, his back muscles shifting as he let you fall back against his bed sheets. You sighed happily, complete euphoria and love rushing over your body.

    This was Peter Parker.

    The man you had loved since the day you met him.

    The man you would love for the rest of your life.

    You moved, your back lying flat against the sheets of Peter’s bed. Your hands clutched the sides of Peter’s face, one pulling itself through his hair with a groan. Peter smiled against your lips, his contagious personality rubbing off, causing you to smile as well.

    “God, I love you,” Peter groans. His hips roll into yours for a short moment, eliciting a moan from your mouth. He continues to roll his lips into yours, sighs of happiness and love coming from both your mouths.

    To anyone other person, the scene may have looked like two people wrapped up in lust and euphoria.

    However, that was not what was happening.

    No, this was different.

    This was something bigger; something pure and beautiful. Something that no one could have predicted, a motion that most people would never achieve in their entire lives. This was something that made the stormy days brighter, and the bad days just a little bit happier. It was the sort of thing that made your stomach flutter with excitement and your heart beat just a little bit faster. It made your eyes shine brighter and your steps feel lighter. This thing made you happy, sad, and excited all at the same time; the simple mention of it made you nervous and happy all at once.

    It was love.

    This love was the feeling in your stomach when Peter mumbled how much he loved you; it was the feeling of Peter’s lips against yours. Love was the ache in your gut as Peter’s hips rolled against yours.

    And most of all, it was what you felt for Peter; and similarly, it was what he felt for you.

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Suits, volleyball, and all the headcanon in between.

[Terushima, Futakuchi, Noya, Tanaka, Ushijima and Tendou here]
[Akiteru, Kei, Kageyama and Hinata here]
[Ladies of Karasuno here]

Kuroo.

  • Black on black. No tie, open two-buttoned suit jacket that hugs his waist, the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. Tailored wingtip derbies, black and matte- polished to perfection.
    • He’s actually the one who dislikes wearing suits the most (I mean, have you seen the guy, he literally looks like he throws on whatever he has lying on his bed).
    • Oh, but if you challenge him, or if the need arises- he’s going to be the sexiest guy in the room because he sure as hell isn’t going to lose at anything.
      • Hours of research and a lot of changing rooms is not going to be for nothing. If he’s going to suffer, he’s going to do some real damage before he goes (namely to your short-circuited brain and perhaps severe blood loss via nosebleed).
    • He tried the red and black combination once, until a girl actually came up to him and asked him which host club he worked at, and he’s stuck to black from then on.
    • Those undone buttons on his shirt? Collarbones. They’re so sharp that they can slice through paper, and it makes his neck slimmer and his smirk all the sexier.
    • Everything’s been absolutely tailored at least twice, and it’s so on purpose. Can you imagine those legs- miles and miles of slim height and oh, he knows you’re staring. He’ll wink right back.
      • Now that he thinks about it, he’s never had to buy his own drink before, and thus Kuroo’s legendary alcohol tolerance was born.

Keep reading

shadows pt. 1

pairing: reader x Hoseok, OT7

genre: vampire!au, angst, implied smut, mentions of violence

word count: 5,780

synopsis: you thought that the death of your maker would lead to freedom from chains, but little did you know that bonds are much harder to break after death.

A/N: I have to thank @2seoke for helping me brainstorm almost this entire series and @jeonjagiya for helping me with historical fact checking

Originally posted by yoonqipd

read the first installment of the Ashes Trilogy here

“I love you, Hoseok” you murmured, feeling a sense of content for the first time in months.

He smiled, “I love you too” He nodded towards the sunrise, “Take in your last few moments. We don’t have much time before the sunlight will reach us.”

You nodded, turning your attention back towards the painted sky. You wanted nothing more than to run out and feel the sun’s rays. To soak your skin in sunlight, but this was enough. It was more than enough.

 “I’m ready” you tell Hoseok, turning around and lacing his fingers with yours. “Where to now?”

 “We can go anywhere you want to go, just give me a name.” he smiled, leading you back into the darkness.

 The two of you walked in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other’s presence. You tried to think of where you wanted to go, but you didn’t care. As long as you were with Hoseok, nothing else mattered.

 But your partner froze next to you, staying still for a split second before he pinned your body against the damp tunnel wall. He covered your mouth with his hand before you had any chance to question his sudden behavior. There was a flash of panic in his eyes as he stared at you when a woman’s voice rang out through the darkness.

 “Jung Hoseok, I always told you to be careful of what’s hiding in the shadows”

 He stood between you and the woman, a deep growl emitting from his chest as the two of them stared at each other.

 "It’s nice to see you haven’t changed much,“ she smiled wickedly. She was almost beautiful, in a terrifying way. Her wild red hair framing a pale freckled face. Her black eyes laced with unspoken evil. There was something about her that made your cold blood freeze.

"What the hell are you doing here?” Hoseok hissed, pushing himself further against you like a shield.

The woman cocked her head to the side, “Don’t you miss me, Hoseokie? It’s been what, almost 700 years since the last time we’ve seen each other? I certainly wasn’t expected to be greeted with such hostility, especially since you seem to have company.”

“Go to hell!” Hoseok snapped, spit flying from his lips in between the syllables.

The vampire held up her hands, “I think you’re misunderstanding me Hoseok. I don’t want to hurt you. I was just trying to pay my old friend Kai a visit,” her eyes flickering onto yours as she spoke, “But it seems like he’s no longer at that address.”

You could feel Hoseok telling you to keep your mouth shut, to not antagonize the vampire in front of you. But he should know by now that you’re a terrible listener, “I can send you his ashes in a box, if you would like.” you quip, flashing the vampire a sarcastic smile.

Keep reading

Thirds in animation

Hey guys, I’d like to talk to you about thirds in animation and why I think it’s important. You don’t need to have alot of experience in animation to get this, but it is useful to have some.

We’re going to look at the frames between two poses, to illustrate I’ll be using circles, like so.

Circle a is the first position and circle b the second. These are on different frames, so a is on frame one and b is on frame two. 

Right now the circle just goes from a to b. We don’t know if the circle is slowing down, speeding up or in what way it moves. It just sort of teleports.

Now we’re going to add some frames in between the poses, this is where the magic happens. Say we want the circle to start at a and slow down to b and we don’t want to use too many frames. So the question is; where do we put the next frame? If it needs to slow down we need the next circle to be closer to b, that way the distance the circle travels shrinks. Now that’s easy when it’s just a circle but what about when it’s an entire figure going from point a to b? What most people do is they put a frame smack dab in the middle of a and b, then from there they put a frame in the middle of the new frame and frame b and keep going until they’re satisfied with the amount the circle has slowed down. Like so.

So in this example position a is on frame one, the first red circle is on frame two, the next on three, four and frame b is on frame five. Oh boy! The circle slows down! The distance the circle travels keeps getting shorter so to our beautiful human eyes the speed of the circle lowers. Now this is fine, the circle slows down, we did our job and we can go home, right? Well, there’s a problem here, namely:

As you can see on this unnumbered diagram there is indeed a slowdown when the circle goes from frame a to to 2. But what’s that? There’s no slowdown between the frames 1, 2 and b. The distance is the same. No matter how many times you put a frame in the middle between frame 2 and b the last three frames will never experience a slowdown. The circle never actually slows down in the end! So what do we do? we could put a circle really close to frame b, that way there’s a slowdown. But this method can get sloppy  and remember, this example is just with circles.

So here’s the solution, we put the circle in two thirds of the way between frame a and b. Like so:

Look! the circle slows down, it slows down with just one frame in between a and b. Now I have to admit, putting a frame right in the middle between two other frames is easier than dividing them in thirds, but with practice this can be done, and it looks way better. You can even give the circle a constant speed by putting it on a third and two thirds of the way, like so:

I’m not saying you should only use thirds. You should add it in your arsenal and combine it with putting frames in the middle. So when should you use thirds and when should you use halves(middles?).

It all depends on how fast you want a certain action to be. Let’s say we want the circle to slowly start moving from a, pick up speed and ease in on b. And we want this action to last 5 frames. (that would be one fifth of a second if you work on 25 frames per second).

As you can see we combined the principle of putting frames in the middle and putting them on thirds. How I go about this is I first make positions a and b (the beginning and end position). After that I put circle 1 smack dab in the middle of a and b. There is no slowdown at this point, the circle has a constant speed. Lastly I create circles 2. The first circle 2 is one third of the way between a and 1, the second circle is two thirds of the way between 1 and b. so just for clarification: circle a is on frame one, the first circle 2 is on frame two, circle 1 is on frame three, the second 2 is on frame four and b is on frame five.

I hope this will help you in your future animations, I certainly had an “Aha!” moment when I figured this out.

If you have any questions you can always ask me on tumblr or twitter, thanks for reading!

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gods of wood and stone

(this may or may not ever turn into something, so I thought I’d leave it here as the product of my procrastination.)


Obito gets lost on the way back to the afterlife.

It sounds like the start of the worst joke ever, like something Kakashi would mock him for forever after finding out about it, but it is, Obito admits to himself with great reluctance, actually true. This is definitely not the Pure Land, Rin is definitely not waiting for him, and he is definitely alive, because apparently using Kamui to skip out on your path to the afterlife leaves you alive even when you don’t want to be.

The worst part is, Obito can’t even regret it. He’d make the same decision again, because Kakashi needed his eyes so he wouldn’t just stand on the sidelines like a useless lump or throw his life away trying to take a hit. With Kamui, Kakashi has a chance at getting them a victory against Kaguya. Without it—

Without it he’s dead, and Obito doesn’t need the blood of any more teammates on his hands.

Cursing quietly, Obito pushes through a particularly tight net of tree branches, trying to figure out where he is. Another dimension, he can tell that much—Kamui gives him a good sense of such things—but unless he wants to kill himself with chakra exhaustion he can’t teleport back out of it. He could try it to get back to the afterlife that way, or just use a kunai, but—

Obito is a stubborn bastard. He was fine dying to save his friend, because there was no other choice and he was dead at the end of the war anyway, but if he’s alive? Yeah, fuck that, Obito is going to survive. It’s what he’s always done, and even if it’s against the world’s best interests, Obito is going to keep it that way. He’s alive, and no one can take that away from him.

The forest thins out up ahead, the spaces between the tree trunks widening as the ground grows rocky, and Obito makes for it, hoping to find some higher ground so he can at least get a look at his surroundings. The earth is covered with old leaf-litter, soft and silent underfoot, and Obito feels like he should know it, like this whole area is familiar, but he can’t quite place it.

He rounds a thick stand of trees, pushes through a thicket of brambles that curl away from the touch of his Mokuton, and hears—

War. War like the one he just left, the one he started, but without the monstrous roar of the bijuu or the overwhelming lash of chakra from shinobi with no concept of human limits. The earth trembles beneath his feet, the air rings with shouts, and there’s a clang and crack of weapons meeting. Fire roars, the smell of scorched cloth and flesh rising in its wake, and there’s a loud cry.

A familiar cry.

Obito reacts without even thinking. He dodges around the last copse of trees, chakra already surging within him, and bursts out onto the battlefield just as there’s a flash of yellow light.

Years of learning how to craft a plan, how to alter it on the fly, how to act and react and take advantage of every skill he’s managed to cultivate—that’s enough to let him take in the fight in one swift glance, ignoring that fact that it should be impossible. Senju on one side, heavily armored and fighting desperately; Uchiha on the other, backs bared because their stupid pride won’t let them wear armor, but pushing the Senju back. Two sources of chakra brighter than the rest—one on the far right, two heads with long black hair, a dragon made of wood, a familiar gunbai and a curl of scorching flame. The other is at the far end, almost dead-center. A fading glow of gold, black hair, Uchiha symbol, and he’s turning but it won’t be fast enough.

But Obito has faced a man who’s even faster, and he can make it in time.

It’s nothing conscious that drives him—the connections are simpler than that. Half a moment to judge, another bare fraction of a heartbeat to let Kamui whirl to life, and there’s a beat in Obito’s blood that sounds like the cause the cause the cause. Nothing solid, nothing certain, but trained instinct and denial working in tandem as he whirls off the battlefield. A portal into the Kamui dimension, and almost before he fully materializes he has another forming, leading right back out, and he snatches up a staff from a pile of stored weapons and is gone. As soon as he’s through he shifts his body sideways, back into the other dimension as he phases through the man—no armor, just robes, and fuck but Obito can’t believe he’s part of a clan filled with such arrogant assholes, thinking they’re too good to wear armor in a fight—and brings the shakujo around.

A sword collides with it in a flash of yellow light, and red eyes framed by white hair go wide.

Obito snarls, in no mood to call for a truce here and now, and plants the butt of the shakujo in the ground. He leaps, using it as a pivot, and slams a foot into Tobirama’s armored chest with all the force of his chakra behind it. The future Nidaime goes flying, and Obito lands lightly, yanking the staff up as he turns.

Uchiha Izuna rounds on him with a victorious laugh, red-and-black eyes bright with triumph, and opens his mouth.

Obito sweeps his feet out from under him, dumps him on his ass, and buries him in grasping roots that drag him to the ground and pin him there. “When the hell is it ever going to be enough for you bastards?” he snarls right in the man’s dumbfounded face. “How many innocent people need to die in this stupid fucking war before you finally decide that you’ve had enough revenge?!”

There’s no answer, only blank gaping, and Obito growls, pivoting on his heel. Several knots of fighting shinobi are watching him with one eye, clearly wary, but not enough to stop their own battles. It’s not going to be enough to save them, because in a split second Obito has made up his mind. It’s a stupid decision, probably the worst he could come up with, but if there’s a chance in hell of stopping all of this before it starts, Obito will take it.

“Stay there,” he growls at Izuna, leveling his shakujo at him, and then turns. A burst of speed sends him hurtling right at a Senju kunoichi with her hair in a topknot and the ponytailed Uchiha she’s fighting, and he shoves right behind them, knocking the woman into the man and pinning them both with Mokuton. The Senju lets out a startled cry, but Obito is still moving. Branches and roots erupt around him, grabbing for shinobi without discrimination.

Those in Obito’s path don’t have nearly as much of a chance to fight back; Kamui makes him a ghost, and even when he’s tangible his speed leaves him all but untouchable. He plows through the ranks separating him from the other fighting pair, drives forward with a wave of Mokuton subsuming everything behind him. There’s a snarled knot of fury growing larger and larger in his chest, a twist of something that’s very close to grief, and he’s had enough.

With a shout, Madara shoves Hashirama away, then whirls in, sword sweeping down. Hashirama catches it on a thick burst of wood, shoving him back, and in the same moment Madara’s eyes flicker up above Hashirama’s shoulder, taking in the rest of the battlefield in an automatic sweep.

Obito, barely three yards away with his shakujo already swinging, catches his eye and bares his teeth in a wolf’s grin.

Oh, he’s going to enjoy this.

Hashirama must see something in Madara’s face—either that or his instincts give him warning, but Obito likes the idea that Madara’s dumbfounded expression serves as warning enough. The man ducks, rolling to the side, and the ring of the shakujo sweeps across the space he just occupied. It just misses Madara as he leaps backwards, a fireball bursting from his lips, but Obito phases right through it, landing lightly and spinning the staff through his fingers.

Madara feints left, but this is man who trained Obito to begin with, almost a century younger and far less skilled, and Obito easily spots the misdirection. He lunges the opposite way, catches Madara’s sword when he reverses directions, then twists past the blow, drives an elbow into Madara’s gut, grabs him by his long, thick hair, and uses it as a handhold as he spins, knocks Madara’s feet out from under him, and drags him down to the ground.

From above and behind him, there’s a cry, and Obito wrenches the sword from Madara’s hand, keeping the other man pinned with the shakujo against his throat, and half-turns to level the blade at Hashirama. It taps the Senju’s chest as he pulls up short, eyes wide, and Obito snorts.

“One move and I’ll happily put another hole in this waste of space,” he growls, seeing the way Hashirama’s eyes flicker from him to Madara and back.

Hashirama stares at him for a long moment, then nods and takes a careful step in retreat. One half-glance around them and he says very quietly, “You have Mokuton.”

Madara makes a sound like a pissy cat dropped into a pond. “You have the Sharingan,” he spits, as though this personally offends him. “You’re an Uchiha.”

“And that fact has been responsible for pretty much all of the misery in my life,” Obito retorts, and for a breathless, terrible moment he’s back in that clearing under the full moon, a handful of seconds too late to save Rin from Madara’s manipulations. One blow and he can stop all of that here and now, can prevent so much of the pain that might come.

Hashirama must see something of that in his eyes, because he takes a quick stride forward, only to pull up short when Obito snarls and levels the blade at his throat again. “Please, don’t!” he insists.

“Get lost, Senju!” Madara snaps at the same time. “This is an Uchiha matter, I will handle—”

“Clearly it is a Senju matter as well,” Tobirama says coldly, coming to a halt a short distance away, but his eyes are on Obito’s sword where it touches his brother’s collarbone.

“I don’t think so,” Izuna counters, equally chilly and just as biting as he edges closer, Sharingan eyes narrowed and wary. “Just because some Senju bastard couldn’t take no for an answer when it was coming from an Uchiha kunoichi—”

Instantly Tobirama whips around, offended rage written clearly across his face, and he grabs for his sword, only to be pulled up short when Hashirama reaches back and grabs his wrist.

“But—” Tobirama starts to protest.

“Izuna,” Hashirama says, carefully even, and he doesn’t look away from Obito but there’s a spark of tightly contained fury in his dark eyes. “Mind. Your. Tongue.”

Izuna flicks a glance between Hashirama and Tobirama, swallows, and takes half a step away from them. “Brother,” he complains.

Madara gives Obito a dark look, but he doesn’t try to move. “You wouldn’t stand for such an insult to our clan, Izuna,” he huffs. “Don’t expect the Senju to have any less pride.”

Narrowing his eyes, Obito presses the shakujo in a little more firmly. “Don’t bother taking that high and mighty tone, Madara,” he bites out. “You’re the one I hold responsible for all of this, and I’m going to fucking take it out of you hide.”

Red-and-black eyes go wide, and Madara almost flinches away from him, hands rising in something like surrender.

Obito doesn’t want surrender, though. He wants to rip into Madara the way he wasn’t able to before, wants to get a hand in his chest and tear the heart right out of him, pay back every bit of pain that Madara inflicted on the world, through Obito and through Zetsu and by his own hand as well. Wants to rip and slash and hack away until this monster is nothing but a pile of bloody flesh, unable to hurt anyone ever again. It overwhelms him for the space of a breath, white-hot rage the only thing inside of him, and before he can think to stop himself he tightens his grip on his shakujo and—

Big hands grab him, one arm around his waist and the other around his chest, and with a jerk he’s hauled right up off of Madara, dragged back against a broad chest as dark hair tumbles around him. “No,” Hashirama says, halfway to a plea, and his grip tightens enough to force the air out of Obito’s lungs.

Obito freezes, stiff and stunned at the touch of another human. Years, it’s been, since anyone touched him to do anything but inflict pain, and his muscles go tense and tight in anticipation of a blow.

There isn’t one, though. No hit, no pain, no kunai slid into his kidneys to gut him and leave him for dead.

No pain, just—

A trickle, wet and hot, against the back of his tattered robe. Blood, by the smell, and since Obito doesn’t bleed anymore it has to be Hashirama’s, has to be from when he knocked the sword aside to save the man who will eventually kill him.

It’s too much. The thought of it, the reality of standing here over Madara, able to end everything before it begins, and Hashirama is the one to save him—

What Obito did, the people he killed—that’s on his head. But it’s on Madara’s too, on Zetsu’s, on Kaguya’s. Uchiha Obito should have died in a cave-in when he was thirteen, but he didn’t, and the reason for that is right in front of him. The reason he didn’t carved a seal into his heart, killed his best friend, and gave him a twisted, broken vision of the world as an illusion, and then set him to unmake it.

Obito is responsible for his own actions, and he knows it all too well. But Madara was the trigger. If Obito was the sword then Madara was the hand that forged and wielded him, and that has to mean he bears at least a part of the blame from the hell of the past few years.

No,” he snarls, and though he shoves backwards to loosen Hashirama’s grip and get away he doesn’t reach for Kamui, doesn’t try to hurt the man (again, again, something in him whispers, hurt him again you mean). “Let go of me! He deserves whatever I do to him!”

Hashirama’s grip isn’t harsh, but it is immovable, and he’s as solid as an oak as he drags Obito back another step. “Don’t,” he says quietly. “This isn’t the way.”

Naruto, Obito thinks, guilt and grief and regret and anger all wound up and tangled together. He curls his fingers into fists, takes a breath that vibrates with anger, and does the hardest thing he’s ever managed in his life.

He opens his hand and lets the weapon go.

anonymous asked:

Number 9+5 with jungkook please:))))))

Prompt request: “Will you be quiet!?” + “I made my baby cry!”

Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort + Fluff

Summary: Usually, Jungkook finds your loudness an endearing and cute quality. But today is not one of those days. After crashing at Jungkook’s apartment, you wake up to find him studying. Despite trying your best not to disturb him, you still can’t manage to keep quiet.

Word count: 1.5k words


Stretching your arms across the soft fabric of Jungkook’s sheets, you yawned and roused slowly. Last night, you had been studying with your boyfriend when a rainstorm made it too difficult to get home. Graciously, Jungkook had offered you his bed while he slept on the couch–you had only just begun dating and didn’t want to make it awkward.

Still, as you rose from the bed dressed in one of Jungkook’s old t-shirts, you couldn’t help but feel a little too domestic for a budding romance.

As you crept forwards, you landed on a floorboard that creaked loudly, cutting through the peaceful silence of the room. Wincing, you continued on quickly. You opened the door and stepped into the hallway, jumping as the sound of the door ricochetting off the walk echoed through Jungkook’s flat.

“Y/N?” Jungkook called out from somewhere, unseen. “Are you up?”

“Yep!” you chirped, emerging from the hallway. Jungkook was sitting on the couch, laptop perched on top of his thighs and textbooks scattered around him. His hair was messy, ruffled from sleep. You walked up behind Jungkook and pecked the top of his head. “Still studying?”

Jungkook nodded soundlessly, fingers typing furiously as his eyes scanned his textbook at a rapid speed.

Smiling to yourself, you detached yourself from your boyfriend and made your way into the kitchen. “I’m just going to eat something before I head out,” you said as you walked away.

“Sure,” Jungkook responded, sounding preoccupied. Understandably so–midterms were rapidly approaching.

Standing on the tips of your toes, you searched through Jungkook’s cabinets, trying to locate the utensils you needed. The dishes clanked as you retrieved a bowl that was stored higher on the shelves. Next, you rooted through the drawers, trying to find a spoon.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Jungkook began a little apologetically, craning his head to look at you from the living room. “You’re kinda loud, and I just need to focus right now.”

“Oh, of course!” you responded. You placed a finger over your lips. “I’ll be quiet.”

A box of cereal was on the countertop already, pressed flush against the backsplash. It was one of those bland, fibrous ones that was actually healthy. Figures Jungkook would eat that kind of thing. Opening the fridge, you grabbed a carton of milk and poured it into your bowl of cereal. There wasn’t enough milk, so the majority of the cereal remained dry.

Whatever, you weren’t picky.

You tossed the empty carton into the recycling bin, and it collided with the contents already inside. A few cans tumbled to the bottom of the bin, clanging loudly as they went.

“Sorry!” you squeaked, your arms outstretched towards the offending cans uselessly.

“It’s fine,” Jungkook said with a quiet laugh.

You slipped into a seat in front of Jungkook’s small kitchen table. For a shabby apartment–Jungkook was a poor university student–the kitchen was quite nice. The table was nestled into a corner, adjacent to a large window that let in plenty of light. Basking in the morning sun, the sky filled with full, fluffy clouds following the storm, you began to eat your cereal.

Due to the lack of milk, the cereal was quite dry. You munched on the dry grains absentmindedly, staring at the expanse of blue sky in front of you, lined with concrete structures and towering skyscrapers.

You couldn’t hear the sound of Jungkook’s frustrated sighs over your loud crunching.

Eventually, you finished the tasteless bowl of cereal. As you stood up to wash your dishes, your momentum caused the chair to slide backwards. It scraped loudly against the tile floors. Sighing inwardly at yourself, you made your way to the sink.

You turned on the taps and poured soap into the bowl. Scrubbing diligently, you began to hum a song that had been stuck in your head for the past few days, swaying gently to the light melody.

“Will you be quiet!?” Jungkook finally snapped, eyes glaring up from his laptop, gaze piercing into your back.

Your eyes widened, and you turned to face Jungkook. Hurt radiated through you, making your heart sting. “O-oh, sorry,” you replied with a watery smile. “I didn’t notice. Sorry.”

Turning back to the sink, you turned the taps and stopped the flow of water. Biting your lip, you felt hot tears begin to well in your eyes. With your head ducked down, you hurried out the kitchen and back in the direction of the bedroom.

“Y/N…,’ Jungkook called after you, a bit regretfully.

You didn’t hear whatever else Jungkook had to say. Shutting the bedroom door quietly behind you, a few stray tears trailed down your cheeks. Hastily, you wiped them away, cursing at your oversensitivity.

You tried to rationalize with yourself. You knew Jungkook was feeling really stressed lately. Naturally, you were a noisy person, and it was insensitive of you to be so loud while he was studying. Plus, he had been nice enough to let you crash at his apartment even when he was so busy. It made sense for him to be frustrated with you. Still, it didn’t make his words or his tone hurt any less.

The clothes you had worn previously were folded neatly on the foot of the bed. You quickly changed into them, laying Jungkook’s shirt down carefully. As you were attempting to put on your socks, you fell onto the soft bed.

Sitting motionless for a bit, you sniffled quietly and tried to collect yourself.

From behind you, you heard the sound of the doorknob turning. The door creaked as it opened slowly. Jungkook slipped into the room, padding across the floor soundlessly. You lowered your head, avoiding his gaze. You clasped your hands in your lap, opting to look at them instead.

Beside you, the bed dipped as Jungkook sat down tentatively.

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Jungkook sighed, rubbing his arm nervously. “I didn’t mean to say it like that. I’m just really stressed and I took it out on you.”

You didn’t respond. Biting your lip, you fought back another fresh wave of years.

“Y/N?” Jungkook asked. He slid a hand underneath the curtain of hair that had fallen around your face. Cupping the side of your jaw gently, he raised your head to face him. His mouth opened in surprise when he took in your appearance, forming a small “o.”

Your eyes were ringed with red, framed by wet eyelashes. Your lips were red and swollen from biting, and your chin quivered slightly.

“I made my baby cry!” Jungkook gasped, his eyebrows furrowed. He wiped away a single tear with his thumb. “Y/N, I’m so, so sorry. I’m such an asshole, shit.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace, pressing your face into the crook of his neck protectively. Rubbing gentle circles into your back, he mumbled apologies into the crown of your head.

“I didn’t mean it, okay?” he asked helplessly, taken aback by your uncharacteristic silence. “It was my fault. Sometimes I have a bad temper, but it’s no excuse to make you hurt like this.”

You pulled back, still refusing to meet Jungkook’s gaze. “It’s okay,” you whispered, voice hoarse. “I know I’m too loud.”

“You’re loud, but that’s fine,” Jungkook insisted, holding your hands in his. “You’re super noisy, and you’re always doing something. But it’s cute, and it’s one of the reasons why I love you so much. Without you, my life would be quiet and boring. Being loud isn’t something you should be sorry for.”

“You mean it?” you asked, incredulous. Your eyes widened, finally peering up to meet Jungkook’s.

“What?” Jungkook asked, tilting his head with confusion written all over his face. “Yeah, it’s cute.”

“No, after that,” you said, unable to bite back the smile tugging at your lips.

A furious blush bloomed over Jungkook’s cheeks as he recalled what he said. “U-uh, yeah,” he stuttered, his voice uncertain. This time, it was he who glanced away. “That’s okay, right?”

“Say it again,” you demanded cheekily, grinning fully now. Any hurt had been washed away by Jungkook’s confession.

“I love you,” Jungkook repeated, his blush spreading to his ears. Still, his voice was steady this time, and he looked you in the eye. “So much.”

You laughed joyously, launching yourself into Jungkook’s arms. The both of you fell onto the bed, the mattress creaking underneath you. Jungkook laughed too, arms wrapping around your waist instinctively. Jungkook pressed gentle kisses against your lips, then down your jaw, and finally settled at the bottom of your neck.

Weaving your fingers through Jungkook’s soft hair, you smiled at the boy wrapped around you.

“Now that you’ve said it, you can’t take it back,” you warned Jungkook. “I won’t ever shut up now.”

“Good,” Jungkook grinned, detaching himself from your neck to look at you. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

- Girl in Luv

It’s 3 AM right now. I have to be up in a few hours. But I’d do anything for fluff. Hope you enjoyed this imagine. Send us some more requests! You can check out our prompts page for inspiration. Happy reading~ 

“His Wedding” (Part 9)

Summery:  Modern-Day(AU) Bucky and you are former exes. He moved on but you couldn’t. Since you both are still friends, he asks you for a favor. You reluctantly agree, not thinking of the future consequences you’ll have to face. You just hope everything will go fine with your two best friends, Steve and Natasha by your side.

Word Count: 3857

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: Romance/Drama

Warnings: heart wrenching angst, language.

Characters (by appearance): Bucky, Reader, Lily Parker, Natasha Romanoff, Wanda Maximoff.

A/N: This part made me too emotional and I cried several times and I had to take breaks from writing it because damn, it was too much. So far, the best chapter I’ve contributed to this series, and I really hope you guys like it!

Also I love Tom and Jerry.

Please leave me some comments to read when I wake up in the morning, so that they make my day! lol, love me, I’m needy.

Sorry for any typos :P

“His Wedding” Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Previously on “His Wedding” :

“Yes. I’ll be your maid of honor, Lily.”

What do you call a mistake that’s been repeat twice? It’s called a habit. And my habit is to say yes no matter which situation it puts me in.

Keep reading

6am: ArchiexReader

hey guys, just a quick oneshot that I threw together. idk, having major archie feels. feedback would be appreciated if you don’t hate it. 

Summary: Archie waking you up in the middle of the night. Basically just complete fluff.

Originally posted by juggiehead

Keep reading

Model AU

For @silver-note
Sorry for being a little late. Life’s been so busy lately and I just got time to write these out for you. I really hope you like them! :3

-Shouto and Katsuki work as models. They’ve run into each other a few times throughout their careers, but haven’t thought much of it. Both are very popular and are asked to do a photo shoot together.

-Shouto has always found Katsuki to be beautiful, in a rough-edged, savage kind of way. His pictures are always showing more skin than necessary and those red eyes burn straight through you. He grins like a lion about to pounce.

-Shouto’s pictures, on the other hand, are elegant and graceful: suits and ties, casual wear, bathing suits, he can make anything look good. People are in awe over his eyes and hair and photographers make sure to bring it out in their work with him. Katsuki pretends not to give a shit when he meets him for their shoot together. But he can’t stop sneaking glances at Shouto’s gorgeous, mismatched eyes.

-Their photographer is a new kid: Izuku. He is the opposite of the practiced professionals who normally work with Katsuki and Shouto. He’d awkward, dorky, and trips over his own feet. He’s supposed to be taking photos of the two for a fashion magazine, but he couldn’t be less fashionable himself: wearing an old jacket that keeps falling off one shoulder, round, red-framed glasses, and sneakers.

-Katsuki wants to walk out right then. Shouto thinks the photographer is oddly adorable though, and convinces him not to storm off like an idiot.

-When they start, they immediately can tell that Izuku is different from the others in more ways than one. Instead of sticking with what works, he wants to change things.

-He encourages Katsuki to tone down the crooked smirks and savage charm. Instead, he asks him to not even smile, to just look into the camera like he’s trying to tell the reader, come here. And it works. Katsuki growls and grumbles the whole time, but his own pictures come out looking like he’s about to come off the page and pin the reader against the wall. He comments this aloud and Izuku blushes. “R—really? I guess that was sorta what I was going for… I wanted to focus on your eyes a lot…”

-For Shouto, he doesn’t take the clean, graceful route at all. He messes him up. He has Shouto lay on his back, arms sprawled about his head, and tip his chin up slightly. Then he actually sticks his fingers into Shouto’s hair and tousles it (shouto shivers the whole time, but tries not to show it) Then he tells him to smile like someone just made his day.

-“How do I do that?”
“Your hair is very pretty, Shouto.”
And Shouto smiles like a fool, and it comes out lopsided, with a hint of teeth biting his lower lip, and he looks damn good.

-At some point throughout the shoot, Shouto walks over to Katsuki and asks him if he’s ever had such good pictures taken of him before. Katsuki grudgingly admits that the “damn nerd” did a pretty good job. “Not to mention he’s fucking cute. And he made you look fucking edible.”

-They come to conclusion to ask their sweet little photographer out to dinner.

Closer.

Could you write something smutty where Harry and the girl are broken up but are somehow at the same party and at one point, she needs a lift and Harry decides to drive her home. During the trip, Naughty Girl by Beyoncé comes on the radio and she starts whispering the lyrics to Harry’s ear and at the end, they end up having sex.

Hii, so I know this is bot based on the song you wanted and I changed it up a lot. Still, it is loosely based on this request and the song ‘Closer’ by The Chainsmokers. I know it took me ages, I’m sorry. This contains smut so read at your own risk.xxx

Parties weren’t her thing lately.
Especially not when it was the party of her ex.
She had to come though, she promised it.
Y/N and Harry broke up four months ago. She couldn’t even remember why, only knew that she missed him more than anything.
But that didn’t mean she was ready to see him.
Tonight was his big party. The Another Man launch party. And she promised four months ago she would be there, no matter what.
Back then she didn’t know what would happen, didn’t know they would break up. She hoped he wouldn’t invite her but he did, sent her a text with the details and said he was looking forward to seeing her.
And now she was sitting inside the bar where the party was at. She was so incredibly uncomfortable and feeling so out of place that she wanted to get up and leave as soon as possible but somehow she couldn’t.
She was sitting there next to Gemma, sipping on a cocktail that didn’t have enough alcohol to make her feel at peace. Gemma kept an eye on her the whole time, noticing the little changes in her. Her hair has gotten longer. Her body looked like she did sports on a regular basis. Her makeup was different, her plump lips painted in a shade of red and her eyes framed with long curled lashes that would make any man fall for her immediately.
She looked amazing.
Even though she didn’t feel amazing at all.
She was only waiting for him to enter the party. Then she would say ‘hi’, congratulate him and then leave. That was her plan.
But when he entered the bar her plans quickly changed.
God, he looked good.
He was wearing a black suit which she assumed was Gucci, Yves Saint Laurent or any other expensive brand. He was wearing a white button down underneath which deserved the name ‘button down’ rather than ‘button up’ because only three buttons were done.
He wore one of those black silk scarfs that she loved to tug on while being on top of him and riding him so hard the headboard slammed agai-
“You okay?” Gemma asked quietly when she realized her brother was there.
“Yes.” Y/N replied.
No.
She wasn’t okay.
God, how she missed him.
He came over when he saw her. Her brain was screaming at her to leave, to turn around and hide in the bathrooms until he was gone but she didn’t. She stood up from where she was sitting when he reached her, a bit unsteady on her legs from all the alcohol she consumed.
“Easy, love.” he said and held onto her arm to steady her.
Has his voice always been so sexy?
“Hi.” she breathed.
“Hey.” he whispered.
They stared at each other for a few moments before Y/N cleared her throat and shrugged his hand off.
“Congratulations on your magazine. You did really well.”
She saw the sadness that flickered through his eyes when she pulled away from him but he caught himself quickly.
“Thank you, love.”
That’s when Gemma saved them both from the awkwardness.
“Hi, baby brother.” she greeted him and pulled him into a hug.
“I’m so proud of you.”
Y/N excused herself to get another drink, downing it within a few seconds. She wasn’t nearly feeling as drunk as she had to be in order to get through this party.
She watched from the bar how Harry mingled with everyone, shaking hands and exchanging smiles.
She thought she was fine. Thought she would get through this without needing to get absolutely wasted but apparently she was wrong.
She did that a lot lately, drinking. Not to a degree where it was dangerous but still enough that she knew she couldn’t continue like this. She couldn’t help it though.
She tried to interact with as little people as possible, really not in the mood for any small talk or any conversations in general.

Little did she know that Harry felt the same. He watched her, sitting there at the bar and looking so goddamn perfect that he realized again how pretty she was.
He knew he was breaking her heart all over again right now, and he hoped she knew that she did just the same to him. The last four months were breaking his heart.
And finally he couldn’t take it anymore.
He walked over to were she was sitting without stopping.
He couldn’t stop.
When he reached her he didn’t say anything.
He didn’t have to say anything.
She knew.
He pulled her off the bar stool, making her stumble against his chest but he made sure she was steady.
And then they left.
They left without saying goodbye or looking back. They took the back exist so no one would see them, walking until they stood in front of his black Range Rover.
He looked at her as if he wanted to ask if she was sure and she nodded. He opened the door for her and let her get into the back, following right behind and sitting down beside her.
And then she connected her lips to his. And it felt just like it always did. Nothing changed about the way his lips felt against hers. They were hot and soft, their plumpness just enough to feel so goddamn good.
She pulled him closer. Closer and closer. As close as there bodies could get.
Within minutes their bodies were bare, pressing and rubbing against each other but it wasn’t enough. They both knew they probably shouldn’t be doing this but god they couldn’t stop.
Harry was about to take the next step, about to connect them but she stopped him. He felt his heart stopping, his lips parting and goosebumps raising on his skin. No. She couldn’t want to stop him.
“Sit down. I-I want to be on top.” she whispered and Harry felt himself sighing with relief.
He did what she wanted. She remembered it. His favorite position. Her on top.
His breathing stopped when she sunk down on him. And when she rocked against him for the first time a loud gasp left his lips. A satisfied smirk grazed Y/N’s lips, her hands reaching up to his shoulders so she could steady herself.
And then she began to ride him for real. Her hips moved as fast and as hard as possible, making his body tremble and shake underneath her. They both knew that if someone walked by they could see the car rocking and hear their loud moans and groans but it didn’t matter. Nothing did but the pleasure they felt.
Y/N pressed her body even closer to his when her knees started to hurt a bit and nuzzles her face into the spot where his neck met his shoulder, her favorite place. She bit down on the skin of his shoulder, marking him as hers. Because he was hers.
Harry’s hands wandered from her hips to her ass, spreading the cheeks apart and squeezing them the way she loved. He helped her moving, making her grind hard and fast.
His cock stroked over all of her favorite spots and the hair at the base of it rubbed against her clit in the most perfect way. And she was close. So when she felt herself slipping over the edge she began to move even harder and reached behind her to stroke his balls. And Harry lost control. He came inside of her with a loud, strangled moan. His hot cum coated her walls with three thick ropes, some of it dripping out of her and dripping onto his thighs. She came as well, a scream rippling through her with the force and intensity of her orgasm.
She fell forward, against his chest with loud panting breaths constantly leaving her parted lips.
Harry wrapped his arms tightly around her body. He was scared he never got to do it again.
He felt the tears on his skin. The tears she cried into his neck. And when the first sob wrecked her body the first tear dribbled down his cheeks as well.
After at least ten minutes of crying and holding onto each other for dear life, she pulled back. Harry cupped her cheek with his hand, his thumb wiping at her tears.
“I’m so goddamn sorry.” she whispered.
He shook his head. She had no reason to be sorry.
“No apologies, darling. You did nothing wrong.”
“I left you. I I was so goddamn stupid and left you. I don’t even remember why.”
“Because I wasn’t good to you. I yelled at you for not having time for me when I never had any time for you for three years. I-I started to resent you.”
“Do you still do that? Do you still hate me?” she asked in a whisper.
He shook his head again.
“I don’t. I was blinded by how much I missed you that I didn’t see how much I loved you. I forgot it.”
“Do you remember now?”
He hesitated for a moment before he nodded and pulled her closer.
“Of course I remember. I don’t know how I could forget it. You are the most important thing in my whole life. I never loved someone as much as I love you. And I’m not ever going to stop.”
She stared into his eyes for another moment in case there was any sign of hesitation or insecurity. But all she saw was love and sincerity.
So she connected her lips to his.
And she knew they won’t ever stop.

A Little Too Long

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Warning: Nothing??

It’s been almost a year since you’ve been on a date. When Steve offers to take you out just to make you feel better, you don’t realize just what this might stir up for the two of you.

A/N: I wrote this for @rileyloves5 as she needs some cheering up, and Steve fluff is always a guarantee.


“I need some good places for tonight.” Buck looks up from his phone as he comes into the living room where you and the team are strewn about, playing on your phones, reading the paper, watching a random TV movie. You’re in one of the chairs legs over the armrest, back against the other.

“Depends what do you have in mind.” Tony looks up from his paper.

“I think I want to, you know, woo her.” Buck shrugs.

Keep reading

This is why I said I didn’t want to.
With a surge of regret, my body was slowly sinking to the bottom of the pool.
Was I going to die in this indoor Samezuka Academy pool, at this joint practice?
The cry of “Rei-chan!” I can hear from the poolside is slowly getting further away. It seems like I’ll lose consciousness soon. At times like this, it’s said that people see revolving lanterns. My the theory as for why a revolving lantern? It’s because the brain cells activate just before death, and so it’s the result of all the synapses firing together, and thus showing your state of mind. I’ll probably start seeing that revolving lantern any moment now.
But still, If I were to die I at least wanted to die with a more beautiful appearance. Not while only wearing this speedo. It’s not beautiful.

Now that I think of it, my first memory is of something not beautiful.
It was a cheeseburger from a fast food restaurant that was not beautiful. When faced with this cheeseburger that looked nothing like it’s picture in the menu, before even entering preschool I asked my mother why this cheeseburger was not beautiful.
At that time, my mother said to me.
“Rei, you’re really fussy.”
It was completely unexpected for a child to hear.
What’s wrong with being fussy? What’s wrong with having reasons for liking things, reasons they’re not good, having thoughts and logic about why you think those ways and being able to talk about it? Everyone in society decides things too casually. Too many people decide things without any particular reason, they just say ‘because everyone says that’s how it is’, or ‘that’s just the way it is’, and let it be. I couldn’t accept that.

For example, the colors used to denote girls and boys.
Whether it’s on signs for bathrooms or anything else, it’s been determined that that boys are blue, and girls are red.
It seems that long ago that even backpack colors were decided to be black for boys and red for girls. I think it’s all ridiculous. Why can’t a boy have red? Why can’t girls have black?
For example, even when choosing the color of glasses frames, those same boring stereotypes are held. Early in elementary school, because I read too many books, my eyesight became bad and so I had to get glasses. My parents took me to the glasses store in the mall, and I chose a red glasses frame. I had fallen in love with the beauty of those red glasses in the showcase window at first sight. My parents and the shopkeeper tried to convince me I should get black or a metal frame instead. But I was determined and didn’t budge.