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fus-writes · 3 years
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Owl/Izumi oneshot snippet
Naruto fandom. OC-centric. Uchiha OC/Uchiha Izumi For him, there was no moment of sudden love. No storm that altered the habitat his feelings nested in, no leap off a cliff, no smack in the face. It was a gradual thing, creeping ever so slowly into his heart unnoticed. The noticing, however, was like a bolt of lightning. It singed him, burning his throat and energizing down his spine to coil in his gut before fluttering up to perch in his ribs. He choked on the air in his lungs the first time it happened. He had never experienced anything quite like this. He had been raised in a place many considered rough, pitiable even, and his cousin liked to point out how ‘stunted’ it made him. Perhaps that’s why he hadn’t noticed the difference in his feelings. He wasn’t great at anything involving people that didn’t involve action. He was a shinobi, talented in things civilians found uncomfortable at best, but to ask him to develop a friendship? That… that was a bit out of his league. How was he supposed to do that? He had never learned because it had been deemed unnecessary by the Warhawk, and he hadn’t known otherwise as a child. It hardly seemed unnecessary right now.
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fus-writes · 3 years
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Ghost reader WIP
Unnamed WIP. Dead reader has to nancy drew their own death. The plot bunny wouldn’t leave me alone. Im unlikely to ever finish this. Read the tags. Please don’t steal.
You stared at the wrinkled piece of paper on the desk, unable to draw your eyes from it. Rereading the words, there was no mistake. It was certainly your handwriting, the paper from the little notebook you liked to carry around with you - you recognized the little stamp in the corner. Your name, specially printed on the pages in a commission by the person who had gifted it to you.
It was jarring, horrifying really, and you gripped your wrist with your other hand to stop from reaching out to touch the soiled paper. Blood splattered the paper, looking surreal and as if tinted ink had been splashed onto it. But the blood was real, you knew, the stinking floors behind you permanently stained, ready to be ripped out and replaced.
A shuddered breath in and you read the words over again.
There was no mistake. It was a suicide note. Your suicide note.
Dated for three days ago.
You... hadn’t written this.
You stepped back at the sound of someone in the entrance to your house. Your husband, presumably, the evening sun lighting up the room telling you it was time for him to come home.
Timidly, you made your way to the door, past the mess in the room, to peek through to the other room. Not long after, your husband’s figure swept through the entryway in your vision, the evening sun shining through and illuminating him as he opened the door to let fresh air in.
There he stood. The man you love; he was as beautiful as ever.
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fus-writes · 3 years
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“Cuyan”
For a fic I’m working on. Probably won't publish it, but please don’t copy any work I do post.
It’s OC-centric. Starts about 40BBY when Jango Fett is a slave after Galidraan. Misadventures abound and the MC is an afab. Use of Mando’a and overused crossover tropes in the fic. Makes no sense but I do what I want.
Jango had taken to calling her Cuyan. She had done nothing more than quietly test his own name out in her scratchy voice, rough from disuse, when he tried to officially introduce them. She was a clever child, easily picking up his name and the words he taught her, but had given him no more than a thoughtful look and a shrug in return when he gestured for her own name.
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