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subliminalwish · 4 months ago

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A Blooming Predicament

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Pairing: Sylus x Reader Summary: You chanced a glance on a dark alley on your way home, expecting to see a lost stray needing shelter from the rain but the one you ended up taking home is currently bleeding on your couch. Content: reader is not MC, reader is female, this is a slow burn, mentions of gunshot wounds, bleeding, and administering first aid, depictions of blood, wound care, implied crime & organised violence, mild language and dark humour, reference of alcohol, written under the influence of medication - some inconsistencies are possible. A/N: My apologies for the delay - I'd been incredibly sick. This chapter is much longer than the other two, and a lot of my time was spent trying to condense this while still keeping the pace. I hope it's not too much! Thank you so much for reading.

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You wish your hands would stop shaking so much.

His breath on your neck is warm but shallow, ghosting over your skin — faint, like sighs on velvet.

At least you can tell he’s still alive.

He hasn’t spoken since you dragged him out of that alley. Neither have you.

The intoxicating scent of charred spice burns into your lungs.

He’s so tall, doubled over you as you struggle to support him on your journey back to your apartment. Stark against the chill of the rain, the heat where his weight rests against you spreads — soaking your clothes, clinging to your skin, promising stains that might never wash off.

It’s fine, you tell yourself. You’re used to stains. The faint dusting of pollen. Fingerprints on glass. Smoke clinging to fabric. Streaks of green from crushed stems. The kind that lingers long after it should be gone.

You press on, stumbling through your building’s doors haphazardly. You’re a mess of aching muscles, trembling fingers, and the weight of him, draped over you like some exotic scarf.

Something grips you by the waist. Anchors you. You look down to see his large hand pressing you even closer to his body. Strong, despite the injury.

“What floor?” comes the sudden gravelly whisper fanning over your neck, your skin puckering in goosebumps on contact.

You tell him.

“Hold on tight.” That’s the only warning before the floor disappears beneath your feet, and for a split second, you think: this is a terrible way to die. The world vanishes in wisps of black and scarlet, weightless and soundless. The walls dissolve; there’s no sense of up or down — only him, warmth pressing against you, grounding you in this abyss like the only real thing left.

Solid footing returns as abruptly as it was stolen. Your knees buckle slightly at the sudden impact; the world reappears around you. You’re at your apartment level.

“How —” you start, but he’s already dragging you to move.

“Which door?” There’s a strain in his voice that wasn’t there before.

The stupid questions can wait.

——

He crashes onto the couch with a quiet groan, tipping his head back on the backrest as his eyes flutter shut.

Yours dart around your apartment until you find what you’re looking for. You’ve never had a half-dead man bleeding on your couch before, but you’re sure there’s at least something in your little first aid kit that can help. Gauze, antiseptic, an old roll of bandages. Ibuprofen, for the mild inconvenience of being shot.

You make your way back to his side, your attention now on the ruined fabric clinging to his skin, torn where the wound is worst, stained in deep red.

Your grip on the edges of the kit tightens, your heart pounding in your ears, your vision narrowing to the spreading blotch where skin meets couch.

A slow inhale, and then —

“Have you ever done this before?” His deep voice pulls you back, almost startles you — hoarse at the edges, tight with pain. Tempered with something softer. The sound catches at something in your chest, and you hate the way it makes your heart clench. His eyes are open by just a crack, a hint of red peeking through, locked on yours. His head is still tipped back as he takes measured breaths.

“Not at all.”

He shifts, a familiar smirk with a tinge of exhaustion on his lips as he moves to tear the tattered shirt off him.

“Follow my lead.”

Your hands move on autopilot, following his instructions without question. His voice is calm. Too steady for someone who’s bleeding out. You hold on to that low timbre for your life, the subtle shifts of his body, tilting into your touch when your fingers brush against exposed skin.

“You need to press harder.”

“You’re doing fine.”

“Use this next.”

“Breathe .”

Somewhere in between the stitching and the bandages being pulled taut, your heartbeat evens out, matching the smooth rumble of his voice, his mere presence keeping you from falling into the void.

Time blurs at the edges. You sit back after carefully securing the wrappings, your eyes scanning over his bare torso and its now-rhythmic rise and fall, to the rest of him for a final check.

“You catch on quick,” he says warmly, a tone of pleasant surprise with the undercurrent of something you choose to ignore. You don’t know what to say to that, lowering your gaze to your hands now resting on your lap, the tremors from earlier fading without a trace. You flex them before looking back at your handiwork, the gauze wound tight around him, keeping him from unraveling —

So why does it feel like he’s the one who’s holding you together?

——

“This… might fit,” you say, almost apologetic as you hand him your largest hoodie. He takes it with one hand, glancing at the wrappings around his torso before giving you a look.

“I don’t want to ruin your masterpiece,” he says smoothly, making you roll your eyes as you grab the hoodie back. He leans over expectantly.

By some miracle, you ease him into the hoodie. The fabric stretches just a little too much in places, snug against him. You try not to think about it.

He lets out a satisfied sigh and leans back, now far more relaxed than when he first staggered into your flat hours earlier. “Thank you. I’ll be sure to return it.”

“No, it’s fine,” you say a bit too quickly. “You can keep it.” It’s probably for the best.

Desperate for something to do, you head to the fridge. “Um. Do you want something to drink?”

“Some whiskey would be nice.”

“I’m not giving you any liquor.”

“Then forget it.”

You scowl at this strange stray you’ve taken in, his size dwarfing your couch as he claims his territory between your blood-stained throw pillows.

You grab a glass of water and set it on the coffee table with a pointed look. He doesn’t even glance at it.

“Is there someone you can call? Do you need to borrow a phone?” you ask as you move back to sit on the adjacent chair.

He’s already pulling his own device out and dialing on the cracked screen. “I’m sorted, but thank you.” There are bloodstains on the phone, too.

You fall silent as you hear the other line answer in one ring.

“Boss!” shouts the person on the other end. They sound relieved.

“The deal is off. Wrap it up. Now. Meet me at the usual place when you’re done.” He doesn’t wait for them to respond, ending the call and putting his phone away in one fluid motion.

You wish you moved to the other room — the less you hear about any of this, the better.

“Looks like I’m your problem for a little longer,” he says gently, looking at you now with a softened expression. He waits for you to react.

“Just until the sun fully sets,” he adds. “I don’t do well in the daylight.”

You automatically glance out your window at the gradually darkening cityscape. The rain has long stopped, the world outside shrouded in a light sheen from the drizzle.

You nod, unsure why it matters whether he leaves now or after the sun sets. But something about the way he says it — the way he looks at the sky — makes you think you don’t want to know. And the less you know, the better.

A minute passes. Then, his voice cuts through the quiet — low, almost lazy, but there’s something behind it.

“Why did you help me?”

You blink at him. You should probably give him a real answer.

“Did you want to bleed out in that alley? I can put the bullets back.”

That earns you a soft huff, something like amusement curling at the edges of his breath.

“I meant at the flower shop.”

You don’t reply right away. You could tell the truth — that you didn’t want to be collateral damage, that you like your life quiet and uncomplicated, and a shootout in a flower shop tends to disrupt that. But saying it outright feels too honest. Too callous.

So instead, you shrug, feigning nonchalance. “Seemed like the least messy option.”

A pause. Something amused flickers across his face, there and gone in an instant.

With nothing left to say, you both settle into silence, your guest occasionally humming an unknown tune.

There’s little need for words when the air between you is already thick with unspoken things.

You can still smell the sharp, metallic bite of blood underneath molten amber, settling at the back of your throat, refusing to let go.

As the sky outside finally deepens in hue, he gets up with purpose, his movement effortless, as if he hasn’t been close to death just hours before.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I won’t forget this.”

You hope he does.

He opens the window without offering an explanation. Sits at the edge on the sill and casually leans out to assess the view below before looking back at you with a long, measuring look.

“I’m sure we’ll meet again soon.”

You hope not.

He says it with so much certainty, as sure as the setting sun.

Something about the way he moves makes your stomach lurch, your instincts screaming before your brain catches up.

He’s leaning too far back. Too far into the gaping maw that is your window.

“Hey —”

You’re already on your feet before you even realize it.

“Can you not —”

He tilts backwards completely. Your window swallows him whole. He vanishes from your sight, rips your heart out of your chest and drags it with him.

“Hey, wait!”

You lunge forward, half your body slipping past the frame. The dizzying drop yawns beneath you. Your eyes follow the trail of hazy smoke and black feathers descending rapidly toward the empty street, and seconds later, he materializes onto the pavement, looking up at you with that same slow curve of his lips that makes your chest tighten.

You watch him walk away, his silhouette vanishing into the dark. The ruined couch, the lingering scent of iron mixed with warm spice, and the tattered afterthought of an expensive shirt are the only proof he was ever here.

You aren’t the type to get caught up in things that don’t concern you.

But if there’s anything worse than making a bad decision, it’s pretending you didn’t already make it.

You look around now at the aftermath of your choices decorating your living room, clean-up on your mind.

You’re used to stains. The rust-dark imprint of a thorn prick. The inescapable perfume of crushed petals. The faint, bitter tang of torn leaves. Blood and viscera are just different shades of the same thing. The kind that lingers long after it should be gone.

Some whiskey doesn’t sound so bad right now.

——

You didn’t wake up this morning expecting to get mugged by a bird.

One second, the shop keys are in your hand. The next, they aren’t.

A rush of black feathers, a flick of talons. The haunting, sharp echo of a triumphant caw. The weight of metal is stolen from your fingers before you can process the theft, before your breath can even catch up with the crime.

You blink up at the sky, dazed. The shop keys glint between its claws like a prize.

The city moves around you, indifferent. People pass by, eyes fixed forward, their worlds sealed off in invisible walls. A car horn blares in the distance. Someone laughs. The morning air is thick with damp concrete and yesterday’s regrets. You push past the early morning bustle, past people too preoccupied to notice you chasing after an airborne thief. A few glance up at the sound of ruffled feathers, but nobody in Linkon asks too many questions.

It swoops low, wings outstretched, dancing just out of reach before darting forward again. You swear you hear it cackle.

It winds through the city, taking you through twisting paths and narrow passages. Leads you down familiar streets, past shuttered cafés and flickering neon signs, past lampposts that hum with the last traces of their glow. It keeps ahead of you by mere feet, never quite out of reach, never close enough to catch.

Then, without warning, it folds its wings and drops.

You skid to a stop.

It lands right on the wooden sign hanging above Larkspur & Ivy, perching neatly on the edge. For a moment, it does nothing — just stares, head tilted, considering you. Flicks its tail with a self-satisfied ruffle of feathers.

Then, slow and deliberate, it unfurls its talons and lets your keys slip through.

They clatter onto the pavement.

The crow lets out a single caw, sharp and bright in the morning hush. Almost like laughter.

You crouch to pick up your keys, but your gaze snags on the bird.

Up close, its feathers are too smooth. Sleek, polished. A glint of metal. The light catches strange on its body, edges too sharp, movements too precise. And when it tilts its head, you hear it — a mechanical whir, the faintest click of shifting plates beneath the feathers.

Red rubies for eyes, like molten glass, glowing against the grey morning like a warning carved into the skyline.

You feel like you’ve seen that shade of red before.

You exhale, slow. Linkon has its ghosts. Some of them just wear different disguises.

The crow watches you expectantly. Lets out another raucous caw. Flaps its wings once, then takes off into the sky, vanishing into the city sprawl.

Your fingers tighten around the stolen thing, thumb tracing over it absently before you slip the key into its place. The sky is empty now. The shop’s door unlocks with a hollow click, and the scent of flowers greets you like a well-worn memory.

Behind you, two men walk past the shop. Eyes flicking your way, exchanging a look, quiet and knowing, as you busy yourself among the oleanders and poppies.

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rainyfey · 6 months ago

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I loved your momokarun fic art! Do you have any other fic recommendations?

Hello anon!! Sorry to make you wait so long and thank you for the ask!! 💖 I have read several fics that I really, really loved and want to draw fanart for :3 but time and inspiration were not on my side until now!

Here is some Fanart of Chapter 3 of Mitsu Boshi! I will never get tired of fanfics where we get a whole scene of Okarun infodumping about aliens and conspiracies to a Momo who has just met him and is quickly becoming convinced that he's crazy XD

I ramble and recommend another fic under the cut as well:

The one living rent free in my head right now is Mitsu Boshi, which I recommended recently in this reblog. Friendly to Anime-Onlys at the moment due to it being an AU and not set in a specific place in canon :3 it's soooosososo well done and an absolute joy to read (and reread lol). Def give it a look if you have time! Also listen to the spotify playlist the author linked in Ch.6 (I've had it on on repeat while I draw, it's awesome and every song is such a great fit for the fic!!)

Another very fun one that I am determined to draw for in the future (for one of the action-oriented scenes that is verrryyy beyond my current skillset so it's taking...time lol) is Chapter One of a fic called "Momo Ayase vs the World" by GoodEveningClarice and is a part of a series called "What's inside Turbo Okarun's Mouth?" (Can y'all guess why it caught my attention?? LOL) Chapter 1 is very cool and feels like a chapter right out of the Manga!! Chapter 2 is more fluffy and just as fun to read 💕 Be warned, though, it's written at a point in canon not covered by the anime. So i suggest catching up on the manga first to avoid spoilers and to get some context for what's going on~

Thank you again, I'm so honored you guys are enjoying the art I post and sending me asks 💖 it's been so much fun getting to love on the DanDaDan series with all the other fans here!!

#asks answered #anon #my art #dandadan #okarun #ken takakura #momo ayase #dan da dan #ao3 #fic recs #Mitsu Boshi #Momo Ayase vs the World #momokarun

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jackoquako · 1 month ago

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Burning from the Inside

Yan! Batfamily x neglected! male! meta! Reader

Chapter one: Enter the Manor

Summary: The first few months of living in the manor and your impressions of the inhabitants. Word Count: 2805 Reading Time: 11:14 (mins:secs) Notes: Uh yeah this was meant to be maybe like 1000 words max. Oopsies 😬. I thought I’d do an honorable mention of @sitepathos and their series Gold to Mold bc while the influence may not be obvious, that story was one of my main influences to finally write the story in my head. Also any OOC behavior can be chalked up to the characters being emotionally inept (Bruce), not fully capable of raising a child that’s not Robin (Bruce again), or deal with their own emotional baggage of not being Robin anymore (dick). Also it’s important to note that I do look through the interactions with my fic and block profiles that only use she/her or say “cis girl”. The idea of being used as a tool for someone else’s gratification makes me uncomfortable and this is my blog, I do what I want. No current release date for the second chapter, it’ll get done when it gets done I guess.. 🤷‍♂️😓 Warnings: written in first person, talks of a young child (11) dealing with depression but the word isn’t used. Aggressive behavior from an adult to a child, and neglect from a parental figure.

Navigation

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Prologue | Chapter 1 (you are here) | Next Chapter ->

The first week in the manor was actually rather.. nice. The car Alfred had taken you to the manor in was a shiny black, the interior coated in an oil-like black leather that made noise when you moved on it. There’d been a bag of fast food waiting for you in the back seat of the car when Alfred ushered you in. You’d devoured the meal hastily- not out of any sort of food deprivation or malnutrition, but because it never seemed like you could sate your appetite. No matter what, you were always a little hungry, a little more ravenous than the other boys your age. He’d talked sparingly as he drove, rarely talking his eyes off the road. It seemed like he understood. Unlike the cops and the foster families and the social workers, Alfred didn’t say “I’m sorry” or “that must hurt”. He didn’t really say anything about it at all.

He’d asked you what your favorite color was, what style of decoration you’d want for your room, if you enjoyed your current clothes and style or if you’d rather have something else, and other similar questions. It was slow going, moving your mouth to form answers. Since the house fire, you’d grown to be unlike your past self, retracting into your shell like a snail, and barely speaking unless absolutely necessary. He didn’t seem to mind silence, though. It made a knot in your shoulders, that you never noticed, come loose.

The ride wasn’t very long, or maybe it was, you didn’t pay much attention to the time. It didn’t feel like a long ride. You’d spent the majority of it resting your head on the car door and staring out the window, watching buildings and trees pass by. The squat, brick buildings of mom-and-pop businesses of the town you’d been moved to gradually gave way to towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, although that eventually fell away to a thinned forest and big houses that stood proud among manicured lawns. The houses faded away too, leaving miles of sprawling woods the only thing to look at. Watching the trees pass by was a rather calming experience, your heartbeat slow and steady in your chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling that ever-present heat under your skin settle, like a cat laying in the sun. It never left, like a permanent fever, but it could calm down, it could go dormant for the moment.

The car rolled to a stop and you opened your eyes. A mansion stood alone in the middle of the woods, a driveway leading up to it and ending in a roundabout with a fountain in the middle. The front of the house was framed by well-loved hedges and flower beds which bloomed with brilliant white and red flowers. The house- mansion- itself was a deep red brick, the stone worn by weather, and framed by snow-white columns of marble. It was imposing, looming over the surrounding trees. Alfred stepped out of the car and moved around to the side, opening the door for you.

“Master yn, we have arrived.” He said with that same kind, elegant manner he’d greeted you with, back at the social worker’s office.

As you climbed out of the car, Alfred moved back to the trunk and opened it, grabbing your singular bag of belongings before closing the trunk. He walked to the pristine marble stairs that led up to the tall mahogany doors, the gravel crunching under his shiny black shoes. You followed loosely behind him, looking around at the outside of the house. The thought hadn’t quite managed to break through the fog that always seemed to cloud your mind nowadays, but it suddenly dawned on you that this isn’t exactly a normal foster family. You hurried to the door when Alfred held it open for you, stopping only for a moment to glance down at the outdoor mat resting outside the door. It was black with a gold logo printed onto it; the logo looked like a highly stylized W with an E beside it. An unsettled feeling rested in your stomach at the sight of it and you couldn’t quite grasp why.

Entering the mansion, you were struck with the smell of cleaner and, very faintly, cologne. It smelled like an expensive store, the kind of place you and your mom would walk past on the way to your usual shopping area. The entryway had an open doorway that offered a small glimpse into the rest of the manor. A grand staircase ran down the side of the wall, the room entirely lit by a chandelier hanging from the high vaulted ceiling. Alfred moves past you, closing the door behind you both, and talks while gesturing for you to follow him up the grand staircase.

He’d taken you down a long hall that was lined with closed doors, explaining where everything was located whilst walking.

“Now, Master Bruce’s bedroom is.. further down the hall.”

You must’ve given him a curious look as you both arrived at your new room. Alfred opened the door for you, allowing you to enter in front of him.

“He wishes to give you space during this time.”

Your stomach churned at those words. They were perfectly designed, like what a PR team would tell their talent to say after screwing up massively. It left a sour taste in your mouth and you couldn’t quite meet Alfred’s gaze after hearing that. You looked around the room as Alfred set down your bag on the bed. It was much larger than anywhere you’d lived before, considering both foster homes and your real home.

Despite the size, though, the room was bare of any decoration. A single twin bed laid under the brightness of the single window in the room, only blinds blocking the sunlight. Along the far right wall stood a sturdy wooden dresser and mirror. The walls were a blank white wallpaper and the floor was the same shiny deep-colored wood as the hallway outside. There was no side table for the bed, no carpet despite how cold the floor would definitely get, no posters or paintings, just the bare necessities. It was the picture of utilitarian. Alfred spoke up, clearing his throat as if he was embarrassed.

“Unfortunately, we were unable to source more furniture before your arrival.” He said with the same elegance as everything else he’d said, despite his expression figuratively shouting how upset he was about what he was saying.

It intrigued you more than it should’ve. You shrugged and went to the window, pulling down one of the blinds to look outside.

“It’s fine.”

It’s not. You didn’t turn to look back at Alfred as you spoke, nor did you look back when you heard his fancy dress shoes shuffle against the floor. You heard the door creak.

“I’ll let you settle in, sir.”

You heard the door shut behind Alfred as he left. The minute you were alone, you fell back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

The first few weeks had been rather boring, admittedly. You’d often stay in your room for days at a time, only wandering out to explore the house when you got bored of staring at the ceiling. You’d stroll up and down the halls, discovering the library, the private study that Bruce Wayne used, the various staff quarters, and more guest bedrooms than you thought was possible. None of it really excited you, though. A numbness had invaded your mind and made you into a living ghost, something human in name only. You no longer looked in mirrors and spoke very little, if at all. Not like there were very many people to talk to.

Bruce Wayne was as elusive as rain in the desert. He flitted about the manor, only ever coming home very late at night and leaving in the morning. You didn’t really want to know what he was doing so late in the evening, but you figured you’d find out about it someday. Secrets between you and your mom didn’t last very long, so most family secrets should be the same.

The very few times you interacted with Bruce Wayne, he seemed distracted or discomforted by your presence, like he was seeing your mother, not you. If you happened to be in the kitchen when he came in, he’d stare at you for a long moment before attempting some sort of small talk. When you didn’t respond, he’d just leave. After the first three days, he avoided you completely. Maybe it was because you were both orphans or maybe there was just something unsettling about you, but Bruce Wayne didn’t want you in his house. Maybe he saw the same in-humanness that the foster families saw. Whatever was wrong with you was palpable, apparently.

Bruce Wayne wasn’t the only person in the manor who avoided you.

Richard Grayson was, according to google, an orphan Bruce Wayne took in. Grayson didn’t care for your presence either. He was eighteen and seemed to be genuinely disgusted by you. Maybe he saw something too. Or maybe he was just a dick. The first incident with Grayson happened not too long after you moved in. You’d been wandering towards the direction of the kitchen when the front door burst open. He’d stood in the doorway, framed by the light around him, like an action figure in a commercial, all stoic and proud. You stopped to look at him and he looked back, like two animals spooked by the other’s existence. He’d scowled and glared down at you, crossing his arms as he approached. The rude dick left the door open behind him.

“What are you, another one of Bruce’s new bratty orphans?” His words dripped with anger and annoyance, like you were ruining something just by the virtue of being here. He scoffed before you could even respond and stomped off.

Luckily for you, though, Grayson didn’t live in the manor. He had his own apartment he’d disappear to for weeks. It was bliss, not having him around constantly. Living with Bruce Wayne already had your blood pressure high and your fuse short, but having someone as outright about their dislike of you- over something that you didn’t even understand- that made your blood boil. You had to physically stop yourself from launching yourself at Grayson every time he looked at you like you were a cockroach.

But there were redeeming inhabitants in the manor. One of which was Alfred. He never forced you to talk if you didn’t feel like it, which you often didn’t. When you crawled out of your room for food once a day, he’d prepare a meal for you whilst telling you a story. You enjoyed his stories; the stories reminded you of your mother.

“Once, when I was in the SAS,” He’d begin, chopping vegetables into fine little cubes and tossing them into a pan. He’d grab fresh herbs from somewhere and begin chopping those as well.

“There were two new recruits.” He focused on what he was doing as you rested your head on your palm and stood leaning on the dinner table. “And they thought they were just the sneakiest men in the platoon.”

Once the herbs were diced, he’d add them to the sizzling pan, and stir the concoction. The action sent a flurry of floral scents in the air, filling the kitchen with an inviting aroma.

Alfred continued whilst stirring the contents of the pan. “So the rest of us had dared them; said ‘if you’re really that good at sneaking around, then sneak up to one of the rabbits on base and put a ribbon on it.’”

“And by god, they did.” Alfred chuckled to himself as he turned off the burner and continued to stir, reaching over to the spice rack and picking out multiple bottles and sprinkling the contents into the pan. “They snuck out of the barracks that night and went out into the woods without any of us knowing.”

He gestured for you to sit at the bar and grabbed a plate from a cabinet, snatching a fork from an adjacent drawer. “By the time we all woke up and began our own duties, there were about twelve rabbits running around the base with little ribbon bow ties tied around their necks!”

Laughing softly to himself, Alfred scooped out the cooked vegetable stir-fry onto the plate and brought it over to you along with the fork. He’d sat with you as you ate, talking about other stories from his time in the SAS and his time working for Martha and Thomas Wayne. His genuine kindness made it almost worth it to be living in the manor.

The other inhabitant who didn't mind you being in the manor- and even seemed to like you being around- was Jason Todd. You’d met him while wandering around the manor like you often did. You’d just found the library for the first time when he popped up out of nowhere, appearing from behind a plush seat like a character from a horror movie. He’d bounded over to you like an excited puppy and began speaking a mile a minute. At first he’d put on this hyper-masculine deep voice that didn’t match his face or his age at all.

“Hey! Who are you?” He’d looked down his nose at you and you quickly realized that he, despite already being the same height as you, had stood on his tiptoes specifically so he could look down his nose at you.

Fixing him with the same blank stare you’d used on everyone, you answered simply. That numbness you’d grown accustomed to made it hard to put energy into your voice. “(Y/N).”

He blinked once, then twice, and then the facade broke. His voice softened into what you assumed was its normal state and he slowly lowered himself to his usual height. Tilting this way and that, he examined you with an almost-suspicious expression.

“Oh.” He suddenly light up with recognition. “You must be the other kid B took in. I’m Jason.” He pointed to himself with a prideful smile. “How come I haven’t seen you around?” The question was innocently curious, only prying on accident.

You stared blankly, no response leaving your lips as you stood still. He tilted his head and frowned, shrugging as he looked away, feigning disinterest.

“Strong and silent type, huh?” He nodded to himself as he said the words, still looking at some random book on the bookshelf. “I can work with that.”

And he did.

Jason’s friendship was unlike your relationship with Alfred. In the fogginess of apathy- depression, you realized- he cut through the clouds like a lighthouse. He’d follow you around when you left your room, finding you every time like he had a compass implanted in his head or something, and it exclusively led to you. You’d be just wandering, sometimes taking paths you already walked before, sometimes carving completely new wear patterns in the carpet, and he’d sidle right up next to you and begin talking.

Just like Alfred, he did the talking for the two of you, but he was different. Jason would pause occasionally after cracking a joke, glancing at you to see if you laughed, smiling if he saw you reacted at all. It was like he understood you in a way Alfred didn’t, like he’d been in your shoes before. Sometimes while walking through the halls of the manor, he’d take your hand and lead you to some unspecified place. Occasionally it was the library, but most of the time it was places you’d never gone before, like the rooftop, the garden, and the theater room.

Eventually, you learned through his one-sided conversations that Jason was only two years older than you at 13, and that he’d lived in crime alley. You didn’t really know where that was, but it sounded like a rough place to live. After a few months of being Jason’s unofficial sidekick, you began talking again. He never made a big deal out of it, but you could see his eyes light up when he finally got a response, even if they were one-worded at best. He’d cracked the hardened shell of emptiness that formed around your heart. The constant rejection by Wayne and Grayson didn’t help, neither did the gentle approach from Alfred, if you were being honest, but Jason had cracked it. He’d pulled you out of a ship you didn’t know had already sunk. And the first embers of happiness began to spark up again once more, even if it was faint. For the first time in a really long time, you had a friend.

And you had all the time in the world to get to know each other better.

#batfamily x neglected reader #batfamily x male reader #batfam #jason todd x male reader #fanfic #x neglected reader #dc x male reader #dick grayson x male reader #batfamily x reader #batfam x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x male reader #yandere batfam #BFTI - story

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carawenfiction · 6 days ago

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The Shadow Society Remake: Chapter 2 Sneak Peeks

Hello everyone!

This is a little bit of a writing update and a little bit of a sneak peek update. I just posted a playable early access sneak peek of chapter 2 (which also contain the prologue and chapter 1, aka the entirety of the remake so far) on my Patreon for rebel-tier members.

When I first posted the demo, I counted it to be roughly around 35k words, code excluded. I haven't excluded code when counting lately since going through the files and copy-pasting each written section while leaving the code takes a bit of time to do. That being said, the Patreon alpha/beta build is currently around 70k words in total (prologue, chapter 1 and the beginning of chapter 2), mostly with code included.

The chapter 1 included in this early access sneak peek is the old version that was available before I privated it in order to work on it more; once I've made the changes I want, I'll add it to the alpha build and hope to have it publicly available again either now in June or July.

I wanted to post some screenshots here and show you what I've been working on :) <3 the genders of the characters were selected at random.

Please keep in mind that the content and writing shown in these screenshots are part of a WIP and will most likely be updated, edited further and/or change down the line.

#the shadow society #tss #carawenfiction #interactive fiction #update #sneak peek #wip #if #cog #hosted games #gwyndal #rheylo #azuridia #quarie #the shadowman

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 2 years ago

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Chapter 1 of the Blood Ties Series.

When Your Line is Crossed, I Get Off

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

Setting: The Quarry

Warnings: Poorly written smut (p in v), slight mention of injuries

Summary: Sometimes, you just need to let off some steam and you have your very own ill-tempered, complicated redneck to help with that goal.

A/N: Help, I’m stuck on Quarry/CDC/Farm Daryl and he’s got me in a chokehold. I like it.

Moodboard by @dannyo000 💙

*gif is not mine

It should have made you feel ashamed; guilty, even. You were putting your family at risk. You had been for weeks. The Turn had brought out the worst in humanity. Rapists, murderers, plunderers. You had heard at least one story of each every single run into the city you made.

You despised the city, even before the world went to shit. You had grown up in the woods. Being from a small no-name town meant sometimes it was necessary to find your own food. You helped your dad with a small garden, helped him hunt. You took over doing both when the car accident took his leg. Your mom had split when you were a toddler, so your dad was everything. You made sure he knew that by stepping up when the time came for you to care for him.

You had made sure everything he needed was packed before grabbing anything of your own. The two of you had left to meet up with your aunt and two uncles in the mountains. The further from strangers you were, the better. Family came first.

That’s why the tree bark scraping your back while eight inches of redneck from a nearby camp slammed into your pussy should have made you feel all sorts of bad.

Daryl was everything your father had told you to stay away from, but when you stumbled across one another while tracking the same deer, you felt drawn to him in a way that was unfamiliar. He had slung several insults at you that you had boomeranged with some clever ones of your own. You had relented that day, retreating toward your own camp with a watchful eye over your shoulder to ensure you weren’t followed.

You met him twice more after that. He never seemed to hunt in the same area, which made sense. It also meant that you were bound to run into one another again. It was the second meeting when it changed. He was more tense and you could sense something was different. Even after only a couple of chance encounters, you didn’t feel threatened. So, you did what any girl in your situation would do.

You offered him a blow job.

Given your current position, he had obviously accepted. The two of you met up regularly now to “destress.” You never really found time for conversation but you knew two things for certain:

Daryl Dixon was an excellent hunter.

Daryl Dixon knew how to fuck.

“Right there! Fuck, harder!” You clawed at his shoulders, angling your knees outward while your ankles remained locked against his ass. The angle pulled him deeper, his tip pressing even harder against that delicious spot inside you.

As per usual, you were utterly bare. Daryl had an obsession with being able to touch every inch of your skin. Licking, biting, kissing with an eagerness that made you feel worshiped. He would leave marks that— like your abused cunt— pleasantly ached for a couple of days, only leaving you yearning for the next encounter.

Daryl, on the other hand, remained clothed. You had never seen more than his cock and a patch of his lower stomach. It was odd and he had snapped at you to stop being a nosey bitch when you had questioned. If it hadn’t been for the shame you could see in those striking blue eyes, things might have gone much differently. You had yet to bring it up again.

“Takin’ me so well. Can’t get enough’a this, can ya?” He panted against the shell of your ear, dragging his tongue over to your jaw before claiming your mouth. He was swallowing your moans, knowing how loud you could be, especially when you were nearing your end.

“You feel so good—mmm, ah—inside me.” His grip on your ass tightened, his thrusts becoming harder, more desperate.

“Yeah? That’s cause this pussy’s mine, ain’t it? Made just for me to fuck.” You could feel the heat churning in your lower belly, your walls fluttering around him as your orgasm crept closer. His words only made you burn hotter. “Say it. Tell me s’mine.”

“It’s yours, Daryl, it’s yours.” You whined, grinding your hips in time with his thrusts, desperate to feel that spiraling pleasure. “I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it then, woman. Cum for me.” Daryl breathed, already feeling you begin to clamp down around him. He knew from experience to place a palm over your mouth, your screams loud enough to scare the birds from their perches in the canopy. You cried out against his hand, clawing at his back before settling for gathering fistfuls of his tank top as you spasmed and shook in his hold. “Ah, fuck!”

He followed you over the edge, his warmth emptying into you with each lazy pump of his hips. You both gasped, the feeling too overwhelming for either of you to fully grasp in the midst of the pleasure consuming you. Your walls continued to contract, milking every drop and pulling it further inside of you as the world went from a kaleidoscope of colors back to the quiet greens and browns of nature.

The redneck was always surprisingly gentle when separating from you. He pressed one last kiss to your mouth, chaste and uncoordinated, as he pulled out and lowered your legs. It was almost intimate. Not something either of you had ever verbalized wanting, but it comforted you. It made you feel less guilty, less dirty, so you never corrected him.

However, a line was crossed that needed confronting.

You watched him tuck himself away, already inspecting the area for tracks, while you redressed. You had slipped on your jeans and panties, fastening your bra before you decided he wasn’t going to speak on it first.

“You came inside me, Dixon.” He gave you a sharp look. He knew exactly what he had done, whether it was intentional or not.

“Yeah, so?” He shrugged a shoulder and began gathering his weapons and supplies. You weren’t stupid. It had clearly been an accident, but Daryl wasn’t the kind of man to apologize easily.

“I’m not sure if your parents ever had the talk with you, but what just happened more often than not leads to the creation of these things known as babies.”

“Ain’t stupid, Y/N. I know what it means.” He snapped, his body angled toward you but his gaze off toward the direction of his camp.

“And if that happens?”

“Won’t.”

“Humor me.” You deadpanned, your own bag now snug against your shoulder and your rifle balanced on your hip. He began to gnaw on the side of his thumb, something he did when he was uncomfortable, you had noticed.

“We’ll handle it.”

“We?” You smirked, earning a quick lift of his middle finger.

“Didn’t stutter, did I, Sunshine?”

“Holy shit. You breed me like a rabbit and then give me a nickname? You got a ring in your pocket for me?”

“Fuck off.”

“Three days, midday.” You were nervous, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Daryl was acting like he wasn’t feeling it but his body language screamed otherwise. Maybe he wouldn’t even show up next time. Something about that thought made your heart a little heavier but you wouldn’t linger on that.

“Alright.” He drawled, taking the first couple of steps away from you. It seemed he had something else he wanted to say, but in the end, he chose to keep walking.

“Dixon.” You called after him, smiling when he looked back over his shoulder. “Bring condoms.” You were pretty sure that jerk of his head was a nod before he disappeared into the trees. You turned back toward your own camp, grabbing your string of rabbits.

Your thoughts were consumed by Daryl the entire way back, wondering if you’d ever see him again after that day. Little did you know that he forewent returning to his own camp, making a single run to the outskirts of Atlanta to grab every box of rubbers he could get his hands on.

Chapter 2

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writer-logbook · 10 months ago

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5 tips for proofreading & their pros and cons

Define your objectives for each chapter. In my case, some of my chapters are better written than others. My objectives for them will differ. Before starting my proofreading, I list my needs and areas of improvements, and I write them down somewhere so I have them in front of me rather than in my head alone.

Pros : allows you to know which points you need to focus on ; provides a guideline adapted to your needs.

Cons : risk of losing homogeneity and fluidity + flaws may be shifted to other chapters that didn't have them before due to a sudden imbalance.

Plan several proofreading sessions, each one of them addressing ONE NEED AT A TIME. (E.g., one for grammar, another for style, and a final one for coherence. ) And I insist on the "one need at a time" part. Even for those who can multitask (unlike me), I really don't recommend settling for a single proofreading session. It could interfere with your concentration and let you skip some flaws. And please, always give your chapter a final read after your edits to ensure that the elements make sense as a whole, and are not repeated every two paragraphs (I plead guilty, your honor)

Pros: allows you to focus precisely on each point, and give it dedicated attention.

Cons: you can quickly get confused and risk multiple re-readings + significant time investment.

I make my corrections on a separate file. Whatever you do, it's always better to have a backup and therefore to save your files (don't blindly trust autosave) to create archives. I think it's a two-ways process : 1) you open two files simultaneously, one with your V1 and one, blank, where you'll rewrite your chapter as you make changes. Eventually, this new doc will become your V2 ; 2) you copy the parts to proofread into a new document and edit directly in there.

Pros: allows you to rewrite as you wish without being discouraged by the following paragraphs - especially in case of the first way.

Cons: requires multiple files (maybe multiple screens to be at ease) and better organization.

Change the typography. I don't know about you, but after a while, I'm struck by semantic satiation (click on the link - it's Wikipedia -, it's very interesting) and nothing makes sense anymore. After the 52,846th proofreading, I might as well read in another language. I've found a relatively effective trick - not as effective as a complete break, but sometimes you need to move forward - which consists of changing the typography. I can't remember who gave me this advice though, but be sure they've been thanked more than enough in my mind. In any case, seeing words change their shape significantly helps my brain to stay focused and attentive. (Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me but I only see the results.)

Pros: it's simple to implement.

Cons: I don't know if this trick works for everyone or if I'm the only weirdo (you can tell me in the comment section).

Take notes. This is a very personal tip but I keep a proofreading logbook. Like, I record in a few sentences the first time an element is mentioned, how it's describes, and most importantly… I MENTION THE DATES. The story I'm currently writing is heavily governed by a chronological system, so I have an absolute need to keep the day count up to date.

Pros: helps avoid inconsistencies and oversights.

Cons: very tedious to maintain and creates (a lot) of extra work.

I've started my prooreading journey yesterday and I already want to die. If I find in the edits something that is worth making a post, be sure that I will. Or let me know if you're simply curious.

Gentle reminder : Best is the worst enemy of good so, at some point, you'll have to let it go and let your chapter live its life to its fullest. Don't be hard on yourself and be proud of your work - or know that I am.

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sevs-corner · 7 months ago

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Tf 141: Mafia AU!

Chapter 1: “The rain falls but they fell harder”

{A/N: the unofficial part 1 to this brainrot series of minee🫡}

OG Post Links (if you want to read more crumbs of this slowly building brainrot of mine lol) from oldest to latest <33

Preface:

It was right around fall when you got the news of been evicted out of your home- the reason being? Your roommate bailed and sold you out. Giving you only so much as a couple of hours to pack your things and leave as they had left too.

Luckily, your desperation was quenched when your co-worker happens to hear your ramblings during the night shift. With no choice but to accept, you accepted to take care of their place and move into the new city bustling in anxious steps. You could only live off your friend’s current supplies, so you needed to find a job fast.

"Turn left... turn left- WHERE?!" Almost feeling the urge to throw down the piece of paper your co-worker handed you earlier, you could only feel the pressure rise in your veins as heaved- trying an attempt to calm yourself-- seeing as how you got lost for the umpteenth time. The amount of turns you made in these wet streets and cuts through the alleyways made you quite hopeless in your situation.

A 'simple, turn right then left!' they said to you while handing the small folded note in your hands just in case. Besides having the direction written, it also had a weird doodle on the underside but paid no mind to it as you were more focused on the instructions of your co-worker, easily understanding it with no issue.

Yet it seems that you didn't as you stumble in front of a quaint...

"Bakery? Now how did I get here this time..."

The building in front of you was quite run down, but the words on the window were still quite visible despite the rain padding onto it . 'Homecooked goods,' it says in white cursive writing, which complemented the natural red bricked border. There were a couple plants that you took notice of wilting, making you frown quite a bit- knowing how, if they were given a bit of more loving, it would look quite beautiful and an even more attractive bakery.

Although you had to shake that thought away, deciding that it wasn't your objective coming into the bakery (yes, it was still equally important to you but finding your co-worker's place was more of an immediate concern.)

Knowing that you had lost all hope at this point, stumbling into so many dead ends that you decided to cut your losses, man up, and ask for directions around this place. For quite a well-known and popular town, this part of it was quite desolate.

Hence, when you started marching towards the bakery, you noticed how there were quite amount of similar cars out front. All black, sleek, fancy- wait... maybe this was a fancy bakery? Or not a bakery at all? What if you can't get any help or information from this place-?

"Johnny wasn't even- woah!"

At that moment, you happened to stop in front of the door and get hit right on the nose by the wood door and solar plexus punched by the quite fancy handle it was accompanied with.

"fUCKKKKKKKKK...." You swore silently, landing on your back and scattering all of your belongings as you clutched both your nose and stomach in (mostly shock) anguish with the person who gutted you mercilessly (accidentally) quickly asking if you were okay.

"Oh my- dearie, where are you hurt? I'm so sorry!"

You could feel the person talking, resting their hands on yours as it gently prodded yours away.

“Mighty careless of ya’, Garrick.” Someone jabs at the person you assumed had knocked you out.

“Ain’t a new sight to see LT?” The voices continues on while another replied with a grunt- which you are quick to piece together that there are three people now who had seen you land on your ass quite… gracefully.

“Oi,” another joins in, “what’s the hold up by the door? You’re bloody blockin’ the way.” A quite irritable one at that, you note.

“Sorry sir,” you hear the one besides you talk, “I accidentally hurt 'em when I opened the door.”

You hear another padding of footsteps as the one besides you shuffle away. You couldn’t see anything at the moment from how teary-eyed you were.

“Are you okay?” The newest voice grunts, right besides you, and you could smell the beer on his breath so you blanched away from him.

“I-i’m fine…” you managed to get out, albeit in quite a nasally tone as you pinched your nose to subside the pain.

“Doesn’t sound like it lassie,” the voice snickers and you turn to them with a closed-eye glare.

“Who are you to assume how much pain I’m in right now?!” You grumble in irritation, unable to control your emotions anymore for how shitty your day has been.

The straw that broke the camel’s back per se.

Lucky they were quick on the uptake.

“Can I see it?”

“Huh?”

You whipped your head to the other side, hearing the same voice that apologized to you.

“Can I check your nose?” He giggles, “Gotta know if we have to take you to the hospital or not.”

“No need to,” you insisted yet your hands fall to your side, letting the man to check it himself- which you had identified once your vision started clearing up from the tears.

"Shh, shh- no need for tears.." you felt a thumb rub at your cheeks gently, and you could barely make out the silhouette of the other man as he hushes you.

Bulky, scruffy beard, but was mostly covered the scarf around his neck, as well as the hat perched on top of his head- making it unable for you to see his entire visage.

"Seems nothing's broken," you hear the gentle man mumble to himself and you could feel yourself stiffen less.

"Thank fuck," you chuckled, "I don't have enough to get that fixed if it was."

"You wouldn't have to pay for it," he replies, eyes now staring at you with more... softness? If you had to make sense of it somehow.

"Why not?"

You stared at him as if you couldn't comprehend the intent behind his actions.

"'Cause he hurt you, lovie." The man, now clearer in your sight, explained- and his, 'oh his dark blue eyes' made you inherently stutter out a response.

"I-it's alright-- wasn't lookin' where I was going is all!" Your hands shake in front of you, widly shaking your head know as you show that you are unable to accept the generosity of the man. As much as you'd appreciate being treated to free healthcare- that seems too much for something that was a mistake (on your part mostly.)

"I insist," the kind gentleman insists, "I, too, was in deep conversation that I wasn't aware that somebody was on the other side of the door."

He grabs your hands, forcing them to calm down and for you to make eye contact with him- hoping that you would see the sincerity in them.

Yet all it did was make you more nervous, now seeing him in his entirety, from his clear cut jawline to how his eyes sparkled under the street light.

'Pretty.' is the first thought that comes into your head as you continue to be whisked away in the hues of the warm comforting--

"Let me help you up."

You yelp, feeling your arms being tugged (and your consciousness out of your thoughts) to a standing position, though from the sudden jerk you barely could catch yourself- sensing your self fall once more face first this time.

"Woah there!" You felt hands at your waist, steadying and grounding, as you feel the sudden rush of blood in and out of your head.

"Sorry," the kind man once again apologizes, "was that too fast?"

You sighed, unconsciously leaning your head against his chest, trying to calm the pounding in your head- "no, you're good."

"Dizzy?" You feel a warm hand on your forehead and you nodded again, thoughts now feeling a bit muddled from just about everything.

"think they caught a cold sir," another voice pipes in, the grumbly one from earlier.

"Seems like it," the mustache man replies, "got a place we can take you back to, lovie?"

"can't find it," your mumbles are barely audible from how muffled it was into the man's jacket and the patter of the rain on the sidewalk, yet they still caught on and looked at each other in confusion.

Odd and cryptic- was it because you knew them? Or you didn't want anyone knowing where you lived- especially with four strange big men at that.

Sighing, the bearded man signaled to the other side with a jerk of his head, "ask nonna and nonno if they can spare a room for the night."

"On it sir," the two responded with a quick nod, leaving as quickly as they had gone out.

"tell 'em I'll handle the lodging pay!" he follows up and they responded in affirmation again before he turns back to you, shivering up in his man's arms, looking quite defeated.

You looked like a kit left in the rain, and he felt that surge of sympathy of wanting to care for you- but he knows he can't. Not with a non-combatant and civilian, he thinks.

"Get 'em inside Garrick," he instructed and 'Garrick' responds with a soft, "yes sir" before mumbling to you and helping you move into the warm bakery.

The bearded man stayed outside, collecting your things until he saw paper jutting out of your bag, lines that were quite familiar. Checking if you were inside already, he could see Garrick bring you inside by the hand as you approached a fussy elderly couple, who quickly ushered you and Garrick up some stairs, deeper into the building.

Once he knew you were out of sight, he quickly grabs the paper and reads the words on it.

'Nothing of note,' he thinks then turns it around, eyes narrowing at the symbol draw at the underside.

"haven't seen this in a while..."

"Haven't seen what in a while sir?"

"Ghost," the bearded man regarded before passing the stuff he picked up into his arms, "we'll discuss it back at HQ."

Ghost nods and leaves to go back inside while another exited to join him.

"Did it come from 'em sir?" The shorter man asks, and the bearded man nods.

"Yes," he confirms, "but I do think its not from them specifically."

The other man hums, "sounds like we need to do some diggin' on 'em."

"we'll get more info from 'em once they wake." he grabs a smoke from his pocket before gesturing the other to light it for him. "Stay on post Soap."

"Aye sir," Soap salutes and watches him leave as he returns inside, doing as he was told.

You wake up with the gnarliest headache ever, that even if you did drink yourself blank out drunk- this would still take the cake of morning hangovers.

"Mornin' sleepyhead."

"the fuck?" You grumbled, throwing an arm over your eyes as you evade the sunlight by the window to spot a man by the doorway. He had quite a fancy fit on with the subtle floral pattern of a polo to the grey slacks with harnesses attached around his waist and thighs, gun holster by his hips but no gun in it.

"rough night?" he asks and you nod along, unsure of what happened to you- everything still quite a blur in your head, memories merging and dissipating the instant it comes popping up.

"our boss paid for your lodgin' here," he walks into the room and ends up at a chair by your bedside, "'compensation for his men' hurtin' ya last night, he says."

Hearing him say that made everything come into place, "you were the guys I bumped into at that bakery last night!"

You pointing at him in accusation made him chuckle and lean closer to you, yet that made you lean further away as you now realize the very trepid situation you were in.

"That's us alright," he hums, "are you still hurtin'?"

'oh,' you thought to youself, 'he was just checking if my nose was better.'

Embarrassment filled you at the insinuations that you made up in your head, as you assumed his intentions; hence, you had to look away from him- to save the little bit of dignity you had.

"no," you quickly snippet, "head's just heavy."

He clicks his tongue before standing and going to a desk, making you perk your eyebrows in confusion.

"well," you hear water being poured, "might be because you were burnin' high with a fuckin' fever in the rain."

He hands you the glass of cool water, "that's why."

You glare at him before chugging the water down, letting out a small burp while wiping the side of your mouth as you feel less parched than when you woke up.

Silence filled the room as you thought of how odd your situation was. No matter how accidental your meeting was- doing this much for a stranger was quite... well, strange is the best way to put it.

"Why're you guys concerned?" You finally managed to get out, despite the mess of thoughts you're having right now.

There was no malice behind your words, just simple curiosity and he could see it from how clear your eyes were of your intentions-- quite ironic from how much of a mess your brain was right now.

"boss felt responsible," you could hear the man chalk it up to that conclusion, "likes takin' care of people, that soft old chap."

You didn't quite catch the last part of his words as he mumbled it under his breath but you nodded anyways.

"That's quite kind of him," you softly spoke with your voice still hoarse, "can admit that it's hard to come by that kinda thing nowadays."

"I got lucky," you admitted, "please thank him for me."

The way you smiled made him pause for a second- it was genuine and so clear of its intent behind that it made his skin crawl and hair stand at the ends of his neck. He could feel his hand twitching to rub and his face and neck, so he let it- turning away from you as he reassured you that he would.

After a couple of more minutes, he tells you more details of your situation and you felt more grounded now, thanking him and his boss once again for looking out for you.

"No problem, sweets." he shoots you a grin- a quite silly and crooked one at that which made you return it in kind as you bid him farewell.

"Better get goin' huh..." you tell yourself as you picked yourself up from the bed and stretched, "still gotta ask and find out about where this place is..."

Yet as you look through your bag and all of its pockets, you noticed that the paper was missing, dumping the rest of out, you groan out- once more- in anguish at your situation.

"this is such a fucked up week!"

"how about we un-fuck it cara*?"

(A/N: *cara- Italian for 'beloved'/ 'dear')

And that wraps up the 1st chapter to this series!! Heads up, updates will be slow but feel free to hmu with ideas/ thoughts about the AU hehe (including my other ones too :>>)

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yoonia · 1 year ago

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Ever A Never After — story masterpost

⟶ Title | Ever a Never After (adaptation from Enchanted movie) ⟶ Summary | Growing up in the fairy tale land, your whole life seems to have been written perfectly in the books, with the picturesque life and the Prince Charming that you can see yourself having your happily ever after with. But your entire world turns upside down when you are suddenly sent into a whole new world, a different kind of universe where happily ever after doesn’t exist. Thrust into a new challenge and shown a new side of life, you find yourself standing in a crossroad. When the moment arises, would you find your way back home to your true love, or is the universe trying to show you that sometimes happy endings don’t have to be written so perfectly?

⟶ Pairings | Jungkook x female reader; Seokjin x female reader ⟶ Genre | Strangers to lovers!au, Fairy tale retelling!au, Angst, Smut ⟶ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; specific warnings will be added accordingly on each published chapters ⟶ Status / Current word count / Total word count | ONGOING; latest update: Ever A Never After: Act 2 - Part 2 (Oct 7th, 2024) - 51,865 words of n/a words ⟶ Main Masterlist | Mailbox | Feedback | Ko-fi | Music companion ⟶ Cross-posted in AO3 and Wattpad

⟶ Special Taglist: Ever A Never After

⟶ Story Note | Written in 2nd person POV (in case you’re new to my writing, I don’t use ‘y/n’ coding as all of my lead characters are considered as OCs). In place of the coding, you’ll find a blank space as her name. Please also note that our main character/reader insert for this story has her own nickname that will be used in the scenes. While the story is adapted from the movie, Enchanted, with some characters and places that were mentioned in the movie added into this story, I will be adding changes in the story settings, characters’ names and background stories to fit the plot. That being said, as someone who has never set foot in the land of America, forgive me if there are some inaccuracies in the details that are being added here. I hope that doesn’t change your reading experience with the story.

⟶ Chapters

⇢ Act One. Andalasia, The Maiden, and The Dream Prince [“It’s you. The boy I saw in my dreams.” “It’s me. Your Prince Charming.” | Word count: 19,688 words | posted: May 21st, 2024 | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Two. The Alter World and The Saviour [“I need to find my way back to the castle.” “What castle?” “Why, of course, I’m talking about Andalasia.” “Huh, right. Why don’t I just call you an Uber?” | Word count: 32,185 words | Chapter Teaser]

— Part 1. Welcome to the Alter World [Word count: 15,410 words of 32,185 words - posted on: Sept 16th, 2024] — Part 2. The World Without Magic [Word count: 16,755 of 32,185 words - posted on: Oct 7th, 2024 ]

⇢ Act Three. Fairy Tales and Bittersweet Endings [“You forgot to say the part where you lived happily ever after.” “Happily ever after? That thing doesn’t exist, not in the real world.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Four. The Ball for The Kings and Queens and Dragons [“There is a ball for the Queen and Kings at the start of spring. Shall we go together?” “As your Prince Charming, I’ll be happy to escort you.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⇢ Act Five. Prince Charming and a Happily Never After [“Look at how the tables have turned, as now I have in my hand the Prince who is supposed to protect the princess.” “Come along now, dear. You wouldn’t want to miss the ending.” | Word count: — | Chapter Teaser]

⟶ Fic talk & references

⇢ image reference

⇢ readers feedback & discussions

⟶ Patreon specials

⇢ visual inspiration board

⇢ fic commentary (coming soon)

⟶ Author’s Note | Originally commissioned by @pinkbtsarmy | It’s finally here! I’m so sorry for taking so long with this one. Thank you so much for commissioning me and for your endless support. As mentioned in our last talk, there will be some changes from the original prompt/details that I’ve made to make the story work better, but I hope you’ll be able to enjoy it still. I have decided to release this one as a mini-series to present the timeline more appropriately and make the storyline work. Have fun reading!

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alistarascendance · 1 year ago

Text

❝𝐈 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨, 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐨𝐰𝐧—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐈 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐈 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧?❞

— in which, fabled legend Alistar returns from the Chasm decades after their descent, only to find themself faced with an issue: humanity, in their absence, has created a world of suffering, dilapidated by greed, and Alistar’s presence only continues to fuel their selfishness, as a living legend must kill… or be killed.

Alistar: Ascendance is a cyberpunk, dystopian romance interactive fiction that was originally intended to simply be a story, before its writer (me) decided to be impulsive and turn it into an IF.

DISCLAIMERS

this story will contain depictions of alcohol, smoking, blood, violence, profanity, mild gore, yandere behavior, toxic relationships, suggestive themes, discrimination, self-hatred, mentions of emotional and physical abuse, suicidal thoughts, an oppressive government, fictional languages and religions, real world philosophies/religions including but not limited to: cynicism, nihilism and atheism; a corrupt world, discussion of morals and human conscience, as well as other mature themes. this list will be updated as the story is written.

please keep all of this in mind while reading!

A gender-selectable MC, who you choose the name, personality, sexuality, appearance, and morals of.

A wide variety of choices to choose from that will impact your story, and the need to keep your MC sane (or just go batshit insane. That works, too).

5 male love interests + 1 secret RO, all of whom you can maintain a simply platonic relationship with if you wish, or you can just continue to flirt with them endlessly (+ a FWB relationship for some).

An enriching world and story, set in a cyberpunk dystopia (we know all of you are here for the romance though).

A powerful MC 😔😔

ROs (romance options, also referred to as LIs or love interests).

THE SURFACE DWELLER:

Seven. 21, Chaotic Good. Mechanic.

“The HIVE needs to fall. There are no exceptions—not even for you.”

The first person you meet once you arrive on the Surface, you and Seven have a unique bond. He’s got a reputation in the slums and Neon for being great at parties, but his friendliness can easily be read as something more.

Is it something more? Further observations will have to be made…

THE SURVIVOR

Saturn. 23, Lawful Evil. Bartender.

“Keep your head down, and you’ll survive.”

The quiet bartender has a curious perspective on things. He seems to have no problem with the HIVE members patrolling his bar, even serving them drinks like they’re normal customers, despite their heavy armor and edges that are too sharp to be humane.

He also doesn’t seem to be particularly interested in you in the slightest. Why’s that?

THE DIPLOMAT

“Is it better to live in quiet solitude, your voice stripped and taken—or would you rather have died, knowing your voice was the loudest amongst them all?”

Chain. 23, alignment unclear. Current occupation unknown.

He’s someone to keep an eye out for. While he hasn’t practiced his craft in years, he may still prove to be dangerous. Just as friendly as Seven, but far more difficult to truly befriend.

Obtain new information as soon as possible…

THE PUPPET

Judge me if you must. It doesn’t change the fact that I’m up here, and you’re down there.

Orion. 25, Lawful Neutral. HIVE operative.

The HIVE member patrolling Saturn’s bar. Part of something greater than he is, but he’s a part of it, regardless. Keep him around…

OTHER ENTITIES

Argos: Neutral Good. Age unknown. The deity whose spear you brandished, after his passing. He was a good man, but the fact only makes your sins rest heavier in your heart.

Teacher: True Neutral. Around ~200 years old. The chasm-dwelling shadow who taught you all you know of the Chasm and its residents.

Alistar: alignment unknown. Around ~200 years old. That’s you! You’re Alistar. At least, that’s what the world has been calling you ever since you ended the war and revitalized humanity, so that is what you will be referred to as throughout the entirety of the story. However, if you’d like to change your name (as Alistar is the default) you may!

As I am primarily an author (as in I literally have done nothing else with my life) I am new to coding (I took ONE coding club in fourth grade) and am trying to write out and perfect a chapter before converting it into typical IF form.

Once I manage to get things situated, I’ll started to code. I’m currently almost done writing chapter 4, so I’ll start working on coding once I finish it.

If anyone wants to read the chapters I’ve written until now, just shoot me an ask or message :)) I’d be happy to show you. otherwise, here are the ones I’ve posted so far:

CHAPTERS

CHAPTER ONE: COURTING DEATH CHAPTER TWO: THOSE WHO REMAIN CHAPTER THREE: TARNISHED DREAMS

asked to be tagged for new chapters!

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purplephantomwolf · 6 months ago

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Love in Motion

Chapter One

Synopsis: You're a normal college student until you get a wrong number text.

Note: This is not an accurate portrayal of how the real people in this act. I do not know them personally, so I will not be portraying them accurately.

Warnings: None

Masterlist

I AM REWRITING THIS FROM AN OC STORY. IF I MISS ANYTHING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW SO I CAN FIX IT! THIS IS CHAPTER 1 OF 5 OF ALREADY WRITTEN CHAPTERS.

April 4, 2022 12:30pm

You sigh, turning your attention away from your software engineering professor to your laptop screen. You watch as the 20 best drivers in the world complete the last lap of the first race of the 2021 Formula 1 season. You just recently got into Formula 1, so you’re watching the 2021 season to get a feel for the sport. Someone told you the 2021 season is a great season to watch because of the fights between Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton. You silently cheer as your favorite driver, Lando Norris, finishes P4. You look up at the clock and see that it’s only 12:30. Still 35 minutes left of class, you think. You let out a small sigh, turning back to your laptop. You move on to watching qualifying for the first Italy grand prix of the 2021 season. You have just clicked play when you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket. You grab it and see a text message from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: Did you make it home from the club okay?

You: *One Image Attached* Considering I’m currently in a programming lecture, I think you may have been given the wrong number. I’m sorry.

I send a picture of my view of my professor, laptop, and notes to the unknown number.

Unknown number: Oh, thank you! I’m sorry for bothering you!

Unknown number: Hang on, are you watching Formula 1 while in lecture?

You: It’s okay! Also, yes I am watching Formula 1 while in lecture. I’d rather be learning about Formula 1 than boring C++. Also, why are you texting someone about getting home from the club okay? It’s 12:30 pm?

Unknown number: It’s currently 2:30 am for me. I was attempting to text a girl I was talking to at the club, but it looks like she gave me the wrong number.

You: Oh, that makes sense. Wait, where are you that’s 14 hours ahead of me? Also, I’m sorry about the whole wrong number thing. That really sucks. Unless she gave you the wrong number cause you’re a creep. Then you deserve it.

Unknown number: I’m currently in Melbourne, Australia. And I wasn’t being a creep! At least, I don’t think so. I hope not at least; I try my best to not be a creep.

You: Alright, that’s good. I doubt you were being a creep. And Australia? Jeez, that’s so far from me. I’m in the United States.

Unknown number: That's only a small stretch from Australia.

You: Yeah, it’s going to be not fun to watch the F1 race this weekend, but staying up is so worth it to see the race live.

Unknown number: Big fan of the sport?

You: Yeah, I am. I just recently got into it, so I’m watching the 2021 season to learn everything I can. I’m also attempting to watch all the qualifying and races live.

Unknown number: Oh cool. That’s got to be tiring because most of the races are in Europe. Waking up early every day of the weekend must suck.

You: I mean, yeah. It kinda sucks, but it’s not too bad. I’m not waking up super early unless it’s races in places like Japan and Australia. The earliest I have to wake up is like 6 for other races. That’s not too bad though.

Unknown number: Oh, that’s not too bad then! Which team do you support?

You: Well, there’s not a specific team I really support. If I have to choose one, it would be McLaren, probably followed by Red Bull. I support drivers more than I support teams really.

Unknown number: Okay, then who are your top three drivers?

You: That is a hard decision to make for 2 and 3. Lando Norris is for sure my number one driver, but I have like 5 drivers tied for second and then 5 tied for third.

Unknown number: Oh interesting. Any drivers you dislike then?

You: No, I don’t dislike any drivers. Unless you count past drivers *cough* Mazespin *cough*

Unknown number: That’s a funny nickname for Mazepin. But why don’t you like him?

You: I’m not sure. I just get a weird vibe from him.

Unknown number: Interesting. But I get what you’re saying. Can I ask why Lando is your favourite?

You: Sure! Lando is my favorite because of his personality, humor, and how he speaks out about mental health. I really struggle with depression and anxiety, so having such a public figure speak out about it is amazing. Also helps that he’s got the boy next door charm. That’s definitely my type lol

Unknown number: Ahh, okay! Those are good reasons to like him! Now, I feel weird talking to a nameless person. Can I ask you what your name is?

You: My name is Y/n. Can I ask what your name is?

Unknown number: Y/n, that’s a pretty name. My name is Luke.

You: Nice to meet you, Luke.

You look up when you hear a commotion around you. You see that your classmates are packing their things and leaving. Wow, time really flew by talking to this stranger. You put your phone down and quickly pack your things. You sling your backpack over your shoulder and head out. You feel your phone vibrate with a text again. You see that it’s Luke again.

Luke: Nice to meet you too, Y/n.

9 pm

You groan, leaning back in your chair. You glare at the lab manual you’ve been trying to make sense of for the past two hours. You glance over at your phone as it lights up with a message from your mom, and you pick it up to respond to the message. You are distracted from responding to her though because you see a message from Luke from 10 minutes ago. Your eyebrows rise in surprise.

Luke: Good morning!

You: Uh, hi. Good morning! Did you sleep well?

Luke: I did! Has the rest of your day gone well?

You: The rest of my day has gone okay. I’ve been staring at some stupid code that’s not working. The assignment is due in three days, so I need to get this code fixed.

Luke: That sounds awful. I’m so thankful I’m no longer in school.

You: Yeah, I’m jealous. I’m searching for jobs in my dream field, but I haven’t found any that allows me to do what I want yet.

Luke: Oh? What’s your dream job then?

You: My ultimate dream job is working as a photographer in the motorsport world, preferably F1, but I’d take any motorsport. My next dream job is just anything that allows me to travel the world taking photos.

Luke: That would be an awesome job. I recently got into photography as a hobby. Do you have any photos you’d be willing to share with me?

You: Sure!

You send him five of your favorite photos I’ve taken. Two are of cars on the move, one is a still life of a bunch of cars from a car show, the fourth is a sunset, and the last is of a group of people playing soccer.

Luke: Holy shit! Those are amazing!

You: Thanks! I’m really proud of these photos. They’re some of my favorite ones I’ve taken.

Luke: They’re beautiful.

You: Thank you! So, you mentioned that you’re no longer in school. Can I ask what exactly you do?

You wait for a minute, but get no response. You decide to mess around on your phone for a bit while waiting for a response. After 5 minutes of not getting a response, you set my phone down. Right as you set your phone down, a notification for your chat with Luke pops up and you quickly click it.

Luke: I am an event manager for McLaren F1 team.

You: Really? That is so cool! I wanted to do event management in sports before I was in software engineering, though I was wanting to get into baseball. If I was still event management, I’d want to do motorsports now. Do you enjoy it? What does that entail?

Luke: I plan events for the fans mainly.

You: That sounds like a fun job.

Luke: Why did you switch?

You: My parents thought I wouldn’t find a job that would make as much money as they do, so they made me switch to software engineering because it has higher paying jobs.

Luke: Well, that’s stupid. Were you happy in event management?

You: Yeah, I was. But my parents are paying for my college, so I have to do what they want.

Luke: That’s very stupid. I take it you aren’t happy with software engineering?

You: No, I’m not. But I’ve only got two years left, so it’ll be all good!

Luke: Alright, well good luck.

You: Thanks! Do you have a hangover?

Luke: I actually didn’t drink that much, so no hangover for me!

You: That’s very nice. I’ve never been hungover. I don’t drink a lot when I do drink. Can’t stand the taste of alcohol lol

Luke: Oh yeah, I get that. Do you want to play a game?

You: What game?

Luke: 21 Questions? To get to know each other?

You: That sounds like a good idea. I can start. What is your favorite thing to do in your off time?

Luke: I like to play video games. What is your favourite tv show?

You: Doctor Who. I could go on about that show forever. Who is your real life hero?

Luke: Valentino Rossi. What’s your favourite season of the year?

You: Fall. The colors are beautiful, the temperature is beautiful. I love it. What is your favorite song?

Luke: Right now it’s Last Last. What is your favourite city?

You: Of all the cities I’ve been to, London or Barcelona. If you had to guess what people appreciate the most about you, what would you say?

Luke: My humour for sure. You’ve been to London and Barcelona?

You: Yeah, I went when I was a lot younger with my family. My family went on a three week trip to four different countries in Europe. We went to London, Paris, Zurich, and Barcelona. I loved London the most. It was right before the 2012 Olympics, so the city is probably different from what I remember now, though. Are you more of an introvert or an extrovert?

Luke: I would say I’m in the middle. What are your top three items on your bucket list?

You: Going to an F1 race, start going to the gym, develop my skills in photography even more. Do you like to go to the movies or prefer watching them at home? Do you talk during movies?

Luke: I would prefer watching them home because it’s more comfortable. Plus it’s not expensive. I do not talk during movies if it’s the first time someone is watching it. If it’s not the first time, I’ll discuss the movie with others while watching it. If you could choose any F1 race to go to, which one would it be?

You: I’m torn between Austin and Great Britain. I know Monaco is like the go to cause of the history and prestige of it all, but I think Austin or Great Britain would be more fun with the atmosphere. Are you into podcasts or do you only listen to music?

Luke: I only listen to music. Podcasts need more attention than what I'm willing to give than music. What is your favourite ice cream flavour?

You: Probably chocolate. What’s one thing that can instantly make your day better?

Luke: Talking to my friends. What is the phone app you use the most?

You: TikTok or Discord. How would you spend your birthday, ideally?

Luke: Spend the day casually with my friends and family, and then have a party with them at night. You said you use discord, do you play video games?

You: Yes, I do. It’s one of my favorite things to do in my free time. What video games do you play? Do you usually play single player or multiplayer?

Luke: I usually play CS:GO and F1. What video games do you play?

You: If I play multiplayer games, it’ll be Valorant. But I mainly play single player games, like Assassin’s Creed. Assassin’s Creed Odyssey is one of my favorite games ever.

Luke: Which one is that one? I know they take place throughout time.

You: That one is the Greek history one. I’m super into Greek history/mythology, so I absolutely love it.

Luke: Oh that sounds cool!

You glance over at the time. “Shit, it’s already midnight,” you groan. Now that you’re not focused on responding to Luke, you realize you are struggling to keep your eyes open.

You: As much as I’d love to continue this, I just realized it’s midnight here, and I need to sleep.

Luke: Okay, sounds good! Have a good night!

You: Thank you! Have a good day!

Luke: Good night!

You: Good night!

You plug in your phone, shut off your pc, and change for bed. You crawl into bed, falling asleep quickly.

Next Chapter: Chapter Two

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Permanent taglist:

@sol3chu

@faithshouseofchaos

Story taglist:

#f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagines #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #f1 story #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x y/n

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kararisa · 2 years ago

Text

darling, starling ✧

pairing: scaramouche x gn!reader

genre: social media au, modern/celebrity au, friends to lovers, fake dating

summary: being the world-famous singer-songwriter "zenith", the limelight has been on you ever since the start of your career. however, the media becomes relentless when leaks of music you never meant to release begin to circulate. your friend scaramouche, meanwhile, seems to have gotten stuck while writing his second book. with a deadline fast approaching, he comes to you with a deal: act as if you're dating him so he can gather reference material and, in turn, he'll help keep the press' eyes off of your leaks until you release your next album. a win-win in your book, so why not help a friend out?

side ships: venti x xiao; thoma x ayato

warnings: swearing, crack, slight angst (?), alcohol consumption, yn wears makeup sometimes, depictions of online hate; specific chapter warnings will be listed at the beginning of each chapter — will be updated as the series continues

status: ongoing

author's notes:

did some minor reworking so if you've seen this for the second time, you're not hallucinating dw

yes this is my second smau. yes I still don't know what I'm doing haha. timestamps don't matter unless I say they do

apologies in advance if i miss any grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language ^^

written chapters are marked with (★)

pre-concert party !!

0.1 - lost hearts • 0.2 - welcome back, shithead

profiles:

clown central™ ([name]'s friends)

the waffle house (scara's friends)

1st verse — for future reference || playlist

1 - is this real? • 2 - enjoying yourself: a guide

3 - bitchless since birth • 4 - attention

5 - unwritten rules (★) • 6 - we're doing couple things

7 - safe with my indifference • 8 - when's the wedding

9 - iridescence (★) • 10 - worst date ever

11 - then beg • 12 - a little bit scandalous (★)

13 - not too late • 14 - only here for you

15 - i can fight • 16 - wine-stained lips (★)

2nd verse — where words fail, music speaks || playlist

17 - it's so joever • 18 - famefucker

19 - i miss my parents • 20 - none of your business

21 - child of divorce • 22 - don't text and drive

23 - neon escape (★) • 24 - this can't be real

25 - zenith • 26 - home (★)

27 - through it all (★) • bonus - promise

28 - flirt with me too • 29 - he can fight

30 - don't be so dramatic • 31 - the truth

32 - in a heartbeat • 33 - find me in every crowd

34 - say i'm yours (★)

3rd verse — hate to be lame || playlist

tba

encore !!

tba

— the taglist is currently CLOSED!

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remiivu · 7 months ago

Text

Ghostly Companion- Chapter 1

Link on Ao3! Currently rated Teen but may go up to Mature/Explicit

Masterlist Next Chapter -->

A Mr. Crawling x Reader fic (that may expand into a series!)

This is the first time that I've written anything like this in the past 5 years, so give me some slack if it's bad or cringey lol (also the first fic on Tumblr!)

Set in the ending (and series of events) where you take him home! I've done a few playthroughs so some parts may not be fully accurate, but I'll do my best!

No warnings-- just some minor cursing here and there. 1.8k words!

Enjoy!

Note: Words in italics are in the ghost language. The blocks represent words reader doesn't understand.

You…

Honestly, you weren’t quite sure what happened these past 24 hours. Half of your now fully-conscious brain had settled on this being some sort of twisted hallucination you experienced after inhaling the noxious spores from some weird mushroom during your bravery challenge. But, the other, half-insane half-sane side of your mind simply cannot deny the manifestation of your nightmares sitting right across from you, a sharp smile stretching from ear to ear and a mop of strangely neat black hair swallowing its figure.

It? He? That, too, was something you didn’t know. Hell, the thing never stood up, and the noises that creaked from its throat were far from human.

But… It was nice. It helped you. It followed you, shielded you, and the pure, radiant happiness it exuded when you proposed, in broken ghostly-language, for it to join you hardly came across as malicious or non-sentient. It had feelings, and while some parts were… wrong, surely, it was owed some sort of humanity, you reasoned.

And so, it became a he, and then a Mr. Crawling-- the highlight of your creativity, truly. You doubted he understood the significance of the slightly different noises coming out of your mouth as you called to him, but still, it was the least you could do.

“... not… go?” He asked, head tilted as he sat patiently on the ground, lanky grayed limbs bent awkwardly into some mix between a w-shape and a regular sitting position. You think he said something else as well, but honestly, you were exhausted, and you hadn’t really had much time to truly learn his language.

“...” You sighed again, looking at him, then your surroundings. You had popped out right where you had started– or somewhere near it, at least, as you recognized the spooky decorations nailed and wrapped around trees. You were back in the forest you had entered before being sucked into… something. At least the light rain had stopped, leaving damp soil and the smell of petrichor to fill your senses instead of the… yeah.

Well, besides, you had nothing on you. Right– it was all in your bag that, for some reason, wasn’t brought alongside the rest of you.

“Need…” you paused, hesitating. How did you say bag? Scrounging through all the corners of your mind left you with a blank, and you searched for the next best thing.

Which would be bucket. Fuck.

Mr. Crawling tilted his head the other way, mouth flattening slightly in what you presume to be confusion. “You… ∎∎∎” he uttered something that didn’t spark a single click of recognition in your brain. “∎∎∎… ∎∎∎. ∎∎∎∎∎∎. Help?”

You gave one nod. “Yeah, help. Uhm… bucket… “ You made the attempt of drawing out what it looked like in the dirt while ignoring the small amount of embarrassment that rose in your chest at your horrific attempt to communicate.

You jabbed at the middle of the drawing of your rather simple bag. “Uh- blood.” You muttered, figuring it was the closest thing to whatever the actual word for red was.

Mr. Crawling frowned a bit, then chirped a “Me help you ∎∎∎ bucket! ∎∎∎ ∎∎∎∎?” With a much more pleasant smile.

You nodded, “Yeah, thanks. Ok, so… I guess we’ll split up?”

Mr. Crawling stared blankly with that dopey smile and you sighed, standing up. You felt a little bad for making a… disabled ghost? Yeah, a disabled ghost do some of the work. Shoeless and possibly pant-less

Damn. You’ve stooped down low these past few hours.

_____________________________

Honestly, you were surprised at just how efficient a disabled ghost was when left in the dark, blind, and in an environment he’s never been in before. Just as you were about to give up and start heading back into civilization, you heard a gleeful, familiar bone-chilling giggle followed by “Me ∎∎∎ bucket blood!”

Your head shoots up, “You did?!” As you rushed off to the bushes where he had wandered off.

You let out a sigh of relief as you spotted the familiar bag, grabbing it from Mr. Crawling’s hands. “Thank you,” you smiled, weary but grateful, as Mr. Crawling giggled once again.

“Happy! Happy!” He said, reaching out to pat your head again.

You found yourself letting out a small laugh as well at the unusually tender action, giving your bag a quick once-over to confirm everything was there. When you spotted your phone, you quickly tapped on the screen, letting out a quick breath of relief as it lights up only for it to immediately be followed by a small wince.

Over 50 missed calls and 100 messages… yikes. And with a glance at the time and date, you understood why. Turns out, your sense of time was rather accurate– it had been just over a day since your disappeared.

“Hurt? You hurt?” Mr. Crawling asked, leaning in close to do his ghost-equivalent of looking. Honestly, you can’t be bothered to question why, how, or even what he’s seeing when all you’ve noticed on his face was a deep red wound in place of his eyes.

“No,” You shake your head. “Uhm. It’s, uhm, humans. Humans worry… no– me worry humans.” You explained the best you could, standing up again. Mr. Crawling looks up, confused.

“You safe.” He says, crawling towards you rather slowly. “Humans ∎∎∎?”

You shake your head. “Go together with me.” You say with a bit of force. The desire to get home and in bed overshadows much of anything else that could run through your mind.

Mr. Crawling, however, doesn’t seem to mind your curtness, breaking out into another small fit of uncanny giggles as he follows after you, letting out a small mantra of “Together together together together!”

With half fondness and half exasperation, you trudge on with a smile, feeling like this experience was more akin to a person walking their dog rather than a human leading a ghost to their home. Which… you choose to think about another day. You really, really don’t want to contemplate any more images of your death.

You were so tired.

But, after nearly half an hour of much slower-than typical walking, your patience was wearing thin.

As it turns out, disabled ghosts walk– crawl much slower on slippery, uneven terrain than their familiar concrete floors. You’ve had to slow significantly so that Mr. Crawling wouldn’t get too tangled up in roots and rocks, and a part of you worried for the safety of his bare legs, but every passing glance resulted in a tiny glimpse of smooth, unharmed skin. You assume he was taking extra care to ensure he doesn’t get hurt.

But, still, every passing hour drains your phone’s limited battery and therefore your limited ability to navigate through whatever area of the city you wind up in upon exiting the mountains. You really couldn’t afford to keep slowing down or to risk losing your understanding of where to walk by circling around roots and trees. They had passed most of the decorations by now, leaving only trees and the very faint noise of any rare passing cars.

Eventually, you kneel back down, waving at him to get his attention. “Mr. Crawling.” You hum, watching as he perked up.

“∎∎∎!” He chirped, getting to your position in a few seconds.

“Me…” You hesitate. “... Me you… up.” You said, staring at him to see whether or not he understood. You were sure that, without… a lot of things necessary for life, he would be light enough for you to carry. Sure, you weren’t the fittest of the bunch, but you were healthy and exercised. In fact, you’re sure that your physical health was the only reason you lasted that long in that death trap.

His head tilted, then he grinned. “... Me you ∎∎∎?”

You sighed, contemplating. That was a vaguely familiar word, and you could almost hear something else in your memories having said it.

But before you could actually responded, Mr. Crawling lunged up at you, bringing you down to the ground in one swift motion. You let out a scream, your throat raw and strained by now, but settled in once you realized where you were.

“Mr. Crawling, what are you–?” You let out a half-scream of shock as he began to scoot across the floor with his legs, holding you firmly in his lap, cold yet sturdy arms caging you in.

He giggled, “Me ∎∎∎! Me ∎∎∎ you!”

Your jaw dropped, and then the word clicks– carry! Well, carry or lift or hold– something along those lines. You remembered that decapitated head speaking it. The head that you had left behind in the hands of that… goat thing.

“Me carry you!” Mr. Crawling giggled, and honestly, if it weren’t for the fact that this was twice as slow as their previous pace (an actual snail’s pace) you might’ve just stayed here and squeezed a nap in.

“Wait, no– no!” You wiggled, trying to loosen his arms. You couldn’t– not through sheer force, as his arms felt like stone bricks, but he loosened his hold on his own, leaning in far too close and spewing out a cycle of: “Hurt? Hurt? Damaged? You sad?”

You sighed, shaking your head. Well, at least now you know the word. “No, me carry you. Me carry you.” You said, trying to convey through hand motions that it would be faster.

Then… Mr. Crawling giggled. Laughed. Directly at your face. “You carry me? Me ∎∎∎, you ∎∎∎!”

In your heart, you knew you were being laughed at, and you felt heat rushing to your ears as you sputtered in indignation. “What– listen, I can carry you! You’re not even alive, so you probably don’t have water or blood or any other thing in you that makes you as heavy as–”

“Cute!” Mr. Crawling cooed with another giggle, playing with your ears, his fingers gentle despite how coarse they felt. The coolness of them actually felt… nice against your burning ears.

You balked, “You–!”

Your breath was interrupted as cement arms wrapped around you again and his butt-scooting continued.

“Hey, I– !”

“You ∎∎∎ rest!” He said happily, strong legs picking up the pace and pushing small mounds of dirt across the forest floor.

Well… that was actually amendable. Maybe you’d get to the city before sunrise at this pace.

“Rest rest!” He said, one arm reaching up to pat your head. “You ∎∎∎! You rest! You safe.”

You let out another sigh, though you hardly put any heart into it, leaning against him more as you felt the rhythmic stop and push of him quite literally dragging the both of us to safety.

A disabled ghost… helping a fully-capable human move.

You snort, letting your eyes fall shut.

What has your life become?

And that's all! Thank you so much for stopping by! If you're interested, I just wanted to add some notes for anybody paying a bit more attention to minor details in this fic.

Yes, the reader is exhausted and far too tired to ask why a ghost who "can't use his legs" is currently using them as a motor to propel them across the forest floor. Give them some slack! They nearly died about 3 times lmao. (And I have mentally planned out a timeframe where they realize this exact piece of info)

I am aiming for the reader to be completely G/N (for our rare male players) but I may slip up and call them she/her or accidentally follow the canon a bit too closely.

Honestly, while it is based in Japan, most of my understanding outside of some rare visits comes from anime. So, in my head, the local high school was hosting a bravery challenge up in the forest on the mountains and the reader was dragged along with their friends (reader is a working young adult, ~25 years old). In my world, the city they live in is maybe 40 minutes away from that specific area in the mountains. I'm contemplating making the reader American-Japanese (who resides in the US and visited Japan for a vacation to meet up with old friends, or something like that).

Yes, I know that "bucket" in the ghost language isn't correct (the correct word is "container" or something more vague like that) but I can't recall if the reader gets to go to the SOS room on this route where Mr. Crawler refers to the pencil case/make-up bag with that same word, so their only experience would be learning the word through buckets with Mr. Hood.

I may accidentally call Mr. Crawling "Mr. Crawler." I'm pretty sure I haven't done that in this fic, but this is simply a warning for the future lmao.

That's all! Thanks again!^^

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#mr crawling #x reader #homicipher #mr crawling x reader #mr crawling x you

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kinzhae · 7 months ago

Text

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Marriage Of Steel ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

In a world where power and family ties define one's worth, [Y/N], a strong-willed woman from a neglected jujutsu clan, is married off to the aloof and powerful Satoru Gojo. Alone in a lavish yet cold estate, she struggles to find her footing as she faces both the isolation of her marriage and the whispers of disrespect from those around her. Determined not to be overshadowed, [Y/N] fights to assert herself in a world that expects her to be docile, all while grappling with her growing feelings for a husband who remains distant and emotionally unreachable. -Historical Au!

This is a Gojo x Fem!Reader series, I have posted this on wattpad already if you guys want to read it here is the link. This is a historical au! This series will be written by reader's POV. Hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1

Morning sunlight filtered through the thin silk curtains, casting a soft glow over the spacious room. I lay still in bed, staring up at the intricately carved ceiling, my thoughts an unrelenting spiral.

How did I end up here?

The events of the past two weeks felt surreal, like I’d been swept into a current I couldn’t escape. An arranged marriage to the renowned Satoru Gojo of all people—the prodigy of the Gojo clan, with more influence and power than most could ever dream of. I was no stranger to responsibility or duty; my own clan had drilled it into me since birth. But nothing had prepared me for this.

For being a wife.

For being alone.

The estate was grand, more luxurious than anything I’d known, yet it felt hollow. Its vast halls and pristine gardens were unfamiliar, filled with people who barely acknowledged me—or worse, whispered behind my back. And then there was Satoru, my husband in name only. He was rarely here, always consumed by his duties or disappearing for reasons he never cared to explain.

I exhaled sharply and sat up, pushing the blankets aside. If I stayed in this bed any longer, I’d suffocate on my own frustration.

Dressed and ready for the day, I stepped into the halls, my footsteps echoing against the polished floors. I had no destination in mind, only a need to move, to shake off the weight pressing on my chest.

As I passed the sitting room, the sound of hushed voices caught my attention. I paused, listening.

“She doesn’t belong here,” a voice said, sharp and derisive.

My jaw clenched.

“She’s not fit to be the lady of this house,” the maid continued. “Walking around like she owns the place. I could do her job better than she ever could.”

“Be quiet,” another maid urged, her tone nervous. “If anyone hears you—”

“So what? It’s the truth.”

My hand tightened around the edge of the doorframe. I stepped inside deliberately, my presence cutting the conversation short. The maids froze, their faces draining of color.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said, my voice cold. “Please, continue.”

The bold one opened her mouth, likely to deny everything, but I raised a hand to silence her.

“You think you can disrespect me in my own house?” I demanded, my tone sharp enough to make her flinch. “Do you think your position here gives you that right?”

The other maids glanced at one another, panic clear in their eyes, but the offending maid stood rooted to the spot, her face pale but defiant.

“I’ll teach you to know your place,” I said, my anger boiling over. “You—fetch me a stick. A small, sturdy one.”

The maid hesitated, but my glare sent her scurrying.

I held the stick tightly, glaring down at the maid who’d insulted me. “Hold out your hand,” I ordered.

She hesitated, trembling slightly, but didn’t move. My grip on the stick tightened. “Do it. Now.”

“Enough.”

The single word sliced through the air like a blade, its quiet authority freezing me in place. I turned sharply to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His butler stood just behind him, silent and composed.

“What’s going on here?” Satoru asked, his eyes flicking from me to the maid and back again.

“She insulted me,” I said firmly, lifting my chin. “I’m teaching her a lesson.”

His gaze dropped to the stick in my hand. Slowly, he approached, his footsteps measured. Without a word, he plucked the stick from my grasp, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly, turning his attention to the maid. “You’re dismissed. Permanently.”

The maid paled further, tears welling in her eyes as she stammered apologies. Satoru’s butler stepped forward, escorting her from the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded once the room was empty, my anger rekindling.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Satoru replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You don’t need to resort to... this.”

“She disrespected me,” I shot back. “I won’t let anyone treat me like I’m beneath them.��

“Respect is earned, not forced,” he said.

“Spare me the lecture,” I snapped. “You’re barely here, and when you are, you act like I don’t exist. Don’t pretend you care how I’m treated.”

His expression didn’t change, but I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, perhaps. Or guilt.

“Do what you want,” he said after a moment, turning to leave. “Just don’t cause a scandal.”

The confrontation left a bitter taste in my mouth. I stormed back to my quarters, my anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Emiko,” I called, summoning my new maid. She appeared quickly, her kind face a small comfort.

“Yes, milady?”

“We’re going out,” I announced, not bothering to mask my irritation. “Prepare the carriage.”

Emiko hesitated but nodded. As she adjusted my hair and straightened my clothes, her quiet presence calmed me slightly.

“Are you alright, milady?” she asked softly.

I glanced at her, startled by the question. “I’m fine,” I said curtly, then softened. “Thank you, Emiko.”

As the carriage pulled up to the estate gates, Satoru appeared on horseback, his arrival as inconvenient as it was imposing.

“And where are you going?” he asked, dismounting with practiced ease.

“Shopping,” I replied shortly, climbing into the carriage.

“With no escort?”

I bristled. “I don’t need an escort. I can protect myself.”

“You’re strong, I’ll give you that,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “But strength doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m not a child, Satoru.”

“No, but you’re my wife,” he said simply. “And I won’t have anything happen to you.”

I glared at him, but his calm resolve didn’t waver. Finally, I sighed, relenting just enough to allow one of the guards to accompany me.

I grumbled as Emiko handed a note to the driver, and moments later, a young guard appeared, bowing stiffly before climbing up to sit with the driver.

“You gave in?” Emiko asked softly, settling beside me.

“Barely,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Let him think he won this time. It’s not worth the argument.”

Emiko’s lips twitched, but she wisely said nothing.

As the carriage rolled forward, I glanced out the window, catching a fleeting glimpse of Satoru riding ahead, his figure disappearing into the crowded streets.

The ride was quite bumpy, Emiko kept talking about romance novels, everytime she mentions her favorite characters her eyes lit up and her speech got more faster. I also liked to read romance book's, at my own estate before I got married I used spent a lot of times reading books or cooking secretly.

My father and my mother were not in love, so growing up I didn't get any attention from both of them. My nanny was the one who always took care of me since I was a kid, she tought me to be polite, helpful and put people in their place if they deserved it. She also used to talk about "marriage, love, bounds." which is not a familiar words for me.

Nanny Miyako and her husband who worked as a chef in our estate was madly in love with each other, whenever she was taking care of me she would tell me about her sweet marriage and how she wanted a kid of their own but that was not possible yet she never complained about it and saw me as her own kid and raised me well.

My marriage with Gojo Clan's son, Gojo Satoru was not anything special. After the wedding he just simply disappeared for his 'mission' and ever since we barely saw eachother. The breakfasts and dinners were quiet since I eat by myself, when the maid's are busy I just walk around the big estate. I wasn't really fond of the maids, gojo and I were distant so they took a chance to gossip things about me behind my back like I didn't exist there.

"Milady, we arrived." Emiko got up and hopped off the carriage easily, I glanced outside before taking her hand and getting off the carriage.

The bustling streets enveloped us as Emiko and I wandered deeper into the marketplace. The vibrant energy of the crowd, combined with the enticing displays of goods, began to chip away at the irritation I’d carried all morning. The occasional clink of coins in my pouch reminded me that this outing was mine to control. Unlike at the estate, where every move felt scrutinized or dictated, here, I had a say.

We passed by a vendor selling bolts of exquisite fabric, their rich colors catching the sunlight. Emiko gasped, tugging gently at my sleeve.

“Milady, look at this!” She pointed to a deep crimson silk embroidered with gold threads. “This would make a stunning evening gown.”

I stepped closer, running my fingers over the smooth fabric. “How much for this one?” I asked the vendor.

“For you, my lady,” he said with a practiced smile, “five ryo.”

I raised a brow at the steep price. “Four, and I’ll take two yards,” I countered.

He hesitated, clearly torn between sealing the deal and holding out for more. Finally, he nodded. “Four ryo it is.”

Reaching into my pouch, I retrieved the coins and handed them over. The transaction felt satisfying, a small but significant reminder of my independence.

Emiko watched the exchange with wide eyes. “Milady, you’re so confident. I’ve never seen someone bargain so effortlessly.”

I smiled faintly. “If you don’t know the value of something, someone else will decide it for you. That’s a lesson I learned young.”

As the vendor wrapped the fabric, I felt the familiar prickling sensation of being watched again. Turning my head slightly, I caught sight of the guard still trailing us at a discreet distance. My fingers tightened around the pouch at my waist, irritation bubbling anew.

“Let’s keep moving,” I said, my tone clipped. Emiko followed without question, her cheerful demeanor softening the edges of my frustration.

The next shop we entered was filled with sparkling jewelry, the pieces displayed under soft candlelight to enhance their brilliance. My gaze fell on a delicate necklace adorned with a single emerald, its simplicity drawing me in.

“How much for this one?” I asked.

The jeweler hesitated, sizing me up before naming a price. I didn’t bother haggling this time, simply pulling the appropriate amount from my pouch. Emiko watched with admiration as I paid, her enthusiasm almost childlike as she admired the necklace.

“It’s beautiful, milady,” she said. “It suits you perfectly.”

I held it up, watching the light catch on the emerald. “Perhaps,” I murmured, slipping it into a small velvet pouch before tucking it away.

By the time we returned to the carriage, my pouch was significantly lighter, but my mood was brighter. Emiko chattered happily as we climbed inside, her hands carefully holding the wrapped fabric.

“Do you always carry your own money, milady?” she asked as the carriage started to move.

I glanced at her, amused by the question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” she said hesitantly, “most ladies rely on their husbands to—”

I cut her off with a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Not me. My father may have treated me like a pawn, and my husband may not care enough to notice, but I’ll never rely on anyone to take care of me. If I want something, I’ll earn it—or pay for it myself.”

Emiko smiled, her admiration clear. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever served, milady. It’s... inspiring.”

Her words were a small comfort, a reassurance that even in a world where I often felt unseen.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Chapter 2⋯⋅๑┈•✦

#jjk angst #jjk satoru #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #satoru gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #jujutsu gojo #gojo satoru #jjk smau #historical au #arranged marriage

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