(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
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
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
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
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
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,”
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
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
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
Notes: Thank you to Liz ( @caprelloidea ) for the amazing beta, you keep me right. I’m very excited about this little story. A gift I started a long time ago for a lovely lady @acrobat-elle whom I adore. I’m happy I’m actually able to finally give it to you.
Summary: After Killian sacrifices himself to obtain the Black Fairy’s wand and stop Pan’s oncoming curse it is up to Emma to reunite the pirate with his shadow. A Shadow!Killian fic.
The words had left his mouth without a thought, and he ignored the looks of surprise all around, focused instead on the specter above. Hook hoped they wouldn’t argue the point. Though, he didn’t harbor any delusions the gathered group cared enough about his well being to even attempt such a thing. They knew they needed that blasted wand, and fast. They also knew they were running out of time.
The demon shadow gave a shriek, a threat, a promise, a laughing challenge all rolled up into a terrible cry that skittered down his spine. There was a curse hanging over their heads and only one weapon that could stop it and it was that thought that emboldened him. It wasn’t even a choice really, there was no one else. The Prince had his family, Bae was reconnecting with his boy, perhaps more if Emma wished it, and Tink the promise of regaining her wings, of finally making a life for herself. What did he have, really? A pirate ship in a small town of a realm he didn’t know, and several barrels of rum. No purpose, no course set. He had always been quite adept at diversions at least.
Hook sucked in a fortifying breath, and stepped forward.
Characters: Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Malia Tate, Scott McCall, Stiles Stilinski, Isaac Lahey and (Y/N)
Word Count: 817
Summary: (Y/N) is new to Beacon Hills High School, and immediately becomes smitten with the one and only, Isaac Lahey.
(A/N) Legit just a little drabble I put together, I’m currently doped up on painkillers so this is the best I can do rn :(
“I’m telling you, they’re about as harmless as a flock of ducks.” Stiles rolls his eyes in my direction and proceeds to park his jeep next to an expensive looking car. How could high schooler even afford that kind of car?
Peter slowly makes his way into the legendary saloon. Inside, it is filled with people dancing, arguing, drinking and watching the most interesting part of the saloon. Unlike other saloons, this one features a giant arena that is home to many fights. He weaves his way through the people, trying to get to the sidelines. He is exactly on time, and if everything goes to plan, he will soon be in that arena.
Y/n L/n stands up and brushes off her coat. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple leather vest, tight black leather pants and sturdy combat boots. She’s got a heavy lineup tonight of people to fight, and she’s fully prepared. After all, this is what she was trained to do.
She squints as she steps into the arena. She has never gotten used to the blinding lights. The crowd roars and cheers for her, and she throws her arms above her head. She smiles her trademark grin and waves to the audience. She throws off her coat and saunters to the middle.
Her first opponent was easy. He took about 3 minutes to finish off, and she even went easy on him. The second one was, if anything, even easier than the first. She took her time on this one, drawing it out to give the audience a good show.
Peter watched her with a strange fascination, wondering how she got here. She wasn’t always the ruthless fighter that she was now. Once upon a time, she fought on his side, right with him. They were Starlord and Y/n. Quite the terrifying pair of outlaws. She wasn’t his rival, she wasn’t hired by one of the men he hates most, she certainly didn’t hate him, and her mind certainly wasn’t altered to make her forget almost everything about him.
She shakes the dirt off of her hands, preparing for the next opponent. The third man walks into the arena. He is much taller than her, and has a long gash running down his face. She stands up a little straighter, and prepares to start. He runs toward her and lands a punch solidly in her stomach. She stumbles back and glares at him. She grits her teeth and kicks his feet out from under him. He has no time to react, and he falls onto the ground. She bats her eyelashes. “Oops” He stands up and growls at her. “You nasty little rat!” She giggles and continues to dodge his punches. It isn’t long before she finally wins this match as well.
She’s gone through every single one of her opponents, and she has won every single time. She holds up her fists and spins around, relishing the cheers of the audience.
The announcer asks if there is anyone who is willing to challenge her.
No one responds at first.
Then, Peter stands up.
“I am willing.”
Y/n’s jaw drops.
Peter walks over the the doors of the arena and flings them open. He walks over to the middle, glaring at Y/n.
“What the hell are you doing here?” hisses Y/n. “I wasn’t supposed to see you ever again!”
“Darlin’, you know me. I just can’t stay away.”
Y/n spits at his feet.
She takes a few steps back and reaches down for her knives. She’s not taking any chances with this one.
Her heart is beating faster than usual. She simply blames it on adrenaline.
The announcer signals for them to start, and she’s already moving. She’s punching, kicking and dodging, but it’s getting harder and harder for her to keep up. Peter was always the one person who could really get to her. It was almost like he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Soon, he has her cornered.
“Just admit defeat already. You don’t need to do this anymore!”
“Of course I do! I can’t lose or I’ll get in trouble. You know how it works!”
He sees the pain in her eyes, the fear that she tries to conceal so often.
He’s got her arms pinned above her head, knives useless. She’s writhing under him, trying to get free. She shoves her knee into his groin, ducks and rolls away. She screams at him, telling him how he just doesn’t understand. She lands a kick to his abdomen and growls.
There’s no way in hell she’s losing this fight to him.
He kicks back this time, right in her pelvis. She whimpers in pain and steps back. He continues to punch and kick until he’s got her pinned down on the ground. He’s sitting on top of her, thinking that she’s won. She lays limp for a minute, and then pulls her legs up around him. She flips him over, and pulls out her knife. She could kill him right this moment. She should kill him right this moment. After all, that is what she is expected to do to people that the announcer hates. She pulls her arm back.
The announcer yells at her. He tells her to just do it already. That she knows what will happen if she doesn’t.
Her hand shakes.
Peter smiles sadly.
“Just do it.”
She puts the tip of the knife against his chest.
She looks into Peter’s eyes.
She can’t read them.
She reaches out to stroke his face, suddenly remembering everything.
She stands up and turns to the announcer.
“You did this to me! You turned me into a MONSTER!”
She throws her knife at him, knowing it will hit her target.
You were in your room putting on your shadowhunter gear. You were so
excited, it had been a long time since you went on a mission. You had been
training hard the whole time. Last time you went on a mission, you had to stay
behind Alec the whole time, while Isabelle went beside you with her whip ready.
Jace was walking in the front with Clary, making sure every corner was free. And
yet you still got bitten by a scorpios demon.
Things you might not know about the production of Sense8
As found in the behind-the-scenes documentary, Sense8: Creating the World
All of the scenes were shot in the countries they were shown to be in. So they really did shoot in Mumbai and Seoul and Berlin etc.
They hired local actors and crews for each of the countries, which helped increase the realism of the scenes.
Between main, side, and minor characters, there were around 180 speaking roles.
When the cast visited each country they wouldn’t break between them. They’d be in one country shooting one day, and then shooting in another in the next.
The scene with Riley and Capheus, and also with Will on the plane to Iceland was literally shot on a plane to Iceland.
The cast described traveling around the world together for 4 months as something that created a family bond between them. They all grew very close and considered the feeling of the few times where they could all be together as ‘electric’.
They described being in the different cities as having different vibes and feelings that could only be experienced by really being there, which added a lot to their portrayals and helped them a lot with understanding their characters.
There were scenes that were shot two, three, or even four times due to having to do certain parts in different countries. This often meant that scenes could be changed a little as they had chances to watch over previous takes and see if they could improve it in some way in the new city.
The show really shot in the middle of the Gay Pride parade, and the scene where Nomi fell off of the motorbike was in the midst of the ‘Dyke’s on Bikes’ part of the parade.
They also had real wide-shots from the Mumbai Ganesh festival, however it would have been impossible to shoot the acting parts because of the vast amount of people that attend.
When shooting scenes where the sensates ‘share’, they don’t shoot one character doing the scene, shoot the other, and then put them together through editing. Clever camera shots where the camera pans away for a few seconds meant they would often literally switch places by one doing things like ducking and rolling away on the ground whilst the other jumped in their place.
Aml Ameen said that when he played Capheus driving the van, 90% of it was actually him. He got to drive around Nairobi, and was actually pulled over by the police at one point and the crew had to explain what was going on.
In Riley’s opening scene that establishes her as a DJ, she was playing to a real audience. She came on between two other real and well known DJ’s, and the audience wasn’t aware that she wasn’t a real DJ.
The very first scene Miguel shot as Lito was the sex scene in ‘Demons’.
The wrestling match that Lito, Hernando, and Daniela attended was a real match, with a real crowd and fighters.
Kala and Rajan’s dance scene was repeatedly shot all in one take rather than in short parts unlike traditional Bollywood movie dance scenes.
Brian sustained multiple injuries during the course of the show through Will’s action sequences including hurting his shoulder and his triceps, including an internal bleeding bruise.
Doona Bae was extremely excited about the cast coming to Seoul as that is where she lives, and so she gave them all tours around the city.
Similarly, Max Riemelt cooked dinner for his cast mates and showed them around Berlin.
Jamie Clayton said that her favorite scene in San Francisco was when Nomi was escaping by bike and decided to try and steal a car to get away before realizing she couldn’t drive, mentioning that she herself doesn’t know how to drive either.
And plenty more. It’s on Netflix. so you guys should definitely watch it if you haven’t already!
Tribute to my best friend. You were always there for me, through sunshine and rain. When my dysfunctional family was crumbling down, when I was bullied in school, when the entire world seemed so bleak, you wagged your tail and smiled at me. And suddenly everything was going to be okay.
We dug giant holes in the backyard, filled it with water, jumped in and covered ourselves in mud. The best days were when we got to go to your favorite lake. You really loved to roll in duck poop and dead fish. I held you in my lap even when you smelled like rotten fish. I had to shampoo you twice and it was all so much fun.
With each divorce and remarriage, we had to move and give you away when the new place didn’t allow dogs. But somehow you always made it back to me. When emotional trauma gave me amnesia for one year, I couldn’t remember the people in my life but I remember you. If my mom had gone through with the suicide, I would have been okay because I had you.
I grew up and you grew old. Now I’m old enough to be okay on my own, and it was thanks to you. I’ll always miss you. Thank you for the 17 years of unconditional love.
“Daddy, can we get ice cream on our way home?” The soft voice of Niall’s almost five-year-old daughter was quiet but completely audible to his trained ear. He glances over at her, trying to not smile at her eyes doing the best puppy dog pout.