I am clearly insane.
Once upon a time, NeNe used to be a huge Narutard. Then NeNe got tired of waiting for fillers to end, so much that when Shippuden finally released, she couldn't be half arsed to watch it because her fervor had passed and she had moved onto other (equally yaoi-tastic) things. Also, somewhere in the process, school got in the way. Attaining a higher education is srs bzness, gaiz.
Finally, in March of 2011, four years after she originally stopped watching, NeNe finally picked up the gazillion downloaded episodes of Shippuden she had stored on her external hard drive. Cause she needed something to occupy herself while jogging on the elliptical for 1hr 3x a week and now has a fancy schmancy Droid X that acts like a portable TV. And why the hell not?
Big mistake. For now NeNe is once again a ridiculous Narutard, which may be doubly embarrassing since she's almost 23 now. And if possible, her brain has atrophied even more in the interim, leading to even greater levels of crack. It's like, super crack nao. Beware. You have been warned. There is no saving you now.
Cause I've written SasuKishi. Yes. Sasuke x Kishimoto. There is no redemption now that I've slashed the creator of the series with his own character.
But seriously, this pairing is so canon. Kishimoto is totes obv in love with Sasughey. Making his clothes progressively gayer show more skin, making him basically the main character of half of Shippuden, the infamous chapter 347... IZ TRUFAX, Y/Y?
I wrote this three days ago after a crazy conversation with morbidreamscape. Blame her for inspiring me to new crazy levels of pure wtfcrack for this atrocity.
Kishimoto Masashi is a rather unassuming man, in all honesty. He looks just like every other middle-aged Japanese man and that is expected. He doesn’t stand out and in a crowd you’d never be able to pick him out. In fact, if you’ve never seen his face before, you’d never expect him to be the creator of the hit manga, Naruto. Something about him just doesn’t say ninjas and epic battles, but more along the lines of stuck-in-a-rut salaryman. Though, as his brother fondly jokes with him, that haircut of his does him no favors.
And you’d never expect him to have the sort of imagination that he does. Sure, he has to be inventive in his field-you’ll be crushed alive in the manga business if you lose that drive-but he doesn’t show the world all his thoughts. He publishes what he knows will market: what will keep the readers hooked, even as he struggles through months of writer’s block and churns out arc after arc of fillers. He’s got that talent down pat.
But there are things Kishimoto imagines that no one must ever know.
Sometimes, when Kishimoto is alone in his studio, with nothing but the light of the desk lamp to break the darkness, he daydreams. Amidst piles of half-sketched scenes and line figures, wrinkled pages full of graphite smudges, he’ll close his eyes and place his pencil to paper. He’ll draw with eyes shut, but vision clearer than ever thought possible. His hand will effortlessly translate the image behind his lids in perfect detail; not a single line is out of place, not a single shadow missing. He’s drawn these shapes over and over again, so much they’ve almost become an extension of him. He never thinks about any of it-the lines have a will of their own, and slowly, the all-too-familiar figure comes to life on the paper.
When he opens his eyes and looks down, he is staring at the visage of a boy: inky black hair on alabaster skin, the curve of his shoulder muscles a teaser underneath the falling edge of that simple white yukata. So many times he has stared into those intense eyes, losing himself in graphite pupils.
Kishimoto is still drawing when the hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder, fingers curling over to stroke underneath the collar of his loose t-shirt.
Loving detail is added to Sasuke’s body. Shadows around his neck to bring prominence to his jaw. The knot of the obi grazing just over the belly button line, shadows hinting at the definition in his abdomen. The furrow to his brow, a small bend that lends depth, story to his face.
The scritch scritch of Kishimoto’s pencil continues in the silence, punctuated only by the heavy breaths escaping from his suddenly dry mouth.
Lips touch gently to his ear, the hand creeping further into his shirt to stroke at the thin skin over his palpitating heart. Kishimoto thickly colors in a deep shadow as hot breath gusts across the hairs by his neck.
“Mm… I love it when you draw me.”
Kishimoto almost drops his pencil when Sasuke brushes his fingers over his forearm, stroking the fine hairs above his wrist. He stops, dumbfounded and breathing shallowly, as Sasuke presses up against him, the knot of his obi digging into his lower back.
“Don’t stop,” the boy orders in his deep voice, chin digging into his shoulder as he stares down at his own image. He smells of musk and grass and his bangs prickle Kishimoto’s cheek. His grip is firm on his creator’s arm, guiding his hand back towards the drawing.
With a small groan, Kishimoto presses the pencil tip to paper again, continuing the build the figure. Imaginary wind blows Paper Sasuke’s bangs across his forehead while real clothes rustle as Sasuke’s hands find the waistband of his jeans and tug impatiently. Sweat begins to bead across his forehead, and his fingers smudge across the background as he presses them into the paper, trying to ground himself using the two-dimensional cliffside.
Sasuke chuckles lowly against his neck. He is so hard, it’s painful.
He’s shading in the final folds of the dark hakama when Sasuke finally pops the button, the zipper giving way quickly. His fist clutches reflexively around the pencil, his whole body hunching when those calloused palms wrap around his length. His non-drawing hand slams against the table, shaking the light and casting awkward shadows over their taut bodies.
“Drawing me feels good, doesn’t it?” Sasuke growls in his ear, fingers working swiftly over the head of his member and conveniently ignoring the fact that Kishimoto has all but ruined his paper incarnation by dragging the pencil heavily across half the page. Kishimoto can only nod mutely before his body spasms once, twice, and he spends himself all over Sasuke’s armguards in embarrassingly short time.
When Kishimoto opens his eyes again, he is alone at his workspace with nothing but a toppled desk lamp and damp jeans. The smudged and ruined picture of Sasuke has been flung to the far edge of his desk, but his sharingan eyes still stare piercingly back at him. He stares for a long time at the ruined sketch and swears he sees a smirk appear on Sasuke’s face.
He strokes his fingers lovingly down Sasuke’s side one last time, tracing the line from shoulder to hip before he stands up to go clean himself. Unconsciously, he glances behind him hoping, maybe just this once, those strong arms will reach out to embrace him again. But he knows everything has only been a figment of his imagination-that Sasuke only exists inside his mind.
Kishimoto sighs as he flips the switch on his lamp. He definitely can’t put that in the manga, despite it being an almost permanent fixture in his daily thoughts.
Or… can he?
A sudden burst of genius appears. A blush spreads slowly across his cheeks as he giggles quietly to himself, lost in the planning stages of this elaborate fanservice. Guess it’s a good time as any to introduce a new character, he muses.
For the fifth time that day, Kishimoto wishes he didn’t have such an excellent imagination.
Yeah, that was Kishi planning chapter 347 at the end. SAI IS KISHIMOTO'S GARY STU, IZ TRUFAX.
IF YOU REQUIRE BRAIN BLEACH, YOU CAN PURCHASE IT HERE FOR THE LOW PRICE OF FOUR INSTALLMENTS OF $5.99! (+ shipping & handling)
8D LULZZ.
Finally, in March of 2011, four years after she originally stopped watching, NeNe finally picked up the gazillion downloaded episodes of Shippuden she had stored on her external hard drive. Cause she needed something to occupy herself while jogging on the elliptical for 1hr 3x a week and now has a fancy schmancy Droid X that acts like a portable TV. And why the hell not?
Big mistake. For now NeNe is once again a ridiculous Narutard, which may be doubly embarrassing since she's almost 23 now. And if possible, her brain has atrophied even more in the interim, leading to even greater levels of crack. It's like, super crack nao. Beware. You have been warned. There is no saving you now.
Cause I've written SasuKishi. Yes. Sasuke x Kishimoto. There is no redemption now that I've slashed the creator of the series with his own character.
But seriously, this pairing is so canon. Kishimoto is totes obv in love with Sasughey. Making his clothes progressively gayer show more skin, making him basically the main character of half of Shippuden, the infamous chapter 347... IZ TRUFAX, Y/Y?
I wrote this three days ago after a crazy conversation with morbidreamscape. Blame her for inspiring me to new crazy levels of pure wtfcrack for this atrocity.
Kishimoto Masashi is a rather unassuming man, in all honesty. He looks just like every other middle-aged Japanese man and that is expected. He doesn’t stand out and in a crowd you’d never be able to pick him out. In fact, if you’ve never seen his face before, you’d never expect him to be the creator of the hit manga, Naruto. Something about him just doesn’t say ninjas and epic battles, but more along the lines of stuck-in-a-rut salaryman. Though, as his brother fondly jokes with him, that haircut of his does him no favors.
And you’d never expect him to have the sort of imagination that he does. Sure, he has to be inventive in his field-you’ll be crushed alive in the manga business if you lose that drive-but he doesn’t show the world all his thoughts. He publishes what he knows will market: what will keep the readers hooked, even as he struggles through months of writer’s block and churns out arc after arc of fillers. He’s got that talent down pat.
But there are things Kishimoto imagines that no one must ever know.
Sometimes, when Kishimoto is alone in his studio, with nothing but the light of the desk lamp to break the darkness, he daydreams. Amidst piles of half-sketched scenes and line figures, wrinkled pages full of graphite smudges, he’ll close his eyes and place his pencil to paper. He’ll draw with eyes shut, but vision clearer than ever thought possible. His hand will effortlessly translate the image behind his lids in perfect detail; not a single line is out of place, not a single shadow missing. He’s drawn these shapes over and over again, so much they’ve almost become an extension of him. He never thinks about any of it-the lines have a will of their own, and slowly, the all-too-familiar figure comes to life on the paper.
When he opens his eyes and looks down, he is staring at the visage of a boy: inky black hair on alabaster skin, the curve of his shoulder muscles a teaser underneath the falling edge of that simple white yukata. So many times he has stared into those intense eyes, losing himself in graphite pupils.
Kishimoto is still drawing when the hand comes to rest gently on his shoulder, fingers curling over to stroke underneath the collar of his loose t-shirt.
Loving detail is added to Sasuke’s body. Shadows around his neck to bring prominence to his jaw. The knot of the obi grazing just over the belly button line, shadows hinting at the definition in his abdomen. The furrow to his brow, a small bend that lends depth, story to his face.
The scritch scritch of Kishimoto’s pencil continues in the silence, punctuated only by the heavy breaths escaping from his suddenly dry mouth.
Lips touch gently to his ear, the hand creeping further into his shirt to stroke at the thin skin over his palpitating heart. Kishimoto thickly colors in a deep shadow as hot breath gusts across the hairs by his neck.
“Mm… I love it when you draw me.”
Kishimoto almost drops his pencil when Sasuke brushes his fingers over his forearm, stroking the fine hairs above his wrist. He stops, dumbfounded and breathing shallowly, as Sasuke presses up against him, the knot of his obi digging into his lower back.
“Don’t stop,” the boy orders in his deep voice, chin digging into his shoulder as he stares down at his own image. He smells of musk and grass and his bangs prickle Kishimoto’s cheek. His grip is firm on his creator’s arm, guiding his hand back towards the drawing.
With a small groan, Kishimoto presses the pencil tip to paper again, continuing the build the figure. Imaginary wind blows Paper Sasuke’s bangs across his forehead while real clothes rustle as Sasuke’s hands find the waistband of his jeans and tug impatiently. Sweat begins to bead across his forehead, and his fingers smudge across the background as he presses them into the paper, trying to ground himself using the two-dimensional cliffside.
Sasuke chuckles lowly against his neck. He is so hard, it’s painful.
He’s shading in the final folds of the dark hakama when Sasuke finally pops the button, the zipper giving way quickly. His fist clutches reflexively around the pencil, his whole body hunching when those calloused palms wrap around his length. His non-drawing hand slams against the table, shaking the light and casting awkward shadows over their taut bodies.
“Drawing me feels good, doesn’t it?” Sasuke growls in his ear, fingers working swiftly over the head of his member and conveniently ignoring the fact that Kishimoto has all but ruined his paper incarnation by dragging the pencil heavily across half the page. Kishimoto can only nod mutely before his body spasms once, twice, and he spends himself all over Sasuke’s armguards in embarrassingly short time.
When Kishimoto opens his eyes again, he is alone at his workspace with nothing but a toppled desk lamp and damp jeans. The smudged and ruined picture of Sasuke has been flung to the far edge of his desk, but his sharingan eyes still stare piercingly back at him. He stares for a long time at the ruined sketch and swears he sees a smirk appear on Sasuke’s face.
He strokes his fingers lovingly down Sasuke’s side one last time, tracing the line from shoulder to hip before he stands up to go clean himself. Unconsciously, he glances behind him hoping, maybe just this once, those strong arms will reach out to embrace him again. But he knows everything has only been a figment of his imagination-that Sasuke only exists inside his mind.
Kishimoto sighs as he flips the switch on his lamp. He definitely can’t put that in the manga, despite it being an almost permanent fixture in his daily thoughts.
Or… can he?
A sudden burst of genius appears. A blush spreads slowly across his cheeks as he giggles quietly to himself, lost in the planning stages of this elaborate fanservice. Guess it’s a good time as any to introduce a new character, he muses.
For the fifth time that day, Kishimoto wishes he didn’t have such an excellent imagination.
Yeah, that was Kishi planning chapter 347 at the end. SAI IS KISHIMOTO'S GARY STU, IZ TRUFAX.
IF YOU REQUIRE BRAIN BLEACH, YOU CAN PURCHASE IT HERE FOR THE LOW PRICE OF FOUR INSTALLMENTS OF $5.99! (+ shipping & handling)
8D LULZZ.