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junosmindpalace · 8 days

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FOR YOU, FOREVER AGO

🎧 take a piece of my heart and make it all your own.

pairing: arthur morgan x gn!reader

wc: 1.7k

synopsis: arthur, and the notes he leaves in the books he gifts you. who could have figured love can transcend time?

content: established relationship, reading, reading and some more reading (together), soft and playful love, fluff with some angst at the end (arthur's death mentioned). reader is briefly said to be wearing a chemise.

a/n: i said i wouldn't write him again and here i am. writing him again. because this game has taken up so much of my writing headspace...

There’s an old saying that Arthur has heard retold in various different ways, and it went along the lines of “an idle mind is the devil’s playground.”

It derived from Proverbs 16:27: “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop,” something he later found out upon overhearing the phrase from the Reverend’s mouth during one of his rare sermons. Arthur doesn’t believe much in any sort of sacred text, but he could, to an extent, believe in that phrase.

It’s a belief Dutch and Miss Grimshaw hold in especially high regard, and their incessant nagging to do away with him loitering about in the camp proved that. And while he agrees that it is necessary for everybody to do their part, Arthur spends much of his time out involving himself in all kinds of tough and weary business, and like anyone else, sometimes the enforcer needed a break.

Though it seemed so to quite many people, Arthur’s mind was not solely fixated on his life of crime. Like many other people he was a man of love, who enjoyed reveling in Mother Nature’s beauty, and memorializing its likeness in his journal in gorgeous detail, too. He enjoyed lingering in on conversations that took place around him; mundane things like about rumors and town happenings, though they weren’t always pleasant. And above all else, he enjoyed being around you.

Scare was the time to enjoy such leisure with your responsibilities, however. Often, he would return to camp well into the dead of night or during wind down time you had permitted for yourself (because Lord knows Grimshaw wouldn’t) to entertain your mind. Borrowing from the collections of books around camp was one of few forms of amusement you relied upon for some sort of satisfying stimulation.

Arthur couldn’t help but sometimes be jealous of this. To enjoy the leather cover of a book against his fingertips and the patches of sweetgrass and lavender enclosed around him like a makeshift bed was a luxury he could rarely afford. Yet still, he found ways to incorporate his own amusement to look forward to when he did have the off time to enjoy it.

The habit, at first, was a means of compensating for his long absences. It was almost his way of giving you a piece of his heart to hold to your chest, fill your mind, make your own with your wild imagination while he was away for sometimes frightening days at a time.

Arthur provided you with literature of all sorts, from dime novels to hardcover books, when he encountered them on his travels. Mythology retellings, exaggerated tales of the fictionalized Wild West, dramatic historical fiction with royalty, castles, and dragons, and the sort of philosophy books Dutch enjoys reading passages aloud from that critique civilization. Each one, though unique in content, held a message with consistent love that made your heart swell and your lips stretch into a pleasant smile at the intent behind them.

Couldn’t resist.

Thought you’d like this one.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy when I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

It's late when Arthur finds time to enjoy the stories with you, propped up on his side in the while his other arm is draped loosely around your waist as you lay in the same position, holding the book the two of you were enamored with in one hand. The firelight illuminates the pages for him to read from over your shoulder, his fingers brushing over your stomach and arms absentmindedly as he immerses himself in the world along with you.

“This gentleman sure is a character.”

“Ain’t he?” you snicker, taking the comment as an indicator to turn to the next page. “Almost reminds me of someone.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” he raises a brow at you, observing your expression with a tilt of his head.

“Nothin’ at all.” you hum innocently, pretending to fix your attention back onto the pages. He catches your bluff when he teasingly curls his arm around your waist and presses you closer against his chest, invoking a squeal of laughter from you as he ruffles your chemise.

“Just turn the page.” he chuckles with a slight shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, but when you meet his playful gaze with one of your own, any further teasing dies on his tongue as his breath becomes lodged at the sight of your glow in the firelight.

“Okay.” you tut with a raise of your brows, resituating yourself and leaning further into his grasp, to which he responds by hugging you closer.

When your time wasn't spent under the stars, it was in your tent. Accompanied in your shared bedroll was a book from a marketplace stand you had picked out together when scouting around town. One of Arthur’s hands holds it on his stomach with his fingers at the bottom, while his other holds your shoulder soothingly. You lay your head over his heart, listening to its steady pulsing, and following the small text with tired eyes to lull you to sleep.

Sometimes he read to you, when your eyes grew too heavy to look up at him, and your brain was too exhausted to form coherent enough thoughts, let alone conversation. He'd read with his free hand, voice gradually becoming husky with thick exhaustion of his own the more he read on.

“Why’d you stop?” you murmured to him as you lulled you head up to look at him, briefly slipping into fuller consciousness when taking note of the absence of his voice amidst the evening chill.

“Thought you’d fallen asleep,” he replied, rubbing a hand up and down the side of your arm before planting a kiss on your forehead. You only shook your head.

“A little more?”

Arthur peered outside through a crevice in his tent to the pitch black, redirecting his attention back to you with a sigh. “Alright. But only a little.”

Sometimes you read to him, when he returns to the campsite with his brain scrambled from the hat and madness of his travels, and longs, almost on autopilot, for your presence and an extended period of rest. With his arms wrapped firmly around your waist, legs tangled on your sides and head snug against your stomach, you propped up one of the books you had borrowed from Mary-Beth, a romance that you could always rely on to knock Arthur out, with one hand, while the other carefully threads through his locks of brown hair.

“That sounds like a nice place to live, don’t it? In a house with a white picket fence and a beautiful garden.” You had asked him quietly one of those nights, looking down at his still figure, who merely hummed in response against your stomach. “Maybe outta the country.”

“And go where?” he replied drowsily, peering up at you through small eyes.

“I don’t know…surprise me.” you teased, and Arthur chuckled.

“Maybe someday, sweetheart.” he placed a kiss on the fabric of your night wear, letting out a sigh as he adjusted himself against you again. “Maybe someday we’ll go somewhere real nice.”

Amidst ever changing lives—periods of transition and transformation and hard feelings and new hopes and dreams—you made sure to often revisit his little notes kept in between the first few pages of a book picked out with you in mind and written with all the care you had to offer to one another. Nights apart we’re spent tracing the loving words with your eyes, running a nail through the loopy font. It reminds you that you lay under the same stars, the both of you wishing to reunite sooner than later upon one of the billions that twinkled in the sky.

When Arthur had passed under the dying night sky, the menial, but important, declarations of love became lost to you.

Focusing on anything outside of survival seemed impossible afterward, and the grief was all too fresh and thought consuming. Most of the time was spent rebuilding your life to the best of your ability, something not quite what you had envisioned in hopeful late night conversations with Arthur, but more bare minimum. No beautiful porch with a nice garden, no homey furnishings. Only a simple bungalow with a creaky bed and a bag of few possessions you managed to snag in your abrupt departure.

At the bottom of the bag one day, you find something, no, many things, you had not laid your eyes upon since before the hope of a new dawn was extinguished within you.

It had been the first time you had felt an urge to be productive. For most of your days were spent in melancholy and anxious paralyzing thought that kept asking, what’s next?

You held them in your hands carefully, turning them over before opening them curiously, only to have your breath hitched when your eyes landed on the front.

Couldn’t resist.

You scrambled for another.

Thought you’d like this one.

Another, and then another. All of them until the reminders brought you to tears.

All my love.

Thought of you.

For you to enjoy while I’m away.

To keep you preoccupied while I’m gone.

To make up for lost time.

The rest of the night became dedicated to remembering all that you once had, and that you were once determined to have. Reading stories that always seemed as fantastical as your dreams of a sweeter life, perhaps where they even derived from. The inspiration and hope they fuelled gradually returned with each memory you recounted of your shared dream with Arthur.

He had given it to you in the end. Taken you some place nice, even if he wasn’t there himself to enjoy it with you. He’d given you a piece of his heart all those years ago, and you made it your own. Given you the resources—just enough money and a whole lot of love—to help you realize a life you always wanted. He was there; in the blooming flowers, in the magnificent dawn and dusk, in the pages of books you held carefully between your fingers. And you’d remind yourself of it every night with a trace of your fingers over his scrawled messages of adoration.

return to masterlist.

#i am slowly transitioning to writing more character fics #which you can find on my ao3 #so feel free to follow me there :)#im currently working on two (2) very lengthy rdr fics #one being centred around the women of rdr2 and another basically inserting adult jack into my own fictional 1910s world #with tati helping me a lot with #so look forward to that!#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan oneshot #arthur morgan fluff #arthur morgan angst #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption 2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 oneshot #rdr2 x reader #rdr2 fluff #red dead redemption 2 angst #rdr2 oneshot

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aquarian-queen · 6 months

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Troy Otto - S3 / S8

#troy otto #daniel sharman #fear the walking dead #ftwd #he's so fine #they should have brought him back so much earlier #let me finish this chapter #so that I can prepare my oneshot

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galexibrain · 27 days

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I have a headcanon that saiyans don't really do romantic relationships as humans know them.

We have two (2) full-blooded saiyans existing in canon (I'm ignoring movies, Super etc. and only going by the manga for this one) and both are ... not the romantic types.

And maybe there's more to it than "Goku grew up really extremely isolated and doesn't get a lot of things" and "Vegeta is too proud to admit he has a romantic side".

Idk, for a species that's just so laser-focused on fighting I think bonds between warriors would be waaay more important to them, and sexual stuff would happen completely outside of that (and yeah regardless of gender, let's say I headcanon that if two (or three) saiyans want to fuck, they fuck. Maybe as a bonding ritual before battle lmao).

But they don't really "marry" and get together, not even couples with kids. They fuck A LOT (I think with their tendecy to die early they'd have to procreate quickly lol) but whether two saiyans have kids together doesn't have any influence on their relationship status, and most saiyans have more half siblings than full siblings.

So yadda yadda, I heacanon Goku as aro (yes he loves Chichi, yes he's still aro, deal with it) and maybe ace/demi too but not bc he's saiyan and Vegeta as demiromantic bc that man is definitely head over heels in love with Bulma, no matter how much he denies it. But it took him a while, and initially, Trunks' existence didn't mean there was ever going to be a relationship between Vegeta and Bulma.

#dragon ball #dbz #dragon ball z #db headcanons #i'm just rambling on here bc i'm trying to figure out what i want to go for in a oneshot i'm currently writing #you can pry aroace goku out of my cold dead hands

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magistralucis · 3 months

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"I forgive you." - Yenekh/Oltyx (for @courgowr)

(Drabble Oneshot for a prompt fill challenge, prompts available here.)

——————-

Even after all's been said and done there's one more thing that lingers, a guilt that has never gone away. Forgive me for what I have done, Oltyx often asks of his formal admiral, his hand upon a silver claw or a bloodied forehead, his own head bowed in shame. It is not enough that he overcame life and death for his atonement, it must be spelled out, or he is a sinner still. I was cruel and I was craven, and I had dealt with you unjustly.

Well, I forgive you, Yenekh had laughed the very first time. The following year Oltyx took him as consort. Yenekh has been nothing but patient with him since, repeatedly reassuring him that all had been long forgiven, the tips of his claws ticking fondly upon Oltyx's carapace. The king doesn't doubt that he means it, for the Razor is not by nature dishonest. But he's sure there must be more he can do for Yenekh, if not as a sinner than as one beloved, because as far as he's concerned Yenekh has always deserved the world.

It just feels hypocritical to claim this when he's destroyed it once before.

He's not doing it to be burdensome. He's like this because he loves Yenekh. His old lives feel so distant from him now (and are, since nothing is as close yet so far away as death), but here's yet another shortfall from those august times: Oltyx has no idea how to be good to his amours, for there was never a match made for him in Ithakas, nor did he and his brother ever entertain admirers. Frankly he's not even sure Djoseras ever knew the C of courtship. No one is left to teach Oltyx either way. He is very loved in Drazak, more than he was loved in his previous lives - which he now understands was more than he knew at the time - but he has not been in the position to love another as equals until now. And so the Fallen Lord contemplates, day after day, how he might truly be the friend and king that Yenekh deserves.

To talk about it, at least, without putting his guilt on the other's shoulders. All the time in the world is theirs and he still feels it to be slow learning.

An opportunity arises on the next occasion he orders the bounty.

[Published 25/01/2024 - continued on AO3 here.]

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #the twice dead king #oltyx #yenekh #necrons #necron #fanfiction #prompt fill #drabble #(it is not a drabble but i'm tagging it as such so you can find the other... actual drabbles....... lmao)#oltyx: i'm just not sure if my brother ever loved ;(#djoseras; who canonically survived the unsurvivable by trusting in his best friend for hundreds of years: say what you little bastard #so i guess i have full time unable to control wordcount disease now. i actually thought about this prompt for a very long time #and what came of it was both a question that needed answering and too long to be confined to a tumblr post tale #so here we are. first fic of 2024 and it's a 2300-word oneshot #thank you courgowr for letting me do this :D i'm sorry to have kept you waiting for so long #notes will be updated in a little bit

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cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 1 year

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@wolfstarmicrofic prompt: forget

“I wish I could care.”

It came out of nowhere, the two of them sat at a table in Grimmauld Place, sipping tea in silence.

“Hm?” Remus lifted his head, confused.

“I- I wish I could care that I don’t miss you.”

Remus tried to hide the shattering of his heart. He already knew that.

Why did it still hurt?

“I never thought I’d forget how to love you, you know.” Sirius said with a hollow laugh, sending a chill down Remus’ spine.

He had never seen Sirius’ eyes so empty.

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03junkie · 5 months

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something has been written. I’m feeling extra in my feels today, so this is the product of that. Also CW: alcohol and recreational drug use

Midnight is truly when Barty and Evan come to life. Where the day is slow, somber and lazy, it’s the hours of the Devil when they actually enjoy life. They turn on every light in the house, and turn up the volume on their speakers. Noise complaints were frequent, but they were both rich enough to pay for the soundproofing of their neighbours’ house. Their own house? No, they didn’t care enough to alter their own home for a bunch of sensitive pricks.

Barty put on music, some rendition of Russian EDM that Evan had grown up with, owing to the fact that they’ve been around each other since they could talk. Initially, Evan hated the sound of it, but slowly, he got a taste for it. When his friends would insult the pair’s taste in music, Evan would jump to defend themselves, saying that the group of them were just too inferior to understand good music.

Being friends for about twenty years, and a couple for five, they had seen each other through all sorts of times, good, bad, ugly. Somewhere along the road of finding comfort in each other’s beds, they both had fallen hard. The kind of falling one could only dream of; crashing and burning and soaring all at the same time.

Along the years, the both of them had taken to vice. It’d been a long time coming, after escaping their houses for each other. They’d made enough of a name for themselves in the world; Barty wrote, and Evan sang. With whatever little fame they had, they’d made a near-perfect life for themselves.

Now, almost ritualistically, Evan was pulling out two crystal glasses (a housewarming gift from Reg and James), and pulling out the stopper on the decanter filled with whiskey.

“You know I’m trying to reduce alcohol, любимый,” Barty slung an arm across Evan’s shoulder, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. As a force of habit, Evan couldn’t help the blush settling on his cheeks.

“You’re no fun when you’re sober.” Evan jutted his lower lip out almost cartoonishly. Barty gave him a long, languid look, before sighing. He reached out for the glass settled on the counter, and drank in one gulp. He didn’t even flinch as the liquid went down. Barty poured another one for himself, and drank that as swiftly as the first.

Evan smiled, and watched as Barty moved across the room rhythmically, turning the volume up higher. Evan turned to his own glass. He preferred to drink slower, because he tended to get drunk faster than Barty. Barty had been drinking since he was thirteen, but it wasn’t a problem. He knew he could stop whenever he wanted, and he didn’t want to stop right now. The couple’s friends were concerned for Barty, but Evan always shut them down saying that he knew what was best for Barty.

“Baby, can you change the song? Это скучно.” Barty yelled from their bedroom. Evan obliged, and a very familiar melody filled the walls of their house. He heard Barty whoop in delight.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” He walked out of the room, eyelids painted with blue glitter, and a feather boa ‘round his neck. Evan laughed, not unkindly, but because he was lucky to be with someone so beautiful. Barty reached for the whiskey once again, but stopped before pouring it. “We have tequila, да?”

“Behind the other bottles on the second shelf.” Barty grinned at him, a manic quirk of the lips with something glinting in his eyes.

“You bought the expensive shit?” Evan nodded, swallowing part of his drink.

“I knew you wanted it, so I bought it.” He shrugged. Barty jumped up to his feet and ambushed Evan into a breath-restricting hug. He kissed both his cheeks a couple times.

“Я люблю тебя, baby. Really.” He laughed against Evan’s throat, and Evan felt his own chest constricting at the sound. It was his favourite thing in the world. These domestic moments tucked away in their otherwise fast-paced lives.

“I love you too, Bat,” Barty kissed him, taking his time. His hands were on Evan’s waist, guiding him into a slow dance. The music was fast, but there was something about Barty moving him so slowly and gingerly across their living room. “Your tequila’s waiting for you.”

“Shots?” Barty looked at him through his lashes, innocent and sweet.

“You already know it. There should be a lime in the fridge,” Evan watches Barty from behind, silently admiring the slope of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Barty was beyond beautiful, in all honesty. He was breathtaking, the same way a scenery was. One could never take their eyes off him even if they wanted to. He was the automatic center of attention of any event, and he reveled in it. He knew that his beauty was a weapon, and he wielded it with pride.

“Роза, find your stash. I’m feeling like a bit of pot today.”

“Alright, but not too much. We both know chemsex isn’t for us.” Barty laughed softly from the kitchen. Evan headed to their bedroom, flicking the lights on. He always kept a bit with him at all times. That was his vice. Barty had alcohol, and Evan had his stash of pot. From the room, he could hear Barty singing along with the song. The drunker he got, the more prominent his accent got. It wouldn’t be long before the boy was speaking purely in Russian.

Evan rejoined his boyfriend in the living room, who had already laid out multiple shot glasses in a row, with a bunch of slices of lime alongside them.

“Salt?”

“Don’t worry about it, солнышко,” Barty ruffled his hair. He picked up the salt shaker and unscrewed its lid. He shook out some salt onto the back of his palm, and licked it off. Before Evan could react, Barty was kissing him, the taste of salt filling his mouth. “Drink up, baby.”

Evan picked up a glass and threw the contents of it back into his mouth. The alcohol burned as it went down. Barty handed him a wedge of lime and he bit into it, eyes scrunching up at the sourness. He wasn’t a fan of tequila, evidently. He waved his hand around his neck, signaling that he was done. Barty pouted, eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t be a spoilsport, Evs.” He scanned Evan’s face expectantly, and Evan couldn’t help but oblige.

“Fine, but only one more. That’s all.”

“I won’t push you for more anyway. Everyone knows what happens when you’re tipsy, or need I remind you about the time you cried when I said I was taken?” Evan scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“Low blow, Bat.”

“I could take it lower.” Barty winks and Evan’s heart skips a beat. One would expect that the love between both of them would decrease over the year— especially with how maddeningly close they are— but Evan still felt flustered when Barty smiled at him, the same way he did at sixteen. Evan was, admittedly, mad for him; the way a poet is mad for a dark night, an artist mad for a muse. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for this man, and no one could stop them from being close, not life and definitely not death.

“You talk too much.” Evan reached for a second shot glass, deciding against a chaser. It would be something he’s going to regret a couple seconds from now, but that was a consequence he was willing to live with.

“Would you rather I stop?”

Making a sour face, Evan responds, “No, never.” Barty smiles a lopsided grin, far from perfect.

“Now, why would you do that? Никакого самоконтроля, говорю вам.”

“Mock me all you want in words only you understand, but don’t forget that I pay for the alcohol.” Barty’s expression switched immediately, eyes going wide in surprise.

“You know I love you, Evan. I would never mock you.”

“That’s hardly believable, but I’ll let it go this time.” Barty unwrapped the boa from his neck, looping it over Evan’s shoulders. He puts no space between them, they stand perfectly flush with each other. Barty smells like alcohol and expensive perfume; Barty smells like home.

“Dance with me, любимый.”

“Music’s too fast.”

“So we hasten.” And that was that. Barty is swinging his hips, singing loudly. Though Evan understands a small amount of Russian, he never bothered to learn it. He wanted to keep it sacred for Barty. It was his relationship with his childhood, and Evan wanted no part in causing ruination to that. Evan found out that Russian could be polarising. It could sound crass and rude, and it could sound soft and gentle at the same time. “Now, Evan, I’ve seen you dance better than that.”

“I’m a better singer than dancer, Bat.” Barty blinked a couple of times, almost like he was batting his eyelashes.

“So open your throat and sing, magpie.” Evan grinned.

“I’ve heard that one in the confines of our bedroom before,”

“I didn’t hear you complaining, шлюха,”

“I know that word, Bat, and I know that’s what half of our school called you.” Barty shrugs. Everyone and their mother knew that Barty was the slut of the school. He got around, and he enjoyed the attention he got. Evan never had a problem with his past, because none of the pricks in school were going to bed with him everyday at obscene hours of the morning, drunk and exhausted.

“I’m going to smoke, do you want one?” Evan looked at him incredulously, as if that was a question that needed to be asked. “Alright, alright, don’t look at me like that. I may just have to skip the pot and move to the end of the night that both of us are definitely looking forward to.”

“Subtlety was always your strong suit.” Evan tucks a couple strands of Barty’s hair behind his ear, who smiled slowly.

“I really fucking love you, you know that?” Their voices are low in the room full of blaring lyrics in another language.

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”

***

Two joints in, Barty had danced his energy out, the glitter on his eyelids almost fading and sweat starting to bead on his forehead. Evan watched him, occasionally throwing a couple of bills and whistling at the man. Barty got Evan to sing, showing him vague phonetic translations of the lyrics he couldn’t understand. He was laughing as Evan struggled with the words, but it was full of admiration and mirth.

It was well past three in the morning, and the most disciplined of runners would be waking up to get on with their day soon. They had turned off their music, because their heads had already started hurting from the noise. Maybe their neighbours had a point.

Evan was sitting in the corner of one of their sofas, a cigarette between his lips. Barty was finally starting to come down from his high, boa clutched in both his hands. The man half-twirled, dropping himself onto the sofa right next to Evan, his head dropping onto his shoulder.

“Tonight was fun,” Barty had a soft, dazed smile on his face.

“Yeah, it was. Shame we have to get to work tomorrow.”

“Don’t even remind me,” He reaches for the cigarette, smoking it himself. They sit in silence, only the slow buzz of the thermostat filling the space between them.

“Я не думаю, что смогу жить без тебя.” Evan had a pulling feeling at the back of his mind that this meant something important to Barty; a confession, if you would.

“Tell me what that means, Bat.”

“I don’t think I could live without you. Year after year after year, you were the only constant I had. I’m so grateful for that. I’m so grateful for you, Evan.” Barty’s voice cracks slightly, and Evan turns to see the man crying. “Everyday I hope I don’t fuck this up with you, like I did all those years ago. I knew you liked me, but I wasn’t ready to accept my own feelings. Maybe I was scared to lose our friendship if it all went south.”

“But it hasn’t gone south, has it? You and me, here, right now. This is everything I could ever ask for. All I could dream of since I was fourteen. Barty, you couldn’t fuck this up even if you tried as hard as you could. I would love you regardless and I’ll be there to pick up every fucking piece, even if it hurts to.”

“Nothing I ever write will satiate my love for you, and I’m scared of that. The sheer magnitude of it is frightening.”

“Just knowing you love me is more than enough.”

“I think,” he pauses, seemingly trying to find anything to say. “I think we should get married, любимый.” Evan’s hand flies up to his mouth, trying to conceal his severely shocked expression.

“Yes. Yes, one hundred times, yes.” And so, sitting in the slow come-up of the sun, with a cigarette burning to its filter, they had gone and become the closest they’d ever been.

#любимый: darling #Это скучно.: it’s boring #Я люблю тебя: I love you #Роза: rose #солнышко: sun/ sunshine #Никакого самоконтроля говорю вам.” : no self control I tell you #шлюха: whore/slut #can you tell I wrote the last part in the dead of night #this was intended to be a codependency type of oneshot but we progressed to this #I feel like this is my Frankenstein #this is powered by katya lel and laufey #anyways leave feedback please and thank you #evan x barty #barty x evan #rosekiller #dead gay wizards #the marauders #slytherin skittles

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domoz · 1 year

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Little ficlet on senju sibling misunderstanding (ft edo tensei)

The dirt is cold under his fingers, but that's not the only thing making Tobirama hesitate to start digging.

He knows that his jutsu works -- he would never use anything on his brothers without rigorous testing. The animals he'd brought back had all behaved as they should. The man had been… Confused. But he'd reported that he felt no pain or fatigue

He hadn't even realize he'd died, had thought Tobirama had miraculously healed him. But then, his death had been fresh.

It's been much longer for Kawarma and Itama.

'Are you at peace, now?' He wonders, and not for the first time, 'Do you finally have a chance to rest?'

For days his chest has been heavy with uncertainty, though he knows better than to let that show by now.

He has the chance to have his brothers back, and he's not exited. He's terrified.

Is it pure selfishness for him to bring his baby brothers back from whatever peace they have in the afterlife and into the world that hurt them so badly? Would they understand why he did it? Would they forgive him?

He isn't sure.

Tobirama knows by now, that his older brother is not wiser than him in all, or even most things. But when it comes to people's hearts there is no one who's judgement he trusts more.

He wants his brothers back. He wants this awful, terrible decision he's created for himself to be taken out of his hands. He goes to Hashirama.

It's only a few minutes after sunrise when he reaches the main house and at this hour Hashirama will be rising and making his morning tea.

Tobirama almost considers waiting to have this conversation in the clan head's office. It's easier there, to fall into a role, to separate himself from what he's done. But this isn't about clan, this is about family, so he smooths out his clothes as best he can and pads across the floor to join his brother across from the chabudai.

Hashirama smiles at him, delighted and surprised at his presence before taking in the state in which he's arrived and sighing.

"Ah, trouble sleeping last night, otouto?"

"Yes." Tobirama says, because if it's obvious enough to be seen there's no point in denying it to Hashirama. He takes as steadying of a breath as he can without revealing his unease, and reaches for the scroll "I… Have a new justu."

He sets it on the table and doesn't let his fingers twitch as Hashirama rolls it open. It's not all his notes, but it's everything he needs to perform what he's created.

It's not enough for Hashirama to understand it, though, at least not at a glance. His older brother squints and brings the scroll closer to his face, and before he can make a comment about the cramped handwriting Tobirama blurts out, "It can bring back the dead."

Hashirama drops the scroll as if it's burned him, whipping his head up to look at him with wide eyes.

He looks… Horrified, and maybe that answers his question already, but something in his stomach twists and Tobirama wants to… He doesn't know, defend himself at least, so he says, "Those brought back don't feel any pain --"

"No." Says Hashirama and that’s -- that's Hashirama at his most serious, every bit of playfulness gone, the God of Shiobi, "Tobirama, you are never to use this justsu. Don't work on it anymore, don't talk about it to anyone. It is forbidden. Do you understand?"

"Not --" Not even twice? Is what he wants to ask, but Hashirama cuts him off with, "Never. Do you understand, Tobirama?"

He lets out a slow breath.

It was wrong, after all. He's not sure if he feels relived or disappointed or just… Empty.

"I understand." He says. Keeps his eyes down. Misses the way Hashirama looks like he doesn't quite believe him.

#oops! no writing tag #naruto blog for naruto things #tobirama senju #hashirama senju #i dont even know where to BEGIN with my thoughts on this like ough #hashirama thinking tobirama has no moral boundaries #when in fact those moral boundaries are what made tobirama go to him!!#plus you know i love the idea that tobirama concieved of edo tensei to bring back his brothers #and he either wanted to make sure they woudnt suffer again #or couldnt justify making it to himself without also making it a weapon #and even though hashirama misunderstands why tobirama made it and thinks the worst! hes not wrong!#if the senju get known as the clan who can have an army of the dead they are FUCKED!#just arrrhg arg argh argh argh biting them biting them biting them #oneshot

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skeleton-in-a-hoodie · 5 months

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Been working on Always and Forever (still need to figure out if that's going to be the title or not). There's about three sections left before draft one is finished and so far it's about 5900 words long.

My second drafts usually end up being at least 1000 words longer than the initial draft, and I know some sections of this fic are going to double in length during draft 2.

This oneshot is definitely going to be longer than I initially thought

#tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt au #dead doesn't mean gone au #this is going to stay a oneshot #thought about making it a multi chapter fic but i don't think that'd work well #it's not got a solid structure #so much as it's a character thinking alot about different stuff #so i think being a oneshot will work better #i am so excited for march when i can post this #the biggest challenge isn't finishing it on time #it's going to be finishing it and sticking to posting it in march

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thedndgoblinwholivesinyourwalls · 4 months

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HII HI HI LARK!!!! god i am still fucked up over todays episode BUT if you are still interested today was also my dnd oneshot so lmk if u would like the rundown (it was a Time)

how are you!!! how are you feeling after the ep?? (on the floor in tears currently)

HIHIII LEABEEE *waving at you across a canon* I would LOVE a oneshot rundown!!/gen i must know what happened to the sillies akdhdkjd

On terms of the episode- Uhm what.the.fuck/pos Mercedes died and then came back with a sucker punch of one line. Head in hands during that entire thing. I have heard similar things irl so that hit me emotionally and also henry saying he would never forgive Sparrow?? Henryyyy nooooo- ‘what about walter?what about erin?’ WHAT ABOUT YOUR SON HENRYYY/LH like i understand why mercedes and henry were upset but guys understand where he’s coming from. Everyone’s really said all my thoughts on here already but yeah yeah in shambles and i’m going to be redesigning the oak family and giving sparrow permanent tear tracks running down her face/hj

#anthony burch where is she!!!#raghgdhdhx #dead on the ground dying/j #but yeah!! oneshot!! pls tell me when you can’/nf ofc ofc #ask

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 1 year

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The Corpse Bride

For Naughty November by @izanae Day 19: Permanent

It was a sunny day.

Which was a rarity in Gotham.

Maybe, had he been more clear headed, he would have thought of it as a sign. As some kind of proof that Marinette had gone to Heaven. As the world telling him that he could move on, that sunny days were just around the corner. As a last gift from his girlfriend, allowing him to be cradled in warmth one last time.

All he could think about was how wrong it was that she couldn’t enjoy it. She had adored the sun, had sat in the windowsill of their shared apartment at any given opportunity. She said it was because she needed inspiration for her designs and there was simply more to see out their window, and maybe that was true on some level, but he knew it was more than that. She was missing Paris, with its sunny days and sunnier residents that she just couldn’t get in Gotham.

He had been thinking about asking to have their wedding in Paris.

A strangled sound slipped from his throat at the thought and he finally got his legs working again, stumbling forward the last few steps to get to her. He suddenly understood what it was like to be a zombie. He wished he could understand it better. Zombies got to be dead and he really didn’t want to live in this world where everyone he ever cared about got ripped from his fingers the moment things started going ‘too well’.

The box was heavy in his pocket as he fell to his knees in front of her. Perfect and wrong all at once.

Now that he was closer, he could see every detail. Could see the hands hugging her side, pressing down on a wound she had bled out from. Could see the broken, cracked phone that had been covered in blood in her attempts to get it working against all odds. Could see the red streaks and tangled strands in her usually perfectly maintained dyed, deep blue hair.

He took her too-pale, too-cold face in his hands. There was blood smeared beneath her eyes and long dried tear tracks running through it.

He tried to wipe it away, but the little blood that hadn’t dried smeared further, leaving two deep red crescents beneath her eyes.

His forehead came to rest against hers. It didn’t feel the same when he couldn’t feel the faint tickle of her breath fanning over his face.

A broken sob tore itself from his throat and he pulled her in closer, tugging her up against him as if somehow that would fix things. Maybe some part of him hoped that if he just hugged her tight enough his life force would seep into her.

But she remained perfectly still. Stiff, even.

And she was so, so cold.

The box in his pocket felt almost painfully warm in comparison.

He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do it. He just couldn’t bring himself to stop staring at her stiff hand. It felt empty, lonely. Or maybe it was just too horrible to think that she would never know. Maybe he felt like it would solve something if he did it now.

He fumbled for the box in his pocket and pulled it out. The deep red gem in the center was teardrop shaped. It was supposed to be a tiny nod to the beetle she had taken the name of all those years ago. Now it just felt like a reminder.

He fumbled with her hand, pulling and tugging it until he managed to get it in his lap. He stared at the fingers. They were just slightly swollen in death and cakey with blood, and he knew in a heartbeat that it wouldn’t fit.

But he couldn’t bring himself to just leave it. Maybe that had always been his problem. He was too stubborn. So he would always stay stubbornly alive while everyone around him died over and over again.

Tim laughed when it didn’t slide on like it was made to do. He didn’t know why his first reaction was to laugh, but it was.

He ran a reddened hand through his own hair – another laugh left him at the stupid, slightly frantic thought of we match! – before shaking his head and starting to shove the ring the rest of the way down. The skin stretched strangely under his hands. Blood flaked off. The bone cracked.

And then it was on.

“I do,” he breathed. “Please, Mari, I do.”

But she didn’t respond.

#maribat #timari #timinette #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #uh #tw death #cw dark content #cw dead body #im not sure if that's how that works but yeah #anyways #PROVING ONCE AND FOR ALL I CAN DO ONESHOTS

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ell-arts · 1 year

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What would your ideal PMATGA fanfic be about?

This is for research purposes.

#poll #pmatga #pac man and the ghostly adventures #I'm curious to see what you guys would want to see in a fanfic #While I don't plan on starting any new fanfics anytime soon cuz I already have my hands full with The Veil and CMC-#When you live in a fandom of a decade-old dead show you gotta get as much content scraps as you can #even if its fanmade #So I wanna keep creating content for this fandom and might consider some of the criteria mentioned here #for whenever I have time to make a oneshot or start a new fanfic ofc #If I can even get free time for it ahaha ahah ha...

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danisnotmyname · 8 months

Link

Summary: Zelda survives Sabrina's death the worse for wear.

*** “Was that too hard?” Lilith soothes the sting on her cheek. Lilith’s hell is better than her own. Zelda shakes her head, tears flying out her eyes. “More.”

#madam spellman #zelda spellman #lilith #chilling adventures of sabrina #caos #please accept this humble offering of a oneshot #sth close to dead dove can you believe #sorry for spam posting

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russeliarat · 1 year

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In regards to this post:

So the actual idea - Linked Universe fans, this one is actually for you! For context, this is about the Colours, specifically Shadow and Vio, and it doesn’t really matter if the Chain knows if Four can split or not since all that matters is that Shadow can sometimes, very rarely split off into his own physical form when the Colours split. The setting is a masquerade ball for literally any Zelda whose been in a peaceful era for some time - which could be Lullaby, Dawn and/or Aurora, Fable, etc. I imagine the Chain was invited whilst they had been in the era for a little while and were asked to come to basically discuss the monster problem and guard any civilians (but also to have a break too, I guess)

While preparing for this ball, something happened and Four split, which also had a chance of bringing out Shadow Link, which happened. The Colours freak out and can’t merge again because upon Shadow’s request, Vio allows them to have a bit of a power struggle to perhaps get back at him for his previous betrayal (obviously said with so much intricacies and subtlety). Wanting to keep the others out of their struggle, Vio tells the other three to continue on without them. Green (since he seems the most like Four to the Chain) tells them that he can’t attend and makes an excuse.

Now the fun part, this mental power battle already began once the others had left as Vio and Shadow were already preparing for a kind of special event. One of the major occurrences is that Vio had also put his appearance into Shadow’s hands, which caused him to cut Vio’s hair - little bit more context to how I personally view Four and the Colours, any physical changes to one of the Colours occurs to all of them by default, meaning that night, all the Colours returned to their short-haired look. I imagine Vio was the one who wanted to grow their hair out so Shadow kind of did this more to dishearten him a slight and mess with him. It also means the Chain would absolutely know Four could split once the debacle were over due to the scene they planned to cause.

The actual scene occurs in the middle of the ball’s dancing. With Red, Green, and Blue all in attendance but low profile, Shadow and Vio manage to grab the attention of everyone by doing this kind of macabre tango that almost perfectly describes the attitude Shadow has towards the situation (I have a specific song in mind it’ll be in tags) and it becomes this thing were they fight to take the lead and keep eye contact and withhold any unnecessary emotion. The entire thing being done publicly was the result of wanting to be able to psyche Vio out from the pressure. The best idea was that though it was a masked ball to keep everyone’s identities safe during the whole monster ordeal, Shadow and Vio decided to abandon their masks before they went to the ball itself.

The ending? Well, it’s either one or neither or both are psyched out in some subtle way and they leave the ball as this kind of mysterious presence that stole the attention of the ball.

#the song is 'i am all i got' by dead brothers for those wanting to know #i've had this earwig in my brain for a short while and it's captured everything perfectly in my head #i'm not sure if i can even make this into a oneshot or multi-part tbh #though i do dance i'm bad at actually describing it #plus i haven't properly danced tango before so-#maybe i'll give it a shot eventually #linked universe #linked universe four #linked universe colors #lu #lu colors #lu four

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