i feel like im 12 for drawing this but i dont have time to draw the Real Fanart i gotta work on commissions. after tho, no one will be able to stop me from indulging. this is the only fandom that i know my ex doesnt have their hands in i need this
A simple wave of her hand felt as meticulous as a single brush stroke on a large canvas. I found my nose embedded in a bouquet of roses. White and flawless as the radiance of her own skin. My gaze lingered to the flowers, realizing they were fake. Paper petals twisted together in a spiral to make something complex and as intricate as a rosebud. Scentless with no texture but carefully crafted and complex in it’s simplicity. My violet pools slowly gazed to her eyes. Her sunset irises scrutinized my own. Her eyes held the intensity of a thousand flames devoid of emotion. Watching and waiting. The glow of her pale skin matched the bouquet perfectly, giving the illusion she was made of paper herself. This made the piercing stud and eye makeup stand out against her fair features. Eye shadow to match her azure hair giving her the appearance of a otherworldly being.
My rugged hands brushed against her delicate ones as I accepted her gift. Fair radiant skin, Chill to the touch with an expression to match. How could one offer a gift, much less a bouquet with such an expression?
“I got admirers in the Akatsuki already?”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
My voice poured out my throat like a warm enveloping honey, hers like the stinging of bees. A deep stinging tone. Implying her dominance and power over the likes of someone like me.
“So you came to make fun of me?”
An eyebrow raised.
“…What do you want huh?”
Her soft lips parted. Gazing at me with her intense eyes.
“Welcome to the Akatsuki, Hidan.”
Before I could find the words, the woman scattered into paper butterflies. Fluttering away as if she was a ghost that was never there to begin with. I examined the roses she left me. Each fold was so complex and yet….. My fingers began to delicately fold open one of her roses. When you take that complicity away, every single movement of the past becomes clear. How a paper was made to form a rose.
Every word she said held importance, every action was no accident. She was a painting. A beautiful painting in motion. Every single stroke seems inconsequential, but stepping back, reveals a larger picture. Much like her origami. When I see a beautiful painting like that, I just can’t help but think….
A wrinkled and creased piece of paper unfurled in my hands.
you really can’t trust Straights with knowing your sexuality cause the moment you mention you’re gay or bi or pan fucking Heterosexual Jimothy is interrogating you about your entire sexual history like he’s digging for wank bank fodder