#i simply blanked on it when i was creating the portraits

[thechekhov]

you guys are so kind, commenting about how I cut Silas' hair for the portraits, and made him look like a shaved chihuahua, but the truth is much dumber

I simply forgor

[saintobio]

the art of loving, feat. l&ds rafayel.

pairings. rafayel, fem!reader genre. fluff, smut, established relationship, 18+ tags. artist x muse, hints of abandonment issues, clingy bf!rafayel, allusions to nude paintings, fellatio, cum eating, protected sex, praise kink notes. my third l&ds boy :’) there’s a full blown sylus oneshot coming but for now, i have to write abt our cute fish! i’ll continue the jjk wips on the weekend bcos my l&ds hyperfixation is currently taking over 🤧

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who makes you the muse of his paintings. he loves how he can adore your face while turning his blank canvas into something as colorful as you. it all started when he used to sketch you when you’re not looking. and it’s a habit that he, time and time again, still does. whether you’re reading, sleeping, or simply lost in thought, he finds these moments precious and captures them in his sketchbook. he actually has a dedicated corner of you on his mo art studio, where it’s filled with paintings and sketches of his beautiful girlfriend.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who loves to paint with you. he’ll set up a canvas next to his and guide your hands, laughing together as you create something… unique. look, he’s not making fun of your painting. in fact, he’d say you’re actually very talented. “it’s not bad at all,” he’d claim, “it’s an exquisite art… if i close my eyes.” how mean! but honestly, if you were to sell your artwork, he would still be the first person to buy it.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets playful with paint. while you’re on the subject of ‘painting together’, you know how cheeky rafayel is, and when he dabs a bit of paint on your nose or cheeks, the light-hearted paint fight ends in messy, colorful kisses. one time, he even left a purple handprint on your bum, and giggles each time he sees it from behind.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who gets clingy when you’re busy. he’ll sulk if he feels you’re not paying enough attention to him, often wrapping his arms around you from behind and nuzzling into your neck to remind you he’s there. he can very grumpy, too. like a spoiled brat who he didn’t get what he wants. it’s just that he dislikes the feeling of being ignored and abandoned, so the last thing you knew not to do is make him wait too long on your dates or make him feel like your mind is occupied by anything else other than him. because he’d go as far as pretending to be in a helpless situation just so you’d drop everything and run off to him. how silly!

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who surprises you with personalized art gifts. from small sketches slipped into your bag to full portraits given on special occasions. it’s his way of expressing his love, because he’s very grateful of how supportive you are when he has art exhibits. your presence calms his nerves, and he always looks for you in the crowd to find strength in your encouraging smiles.

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to cuddle while discussing his latest ideas. he enjoys your input and loves bouncing ideas off you. his hands like to roam around your body as he keeps you in bed all day, whispering sweet nothings into you ear and making the atmosphere warm and intimate. “i can’t help it!”was his usual excuse whenever you’d call him out for being too touchy. “sometimes, my inspirations come in the form of physical intimacy, you know!”

࣪ ⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who can’t resist kissing you passionately when he’s inspired. he sketches you in intimate moments, letting you lie beautifully naked in bed and with only a blanket to cover the lower half of your body, like a vulnerable mermaid looking to be held by her prince. he’ll pull you close, hands covered in paint, leaving colorful fingerprints and delicate patterns on your skin as his lips capture yours in a heated kiss. he would peel the blanket off you slowly, taking his sweet time as if memorizing every dip and curve to later recreate in his art. his touch is both tender and electrifying. and his expressions, both raw and passionate as he eyes every inch of your body.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whispers his deepest desires in your ear. his voice becomes husky with emotions, telling you exactly what he wants, and leaving you blushing and eager to feed him the attention he seeks. he’s very needy, indeed. but most especially in bed. he’d often grab your hand, allowing you to brush it against his toned chest and down to his… aching member. it’s begging to be released, you both know it. and so when he guides your head closer to his crotch, you already know what ‘job’ you had to do for him.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who whines a lot while you’re pleasing him, but in a cute way. he’s just very vocal about it. he’s incapable of keeping his little moans whenever he feels your tongue rolling around his tip, your lips leaving open-mouthed kisses along the sides of his length. it’s like suction when you fully take him into your mouth, the image of your head bobbing to suck his cock is extremely vivid in his head. “mhm~ don’t stop.” rafayel loses his mind over it. “my darling, lover girl. you’re so pretty, my baby.” and when you’d allow him to cum inside your mouth, he’s a weak man watching you swallow every single drop.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who respects your boundaries and doesn’t push you to try things in bed that you’re not comfortable with. when you told him he can’t do you raw, he willingly obliged. so, lo and behold the huge box of condoms on his nightstand. he believes in practicing safe sex because you both aren’t ready for that kind of responsibility yet. but that doesn’t lessen the frequency of your activities in bed. in fact, his beloved box of rubbers would easily run out after 2-3 weeks.

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who likes to be praised when doing the deed with you. it’s just innate in him. you have to let him know if he’s doing good, have to let him hear how great he feels inside of you, how pretty he looks when you gaze down on him, and how amazing his hands are in finding your most sensitive places. “raf, you’re the best at this,” you’d moan into his mouth, the sound of skin-slapping echoing across his studio as you feel him racing through his climax, “s-so good, ngh~” he’s one to smile at your little whimpers. “yeah, you like where i’m hitting it, baby?” “haa—i do!” “thought so.”

⁺⋆𖧷 artist!rafayel who wants to be displayed all over your social media accounts. it’s as straightforward as he is—he wants his face to take over your account. he wants to know that you’re proud of him and that you’re showing off your handsome boyfriend whenever you can. he also wants you to interact with his posts, leave comments, and hit the heart button. every. single. time. he gets easily sulky if sees you ignoring his cute posts about you. that’s just how he is, and it doesn’t frustrate you one bit, because he just loves being the center of your world in exchange for treating you the center of his. that was the art of loving rafayel.

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

Sketch me down, see me through – pt. 1

Summary: After a quiet day, you decide to sketch Astarion

Pairing: Astarion x Tav

Words: 1.9k

Warnings: it's really just a fluffy thing, lots of pining, they're both touch-starved

A/N: I wrote this a while back and it's not too bad, so enjoy! Here you can find Part 2 (@tripleyeeet you know this already but enjoy still! also, @yn-ymn-yln you might like this)

\_/

The day was slowly fading into the night as the fire of the camp stretched towards the burning sky.

It had been a weirdly uneventful day: you had wandered around without a real aim or purpose all day, mostly enjoying the view than actively looking for more loot. You still managed to stumble across a couple of lonely barrels and chests, gaining nothing really useful other than a well-crafted dagger with neat gold details in the handle.

Your companions were nowhere to be seen, probably drinking in the village nearby or resting in their tents or simply enjoying the company of somebody else.

As you sat alone next to the fire, sketching a bird roaming a few feet away and looking for food in the grass, you didn’t really mind a chance to enjoy your own company.

“There you are!”

The bird flew away in a ruffle of feathers when Astarion’s voice rumbled in the small clearing your camp was set in.

“I thought you had joined the others at the tavern,” he said, plopping down behind you with a tired sigh.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for drinking…” you mumbled with a shrug, your hand jotting down the last details of the bird before they left your brain, “or being among other people.”

“I better hope you don’t mind my company.”

His head popped over your shoulder, but you didn’t raise your gaze from the drawing, too focused shading the charcoal with your finger than giving in to his egotistical nature.

“You know I don’t,” you assured, blowing away the excess black dust from the parchment, “but you did make my model fly away.”

Astarion scanned silently the small sketchbook still open in your hands from behind your shoulder. You could feel his breath brushing your ear, creating a web of shivers that ran one after the other along your spine.

“Look at that.” His fingers reached for your drawing. You held your breath as they hovered over the dark and slightly smudged lines. “I had no idea we had such a talented artist within our group.”

“I’m not that good,” you scoffed with a smile, turning your head ever so slightly towards his, “but thank you.”

“However,” he continued, scratching thoughtfully his chin, “you could definitely use a better model.”

You nodded slowly, pressing your lips together before clicking your tongue. “You’re right, I should ask Gale to pose for me.”

“Gale?!”

“Or Shadowheart,” you added, ignoring his insulted tone. “Her features are so soft, perfect for a portrait.” You met his eyes with a grin. “Don’t you agree?”

Astarion huffed through his nose, pulling back and leaning on his arms. “I suppose she could be a decent model, but I don’t see her around to be sketched.”

You snorted, turning around on your seat to face his narrow scarlet eyes.

“Oh, is my annoyance amusing to you?”

“If you wanted me to sketch you so badly,” you started, turning to a blank page of your sketchbook, “you could’ve simply asked.”

Astarion stared at you for a second, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide in surprise. Those were the small expressions that you loved more about him: those seconds in between, where his facade broke for a moment, revealing something so brief that simply couldn’t be faked.

Then he cleared his throat and his mask of smugness covered his face once again, annihilating whatever real emotion that had made its appearance on his features. “If you insist, darling.”

He laid down on the grass, propping himself up with his elbow. His head rested on his closed fist, tilted as his half-lidded gaze was stuck on you. “So, how do you want me?”

You swallowed the sudden lump in your throat. No matter how many times he looked at you like that or his words tickled your brain with lewd thoughts, Astarion always managed to stir something in your guts; a pull you couldn’t always ignore, especially when you were completely alone.

“You can just sit up,” you assured him, breaking away from his eyes to sharpen your pencil. “I’m not that good of an artist to draw you like that,” you explained a moment later, pointing at the relaxed —and obviously thought-out— position he was in.

“As you wish.”

Surprisingly, Astarion immediately followed your request, sitting back up with not even one objecting word.

“Nevertheless,” he murmured, leaning towards you, “if anatomy is the department you lack, I’ll be more than happy to aid you with your… sketches.” A devilish grin appeared on his face as his hand moved in the air with his words. “In every position you might ever need.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your calm voice and mischievous grin, almost mirroring Astarion’s, were in no way a faithful reflection of the turmoil storming your chest and mind.

“Now stay still,” you told him, your focus slowly shifting to the drawing as you started laying down the first few guiding lines.

“I’ll be as immovable as a rock, darling.”

“And silent,” you mumbled, your eyes darting from the page to Astarion’s slightly vexed expression.

Astarion noticed your frowning, however he had no time to articulate the question on the tip of his tongue that you had leaned in. Your hand reached out hesitantly, almost waiting for him to pull away or shoving you back in an instinctive reaction. But he didn’t.

You gently grabbed his chin, guiding his face slightly to the side. Then your thumb moved to the spot between his eyebrows, smoothing away the crease of irritation altering his features. You could feel the tension in his muscles give away under your touch, any resistance crumbling under your fingertips.

“There,” you whispered, admiring the calm expression on Astarion’s face. “Can you stay like that for a while?”

“Of course, darling.”

Your heart skipped a beat when he spoke. There was a sudden softness to him, one that you had never seen for longer than the blink of an eye. It was almost overwhelming, even after you had lowered your gaze to work on the small portrait.

Your pencil, guided by your hand, moved quickly on the page. You didn’t really need to look at Astarion to sketch him. His cheekbones, the curve of his lips, the shape of his eyes, his features had long been carved in your mind.

If he had taken the sketchbook —as you feared he was going to— when he appeared next to you, he would’ve found pages and pages covered in quick and small drawings of him. Studies of his face, hair, hands; whatever your mind could recall accurately.

Nonetheless, there was always something that you never managed to get exactly right.

You moved your gaze from the page, studying closely his eyes and the ever-changing glint behind them as you tried to recreate it with charcoal and parchment. An impossible task that made you sigh more loudly than you expected.

“I can almost smell your brain fuming, darling.”

You put down the pencil, straightening your spine and stretching your sore neck. You scrunched your eyes, exhausted of drawing in the dim and shifting light of the flames.

“Is it done?”

When you opened your eyes, Astarion was subtly peering over the page, the smug grin on his face unable to hide his nervous anticipation.

“I think so,” you mumbled, shading one last detail before staring critically at your creation. As you looked at it, you noticed so many details out of place: a line too straight, a curl too twirly, a shadow too dark…

“It could be better,” you said apologetically as you handed the sketchbook to your model, “but I hope you like it.”

Hesitantly, almost as if the book was made of fire, Astarion took it.

He stared at your drawing for a long time, his fingers following the charcoal lines and then looking for those same shapes on his face. A small shaky breath left his lips as his fingertips moved on his neck, brushing the scars of the bite.

“I had never seen them on me before,” he whispered, scoffing slightly as his hand fell back on the drawing.

“I actually drew them a bit too high,” you explained, pointing at the sketch with your smudged fingertips. “And the nose is too straight, and it’s all a bit of a mess-”

Your voice was cut off when Astarion took your hand in his. Before you could utter another syllable, he brought it to his lips, leaving a lingering kiss on your knuckles.

“Nonsense, darling. You’ve given me a mirror in which I will always be able to see myself.”

He kissed the inner part of your wrist, his eyes locked in yours as his teeth grazed your veins. “How will I ever be able to repay you for this?”

“You don’t have to.” Ignoring your burning skin, you squeezed gently Astarion’s hand in yours as his eyebrows shot up. “I did this for you and you only. I’m not expecting anything in return.”

Astarion still looked at you with a puzzled expression while you took your sketchbook out of his grip, took the short dagger hidden in your boot and carefully cut the page with his portrait out of it.

“This is yours,” you said handing him the rough sheet of parchment, “and it should’ve never been taken from you in the first place.”

As if he was handling the smallest and frailest animal, Astarion accepted the page in his hand, his wide eyes still marveling at the way your lines came together to recreate him.

“I…”

For once, words failed him.

He looked up from the sketch and a million emotions crossed his face. Confusion and relief. Sadness and recognition. Fear and joy. And that softness, that overwhelming look empty of all the sharp edges that defined him every other moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, placing a shaky hand on your cheek. “I won’t forget it.”

That touch was alien to you.

It wasn’t the kind of touch that you had learned to expect from Astarion. It wasn’t sexual or teasing, anticipating a pleasure that he seemed always so eager to satisfy. It was gentle, hinting at an intimacy you had never dared to entertain, not even when you were falling asleep in your tent and your neck was still sore where his teeth had dug their way into your flesh.

His thumb moved slowly, hesitantly on your skin. You were both entering uncharted territories and you could do nothing more than being careful. Nonetheless, you couldn’t help but lean into his touch as you always did, kissing softly his palm to let him know that you wanted it.

That you craved this intimacy, no matter how long you both needed to get there.

Some voices reached your ears —drunken and loud singing— and before you could make out who they belonged to, Astarion had already moved away, leaving your cheek to the cold touch of the night.

He quickly folded the drawing and put it away, giving you one last small smile before a smug grin bloomed on his face and removed every other emotion. He stood up and headed towards Gale and Wyll, the swaying owners of those voices that had just entered the camp.

As the crowd was becoming a little too much for your liking, you headed into your tent, falling with a sigh on your pillow. You could still hear the other three outside, but your mind was wandering far away, relishing in the memories of that night as you slowly fell asleep.

[aweina]

ᰔ. boyfriend material : miles morales.

miles would help you create a signature, especially if you’re not well versed in calligraphy. the both of you would spend hours just figuring out what suits you. and whenever miles does them, they look perfect — leaving you struggling to make it look identical. he’s patient and a little bit amused of your lack of penmanship when it came to your own signature. at the end, miles came up with a very simple one for you because you cannot make it look as pretty when he does it. “hey it’s fine, at least it’s not ugly anymor — ow! hey, i was just teasing.”

speaking of signatures, miles has one of your name every time he does graffiti art. compared to his other portraits and simply tying their names along their faces — the design of your name has remained unchanged and distinguishable from the rest. during class, he would doodle your name and face when his mind drifted towards you (which was all the time). he would create calligraphy art that perfectly matched you, furiously scribbling at the bad ones with thick led and crumple the paper and toss it to the trash. miles would be absolutely flustered when you see your portrait in admiration, brushing off his racing heartbeat to answer your questions about the piece itself. “you love it? oh shit, thank god. wha — nothing, it’s nothing.”

if you asked, miles would guide your hand while making graffiti art. it’s not usually how he would teach you how to do art but hey, any excuse to be closer to you. he tries to play off the closed distance but inside, he’s an absolute wreck and it’s pretty much shown through his quivering hands and dilated eyes. miles is choked up every time he explains how to do certain art techniques and ends up stopping mid sentence to study your focused face. you are his muse after all. “sorry you’re just … really pretty.”

he loves to pass notes during class as well. miles just doodles you from his seat since the teacher separated the both of you (disrupting class? never heard of it. he took the blame for you though — got detention for it). each doodle is a different pose everyday, some are very silly and some made you look like an absolute doll. they always had some little cute messages or just a bunch of hearts and thought bubbles hovering your head. you save all his small doodles in a scrapbook that the both of you started together — alongside the polaroid photos you took together on his apartment rooftop and the random notes you guys wrote when one of you kept the book for the day. “heh.. i really like you too. oh? i’m just responding to what you said … in the book.”

miles has this full pack of name tags and blank stickers to his disposal. when he’s spider-man, he plasters them on the usual criminals that he would pass by during his patrols with written quirky quips that made you instantly recognize that it was from the hero himself. well, he does that with you too. since miles is very light on his feet and can go unnoticed with his invisibility, he would gently pat a name tag and other customized stickers on you throughout the school day. it’s not until your friends point it out with an amused snicker or when you find it clinging on your arm or back — a warm smile instantly grows on your face. they either go like ‘hello my name is the most beautiful girl ever’ or ‘miles morales was here’. you always looked forward to what he had to say everyday, but damn, how did he even get it on you in the first place? “that’s a secret, it would just ruin the fun if i told you, wouldn’t it?”

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[ghostieking]

I just sat here for the past hour allowing myself to sketch a portrait freely on procreate. I didn’t think I would like the result as much as I did… What I have been realizing when it comes to art and my process is that I need to stop forcing myself to convey to the cutesy aesthetic and sellable mechanism of it all. Seeking numbers on social media ruins art. Trying to look like something people would click on destroys what I most like about art that is the rawness of it! And at least for me having to think too much while creating or recording the process actively thinking of content ruins it. 

I sat down with my tablet and pen in hands knowing that I needed to draw something with a lot of contrast. I naturally gravitated towards the black, white and grey pallete that I have saved - one that I haven’t really touched before, but had saved since I do love working with black ink and graphite when it comes to traditional stuff. I tapped my favorite gritty little brushes, the ones I usually use and started to freely paint a face. 

One thing I tend to do first when drawing faces freely, with no reference, is blocking the eye and the shadows behind them… For some reason that really helps me to get the shape of the entire face going. The moment I places the almost black grey down on the blank white canvas I knew that my canvas needed to be as dark as the shade selected and that I would go from there. Then… I blacked out. I got immersed in the art making, in blocking shapes and switching in between all the grey variations I ended up using. Up until I found myself with something that I loved! That’s what I crave!! 

I crave making art to a point on which it just flows out of my brain, it just simply starts existing as a reflection of my entire submission to the media I’m working with. 

And that’s on this piece. 

Maybe look just like a portrait to some, but for me it’s so wildly different from anything I’ve made before in so many different aspects… It’s special. Also you can tell I’ve been influenced a bit by the new Spider-Man movie without even meaning to!! I haven’t watched it yet, but I guess my brain craved that rawness…

[joshuya-raidon]

Commission Details

I apologize to those whom have expressed interest a while back as I have only gotten around to this just now. The point of my cheap commissions, which goes up to $5, is to simply create a barrier to entry as I get too many art requests as it is and it’s tough for me having to choose one over the other. Therefore, the expectation here is that my commissions are to be treated as art requests for the most part, but I will still have certain commitments to the commissioner. With that said, I will go over the details below:

PRICING AND PAYMENT

Each commission will be fully colored and shaded and will include a background by default. The pricing will be as follows:

$3 for one character regardless of the content.

$5 for two characters regardless of the content.

Payment is to be made via Paypal. I will provide you my Paypal info when I request for the full payment. I will only request for payment when the artwork is complete and I will send you a photo of the artwork as proof it is complete. I will send you the digital version of the image at its original resolution in png format once payment is received. You may request for a different resolution or image format if you like. I feel this is fair as I have nothing to gain from withholding the digital image from you after receiving payment.

RULES AND EXPECTATIONS

1. No intricate designs like really complex tattoos.

2. I will draw weapons but I will let you know if I feel they are too complicated.

3. I will probably not draw vehicles and things of that nature but it depends.

4. I will not include text in the image by default, but let me know if you want text or dialogue in the image.

5. Up to two characters only, no exceptions.

6. Let me know which character(s) you want me to draw and provide visual references. I prefer references that are drawings as they are easier for me to interpret. This part should naturally include what outfit and accessories the character(s) is going to be wearing.

7. Aside from letting me know which character(s) you want, the rest will be up to my discretion although I am open to suggestions. These include the following:

Half to full body. The character(s) will be drawn with around half of their body (upper body) within the canvas at minimum. This means that even if body parts are hidden due to factors like foreshortening, those body parts are still considered to be within the canvas. If you request for something less like a portrait, then I’m most likely willing to do it.

Pose. I will most likely ask for your input to get ideas, but please know that I will ultimately decide on a pose I want to draw.

Background. It will range from abstract to something closer to a landscape. I will not do complicated backgrounds in order to save time. I will always do abstract at minimum unless you request for a blank (white) or solid color background. Please keep these things in mind if you make a suggestion.

8. If you are looking for NSFW content then we should discuss on a different platform as I have limitations and there are certain things I will not do.

9. Please give me up to two months to finish your commission as I have other obligations.

10. I can cancel the commission at any time since I did not collect payment yet. However, I will try to give you advance warning and provide an explanation.

11. Should you cancel the commission at any point, please understand that I may opt to post the artwork as it is and probably add a big watermark. I will not name you as the commissioner and I will only stipulate that the commission is unfinished.

COMMITMENTS

Here are my commitments to you that I normally would not provide for an art request:

1. I will provide a photo as a progress shot for the linework phase, the coloring phase, the shading phase, and the complete artwork.

2. I am willing to do adjustments/corrections during each phase, especially during the linework phase. However, I do not expect there to be many requests to adjust/correct minor details (e.g. the hair bang is slightly too short, please make it reach the eyes). If I feel there has been too much back-and-forth then we will need to discuss further and determine if it is still worth it to proceed with the commission.

3. I will answer your requests for progress updates, although I would ask if you could please keep it to a weekly interval or longer.

THE END

Thank you for reading. Please message me if you are interested and I will let you know if there is a queue. I may also modify this post as I start working on commissions.

[tokiro07]

What is the law of ueki?

Early 2000s shonen manga/anime from Shonen Sunday that I used to see ads for in various anime magazines. One day I gave it a try and I fell in love with it

I don't know if I'd say it's like an all-timer or anything, but I had a lot of fun with it since it had a really amusing and creative power system

God has decided to retire, so to select the next God from among the Celestials, he had 100 candidates grant a single power to a child of their choosing. Pretty much every power is something to the effect of "the power to turn A into B", with some exceptions

The most notable example would naturally be the main character Ueki's power to turn trash into trees. As long as he can cup it between his hands and he considers it to be trash (even if it's just the leaves that fall off of his trees), he can create pretty much any tree he wants in any shape he wants, though the size of the tree is dependent on the size of the trash

It's later revealed that powers have a Level 2 that can be unlocked upon full mastery of their Level 1, which is usually directly related to the Level 1, but again, there are exceptions. Ueki's Level 2, because his power is themed around recycling, is "the power to turn B back into A," basically canceling out the opponent's powers. Not everyone finds their Level 2, but with the number of power users who are taken out before the final rounds, it's not too surprising that so few get the opportunity to master their powers

The reason that the power users are willing to fight for the Celestials is because the winning power user will be granted the Talent of Blank, essentially a blank check to gain a talent of their choosing. Talents serve as a sort of secondary power system, with each participant taking a talent away from their defeated opponents. Striking a non-combatant with one's powers causes the user to lose one of their talents; very early on, Ueki loses a number of talents beating up people who were being cruel to others or animals, not concerned that he was going to be losing his talents. This cost him his talent for popularity with girls and talent for studying, making him repulsive to girls and pretty stupid. If a contestant loses all of their talents, they simply vanish, but this is really only likely to be an issue if they use up their talents picking fights with non-combatants

We also learn pretty quickly that some of the Celestials sent their children to Earth to sneak them into the competition to give themselves a leg up, and naturally, it turns out that Ueki was one of those children. This introduces a THIRD aspect to the power system, though it's only relevant to the Celestials: the Sacred Treasures. Each Celestial has 10 weapons that they can use in conjunction with their powers to be unlocked at various stages of their development, including an arm cannon, a giant sword, skates that give superspeed but disallow jumping, giant gauntlets that shield the user, etc. Ueki for example can only summon his weapons by using pieces of trash

There's one Celestial whose power is to turn objects into animals (which really just gives them a face and makes them able to operate independently) which he uses to bring his Sacred Treasures to life. They get surprisingly creative with it considering that all of the Sacred Treasures are otherwise the exact same between users, but it's definitely the aspect of the power system that contributes the least to how fun the battles can be

I haven't seen it in over a decade, but I still think about it from time to time and look back on it really fondly. There's a lot of really memorable powers, like "power to turn electricity into sugar" being used to cover a target in sugar and then turning the sugar back into electricity and shocking them, "voices into ice" combining with "voices into portraits" to lay traps that would freeze opponents when they triggered them, "1 second into 10" being represented as a slow motion ability, "the past into the present" replaying the user's actions with a temporary clone, etc.

I found out a few years ago that there was a short-lived epilogue/sequel, which I never got around to reading, so sooner or later I'm going to read the manga (I've previously only seen the anime) and finish it up with Law of Ueki Plus

If that power system sounds fun to you at all, I definitely recommend it, though I will caution that the art style is a bit rough

[talbottoabbott]

Lise Sarfati-mini research

Algerian born Lise Sarfati started photographing as a way to cope with her depression. After graduating from the Sorbonne in Paris, France, with a Masters in Russian studies, Sarfati became the official photographer for the Academy des Beaux Arts. Shortly after, she moved to Russia in hopes of capturing the country's atmosphere from 1989 to 1998 during Russia’s metamorphosis from the Soviet Union to a group of independent republics, resulting in her first major body of work titled Acta Est (2000).  Since 2003, she has lived and worked in the United States, observing adolescent life. She has traveled extensively throughout the states, documenting youth culture and individuals.  

Sloane #07, Oakland, CA 2007

She is one of Sarfatis most influential bodies of work. In this project, Sarfati, familiar with sisters Sloane and Sasha, revisits their lives along with their mom Christine and her sister Gina. From 2005-2009, Sarfati captures their day-to-day lives. Photos of the women crossing the street, lounging on their beds, standing in doorways and shopping at local grocery stores. The photos, although depicting generic actions, contain interesting compositions, pastel colors, and a sense of underlying eariness. The women seem to gaze off, past the lens into a trance. They look slightly distraught as their heads bow down to the ground and eyes glass over. The personas of these beautiful women begin to untangle.

Sloane #66 Oakland, CA 2009

Art critic Tish Wrigley for “Another Magazine” says, “A shot of Christine topless in the desert takes on new meaning when it is revealed that she is high on magic mushrooms, as does the shot where she is wearing a wedding dress – a garment that she owns yet has never worn for real. Sasha, who only appears twice, is palpably uncomfortable in the camera’s glare, and Sloane, who appears most frequently, is shown in a number of different guises; wigs and make-up transforming her appearance but never muting the shadows lurking behind her eyes.” In the image above, Sloane sits on her green couch in their home. She looks relaxed as she lounges in her undergarments. She carries a glass of something and stares at the camera. Behind her is a shelf full of gasses. She is serious, mysterious, and has a blank stare as she does in many photos. She almost looks bored but we wonder what she is thinking about. There is mystery to each photo only solved by Sarfati and the subject; an intimate relationship established that is apparent in the photos. “Sarfati is adept at placing herself on the peripheries of others’ lives, capturing deceptively simple images that, on closer inspection, exude a strangeness, an alienation, that belies their superficial banality. The four characters in the series, related by blood, similar in physique and appearance, are fashioned into what Sarfati describes as “a woman with four heads.” Despite always being shot separately, they are inextricably intertwined with each other: with questions formed and answers given by the offsetting of their differences, and the tensions of their similarities. Through this, Sarfati has created not simply a portrait of a family, but also a universal meditation on many facets of being a woman today.” 

About five years later, Sarfati published Oh Man, a series photographing the deserted corners of Los Angeles and the men that walk by them. After carefully choosing locations to shoot at, Sarfati camped out at each and waited for the perfect moment. The sun beams down on the streets, flooding the images with heat and a muted palette. Not a soul drives by as these men briskly walk, stand, or loiter at the corners of post offices and unmarked buildings. There is loneliness but familiarity between the subjects and the areas they occupy. There is no narrative in these photos, yet it allows the audience to imagine them. In one photo, a man in black, short,  white oversized T-shirt and gray baseball cap gazes around a corner. The building is pale gray and off-white. The building reads “United States Post-” before the frame cuts it off. It looks like the middle of the day. There are bars on the windows of the building. He gazes around, slightly leaning forward with anticipation. In both projects, Sarfati examines the raw humanness of the people. In She, we get to see the womens eyes in almost every photo. A key factor of the series that, in my opinion, makes the audience feel more connected to these women. They’re also doing mundane things, but why do they look so glum? What are they thinking about? As a woman too, one could imagine what is going through their heads. A smoke to take the edge off, a lie down on the bed to relax. There is a sense of relief, but also angst that is palpable. Although none of the women are ever photographed together, there is perhaps tension between the daughters, mother, and aunt. Considering that the photos do not show content feelings, the emotions could be a projection of home life. In Oh Man, I feel less connected to the photos, and more like an observer, a flaneur. There is more distance between Sarfati and the men walking compared to the close techniques of She. The men are unaware of her. The space she is shooting is less familiar, outside, and in a large city. Although she camped out at these locations, the space does not contain the same familiarity and safety of the women's home. There is a sense of loneliness, distance, even sadness. However, when viewing the details of the photo, there is dynamic and motion within the strides of the men. They’re walking to some place that the audience is unaware of. The generic movements, similar to She, allow the audience to imagine more than what the image tells. Where are they walking? Why are they wearing that? What are they doing? In fact it is one of Sarfati’s main goals in her work to allow her audience to question the generic gestures of her subjects. The elusiveness of Sarfati's images make them so exciting you don't want to look away.

Works Cited

“Anonymous Landscapes.” Aesthetica Magazine, 7 December 2017, https://aestheticamagazine.com/urban-anonymity/. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Cuevas, Javier Panera. “Lise Sarfati: In the Next Door Room – AMERICAN SUBURB X.” American Suburb X, 26 March 2010, https://americansuburbx.com/2010/03/lise-sarfati-in-next-door-room.html. Accessed 7 April 2023.

“Lise Sarfati: She - in pictures | Art and design.” The Guardian, 4 February 2012, https://www.theguardian.com/artanddesign/gallery/2012/feb/05/lise-sarfati-she-in-pictures. Accessed 7 April 2023.

Sarfati, Lise. Lise Sarfati, http://lisesarfati.com. Accessed 4 April 2023.

Wrigley, Tish. “Lise Sarfati: She | AnOther.” AnOther Magazine, 8 February 2012, https://www.anothermag.com/art-photography/1736/lise-sarfati-she. Accessed 4 April 2023.

Wrigley, Tish. “Lise Sarfati: She | AnOther.” AnOther Magazine, 8 February 2012, https://www.anothermag.com/art-photography/1736/lise-sarfati-she. Accessed 7 April 2023.

-Lia Elms

[amberduan-ual]

Painting (11/3/23)

The first curtain I created was based on one of the sources I looked at, which was about an art therapy exercise for elderly people and emphasized that personal expression through the art was really beneficial for all the participants involved. This really matched one of the studies I looked at, which said that helping people with dementia maintain and express their sense of personal identity was really important.

The concept behind the curtain is to have several blank picture frames which people can paint in portraits of their own family members or loved ones. That way, when hung up, it can serve as a reminder of the people closest to them. It would also be more personal than simply hanging a patterned curtain or even displaying a framed photo, since the drawings are a reflection of how they see their subject.

[sassykattery]

Blog Rules + Masterlists

Welcome Sinner.

This pinned post is an introduction to my blog and the Masterlist for my multi-chapter fanfic based on the characters from Obey Me! called "Love, Eternal," as well as containing Masterlists for my other content.

About sassykattery...

Call me Sassy! I'm 27, married, and use she/they pronouns. I am currently studying and working full-time to get into a professional school later in 2024.

I am simply one hell of a writer.

Blog Rules

I do not accept interactions from minors or ageless/blank blogs. I will immediately block those who follow me or interact with my content that I catch in my notifications. This is because I regularly consume NSFW content and repost it, on top of creating NSFW content myself. It's not hard to put in your bio that you're at least 18, that's literally all I need to see.

This is an LGBTQ+ friendly and gender-affirming blog. Homophobia, transphobia, and pedophilia aren't tolerated here, nor are any other hate-groups or illegal activities that exist in this world.

I'm a sex-positive and body-positive person, so I am open about sharing personal stories as well as promoting normalization of sex and the human body (i.e. menstruation, being fat/plus-size), you will see this influences my writing as well. This point is only directed at people who think sex or human body functions shouldn't be discussed on any platform (this is literally an NSFW blog, why are you here?), this is not pointed at the people who experience triggers or dysphoria around those topics.

To touch on the last bullet, this is a warning to those who experience dysphoria or have triggers related to certain topics, I regularly discuss certain topics such as: sex, menstruation, body image issues, mental health issues, medical issues. My content will always have tags and "CW," or Content Warnings," at the beginning of each body of work that I write except for "incorrect quotes"/crack one-shots.

The only fandom I write for is Obey Me!, and I don't really intend on branching out anytime soon, but I do consume content from Genshin and Twisted Wonderland.

Not really a rule: I affectionately call my readers "sinners." ♡

Twitter Instagram

One-Shot/Request Line Masterlist

Sassy's Kinktober 2022 Event List

Altaira Fics (Obey Me! OC)

Group Portrait ft. Members of the Occult (drawn by sassykattery)

Love's Web Masterlist (Obey Me! x Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse fic)

Dollface (Obey Me! Fic)

Diavolo's Birthday Celebration 2023

"Love, Eternal" Masterlist

Each chapter will have mutliple parts, in which there will be a sub-Masterlist for each chapter.

Synopsis: After returning for the second year in the Devildom, one human, MC, finds herself in the throes of the affairs of the heart, intertwined with two powerful demons who seek to have her to themselves. One demon seeks to redeem himself after ruining his first relationship in centuries. The other seeks to maintain balance between his duties, his love, and his own vested interests. Read as the three navigate one another's struggles and needs.

New Schedule: New parts will be posted on Saturdays and Wednesdays, North America time, that's Sundays and Thursdays for those in UTC and further east. I will be returning to university soon and need time to make sure I'm happy with my writing before publishing.

If you enjoy my writing - my requests are closed! Please head over to this post to see what I'm open to writing for anyone who's interested! I will update this segment when I close my request line!

New! If you would like to be tagged when I upload new parts to "Love, Eternal," please comment below on this post and I will add you to the taglist!

Rules for the fanfic before proceeding -

I will be posting this fanfic on Wattpad as well as here on Tumblr, because I understand some people like the reading experience better on other platforms. As of now, I will not be posting on AO3 purely because I hate how the website looks (don't ask). I will include links for the Wattpad posts in the corresponding chapter sub-Masterlists. That all said, do not repost onto other sites. This is my work, and I will not tolerate others reposting it. Should I find another website to post it on, I will update this post with that information as well.

This fanfic is for those ages 18 and up. Once I begin posting, I will be checking notifications and those who are caught ageless or underage in their bios, will be blocked. Those who interact with this masterlist and do not have an age listed or they're a minor will be blocked.

I will not tolerate criticism for the storyline I have chosen. Please respect what I have chosen for the plot (no backseat writing).

I will not tolerate people creating spin-offs of my fanfic, so please don't do it. You obviously can think of whatever you want, but I kindly ask that you do not make posts based off of my AU.

This fanfic will include scenes of smut, blood, and violence. There are some things I will not write about, however, this is meant to be a romance fanfic, so if you are uncomfortable with graphic sex being written about from a romantic standpoint, please consider this your warning. There will also be scenes including emotional and physical distress, as well as emotional manipulation/emotional abuse within the confines of a relationship. If that is triggering, please do not read.

To follow up with rule #5, each part will contain content warnings, themes, and characters at the beginning of the chapter so that if you aren't interested in those concepts, you are forewarned.

This fanfic is written in the point of view of a main character who is named MC in the fic, who is AFAB, has AFAB body parts, and uses she/her pronouns. Now, within the fic, the perspective is from the main character and pronouns are typically written with "you." It is when MC is referenced by other characters that she/her is used.

Because I'm a smut writer, please heed the following message in regard to characters put into smut scenes: here.

In my fic, I've implemented the asterisk system (*) to indicate a smut scene for those who may want to skip it or read it again

Now that's done, please enjoy.

Wattpad: Diavolo's Date, Pt. 1

Submasterlist: Prologue + Season 1

☆☆☆☆ Season 2 ☆☆☆☆

Chapter 6: The Royal Standard (Complete)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Chapter 7: The Queen's Torment (Complete)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Chapter 8: A Lover's Holiday (Complete)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Chapter 9: Celebrations of the Heart (Complete)

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

Chapter 10: Rites and Rituals (complete)

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

☆☆☆☆ Season 3 ☆☆☆☆

Chapter 11: Losses and Gains (complete)

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

Chapter 12: No Rest for the Wicked (ongoing)

Part 1 Part 2

[luciel-anciel]

Canvas ( Yan! Artist MK & Red Son)

Prompt: As an Artist, It only seemed fitting to try and try, again with every failed attempt.

TW: Spiraling to Obsession, Blood, Unsolicited Picturing, Slight Gore(?), Implied OCD, Perfectionist, Self-Harm, Hyper Fixation, and Offending a Diety.

A/N: I kinda intended, this to be more on the Queerplatonic Spectrum, It's one of my chapters in my fanfic called 'Canvas'

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

The, tip of the brush was dipped into a thick coat of mahogany hued acrylic paint, gently stroking the blank canvas, another one of their attempt to recreate the likeness, of his muse, and added a warm orange hue for the highlights, to the eyes.

It needed to be, nothing more than authentic perfection.

Floods of paper, overflowed the already  dirty tiled floor. It was all failed attempts; all ripped and scratched. It crinkled beneath his sneakers. No matter how many times he tried to recreate a full on body shot or a simple portrait, He could never capture, the—said 'Likeness' of the Fiery Demon

"No..No...No"

Discarded sketches were scattered across the room, even the forgotten trash bin was filled to the brim with torn illustration boards.

The faces on the discarded sketch, was messily scribbled with charcoal pencil out of pure frustration, while paintings thrown across were marked with messy yet bold red crosses, on the top, as the Artist felt deep dissatisfaction for his own creation, everything his worn and pale made, was simply—wrong.

"Not this one" The ivory-haired man's breath hitched, grimacing that this was another failed project.

Mk, is an artist, solely devoted and dedicated, to create masterpiece, to put together authencity, and for his own personal enjoyment. Only creating artwork for his eyes only, only for him to take in the beauty and for those curious on goers, that do dare to stare at his creation than only cruel fate knows what will happen to them.

Out of all the candidates, that he had previously worked on, or of all the subjects he used for reference. The fiery demon, had to be the most difficult subject to even work with, His stubbornness didn't help, with finishing this personal project especially, when he denied his request to be his personal muse.

No matter, what task MK done, or what he'd scarifice for the fiery demon, The request of just standing still would be met with a simple no, before turning his back on him.

So simply had to settle, by using photos of Red Son, instead.

It angered, him, that his request was denied, and that he was no where to close to progressing.

His work, would be easier for everyone, but mostly to himself, if Red Son, were to just cooperate and stand still, even for a moment instead of running off in fear.

He bit on his own fingernails, anxiously at another waste of material and impulsively chewed off the skin off his fingers, his teeth tearing off a small amount of flesh and just enough, to make blood seep out of the wound.

"Someday, I will finally capture your elegancy"

Touching the wet canvas, They, carefully smeered, the blood, all over the canvas; thick crimson liquid oozing out from the bitten wound, covering the ugly colour of mahagony paint, earlier.

He began to notice, that none of the other paint, could suffice, even, when trying other art materials, such as acrylic, gauche and even oil paint but nothing could mimic the same deep red hue, that was Red Son's hair, that was always tied in a tight ponytail, but when fights got too intense, strands fell down and locks, of his hair tousled on his shoulders.

There was even a time, where he curiously tried to use crayola or, oil pastel in another medium but it yeiled the same result.

It, needed to be his blood, and his blood alone.

His fingers, were throbbing from the immense pain, yet absentmindedly ignored it.

An artist, like himself should make sacrifices for desperate times, like these ones.

His chestnut hued eyes, took another good look at the photos, plastered all over the wall board. It was all taken for educational' purposes, to make sure he was finally doing this right, instead of failing everytime, and disappointing himself, then everyone.

Pondering to himself, MK, jokingly believed that, Red Son, could most likely be a reincarnation, of the God Tu'er Shen, due to the feelings that evoked inside of him, dragon flowers slowly  blossoming in his heart.

His hair was woven from hell fire, fine strands of passionate flames, and ashes.

It, was even mentioned in the books; form his previous research on the official biography of an immortal being, his first fixation, the Monkie King.

That stated, the Moon Diety, Chang'e was undoubtedly the most attractive Goddess, none of the mortal nor celestial realm, could match her beauty standards but upon seeing her art in the Museum, for inspiration.

Mk, was disappointed and could say that Red Son, undoubtedly, proven himself to look better, physically.

He couldn't pinpoint the exact words to describe the fire demon, It was all comparison that couldn't even reach to to the demon's level, but they knew he looked better than those Gods, even when, all of their features were combined.

But that begs the question, Can a demon even be a reincarnation of a God?

As an artist, The little details mattered to him, but only physically. He couldn't be bothered to dig deeper beneath the surface, not when he hadn't explored every nook and cranny of the surface.

His ignorance, might be the reason why he couldn't capture his essence, but MK, shook that thought away

"I know his every ins and out, I understand him more, than he understands himself"

All he had was pictures of Red Son, not the real life model.

That didn't deter away MK's determination, and only had a single goal in mind.

The need, to capture every aspect, every nook and cranny, The intense urge building inside of him to find eveey detail.

The artist, only desired to perfect the painting.

Yet, How could he even consider himself Artist, if they weren't even able to paint, a simple and blank look, correctly nor creatively.

Mk, is an artist—was an artist.

A shameful one.

He couldn't even capture that, So how could he possibly, capture the likeness that Red Son had?

Mk, considered himself,

To be a fraud.

What good of an artist, would he be, if they couldn't even paint such a simple art piece?

Heck, He couldn't even sketch the likeness of his Muse.

But, Red son was anything but simple

He was complex.

Those type of thoughts bothered him to the point, where, could barely even sleep nor eat. That constant frustration and disatisfaction kept him isolated inside this warehouse.

His phone, was off, ignoring all the messages, calls, emails or any distraction that might try to rip him away from his goal.

They locked himself, inside an abandoned warehouse.

The pitiful artist, paused for a moment, His only companions, was being alone with his degrading thoughts, that had no mercy for his own failures.

He longingly stared at the photos once more, all arranged in a messy order.

The young adult felt his heart pound, mercilessly, as if his heart was about to tear itself through the ribcage, but even with his newfound motivation to start all over again, He could never replicate the same essence, into his canvas.

That thought, only encouraged him to cause another tantrum.

"All wrong..." That was all, he could mutter after using his a strength to have, such a childish outburst, He, dropped down on the discarded paper, and long forgotten paint materials, whose liquid was used to the very bottom.

The blood, from his fingers spilling all over the photos, that was deemed to be unfit for his reference, yet still kept for other reasons.

He, breath to make the painting, as accurate as possible.

The only thing, the Artist felt grateful, was for the Heavens; the Celestial Realm to bestow upon him a gift.

Even when offending them, by always finding them all unfit for his standars od beauty.

He, was still given a gift.

The gift, being born, with both of his eyes, that are able to experience such beauty, and for being to catch someone that was beyond his standards.

But mostly, being blessed to such an exquisite existence.

And, the other being a smile.

The smile, that their Muse, etched on his face, when the demon, was victorious over the most simplest thing, or being finished building, the most difficult machines.

Truly, This obsession of trying to perfect the art and the desire to be able to touch the muse, wanting to know his warmth all over his skin and wanting to know how he feels felt seemed borderline criminal at this point, Does it even matter?

[faulty-writes]

Thank you so much for writing out my request but if you dont mind it's another one for iida because am a huge fan of him and I just love the way you write for him. But if it's too much can I have some headcannons of reader that can paint really good but has a crush of iida and was keeping it a secret because they paint portraits of him in their spare time. They paint in the art room and leave their pieces because no one goes there but then the class finds the pieces and they try to figure out who has a crush on iida based off the paintings. If its too much you don't have to write this and if you do thank you and have a good day.

[ Oh no need to thank me. I love writing for Tenya, I'm happy he's getting so much attention. A lovestruck artist sounds amazing! ]

It started out as mere curiosity, a way to convert your feelings into works of art. Painting was always a hobby of yours, something you were taught at a young age, and something that was useful to pass the time. Portraits were by far your favorite thing to bring to life, watching a blank canvas turn into a familiar face brought you a sense of joy.

But since coming to the realization that you had developed a crush on another classmate by the name of Tenya Iida, you found yourself painting his likeness. From his perfectly combed hair that hung so delicately in his face to the smooth and perfect curve of his cheekbones, to those deep and mysterious eyes. Everything was painted with detail by the stroke of your brush.

You were always the shy type, never one to be bold when it came to your feelings. Yet, the countless canvases splattered with his image said otherwise. It was almost like your heart was silently crying out to confess your feelings, but you continued to ignore it and simply painted him over and over again.

While Yuuei was filled with countless students, the art room always remained vacant. Even more so after school hours which was the time you often spent painting away. You thought nothing of leaving your paintings to dry overnight as the art room was also empty during the early morning hours where you'd make subtle adjustments and then hide your artwork away.

Once you formed a habit, it was quite hard to break and often took a harsh dose of reality in order to change. Much like many nights, you had left your portraits of Tenya to dry only to come in the next morning to see the entirety of Class A crowding the artroom and observing your paintings. It felt like a violation, and you could barely keep it together when you were bombarded with questions.

You were almost thankful that no one knew of your ability to paint as it saved you from being labeled as a suspect in the mysterious case of the artist who painted Tenya Iida. Yet, Class A seemed relentless in trying to find who admired Tenya so much as to paint several portraits of him. "Perhaps they were merely practicing their artistic talent and picked a student at random," Tenya suggested and you almost wished the rest of his class hadn't blown off his words.

The teachers of Yuuei seemed to get a little suspicious when they found out about the paintings Class A obtained but eventually dismissed the issue due to Tenya's own view on the subject. "I do not believe these paintings though a tad concerning, demonstrate any indication of ill-will. Rest assured, as class president I will find who created these portraits," you knew deep down he desired to meet you, and yet you couldn't bring yourself to admit the truth to him.

The paranoid thoughts began that someone else might claim to be the artist of the portraits and possibly steal Tenya away from you, though you knew he was not yours. The idea of someone else being with the one you desired nearly drove you mad with sadness and jealousy.

The fact that you found yourself without a safe space to paint was beginning to take a toll on you. Without the ability to express your feelings in another form, Tenya's image and voice constantly passed through your mind and at times led you to daydream about your desired future with him.

With Class A's search slowly coming to a halt, you took your chances and decided to set up canvas outside, a little ways from the Height's Alliance buildings. Attempting to paint a landscape instead of Tenya was your last resort to try and break this love curse. Unfortunately, the strokes of your brush wouldn't work, and instead of a work of art, you ended up with splattered lines of green and runny clouds of blue and white.

Despite your artistic hiccup, you once again returned to the art room which looked rather empty without Tenya's painted reflection staring back at you, to place the poorly depicted scenery canvas up to dry. However, unlike your usual routine, you didn't return for the painting the next morning.

A few days passed before you finally decided to retrieve your latest work of art, but you ended up stumbling back when you saw Tenya admiring it. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to intrude. I assume you are the artist who created this? It's rather lovely," at that moment, whether it was bravery or stupidity you ended up muttering you admired painting him the most. Guess not all things are kept secret after all.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

So...Misery style, how would you make Tomione work? (Or how would you do a Tomione story?)

Thanks, Anon, this might be harder than the Dramione one.

Well, again, to please my deranged captor, I'd likely follow the plot of your standard Tomione fic and hope it passes muster. "Oh yeah, Hermione's back in time and she's doing back and forth mind games with Tom and it's really intellectual." With any luck, my feet aren't smashed into oblivion.

But I think you're trying to get at what I would really do if I really had to write Tom/Hermione and I had to make it something I would read. At least, that seems to be the spirit of this ask.

So, we're going the thriller route people. A lot like Misery, actually.

Instead of Ginny, twelve-year-old Hermione picks up the diary. Like Ginny, Hermione quickly becomes besotted with Tom Riddle trapped inside. However, unlike Ginny, Hermione goes straight to the library and starts asking pesky questions.

Hermione's never heard of memories stored in objects before, the theory behind portraits and pensieves are completely different, what spells did Tom use and where did he find them? Did Tom Riddle invent an entirely new branch of magic at the age of 16 without anyone noticing? What was Tom's special service to the school?

Tom starts sweating when it becomes clear that Hermione's stumbling a bit too close to the truth (that this is not ordinary magic and highly dangerous shit) and that she's clearly going to start asking around about Tom Riddle (to Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hagrid, who were all near Hogwarts at the same time Tom was going to school).

Tom confesses that he may have created the diary using something very... illegal. Hermione is appalled and asks if it was gasp dark magic! He admits it is but points out it's a bit late now, like it or not, he's stuck in the diary and running to Dumbledore isn't going to make that go away any time soon. And it wasn't like Tom asked to be shoved in a diary either.

Hermione's very conflicted, on the one hand, Tom's the first real intellectual friend she's ever had. Harry and Ron are nice, but they're morons and they thinks he's a nerd. Tom encourages her intellectual pursuits and confirms her concern over various what not and what have you happening in Hogwarts.

Eventually, Hermione decides that Tom in the diary can't help being a diary (though the other Tom, the real Tom, she'd have words with), and decides that she'll try to help him get a body.

Great, that's great, Tom says.

But it keeps getting worse.

Tom tries to possess Hermione, but unlike Ginny, Hermione knows that Tom is a dangerous, dark, artifact. If she's suffering negative health effects, losing her memory and ending up in the girl's lavatory, she's going to research this and decide that either a) she's suffering ill effects of using dark magic b) she just got possessed by Tom.

Either way, she tells him she can't use the diary anymore, it's affecting her health and she must research. Well, Hermione researching does Tom no fucking good, but he can't stop her.

The Chamber of Secrets, as a result, is never opened.

Instead, Hermione continues researching, and Harry and Ron... begin to get on her nerves. It's not like last year, there's no Flamel to research, no over-arching mystery, and they seem to be growing tired of her. In turn, Hermione's getting a little tired of quidditch, getting detention, etc.

She's a little tired of Hogwarts, if she's being honest with herself.

Hermione's now had a taste of having a friend who isn't there to simply use her brains. And it's very addicting. She decides not to tell Ron and Harry about Tom, they'd just get needlessly concerned (the irony of this isn't lost on her but what can you do)

In the end, she opens back up the diary, and point blank asks what Tom needs to get a body. Before Tom can tell her, Hermione lists out her own theories. Life cannot be created from nothing, golems and puppets cannot last in the long term, to get a real body... human sacrifice is on the table, isn't it?

Well shit, Tom thinks to himself. He tries to assure Hermione it isn't but ends up confessing that, well, yes, it kind of is.

They have another huge row about it, Hermione slams the diary shut, but the wheels in her brain are spinning.

Does anyone deserve to die?

Hermione, at first, adamantly tells herself the answer is no. No one deserves to be sacrificed. Tom's fate is cruel, but the original Tom made his bed and should lie in it. It's unfortunate, but that's just life. Not the diary's fault, of course, but nothing that can be helped.

But then she keeps thinking about it.

Malfoy struts through the school like a peacock, sneering every time he sees her, laughing every time Snape deducts points from her in Potions for being a 'smarmy know-it-all'. Every time he can get away with it he's shoving her in hallways, calling her a mudblood, and assuring her that she's worth less than the dirt beneath her feet.

She watches as Malfoy torments and bullies Harry, she looks at Draco's father, and she asks herself if the world would really be so much worse off if Draco Malfoy were to disappear?

Draco Malfoy's being groomed to use dark magic, he practically brags about it at every opportunity, why is his life worth more than Tom Riddle's, someone who has paid the price for dark magic?

Isn't Hermione, in a roundabout way, only giving Draco what he deserves? The fate he'd meet at some point in the not so distant future?

Draco does something phenomenally cruel and stupid to the trio, likely to Harry, and that settles it. Hermione's going to murder that motherfucker and get Tom Riddle a body.

Hermione tells Tom the plan, she's passing off the diary to Draco, she has her full blessing, her permission, and whatever help he requires from her to eat Draco Malfoy alive.

Tom is unwillingly impressed, he was a vicious gremlin as a twelve-year-old, but even he wasn't committing murder in cold blood.

Tom's not sure how he feels about murdering a Malfoy, that's bound to get noticed, but Hermione's unyielding. Draco Malfoy, or Hermione goes to Dumbledore.

So, Draco Malfoy it is.

The rest of the year is spent with Tom Riddle murdering Draco Malfoy and coming up with some excuse for his disappearance. The chamber isn't opened as Hermione reminds Tom that this would make it entirely too obvious who is behind this. Instead, Tom likely has Draco partake in increasingly erratic schemes to humiliate Harry Potter that end up endangering himself.

Near the end of school, Draco disappears into the Forbidden Forest to find acromantulas to put in Potter's bed and... never comes back.

A huge search is put on, Draco Malfoy is never found, and the acromantula infestation in the forest is now actively battled by ministry employees. Dumbledore is sacked as headmaster, Hagrid fired for having been responsible for the acromantulas in the first place, and Hogwarts is closed the following year.

Hermione is... conflicted about all of this. She certainly didn't mean to fire Hagrid (had no idea he was even remotely involved with the acromantulas) and certainly not Dumbledore. It wasn't Dumbledore's fault at all.

Tom, who is now a free man but has no idea what to do with himself, meets up with Hermione and points out that Dumbledore should have been sacked ages ago: he let kids get away with this stupidly dangerous shit and the year before actively endangered his students and lured a dark wizard into the castle. As for Hagrid, he raised a dragon illegally on school grounds, did release his pet acromantula into the wild, and more. They were terrible at their jobs.

Hermione, ever so reluctantly, agrees.

It's too bad though, Hagrid was very nice and Dumbledore's a great wizard (don't even get Tom started).

As for Tom, well, he had such dreams. Of course he planned to either meet up with his glorious self or (upon learning that Voldemort was blown up by a toddler) take the mantle of Voldemort for himself. But now that he's out, he has no idea where to start. Murder Harry Potter, certainly, but after that?

Tom only has the vaguest idea of who the original Death Eaters were, and they seem to have effectively scattered. More, how does he go about this? Sure, Tom had ideas when he was in school, but they were just ideas. He's never led a revolution before, has no idea how to impersonate an older, more knowledgeable, version of himself. He barely understands the political climate in this new, post-Voldemort, Britain.

Tom keeps hanging around Hermione because, well, inertia. He has no idea what else to do. (Hermione, while still torn over the consequences of her actions as well as the distant thought that she enabled murder, is quite delighted to have him around).

Tom tries to wheedle Harry's address out of Hermione and gets a lot more information than he bargained for. Harry lives with abusive muggle relatives, Dumbledore is apparently keeping him there, all of this sounds bizarre. Tom is officially weirded out.

Still wants to murder Harry, of course, but also wants to dig into this a little further...

And before this becomes a full on fic outline, eventually this will lead to the murder of Dumbledore, probably the murder of Ron when Ron inadvertently discovers 'the truth', Hermione telling Tom they're now an item, Tom trying to escape the relationship, only to learn there's no escaping Hermione.

Hermione becomes the next dark lord. Tom has no idea how this even happened.

[joy1579]

self indulgent

I've been sad. so i wrote a thing to make me less sad. maybe it'll make someone else less sad too or at the very least they can laugh at my “cringe” but either way it did make me less sad so goal accomplished.

Mc and jumin organize a bookshelf jumin asks what neko girls are and MC short circuits his brain for a couple of seconds. no smut just fluff

Moving hadn’t taken long. You had opted to donate your furniture to the local homeless shelter since Jumin’s penthouse was furnished with the highest quality furniture you could dream of. Honestly most of your things paled in comparison to the lavish goods Jumin considered tawdry. Still there were a quite a few boxes you had decided to save, filled mostly with sentimental keepsakes and the few odds and ends that catered to your specific tastes. You were practically finished by noon save the three or four boxes that sat in the main room next to the larger than life bookshelves. Certainly there was plenty of room on them. You never where a fan of negative space on bookshelves but if you were being completely honest that had more to do with how many books you needed to fit in such a finite space. Jumins bookshelves had plenty of room with just enough negative space to look perfectly balanced and while you knew Jumin had told you to do whatever you wished this felt intimate. Bookshelves where holy spaces after all, housing books that change hearts and minds alike that shape the soul and … okay so maybe you just really liked books and that made them seem important to you either way this was definitely something you wanted to do with Jumin. When you heard the door rattle with Jumin homecoming you bolt towards it excited to greet him after work.

“Jumin! Welcome home!” you cried bouncing in place as he made his way inside. You smiled as you saw the creases in his brown flatten and the stress slip from shoulders when he saw you. You waited all of 5 seconds for him to close the door giving you both some privacy from the bodyguards stationed outside before you pounced, leaping upon the business man wrapping your arms around his neck. You delighted in the deep honey of his laughter as he caught your waist in kind and kissed the top of your head gently.

“darling. I’m so glad to be home. How was your day? did you get settled?” Jumin asked as you pulled yourself back slightly giving him room to loosen his tie and set aside his coat.

“everything is in its place except um Jumin there is one thing I need if you don’t mind”

“name it and its yours”

“I wanted to share your bookshelves and I was hoping that maybe you could organize the books with me?” you admitted shyly. It had seemed like such a good idea in the beginning he could show you his favorite books, walk you through his favorite plots and tell you his favorite quotes and you could do the same with him. Yet now as you presented the idea to him you worried. What if he was to tired he had worked all day after all, what if he thought you too needy, or your books to childish. what if he didn’t want your books displayed in the living room because they weren’t very pretty, all of his books where gorgeous leather bound tomes or mint condition hardcovers, yours where second hand at best many where decommissioned library books or garage sale rescues, broken in battered and bruised by years of use. It would make sense to have them put away in a back room where they couldn’t tarnish the pristine collection Jumin had on display. Perhaps you where spiraling, working yourself into a nervous frenzy in the span of a few seconds.

“nothing would make me happier love. We can call the chef to start dinner and begin emptying the shelves for rearranging while he works.” You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face or the giggle that escaped your lips. The surprise on Jumins face was evident if only for a second before it gave way to a warm sort of fondness. “had I known simple redecorating would make you this happy I would have stayed home and done it all with you” he said affectionately running his fingers through your hair.

“it’s not that I just,” you paused face flushing a bit “books are a big deal, ya know? My dad used to tell me that every book you read becomes a part of you and that you can learn more about someone by the books they love than by the words they say so I wanted to share that with you” jumins eyes where so soft and gentle in that moment you felt your breath hitch “I want to know everything about you and, and I want you to know everything about me” suddenly his lips where on yours fervent and full of passion the hand that had been in your hair now on your chin guiding you too him. The kiss was short and when you parted from him he stayed close, just a hairs breath from your face.

Jumin voice was little more than a whisper as he asked “how is it that every day I manage to fall more in love with you?” you couldn’t help but lean forward and kiss him again an all too familiar giddiness bubbling its way through your soul. You loved this man more than life itself and you knew that would never change.

 “so your ‘Encyclopedia of Fairies’ should go next to the Catherynne M Valente series so we can reference it while reading agreed?” you giggled thrilled that his collection of mythological reference books slotted together with your fae fiction so perfectly. Puzzle pieces connecting to create a masterpiece.

“yes I think that’s perfect. I can’t wait to read her interpretation of such ancient mythos. I also have ‘The World Guide to Gnomes, Fairies, Elves and Other Little People’ if you’d like to add it to that shelf” he said grinning like a child at show and tell.

“oh my goodness yes! That’s perfect and your book on Romanian vampires should be near my ‘Dracula’ and ‘vittorio’ that way that shelf over there can be dedicated to the occult, hauntings, and psychic reference books”

“that sound wonderful and takes care of all the written word but we still haven’t found a place for your comics” Jumin informed glancing toward the woefully large stack of manga you had brought.

“not comic Jumin manga and yeah I think we’re out of space though. I um I didn’t think I had that many books. Sorry” you admitted not meeting his eyes. He tilted your head up to look at him.

“there’s no need to apologize it simply means that tomorrow we can go shopping for another shelf and the next day we can organize those. I’m quite curious about ‘la petite cossette’ you said these where Japanese but that is most certainly a French title.”

“oh I actually think you’d like that one a lot it’s about a man who falls in love with a woman in a cursed portrait its actually pretty tragic in the end.”

“How interesting” he mused retrieving it from the pile of books and skimming through it “the art is truly enchanting and you said that manga has its own subculture?”

“yeah from neko girls to shonen action tropes it has its own vocabulary, history and groups of people its really fun”

“neko girls?” Jumin repeated and your eyes widened at his confusion. This was definitely something he of all people should know about! You jumped up and sprinted to the closet you had filled earlier that day with the few cosplay supplies you had. At the time it had taken nearly half your pay check but if Jumin liked them right now the purchase then would be completely justified. You put on your surprise as quickly as possible before rushing back out to greet Jumin who had just made it to the edge of the living room to come find where you had gone. He froze for a second processing what you were now wearing. White cat ears that moved and twitched fairly believably and just as he was able to cope with that your made paws with your hands and tried your best “nya”. For a moment you feared you may have broken him. He didn’t move his face blank, eyes fixed on you. You tried again hoping to spur some sort of reaction from him “nya?” you said turning to the side slightly to show off the other half of your surprise a white tail complete with pink bow and bell at the base where it attached to your skirt. You tilted your head to look up at him through your lashes trying every trick in your arsenal to look as cute as possible but nothing. He was completely frozen. “Jumin? Hello?” now you were getting worried “darling are you okay?” you asked placing the back of your hand on his forehead to feel for a temperature. The second your hand touched him however his face flushed.

“neko girl.” He muttered “that’s neko as in cat” you could see him trying to calm himself. Fiddling with his shirt sleeves and attempting to stay in control. You smiled standing on your tip toes to kiss his cheek and whisper in his ear.

“am I a good little kitten at least?”  you couldn’t contain your giggle as you heard him choke slightly before scooping you up bridal style.

“certainly not, in fact I think you’ve been a very bad little kitten.” He said his voice deeper than normal as he carried you back towards the bedroom.

[kuroo-shitsurou]

Auxilium (College!Xiao x College!Reader)

TW: mentions blood, depression, anxiety

note: it's my first time writing and posting something on tumblr so im sorry if it's bad!! reader is gn hehe.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick. Humans make decisions that eventually shape their personalities. What does a new year have anything to do with that? Does a change in the year automatically make you a good person? Does it make you less of an asshole than you might already be? He never really understood.

He found it rather silly, actually. Whenever a new year rolls around, Xiao would mutter silent curses to himself because he'd write the wrong year on his papers. Other than that, there wasn't any significant changes he made in his daily routine. He was still the same Xiao; The same anxious, mildly depressed, and coffee-high art major Xiao.

Now, Xiao was a respected figure in their college (or at least, that's what he was told). He was one of the most talented artists at Tokyo University, and professors have been eyeing him for a scholarship overseas (he, along with his brooding and mysterious senior, Diluc). His keen eye for details always produce great results as most of his portraits are featured in the university's gallery of students' greatest works. Not to mention, one of his larger canvas works were displayed at the Tokyo Museum, making him one of the youngest artists to have their art showcased there.

Admittedly, Xiao was aware of how people admired his talent. Unfortunately, due to a rough childhood where his parents barely showed him any love and affection, he had trouble reflecting his true emotions onto other people. That's why other art majors often labelled him as a self-absorbed, egotistical prick.

Xiao was the last person you'd want to compliment. It's not that he'd be a dick about it or that he'd scowl at you and act as if he was better than you in every way possible. It wasn't like that at all. It's simply because Xiao doesn't know how to handle compliments. He'll still keep his stoic face, lips pressed in a straight line, but deep inside, he'd be flustered to bits. He'd try to internalize his reply, stitching together the right words to express his gratitude, but it would always take him a few minutes. The person who complimented him would've already left after he finally constructed the sentence in his head. Not that he wasn't used to it

This led to Xiao earning his current reputation, as stated earlier. He was already expecting the rest of his college years to be spent alone in his studio, working on his artworks during the wee hours of the night, high on the fumes of his paint palette and his exhausted coffee machine.

Until you came.

Kaoru was... eccentric. You were loud, you were moody. He felt like you'd be the type of person he'd hate dealing with just because you was unpredictable. You were like the rain, and Xiao hated the rain.

He must have an Archon's cursed tongue, because he got paired up with you during the first semester of their second year in college. You were a familiar name to him, as you were in the same course since the first year, but he barely knew anything about you since you were in different classes.

"Hey, Xiao! I'm _____. I hope we can be good friends by the end of the semester!" His memory of your bright smile still remains vivid in his head. He wasn't really a brooding type like Diluc, but Xiao liked to believed that he presented himself as a silent person who had no intentions of interacting with other people. So, how were you so bubbly around him? Because she was forced to do so? You were to be his partner for the whole semester, after all. Maybe it was all formalities. Yeah, that's probably it.

"Hm." Xiao gave a nod in her direction, acknowledging your existence. you heard from your friends that the young artist didn't have a pleasing personality, but you weren't expecting to be shutdown from the get-go.

"Mind if I sit beside you?"

Again, a light nod.

You felt the awkward tension between you and Xiao, and you hated it. You were a person who hated it when people are uncomfortable in your presence. You didn't want to be a bother, and you did your best to make everyone like you. Not that you were a people pleaser, nor an attention hog, but you just wanted to get along with everyone.

The lecture was going to begin in twenty minutes, so the lecture hall was yet to be filled with people. You took the opportunity to strike up a conversation with the amber eyed man beside you, who was typing away on his laptop. Something about color theory and how it affects the perspective of people on different art types? You couldn't really see that well. He was a fast typer.

"So, Xiao, I heard that your painting was displayed in the Tokyo Museum last year. It must have been an honor. I was at the unveiling last year and I saw it up-close." You started off, testing the waters.

"And what did you think of it?" Xiao cringed internally. He meant to genuinely ask for your feedback regarding his art, but it sounded so harsh that he wanted to punch himself when he saw you wince (or maybe you shuddered because it was cold and you were wearing a sleeveless top? His nerves were getting the better of him at this point).

"Well, a lot of my friends told me that it wasn't anything special,"

Ouch.

"It was a large canvas. I can still remember how it looks. But, maybe that's because I'm at the museum every two weeks," You laughed. You noticed how Xiao's breathing noticeably changed after you started your sentence, and you have to admit that it sounded a bit too mean.

"You know, Xiao. My friends told me that your art was simple. Anyone could have done it. But honestly, they couldn't be more wrong. I love how your piece was painted. Auxilium. I'll never forget what you called it. That's... Help, right?"

At first, Xiao didn't want to listen to this person ramble about an art piece he made during one of the lowest points of his life.

His anti-depressants had run out during that one Christmas. It was 2:47 in the morning. He had morning classes the following day. He had a project to submit, but he was unable to continue working because of the unbearable pain in his chest. His head was throbbing. Voices were invading his mind. Flashbacks of his parents' negligence taunted him. He rushed to grab a glass of water, chugging it down in almost three chugs. He slammed the glass back onto the counter, smashing it into tiny little splinters and cutting himself in the process. His hand was bleeding, there were bits of glass on his counter and on his floor, but he couldn't care less. He was heaving, his breathing was unsteady, he wanted to die right then and there. His vision became blurry, but he rushed back to his studio.

With a bleeding hand, he picked up his brush and began to tear into his canvas. Not literally, but he started to create strokes onto the blank canvas. Different colors, different textures (he swore some of his blood got blended in with the area where he painted the sunrise, but it's fine. No one was going to notice, right?). He screamed and cried, wanting to throw the entire easel out his window.

It was Christmas. He was alone in his apartment. His anti-depressants ran out. He was having a panic attack.

That night led him to having one of the worst breakdowns he could remember, but he also ended up with a gorgeous painting that nabbed him a place in the Tokyo Museum.

"Help," Your voice echoed in his ears, snapping him out of his trance.

"People can tell me that it's nothing more than a simple painting, but the way that the sunrise was only showing in a segmented part of the canvas? The way that there were hints of red? It kind of reminded me how a new day can resemble hope but still contain hurt. Like, the promise of a fresh start isn't guaranteed a good one, right?"

Your words rang in his ears like a gong being hit continuously. He wanted to cry. People always complimented him and congratulated him about being recognized by art critics and national museums, but none of them ever really stopped to talk to him about his art. They were there for his recognition- not his work.

"I mean, you could begin with a fresh start, but wouldn't the remnants of yesterday still take a toll on your tomorrow?"

"Hm. Interesting take. To be honest, those specks could have been my blood." Xiao spoke up, to your surprise. A small smile formed on your face. Maybe this guy wasn't so bad after all.

"My hand was cut up when I was painting that," He added quietly, not mentioning why his hand was in that state. "I think I accidentally added too much concentrated red. I couldn't blend it out the way I originally planned."

"Oh? But that makes it all the more great, though!" You beamed, "Maybe it was an Archon guiding you? I don't really believe in that stuff, but acknowledging some divine intervention once in a while can't be all bad, no?" You laughed.

"I guess you're right." For the first time in a while, Xiao actually gave someone else a small smile. It wasn't really a smile per se, but his lips curved even the slightest bit upward, and you decided that it was a win for you.

-

Fast forward to the second semester of their third year.

Late February was never a good time for Xiao.

It was the second month of the year; People were starting to adjust and adapt to the ever-changing and progressing timeline. Although, he never really understood the concept of the "New year, new me!" shtick.

It had been years since he was clinically-diagnosed with mild depression. So, why was he still that way? Shouldn't new years help him be a better person? Or something like that. Why was he still like this?

Late February meant the end of one semester, and the start of another.

What else did that mean?

His semestral feedback report (he refused to call it a report card. What was he, high school?).

"Xiao? Are you here? I bought almond tofu from Xiangling's place. Sorry for barging in, you weren't answering my calls." He heard your voice from the kitchen and he glanced at the clock on his studio's wall.

1:37 AM.

You were at Xiangling's place because you were working on a report about the history of acrylic paints or whatever it was. You were supposed to go home, but you still dropped by his apartment. He checked his phone.

[ 14 missed calls. ]

Yikes.

"I'm here." He answered meekly, but loud enough for you to hear. He felt tired. Defeated, maybe. He was blankly staring at the canvas in front of him. He has sketched the base of your face and upper body. He was planning on painting a portrait of his beloved to decorate his room with, but he couldn't find the energy to continue.

He could hear the soft "thud"s of your feet walking from the kitchen towards the studio, but he tuned it out with an annoying static he could only hear in his head.

Fuck. Where are they?

He rushed to the drawer next to his easels and rummaged around in a panic.

Where the fuck are they?

He kept a few anti-depressants in his studio because he spends most of his time here and he didn't have time to rush to the kitchen to get them if he ever got a panic attack.

"Fuck!" He cursed loudly, throwing the contents of his desk onto the floor. Some of his paintbrushes scattered on the wooden floor of his studio, marking the wood various colors. Maybe they're going to stain, but he didn't really care.

Xiao heard the footsteps retreating until he couldn't hear anything else except the constant ringing in his ears. It was annoying. It was loud. It started to make him want to split his head open.

"_____," He whispered, feeling his chest hurt and his throat tighten. The passageways helping him breathe seemed to close themselves, giving him a hard time and mocking him. It was coming back again.

Tears started to flood his vision, and they rolled down his red cheeks. He took the ponytail out of his hair and used two hands to tug at his locks starting from the roots. His breathing patterns became more erratic, but he tried his best to stay calm.

His knees and legs felt like jelly. He had to lean against the desk to avoid from toppling over.

Why? Why again? Why now? Why when you were here?

He screamed. It was loud enough for the neighbors to hear, but his care for any external entities was out the window the moment his eyes became blurry with tears.

Even though he was leaning against the desk, his legs still couldn't hold the weight of his entire body. His knees dropped to the floor, and he swore he must've dented the wood below, but he paid no mind to it. His knees were also aching, but he could deal with that later. He bent down and pressed his forehead to the floor.

"_____," He whispered again, longing for his partner. "Auxilium."

"Xiao?" The voice was muffled. His eyes were glued to the floor in front of him, but he knew it was you.

"Xiao, stay with me, honey." There was a hint of panic evident in your voice, but he was glad that you didn't let that get the best of you. You was still somewhat calm.

You kneeled down beside him, helping him back to an upright position.

"Honey, you left these on the counter outside." You handed him two tablets of his anti-depressants, and he gladly placed them in his mouth. You also gave him a glass of water, and he downed it in two swift gulps. Afraid that he might underestimate his strength, he returned the glass back to you instead of setting it down himself, nodding at you in the process.

You got into a more comfortable position where you rested your back against the wall, and you guided Xiao to follow you. It was a difficult task; He was very sensitive during his panic attacks.

His semestral feedback reports always made him anxious. He didn't have to please his parents anymore since he moved out years ago, but Xiao had this nagging feeling inside of him to do better with his academics. Nobody was really pressuring him to be a straight-A student, but did he feel like he needed to be? Who was he trying to prove himself to anyway? You knew about his sever panic attacks and how they were more active if he had a big event coming up. The first time you had to deal with it, you were still stiff and trying to learn how you could help. Now, you takes pride in yourself for being able to handle him in the ways you know would help him the most.

"Here you go, I've got you." You cooed, assisting him with moving. You laid his head flat on her lap and she began stroking his beautiful, tousled forest green locks. The highlights he had under the first layer of his hair started to fade, and you made a mental note to take him to a salon so they could get their highlights redone.

"You know, I've been listening to a lot of Coldplay lately," You started speaking, as if Xiao wasn't about to have a full-on panic attack. "Yellow would have to be one of my favorite songs. I guess it's kinda cheesy, but can you blame me?"

You used your free hand to wipe the tears from his cheeks.

"Look at the stars, look how they shine for you." You began singing, voice just above a whisper.

"And everything you do. Yeah, they were all yellow."

Xiao was a reserved person who had a hard time dealing with other people because of his inferiority complex that sprouted when he was young.

"I came along, I wrote a song for you."

He didn't have love and affection growing up. He didn't know how to be the best person to talk to. He had poor communication skills. He was a mess, to be honest.

"And all the things you do. And it was called yellow."

You were the first person who looked past his rough and tough exterior. You were the person who showed interest not just in his name- but in him as a whole.

"So when I took my turn, what a thing to've done."

"Thank you," He murmured silently, noticing that the ringing in his ears vanished. His throat was beginning to open again, and he could finally feel the steady heartbeat he had in his chest.

"And it was all yellow."

Xiao curled himself into a ball, burying his face in your clothed stomach. You smelled a bit like smoke (maybe you ate yakiniku at Xiangling's?) and your faded cologne. It smelled like home. It washed a sense of relief over his entire being. He felt safe. He felt secure. He was being held like a child, but he didn't really mind. Maybe he needed this.

"Your skin. Oh yeah, your skin and bones,"

You craned your neck downwards to look at Xiao's figure. He finally looked peaceful. You knew about his rough past. You knew about the trauma he had to go through, but you chose to look past it because you knew that he was just afraid and... alone. He needed someone to be there for him, and you would rather the world die than leave him alone ever again.

"Turn into something beautiful."

You noticed how his chest started a rhythmic pattern of ups and downs. His breathing was finally steady. He looked at peace. He looked like he was right at home.

"Do you know? You know I love you so."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched him sleep in your lap. How could anyone think that this softie was an asshole?

"You know I love you so."

You barely whispered the last part of the song, but it was loud enough for his heart to hear it. Xiao hated when things were unpredictable; that's why he hated the rain. But now, maybe the idea of rain wasn't so bad. Especially since you were his rain.

"I love you, Xiao."

At that moment, you knew that the involuntary smile on Xiao's face was a response that contained more emotions than his words could ever bear.

"I love you too."

[cherrynojutsu]

Title: Like Silver

Summary: A companion series for Like Gold.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out. And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief. A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

Blank period, canon-compliant, Sakura-centric, some expanded plot points from Like Gold, fluff and pining, eventually becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 2/?: A Poetic Sort of Procrastination, Indeed

Sakura saunters home late in the evening, admiring the stars above her in a daze of spring air and clutching her tote bag to her shoulder as if her very life force is tethered to it.

In the flurry of emotion, she completely forgot about returning her library books, but she doesn’t give a damn.

She drudged through her entire pile of paperwork, though it was an almighty effort requiring every ounce of her discipline. Even after Sasuke left, she kept tearing up and just gawking at the impossibly beautiful gift he’s given her, affection requited bubbling up inside her ribcage and unleashed into the air she breathes like some sort of ambrosial perfume she can finally afford to bask in. She has always known there is a softer side to him, that there is much more beneath the surface than he lets on with his laconic demeanor, but this is something else.

It’s challenging to finish up discharge summaries and operative reports when one’s vision keeps blurring, as it turns out.

And when one keeps pressing fingers to their lips in disbelief.

A poetic sort of procrastination, indeed.

She hangs her tote on its entryway hook and carefully removes the box inside once she reaches her apartment. After she’s padded her way to her bedroom, she flips on the two lamps before placing it tenderly on her bed.

Sakura briefly contemplates taking the lid off then and there, but she knows she really should shower first, because otherwise the evening is going to quickly spiral away from her, whirlpool of tender feelings that it already is.

It’s the quickest shower she’s ever taken in her life; berry-scented soap floods her body and seems to take forever to rinse clean in her haste, although it can’t actually be more than a minute or two in reality. It’s also the quickest she’s ever toweled off and changed into pajamas, scurrying back to her room and grabbing the first pair she lays eyes on from her dresser drawer.

Once she has shimmied them on, she opens the box again, and just looks.

It still exists - it doesn’t disappear or dissolve as a figment of her imagination - so she picks it up with careful hands.

It is so, so pretty, exquisite in a way that makes her heart hammer relentlessly against her sternum, a catharsis in her chest sweeter somehow than anything she’s ever experienced.

It’s unavoidable; her eyes well with tears again, because he said he had it made for her. Not found in an antique shop off the beaten path or some happenstance market who knows how many miles away. Not just something that reminded him of her.

Made for me.

Which means he thought of this himself. Silk that shifts colors like the Uchiha crest, fastidiously stitched petals, and a cherry blossom tree, carved light wood that is startlingly similar in tone to the accents here in her bedroom.

And the way he looked at her, after, a storm of silver and obsidian that took her breath away.

And he kissed her.

Sakura doesn’t know how she’s supposed to fall asleep tonight, deliriously happy as she is, or how she’s going to spend any of her free time from here on out not staring at this supernal treasure. She strokes the wood with careful fingers, bringing the carving upwards for closer inspection. Every inch of it is gorgeous; she is especially enamored with the pink and pearlescent stitching, coruscant in the low light. She assiduously counts the slivers of bamboo, too, and follows the rivulets of fine branches stretching upwards to the boundaries of the framework. Upon her inquest, she notices an impossibly tiny etching, faintly whittled on the interior of one of the slats of bamboo. Tai Ro, it says; she assumes that must be the craftsman’s signature. She wonders where it came from, which far-off land Sasuke traveled through to commission something so resplendent.

She has never seen anything so bewitching, except maybe silver flecks.

Tearing her gaze away from the fan, Sakura eyes the vanity by her balcony door, an idea brewing.

It’s an aged piece, of a bygone style featuring small drawers on each size and a sunken point in the middle, from which rises a large circular mirror. A framed copy of their original Team Seven portrait sits pushed against the framing, right in the center. She placed it there because she enjoys seeing it as she gets ready for the day. It’s a good memory, one of her favorites, sentimental in a way that makes her heart swell, after everything. A pale wooden hairbrush also sits perched atop its surface, given to her by her mother forever ago while she was still at the Academy.

“I found it in the market today, just after swinging by to pick up rose food from Ino’s mother. It’s old, an antique, but I think it suits you, my dear,” she’d said, ruffling her hair, still long at that point and chattering a mile a minute in the overbearing way she has always tended to. She’d brushed her already combed locks in the manner that Sakura thinks all mothers must with their daughters, even when they are starting to become too grown for that sort of thing. “What I wouldn’t give for your hair! So unique; you should have something lovely to brush it with. You’re already such a pretty girl, but someday you’re going to bloom, and when you do, heaven help the boys.”

There’s a cherry blossom on it, too, adorning the back simply with five perfect petals.

When Sakura moved out of her parents’ house, she chose the tones of her bedroom accents, inclusive of the frame, with it in mind; she’d been using it for years by then, and had developed a fondness for pale wood rooted in familial nostalgia. Most of her actual furniture in the room is secondhand, of an older variety and painted with a white stain to make them somewhat match - she prefers things with a little bit of history, has since her mom gifted her that hairbrush - but the few frames and wall-mounted shelves are lighter washes of wood.

Many of the surfaces in her apartment are cluttered with books and other knick knacks she has accumulated through the years, but she tries to keep the vanity’s top clear, almost like an altar, an ode to the things she finds lovely atop it to give her hope with which to greet the day.

Still clutching the gift tenderly in her hands, Sakura ventures over to it.

She holds the fan close to the frame as well as the brush, comparing the color, near an exact match, a fresh memory making her heart swell in a completely different way, a way she had previously thought was maybe unrealistic.

She’ll get a stand for it, she decides, and display it in the spot the frame currently sits; it would look perfect there, the curvature echoed above it in circular looking glass, a hairbrush of a similar stain beside it. Then she’ll be able to gaze at it every morning and evening. There is no way something this precious to her could ever be stored away in a box and only seen on special occasions; it’s the same reason she struggled with the idea of hiding his letters away in one.

No, Sakura is resolutely sure that admiring it will be a daily ritual.

She can relocate the photo frame to her bedside table, maybe, next to An Introduction to Electrocardiography , or perhaps to her living room, though it doesn’t really match the wood out there.

That gets her thinking. We’re... together now, right? He’s kissed her, and she really hopes he will again, surprisingly soft lips against hers, an aroma of woodsmoke, and butterflies unleashed in her stomach. Maybe she should put the frame on the shelf in the main room. He might come over, sometime; it would be good to have it visible, situated in a place where he can see it.

With the utmost care, she lays the fan on the surface in front of her. Sakura combs through wet locks, coaxing out tangles with an old gift and appreciating a new one with watery eyes. When she’s finished, she carefully clutches it again and admires it atop a lavender comforter for the better part of an hour, alternating between mentally mapping its fine stitching within the confines of her hippocampus and paging through her book of Sasuke’s letters in a way that is more than fond, affection freed from her chest after so very long. The jubilance crests to a sense of omneity as she does so, moon glow filtering in by way of the gauzy white curtains that shield the balcony’s glass door.

She absolutely can’t wait to see him tomorrow. She sincerely hopes she’s not dreaming all of this.

She is so enamored with it that she doesn’t even drink her customary evening tea, her being warmed in an entirely different manner she is as of yet unaccustomed to, better than earl grey or some variety of dessert. It’s immensely difficult to pry it from her own hands when the time comes to do so.

Always is the last word she thinks of before she succumbs to slumber, curled up in soft colors and hoping he has found somewhere comfortable to sleep. Treasured memories emanate from objects old and new, brewing together before a looking glass where she’s placed them for safekeeping and admiration.

XXX

When she awakens in the morning, Sakura jerks upright in bed, turning to her vanity to ascertain if it was all a dream, cozened in by her subconscious as she slept.

It wasn’t. The fan is still there, precious and so enchantingly beautiful, dawn flavoring the memory of Sasuke’s return just as sweet as it had tasted yesterday with his lips on hers.

She brushes her hair again, working at the task way longer than necessary and trying not to cry out of sheer happiness. She feels so light, as if being pulled upwards by a latterly existent force of gravity, theoretically possible in terms of relative physics and with the right circumstances, but never actually experienced.

Birds are singing on the balcony when Sakura finally steps outside, snacking on seeds from her bird feeder as she gives her fledgling plants a drink before leaving for work.

It is such a lovely morning.

XXX

Sakura makes it through work as if encapsulated in a brand of inertial navigation system, floating as if she’s a bizarrely sentient cloud from patients to test tubes. She feeds the mice and records the brief observations she usually does on Wednesdays, and then a Genin is being brought in with a linear fracture in their tibia, twisted wrong and impacted during training. She gives instructions to nurses, too, taking care of smaller tasks in between, part of her feeling like she is barely there.

Well, not barely. She still keeps her wits about her and heals people; she takes pride in what she does. She just… daydreams a little, too, sage, smoke, and silver occupying her spare moments, flitting in between the corridors of her head as she flits from exam room to exam room.

She’s sitting at her desk, eating an early dinner and working on a new pile of paperwork before her next appointment arrives at five thirty, when one of Naruto’s clones bangs on her window.

Her gaze shifts to the glass at the familiar boisterous whining of her name - “Sakura-chaaaaaaan!” - and she rises to open it the rest of the way, allowing him entry into her office, an easy grin coming to her lips.

“Naruto!” A million thoughts run through her head. He has to know Sasuke’s back at this point, right? Has he seen him? He must be so happy.

Cyan bores into her, and he grins as he steps down. “Sakura-chan, teme’s back! Can you believe it? Though I guess you knew since yesterday.”

Sakura’s cheeks warm at the implication of that, wondering how he knows this information, but her friend is plowing onwards.

“Anyways, wanna have an original Team Seven reunion dinner on Saturday night? Or maybe Sunday night? Kakashi-sensei said Saturday would be better for him, if it works for you. And we should also make it a housewarming party for teme, but Kakashi-sensei says DON’T tell him that, or he won’t agree! It’s a surprise.”

Laughter erupts from her chest, rich and joyful, because it is crystal clear in that moment that Naruto is as elated at Sasuke’s return as she is - okay, maybe not quite on the level that she is, but close - even through a clone. “Of course, we should! I don’t have anything planned for Saturday night.”

Her teammate grins, all infectious happiness in the way that is so utterly characteristic of him, eyes crinkling at their corners. “Good, great, awesome! Be sure to mention it to him when you see him at seven. I’m sure if you suggest it, he’ll definitely agree.” Sakura blinks in surprise, cheeks staining darker. “Man, this is gonna be so great! Team Seven is fucking back ! I can’t wait to get a mission! It’ll be just like old times. I gotta tell Hinata-chan, too!”

She can’t help it; she smiles so wide that it hurts her face, tears paying her another visit. Sasuke’s back. He’s really back. And-

“Well, anyways, I’ll leave you to eat your dinner, Sakura-chan, but we have to force him to be social. I can’t wait to spar! But also, we gotta have a picnic, and no tying me to the pole this time. We could even challenge Kakashi-sensei to get off his ass and give us another go at the bell test. And, and! We should have a movie night. And go drinking! I’ve never seen teme drunk. I bet he’s a lightweight, and he’ll probably say all sorts of embarrassing shit! And-” Naruto’s clone’s expression turns unexpectedly serious, blue eyes suddenly narrowing in a way that is all-seeing and a tan finger suddenly pointing at her accusingly.

“-I mean social outside of you and him, Sakura-chan! Don’t think for a second that you’re gonna escape my questions later, when my brain isn’t fried from staring at that stupid scroll Kakashi-sensei has me slaving over. I want answers. ”

And then Naruto’s clone disappears in a puff of smoke, leaving her blinking in a strange combination of bewilderment and somehow, shyness, too.

And ebullience. Mostly ebullience.

She stands there grinning like an idiot for a long time. She can’t wait to see him at seven.