#read on quotev

[rearranged-fanfic]

The Great Cross-Post Continues

For those unaware, I have a little collection of side stories that are AU variations of the Reader-chan from REARRANGED. One of these stories, Godhead, has been successfully cross-posted!

Hoorah!

:.:

Links

Read on Wattpad

Read on Quotev

Read on Fanfiction.net (Censored)

:.:

Story Synopsis

Godhead

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Elements

Rating: High M, Low E

Relationship: Gojo Satoru/Reader (AFAB Original Character)

Tags: Alternate Universe - Gods and Goddesses, God Gojo Satoru, Yandere Gojo Satoru, Human Reader, Drama, Angst, Manipulation, Murder, Grooming, Cunnilingus, Extremely Dubious Consent

Summary: What can one do when faced with the love of a god?

I was three when I attracted the attention of the local deity, O-Satoru-sama. As I grew older, I became painfully aware that I wasn't like the other young women of our tiny, remote mountain village. No. I was special. Blessed. Of course, looking back, I wonder if that blessing wasn't more of a curse.

:.:

Excerpts *Spoilers Below*

Excerpt 1:

I hardly notice when the air becomes unseasonably warm, nor when the birds and insects suddenly stop their droning song.  There is only me and my grief.  And our village’s silent, absent god. Then there’s the slightest sensation of something sliding through my hair.  The weight of a hand, warm and reassuring, presses down on me.  I close my eyes and bask in the sensation.  It feels loving, like when Papa would stroke my head and hum until I fell asleep.  But this hand isn’t well-worn or large like Papa’s; the fingers are slender, graceful, smooth.  This hand has never done hard labor in the fields, has never felled a tree nor carved leather.  But it is strong.  I feel the weight of it in my bones. This is the hand of a god, I think blearily. “I am still here, My Love.” I shiver in place.  Is this… is this O-Satoru-sama’s presence? The hand leaves me, and when I sit up and look around, I am alone as I was before.  The birds sing again, and the insects buzz.  And despite the fall chill nipping at my nose, my insides feel warm.  I stroke the hair where his hand had rested and jar his scent loose.  O-Satoru-sama smells like life, like sunshine. I am blessed, I must remind myself.  God came to me. He touched me.

Excerpt 2:

God is kneeling before me, clad in a sky-blue kimono which shines like it’s made of the finest silks.  The cloth is worth more than I’d ever be able to comprehend, with its patterned weave and embroidered imagery of waves.  The six-eyed mask that his statue dons is pulled up off his face, affixed to the side of his head seemingly with magic.  Even lowered as he is, I can tell that he towers over me.  One of his pale hands—unmarred by imperfections like scars or calluses—moves to cup my chin.  His thumb strokes over my lips, and those otherworldly eyes of his fixate on my mouth.  For a moment, I wonder if he’s going to kiss me.  But a little part of my brain says that he looks like he’d rather eat me. I shudder in his grasp.  And I swallow down a sigh of something that I can’t quite name. When God speaks this time, it’s not in my mind.  Instead, his smooth voice is that of a human’s, reaching my ears.  “You were my new mouthpiece.  From the moment your little hand met me, you were mine.”  He takes my hand and presses it against his chest.  “You touched my heart, and I recognized your soul.” God has a beating heart.  I can feel it thrumming beneath my fingertips.

Peace, my lovelies!

[hana-no-seiiki]

tw: yandere, not thin/slim reader friendly, implied chubby reader / reader with ed.

synopsis: we live in a fat phobic society and i want a yan who’s the opposite of that / ways in which a yandere heals your relationship with food

yandere in the way that they will take care of you no matter fucking what

like yandere in the way that sees the way you’ve barely eaten, maybe it’s cause of stress or because you wanted to fit into a dress/suit/outfit and look “good” in it

yandere in a way that wants you to be plump and healthy so that when they fuck you, you can take it without passing out.

yandere in a way that they’ll force feed you if they have to so you’ll get better stamina to take their or give them your seed

yandere who strengthens/repairs your relationship with food by researching recipes, preparing various meals that are both healthy and filling in addition to maybe letting you lick the desert off of their body.

yandere who loves you no matter how you look, what shape you take, or how much you eat.

just never ever leave them behind or you’ll have something you really don’t want to put in your mouth or stomach.

mmm….

[ozymdis]

If a person casually reads fanfiction, doesn’t that imply the existence of competitively reading fanfiction? I don’t know about you but the people with 30+ tabs of fanfics open on a device should consider joining the competitive scene.

[just-null]

Just curious, have you read a Noritoshi x reader fanfic on Quotev titled Body is one, mind is a million?? It is SO. GOOD. SO. GOOD.

^^^real image of me reading that fic in every chapter

Anon, I need to make out with you rn. Why was this gem hidden from me. Tysm for telling me about this, i will think of nothing else.

heres the link if you want to read it for yourself!

[my rabid ramblings and fanboying under the cut]

FORGIVE ME FOR THE PERSON ILL BECOME ONCE I FINISH READING THIS ALL. IM GONNA TRY SO HARD NOT TO MAKE THIS MY PERSONALITY.

I read the first chapter and intro, and I'm already hooked. Stoic and PINING NORITOSHI??? + TEASING GN READER?????????? I COULD FEEL THE PINING FIRST CHAP IN IM FUCKING DONE.

dude, you have no idea how badly I needed this in my veins. it's so tough finding fics that I like, and this one is so //PUNCHES MYSELF.. man if i tweak how i write for Noritoshi bc of this fic, i'll die. tysm to the writers out there.

IM GONNA GO DELUSIONAL BRO OH MY GOD AFJEK the way Kuzure (the author) wrote Noritoshi to be annoyed by you but grow to love you. its. ITS MY FAVORITE TROPE.. kuzure........ i have to add you to the wall of heros..

[darshy]

pretty

Your mother’s face is all you see as she tells you about the new house. “New and exotic,” she says and her eyes sparkle. You like her sparkly eyes, so you repeat: “New and exotic.” 

She smiles, bright and pretty as always. Your brother coughs beside you and her smile hides behind the pinks of her lips.

“No, no, Kaju, be careful! Slow. In and out.” She exaggerates by adding a hand to her chest. Kaju watches, his chubby baby cheeks full and round, and he copies very slowly. You watch too, imitating with small movements. 

Your mother sees you and squints. “Not you, baby. You’re normal.” And then she turns back to Kaju, still squinting, her sparkly eyes gone.

You lean back into your car seat. Normal. Kaju is hurting, trying to breathe. Normal.

Kaju has something wrong with him. He coughs and maybe food comes out and Mom always says, “No Kaju! Slow now!” in sloppy English. Sometimes she speaks in Spanish, but she wants Kaju to learn a lot of English so he can be a doctor. You want to be a doctor too, but when you tell Mom, she loses her sparkle eyes and squints.

So, you think about being an artist. Mom likes your paintings of dogs and cats. You only have a few paintings because there’s not a lot of dogs in the countryside. Only long, tall grass and old trees. You try to paint the trees and the grass but Mom squints at them and Kaju does too. 

So dogs and cats are the best. You want a dog and a cat to pet and paint. They are the best.

“Mommy?” you ask as she prepares lunch. Her fingers are digging into rices and corns. She hums and her pretty face is glowing. “I want a dog.”

Her head tilts and she looks at you. Her eyes are wide and sparkly and you smile because she’s so pretty.

“Perro? A dog?” Her eyes go wider and she smiles.

Kaju is at the table in his high chair. He’s looking at you. You look back.

Kaju coughs just as you say you want a cat too. Mom goes to Kaju.

School is foreign, and as Mom likes to say, exotic. “It is great for you and Kaju. Education is well,” she said once, fully in English. She seems to learn more each time you come back from church. Her friends are kind to teach her.

But you frowned when you heard about school. Older kids in church grumbled about homework. You were scared of homework.

Not anymore though. When you make it back home from school, your first day, Mom smiles and Kaju smiles. You smile too because homework is so fun!

You and Mom and Kaju look at papers your teachers gave to you. You don’t understand much but Mom reads it quickly. “This is good, baby,” she says before pushing them back into a pile. Kaju says, “Baby, baby, baby!” You grin because Mom is so happy.

“And soon, Kaju will be with you.” Mom glances at him and curls his hair around her fingers. Kaju still chants ‘baby’ and you look at the papers.

“Oh, Mom,” you say and she hums, fingers still busy styling Kaju. “I want a dog and a cat.”

“Two?” Sparkle, sparkle, sparkle are her eyes.

“Yes. Please,” you say the new word ‘please’ that you learned in class and Mom smiles. 

“Kaju, do you want animals?” Mom asks him but he looks at you. His cheeks look a little smaller. He’s getting big.

“Dog! Cat! Baby!” he chants with glee. You feel glee too because you don’t think he’s coughed yet today. And that Mom is happy. And that homework is easy.

Homework is not easy when you’re walking a dog. Times tables jumble up your brain and Perro barks a lot, ruining your thought process. 

“Perro!” You whine and Perro gives you his big puppy eyes. “I gotta learn nines. Nine, eighteen, twenty—um…” You glance at your fingers to count again. 

Perro barks and tugs on the leash. “Perro!” you yell again. He’s a fat dog and pulls really hard and your wrist is all scratched up from his tugging.

He pulls more, barks, and the leash breaks. Perro runs across the street. You move to follow—there’s never cars—but you see someone standing in the tall grass. Perro trots up to him—a boy with white hair and shorts and a tank top. The boy extends a pale hand and Perro greedily slobbers all over it. He laughs and his head turns to you. He has dark sunglasses on.

“Perro!” you call rather weakly. It’s weird seeing someone your age around here. Of course, Perro doesn’t listen, and rubs his chunky body on the boy’s legs.

“I’m, I’m sorry,” you stammer and walk across the street. There’s an embarrassing heat in your cheeks and you don’t think it’s from the sun. But the boy tilts his head and gives you a smile. It’s pretty, like your Mom’s. 

“It’s okay. I like fat dogs. They are cute,” he says and he has an odd accent. You know you have an accent too, but his is different. Before, you were thinking he was from around here. 

You reach for Perro and hook the leash back in place. He huffs and finally turns around. 

“His name is Perro?” the boy asks out of nowhere. You blink. “Yeah.”

“Well, what does Perro mean?” he asks and it comes out snappy. You shrink a little backwards and look across the street. You want to leave. 

“It’s dog in Spanish.”

“Spanish,” he says just as you take a step. “Yeah,” you say rather lamely. But you don’t want to talk to him. He is odd and his hair is white and it’s all confusing. And as you take another step closer to the road, the boy is close to you. He—he’s so fast you didn’t even see him move.

“So that’s why you talk so weird.” He smiles and it’s not so pretty anymore. You feel a little offended and frown a bit. “You talk weird too,” you whisper and you see his eyebrows shoot up above the sunglasses.

“I’m on vacation,” he says with a cross of his arms, “I don’t live here. I’m not like you.”

“Then where are you from?” Curiosity takes over your mind. 

“Japan.”

“Japan?” you repeat and think about all you know about Japan. Well, nothing comes to mind except for a girl whose family vacations to Japan. She’s in your class and her name is Jessie.

“What! Don’t tell me you don’t know about Japan!” he says loudly but he doesn’t sound angry. “I’ve heard about Americans being dumb. I didn’t think it would transfer to immigrants.” You’re stunned and it seems Perro notices your mood change and begins to growl. The boy only smiles at you. Yeah, it’s definitely not a pretty smile.

“That’s so…” You don’t know what to say, and with embarrassment thrumming throughout your body, you turn around.

The boy’s laughter leaves your head a mess and you forget about homework.

“What is wrong, baby? You have been different,” Mom says next to you. Kaju is on the floor in front of her, scribbling on a piece of paper. Today is Saturday, the best day of the week.

Because there’s no school.

“Nothing.” You hum and continue your painting of Kaju. His face is a little flat today and he’s more pale than usual. He has been coughing a lot.

“Nothing?” Mom blinks at you. Her hands fidget. “Is it school?”

There’s really nothing bothering you. Middle school is just.. middle school. More homework, more classes, more people.

So: “Nothing, Mom.” You look at her and force a grin. Her shoulders sloop down and she smiles back. “Okay, baby.”

You resume your painting of Kaju. You highlight the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chin. You detail his fingers, his pencil, the scribbles he’s making on that paper.

Kaju coughs. You pause and glance at Mom. Her head is facing the window next to the couch. Kaju coughs again. You watch Mom. She is looking outside.

Kaju coughs and makes a strangled sound. Spit trickles down his front and he’s holding his neck. 

Mom turns and helps him then.

You close the front door behind you. Your painting is glossy in the sun as you lay it down on a small wooden bench. You can hear Kaju’s screaming. What you can’t hear is Mom. You don’t hear a gentle “slow, Kaju. In and out” from Mom. Just Kaju. And it’s never just Kaju.

You walk away from the house. You do your times tables of thirteen. You do it past one hundred. And when you focus back to the world, you realize you’ve crossed the street. Tall grass dangles around you and the wind curves them into waves.

“Hey,” a voice says from behind. You turn and blink wildly at that white haired boy from years ago. He’s most definitely taller and still wears dark sunglasses. It makes sense though. Arizona is hot.

Alas, you frown. “Why are you here?” you ask. 

He grins, boyishly. “I knew you were gonna be here.”

You tilt your head. “Huh? No way.”

His leg moves forward and yours moves back. His cheeks are tan and blushy. The grass tickles your knees. You want to leave.

“I’m on vacation again. You should come hang out at my house,” he says and jerks his head to the side, gesturing the direction of his home. You look on and see the endless green of trees and grass.

“I’m not allowed to leave,” you mutter. The boy shrugs. 

“It’s not far. And who cares about rules? I don’t.”

“Well, I do.” You wiggle your way through the grass and walk over to the dirt of the road. Rocks slide into your flip-flops and you cringe.

He grabs your hand. He’s warm—burning and you try to pull away but he grips harder. You bite your lip and freeze.

His sunglasses are on top of his hair. His eyes are shock blue and shine and sparkle. This sparkle is different from your mother’s. You don’t like it. You don’t like anything about this boy.

“Come with me.” He smiles and your mouth opens but you blink and it’s not so hot anymore. His hand is still on yours and there are still rocks in your shoes but the sun is not beaming down your back. You blink again, and there’s a bed in front of you—the kind you’d see in movies—with long windows behind it. Instead of a shaggy green carpet touching your toes, there is a cold wood floor.

You shout and jump and the boy laughs. “You’re fine! See? We’re in my home!” He lets go of your hand and jumps onto the big bed. 

“In Japan?!” You shout again and feel a rock in your throat. But the boy shakes his head, a cheesy grin on his face. “Of course not. This is the vacation home.” He flattens himself against his bed. You stand awkwardly.

“You wanna get something to eat?” You hear him ask.

“No,” you say but your stomach complains by growling loudly. He snickers and you want to go home.

“Oh my baby! All done with middle school!” Mom sings while driving. You continue drawing in your sketchbook and before long you have created large blue eyes and white hair and a boyish grin. It’s, unfortunately, Satoru Gojo. He paid you twenty dollars the last time you saw him and he asked for you to create an image of him. Whatever. Easy money.

“Mami! I’m going into sixth!” Kaju yells, wanting attention. She looks at him in the rear view mirror. “Ah, yes! Kaju is going into middle school. Don’t you feel so old?” Kaju shouts something like “I’m not old!” and Mom laughs and you shove your earbuds further into your ears. 

The drawing is finished. It looks like Satoru, unfairly pretty with white teeth. You think it’s kind of weird how you can draw him so easily without having him stand right next to you. You can only do that with Kaju and Mom because you know them.

—and you don’t really know Satoru. Well, except for the fact that he’s one year older than you. His family is rich, maybe, probably, everytime he..teleports you to the vacation home, it’s grand on the inside. Not that you’ve met any of his family members and not that he mentions any of them. It’s all just a big guess on your part.

Satoru knows about you though. He knows about Kaju and Mom and how Perro died. He knows about your passion for art and your more secret passion for doctors. He knows what school you go to, where you live, and your favorite color. He knows so much and you trust him. He’s really your only friend after all.

The car stops and you glance up. Home is ahead, small, tiny, and dirty all around. It’s a trailer. Kaju and Mom are still talking so you climb out of the car and stretch.

Satoru is coming today for his summer long vacation. You hold the sketchbook close to you. You feel excited.

Satoru is there, across the street. Tall, pretty, and grinning. You’re glad that your art piece matches him.

“Hello!” He yells and waves and you jog over. His eyes look at the sketchbook—he takes his glasses off around you now. You hand the pad over to him and watch his pupils dilate.

“Like it?” you ask and for some reason you feel a little shy. He nods wordlessly and cradles the sketchbook. Maybe he likes it too much.

“Can I keep it?”

“Yeah.” You’ve never had anyone ask to keep a drawing of yours.

He looks up at you and his eyes are unreadable. “I wanna take you somewhere new. You’ll like it, I promise.” So you shrug and grab his hand and blink. New things can be scary, like starting high school and moving. You expect to be scared, Satoru likes pranks, but you blink twice and the air smells good and you see pink petals.

You look up. Pretty trees flow in the wind and you gape. Their leaves are pink! 

“What are they?” You breathe out, still holding Satoru’s hand. He chuckles next to you. “Cherry blossoms. I—we’re in Japan.” You look at him and squint. “Satoru!”

“But it’s okay! I’ll bring you back, I promise.” His cheeks are as pink as the trees. “I just wanted to show you.” You want to be mad at him, but as much as you try, you can’t. So you look back up and smile.

Satoru’s head falls onto your shoulder. His breaths are quick and shallow. He sounds sick. He sounds like your brother.

“Can we…” He starts but the words die in the wind. “What?” you whisper. His hand tightens around yours.

“I want us to be together.”

You giggle. He’s joking, he must be. “We can’t, Satoru! I don’t want to live in Japan.” At that, he shoves his face further into your neck, and you swear you feel his lips tremble against your pulse.

[working-dreamer]

Looking for a lost Nightmare Before Christmas fanfic that used to be very popular in the 2000s:

Tumblr I’m gonna need your Internet powers to find this.

Does anyone know of an old Nightmare Before Christmas fanfic called The Bone Collector? It was on an old school fandom website and unfortunately seems to be dead now. I found the web archive of the first chapter but the rest seems to be lost.

If you might know of the fic or know how wayback machine works I’d really appreciate help to find the rest of this fic. (Bonus points if you’re familiar with it and might have it saved somewhere? Very small chance I know but I’m getting desperate).

We lost a lot of creative writing when social media shifted the way we navigated the internet away from dedicated fandom websites. Help me recover just this little bit of Nightmare Before Christmas fandom history.

Anyway here is the web archive link of chapter one that has been recovered: https://web.archive.org/web/20170427180654/http://www.nightmarebeforechristmas.net:80/fanstuff/fanfiction/608

Any help to find the other chapters would be greatly appreciated! I know some of y’all used to print out fic on the school computers to read during class. If this fic is familiar to you and you might have it saved on an old doc somewhere please let me know!

[agentoffangirling]

If you think Tumblr's reading comprehension is poor, you have not ever encountered Quotev users in your life

[thereaderinsertlady]

Step 1: Go to ao3

Step 2: Search Dimentio/Reader fics

Step 3: Sigh and leave when no new ones have been posted.

Repeat daily

[darlingsaturn]

I've cracked the code for fanfiction.

If you want smut, go to tumblr.

If you want angst or story that is longer than most novel, go to AO3.

If you want a fluffy light story; where you just don't feel like reading a heavy plot storyline, go to wattpad.

If you want a guilty pleasure story, go to Quotev.

If you want nostalgia, go to fanfic.net .

Thank you for listening.

[pomegranateboba]

ArTw Incorrect quotes (24)

POV: Summoner is sick

Arcturus: Summoner! I heard you were sick, did you drink lots of water?

Summoner, turning around and revealing multiple stacks of paper and some pens: Arcky look, I wrote 5 chapters of my Spica x Alpheratz slow burn fanfic :D

Arcturus:

Arcturus: ...so did you drink lots of water?

[boyfriendyke]

i do say this as someone who was never into creepypasta so grain of salt but i do think its funny how creepypasta fans in the 2010s was like. half ppl who were really into the like arg found footage ish kinda aspect. like uncovering fictional murders and supernatural events and shit. and then the other half was twelve year olds on quotev and fanfiction dot net writing about their self inserts running away to become part of slendermans murder found family and like making out w ben drowned and stuff

[plague-and-creatures]

For all the people that complain about Y/n, I think [Name] and any variation is 10x worse when it comes to ruining the immersion

At least with Y/n it's not a complete word and I can read it however I want (Putting any name there, Yin, etc). A couple letters and a slash are easy for my brain to skip over and replace

[Name] on the other hand is a whole ass word. My brain will read it as "Name" first and then remember to replace it with something else after. Boom, immersion ruined

"Y/n" is fine, "Reader" + variations I can tolerate, but [Name]? Unreadable.

[spatial-jump]

You know today’s going to be a good day when you think of an angsty scene that’s guaranteed to break people’s hearts. 😌

[leafith]

-_✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧_-

🌿🫀📜:Legends says that there was another version of this, but it was all written and old because Judith wasn't still very good at art...

🍄‍🟫🔷🪻: Leaf stfu. Anyways, this is a small comic of the plot of my story. Now the only thing I can do is to die in peace because my time went away like a butterfly in the Eye of Eden.

If my handwriting is terrible and you can't read it, then there are ALT texts as always :)

Full comic:

Enjoy motherhonkers, my job here is done.

[whydidigethere]

Shamefully, I must admit, I was a Wattpad kid