wouldn't be

anonymous asked:

Well that post about kisame and shark characteristics said the hoshigaki females would be generally bigger, more muscular etc. So just, kisame sees the pink headed blob from behind and like ew a weak one but then she turns around and bam memories of his mother accidentally breaking tables/doors/walls come to mind bam he's in love

I should absolutely definitely totally be finishing the next chapter of reverse right now what have you done

Nagato looks like he’s about to start stabbing people, which Kisame thinks likely isn’t the best way to walk into a peace conference with Konoha.

“Obito,” he says tightly, as the volume of Konan and Yahiko’s bickering increases. “I am very fond of you, but if you don’t stop complaining I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

Obito rolls his eye, but he does stop fidgeting with his shakujo, sinking back flat on his feet rather than poised on the balls of his toes, and Kisame allows a fraction of the tension in his shoulders to ease. Having their resident powerhouse to slightly wound isn’t good for the nerves.

“Fond,” Obito says instead, pulling a face. “Gee, thanks.”

Nagato looks exasperated, and turns to his partner with a huff, but Kisame has been walking between Konan and Yahiko and Sasori and Deidara since they left Ame; he’s had more than enough of couple quarrels for the next lifetime and change, so he squeezes past their honorable(-ish) leaders and makes tracks for the clear field they agreed on for negotiations, figuring he may as well scout the area. Nagato will likely do one better as soon as he gets his head out of his ass, being a sensor and all, but for now Kisame steps out of the trees and takes a quick glance around the field. It looks like it would make a good battlefield in another life, open and free of most obstructions, but as it is there’s only a single other figure visible.

Deciding he may as well be friendly, Kisame puts on his best smile, trying not to show too many extra teeth, then slings Samehada over his shoulder and wanders towards the kunoichi inspecting a lone outcropping of boulders. She’s small, lean, with short pink hair held back by a Konoha hitai-ate. Almost despite himself, Kisame feels a flicker of resignation, expecting another weak, stuttering, flailing girl. Objectively, he’s well aware that most kunoichi can’t be held to the standards of the Hoshigaki Clan, but Kisame grew up with women who were a good two heads taller than him and twice as broad, all muscle, and able to break a table in half without a thought. Anything less invokes an instinctive distaste, and—

The small, pretty kunoichi makes a sound of deep frustration, rears back, and punches the boulders hard.

It’s probably upwards of six tons of rock, and with one direct blow the entire formation shatters into dust.

Kisame’s jaw drops, and he practically trips over his own feet. Oh, he thinks, and then Oh! And maybe she’s not quite as tall or broad as his mother and sister but as she spins to face him he realizes she’s nowhere near delicate. Those are thick muscles, just as honed as his own, and the way she balances herself says she knows exactly how to use them.

“A kunoichi!” Kisame says, utterly delighted.

The young woman eyes him like he just said something dumb. “Haruno Sakura,” she says, like it’s a warning.

It might be, but Kisame’s been so focused on Ame and helping rebuild Akatsuki after Madara’s attempt to corrupt it that he hasn’t had time to leaf through the Bingo Book lately. Now he wishes he had, because wow.

“You!” he repeats. “You’re a real kunoichi!”

Sakura blinks, taking half a step back as she falls out of her fighting stance, and she looks startled and just a little flattered. “Um?”

“Could you bench press me?” Kisame presses, already advancing in anticipation.

Baffled, Sakura blinks at him for a moment, then snorts, tugs up her fingerless gloves, and cracks her knuckles. “Why not,” she asks in bemusement, and Kisame wastes no time leaping for her.


(“Oh gods, really?” Nagato demands, pressing his hands over his face in clear despair as the remaining members of Akatsuki file into the meadow.

Obito just snorts. “At least he’s having fun,” he says dryly, and a surreptitious glance across the field shows that Kakashi is watching his student toss around a deadly, homicidal missing-nin with no small amount of horror.

Obito would absolutely be lying if he said that didn’t factor in to the way he catches Nagato’s arm and keeps him from marching over to corral their wayward swordsman. When Nagato shoots him a look of deep betrayal, Obito offers him a smirk, tipping one shoulder in a shrug. “I thought you were the one who was so invested in peace by any means, Nagato.”

Nagato groans, and the hands go back over his face. “She’s using him as a weight, Obito! And he’s letting her!”

“True love comes in many forms,” Obito says, mock-wisely, and doesn’t even try to dodge the smack that Nagato aims at his head.)

Maggie Sawyer: *sneering, angry* “That fucking FBI bitch. Who does she think she is? ‘Your jurisdiction ends where I say it ends.’ Kicks me out of my own crime scene, I hate her.”

Maggie Sawyer later that night: *gushing, heart eyes* “I just invited my new bff to my safe haven to meet some of my friends and make her own contacts in the alien community, I’m so excited! I love her!”

Otayuri Week - Day 7 - Fantasy or Soulmates

i have no idea if this is allowed but I love Skyrim and Beka in a Dragonborn armor omg (everything sketched on his face is battle damage or blood from the latest dragon slayed :3)

Yuri as a pretty High Elf (elven daggen really badly drawn just to illustrate it) waiting for the famous Dragonborn to arrive :) 

hellofriend304  asked:

You say there's a CGI error with the DICE images. I say there's a hidden eleventh member. Lying hidden somewhere in the organization. The one they call the Ultimate Trickster…Watch out for him.

Someone make this back into a popular fandom meme ASAP.

apolloaegletes  asked:

mettigel are #confirmed cryptoids as ive never seen mett irl, geschweige denn in the shape of a hedgehog #idontwanttobelieve what kind of german nightmare urban legend horror creature. look at its dead eyes. i cant believe it's out there

i have, with my own eyes, seen the mettigel. i was only a small child, peering over the edge of the kitchen counter, through the thick cigarette smoke in my mums boyfriends grandmas ddr style kitchen. it’s cold wet gewürzgürkchen paws seemed to beckon me closer. i swear it’s all true

Nine out of ten boys in this program
have been or are being abused.
Anger comes from a place of
misunderstanding and mistreatment of
the individual affected.

Talking to these boys you come to find
that all of them are angry for a reason.
They use sports and exercise to cope.
Their muscles are sometimes bigger
than their brains and that’s not very
funny considering how society teaches the
modern boy to be violent and big.
Give an abused boy a book of poems
and he will crush it because it’s manly to
break things in your hands than to
just so plainly pick it up and read it
and get lost in poems that know
how you feel exactly but a boy only knows
how to break and tear and scream and destroy
and a boy would rather see his knuckles bloody or his nose broken than to admit
for christs fucking sake they’re not animals and that they’re allowed to feel and whoever hurt them doesn’t deserve to turn them into monsters as well so why do we let monsters turn our sons and best friends into monsters why do we tell them it’s better to break bones than to heal your own

NINE OUT OF TEN BOYS IN THIS PROGRAM HAVE BEEN ABUSED OR ARE
BEING ABUSED.

There’s nine of them staring at me from yellow plastics chairs underneath a banner that reads so boldly,
Welcome to Anger Management.
Their eyes are dark and uninviting.
Their legs are shaking, they’re tired.
In here we all have problems but we know
we were taught to say we don’t and it was easier to be angry than to let anybody know.
Our fathers, mothers, step parents, siblings,
neighbors, classmates, teachers -

Nine out of ten boys in this program
are being or have been abused.
Anger comes from a place of
misunderstanding and mistreatment of
the individual affected.

—  Nine out of ten, but I don’t want to say I’m the tenth.

heyyyyyy so, remember the thing I said I wasn’t going to do? yeah, I’m doing it


The stairwell door squeaked and rattled open and incredibly, the dream boy Chris had flung at him from the afterlife appeared in the angle of orange light, out of breath, casting around frantically, and apparently real, after all.  Maybe.  He was dressed, now, in a crop top and pegged jeans with suspenders, jacket tied around his waist, like he’d just walked off the set of a John Hughes film and onto Victor’s roof.

“There you are,” Yuuri said, and this might actually have been a scripted scene with the level of unwarranted worry in his voice.  He let the door fall closed and promptly shivered, untying the jacket from his waist and quickly huddling inside it.  “Jeez, it’s freezing.  I thought I told you not to go too far, Victor.”

Victor opted for the truth, looking Yuuri up and down once he was closer; his hair was even messier than before, and there was still glitter clinging to what skin was still showing.  “I thought I dreamed you.”

Yuuri laughed and it was beautiful–his eyes curved at the corners and sparkled.  “Under any other circumstances that would be a terrible pick up line.”

“You did kind of fall out of the sky onto my lap, nearly naked,” Victor said, perfectly reasonable, shrugging.  “And now you burst onto my roof dressed like Cameron Frye.  I’m still not convinced you aren’t a dream.”

Yuuri hummed, hugged the jacket against his chest and crouched down to Victor’s level, rocking on his heels, teeth worrying his lower lip for a moment before he continued, shyly, “What should I do to convince you?”

Victor stuttered and laughed–a real laugh, one that reached all the way to his belly and the tips of his fingers.  Yuuri kept rocking, wan smile on his face while Victor laughed, until he reached over for Yuuri’s elbow and tugged him down onto his knees.  “I would never have thought I’d be so adorably flirted with by a stripper.”

“Erotic dancer,” Yuuri corrected automatically.

“Sorry.  Erotic dancer, Yuuri—”

“Katsuki.”

“Erotic dancer Yuuri Kastuki, asking for a kiss as though he’s never done such a thing before.”  Victor plucked at Yuuri’s sleeve, teasing, until his smile reached his eyes again.  “You are actually a dream, right?  If you kiss me, will I wake up?”  Or would he dream deeper?  Victor traced the curves of Yuuri’s face with his eyes, pulled on his arm again, but Yuuri didn’t budge.

“Come back downstairs.”

Victor shook his head, rolling side to side against the surface of the brick vent and Yuuri shuffled on his knees, eyebrows drawing together.  “Don’t want to.”

“I was worried about you, you know?  Mila was worried.  Look,” Yuuri drew his hands out from where they were tucked under his arms and pressed them against Victor’s cheeks.  His fingers were incredibly warm in contrast to the cold, and Victor closed his eyes.  “You’re gonna freeze out here.  Come on inside and get to bed.  I’ll even stay with you, if you want.”

“I want to watch the sunrise,” Victor said, covering Yuuri’s fingers with his own and pressing them closer, turning his face into the touch.

Yuuri was silent for a while, and when Victor opened his eyes his head was turned, scanning the horizon where dawn was just starting to brighten the sky to gray.  He heaved a sigh that made his shoulders sag, momentarily, and when he turned back he paused just long enough that Victor got a perfect view of his profile, glasses perched on his nose, lips slightly parted, gaze briefly distant and sad before he turned fully back to Victor and whatever thought or feeling had been there dissolved into a soft, indulgent smile.  “Alright.  Lets warm up a bit, though.  Get up.”