Sasuke has a moment of inattention, and the fake hunter nin strikes down Naruto instead.

I don’t want to die! Izuku screams in that underpass, drowning under the sludge villain. Why don’t you let me help you with that? says a voice in the back of his head. Izuku doesn't have a Quirk. What he has is good instincts, unexplainable nightmares he can't remember, and a cat named Natsu.

Tsuna, his Guardians, and when they truly became his

Tsuna's ongoing, sort of unwilling attempts to be everything to everyone.

Itachi was a good looking troubled teenager left to wander the country unsupervised in the company of a group of insane criminals. He may have made a few questionable decisions involving alcohol and women. It is also worth noting that no-one actually got around to explaining the use of a condom to him. The results are depressingly predictable. Or the one where Itachi missed shinobi sex ed and ended up creating spawn across half the elemental nations, which Sasuke somehow ends up responsible for.

In which all of team seven are poster children for unhealthy relationships with their daemons. Except for Sasuke, who is fully in touch with his inner and outer daemons.

Tsuna is dead. Hayato decides that is Not Acceptable. And proceeds to break space time to fix it. He regrets nothing. Except for the fact that he arrives back in Italy, half a world away from his Sky. He then embarks on the epic mafia road trip from hell to find his Sky, along with three escaped lab experiments, one kidnapped mafia heir, one runaway schoolkid on a field trip to Paris, and a dog called Spot. Or the one where Hayato is incredibly Extra about everything, and no-one but Dino notices.

In which Tsuna has some fairly inconvenient opinions, Iemitsu has been happily living in denial for years, and Reborn now somehow has to sell organised crime to a bunch of student hippie activists. He is not amused.

War Sky Tsuna and Home Sky Kyouya declare war on the Vongola.

In which Sasagawa Kyouko's smile is full of knives, and Tsuna loves her for it.

Who'd been dead set on keeping Prompto from getting distracted during combat, after he got hurt one time too many? Noct. Who'd suggested the consequences? Noct. Who'd been dumb enough to think it was sexy instead of really, really stupid? Prompto.

Prompto's never really alone anymore, and mostly, he's just fine with that. Mostly, it's exactly what he's always wanted. Only, his friends happen to be stupidly attractive. Like really, ridiculously, unfairly attractive. Strangers on the street actively stare at Gladio without a shirt on. Ignis wears sock garters, smooths them up his slender calves every morning like it's no big deal. Noct somehow doesn't realize that when he wades into the water to pull a fish out, white t-shirt on, the cloth plasters right up against his skin, almost see-through. So yeah. Prompto likes that he's never really alone anymore. But he's also never really alone anymore, and the approximately hundred thousand awkward boners he gets every single day languish in his jeans, untended.

Noctis Lucis Caelum is evil, and he loves it when Prompto's body is a slave to his music.

“I just want to go home,” he tells Nagato, and hates that he sounds so very much like the crybaby child Kakashi always calls him. Nagato's expression twists, grief and sympathy all wrapped up and tangled together. He catches Obito's bandaged face in his hands, leans in to touch their foreheads together, and it’s closer to anyone than Obito has been in years. “I know,” Nagato says, hoarse. “I know, Obito. But we can save everyone we love, we can save the world. All it takes is our sacrifice. And someday, when we’ve put everything to rights, we can go back. We can live in a good world with everyone we care for, and know that we’ll never lose them to war. Isn't that worth it?”

The path through the mire is narrow, barely visible against the dark water and grim-green of half-drowned paths, but Haku's feet don’t waver. He picks his way through, familiar and steady, and doesn’t take his eyes off the water.

There's something moving in the depths of the armory.

“Still breathing?” Madara asks, and the words are harsh in his throat.

There's no division between the forest and the citadel.

There's something in the water.

Kurama hears the footsteps long before anything else.

In the center of the spring is a listing signpost, one of several long since faded into incomprehensibility. If there were directions there, Tsume can't see any trace of them, but there's an angel perched atop the signpost, wide white wings sending feathers drifting across the breeze.

The order's not a hard one: stay still, and stay quiet. It's an order he's had before, more times than he can count. This time, he even has an end goal: two hundred pages. It seems doable. Two hundred pages isn't that long, right? Prompto's just got to hang in there until Gladio finishes his book.

There should be something horrifying about that. If he hadn't had his friends with him, Prompto'd be dead already, or at least some writhing, mindless daemon-snack-to-be, waiting to be eaten. Instead, the recollection of the incubus' skin, smooth and pale and flawless, sends a rush of want spearing through him. Well. So much for the spell not working.

An elegant hand cups the side of Prompto’s jaw, gently – slides around to below his chin, to tip his face up. Then Ignis is leaning down to kiss Prompto stupid, not that it takes much. Just an insinuating glance in his direction is enough to make Prompto feel like his brains are melting out his ears. When Iggy actually sets hands on him? That’s it, game over. RIP rational thought. Prompto’s still not sure what the smartest, sexiest, most incredibly put-together man he’s ever laid eyes on sees in him, but hey. He’s not complaining. He’ll take whatever he can get, for as long as it lasts.

Peter cut in with his hands raised, placating, “We’re here because –” “You’re in mortal danger,” Noir said. “-we have something to...tell…you – okay well, I was going to be a little less blunt about it, but I suppose that’s-” “The truth!” Ham said with vigor. (Miles doesn't know who or what Venom is, but according to his friends he's about to find out.)

Anonymous asked: they're CLONES people. it's obviously clones jfc i hate this website New York's started to notice that there might be more than just one Spider-Man in town.

"Specs has the spare," Noct breathes, and Prompto, eyes wide with terror, vaults off him and to the other corner of the couch. He yanks the throw blanket off the couch's back and onto his lap, not an instant too soon. Because the door clicks open and then there's Ignis, toeing off his shoes and stepping into the entryway. "Good evening," he says, pleasant and mild. "Hey," Noct answers, pretending at indifference. "Hi," squeaks Prompto, face a remarkable shade of red.

“There's something down there,” Tobirama says when he surfaces.

Smothering his amusement, Tobirama leans up, a few inches further than the other teacher can manage, and plucks the wayward student down from the tree he’s attempting to climb. Settling back, he flips Naruto upside down, dangling him under one arm, and asks Iruka with a smirk, “I believe this is yours?”

It’s a gateway, but he doesn’t seem to realize that.

“You want to hire a Kiri nin?” the swordsman says in surprise.

The Akatsuki are hired to separate a certain prince from a certain homonculus. It doesn't go quite as planned for anyone involved.

Ichigo's found his Sky. Things are just...a little turbulent while everyone adjusts.

Xanxus’s Sky-born intuition is a rough, ragged thing, more given to acute paranoia than any helpful impulses, but he has it. He’s always had it, even when he chooses to ignore it, but some moments it gets harder to push it down, shut it out, focus on logic and reason instead of that little voice screaming in the back of his thoughts. Not Vongola Hyper Intuition, but bad enough on a normal day. Worse, now. So much worse. His instincts are going fucking nuts, and Xanxus can't even begin to figure out why.

“What is that,” Obito says flatly. “It is a cactus,” Gaara says, like that’s the only question here. Deftly, with an air of ceremony, he sets the pot in Obito's hands, and then tells him, “It reminded me of you.”

Zabuza's got a thing for vicious, especially when it comes wrapped up in a cute package.

Prompto stared, and stared, and stared. Gentiana only smiled. “Let me clarify some things,” he started. “I’m a favorite of the, um, the Six?” “Our Most Beloved,” Gentiana repeated. “Right,” said Prompto. “And because you knew I’d be lonely and, and depressed after Noct brought the sun back, you – brought me to a parallel universe??” “Yes,” said Gentiana, ever patient. Prompto needed a drink. Or twelve.

Noctis wakes to the taste of something foul in his mouth, to the wet stone and hum of a haven underneath him; he wakes with a shuddering gasp, fingers grasping at the area where his father’s sword pierced his chest, only to find the soft beams of sunlight washing over him, and his deathly injuries no longer there. A boon, little king, Shiva had said, before she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Then, a few spaces away from him, Prompto sputters and coughs a raspy but undoubtedly heated, “WHAT THE FUCK?” Privately, Noctis echoes the sentiment. What the fuck.

“Who are you?” Graves demanded hoarsely. “I’m Newt. Scamander. Err. Pleased to meet you. I mean, I would’ve been pleased to meet you, under normal circumstances.” “Scamander.” Graves frowned to himself. For someone who was supposedly in a bad rut, he seemed perfectly in control. “Your accent, it’s British. Any relation to Theseus Scamander? Head of the DMLE?” “I’m his younger brother.” “Are you an Auror?” “No. I’m a magizoologist.” Graves exhaled, exasperated. “A what? Is this a rescue or are you a hostage?” “Sort of neither,” Newt admitted.

And now he’s just… how the fuck is he even supposed to talk to Tyrion in his life without blurting hey, you know what, I’ve just discussed a few things with my therapist and guess what, I let her ruin your life, too, and I didn’t understand how much, and I didn’t even hear you out when you tried to tell me and you had half my fucking years, will you ever forgive me for that? He has no fucking clue. He has no bloody fucking clue, and fine, that is why he’s pretty much unable to think of anything else, but it still doesn’t mean he had any right to be a fucking arse to others.

“Very well. I’m going to tell you straight up — when you told me you hadn’t remembered that episode at all, it was a red flag. Given everything else you’ve said up to this point and how you reacted to recalling it and what you’ve said about your general coping mechanisms —” “Coping mechanisms?” “You might not know it was that, but you’ve used a lot of them. And this is where I tell you that repression or suppression of traumatic memories is very common, when discussing child abuse victims. Especially male ones.” He doesn’t know why his first instinct is denying it. It’s fucking ridiculous. He went to a guy who’s a fucking authority on the subject because deep down he knew that could be the issue, if he even thinks about that one memory he wants to throw up, since he remembered that he hasn’t been able to walk near dogs without wanting to jump on the other side of the road, it’s been two months and he’s gained a new awareness of how unhealthy his entire life was until he broke it off with her — And still, his first instinct is telling him, it can’t be?

Why the fuck would Ned Stark’s kid volunteer to sell off his fucking virginity, that’s something Jaime would honestly like to know. … Also, damn, now that he looks back at it, it’s not just that he’s nervous. He has the face of someone who’s wholly fucking regretting being here. Or: in which Jon makes extremely bad life decisions. Good for him that he pretty much crashes Jaime's undercover op.

“I just told the scribes to send various copies around the realm. A couple of months should suffice for people to decide whether they wish to join,” Aegon says, and – Jon reads the first half of message. Then reads it again. Then a third time, and at that point he can’t think he hallucinated it as much as it seems the most likely explanation. “Your Grace, you didn’t just organize a tourney for my hand.” Or: in which Aegon decides that it's time his adoptive father moves on with his life and finds himself a nice guy to settle with. It's just his luck that Aegon is in the perfect position to make it happen.

Sharing an apartment with Todoroki was great 99% of the time, but the other 1% was Midoriya getting walked in on jerking off before he'd even managed to get his hero costume off after work.

'Body sushi under regular circumstances often doesn't go beyond merely erotic, and touching the models in actual restaurants is usually strictly forbidden. Nantaimori, where a male model is used, is also much more rare. Today, it seems, they'll be tossing those conventions right out the window. His excitement is already high, but when Hinata gets closer and sees who it is on the table, he can barely contain his glee. "Kageyama-kun!" he exclaims, waving as the prone figure on the table shifts their head ever so slightly to look in his direction. "Good to see you again!" ' -- Hinata gets treated to a delicious meal.

Eijirou ignores the thousands of notifications he has—as an extremely popular "fitness" model on Instagram, the constant onslaught is just background noise to him at this point. His latest post is doing extremely well, but that was almost a given, since it was an especially risqué photoshoot with a company that makes leather body harnesses. Their newest chest harness (in red, of course) is particularly good for highlighting one of his best assets—his pecs. The message in question, from Instagram user @candocandid, is only a few days old: Hey! Wow, thanks so much for the follow back?! Totally wasn't expecting that haha -- Midoriya Izuku is a popular Instagram photographer who is just as pretty as his photos, and Eijirou wants a piece.

The first time he picked up Gryffindor's sword he had been young and terrified. The second time he fumbled the hilt, he had still been young and he had still been terrified. The third time? He was not much older and no more prepared for the world he had just entered, nor for the enemy he will face in order to win this twisted game of life and death.

On the way back to the mountains to get Kirishima some remedial dragon fire-breathing lessons, Bakugou agrees to let Kirishima scentmark him so the other dragons don't get any fresh ideas (if 'agrees to' means 'is completely into it').

When the whole world tells Izuku that he's not capable of being anything more than a useless, quirkless deku, is it any wonder that he finds himself in games, where quirks don't matter? Is it any wonder that he finds himself in SAO?

Yuuri, under the username of Eros, is a size queen omega who most certainly does not have an obsession with fellow camboy and legendary silver-haired alpha Aria. Just like Phichit is not the most meddlesome roommate known to man.