oysaumi
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Summary
The oil painting academy students are hard at work. Well, mostly. Kit’s taking a nap, as usual. The others are chipping away at today’s art pieces, though.
Peter finds himself struggling with his artwork. He has been for a while now. Meeting Shin has thrown everything Peter knew for a loop, about himself and about his art and about his place in the world. And Lili sympathizes with the struggle.
Bookmarked by oysaumi
27 Aug 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
wow I love them
God is so good like how they write this -
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Summary
There was something just slightly off in every interaction between Gojo-sensei and Fushiguro and once Yuji’d begun to notice it, he couldn’t unsee it. It wasn’t a bad kind of off – at least he didn’t think so – but it was just different from the way either of them acted around everyone else.
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Or, Yuji's journey to discovering that Megumi is Gojo's baby boy, featuring: an insane amount of simping, the mundane indignities of being a parent, and a lot of Yuji snooping in places he really shouldn't be.
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"Iori hugged Ieiri the next day before getting on her train to Kyoto. Iori patted Ieiri's back. Once, twice. When she pulled back from Ieiri, she smiled that same dull smile. It was stretched a little wider, as if it'd make it feel less fake. Iori pulled away completely, grabbed her bag, and got on the train. The two women waved at each other until there was nothing left to see. Until all that was left was Ieiri standing at the station,
pretending to not feel empty."
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Utahime leaves for Kyoto, and Shoko spends the next 11 years mourning someone alive and well.
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“It’s just— there are 200,000 other people on this ship. Why me?”
“I trust you,” Kurapika says with a shrug. “We already know each other, which saves time. I’m assuming you’ve done this before, so you’ll know what to do. You aren’t bad looking. I believe those are the main criteria.”
“Wow,” Leorio says. “You’re making this sound really appealing.”
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this is about being in love at the end of the world.
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Summary
"I am a tool, Yor."
He said it plainly, without flair. A statement of fact, a thing he'd had a long time to understand and had run out of ways to argue with.
"I have been since I was seventeen." He seemed to look far away, then at the weapons he laid on the floor, then at her. "I became whatever I was asked to be. I did things I did not want to do, did things I wanted to, and I let others do things to me, and I do things to others. For the mission. For peace. I have told myself that it serves something larger and most days I believe it." A pause, and he laughed at himself. "I think I’m the most disgusting person I know. That’s what I am, a tool."
The cold air moved between them.
"And lately, there were days," he said, "when I allowed myself to imagine. To want. A life, with you and Anya." He stopped. "And then I would stop. Every time. I would not allow myself to want it, not even think of it."
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No one dear to him waits for him, and it makes him throw himself to any mission; until Anya and Yor happened.