#I might write a one shot

[noxitsnox]

I'm going crazy so here me out: Zosan Ancient Roma AU (death and sucide are mentioned)

It's setted after Tiberius and Gaius Gracchus but before Caesar

Zoro's family was a family of farmers, but they were forced to sell their lands to afford food and stuff

The Senate couldn't care less about people like them (populares) and every time someone tried to propose laws in favor of the plebs it always found a way not to implement them

Zoro was tired of it

He managed to get elected consul having the full supports of the populares

Sanji's family was part of the senatorial aristocracy (optimates), obviously they did not support the populares, they were only interested in maintaining their position in society

Sanji didn't agree with their idealogies, he actually wanted to help the populares

That same year he managed to gain the support of the populares and equites (another social class made of rich merchants and artisans) become consul

Now there was a problem for the Senate: both of the consuls were supporting the populares and not them

Also Sanji's family couldn't let him just go around and support the "enemies"

Sanji was disowned and all

Now getting on the zosan part

Zoro at first didn't like Sanji, he didn't trust him

Sanji... he didn't really have a problem with Zoro, but he didn't like the fact that Zoro didn't like him and so his mere presence annoyed him

They started to get along after the firsts military successes

So it was a difficult time for Rome, there were civil wars in both the eastern and western provinces

Sanji went to Gaul to sedate the riots

Zoro went in Asia to do the same

After he was done in Asia Zoro was returning in Rome when some barbarians went and attacked the Gaul

And so he decide to take his army and went there to help Sanji

In short time the riots were calmed and the barbarians were defeated

After this experience they become closer and closer

Sanji admired Zoro's bravado and how good he fought

Zoro admired Sanji's leadership and technique, not just his strength

They tried to elevate the position of the plebs but the Senate slowed down all their attempts

And just liked that in Rome a climate of tension arose and within a couple of years a civil war broke out

During one of the battles Zoro died gloriously

Sanji was devasted

He retired from public and political life completely

He kept one of Zoro's swords until the day he died

A couple of years after Zoro's death he took that sword and killed himself

[stealingyourbones]

DPxDC the Olympics AU.

Jazz is competing for sharpshooting

Dick is competing for team gymnastics

Y’all can work it out from there :)

[sallow-gaunt]

Headcanon

Sebastian is a good student. He’s bright, he’s charming, and it’s no wonder his teachers think he’s capable because his parents were both professors so it would make sense that he’s grown up well-read and educated.

But then Anne gets cursed before the end of their fourth year and stops attending Hogwarts - as his fourth year draws to a close, his grades begin to slip because he’s not paying attention in class, he starts breaking curfew because he’s staying up after hours to research cures, all he can think about is how to help his sister and it negatively impacts his studies. He puts on a facade in class, but his smiles are fake, and when he thinks no one is looking, he turns sullen. The only friend he spends much time with anymore is Ominis, and while their friendship is admirable, it’s a far cry from the boy who used to banter with everyone, the boy who always had something to say. The professors try to be understanding given his circumstances, but they’re all undeniably worried about him.

At the beginning of fifth year, this behaviour continues - but there’s something different, if only slightly. Hecat notices it first in the first DADA lesson of the year when he duels the new fifth year; despite the fact he loses this duel, she notices the way he grins at the new student, his boyish face bright in a way it hasn’t been since his sister was cursed. It’s nice to see him smile again, she thinks.

The next to notice it is Professor Weasley, when she comes to fetch him from detention with a “special task”; he looks surprised but relieved to be out of detention, and listens as she explains that she wants him to take the new fifth year to Hogsmeade for supplies. She doesn’t miss the way he beams ear to ear upon hearing that the fifth year asked for him specifically when encouraged to go with a friend, and as he goes to meet them in the entrance hall, there’s a sudden bounce to his step. It makes her smile to herself, pleased that he seems genuinely happy.

It doesn’t take long for all of the faculty to notice it, and it becomes a hot topic of conversation among them. Garlick insists that she keeps seeing him and the new fifth year laughing together on their way to Herbology, even on days they don’t work together; Sharp notes that while Sebastian still works with Ominis, he’s often seen at the potion station of the new student, the two of them talking in low teasing tones that suggest a friendly banter. Ronen disclosed that while the new student often chooses to sit with Natty or Poppy for Charms, he’s caught them and Sebastian looking at each other from across the classroom; everyone has a good chuckle when even Fig remarks that he’s often seen Sebastian waiting outside of his classroom when the new student leaves, as if the Slytherin boy has been waiting to see them. Many of the other teachers also recall seeing the two in each other’s presence around the school constantly, sharing sweets and talking.

They all agree that the presence of the new fifth year student is the cause of Sebastian’s uplifted mood, there’s no other explanation quite frankly. He’s not completely the same as he was before - he is still breaking curfew, still not focusing completely on his work, still seems sullen on most days - but when he’s around the new student, he’s definitely happier and more like his old self.

[ditzybat]

I know we get a lot of Catlad!Jason or Stray!Tim au’s, but just this once can we get a Stray!Bernard au? A Bernard who was caught trying to steal something big in a spiteful teenage phase of rebellion and getting caught by Catwoman of all people, who immediately snatches him and makes him her apprentice- because if the bat can have protégés so can she. And a just freshly made Robin Tim having to chase around that annoying cat who happens to be his civilian best friend (not that either of them realize it) And just - Bernard is just a silly cat having his bat chase him around rooftops in an excruciating slow burn romance that takes both miscommunication and civilian life drama to make it to endgame.

[mxltifxnd0m]

sick days ◎ s. winchester

summary: after multiple back-to-back hunts, the stress and fatigue gets to sam

pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x gn! reader

word count: 3K

warnings: none really, no use of 'y/n', fluff, taking care of sick! sam, barely edited lol

a/n: my last sam fic before i go back to college and get swamped with my course load. writing will slow down and be posted sparingly but i still plan to post if i have time!

as always, like, reblog, and comment on the fic! i always like hearing constructive criticism and love feedback <33 (also my last fic kinda flopped so give it some love please!)

𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵

It was rare for the boys to get sick. Surprisingly, they had very strong immune systems, and considering how well Sam ate, he would be the last person in the bunker to get sick. 

But you guys have been running yourselves ragged with hunting, having gone on them back to back for the past month and a half. It was exhausting, and when you guys made it back to the bunker, you all but collapsed in your shared bed with Sam, not even bothering to get under the covers. 

When you got up the next day, you felt significantly better, but exhaustion still riddled your body. You glanced at the clock on your nightstand. It was nearing noon. It didn’t surprise you that you slept that long; the three of you got back to the bunker well into the late morning. You began to get up from next to the sleeping giant next to you, but you were immediately pulled back by a strong arm wrapping around your lower stomach. You let yourself be dragged back into Sam’s body and let his warmth cocoon you. 

You feel his jean-covered leg intertwine with yours as your chest hits his back, and Sam leaves a sleepy kiss to your pulse point as he nuzzled you, the scruff on his face from not being able to shave for the past two days scratched softly against your neck, making fond smile stretch on your lips. 

“What time is it?” You heard the rasp of Sam’s tired voice whisper in your ear. 

“Almost noon.” You told him as you traced shapes on his bare arm before interlacing his fingers through yours, your interlocked hands resting on your abdomen. 

Sam let out a soft groan before nuzzling your neck further, making a soft laugh escape you. You reached your free hand to thread through his silky locks and ruffled his hair a bit. 

“We should probably get up now.” 

Sam mumbled something into your neck, but you couldn’t understand a single word he said. 

You huffed an amused laugh through your nose. “Mind speaking up for the rest of the class? 

His head raised slightly from your neck. “Don’t want to.” Sam grumbled out before his head fell back to his previous spot. 

You smiled at Sam’s childlike nature. He could get grumpy when he crashes from a long hunt and doesn’t go on his morning runs. 

“We should. We’re still in our clothes from last night.” Your nose wrinkled at the thought. 

You weren’t a stranger to sleeping in your jeans or your hunting clothes. 

Before even meeting the Winchesters and moving into the bunker when you started to date Sam, you had collapsed into a motel bed (or a hundred) with your jeans on. But considering you were used to having somewhere you considered home now, you more often than not slept in your pajamas, even if you were dead tired from a hunt. 

Sam grunted and tightened his hold on you, shaking his head in your neck. You could only imagine what you and Sam looked like right now—having a 6’4 man completely wrapped around you. You mentally shook your head and managed to pry yourself out of his arms. 

Sam let out a whine of protest as you left the bed but decided that he wasn’t going to get out of bed anytime soon, so he rolled over to his stomach and went back to sleep. 

You saw his breathing even out, and you shook your head. There was a soft smile on your face as you rounded the bed to his side to kiss Sam on the forehead. He unconsciously smiled at the contact. You left his side to grab a change of pajamas from the dresser. You decided a shower was in order before you decided to cook up some lunch for everyone. 

You doubted that Dean was even awake at the moment, but to check, you peeked your head into his room to find your suspicions to be correct. Dean was sprawled out on his bed, but it seemed that he was able to strip down to his boxers and a t-shirt. You closed his door quietly and shuffled off to the shower room. 

Once you were freshly clean and refreshed, the shower having given you some energy, you padded into the empty kitchen and decided to whip up some food for you and the boys. You started the coffee maker and looked in the fridge to see it somewhat stocked, but you knew that you or Dean would have to make a supply run in the coming days. 

You settled on making sandwiches for you and the boys, and when the coffee was done, Dean stalked into the kitchen. It looked like he was moving on autopilot, moving towards the mugs and coffee pot, pouring himself a cup before plopping himself down at the table. Dean hadn’t bothered changing; all he did was shrug on his ‘dead guy’ robe and his hair sticking up in different directions, having been mussed up from sleeping. You placed his just-made sandwich in front of him, and he let out a grunt of thanks before diving into his lunch (breakfast). 

Soon enough, Sam stumbled into the kitchen. He also looked like he rolled out of bed, his flannel wrinkled, but he was able to tame his hair. Sam gave you a grateful smile as he sat at the table, and you placed a cup of coffee and his lunch in front of him. You grabbed your lunch and a water bottle from the fridge. You kissed Sam’s temple before settling next to him at the table, where the three of you ate in comfortable silence. 

A couple of days had passed since you came back from the last hunt, and you made the boys take at least a week off from hunting since you had been going on hunts consistently and deserved a break.  

You and Sam were relaxing in the library, Sam reading some lore book that he had yet to catalog, and you were reading a mystery/thriller book that you had been meaning to read for a while on your Kindle. The two of you were content in each other’s presence, but you noticed that Sam was clearing his throat more often today. 

Sam eventually let out a cough that made you look up at him. 

“Need some water hun?” You ask him with furrowed brows. 

Sam shook his head. “No, I’m fine.” 

You raised an eyebrow at him. “You sure?”

Sam just nodded at you in response. Your eyes lingered on him for a moment before they flicked downward back to your Kindle. 

The day passed as it usually did, but the next morning was what you didn’t expect. For one, Sam was still in bed when you had woken up. You were confused because Sam was a stickler for his routine in the mornings. You glanced at the clock, the green letters reading 9:14 AM, which was a little later than you would usually get up, but you were still catching up on sleep. 

You decide to leave Sam in bed, figuring that he needs to do the same thing and go to the bathroom to do your morning routine. When you came back into the room to change, Sam was awake, resting on the headboard, but he was sniffling and looked pale. You quickly rushed over to him. 

“You doing alright there babe?” You asked as you made it to his side of the bed and sat next to him. You reached out to feel his forehead, but he leaned away from your touch. 

“Don’t, I’m going to get you sick.” Sam’s voice was raspy and tired. 

“I’ll be fine, I just wanna see if you’re running a fever.” 

Sam didn’t seem to like that idea but relented, leaning towards your hand. The back of your hand hit his forehead for a moment, pursing your lips as you felt his temperature before cupping his cheek, your thumb caressing the beauty mark near his eye. 

“You’re running a little warmer than usual, let me go see if we have a thermometer somewhere. Stay here.” You ordered him. 

Sam huffed but nodded as he sunk back into the bed. You smiled, pinching his cheek before releasing it. 

“Good boy.” You teased as you stood up. 

Sam rolled his eyes at you, a tired smile playing on his lips. 

You quickly made your way to the infirmary, hoping that the Men of Letters had a thermometer that wasn’t made of mercury, but you had an inkling that they didn’t. You passed Dean as you made your way to the infirmary, and he called out to you, seeing your hasty speed. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked when he noticed you were going in the direction of the infirmary. 

“Sam is sick and might be running a fever.” 

Dean’s eyebrows knit in confusion and slight concern, now walking with you, abandoning the direction he was already walking in. “You’re telling Mr. Health nut got sick? How?” 

“Not sure. But I have a feeling it’s because we had been running around on hunts and since we hadn’t been on one for a couple of days, the exhaustion and stress finally hit and this is how his body is reacting.” You explained to Dean your theory as to why Sam got sick, knowing how uncommon it was for them to get sick. 

“I’ll go out and grab some stuff for him. I have to do a supply run anyway.” Dean said as you two left the infirmary, nearly turning the place upside down, trying to find a thermometer that wasn’t made with mercury. You highly doubted that Sam wanted mercury poisoning, and that was the thing that took him out instead of a monster (again). 

You nodded. “I’ll text you a list.” 

Dean patted your shoulder before the two of you parted ways, you in the direction of your shared room with Sam and Dean in the direction of the garage. 

You made it back to your shared room to find Sam dozing off, sniffling, and clearing his throat. Sam’s tired eyes snapped to yours as you moved across the room to sit by his feet at the edge of the bed.  

“How are you feeling?” You asked him gently, letting your hand rest on his ankle. 

“Cold, and I can’t breathe out of my nose.” Sam’s voice was hoarse and sounded congested. 

You sent Sam a sympathetic smile. “Dean’s out getting you some stuff right now, he should be back in a bit.” You gave Sam’s ankle a reassuring squeeze. 

“Did you find a thermometer?” 

You huffed. “Yes, but they were made of mercury and broken. I don’t think you would have appreciated getting mercury poisoning on top of being sick.” 

Sam chuckled before it turned into a coughing fit. You cringed at the sound of his cough and stood up from your place on the bed. 

“I’ll get you some water and tissues.” 

You entertained Sam for about an hour before Dean came back. It looked like he bought the entire drugstore with the two bags full of medicine and other supplies that he thought you might’ve needed in the future. Well, at least the infirmary would be stocked with cough and flu medicine. 

You whipped a quick lunch for Sam that he could stomach before taking the meds. After Sam ate the small lunch you gave him, you made him take some Dayquil and placed a cold washcloth on his forehead. You were expecting for him to make a fuss about taking medicine, having heard the stories that Dean told you of Sam when he was sick when they were younger. 

You let Sam take a nap, knowing the only way that he would get better faster is if he just rested. You were planning on prepping Sam’s dinner while he slept, but as you walked into the kitchen, you found Dean at the stove cooking some veggies in a pot. 

“I was going to do that, you know?” You said as you walked over to Dean and looked at the ingredients for tomato soup scattered on the metal countertop. 

“Well, taking care of Sasquatch over there is a handful and figured you needed all the help you could get.” Dean looked at you with a shrug of his shoulder, but you could hear the undercurrent of fondness over the nonchalant tone that he had. 

“Mmhm. Okay, well do you need any help?” 

“You can start making the grilled cheeses’.” 

A couple of hours later, there was a plate filled with grilled cheese sandwiches (most of which were for Dean) and piping hot tomato soup that was enough for a small army. You tiptoed into the low-lit room of Sam’s bedroom, who was still asleep, with a tray filled with food, water, medicine, and a thermometer (a digital one). You placed the tray on the nightstand on the side Sam was lying on and sat down next to him. 

You looked down at the sleeping man in front and noticed how much younger he looked as he did. The crease in between his eyebrows was smoothed out, and stress wasn’t etched in his features as he breathed as evenly as he could with a congested nose. You shook your head in slight disbelief at how beautiful this man was even when he was sick. 

You took off the now warm towel on Sam’s forehead and gently brushed back the strands of hair that were dampened by the towel. Sam stirred at your ministrations as he groggily blinked the sleep from his eyes. 

“Hey sleepy head.” You said with a gentle smile. You were able to gauge his temperature as your hand brushed against his forehead for a moment before petting the long strands of his brunette locks. 

Sam cracked a smile and your hand fell from his hair as he pulled himself up and rested against the headboard.  He was still dressed in the white t-shirt and flannel pajama pants he went to sleep in. 

“How long was I out for?” Sam asked as he cleared his throat slightly.

You gave him the water bottle from earlier. “Give or take a few hours.” 

Sam took a sip of water, glancing at the alarm clock before capping his water bottle and nodding. He stretched his neck out with a slight groan before his head hit his headboard with a small thump.

“Still tired?” You watched him carefully. 

“Yeah, and I feel like I was tossed around by a demon,” Sam said as he absent-mindedly cracked his knuckles. 

You let out a small chuckle.” I mean, you did about a month ago.” You joked. 

Sam shot you a glare, but it had no heat behind it as he was still looking at you through tired eyes. “Haha, very funny.” He said dryly. 

You sent him a smirk. “Thank you, I’ll be here all night.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

You pointed a stern finger at him. “Hey, you should be nicer to the person who’s taking care of your sick ass or I’ll make sure you get mercury poisoning.”

Sam rolled his eyes at your empty threat. “I could take care of myself.” 

You raised an unconvinced eyebrow at him, your mind immediately flicking back to all of the times you had to pry him away from researching in the library to sleep. 

You hummed unconvincingly. “Sure you could big boy.” You quipped before reaching for the tray on the nightstand and placed it above his lap. The tray had legs, so it didn’t have to rest precariously on his lap. 

“Enjoy dinner, Dean and I made it.” You smiled at him before petting his head. 

Sam looked down at the tomato soup and grilled cheese before him. He couldn’t really smell it, but it looked delicious, and he felt his stomach rumble with hunger. 

“Thank you.” Sam’s tone filled with sincerity. 

“S’no problem love.” You winked at him before getting up from the bed. 

You pointed down at the medicine and the thermometer. “I’ll take your temp after you eat, then you’ll shower, and then take your meds.” You instructed Sam as he began to slurp at the soup. 

Sam nodded obediently. “Have you eaten yet?”   

“Not yet.” 

“Can you eat here with me?” 

You smiled at Sam. “Yeah, let me grab my food.” 

After you and Sam ate, you took his temperature, which was only at 100 degrees. You managed to get Sam out of bed and into the shower room, where you helped him wash off. He was practically putty in your hands as you washed his hair with the lukewarm water of the shower (he complained of wanting a hot shower, but you knew better than having him shower in hot or cold water when he had a fever). 

Once he was clean, he all but stumbled back into the room and collapsed in the bed. Sam was about to fall asleep, but you made him take some medicine before he got under the covers and got swept under by the drug-induced sleep. 

You were about to leave Sam’s side to sleep in your old room before you moved into Sam’s room when you felt a tug at your shirt, seeing Sam’s sleepy pout on his face. 

“Yes, Sam?” 

“Stay.” 

“Thought you didn’t want me to get sick.” You teased softly, grabbing his hand from your shirt. 

That was a bad idea because he grabbed you with strength that you didn’t expect from a drowsy Sam and pulled you into him on the bed, a yelp escaping your mouth. His arms immediately wrapped around your waist and nuzzled into your neck. 

“Don’t care, need you.” He mumbled into your neck, his breath hitting your collarbone as you were chest to chest. 

You huffed a small laugh through your nose, threading your hands through his long hair, uncaring of the consequences. “You won’t be saying that when I get sick and blame you for it.” 

Sam didn’t respond to you, his breathing evening out before you even said your last word. You shook your head, a knowing smile on your face before you eventually fell asleep yourself. 

A week later, Sam took on the caretaker role, and you guys weren’t able to go on a hunt for another two weeks until you felt better. 

[annestie]

You know that one Katara and Aang scene from like the first episode of avatar where they're riding penguin sleds and Katara goes "I haven't done this since I was a kid" and Aang goes "You still are a kid"

This one!

Anyways, it has the same energy as Neteyam and Ao'nung chasing each other on ilus

[mogwaei]

Character sheet for my new Solasmancing Lavellan!

Djin'zidei - "Mirage or errant wish" / "the path beyond the mirror"

lore below:

Djin'zidei was born to a clan with a love for family and knowledge, enough so that many are encouraged to seek out other clans as an eternal quest for wisdom. It becomes necessary when Djin'zidei herself discovers she is possessed of a heightened sensitivity to both the Fade and the Veil. This gift, or curse, causes her frequent trouble, leading her to constantly experimenting with various substances to manage her 'episodes.' Despite the challenges, she remains deeply fascinated by it. (What this all entails will be explored in a fic) 👀

Through a series of odd events tied to her travels, she ends up encountering an odder Adventuring Crew of treasure hunters and historians (there's a dwarf & a rogue Grey Warden for instance) with her sibling. They decide to join, as her sensitivity makes her very useful for exploring ruins and other ancient places. The group becomes tight-knit when they find they all share a ravenous hunger for knowledge, thrill, and chasing mysteries.

then everything changed when the fire nation attacked...

[icamefromthepinterestscreenshots]

Newly rescued whumpees where caretaker doesn’t realise how much whumpee has been thru until they see whumpee get excited about normal every day things.

Caretaker being confused that whumpee is so happy to see grass, to sleep in a bed, to eat food that isn’t mouldy.

Whumpees being surprised and slightly apprehensive to all the ‘luxuries’ they are being given, not understanding what they have done to deserve them.

[plutoswritingplanet]

Vicarious (Homelander x Female!Reader) pt.5

a/n: if you guys start suspecting i have a crush on madelyn stillwell, no you don't, you didn't see shit, forgive and forget. Cross-Posted on AO3

Warnings: Blood and Violence (fr fr), Homelander being a Fucking Asshole, Very Questionable Corporate Ethics, Plus Size Reader, Explicit Language.

Summary: You know a slaughterhouse, when you see it.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

A series of loud, demanding knocks startles you right out of your dreamless slumber. The borderline panicked, rapid thumping against your door, forces you to open your eyes, squinting with a groan at the morning sun streaming through the gigantic windows of your room. The mascara from the night before sticks in clumps over your eyelashes, and you blink a few times, until black pieces fall onto your cheeks, where they're promptly wiped away by the back of your hand. There's a taste of stale vomit in your mouth, your stomach feels strangely empty, and you don't really want to remember where you decided to dispose of its contents. As you make your way towards the door, your calf cramps up, making you huff a silent curse through your cracked lips. 

- Fucking Christ... Where's the fire? - you croak out, as you open the door, eyes falling onto a familiar head of ginger hair sticking out behind the screen of a tablet. 

- The fucking Internet - Ashley answers not missing a beat - Someone uploaded a bunch of videos of you from the party, including one where you, like a complete dumbass, decided to smoke a joint. And one where...

She cuts herself off, as her face finally rises to look at you, her expression freezing in shock.

- What the fuck happened to you? - she asks, and if you were any less hungover, you'd notice the sliver of concern lacing her words. 

- What do yo...?

Your eyes follow her inquisitive gaze down, and there, your left tit stares back at you, peaking out of an almost finger shaped tear. Huffing in exasperation, you try to amend the situation, pushing the fabric around to cover yourself, only to feel the last of the stitches give out. You catch your destroyed t-shirt at the last second, as it all but falls off of your body. 

- Shit, I'm sorry - you mutter, giving up on salvaging the shirt, and focusing on saving what's left of your dignity. 

Ashley blinks a couple of times, her eyes dragging themselves back towards your face, as she swallows thickly. 

- Miss, um... - she clears her throat, frowns - Miss Stillwell wants to see you in her office, as soon as you can.

You nod in understanding, still too dazed to be properly worried by this sudden summoning. 

- Give me twenty - you attempt to smile, but your face hurts, and your throat is drier then the Mojave desert.

- Take thirty.

With that, Ashley turns to leave, not before throwing you one last, strange look. 

 Closing the door behind her, you let go of the shirt, letting it pool in scraps under your bare feet. You don't remember much of the previous night, but you sure as fuck know, how you've managed to end up looking like you do. Thankfully, you remember the exact moment, when you slipped out of Homelander's penthouse, your memories fading well after entering the elevator. The mention of the videos from the party being uploaded, stirs some form of morbid curiosity within you, and you pace around the living area of your room, trying to find your phone, before remembering, that you did, in fact, lose it. 

Scratching at the back of your neck, you grab your costume from the closet, and decide to take a shower,  after sniffing at yourself and realizing, that leaving the room smelling like a waste bin would be criminal. An hour spent under the hot water and a thorough teeth-brushing later, you're standing in front of Madelyn Stillwell's office, fingers running through your still slightly damp hair. She lets you in as soon as your fingers thrum against the door, greeting you with that familiar, corporate smile. Despite that, you'd have to be completely blind, not to notice the tension between her plucked eyebrows. 

- Ah, Fireball - her voice is strange as well, a measured expression of something stirring just under the surface. - Take a seat, please.

Her office is just as much of an overstimulating mess, as you remembered, and this time you plop down onto the large couch, noting, that it's much softer, than the one in your room. Stillwell paces the office, filling a glass with water from a dispenser, and placing it in front of you. Then, to your surprise, she grabs her laptop from her desk, and puts it next to the glass, the screen facing you.

You stare at your reflection in the black, and you're not sure who's looking back. Was hangover the domain of Fireball? Or Smirnoff? Perhaps that secret third thing, which almost gave Homelander what he wanted last night. A fight, a struggle, a quick fuck. As Stillwell sinks into the couch right next to you, you start to wonder, if you're going insane. Most likely. There is none other explanation for the turmoil you were experiencing. 

- I'm sure you're aware, why I invited you here today - she says, her slender hand dancing on the keyboard of her laptop. 

She's about to show you the videos from last night, you think with a sigh, already trying to brace yourself for the inevitable stern talk you're about to receive. This, and another several hours spent in media training with Ashley, which, might as well kill you at this point. And then, the screen flickers to light, and your heart stops in your throat. 

There, a freeze-frame from a CCTV camera looks back at you. A washed out, pixelated image of yourself, t-shirt torn, makeup running, you're sneaking away from Homelander's room, holding the scraps of fabric to your chest. The wobble in your legs is visible even through the shitty quality, and your heart sinks with the realization, of how exactly this situation looks like. Of how close to the truth this assumption really is. 

You swallow thickly, as Stillwell presses play, and the video version of yourself springs into action. Supporting yourself against the wall, you begin to make your way towards the elevator. 

The video plays footage of the empty corridor for a moment longer, but before you voice your confusion, the whole image glitches. Your eyes blink rapidly, as you observe with a shocked expression, as the wall next to the door cracks, pieces of paint and plaster falling to the floor in a cloud of dust. It doesn't take a genius to know, the impact has been made from the inside, and your brain does a flip inside your skull. 

Twenty sped up seconds of footage. That's how close you were to getting your head, supposedly, caved in by the Hero of America. The Mental Health King.

 Strange. You were sure you've navigated the situation the best you possibly could. Deescalated, rewarded good behavior, removed yourself as soon as possible. Perhaps you should've given him more? Physical contact most likely wasn't the smartest idea, he would've used it as an excuse, surely. But some more words of encouragement, something to calm the fire within him. Your thoughts are interrupted by the realization, that at the end of the day, it doesn't matter. You're alright, nothing happened. You did what you could, with what you had, and look at you, still standing, dignity (mostly) in place. 

Another reward, that might be the key. Homelander seems to be quite addicted to praise, and as much as you'd love to write him off as an imbecile, you know he's anything but. Before your mouth can open, however, Stillwell slides a folder towards you on the glass table. Your eyes fall onto the papers, and something twists inside your gut. 

- No matter, what you think happened last night. I would like you to sign those documents. - Stillwell says, her whitened teeth staring back at you.

Think?

Your eyes narrow, as your face turns towards her.

- Miss Stillwell - she cocks her head to the side when you address her - I assure you, nothing has happened.

She blinks a couple of times, her eyes involuntarily floating back to the footage displayed on the laptop.

- Homelander gave me a lift from the party, we talked for a bit. That's all. 

That is most certainly not all, and Stillwell knows. She must've done this before, her practiced expression of corporate politeness slipping for only a smidgen. Her lips smack against each other, and then the mask is back full force, her hand pushing the documents closer to you.

- I would still very much like you to sign this agreement - she says - Or, we will have to terminate your contract, and consequently withdraw all benefits enclosed in it.

- I just said, nothing has... - you cut yourself off, because of course. 

This isn't an NDA protecting Vaught and by extension, Homelander, from his actions last night. It's an insurance against future incidents. Which are apparently expected. 

You frown, hard, a pit forming deep within your stomach. Previously, perhaps foolishly, you thought your contract offered some sort of protection. Something, that would ward off potential advances. Stillwell has put so much effort in getting you to sign, to join Vaught if only temporarily, you were convinced you'd answer to her first. Stupid, that was plain stupid. After all, this isn't some wholesome family business. You're working under a corporation, that, for the most part, runs America like the fucking navy. 

You know a slaughterhouse when you see one. 

With a shaky hand, you grab an elegant, probably filthy-expensive pen, the overwhelming realization, that you're truly alone, hitting you like a truck. Next time Homelander decides to get his hands on you, no one will back you up. You're completely and utterly on your own. 

This can't be worth it. Your brain races in your skull, as you try to quickly form some sort of plan of action. Anything, that would help you face the incoming doom. 

- Miss Stillwell - your throat feels impossibly dry, and out of the corner of your eye, you can see her blonde waves move - I left my purse, and my phone back at my friend's house. Perhaps, you could arrange a meeting? So I can get it back?

- As soon as you sign - she says evenly, her manicured hand pointing to the documents with more urgency. 

How many times can you sign your soul off to the Devil, before there's nothing left? 

You're not sure which one of you lifts the pen, which one pushes your hand to glide the ink over this new pact of silence. It can't be worth it, it simply can't. No matter what you try to tell yourself, the vision of your happy friends from the party slips further, and further away from your grasp. You've always thought martyrdom is stupid, laughed at the Saints, at the historical figures sacrificing their lives for the greater good. And yet, here you sit, with Madelyn Stillwell's perfume in your nose, pushing away all sense of dignity in favor of what? A better wedding dress for your friend? Ridiculous. 

- Thank you - Stillwell swoops in, taking the pen away from your rigid fingers and swiping the documents from the table - That'll be all for now. You should get ready for the photoshoot after lunch. I'll get back to you about that meeting. 

Another thought wakes you up from your stupor so suddenly, it feels like a bucket of freezing water dumped over your head. Your knees crack, when you stand suddenly, nearly knocking your hip on the table. 

- Can I ask you one more thing? - your voice raises an octave as you speak, nerves bubbling up in your throat. 

Stillwell turns to you, her hair bouncing over her shoulders, and for just a second you're struck with how unabashedly stylish this woman truly is. Such a contrast with your usually disheveled appearance. 

- I need one more day off this week, or at the very least a couple of hours.

She frowns slightly, a barely visible twitch of her plucked to perfection eyebrow.

- Whatever for? - she asks, and you find a striking familiarity between her and Homelander, in the fakeness of her cheerful tone. 

There's no point in lying, not in this case at least, and you take a step forward, your platform boots padding softly over the fluffy carpet. She watches you carefully, holding your gaze with ease. 

- I'm sure you've read my file - you start casually, your voice growing more and more serious - It's a family matter. 

A flicker of recognition crosses Stillwell's features. Her lips pull back into a thin line, as she regards you in thought, toying with the pen in her hand. Manicured fingers scratch at the grooves in the metal casing, tap at the ferrule. Finally, she takes a deep breath, the satin shirt shifting over her chest. 

- I'll see what I can do - she concludes, ditching the corporate smiles, and the artificial nonsense, her expression bordering on sympathy. 

Anyone would be fooled, you're almost convinced yourself. But once again, this is not a family business down the street. This is an exclusive butcher's shop, and you're the new, hot, cut of meat, displayed in a case, ready for the taking. And as such, you give her a curt nod, the biggest display of gratitude you're capable of in this situation. Her eyes shift towards the doors of her office, and you take your cue with a polite smile. You both had things to prepare for, and you couldn't waste any more time sitting in one place, as the detrimental task of figuring out, how to navigate your approach to Homelander has been thrusted upon you. 

The door clicks softly behind you, as you exit the office, your legs carrying you towards the gigantic portrait hanging on the wall. Blue eyes stare back at you, pupils almost the size of walnuts. Nothing, not the lens of the camera, the printing paper, not even the sheet of glass can hide you from the empty, passive gaze looking past you, through you. In this picture, he looks almost human, his skin moderately textured, his hair in carefully styled disarray. An image of all that's American, all that's always been out of your reach. 

But you've seen the truth. The panting, hungry, terrifying superhero. You've seen his laziness, the unwillingness to work for anything of substance. Your eyebrows furrow, as you lean closer to the portrait, until the reflection of light disappears from sight, until you can see the texture of the paper beneath the glass. 

- If you're looking for a flaw, I'm afraid there are none - Homelander quite literally manifests himself in your peripheral vision, voice filled with arrogance.

Your entire body flies a couple of steps from the portrait, your heart doing flips so close to your throat, you're worried you'll actually throw it up onto the floor.

- Motherfu...! - you stop yourself, hand pressed against your chest - Don't do that.

He laughs in response, a casual sound, that definitely doesn't fit any of your previous encounters. Especially the last one. But to preserve your own sanity, you decide to play along for now. You're not about to hand yourself over, stick your neck between his teeth again. Besides, Stillwell is right behind that stupid wall, he wouldn't do anything too outrageous with her so close. Hopefully. 

- Whoa, jumpy aren't you? - his smile grows slightly sharper, as he approaches you, hands clasped behind his back - Let's have a little chat, before the photoshoot. 

With that, before you have the chance to react properly, he grabs you by the elbow, his hold just tight enough, that there would be no chance of slipping away. Your feet stumble against each other, as you try to regain your bearings, being dragged through the corridor. Your mind is already going haywire with all the possibilities, all the different ways this interaction may go, and you scramble to find a suitable plan for every scenario. Homelander looks thoroughly unaffected, his face devoid of any signs of tension, hell, you'd risk saying he seems quite relaxed. Which is beyond worrying. 

The room he pushes you into is completely empty, with some tables arranged into a circle and a bunch of chairs placed around them. A conference room, with the uglies fucking carpet you've ever had the misfortune to lay your eyes on. And then, after taking in the whole environment, your eyes zero-in on a small, black box, right in the middle of the table. Unassuming enough, but you know better. There's no such thing as innocent, as far as your "mentor" is concerned, and as images of the cracking wall flicker before your eyes, you bite down on your tongue. Homelander closes the door with a soft click, lingering for just a second, before turning to you, bright smile in place. 

- I just realized, I don't know the scope of your powers - he says casually, crossing the room, and standing in front of you - Soon, we'll be sent on missions together, I'd like to know what I'm working with. 

Fair enough. You are slightly surprised he even needs clarification, as before signing the contract, Vaught took full inventory of your abilities. The idea of being alone with him in a room still makes your fingertips tingle with nerves, but you swallow it down, like you seem to be doing to most things these days. Pushing your hair out of your face, you nod slowly, pretending this sudden shift in his behavior is not throwing you in a loop. 

- I'm pretty strong - you say, keeping your expression even, and don't even flinch, when he scoffs at your words - I heal faster. And I can use mild telekinesis, although it's really not... Um... Polished. 

To be quite honest, all you've managed to do, is move some objects around. It's not even useful enough to aid you in your day-to-day life. Usually it takes less effort to just, pick the damned thing up. Which is all that he should know, because Vaught knows. 

- Show me - it's not a request, his voice filled with a demanding tone, bordering on arrogance. 

You almost tell him to say please. Your mouth opens, the words ready to jump out from between a small smirk playing on your lips, but you swallow that thought thickly. There's a time and a place for educating his ignorant ass, and being locked in a tiny conference room might not be the right one. So, you shrug, the movement pushing your hair back over your eyes. 

- Which one? - perhaps, you'll allow yourself a cheeky smile, as a treat.

His smile sharpens to a worrying degree, and he claps his hands in front of his chest.

- I'm so glad you asked - his feet carry him straight to the box, and you might get a whiplash from all the confusion you're experiencing - I read your file. 

That raises an eyebrow. Realistically, you knew he would have access to your documents, your wole life exposed to his greedy eyes. And as such, this line of questioning surprises you. Although perhaps, it shouldn't. Since the very first moment you've met him, you had a sneaking suspicion, that he's just... Well... Lazy beyond belief. And your last interaction proved to you the sheer scope of his unwillingness to put any work in. With a raised eyebrow, you watch him open the black box with a soft click, taking out it's contents, his shoulders rolling, like he's preparing to lift some weights at the gym. 

Then, he turns back to you, a gun secured in his leather grip. 

- I'm interested in your healing abilities - he says, smile never faltering, the muzzle staring at you expectantly.

Now that gets your heart racing, but the reason might surprise him. Pain has been a constant companion in your life, and after discovering your powers, probably one of the few ways to keep yourself in check. That's why, your eyes light up at the sight of the gun, and all caution is thrown to the wind. You know, deep down, this is a test. How much can he do, how much can he hurt you. But you'll deal with the consequences after. 

If this will help placate him, lead him away from whatever happened between the two of you last night, you're more than willing to put yourself on the line. Better than the alternative, better than making use of that NDA you just signed. 

- Once, I got hit by a car - you remember with smile - And the next day went to class like nothing happened. 

The gun digs into the soft flesh of your stomach, as you step closer, looking up at him with an impassive expression, and Homelander's eyes light up like a kid's in a toy shop. Dangerous, your brain supplies, so very dangerous, but you've never been shot before, and to be quite honest, you're curious yourself. 

- Lift up your shirt - he says, voice dropping just a fraction - Wouldn't want to arrive to the photoshoot with a hole in that pretty costume, would you?

You do as he says, with a bit of a struggle rolling up the faux leather of your corset top. His eyes fall down in an instant, tongue darting out to wet his lips, as he drinks in the sight of your pliable flesh peaking over the hemline of your skirt. His free hand darts out, as if on autopilot, gloved finger running across the whole expanse of your belly, revelling in the way your muscles contract at the contact.

Too close, you face twists, as his touch brings back memories from last night, your body freezing up for just a second. You need to keep him occupied in some other way, and as such, your eyes roll on their own, whether pushed by Smirnoff or Fireball is anyone's guess.  

To your credit, when you grab the gun out of his hand with an almost laughable ease, he gasps, eyebrows furrowing at the sheer audacity of your action. But before he can have the chance to voice his irritation, you flip the gun in your hold, pushing it into the exposed flesh of your stomach. It's cold, hard, and your pulse spikes, as the anticipation flares within your veins. 

- What are you...? - you cut him off, squeezing the trigger.

The shot rings out, the bullet goes into your stomach, and the force of the impact sends you falling over the table. And, fuck, it hurts like motherfucker on a stick. The smell of blood floods your nostrils, and through your momentary shock, you try to blink back tears welling up in your eyes. 

- What the fuck?! - he cuts himself off again, a bewildered laugh sneaking past his lips, blue eyes drinking in the sight of your trembling form.

- You were taking too long - you try to sound indifferent, but your voice comes out as a broken whisper, spasm after spasm wrecking your body.

Blood trickles down your stomach, soaking into the fabric of your skirt, and as the wound slowly starts to close up, you can feel the bullet travel up, through the tissue. The sensation might be worse then the initial shot, and your face twists, as cold sweat pools over your creased forehead. Seemingly, you hadn't nicked any important organs, or so you hope. 

- Oh, does that hurt? - you barely register his mocking tone of voice, as he comes closer to your heaving form.

Homelander crouches down, wrenching the gun from your hand and throwing it on the floor behind him like it's a piece of used tissue. Then, with mild interest, he inspects the wound.

- Your bleeding - he notes, and you'd be foolish not to note the slight tinge of disdain coloring his words. 

- I'm not fucking bulletproof - you huff out, doubling over with a groan - I just heal faster.

He cranes his head to the side, eyes gliding over your pained expression. You're too focused on steadying your breathing, to notice the way his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek in thought, but you're alert enough to recoil, once his gloved hand wedges itself under your chin, pushing your face ever so slightly upwards. You wish you didn't catch his gaze. The unrelenting curiosity, mixed with barely contained disappointment at your limited abilities. 

- Let's try one more thing, hmm? - he asks, although noth of you know, there's no way for you to refuse.

Homelander grabs you by the shoulder, hoisting you up, despite the weakness in your legs. You groan, as the bullet finally falls out of the wound, creating a small, bloody print on the carpet. His eyes float towards the slowly disappearing dent in your skin, his thumb rubbing over it with a bit more force than necessary, as if he's trying to milk as much pain possible, force you to react again. 

You don't give him the satisfaction, your eardrums buzzing, as you sway on your feet. Then, two things happen at the same time. His gloved hand pushes against your shoulder with enough strength, to force your body to uncurl, expose itself to his greedy eyes. And then, the center of your chest erupts with unimaginable, searing pain, as Homelander's eyes shoot red right at the middle of your collarbones. 

It's a quick, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kinda impact, but it sends you flying backwards, colliding with the table, and then straight to the floor. For the first half a minute, you can't breathe, your chest collapsing like a faulty mineshaft. The smell of burning flesh fills the conference room, and you would retch, if you could do anything more than flail your arms weakly, legs kicking out. 

He must've hit your trachea, you think, when your lungs fill with boiling blood. 

Homelander comes to stand next to your body, moving languidly, as if this is the most regular of interactions. His face blurs in front of your eyes, the fluorescent lights illuminating his blonde hair from above. You want to say something so bad, something smart and cutting, that would throw him off his rhythm again, but all that manages to push past your lips, is a broken gargle, as blood gathers behind your teeth. 

His face twists again, eyes taking on a freezing indifference, that is colder, more terrifying than any snowstorm. Looking at you for a moment longer, he finally snaps himself back to reality, a scowl placed over his features. 

- Get your shit together - he spits out through gritted teeth - The photoshoot starts soon.

The disgusted look he throws you, as blurry as it is in front of your eyes, makes your lips curl back into a snarl. You should've known better, you did know better, but it doesn't matter, because for some reason, when it came to him, you just can't stop your mouth from running wild. So, before he even reaches the door, your gargles form a single, spiteful word, that cuts through the smell of blood, and flesh, and burning. 

- Bitch - you seethe, blood gathering in the corners of your mouth, and you hear his boots stomp over, before you can see him. 

There's a moment of outrage, his eyes burning with that all too familiar, red burn. But then, it melts into something worse, something cold and self-satisfied. He lifts his boot ever so slightly, placing it down on your chest, keeping your body from moving on the floor. Homelander lingers like that for a split-second, eyes flickering all over your pained face. You know what he's looking for, and you refuse to give it. 

- I'll tell Madelyn to reschedule the photoshoot - he muses, lips curling back into a cruel smirk.

And then he pushes down with his foot, slowly, so you can feel every single creak and crack of your bones under his heel. He drinks in the silent scream, that tears through your body, as your ribs break under the pressure. Your eyes roll back into your skull, damn the car accident, you've never felt pain like this before. 

- Take the rest of the day off, alright kiddo? - he quips, his voice deceivingly kind.

Giving one last shove of his foot, he finally lets up, shuffling out of the room like nothing has happened, the cape swishing over your broken body, like a blessing from America itself. The door clicks softly, somewhere over your head, and finally, you give yourself the luxury of crying. Heavy, salty tears run down your cheeks, mixing with the remnants of last night's mascara. At least he won't see you like this. You try to ignore the possibility of him using his X-ray vision to preserve your own peace of mind. 

And as you lay there, feeling your bones, your tissues connect under the never stopping waves of pain, you realize something, which brings upon a new wave of tears tumbling down your cheeks, soaking into your hair, into the ugly carpet. 

This is the first time you've felt truly alive in a long, long time. 

[oh-no-its-bird]

Ok, so. Smashing together my recent posts (stoner Itama / the secret Senju weed empire money / co-dependent twins Itama and Tobirama) to make a cohesive narrative:

So, Itama survives AU.

In this, Itama and Tobirama are twins. They're very close, arguably closer to each other than Hashi is to either of them.

Growing up, after Kawarama died, Hashirama found a new friend in his boy by the river. Meaning the twins were sort of left to mourn on their own, their older brother no longer as interested in playing with them. They got to be almost dangerously codependent, and their father only encouraged it bc they were also training to fight as a duo, and the codependency made the team synergy go crazy hard.

On that note, they're absolutely terrifying in battle together for sure. They're nightmares on their own already, but together?? Let's say that as long as they're fighting side by side, they're on the same level as Hashirama himself.

Itama grows up to be a scientist like Tobirama, but in a different field of science— ✨️plants✨️

Itama is like, a bioengineer for plants. He's crossbreeding the fuck out of these bad boys, finding ways to amplify certain traits in some plants, erase them altogether in others, or mixing them up for the best of both worlds. Full doctor Frankenstein plant edition

It's fun bc he often gets help from both of his brothers, and he's also able to help the both of them in turn!

Hashirama helps with growing plants, meaning Itama doesn't have to wait the years this research would usually take. He can go from nothing to having his final product in days flat when it should have taken a fucking lifetime to do. If he fucks up it's no stress bc as long as he has the seeds, Hashirama can just grow him a new plant to start from! All he needs is one single seed and an entire world of new possibilities is unlocked.

On top of all that, the mokuton can affect the plants in ways growing by regular time doesn't, so Itama also gets to play with special mokuton plants too

Then Itama can give Hashirama all sorts of new plants to potentially use in battle, tho Hashirama doesn't seem to want to use want against the Uchiha. But like. He has them!! And it's fucking terrifying!!! Plus they can just in general bond over being plant enthusiasts. If Hashi finds a cool new plant or vice versa they can get excited about it together

Tobirama understands all to most of Itama's research, at least in theory, and will often help with his experiments. Likewise, Itama also understands all to most of Tobirama's own research (at least in theory) and can help him in return. Having their own specific fields of interest, they're often bringing a fresh pair of eyes and different thought process to the others experiments, and it's great for them both. SO many results.

Itama is let in on most of Tobirama's projects, and even if he's not helping he generally knows what he's working on and vice versa. They have few secrets and its actually just in general very good for Tobirama specifically. Like, mentally and support wise.

Because Itama never died to serve as that final push over the edge, and was instead there to offer emotional support, Tobirama didn't turn to necromancy. (If he had tho, Itama would have been fully on board— sorry Hashirama) Instead, maybe he's spending that time being even more focused on cool time/space jutsu or something.

So like, all grown up he's a poison specialist with a major wind chakra attribute and minor fire attribute. His main weapon is a pipe, which he just smokes normally on top of using its smoke as a weapon. He can put so much pressure into the smoke that it becomes physical, and can then be used as a blunt force weapon (on top of ofc the smoke being used as just smoke, and having different effects on its own)

He's immune to a lot of his smokes effects, but has special extra powerful versions of most of his go to weaponized smokes that are so strong they work even on him. Obviously, he doesn't usually use these in battle, but they're there as a last resort

Fun sort of chain reaction attack where he disperses some super flammable powder or smoke then tosses in a single spark and it goes up like fucking fireworks. Or a cool combo attack where Tobirama provides hella fog with whatever water is nearby, and Itama condenses it so thickly that it chokes out their enemies without having to lift a single finger.

He can make like, platforms of smoke to stand on or use as shields, and he's especially good at deflecting and redirecting enemy attacks with carefully condensed smoke shields summoned up at just the right angles. Like, imagine you throw a kunai and it bounces off some invisible platform, then off ANOTHER invisible platform, and somehow its still gaining momentum (propelled by summoned winds or wrapped in a slightly solidified veil of smoke thats moving it on its own) and hits you right in the eyes

He absolutely fucks around with making all SORTS of custom effects with whatever he's smoking, which also brings us to the idea that got me here in the first place ->

Ok so the joke about the Senju having a secret weed empire where they sell ultra special mokuton weed, but it happens fr in this AU bc of Itama.

Stoner Itama deciding he can make the weed even better and forgetting what the word self-control means and making objectively the best weed in the naruto world. Ultra delux genetically modified mokuton grown senju weed.

Tobirama kind of gets on him for it at first (not liking the idea of mind-altering substances) but then tries some and stares dead silent at a wall for 10 hours then silently gets up, makes several scientific breakthroughs, then passes out dead on the floor.

They get Hashirama in on it and start mass producing, then start selling it and very quickly and mostly accidentally create a secret senju weed empire (oops?) which also gives them hella funds or the war and other things

No one can even reproduce their weed bc they need the Mokuton to grow it right, they have no competition in the market. AND their product safety/quality is insane bc Tobirama's perfectionist ass helps oversee it

Bc of Itama's interference, Izuna lives, and when they make Konoha the weed money means the first shinobi war doesn't happen bc they can afford to bribe officials they couldn't before (and probably have a uhh. Much more relaxed Kage meeting that year.)

You can't go to war with Konoha !!! That's where all the best ninja weed comes from !!!

Itama and Izuna get along really well actually. Izuna's cringe fail ass does NOT know how to smoke and refuses to admit it, he also becomes Itama's favorite test subjects for new product bc he and his brothers tolerance levels are insane so they need like, a normal guy to try shit on

As a person, Itama is one of those really friendly, charming, easy to get along with guys who seem to have a ton of friends— but when you look a bit closer you quickly notice that while many of those friends share their woes with him, he doesn't really with them. He has lots of friends but isn't really close to any.

He's a pretty good mix of his brothers, seeming friendly and cheerful like Hashirama but much more down to earth, and with the same ruthless streak as Tobirama underneath all the gentle mannerisms. He might be more ruthless than either of his brothers when it really comes down to it, but he's very slow to strike or anger, and virtually no one but his brothers and Touka really know he even has that side to him.

He's Konoha's lead poisons expert, is 100% aware and helping Tobirama with all of his especially fucked up experiments, and honestly that should tell you enough— but most tend to get distracted by the soft smiles and sleepy expression.

Art interlude ->

Anyways uhhh. All of this only exists bc I started thinking ab stoner Itama getting dumped face first into modern Konoha with Izuna, the two of them having been hiding after pissing off Madara for unimportant reasons. They don't realize they're not in their Konoha, and proceed to run from Madara (who they still think is mad at them)

Meanwhile Madara is losing his fucking MIND trying to chase down the ghost of his brother, and also some guy...? Who is that actually? He doesnt really give a shit tbh, Izuna oh god please come back here— ARE YOU FUCKING HIGH RIGHT NOW?

@fashionredalert : Zetsu lived in fear of Itama because itama would have made him into an edible That's why zetsu is two colors, itama smoked one half of him before zetsu managed to escape. One half intact the other half charred black

Please?? The closest hes been to death in years.

Itama was put on this earth to smoke everything he physically can, he hasnt been sober since he was 13, he no longer knows the meaning of fear or sanity. If it can burn he can smoke it

Hes holding one of those tiny Zetsu's going "Hey look at this fucked up plant I found :DD" then taking it straight into the weed lab

Zetsu specifically had him killed in canon bc he knew he'd grow to be too powerful pass it on

[dangerdazee]

descendants: rise of red one-shot, in which uliana is not as big and bad as her "friends" lead her to believe

Uliana walks in front, a couple feet ahead, and the other four villains follow behind. They whisper as they walk.

"Goblin pastry? That's her plan?" Hook crosses one arm over his chest, propping up the arm with a hook and letting it sit up by face.

"How were our ideas not worse than that?" Hades questions.

"I'd much rather eat a little pastry than burn to a crisp." Morgie raises his eyebrows and purses his lips.

"Maybe there's more to the plan than just the cupcake." Hook's attempt to give Uliana the benefit of the doubt is not well-received.

"It's Uliana. You know there's not." Hades smirks.

Maleficent smacks her boyfriend on the arm.

"Hey!"

"Don't say that." But Maleficent's laugh doesn't really match her words.

"What's all the talking back there?!" Uliana stops abruptly and whips around, her hair flying.

"Nothing." Maleficent, Hades, Hook, and Morgie say in unison.

As soon as Uliana turns back around and the group of five continue walking, the four in the back stifle laughs.

Uliana thinks she's big, bad, and scary. She thinks all of the people in her little entourage are terrified of her and bow to her.

She couldn't be more wrong.

Why she ever expected evil personified to not be playing a cruel joke on her is beyond them. But she's been falling for it, hook (no pun intended,) line, and sinker.

It was Maleficent's idea first. When the five of them began to form a solid group, Maleficent immediately noticed Uliana's insecurity and confidence issues.

A good friend would try to be supportive and helpful, but this is Maleficent. She saw it as an opportunity to have a good laugh.

One day, the facade will fall and Uliana will be humiliated and the outcome of this evil prank will bring them great joy. But, honestly, they find it just as fun and satisfying to laugh behind her back about it.

"Should we even be getting back at Princess Perky?" Hades throws his arm over Maleficent's shoulders as they continue walking and whispering.

"Why? Are you going all soft?"

"Gross, no. The flamingo thing was just really funny." Hades gives a sly smile.

Uliana stops as someone calls her name. It's a teacher, so she's more inclined to actually pay attention and go. She tells the others to go on and she'd meet them later.

As soon as Uliana is out of earshot, Maleficent pipes up again.

"We could always... sabotage." Maleficent's face reveals that she's thinking hard.

"Bridget?"

"No- How would that make sense?" Hook pats Morgie on the shoulder, taking a bit of the edge off of his correction. "No, she means we could sabotage Uli's plan."

"Exactly."

"How?" Morgie asks.

"I'm not entirely sure yet. But we have a few hours left to figure it out."

Hook glances over at Uliana, seeing her angry and frustrated as the teacher speaks to her. Hook can only assume that she's not doing well in a class.

"Look, look. Look how upset she is." Maleficent, Morgie, and Hades turn their attention that direction and chuckle along. "Never gets old."

It would be only a couple years later that Uliana realizes what's been going on.

The anger in her was only beaten out by humiliation.

Suddenly, all these people who she thought feared her were making her feel small. And weak. It was as if they grew ten feet tall.

All the strength and power she thought she possessed dwindled down to almost nothing.

Uliana felt like her whole life was a lie, while Maleficent, Hades, Hook, and Morgie all laughed and had a grand time. They reveled in the result of their game.

Part of Uliana wondered if she deserved it.

.

[ @ladyoftheesun here it is! might rewrite sometime to improve it, and i'll tag you again if i do unless you tell me not to! ]

[jusst-you-race]

max and charles, 18!

i hope you don't mind that i made this volleyball au (i miss it) and also that it's... not really a kiss <3 thank you for the prompt!!!

a kiss as encouragement

The whistle blows as Charles slams the ball down on the other side of the court, easily breaking through the opposing block. Max swears loudly, and Checo winces, shaking out the hand that the spike had hit. There’s a chorus of cheers behind him from his team but Charles doesn’t turn to them just yet, instead he waits for Max to look his way. It doesn’t take long, they always seem to find each other’s gaze across the net.  

Charles blows a kiss at Max. Max scowls in response.

“Oh my god Charles you need to stop being a menace or the other team is actually going to kill us.”

Charles rolls his eyes.

“It’s for encouragement, Pear.”

“Encouragement?” Pierre asks sceptically.

“Yes. They are playing terribly today. Max always responds well to being pissed off.”

They both watch where Max has pulled the other team into a huddle, and can just hear his angry spitting from where they’re standing. Daniel looks like he’s trying very hard to placate Max, Lando and Oscar look like they're trying very hard not to laugh. 

Satisfied, Charles turns back to his own team. 

Lewis is levelling him with a very unimpressed look. 

“Charles, if you’re done winding up our opponents now? I’d like to actually talk about strategy.” 

A little bit sheepish, Charles worms his way into the group huddle, tucking himself into Pierre’s side. He only half listens to what Lewis is saying; Pierre is setting today and Charles knows his play style back to front so he’s not worried about missing any tactics. Instead his mind wanders, as it so often does, to Max. 

The blown kiss had mostly been a joke, something he knew would get under Max’s skin, which is Charles’ favourite activity after volleyball. But really, deep down, when he forces himself to acknowledge it, he did sort of want to blow Max a kiss.

It’s not just a kiss you want to blow…

Charles ignores his traitorous brain. The little voice in the back of his head that whispers about Max when he’s caught off guard and not violently beating it back with a stick. It’s getting a little bit louder every time they play the other team, and today has been especially bad. Max had shown up in a clearly borrowed t-shirt that must have been from Lando, judging by how it seemed a size too small. The way the shirt hugs the swell of Max’s chest has been incredibly distracting today, and Charles is genuinely glad that Pierre has been setting. He would have been absolutely screwed if Lewis was making him work for it with his clever sets. 

“Charles isn’t listening, he’s clearly thinking about Max.”

Charles winces, caught, and embarrassed that even Valtteri has picked up on it. Lewis just rolls his eyes. 

“Well Charles will just have to keep up,” he says as he waves his hand to dismiss the team and steps back away from the court. Charles flashes him a winning smile in an attempt to placate him, and then strides to his position by the net. 

Max is directly opposite him now. 

They lock eyes as George prepares to serve somewhere behind Charles. He brings his hands up to protect his head without breaking eye contact with Max. 

The whistle blows.

Max blows a kiss.

Charles’ brain short circuits.

[crybaby-bkg]

Gojo gets so drunk off of you whenever you ride him. You think it’s because he’s spoiled, he says he just loves you a lot.

It’s something about being able to lay back, watch how your hips roll against his, how your clit rubs against the white pubes at his base, how your chest heaves with every moan. The way your hands never know what to do with themselves, gripping his shoulders and chest before gripping your own, touching yourself between your legs, holding his cock at the base whenever it slips out.

He feels intoxicated every time you get on top. The only downside about it is—is he can’t really control himself, either. If he doesn’t hold your hips down and take over, then he’s trying to ward off a too early orgasm. Gojo can’t help it, really, everything about you is just so addicting.

Like now—your mouth is pressed against his, your hands are tangled in his hair, your hips slowly grind against his own. It hasn’t even been long enough for that familiar feeling to twist in his lower stomach, for his balls to twitch so soon. His warm hands try to pull you off of him, but you pull them away from your skin, instead pinning them on the headboard beside his head.

“Oh, cmon,” Gojo whines, albeit playfully despite the concerning way his cock begins to throb inside of you. You shake your head at him, lids lowering as you focus on grinding against him, his cock nudging something soft inside of you to make you moan.

“Lemme take over, so you don’t have to do all the hard work.” Gojo pleads, bottom lip pouting at you. But you ignore it, leaning forward to instead nip at his lip, squeezing his wrists in your hands. He could break away from you easily, but it’s something about the control you’re exerting over him that makes his tip leaky.

“Shut up,” you huff softly, hips starting to pick up pace. Gojo twists a little underneath you, biting at his bottom lip as he tries to stave off his oncoming orgasm.

“Baby—“

“I’m not fucking finished with you, so just sit back and take it.” You bite at him, eyebrow screwing up as you try to angle your hips to get some friction against your clit, hands squeezing his wrists tightly. You glare up at him from under your lashes, and Gojo, the slut, has a moment of awakening when you lock eyes.

He cums almost instantly, with a punched out sound emitting from his throat, head thrown back as he gasps out your name. His cock kicks and spurts inside of you, filling you up to the brim and you can only moan at the warming feeling of it. Gojo is loud with every rope inside of you, bright eyes falling closed behind his lids as he leans forward to rest his head on your shoulder.

He catches his breath after a few seconds, and speaks against your sweaty skin.

“Think I might’ve discovered something about myself.” He whispers, circling your waist when you release him to pull you in closer to him, making you both hiss.

“That was nothing new for you, Satoru.” You sigh softly into his hair. He laughs at that, and doesn’t deny it. He thinks he might be more transparent than he realized.

[mychemicalrachel]

So I had an idea and I thought it would be fun to use polls to make a kind of choose your own adventure story. I write part of a fic and then leave it open ended and you guys help me decide what happens next.

Some prompts might be open for a day, others a week, depending on how much traction this gets. I don't know, I'm winging it. Let me know if you think it's a fun idea or if I'm just talking to myself here.

First question;

[lilacxquartz]

life beyond midnight

oc male!demon × human female!reader

w.c: 2.8k

plot: slowly but surely, you got to the bottom of why you had a live-in incubus in your bedroom. but can you actually trust a word it says?

side notes: being clear right away that this isn’t a multi chapter thing, but a series of one shots to explore my oc with. however, you can consider this to be a direct follow up from the first story.

other works in this series:

under the bed, where midnight slept

***

The monster was still there when I woke up.

This threw me off because it was always gone by the morning. My eyes next scrolled over to the windows, finding that not only were the blinds now closed, but a thick blanket hung over the otherwise bare curtain rails, blocking out almost all of the natural light.

Had it tailored the room for its own comfort while I was asleep?

My alarm went off shortly after, jolting me back into reality. I didn’t have work today for once, which was partially the reason why I chose specifically last night to finally get to the bottom of things.

And just like always, I felt refreshed.

Still, the looming threat remained and my composure was slipping away again. It was as if the sedative from the monster’s kiss was no longer coursing through my bloodstream and I was coming back to terms with reality.

There was a monster right next to me.

The panic was sure taking its sweet time to kick in, though. I knew it would happen at any minute now—likely as soon as I would regain full control of my lucidity.

A part of me told myself not to fear it too much. That nagging, stubborn side of my brain kept arguing that if it truly intended to harm me, it would have done so earlier in the night. Yet when I woke up just moments ago, I seemed just fine.

However, as I thought about more and more of my strange situation. I could feel my mental state slowly continue to wither away.

Maybe it was something about the way the monster held onto me. It didn’t feel as though it was protecting me; rather that it was guarding me. The way it pressed against my flesh with its fingers wrapping around my body bordered almost territorial.

This little observation left me feeling as though I was the monster’s property, rather than its cause for affection.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment in an attempt to calm myself down.

However, it all started to come undone at last.

The dread was finally surfacing.

I turned around while still contained within its grasp, facing the monster head-on. I then slowly pushed myself to the side in an attempt to create some distance. Now that it was no longer nighttime, I could see the monster’s features with more clarity which only deepened the unease.

(And the rising panic.)

Smokey grey skin stretched around an impossible frame; freckled with ashen highlights. Its body continued to burn with shadowy wisps, resembling black fire. My eyes slowly widened in both awe and terror as I took in the sight of the creature before me.

Finally, the gig was up and my psyche started to cave in.

It all hit me at once again. A sharp stab that dug into my chest as my mental state struggled to adapt to reality. That this creature, this monster, was lying in my bed at my side as though it belonged there.

Maybe my reaction was too rash as I quickly tore out of bed in retaliation. A captivating surge of adrenaline pulsated through my veins, pushing me to lurch as far away from the bed as I could leap. My back kissed the cold brick wall right by the bedroom entrance; my hand threatening to press onto the door handle.

Every fibre of my being was screaming at me to escape.

But then monster came around, I watched with steady eyes as it opened up its own and slowly stretched. Its mannerisms seeming oddly human for the terror it appeared to be in my gaze.

I continued to inch towards the door as it stirred, intending to slip out of the bedroom and slip off somewhere, anywhere else that offered more security.

However, as my hands continued to push the handle down, an almost desperate voice halted me in my tracks, “Wait.”

In response, I froze. I could still talk however, so I attempted to ask a question it didn’t quite answer properly before.

It wasn’t as though I could do anything else anyway.

“What are you…?” I asked.

The monster faltered as it stammered. I could tell that its demeanour seemed rehearsed, somehow, not quite buying its behaviour as a result. Maybe this was how the monster truly acted, but something about it seemed uncanny, as though it was mimicking me.

“I’m what your kind would call an incubus,” he replied as he now sat at the edge of my bed, weighing it down, “sometimes known as a sleep paralysis demon.”

“The… s-sexual kind?” I asked, my voice tainted with discomfort.

“Not necessarily,” the demon calmly corrected me, slowly standing up and revealing its tall form, “it doesn’t always have to be like that, especially if you don’t want it to be.”

I started at him for a short while longer, my hand continuing to press at the handle and slowly pushing the door open. I knew already that I wouldn’t get very far, but it seemed to be nervous as I played around with the idea of leaving again and again.

It was odd. I had always thought that demons were supposed to be charismatic, yet this one mimicked a human personality more than anything else. I remained sceptical as a result, convinced that it was playing me somehow.

Maybe I just didn’t know enough about demonology, though.

The demon slowly drifted closer, continuing to speak as it did so, “Most demons, including incubi and succubi are neutral. I can assure you that much. We’re not too different from people.”

I tilted my head off to the side as it continued, his words seeming wrong to me.

The false comfort that it kept trying to feed me only unsettled me further. There was something about this creature that I couldn’t fully trust. It was as though there was some instinctual alarm going off in my gut; a deep primal response that begged me to not trust a single word that came out of his mouth.

It might not have been lying to me completely, but it did seem as though it was at the very least withholding the full truth.

“So, what do you… want from me then?” I asked, my voice croaking a little.

He slowly took another step forward and the closer he crept, the more urgently I pushed at the door. However, my body at the same time, slowly began to statue itself into place as the threat of looming danger worsened.

“When an incubus or a succubus seeks out a human to be with, it’s what is known as a bonded mate,” the demon explained with a gentle tone, although there was a certain intensity within its expression. Despite its lacking irises, the face he wore seemed frustrated for some reason.

My brows furrowed as I seethed out an exasperated whisper, “So, I have no say in the matter at all…?”

Also what? A… bonded mate?

“It’s a decision materialised from fate, which is why my kind often tries to adopt a neutral approach for things like these,” he said, his words deepening my unease.

I did finally get it, though.

“So, you’re trying to coerce me into accepting this… this fate?” I asked, trying to confirm my suspicions.

As far as I understood it, I had no choice or say in the demon being here with me right at this moment. But it also seemed equally trapped. I didn’t like the idea of this one bit, though. However, if this thing was going to continue to play nice for the time being and answer all of my questions, then I had to take advantage of that opportunity lest it slipped away.

The demon sensing my dread tried to offer me comfort, “Look, I don’t want to force you… nor hurt you.”

“Yet I still don’t have a choice?” I asked, feeling my expression sour.

“You do not,” he confirmed.

Such a blunt answer churned something that just wouldn’t settle in my mind. I didn’t like the idea that it seemed insistent on staying here, claiming that its presence was determined by something beyond its own control. If I was going to get anywhere with understanding this creature though, then I had to push aside my fear and seek answers while I still had the chance.

(It was easier said than done though.)

Perhaps though, if it was fate that truly controlled my destiny, then maybe there was a chance that it paired me up with something (somebody?) compatible and my judgement was too early. Maybe this monster was actually perfect for me, despite its unsettling form.

I looked at him once more, sighing as my brain struggled to accept that creatures from hell actually existed and that there was an actual demon standing right in the middle of my bedroom.

Looking at me.

Talking with me.

Reluctantly, I parked my disbelief away, hoping to get somewhere with it.

“So, you’re a demon huh?” I asked in a resigned tone.

It nodded.

I also bobbed my head in an attempt of forced understanding, “And… do you have… a name?”

The incubus paused for a moment as though to deeply consider my question. Its body language relaxed slightly, almost as if this particular question was a breakthrough point between the two of us.

The more I thought about it, the more I wondered exactly how first meetings go between other bonded mates. Was there usually more yelling involved? Or were people usually strangely acceptant with demons attempting to court them?

“The closest translation in your language would be Midnight,” he finally spoke up, “so feel free to call me that.”

I pondered that detail for a moment. Would it be silly to assume that its language was Latin? Or was it something completely different? I tried to envision how demons could possibly speak to one another and it didn’t sound too promising in my head, though.

I attempted to introduce myself next, awkwardly mustering up the courage as I continued to croak out my words, “And my name is-“

He quickly interrupted me though, relaying my name right back to me. It seemed that he already knew it, prompting me to hum in confusion.

“And you’re how old… exactly?”

“I’m a little over two hundred,” Midnight replied.

“A-and you haven’t had any other… bonded mates?”I asked, trying to understand how his kind worked exactly.

“No, fate can take a while to assign the right person. Some aren’t matched for centuries,” he explained further.

“So… why now for me? I mean, I have been in my twenties for a while now,” I enquired, struggling to understand the timing.

Midnight’s expression however faltered as if he didn’t quite understand my question either, “I’m not sure about that much, I apologise.”

“Then… c-can you… can you tell me more about you so I can understand what’s happening here exactly?” I asked, feeling my brain short circuit a little as my words scrambled.

“I can be as transparent as you’d like,” Midnight nodded in response, his voice sounding soothing despite carrying an uneasy undertone, “I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“Ah,” I admitted with a unsure smile, “that part might take a while.”

He remained still as I studied him.

The only thing that was getting me through this entire encounter despite his scary appearance, was that he both acted and sounded human to me. Maybe this was an intentional play on his part, hoping to puppet something that resembled a human so that I wouldn’t be screaming bloody murder if it just acted normal. Maybe that much was an unfair assessment, but something about the way Midnight composed himself felt masked.

I warily eyed him up and down from head to toe as he drifted just a little closer, taking mental notes of his appearance. Greying skin glittered with charred specks and certain parts of his body that were deeper consumed by the shadows than others. My eyes trained on his hands where black claws extended from his fingertips, making me wonder if his teeth were similarly pointed.

“I can understand,” he said after a short moment, his words sounding tinged with slight conflict, “my kind can be… unsettling to humans, but I can assure you that I mean no harm. Especially not to you.”

I nodded in an attempt to comfort myself but something still knotted away in my mind. A certain detail about incubi and demons in general that I prayed to be wrong.

With a hesitant tone, I dared to ask what was on my mind, “Don’t incubi feed on something…?”

“Emotional energy, yes,” Midnight confirmed without skipping a beat, “it can be any type and it isn’t limited to just sexual energy if that’s your cause of concern. Every demon is different.”

“So… you’re trying to establish a relationship with me so that you can feed off of me?” I asked, beginning to understand why he was so keen on manipulating me into accepting this situation.

“You could say that, but it doesn’t have to be so one sided. I want to care about you too,” he assured me, his voice taking on a possessive edge.

I hesitated as I attempted to push him away, “I-I mean-“

“—I want to protect you… if you’d let me,” Midnight interrupted, his words coated in concern, continuing the claim that his intentions were good despite admitting that I was a source of food for him.

Such a proposition left me wondering about how exactly he survived for so long without feeding, but my mind held off on asking about such curiosities just yet.

For now, my mind was lost in a barrage of overwhelming thoughts that spread through my brain like wildfire. I didn’t even notice how he had already closed a considerable distance between us as my head ached. I audibly gulped when I did realise it though, feeling dread as he towered over me.

Looking directly down at me.

Despite his looming posture, something about the way he acted once again forced me to let me guard down. It was as if my fears were slowly becoming diluted outside of my own influence.

Was this his doing?

Midnight continued to lean down slowly, his index finger lifting my chin so that he could kiss me again. I felt that familiar rush that resembled a sedative settle within my body, both comforting me and lulling me into trust.

As he closed in, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was some sort of magic at play here. If fate and demons were real, then maybe there was more to the world than I knew was possible.

Such a thought both scared and excited me.

In a way I was thrilled that the world wasn’t so mundane, but in contrast, I felt terrified that monsters were actually real.

As the effects of the kiss finally settled, I felt a wave of warmth sweep over me and looking back up at Midnight, he seemed to be looking at me in a different sort of way now.

“Do you still feel afraid?” he asked me, his voice now carrying the same coldness that it did right before I fell asleep with him last night.

Something sinister lurked in his tone as if the kiss was partially laced in some sort of poison in addition to the sedative effect. It felt as though my acceptance for him was fabricated.

“Not right now,” I admitted in a slur. I felt buzzed, elated, even. I knew that I should have been more afraid yet something controlled the way that I spoke, even how I reacted. Deep down, I knew that I didn’t like this but the softly simmering realisation didn’t come to a boil just yet.

Despite this, I still retained some hope through to all.

For one, he could have talked me into something much worse than just a kiss, into something much worse than just reluctant acceptance.

If this was only to make me lessen my fear of him, then it did make me wonder what exactly he was truly up to.

As such, I still held onto my initial scepticism deep down, that Midnight wasn’t being entirely truthful, that there must have been more to him than met the eye and what he was telling me.

After all, wouldn’t I be delusional if I just outright believed his claims? To entertain the idea that something so heavenly that was forged from the hells was offering me a neutral choice in how our relationship would go?

I just couldn’t buy it at all.

The idea of my existence serving as food a monster didn’t sit right with me and yet, I almost wanted to see where this whole thing would take me.

Even if I was terrified to see just how far we would both go.

(To hell? Or maybe even worse…?)

[captain-krow-drozdov]

I Offer Meh Quality Memes For My Own Bullshit, AKA Girl Help, The Fictional 2-D Boy I Simp For Is Real.