This is a fic I've been writing for the past month or so, and it just hit 10k words! It's a dual-OC-isekai inspired by @kolbietheaggrievedwriter's fic Jumpstart (which you don't need to read before reading this fic, but it might help explain the premise).
Emma, a Homestuck fan in her early 20s, thinks she's dreaming. Bro Strider's a weird perspective to be dreaming from, but she's had weirder. Dirk Strider commenting on her actions in her head? Pretty damn weird.
Her best friend Viri calling her on Bro's phone, saying that she's been isekai'd into Homestuck, and is stuck with her own brain ghost Roxy in the body of Mom Lalonde? That's when she starts shutting down, hard.
With only three days to go before the meteors, a non-zero amount of troll girls pestering them, and two Strilonde kids who are about to have their lives changed forever, can Emma and Viri get it together to save their unexpected charges... and themselves?
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Check it out, and don't forget to leave kudos and a comment! I'm always down to hear reader feedback, it's the only way to improve.
I have a playlist for each Mugiwara for my self-insert fanfiction, but since I'm mostly a pop-rock-punk sucker I don't have much variety (well, I got some thanks to my best friend !) and I'm sure I'm missing some perfect character songs out there !
So please reblog/comment the songs you associate with one (or more) Strawhat 👀
Here are mine under the cut !
Luffy (i'm not happy about it much :()
Zoro
Nami (her pride flag in your face)
Usopp
Sanji
Vivi
Chopper
Robin
Brook
No, Franky ain't got a playlist. neither do Jimbe yet. I also have other characters joining the crew if you have ideas as well : Conis, Laki, and Perona. And of course Karoo but I haven't made him a playlist yet either. I've developped playlists for Hancock and Law as well.
Hi there guys! This account is just a throwaway so don’t mind the formalities :]
I’m an AP Research student, and my study is identifying types of reader-development that can be produced from reading reader-insert fanfiction. And just to clarify, "reader-insert as in the reader ("y/n") is placed into the story since this is more about fanfiction readers than writers.
If you’re between the ages of 16-25 and read reader-inserts on Archive of Our Own or Tumblr, it would really help me if you could fill out my survey! The link is at the bottom, and depending on how thorough you want to be about your answers, it may take 10-20 minutes (not all questions have to be answered). This is for a class so my survey went through an ethics review and every participant will have to sign a consent form. For underage participants (16-17), you’ll need parent/guardian consent and you’ll also have to fill out an assent for yourself.
Fanfiction has always been an interesting topic for me. While I don’t write fanfiction myself, I’ve been reading for several years and the idea of fanfiction itself and the community just fascinates me! I’ve read reader-insert fanfiction before and incorporating it into the subject self-awareness and development seems new to the fanfiction research community, so I aim to add on to the small (but growing!) list of works.
I’ll most likely be taking responses up until around mid-March, 2022. Please consider sharing or reblogging this, even if you can’t or don’t wish to participate yourself. I’d really appreciate any and all responses!!
If you have any questions or would like me to update you on the research please let me know!
anytime i see another woman also talking about “when i was 13 i wrote fanfiction about *insert fellowship member here* falling in love with me” all i think is “my friends have excellent taste”
Rating: PG for being a lil suggestive at the end but absolutely nothing happens.
Pairing: Me x Weiss
Notes: Don’t question it. Don’t question me. My husband is on my PC in a week and I am officially diagnosed with Weiss Brainrot for the duration.
Nighttime in DeepGround was always hard to work in. There was an unnatural stillness that got shattered by the not-infrequent (but always random) clanking of machinery. It was horrific for focus and for nerves. At the same time, there was never enough time during the day to finish up the paperwork I needed to get in to keep the Restrictors and other researchers off my back.
Admittedly, I could have hunted down another spot in which to work. There was a whole library on the Ninth Level for Researcher use, filled with quiet desks and glowing computers. I could have gone there, but I loathed being watched. The only other space available was my bedroom, which was distracting in it's own way. Between other researchers failing to understand a work-life boundary and Weiss poking his head in, there was no way to get work done.
Furthermore, I always had trouble sleeping in DeepGround. I had woken up early and gone to bed late too many times; it was catching up with me in that moment. As I worked in the uninterrupted silence, my office was warm. There had been no noise for a good half hour. As I laid my head down on my desk, I thought that it was just to clear my head.
I did not realize I had fallen asleep until I woke up to the sound of the elevator door opening. I was being carried into the elevator, gently swaying in the air with each step into the tiny chamber. I startled, but the grip on my shoulder and under my knees was secure enough that I did not fall.
“Relax,” crooned a voice over me. The deep, commanding tones that could melt the coldest heart. I felt him lean over, nudging a button on the panel, and then shift me in his arms. “I’ve got you.”
“Weiss?” I yawned, then rubbed my eyes. He had me tucked into his arms, resting my head against his broad shoulder and draped my legs over his other arm. A bridal carry, I realized with no small amount of glee. The elevator clanked to life and began dropping down.
“You fell asleep in your office.” He chuckled, a soft sound that rumbled through his chest like thunder. I had always liked storms when I was topside, and the deep sound was a comfort to me. “Nero told me where you were, so I came to get you.”
“Nosy,” I chided.
“I was worried when you weren’t in your room. I asked him to look for you and he saw you there.”
The elevator stopped on Level Three and opened. I expected Weiss to set me down there, but he kept me in his arms as we stepped out into the hall. We were heading for the soldiers’ barracks.
“We’re going to your room?” I had to crane my neck to look up at him. His expression was blank, maybe a little smug when he cocked an eyebrow.
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. I just don’t want to keep you up too late.” I settled back against him.
Weiss’ expression got a touch more wolfish, his stride more confident. “I hadn’t planned on sleeping much, but I’ll sleep better with you there.”
Summary: Everybody talks about the terror, the calm, the longing in staring in the abyss. But nobody talks what happens when the abyss starts staring right back at you. Or, you’ve love him all your life and now you don’t know what to do.
Pairing: Seokjin x reader
Warnings: Reader’s issues with her family. Mention of a marriage market. Favoritism in a household.
Notes: Short chapters for quicker updates is my jam. This chapter occurs before the first chapter. Also, I feel like this is flopping hahaha but oh well, I’ll just write to the void jk
Word Count: 919
Part i
“This is absurd! Absolutely barbaric!”
Your sister paces around your home’s living room, her skirts fluttering high as if she’s running ‘round the hills as she did so when you were younger. Arms akimbo, and eyes blazing with righteous fury, she waves around your letter as if it’s hers.
Beside you, your aunt sips tea quietly. Somehow, even without saying anything, she conveys a look of boredom and mild judgement with the grace of her fingers and lilting tilt of her mouth behind the cup. Every bit of a lady that she is. She looks quite out of place in your humble home, seated in an old worn out couch in the finest silk and fabrics you’ve ever seen.
She may be old, your aunt, but she’s never out of style. (“Fads come and go, little Y/N, style is timeless.”)
Across the room, your mother’s brows are creased with worry, eyes on your sister just as it always is. Beside her, your father leans on the window sill, looking beyond the gardens of your home, perhaps dreaming of better times when he promised his daughters a great future whatever it may be, before he went on to squander it on a half-baked dream.
Your sister turns to you, rushes forward and holds your hands on your lap. With imploring eyes, she all but coos at you, “You do know what this means right?”
With poise, you pull back your hand, “Of course, I do. I’m not a child, Jineun.” You take the letter from her grasp and smooth it on your lap. “I’m a woman, just like you.”
You hate it when your sister looks like this. Eyes soft, and voice even softer, she speaks to you as if you’re a child. In many ways, perhaps you still are. You’re not half as worldly as she is, nor as experienced - your world limited between your homes and occasional trips on trains and carriages, always chaperoned and never alone. It is perhaps unfathomable to her that growth can happen in a limited amount of space.
“I’m not sure you do, little sister,” she snatches back the parchment, her ink-stained fingers crumbling it to the point of no return, “This is barbaric! A marriage market?? A bidding - you’re not a cow, do you understand?”
There at the corner of your living room, is a piano. It hasn’t been played in a long time, and it fills the room like a ghost with its dusty keys and ledge. Above it is a portrait of your younger sister, forever fifteen and forever gone to a fever caught too late, untreated just because of the sheer cost of a doctor in your town.
She’s not here, but she gives you strength. Your ears burn at the righteousness of your older sister, at the unfairness of her disregard of your choice. You stand up and with satisfaction, you note that you are nearly eye-to-eye.
“How do you propose we live then, Jineun? Heaven knows you’re not earning from your writing. Father’s squandered everything —“
Jineun gasps, perhaps at your audacity, and it’s echoed by your mother behind her. You grab at the invitation. It weighs like expensive paper. It weighs like salvation. You pass it to your aunt and she tucks it to her purse, close.
The thing with Jineun is this. She’s all passion - uncompromising, burning, and immovable passion. Admirable, it is. But while you’ve all been fed by romance in this family, from the quaint house you grew up in to the books your father bought, the stories your mother told, and their entire relationship, it’s produced different daughters in you.
Uncompromising passion, you understand now, is a wild and volatile thing, burning everything in its path. Too much of it can burn an entire home down. This makes Jineun mean, and she wields her words like weapons in the air, cutting in its precision.
“How dare you, if you’d been better educated you’d know—“
But you, you, the vain sister who’s dreamt of ballrooms, lace, and pearls have been burned so many times as well. First, by your family, second by the cold of society - their judgemental eyes, and lilting smiles. You now know how to cut too.
“I wonder why I haven’t been educated,” you speak and your sister draws back as if slapped. Your father stands up, and yet he doesn’t meet your eyes. Shame pouring out of his posture. You won’t even bother to look at your mother. They’ve made their choice. “,between my vanity and you, pursuing your passions, I’m not the one squandering everything for something unsure.”
A muted sound of a door opening nearly brings you to a pause, but you power through, “Marriage is our family’s only hope now, Jineun. God knows you won’t do it, so call it what you will - a marriage market, a bidding war, I don’t care. I’ve always known this is my path, why should I be ashamed of it when it’ll drag us out of the muck?”
Behind you, your aunt shuffles to stand and with a touch to your elbow, you straighten your back and prepare to leave. A shadow moves by the hallway and your eyes stray. Seokjin. There he is. Perhaps here to pick up your sister to another escapist adventure.
He’s open-mouthed, looking at you and for once, you don’t look back.
The echoes of the invitation tingles on the tips of your fingers.
You can’t afford to look back.
End Notes: I think this will be a short series, maybe 5 parts! --> a lie hahaha idk, it’s probably short interconnected chapters with plotline.
Hearts are appreciated but comments are gold. Let me know what you think and if you want to be included in a tag list!
Summary: While hunting for a Whisper (aka were-pire) with Castiel, Reader must contend with their social anxiety. Fluff and mixed-feelings ensue.
Prompt/Request: Castel x Reader with Social Anxiety by @fandomsthatkandiceloves
Rated: PG. Mild language, mentions of violence.
A/N: This marks my first-ever ‘reader x’ story, so please let me hear your thoughts. I tried to keep the reader as inclusive as I could, while still providing a bit of a lovey edge to her/him. That said, the love can be perceived as either romantic, or non-romantic. Whichever you like best, or feel... Great for boils and ghouls of all ages! (The use of Y/N has been replaced with a double-underscore.)
~ Enjoy!
(gif credit on watermark)
You were a hunter who preferred staying indoors, and that made you a walking, stalking— shooting— paradox.
Castiel, as it happened, was a paradox of biblical proportions. And so naturally, you two got along swimmingly. You liked the Winchesters well enough, but they were also bleak in that very human way— though if it hadn’t been for their flanneled hospitality, you wouldn’t be here, after all— maybe alive, maybe dead— but certainly not in a bunker in Lebanon, Kansas, sitting comfortably as an honourary person of letters in the vein of Henry Winchester and Josie Sands…
Your buddy Cas, on the other hand— despite his Neo-Noir good looks and according hint of aftershave— was never truly apart from his Precious Moments milieu. The Angel was at once the essence of everything you felt was missing in humanity; as well as the too few parts you loved about it.
As the harvest sun settled, a cornucopia of cumulus hanging low, the muddy earth gripping the soles of your boots— the supply store came into view. The storefront was brick, capped off by a bright red awning, an inexpensive vinyl-like material printed with bold black lettering: WE SELL AMMO.
Your partner for this particular hunting trip was none other than Castiel. He wore one of the same number of coat-and-tie combinations he always did, but something about the sky and him on this evening… You couldn’t describe it, but it appealed to you. He appealed to you. Much so. That kindness, that raw power. The manner in which the wind tousled his humble haircut, teasing his put-on-backwards tie to the point where it flapped like a lame-winged bird, and how he almost seemed to be the causal force of such wacky yet refined weather.
His proximity to you was meticulous, one step behind you—two or three, if you got excitable— and his feet made no more disturbance over the crisp forest floor than a squirrel’s paws might have. Less perhaps, for Castiel wasn’t the least bit squirrelly.
“There,” he spoke, his voice hushed, almost hallow, and he placed a hand on your shoulder, pointing you in the direction of the store.
“… That place? What about it, Cas?” The present and ongoing pursuit of a ‘Whisper’ wanted you to be tense, but you couldn’t be; not while God’s grace disguised as a private dick was THIS close to you.
Generally, Castiel’s expression remained unchanged from that of saccharine and matter of fact, but as his ocular oceans sank down to his shotgun’s empty barrel, you knew he was feeling heavy-hearted about something or other.
“I’m out… and I know you are, too.” Intense light poured from a sliver in the Angel’s wounded cheek— slashed early on in the hunt by the elusive ‘were-pire’ which was your prey of the hour, as it were. Watching your back, he simply had not the time nor strength enough to fix it. “Speak not of your condition, __.” Cas raised his hand from your shoulder (you were amazed at how long he let it linger there), and began rummaging in his coat’s inner pockets. “I saw it in your heart— ”
Your breath hitched in your chest as he spoke— interrupting his serene, severe thought process— your aforementioned organ thumping inside you to the beat of an ill-tuned drum. For his sake, you mostly kept your composure.
“Wait. What do you mean? You lost me, buddy,” you said, your attention torn between Castiel and the ominous dead-end surplus in the foreground of where you and Cas both stood by quietly.
“Social anxiety.” He blinked, completely non-judgmental, his face awash with all the caring and stone of a Churchyard. This face— Castiel’s face— would be the death of you, you thought, struck again with the duality of the earth Angel you cherished above all others— Angel, and non.
You wanted to speak, wanted to explain yourself.
“You thought I was going to ask you to go into there… I was,” he confessed plainly. “With my vessel as it is, I thought our ‘luck’ at getting what we need approximately ninety-nine percent better at your behest.”
Forever befuddled, you allowed yourself to slump to the ground in an exhausted, marginally comfortable, sitting position. Castiel followed suit, assuming a gargoyle crouch at your side.
“I can’t lie to you, Cas— Yeah, the place rubs me the wrong way. Same as every public place does, except this one has the element of cobwebs and surprise! Has anyone even been inside there in the last… decade? Doctor Doom could be our cashier, for Christ’s sake!” Sorry, Lord’s name in vain. You grimaced out your apology, but Cas made no acknowledgement of either your slur or your sorrow.
In a manner he was as perplexed by your nature as you by his; he was hung up on your reference to comic villainy and improbable passages of time. You were a fool in the grand scheme of things, but you were his fool to protect.
Cas was now sitting alongside you, his transfigured legs stretched out in a sequence similar to your own. When did this happen? It seemed, as usual, his segueing was too fast for your human eye to conceive, and you cursed yourself for always missing out on strange little moments like these.
“If… Doom were the cashier,” Cas started slowly, way too deep into postulation, “that would be fortunate, wouldn’t it? The man wears much silver… We could fell him where he counts the change, and melt down his armour, and fashion it into new silver bullets.” He stared at you, his steely gaze fishing for a battle plan, his pink mouth not bent to any one emotion. It reminded you how helpless he was, all things considered.
Leaning, you pressed a tragic-hero type kiss to his brilliant wound, half imagining that your true love would seal it up ‘magically’. Alas, the blinding grace continued to shine from within Castiel’s cheek, and you still felt like shit thinking of how you would approach the employee lurking behind the blazing OPEN sign beyond.
“No matter,” Cas resumed, “I’ve thought of something. My angel blade— we shall pawn it for ammunition. Silver blades, in any case.” Belatedly, he raised an eyebrow in response to your PDA, but said nothing of it.
You sprang to your feet in protest. “No way!” Crap. Looking around, you lowered your voice. “I can’t let you do that over my stupid anx… What, Angel blades don’t work on Whispers?” You groaned, prompting Castiel to rise and subsequently embrace you. It was, in reality, his idiosyncratically tight grip on your arm, a silent ‘Get yourself together, man’. But you would gladly accept it as a hug.
“—They don’t. And it’s like you said, no one comes here. We can return for the Angel blade later,” Cas assured you. “I wouldn’t dream of letting it lie around for long. In the wrong hands… it’s suicide.”
“You’re really insisting, aren’t you? Well, at least let me put something over your grace… ” With several layers to spare, you reached for your thinnest shirt, and with a healthy tug— you tore off a portion of cloth. In a jiff, you fixed the makeshift bandage around Castiel’s head, taking advantage (inconspicuously if not innocently) of the chance to feel up his stubble and jawline. When you were through, the Angel looked passably pathetic— a regular ol’ guy after a regular ol’ hunting accident.
“There. Good as old!” Beaming, you admired your work. You didn’t even mind that Castiel forgot to laugh at your funny.
“Thank you… I won’t be long.” He handed you his everyday knife, hoping it would give you at least a little extra protection while he left you unattended. “We should continue down that way,” Castiel flagged the southwest of the store’s exterior, proceeding towards the entrance. “Wish me luck?”
“I love you, Cas.”
That’s when the door chimed. A moment later, you thought you could hear a peaceable back-and-forth between Castiel and the mystery worker, but perhaps that was the former’s powers putting your mind at rest. You wouldn’t know until he emerged— an arm through a thanks for shopping plastic bag heavy with goods, and the other arm wielding his angel blade.
“The cashier wasn’t Doctor Doom… ” Castiel informed you, as the both of you (now a kosher distance from the eerie place of business), continued walking. “He was a Whisper. THE Whisper.”
“WHAT? Why didn’t you shout, or send Angel... signals… or something?!” It was concern forming your words. That, and being bummed out at losing another shot at proving you could defend your star-crossed constant companion (that’s what you wished he was, anyways— your constant companion). “How did you… know?” He’d told you all the details before, but you’d never seen one in person. And though you got the gist of hybrids, the specs. were still very much above your understanding.
“He asked me when’s the solar eclipse,” Cas explained.
“And you killed him? Jesus!” Whoops. “Lots of people are interested in eclipses, and it doesn’t mean they’re a were-pire!” Dammit, Dean had all but drilled that title into your skull. “It’s probably the only thing someone like him— being someone from around nowhere— has going for him.”
“I told him it was today, and then he attacked me… ”
the man in black in the dark tower movie is very attractive and sexy and i am unashamed to say that i will still be wanting to write a self-insert fantasy with him because hOLY FUCKING SHIT IS THAT MAN HOT AS FUCK
