Neon Crow Pen

Hello, I'm Crow. I'm a fanfic writer who usually writes for darker characters with darker themes. This blog may be potentially triggering for some of you. I will tag triggers as I go along, however if something needs to be tagged, please let me know. Please do not interact if you are under the age of 18.

Currently, I Write For:

Game of Thrones

Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU)

The Witcher

You (Netflix)

Dune

Peaky Blinders

It (2017 Film)

Westworld

Fandoms I Am A Part Of But Haven't Written For Yet:

House of the Dragon

The Boys

Sinners (2025 Film)

A Court of Thorns and Roses

The Cruel Prince

Shadow and Bone/ Six of Crows

Baldur's Gate 3

I'm very talkative and I love to be bothered, so don't mind dropping an ask or message. Please submit requests, questions, and all else here.

Requests are CLOSED. (July 16, 2023)

I do not have any rules at this time for requests. All that I require is that you ask nicely. I will always announce when I open or close requests.

Here are all of my masterlists. (To be updated soon.)

Thank you all for being so patient with me. Let's get that out of the way. I'm still here. I spent a good time drafting things and relogging into Ao3 (would you believe lost my log in info???)

A few notes before I start posting again:

Masterlist

I really gotta come up with a comprehensive masterlist that encompasses my old blog, this blog, and my Ao3. I have no idea where to start as I am intimidated by it all. (i have a lot of fics, mmkay?) I welcome any and all ideas.

I already have a Google Sheet containing the archive of my old blog here.

And here is my Ao3

Requests

I usually don't have many rules for requests. However, I had a request that spanned over the course of six, different asks. While I appreciate the enthusiasm of this particular Nonbon, I do not think I can fulfill what they have asked of me. I will state this in rules that requests may only be encompassed in one ask/submission.

And to the Nonbon who came to me with their with detailed and years long thoughts on Peaky Blinders and Thomas Shelby having a secret child with someone in France...this is an incredible idea. I wish I had the time to dedicate to write this for you. Truth is, I do not and therefore I cannot do it justice.

Thank you, Nonbon.

Both work and family have been taking up a lot of my attentions. I am cursed with a double edged sword. I am the eldest daughter and the Very Important Person at my job.

Which, by the way, I am in no means a manager or a supervisor (at least title wise). I am just an overworked secretary who's given 5 new impossible projects a day.

As for job searching, allow me to come in with a bit of personal advice. It is often that one loses their motivation because job searching steals a lot of joy. Please remember that you have value, worth, and grit. It is hard to measure those traits on a piece of paper or worse, to a computer who's job it is to judge you.

Take a breath. Remember you are valuable.

And thank you all for having patience. I'll be back up and running smoothly soon.

No schedule for this week because I gotta catch up with last week's posts. Sorry everyone!

She's serving Cher.

Thanks in advance :)

(I've read both youvebeenlivingfictional's and salt-is-a-terrible-currency's Gurney x reader oneshots and everything else listed under Gurney x reader on the archive)

Ah, I believe I must have missed this one during my first round of questions when I came back to Tumblr. I cannot recommend Gurney fics because I haven't read any.

This is a gap in my knowledge.

Pairing: Shelby Brothers X Youngest Brother!Male!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Author’s Warnings/ Notes: This is Part Four of a Set of Imagines that highlight physical sibling abuse, physical violence, death threats, and suicide ideation. This last imagine was difficult for me to write. Perhaps, that's why I let it hang until now. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. MINORS DNI.

[ Part One ] [ Part Two ] [ Part Three ]

Thomas Shelby froze in his spot. For the first time, the consequences of his actions laid out perfectly in front of him. Your words repeated in his head as his eyes studied the cold metal against his daughter’s chin.

“I’m all the way down now, Thomas.”

The sentence echoed and haunted him in ways he hadn’t comprehended yet. He took a big, steadying breath.

“Let Lizzie and Charles leave.” He asked of you first.

“Tommy.” Lizzie snapped. “I am not going anywhere without her.”

“Patience, Lizzie.” You said. “He’s negotiating. He’s choosing where his priorities lie. Be glad he thought of you for once.” The biting words struck a cord with both Thomas and Lizzie. You spoke a hard truth out loud for the house staff to hear.

Pairing: Geralt X Female!Reader

Fandom/Franchise: Witcher

Author's Notes/Triggers: No triggers here. Only FLUFF.

“Tell me a story.” You smiled, crawling into his bed.

He let out a small chuckle, rolling his eyes. He almost hated it, all of it. The quarantine you both were forced under. The cottage at the edge of nowhere in the mountains. He itched from not being able to at least leave the property. However, you made it entertaining, at least.

He pulled at a sweater sleeve, wondering which one he could pick from. A better idea came to mind.

“I think you owe me a story.” He smiled at you, remembering something.

Your eyes widened. Your smile brightened into a laugh. “No, that’s not fair. I can’t leave here.”

‘All the more reason to tell me. You, like me, are trapped. And you owe me the story.” Geralt patted a spot on the bed for you. You collapsed into the mattress. Your feet neared his shoulders. He took his opportunity and started to rub at your soles. His powerful thumbs dug into the aching spaces of your feet.  Sighing, you turned your gaze to the window outside. Another snowstorm would set in soon.

“Where to begin.” Your lips pursed in deep thought. “The King was looking for…a female companion. Now, not many people know this, but Vizimir and his queen have an open relationship.” You added that last sentence as a disclaimer. “They only have that one rule.”

“No whores.” Geralt smiled, knowing the rule all too well.

You gave him a delicious look. “I had heard Vizimir was looking for a partner and I knew he would have me in his list. And well, who wants to be a part of his mess? Anyways, I decided to start flirting with Radovid. He picked up on my affections immediately. Then, he invited me to his room one night except…someone else was also there.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt smiled at you. His grin was embarrassingly bright. He started to fill in the spaces.

Your cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, your friend, Jaskier was…interesting.”

“You liked him.” Geralt chuckled at you.

“I—well what if I do?” You tried owning up to it. Geralt moved from his spot, crawling over you until he blocked your view of the ceiling.

His mouth found your neck, kissing there gently. “Hm, you might like him. He needs more friends.” Geralt’s hands crowded your face. He kissed you softer, reminding you that you both had nothing but time on your side. Geralt spoke more between kisses. “Still doesn’t change that Jaskier took your virginity instead of the prince.”

“It’s an embarrassing story.” You nudged his chest playfully. His hands ran though your locks only to pull you to him again. The soft kisses melted your bodies together. Warmth and friction created a new tension between you.

“Embarrassing for who?” Geralt laughed into your shoulder, kissing you there. “For Jaskier who can’t even look at you without blushing? Or you who still can’t decide who she likes better, Radovid or Jaskier?”

You sighed. Your body rolled to the side, but not far. Geralt held you in place as you reached for your half glass of wine. You drained it, but not without a drop of wine spilling at the side of your mouth. Geralt’s tongue swept at the leftover wine, kissing you deeper for a moment. His hand cradled your head as your hair dangled to the floor.

You gasped for air when he pulled back. “And what if end up liking you?”

Geralt pulled you back into bed. “Then, Jaskier wouldn’t be so hurt. He’d move on. Always has. Never kept a lover for long. Radovid, on the other hand—

“Stop. I don’t want to tease him.” You quickly declared. Your cold feet tangled with his legs. Two of your fingers traced Geralt’s chest. “He was already a mess when he found out I was quarantining with you.”

“I’m not surprised.” Geralt chuckled. “It wouldn’t be the first time he lost a lover to me.”

You lifted your head. A devious smile appeared. “Not the first time? You would claim me so easily?” Your body wiggled against his to tease. He grabbed your sides, covered you both in furs, so the bed was dark and too warm to leave.

Geralt’s mouth found the side of your neck and kissed until marks bloomed on your skin.

“I may have told the prince that I would be returning you with marks of my own making.” He smiled into your skin. You wanted to protest, but his hands were warm. Your eyes closed as his kisses turned lazy on your mouth.

Border/Divider Credit: @pixopix

Monday Imagines

Shelby Brothers x Youngest Brother Shelby!Reader(Part 4)

Geralt x Female!Reader

Wednesday Imagines

Thomas Shelby X Female!Reader

Ramsay Bolton x Stepmother!Reader

Friday Imagines

Shelby Brothers x German Soldier! Male!Reader

Yandere!Thomas Shelby x Female!Reader

Currently, requests are closed until I can get the pending requests down to zero. Currently, this is where I'm at. - Crow

Thank you, nonbon.

I won't tell Tommy. A toast to one of the best men for dark fanfic!

(She’s in her signature dead spider position)

She had her 6th birthday this September x

This is a valid take, nonbon.

Pairing: Finn Shelby X Female!Reader

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Author’s Warnings: Forced Marriage

Author's Notes: This is Part Two. read Part One Here.

When I opened my eyes, pain shot through my legs. I closed them again, feeling the white-hot burn of my lower back throbbing.

“Oh, be careful now. Sh, sh, sh.” I heard a familiar voice. The older woman tutted. Her hand rubbed my lower back. I gasped whenever her fingers grazed a sensitive part. “There, there.”

“Aunt Beth?” I whimpered. My lip quivered from a deep sense of relief.

Bethany Barwell smiled. “Open your eyes and see me well. You’ve had a rough go at it, haven’t you?” Her hand continued to soothe. My whole body started to shake as I cried into her lap. I inhaled the sweet scents of home. A real home, I thought. The colder air outside. The burning incense absolved me. The slow crackling fire nearby kept me warm.

My eyes slowly opened to see my great aunt Beth. She gave me her saddest smile. I didn’t have to say anything. She already knew.

“We buried them all. Burned their caravans. We thought the same fate for you until yesterday.” She explained. Her hands offered to support me. I sat all the way up, slow and painful. My eyes focused on my legs. “Will I be able to walk?”

“If you can feel pain, you’ll be able to walk again.” Beth said. She rose from her spot, going over to her small kitchenette. “You were shot in the back. The young man who shot you brought you in your father’s car.”

Finn.

I took a steadying breath. My eyes closed. I didn’t want to cry especially not after I knew it was Finn who shot me. Forgiveness was at the bottom of my list. I bit the heel of my hand, reminding myself that I shouldn’t mourn Finn. However, I could mourn what we shared. A fond friendship.

Finn was lost now.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with us.” Aunt Beth told me. “Heal. Grow. Live. It’s all better when you’re away from the city.”

“You always said everything’s better in the country.” I smiled back. My eyes flitted to outside. No horses here would be made to race or pawns in a bigger game. They were wild. More importantly, they were free.

I recovered as much as I could over the next several months. My left leg gave me trouble now and again. I used a cane to maneuver around most of the time. I mended clothes. I skinned whatever animals were brought to me. My life became exceptionally simple. It was a relief to say the least.

I thought of Finn less and less. One night, my anger poured out in horrible ways. I drank so much that I took a caravan with the suitcase full of pictures of Finn out into a field and burned it. I watched the flames reach heights taller than the trees. Some of the men were pissed, but my Great Aunt Beth stopped them.

“Let her.” She advised. “Sometimes a broken heart needs a funeral, too.” The words struck most of the men deeply. In fact, many our people were used as soldiers, pawns in the big Shelby game. How many had died in the name of Thomas Shelby?

Becoming a young woman didn’t happen overnight. It happened in small doses. I noticed the changes in my body like one would notice the growth of a plant. Steady and healthy. Some of the young men in our community started to show their varying affections. Great Aunt Beth gave me clothes more fitting for a woman.

Years passed by the same as seasons. If spring was childhood, then I bloomed over summers. I found myself enamored with horses more than ever before. I rode them often, knowing their quirks and personalities better than people. All of that came to a halt one day.

Great Aunt Beth couldn’t exactly look me in the eye. “Curses are a tricky thing. Most are desperate to be rid of them rather than preventing them.”

I stood angry and resentful in my mother’s wedding dress. The mirror did little to calm my growing nerves. “What happened to you promising me I could live among you?”

“It was an offer. Not a promise. I know better than to promise anything to anyone.” Her words hurt more now than ever before. Of course, she never promised anything. Bethany Barwell had seen more curses than blessings in her life. She told me this curse was something I had to mend.

It was enough to cover my eyes and have a distant cousin take me down a wedding aisle to a strange groom. Beth’s silence spoke volumes. She loved weddings. Ours were often drunk and happy. Not this one. She kept to silence like a grudge.

When my groom lifted my veil, I immediately understood why.

Finn Shelby, now a young man, stood in front of me smiling and grateful.

This was the curse. He shot me and a series of unfortunate circumstances befell the Shelby family. It had to be enough to marry a traitor into their kin. I glared at Finn with an anger I hadn’t felt since I burned the caravan.

“Y/N.” He sighed. “You’re beautiful.”

My gaze narrowed at my groom. “You shot me.” I whispered so only he could hear me. “Fuck you.”

Border/ Divider Credit @pixopix

Thomas Shelby Masterlist

Pairing: Paul Atreides X Chani X Female!Reader

Fandom/Franchise: Dune

Author's Notes/Triggers: mild, but as always, please consume content cautiously.

The room had gone mostly silent. You, dressed in jewels and metal and fine silk, stood before the pair of them. Your eyes flickered between them. Chani’s armor was different. Here, she didn’t need the flit-plugs or a still suit. She wore metal and chainmail so fine that it appeared to be a second skin. Paul’s gloves were splotched red.

You opened your mouth, but Chani spoke first.

“Let us go first.” Her voice creaked in the same sadness as the day you left them on Arrakis. Her hand floated in the space between you and her. “We didn’t intend for this to happen. None of us wanted what happened today.”

Chani’s voice was full of reason now. It contrasted from the spirited outburst you saw a half hour before.

“We only wanted to talk.” She said.

“You come here. Dressed in armor that fits you perfectly only to talk?” Your own voice carried an awful edge. Your head shook. “I don’t believe either of you. This was planned.”

“We couldn’t let you marry him.” Paul interjected.

“So, you kill him?” You snapped at Paul. You stepped forward, but Chani blocked you.

“It wasn’t supposed to go this way.” She assured you.

“Then, how was it supposed to go?!” Your eyes searched hers. “Tell me!” For a moment, Chani looked as if your words cut her cheek. The next, she dipped her eyes to Paul. They shared a look between them.

“We were supposed to arrive last night. We were going to tell you and then take you from here.” Chani explained.

Your heart started to race, making your chest tight. It was Chani who held your hands first. You pulled from her immediately. “No.” You reacted. “Don’t touch me.”

“We’re not trying to scare you. We’re here to save you.” Paul stepped forward. You stepped back.

“No.” You shook your head in a panic. “I was fine. This—this was an order. Meant to bring together the empire.”

“I was wrong.” Paul explained. He shared a panicked look to Chani. “We both were. Ordering you, forcing you into a marriage was my fault.”

“Forcing me?” You gasped. “I liked Abram.” You voice filled with the tears you weren’t ready to cry out yet. “Abram was, was good. He was their heir. He was.” Was. It hurt you too much to say it. Even now. Was. Not Is. Was. So much happened in a span of minutes. Paul and Chani stiffened in their spots. You couldn’t see how their blood boiled underneath their skin when you admitted you liked Abram. Chani cleared her throat.

“We’re taking you home.” She declared.

“No.” Your brow furrowed underneath your wedding veil. “I’m not going anywhere with either of you.”

“You are.” Paul argued.

“I’m staying right here. I—

“I love you.” There was quiver in his admission. His eyes fluttered. “Chani and I—

“I love—we both do.” Chani agreed. The admission was sloppy, clanky at best. It certainly didn’t follow any kind of romance book you shared with them before. Your eyes flipped between them.

“What is this?” You asked. “I don’t—

“We spoke and we decided to keep you. Have you.” Chani tried to gently explain.

“That’s not—I am not…” Your voice trailed off. The room filled with stifling air. Your chest struggled to breathe evenly. “What are you asking me?”

“To come home. Be angry, yes, but be angry with us at home.” Paul explained firmly. “Share our bed. Share us.”

“Us? There is no such thing. Marriages are—

“Do not stand there and tell me how things should be!” Chani finally snapped. She stopped in front of you. Her hands cupped your cheeks. “You have etched valleys into my heart. I cried when you left.”

Shock turned you cold. “Paul is to be emperor, and you are his lover and—

“We could marry.” Paul suggested. “Right now.” His eyes seemed to suggest he was still feeling high after murdering Abram.

“No.” You shook your head.

“No?” Paul swallowed hard. There was a cruel twitch in eye you knew he reserved for those who had danger coming. You tried to leave, but Chani held onto your wrist. The slick, clicking sound of a cuff sounded off around your wrist.

You lifted your gaze to Chani. “Let me go.”

“I can’t.” Chani said. Her voice grew possessive. “You’re coming home. You’re marrying Paul. Then, you will join our bed. You are ours, Y/N.”

Border/Divider Credit @pixopix

Could u write something about Paul Atreides? Something like his wife going into labor and him seeing the baby for the first time?🥺❤️

Pairing: Paul Atreides X Female!Reader

Fandom/Franchise: Dune

Author's Notes/Triggers: Mild, or if childbirth is a trigger, please avoid or consume content cautiously.

Paul Atreides, a Rising Emperor, nearly kicked his guard out of the way when his ship finally touched ground. The doors barely opened and he somehow managed to wiggle out while hearing warnings and curses of his guards behind him. He tripped on the ground, scraping his hand.

“Fuck,” he cursed. His feet started flying into the sprawling palace. One of his guards finally caught up to him.

“Your hand, my lord, it’s—

Paul whirled around at his guard. “My hand means little. My son is coming. Your concerns should lie with the future, not the present of the empire.” His tone snapped as it should. A messenger reached him a little too late to announce the news. He was heading towards another planet to accept a surrender of arms when he received the news. He knew he should have stayed. Paul forced his entire platoon to turn tail while flying.

Now, he was late. He broke his own promise to his queen.

He heard the echoing, pained screams first. His feet couldn’t fly fast enough. The marble floors did little to grip the sole of his boots. He collided with a wet nurse and a swordsman. The swordsman held Paul tight.

“My lord, you ought to—

“You do not command me!” Paul snapped. His emotions frayed. “Who are you to suggest anything to me? Let me though! Immediately!” His eyes went too wide, enough to see his pupil all around. His wife’s screams echoed the hallway again. This time, it was followed by small displays of encouragement. His jaw ticked. “Let me through or you will be last of your bloodline, do you hear me?”

Both the wet nurse and the swordsman stepped aside.

Paul pushed the doors open to see his wife in her own battle. Her legs spread open with various hands on her bare thighs. Another set of hands held the head of his son, bloody and raw and new. Her personal guard, Ghanna, held her hand tight. The sight of his queen, breathing heavy and covered in sweat, froze him.

He was often told that men and women had their own battlefields. Men against men on land or in air. Women against the gods. This was the fiercer battle, he thought. Bringing forth a life that had not existed before was something he revered now. Here she was, her crown falling off her brow, carrying the weight of being a mother to the empire and being a mother to the future emperor.

Something dark came over him then. A heavy responsibility and sense of duty stilled him in his spot. His queen laid back after the baby was born. The cord was cut by the healer. Then, Paul’s son was brought to him. He was wet, crying, and scrunched in the face. The white blankets dampened with holy, royal blood.

Paul’s thumb swept across his son’s forehead. His mind swept with quick visions all at once. An ascension, a baptism of blood, a young man surrounded by power on the lion throne. Paul’s breath caught.

“Leon.” He named his son. It was a gentle tone but a firm choice. One that ignored his wife’s desires, but she had not known his visions. Paul’s gaze met with hers.

Devastated and recovering, she held his gaze as her limbs shook. She strained to see her son. Paul’s steps went slower now. Not to antagonize her or prolong her wait, but to protect. He felt as if he was carrying the thinnest glass. He knelt to her level, placing the babe on her chest.

“You’ve done so well.” Paul kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry for not being here.”

“But you’re here now.” She whispered. Her hand felt the soft head of their child. “You’ve named him.”

Paul went quiet for a moment. His eyes sunk into hers. The way they always had when he grew reluctant. “He isn’t of my house. Nor yours. He’s something new. We have made something powerful.”

“Our son is not your visions.” She tried to soothe.

Paul shook his head. “No. He is something far greater than you or I.” He swallowed hard. He gazed at his queen, feeling as if he was inadequate. He was Emperor, a Harbinger of Death. But what was death compared to the power of life? His fingers cupped her cheek. “I saw his future just as I saw yours when I touched you for the first time. He gets his power from you, and so that is what I named him. Leon, a lion, a sun, our power made flesh.”

Border/Divider Credit @pixopix