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junosmindpalace · 24 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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becauseplot · 5 months

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anyway yeah fr i miss ordo theoritas. i miss the theory crafting i miss the hugeass meetings before/after Big Lore Event to brief/debrief everyone involved i miss the chaos and confusion and laughter and teamwork. i miss the cellbit, bad, and phil (key-keepers my beloveds) being the heads of the ordo working together to untangle the mysteries to the island. they were hardly ever on at the same time bc schedules and time zones (WAILS) but in my head they had so many late nights down in the evidence rooms like this

just. yeah. yeahh.

#qsmp #ordo theoritas #qsmp philza #qsmp cellbit #qsmp badboyhalo #i might have a fic idea but rn it’s just archivists bc they live in my head rent free #also im not too comfortable writing bad bc (1) i don’t watch him as much and (2) his lore is like?? so complicated??#as an outside viewer its pretty intimidating lol #it’s the vibe of late night working w your friends on a project/lab/whatever slowly losing your minds tying to figure it out #it’s 2:30 am you’ve been talking in circles the theories are getting more out there but ya don’t rly care bc hey it’s Something #and then someone says smthn that’s just like Woah. wait Actually?? and it kicks you all back into gear to get you chugging along again #anyway i miss them i go sleepies now gnnnn #dont mind me im just rambling #god so much for me going to bed at a decent hour lmao

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oneluckydragon · 5 months

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Decided to finally give Explorers of the Spirit a play-through!

I took the liberty of editing both Echo and Sora using SkyTemple (and editing sprites for them), so that I could experience the game perfectly for the first time.

I am so excited to experience this romhack, especially since everyone that has recommended it seems to absolutely love the story. I'll probably be a crying mess at the end. We'll see if I can manage to tough through it all and come out in one piece (who am I kidding? I will cry, I know it).

(possible EOTS spoiler warning below)

Another reason that I am extremely excited is because I heard that this game was influenced by the Hero/Darkrai fan theory (though it may not be exactly the same?)

So obviously I had to tweak Echo's moveset a little and give her both the move Dark Void and also the secondary ability Bad Dreams. For the theme, ya know? I need the maximum amount of angst possible. I wanna suffer emotionally.

Anyway. This is gonna be fun <3

#the amount of time it took just to edit all of Echo's out-of-dialogue sprites was... too much...#but so worth it in the end. Look at my girls!!!! I love them.#and learning SkyTemple was a bit of a feat but I've really missed coding and pixel art so it was fun!!#also I know I've been absent on here lately... but I am alive.#I am slowly working on my fic and also trying to get back into drawing. It will happen soon.#Wish me luck w/ the creative energy guys #echo/umbreon #sora/lucario #Team Wish #pmd eots #explorers of the spirit #pmd

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revelisms · 2 months

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Excerpt: Six Years

Vi wrestles with the realization of how much her sister has changed—and how many unwanted parallels she sees between Silco and their father. From a work-in-progress set after heron blue.

In some ways, she was still so familiar. Her perpetual nest of a living condition and geriatric sense of humor; her inability (refusal) to tend to her hair, herself. Yet, in so many ways, she's nothing like the girl Vi remembers.

A shell. A stranger.

Jinx—a name that doesn't belong to her sister, that christens a girl who spits at the name Powder; whose body bares sinew and steel, wears yellowed stains at her chipped fingernails and speaks a drawl decades beyond her years—isn't a child, anymore.

Eleven years, enmeshed in each others' days and nights; eleven, that Vi had always been with her.

Powder's rock and shield. Powder's everything.

Then the cannery had happened. Stillwater had happened. That monster had happened—

A monster whose gait she could pick out from a crowd: hears prowling over the floors now, above the jukebox and the metal tickings and her sister's self-directed rambling—a heavy-heeled th-thumping up the varnished steps, his coat a devil's whisper against the walls.

Vi steels herself. Beside her, Jinx prattles on.

"Y'ever thought of fighting in a ring, sis?"

Th-thump, th-thumping over the dark floors.

"You'd be the scrappiest scrapper in the Underground. Bet they'd call ya the Red Devil—or Lead Lettie—or Sourmouth Suckerpunch—"

She stares, unblinking, plastic squeezed beneath her thumb. Through the sliver of her sister's cracked door, a polish-slick boot wades through the shadows. Stills.

"What you really need," Jinx says, with a lax crook of her screwdriver, "is a pair of Vandie's old gauntlets—that'll set'em right."

Vi swallows. The hall's dark devours the wraith on the other side of the door: shrouds all but the unearthly cat's-eye that tips over the leather at his shoulder, burning like a funeral pyre over a rotting corpse.

"Yeah," she says, stiffly. Comb-teeth bite into her palm. "That's all I need."

His stare lingers—three-four-five beats—before it flits to the floor, trails over the blue tangled within her fingers, traces its mess back to the girl lounged beside her. Jinx stays worlds away in her tinkering, head lolled against the floor. She wrenches another screw into place.

"It's late," Jinx huffs, without needing a glance. "I know."

Silence, for a moment. Then Silco agrees, "It's late, indeed."

Jinx scowls. "One'ta talk."

If the shadows weren't playing a trick on her, Vi might have thought he'd smirked. But that bastard never smiled—never did anything but glare over his paperwork, around the vile plumes of his cigars: eyeing her hyena of a sister like a stray in need of a meal, and Vi like a bull ready to charge.

Signing a blood-pact to his enterprise (their city's scheme for fiscal independence; her sister's unfathomable choice for a homestead) had done nothing in the way of trust. He'd taken an overseer's scrutiny to her, from the day she'd put her name in ink: a dead-eyed panopticon hounding her every waking hour, as though she'd never left that molding cell.

On one hand, a part of her reasoned, he had a right—sizing up her methods, as he would any new recruit; strategizing where best to slot her in the arteries of a drug-machine already years on the march. A more cynical thread knew he was laying his cards flat and playing the long game. Slouching back, idly, with eyes unblinking, to find any reason to put her under his heel.

She stares at the unmarred side of his face: a dim halo in a coal-blackened sea.

Eleven years that she'd been with Powder.

Six—nearly seven, now—that Jinx has had this snake at her side.

From the doorway, his shadow gravels, "I take it you'll be off soon."

"Soon as the bell chimes." Jinx flits her wrist, pinkie-promise. "Not a rhyme later—cross my hearts and hope to snore."

Silco makes a low chuff at that: strange, quiet, bemused. A not-quite laugh, like Dad used to do.

For a moment, a breath tangled in her throat, Vi sees him.

He was tower of a man, thin as a string. His voice itched with smoke-pocked lungs and dreams that glittered like the stars. He kept chewing tobacco sweetened with cinnamon under his tongue, and he wore the mines on his clothes; gave hugs that made one's soul feel like it'd been wrapped in down-feathers; made the moonlight seem like nothing more than hand-sculpted glass: some beautiful thing he'd spooled on a thread and hung up there for all to see.

He'd been everything to her—her image of whistle-toothed optimism, her laughter, her guiding light—until he wasn't.

Freckles smattering her cheeks, her unruly hair the color of redmilk tea, a younger version of herself had shrieked over the idea of having to share her plates, pillows, toys with some snot-nosed little girl—a blue-haired, rambunctious, wailing thing—a sister. She'd stomped her feet and thrown fits over it. Told Dad, flat out: I don't wanna have her!

He'd stood slouched over her, hands bracketed at his thin waist, a glitter in his pale eyes, and chuffed. You'll do great, Lettie. His smile always pulled a touch crooked at one corner: a sincerity that, without fail, made her believe him.

She'd always believed him, then.

She was too young, too naïve not to.

Staring into an empty threshold, into a shadowed hall, a ghost of footsteps thudding down the dark floors, Vi fights to forget their father's voice. To block out the echo of a rasp no part of her wants to compare to it. To ignore the remnants of smoke on the air—tower of a man, thin as a string, heels heavy-footed from those damn mines—that belonged to a man she'd sooner wring the neck of. Wouldn't dare put in the same vein of everything their father was.

(Complicated. Self-loathing. Hellishly tempered. Kind.)

#first arcane wip post in...how many months??#truly cannot remember #work has been an absolute hellhole but I am. slowly. catching a break #i have so many fics i need to catch up on reading ghh #arcane #arcane fanfic #fic excerpt #writing #jinx arcane #vi arcane #silco arcane #this wip has been burning a hole in my files and augh i want to finish it at some point #the daughter vi dad silco dysfunction just hits different

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tackytigerfic · 4 months

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Never have I ever: Dark, or morally grey Harry Potter? 🙈

ohhh hello, pal!! thank you for this ask which is a really interesting one and a trope i was just thinking about the other day.

I have never written dark/morally grey Harry in terms of politics or magical power. However if you're talking personally/emotionally then I have written him as a bit (or a lot) of a shit quite a few times. I've chosen these because in them, he deliberately goes out to cause harm, which imo is a different thing to an ordinary, nice person being a bit selfish or acting the dick (yes i'm looking at you, the commenters on modern love who think harry should be pilloried for how badly he treats poor sweet little angel draco lmao)

Call Me Friend - baby's tacky's first fic 😅It's a Neville POV where he's in a relationship with Harry... or so he thinks.

Buttercup - this is a crossgen Harry x Scorpius fic and i think everyone (except Draco, bless him) is a bit terrible in this

Aaaand The Quiver of a Heartstring which I wrote for Unhappily Ever After fest and just has Draco treating Harry badly and then Harry treating someone else badly and no one comes out of it looking well.

I don't actually think I have ever read a dark Harry fic?! The only one I can think of is The Offering by Frayach which I remember really liking back in the day.

If I were to write this trope now, btw, I think I'd go for a Harry whose power grows too large (something to do with his mastery of death perhaps?) and who ends up having to work against his very nature in terms of how he navigates the world... maybe a really close unreliable narration where you think at first that he's lovely and then as the fic unfolds you start seeing these unsettling glimpses of the world around him where his actions have really significant consequences. i do think Harry is good and kind at heart though, so that would be interesting to work through.

#drarry #drarry fic #asked and answered #rowing and chatting #never have i ever ask game #i am slowly working through these #so nice to be back on tumblr #i miss it when i'm gone #thank you again dear kk1smet

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iguessigotta · 1 year

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being in a relationship with Loki and Bucky be like tbh this is all because i was browsing pinterest and saw a pin that said "and remember: no noble sacrifices or anything similarly stupid" lmao Loki x Bucky x reader gn!reader, no warnings

the three of you are constantly trying to stop each other from doing reckless shit, but you're terrible at it

Clint is convinced you three have a shared deathwish and the only thing keeping all of you alive is the fact that you're no longer allowed to go on missions as a trio

speaking of, y'all are insufferable on missions

you and Bucky keep throwing yourselves in front of bullets, knives, magic.......seriously, stop it, you're stressing Loki out

sometimes Loki's too cocky for his own good, accidentally talking his way in the wrong direction (Bucky has had to save his ass a few times. Loki is still in debt to him)

if it's just two of you it's...well not better but...different

you and Bucky? mostly business, except for the constant stream of jokes and jabs at each other (and whoever's unlucky enough to be teamed up with you. y'all get a little mean with the jokes ngl lmao)

you and Loki are a terror together. while you technically break no laws, you two are awful

the two of you talk circles around everyone - teammates included - walking them straight into some pun or stupid play-on-wordsthat only you and Loki find funny. honestly you two are obnoxious (lovingly)

Natasha turned her comms off halfway through her first mission with you two. she refuses to turn them back on

Loki and Bucky aren't allowed to go on missions together

they bicker too much

also they've been caught.......distracting each other.....a few too many times

Steve can only be trusted on missions with you guys some of the time

y'all are just good at bringing Steve's inner gremlin to the surface, what can I say

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lemonyinks · 8 months

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I didn't like Mekt much but I do hate seeing him only utilized as a villain, as if Legion Worlds didn't happen.

Where is the Mekt who admitted that he was wrong to let his loneliness and jealousy dictate how he acted? Where is the Mekt that worked to be better? Where is the Mekt who welcomed Ayla home and put himself in harms way to help her save their parents farm? Where is the Mekt that delighted at the idea of seeing Garth again and was sad to hear he wasn't really coming back?

I don't know. Maybe it's just me but Mekt works so much better as a character of redemption and reconciliation than as one who stays bitter and antagonistic. He's more interesting that way

#this is just about post zero hour mekt i dont know much about other mekts'#losh #legion of super heroes #mekt ranzz #inkytalks #AND I AM NOT EVEN SAYING YOU AHVE TO LIKE HIM #OR THAT HIS SIBLINGS *HAVE* TO FORGIVE HIM #this still works if THEY are still bitter to HIM for what he did #BECAUSE THEY WOULD HAVE A RIGHT TO BE #but he doesn't deserve the watered down one dimensional asshole characterization I've seen in a few fics that are ABOUT pzh #my ideal rannz sibling dynamic is ayla being bitter and hostile to mekt garth being wary and hurt and at first unable to be around mekt #while mekt himself just feels so guilty for what he did and desperate to make up but willing to give them however long they need #even if that means he doesnt get to be in their lives ever again...#and then eventually they fall into a comfortable normal that is still not fully recovered and still bitter but they can #have breakfast togther without incident #they can talk about things like the weather or town gossip #they can work together on the farm in comfortable silence #ayla slowly grows less suspicious of mekt and begins to trust him a little more #garth stops feeling like mekt is going to lash out at any given moment and can spend time around him alone #things arent great and they probably wont ever heal all the way their relationship will always be strained #but he's trying and thats all they care about #and things are kinda sorta okay

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bejeweledmp3 · 2 months

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"if anyone asks i could post a sneak peak" me! I'm asking! please do post if you want to, just know that im looking forward very much to the rest of the story, and thinking of it, i just don't want to send you asks about it too often and bother you too much

anon i love you. please come bother me about totp as much as your heart desires. I did struggle with finding something to post because this chapter is a lot more tied together than the last one, in terms of what happens (which i learned by looking through the doc for something that could be understood without giving Too Much away, lmao). anyways, i hope you enjoy this bit!!! i love you muah muah!!!

Ever since that late-night conversation about the paperweight, Tim and her had been making a mutual effort to not ignore the Hawkins-Fuller-shaped shadow that followed them everywhere. It wasn’t a big deal (or more appropriately, they were both trying really hard, in some unspoken agreement, to not treat it like a big deal). She found that the key was treating it less like it was a very important topic for the both of them (which it was) and more like it was a part of their histories that they just so happened to share (which, she supposed, it also was).

Kim would come home and rant about something that had happened to her, and instead of changing topics when she realized that to understand whatever she wanted to say Tim would need context from when she was a child, she would give him said context as best as she could. If that meant talking about Mom’s pointed silences, or Jackson’s eternal mix of camaraderie and cruelty, or, most importantly, her dad’s love that never seemed to come out right, then so be it.

She had to admit, somewhere deep down, that she liked the way Tim would hang onto her every word, as if what she had to say actually meant something to him. When she stood in his kitchen during the late afternoon, talking and pretending she was helping out with dinner, she couldn’t stop the feeling of being a little girl, talking her dad’s ear off after some other kid’s birthday; only that this time what she was saying was being very carefully remembered, a snapshot of a life she couldn’t shake the feeling that Tim had always wanted to know more of. He never asked for her to do it, never demanded more than she was willing to give, but she was sure she wasn’t imagining the way he would light up at her stories, even the less than pleasant ones. Some part of her believed that Tim deserved to know it all, and so she kept telling him things as best as she knew how to.

#totp tag;#i truly do love doing this i can't wait for this chapter to go out #the bit about the bar that i was talking about the other day. u guys it's gonna be Great #i am once again excited about the fic so!!!!!!!!!!!!! can't wait i really can't!!!!!!!!#and i truly do work with validation so. do not be shy about talking to me about totp i mean it when i say that every single piece of #feedback means the world to me #also i am slowly but surely making my way through the ao3 comments i love them all i promise i'm just shy 😭😭😭😭😭#fellow travelers #talking tag;

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blaiddraws · 1 year

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I tried to imagine which other au I could fit dojoshipping into without it being cursed and the only one I could find was the ghost worm au. Imagine somehow he sticks around in the past for a bit and Zisu kisses his shiny metal head

hey check out this ask i got the other day

#answered #not art #ghost worm au #when your husband turn into worm 😔#fhjshsksbskshsjd #all joking aside it's. not gonna be a thing. he avoids jubilife and most humans in hisui a Whole Lot #there's ALSO the. two posts i made. guns georg. (which then immediately led me to think about gunsmoke au--)#that one would be normal. ish #there's nothing about ingo that is normal Ever. to be honest #HEY. HEY. HEY IVE NEVER MENTIONED IT BUT. BUT A WHILE AGO I HAD A GREAT IDEA FOR S DOJOSHIOPING FIC #OF WHICH I AM WORKING ON. SLOWLY.#right now im trying to get out a belated Halloween fic (VERY belated 😔)#but. after that i plan on the other thing #which i started before or during whumptober but. obviously focused on whumptober #ANYWAY.#:>#oh i guess #dojoshipping

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johnslittlespoon · 1 month

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also my inbox is fr a warzone rn i'm SO behind on like ~50 asks </3 itching to get back, just been trying to focus on actual fic writing when i get in a rare productive swing instead of hrs of drabbling and brainrot lmfaooo but i'll clear up a whole evening eventually to sit down and go thru a ton of them!

#or maybe i'll secretly do that one evening and queue up a shit ton of drabble responses to go up every 30 min teehee #who knows it's always a guessing game w my focus levels #speaking of not to irl–post but i am 2 weeks into new adhd meds and feeling FRIED and it's affecting my writing productivity #so that's my disclaimer/excuse for my lack of posts tbh bc i feel like everything i am writing lately is so lackluster/uninspired #so i don't wanna put out half–assed drabbles when i have so many Thoughts and Feelings about each ask that i wanna put into proper words!!#i'm saving them for when little bursts of inspo break thru the new med brain fog u feel me #and aside from that. slowly slowly working my way thru the (now confirmed: chaptered yikes) dog coded fic <3 slowly but surely anyway ^-^#point is: i am so eager to respond/brainrot to all the ideas in my inbox i don't want u askers to think i am overwhelmed or ignoring asks #just fighting thru tha brain fog such is life we move #johnslittlespoon yaps

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definitelynotshouting · 7 months

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hello new people from my cat post that got popular i hope you guys know that the minecraft blorbos kiss here

#shouting speaks #listen i wont turn down the chance to further the scarian rabies but i feel like i SHOULD at least offer the disclaimer first #been really funny to see ppl who arent mcyt blogs follow me. you there i hope ur okay with seeing cubitos kiss #actually tidbit for my followers i am working on a scarian fic rn..... slowly. bulk of my attention as always is devoted to hunger au #txt

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helianskies · 5 months

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'please don't fall!' for PruSpa :)

why of course >:3

Ladder

“Do you want me to hold the ladder?”

“I'm fine, it's not that high!”

“It was just an offer!”

“Oh, God, be careful up there, Gilbert! Please don't fall!”

“No point appealing to him,” Mikkel tells Antonio, who has just wandered into the room. “Stubborn as hell, as always!”

“I’m fine, seriously,” Gilbert assures them both all the same. “Your concern is flattering, but totally unnecessary!”

The three of them are amongst a small group of volunteers (or ‘elves’ as it had been put) to help decorate ahead of the annual holiday get-together. This year, it has become Francis’ undertaking, but as if he was going to get up a ladder and decorate the Christmas tree himself! Gilbert has a list of strict instructions (which he’s mostly ignored so far) and as he approaches the top, he’s glad he’s nearly finished.

But of course, being all the way up a ladder while decorating what was apparently a ten foot tall tree is ‘alarming’. Gilbert’s been dealing with Mikkel’s disguised worry for the last twenty minutes, but now that Antonio is now also here, he just knows it’ll worsen. Darn old men and their weak, weak knees! Not everyone is a liability!

As predicted, nevertheless—

“Do you want me to hold the ladder?” Antonio offers as well, hands on hips as he watches on from below. “Or maybe one of us should go up there instead…?”

Gilbert waves him off, and continues titivating the silvery tinsel. “I’m almost done,” he says by way of reassuring him, the worry-wart.

“I’m gonna leave you to it,” Mikkel surrenders with a gentle sigh. “Reckon I’ll be more use elsewhere.”

“Yep!” Gilbert agrees, eyes still glued to his work.

He hears some mumbling from below—Antonio and Mikkel exchanging some quiet words and a laugh about something, he notes—before one person’s footsteps pad away, and the room falls silent once more.

The silence only lasts so long, though.

“I’m looking forward to tonight,” Antonio muses. A quick glance down reveals that he’s looking around the room, at the tall ceilings, the chandelier, the snow-adorned garlands… “Something about Fran’s parties are always so magical, don’t you think?”

Gilbert hums along to appease him. He isn’t sure if ‘magical’ is the word. But he will admit he enjoys these nights, the festivities, the friends, the laughter… That’s what the holidays have come to mean: spending time with the important people in his life while they can.

But then Gilbert finds himself, after a moment, looking down once more. Below him, Antonio is eyeing some of the decorations already on the tree—glass baubles, ceramic birds, hand-painted globes—and a small smile seems to have appeared on his face, eyes wide like a child in a sweet shop.

Antonio is an even bigger fan of the holidays. For the same reasons, at heart. But there’s a part of him that also just loves the lights, the ornaments, the wreaths—every little detail. And even if he maintains his traditions in January, Antonio has not shied away from Christmas Day celebrations either in recent years. Gilbert likes seeing him enjoy himself in that respect. There was a short period where his presence was… Well…

It’s good to see him.

“Oh my gosh, I f—”

“FUCK—!”

“GILBERT!”

It happens so fast. There’s a wobble, then more wobbling, and then only falling.

It feels funny. A leg slips briefly between rungs—a misplaced foot is the root of his problems—and he feels himself fall backwards, light, helpless, fast. He braces himself in that single second to hit the ground—maybe even the ladder—to hit his head, or hurt his back, or land on a shoulder. Sustaining an injury is far from ideal, especially since these days he’s not quite so well-equipped to heal, but if he—

He does not hit the ground, but something just a little bit softer. Something that has arms that try to catch him, and something that inevitably falls down beneath his weight.

So much for not falling!

But that fall has repercussions, now, on more people than just himself.

With a groan, Gilbert tries to move and get up. Antonio, however, who is beneath him and sprawled across the floor, asks him, strained and quiet, to stay put.

Gilbert worries. His arse hurts, as does his shin. He’s glad to see the ladder went towards the tree and that Francis’ baubles survived the ordeal, but…

“Are you okay?” he asks Antonio, who still holds him, arms wrapped around Gilbert’s torso.

“Eh…” His breathing is a bit heavy, yet bated. “I thought I told you not to fall…”

“Yeah, well,” Gilbert scoffs, “you made me jump!”

“And you’re welcome for saving your neck!”

With that, Gilbert carefully pries himself from the other’s grasp and slowly sits up. Antonio softly groans, and decides to stay lying down; the other perches next to him, his own heart still racing a bit, and they look at each other.

The worry is certainly mutual.

“You okay?” Gilbert asks again, another layer to his question implied in the way his face morphs.

“Sore,” Antonio says. “Gimme a minute. I’ll— I’ll be fine.”

“Idiot.”

“Well.” His smile returned, albeit somewhat mischievous. “After that, I guess you could say you—”

“Don’t.”

“—fell for me?”

“Ugh.”

“The heck happened to you two? I heard a scream!”

Gilbert rolls his head to the side and finds Mikkel, reemerged at just the right time, and in a dramatic display of surrender, he riffs a slew of curses and joins Antonio on the floor properly.

Paying no mind to Mikkel’s presence, then, Antonio seeks out Gilbert’s hand and holds it gently in his own. It is warm. It is kind, in spite of what has just occurred between them. And Antonio looks at him with such warmth, too, and Gilbert looks back, and the other smiles once again, and Gilbert warms and buzzes and breathes and—

“No more ladders for you, Gil.”

“If you say so, Toni.”

And with that, their laughter only resumes.

[ fic collection on ao3! ] [ prompts list here! ]

#helia writes #hws spain #hws prussia #pruspa #no more ladders for gilbert #got a life ban #the first of the holiday fics had arriiiiived #i am working slowly thru them so do bear with #and thank you anon for requesting these buffoons 🍪 <3

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procrastinatorproject · 2 months

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New game: Share your three best fanworks. No thinking, just the three that instinctively occur to you. Then copy-paste this ask to anonymously share with as many people as you want.

Okay. A) I love this! Thank you so much, nonnie, for a brilliant idea!

B) Whoof. That's tough 😅

Without thinking:

My very first fic. It is finished, it has pacing, it has an arc, it has an actual story... The prose might need a bit of polishing, but I think it's still some of my best work!

My most artistic fic:

I just... I don't know. I feel like it's very personal and almost has something lyrical about it and I feel very deeply about it, even if it is perhaps a little pretentious.

The third one is hard, though...

I'm very torn between something like A Night at the Opera, which I'm still extremely proud of, In the Palm of his Hand, which I love and hope to finish one day, and even The Cake is a Lie. Though the last two are probably not nearly as good in their current published form as they are in my WIPs, where I have additional material that really adds A Lot to them 😅

But I feel like I also want to put one of my metas here, because I have a bunch of those and they're important to me and feel like they're out of contention for this sort of thing. So here's my probably favourite bit of meta writing:

I love Rios and Agnes! And I find their budding relationship fascinating and gentle and lovely and want to think about it more. And this was such a great way to look at their interactions and psychology, and to explain why I think they make sense together.

(Also: it always reminds me of the incredible "Your Light on Me" by @regionalpancake and the gorgeous Love Comes Softly by @smhalltheurlsaretaken, which is essentially the same argument but as an amazing fic (and gorgeous podfic by @thelaithlyworm). And these kinds of connections always make everything better 🥰)

#lili's writing adventures #thank you for the excuse to indulge in my own writing for a bit :D #i think i'd probably also put 'snow day' up there? but it's too new to know what I'll be thinking about it long-term #i'm always a bit surprised that i have posted more stories (and meta) than i think #but also i clearly have greater fondness for my earlier work. i should probably try and figure out what that's about 😅#but i think i'm slowly starting to enjoy this whole Writing thing again so that's something #anyway #thanks nonnie #this was very nice #star trek picard #star trek la sirena #cristobal rios #agnes jurati #agnebal #(yes i am also shocked there isn't a holo centric fic in this. I think Night at the Opera is a very close contender for my favourite fic #but it's not the one that springs immediately to mind when i think of my 'best' fic)#it might be... but i'm not sure

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