#[ no he does NOT want this in main verse ]

[novella-november]

Is this fanfic friendly? I feel like an outlier.

I guess this is my sign it's time to throw together a FAQ post to link to lol.

Yes, every event for this blog is fanfic friendly :D

Though as I mentioned on my Ominous October post, for events that include multiple short stories, I encourage everyone to flex their creativity and take one of their planned short story fanfics, and at least *attempt* to turn one of them into something entirely original; rebuilding a character and story from the ground up to stand on its own two legs is no easy feat, and that is what makes it so fun!

It really gets your creative gears turning, to make an "au of an existing material" to be something entirely original, and you can be pleasantly surprised about the things you come up with!

As a few people say, its not just a matter of "filing the serial numbers off" -- you have to add in just as much *or more* as what you take out when you are turning a fanfiction into something that is original and completely divorced from its original source material / inspiration, and that is a hard, but very rewarding challenge!

Obviously, this is not a requirement (there's no hard requirements for any of the challenges, other than no cheating, including no using AI),

but if you would like an extra challenge for the short story events and you're planning on doing entirely fan-fiction, I highly recommend trying it out at least once, and seeing where it leads you--

you may find yourself pleasantly surprised by what you find down that rabbit hole!

[staticintone]

This is what RAM Alastor wants to hear from Vox.

[kitxkatrp]

"I have come to the scientific conclusion that all women are varying degrees of insane."

[lovecolibri]

Anyway,

[iobartach]

[noxianwilled]

hopping here to continue the sg posting by saying kat and draven were on the same team and they were besties and then shit went down and one of their teammates betrayed everyone and pinned it on kat and here we are

[normaltothemax]

"Sup Hood!" Yes that would in fact appear to be a Robin hanging upside down on a fire escape. Big shit eating grin and purposefully angled so he hasn't quite crossed into Crime Alley. About three inches to the left and he'd be over the invisible boarder. He absolutely knows what he's doing. "How's life?" ((I have no idea at what point in time this is happening, go wild))

Don’t move. Don’t react. Don’t so much as twitch in the little shit’s direction. That’s exactly what he wants, and Jason does not want to give it to him. But Robin is here, he’s in Crime Alley where little birdies absolutely should not be, and Jason can’t let him think for a second that that’s allowed. He breathes out slowly through his nose, turns his head to stare at Robin through the lenses of his expressionless helmet. Opens his mouth to snap at him, only for it to click shut again as his eyes narrow. Would you look at that? Robin’s not technically in Crime Alley. Not by a scant few inches.

Little. Shit.

Scowling, fingers twitching near one of his guns but not yet touching—he won’t kill him, he’s past that phase, Jason just wants to maybe shoot him in the leg a little. Somewhere nonlethal that’ll get his message of stay the fuck away from my territory across loud and clear—he bites back a growl. “Replacement.” It still stings, knowing Bruce let some other kid put on the tights, take Jason’s place (and it burns, knowing that he can’t even be as pissed about it as he wants to be, because Jason was technically the first replacement, that he did to Dick what Tim is now doing to him). “What do you want?”

@arobinwithoutbatman

[medicinemane]

One big mistake people make is deciding that because someone they don't like enjoys something, that mean the something is bad

Easy example from my own life, Max who I'm no longer friends with and just... there were elements of a decent person in there once, but I don't think so anymore... anyway, Max likes Infected Mushroom

So my dad and my Mr Dumbass of a friend decided that Infected Mushroom is a bad band and it's like...

Mr Dumbass, you've been to a concert of there's with me and Max and another person (didn't care for the way the venue did things), you like them or at least have liked them... I'm pretty sure you introduced them to Max

They didn't become a bad band magically because one idiot likes them

Like people just lose the ability to judge things on merit when there's a chance to shit on something that someone they don't like enjoys and... it mostly screws you over and makes you look like a fool, you know?

So try not to do that, try not to shit on something just cause someone you don't like likes it

[sansloii]

❛ You keep looking over here like there’s something funny. ❜ Hibiko @ Andris

Because you're funny.

Out of context, he's sure that sounds quite rude. In context, it… still might be a bit rude. However, it's not as though his intention is to purposefully find something about her that amused him. It just… happened. Casual, idle glances over to her reveals little tells and even subtler cues that told him where her mind is at a given moment, if it's not already painfully obvious. She wasn't always so forthcoming and there have been a couple times where he's been wondering about what was going on in her head… but that much was natural.

“I've only looked over twice, Princess.” he says — a lie but he pretends it's not. He's quickly glanced over a handful of times, too. “ — And both times, it was when you were speaking.”

“If you'd like, I could keep my eyes averted when you say something.” The blond's lips are quick to curve upwards in a slightly teasing manner. “I'd find it a little funny if I had to but if my gaze bothers you so much, far be it from me to subject you to it.”

Unprompted | @royaletiquette

[troublcmakcrs]

//tweek trying to kill craig is a universal constant btw

[fatedevour]

♢  —    @bitbrumal​​​​​ asked: ON THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS PANTALONE SENT TO ME         twelve personal records kept eleven projects approved     ten fishbone corsets nine leather leashes     eight spy assistants         seven lambskin gloves ( yes seven you're getting an odd number f you ) six tailored waistcoats  five fresh cadavers four fraudulent receipts     three soft fur collars two dismissed requests                        & a pension fund committee

UNPROMPTED ASKS : ALWAYS ACCEPTING!

   “  Just WHAT is all this doing in my LAB, Regrator?  “

Had it been anyone OTHER than Dottore, they would have gazed upon the mountain of presents with DELIGHT and GREED. But this is not anyone else. And because of that, it is most likely to achieve the EXACT thing Pantalone desires. Beneath Dottore’s masked visage there was only ANNOYANCE at the clutter that has been brought into his lab with garishly bright paper and bows. An already annoying situation was EXASTURBATED by the presence of Pantalone’s SMUG smile beside him. Despite how TEMPTING brash action might be to rid himself of these presents, curiosity and the faint hope of something actually USEFUL among all the gifts makes him wait.

   (  Well, MORE hope of usefulness at least. The cadavers had ALREADY been found, and thus had been planted the idea that it might not ALL be pointless. The eight new agents assigned to him however was NOT something he was wanting. He’d be discussing having them moved away anyways. If all else failed, terrifying them to death would work.  )

   And thus begins the grueling task of UNWRAPPING gifts. Weren’t people always saying this was supposed to be FUN? Quite frankly, Dottore was of the belief that this pile would convince him otherwise by the end of it. The records earned an eyeroll, but the APPROVED projects gained an visible expression of delight. Yet BEFORE he can already come to a screeching halt to ramble about these projects, another gift is shoved into his hands...and thus begins a rather BAFFLING experience for THE DOCTOR. 

   Leashes? Well THAT certainly sends a message (a BOAST to the fact Pantalone has the MOST influence over him, or a more LITERAL message of a desire? Perhaps it was both.) as do the dismissed requests. Yet the waistcoats and gloves say another matter and resemble what he’s heard of as more traditional gifts. He is every bit as PETTY however and seeing the odd number only guarantees the fact that ONE SEGMENT at least will just wear one. (And THEN who would be annoying who when Pantalone sees?) As for the corsets...Well quite frankly, he isn’t quite sure WHAT to take away from that. Is it a jab at posture? Is it just Pantalone’s appallingly lavish tastes? They’re clearly expensive, but even PANTALONE must know such a gift is IMPRACTICAL for the doctor. He hardly attends formalities as it is and prefers sending DELTA, the one most similar to PRIME, to stand in his place. One or two at most would have been enough, but TEN? He’s rather sure its Pantalone simply FLASHING his wealth again. What he won’t do is admit to how long he gave them a puzzled stare after each one was unwrapped.

   The pension fund confirms the wealth. The seconds scowls with a flash of jagged teeth at the ninth with a growl. “  Pantalone.  “  He shoves the wrapping paper aside now, scowl deepening as the tape sticks to straps and feathers that require him to yank them all off.  “  RETIREMENT is not in the plans, nor SHALL it be. The older segments more or less are.  “  He huffs, arms folding across his chest before gesturing at all of this.  “  The MORA of all of this would have been fallen completely and easily into the category of satisfactory if you wished to be oh so generous.  “  he drawls, sarcasm dripping from the last few words. Pantalone isn’t GENEROUS without a purpose. Like annoying Dottore.  “

   “  Are you doing this to EVERYONE, or am I just SPECIAL?  “  He abruptly TURNS the tables of the act, or at least makes a valiant vie for it as his masked visage swings from the pile to Pantalone himself. 

[kurthorton-moving]

tell me why i just almost said "i wanna make a solo blog for kurt"

[despairforme]

It was going on day - well, night three of crappy, rainy weather accompanied by a drastic drop into freezing temperatures. Earlier it had been warm enough that her work shirt and jeans were causing Roxy to sweat, but now, she was shivering, soaked to the bone from both the sweat and rain as she tredged forward through the elements. At least if it's gonna be this cold, snow, don't rain. She cast a bitter glare at the clouds above, as if the weather could hear her thoughts or cared even if it could.

A helpless, plain white business envelope shoved into an otherwise empty plastic bag crinkled against the interior of Roxanne's shirt as she gripped it tightly to her chest. A very late, last addition to Nnoitra's birthday present, or an early Christmas present, whichever worked better. On the exterior of the envelope bore a large N accompanied by the black haired, eye patch wearing stick figure, signed with a calligraphied R. She figured she'd used up all her luck for the next month - no, the next year - just getting the envelope's contents, she wasn't taking her chances of having anyone notice it and being mugged on her way to give it to him. She crept down dark alleyways, past piles of broken glass and carelessly discarded cans as she gingerly made her way across town. Thankfully it was a short walk, and being past midnight, no one in their right mind would be out in this weather at this time willingly. Nobody in their right mind, she repeated to herself with a hint of amusement.

"O-Okay bub," She chattered, voice barely above a whisper as she approached the now somewhat familiar door. "I worked my ass off for these, and I'm gonna lose what's left of my tits to this cold, so you better fuckin' like this."

Hunching over the bag gripped tightly to her sternum, she carefully unzipped through layers of coats and jackets before finally reaching the original shirt she'd been wearing and removing the itchy plastic bag from against her skin. With almost too firm of a grasp, she took hold of the envelope, inspecting it carefully to be sure it was still well sealed shut and dry, then gingerly wedged it into the doorframe as high up as she could reach. That was about eye height for him, right?

"F-fuck me, I hate winter." She muttered to herself as she hurriedly zipped back up her numerous jackets. "S-see ya around, I hope," She spoke up towards the direction of the door, as if it would respond to her. "It would be n-nice to catch up here soon. It's been way too long, I know, but I hope that you're-..."

Roxanne's train of thought suddenly came to a dead halt. The Nnoitra she remembered would usually scoff at her well wishings, no matter how genuine or not. Wishes were for kids, she nagged herself, and they sure as hell weren't kids anymore. Tucking her head to her chest as she shivered harshly, Roxanne instead buried her reddened nose in the front collars of her jackets as she felt the cold biting at her face.

"...Come see me at work." She continued with a sniffle and pulled her arms in from her sleeves, pinning them against her torso for warmth. "You can have all the cheap cheeseburgers you can eat and management can cry about it. I don't care enough about that job to fight them on it."

Roxanne turned away from the door, then paused for a moment to glance over her shoulder at the helpless envelope. It would be fine, right? Who the hell would notice it? It was damn near 3 in the morning, nobody was out... But what if someone did steal it? Or it blew away or got ruined by the rain? Then what? No good deed ever went unpunished in some way with her, but she couldn't stay here and watch it. Hypothermia doesn't seem like a fun way to die, she reminded herself. Looking around the empty stoop, then at the abandoned, flooded streets, she hesitated, glanced back at the envelope, then seemed to finally make up her mind as she exhaled a puff of steam and turned and jumped off the stoop, headed for home at last.

People could really suck, she told herself to get her attention off of her freezing extremities, but nobody ever has gotten anywhere by letting themselves sit around and pout about the unfairness of it all.

...

It was a small miracle the envelope made it overnight without getting so much as a droplet of water on it. Once opened, it contained two things: A piece of scrap paper with some scribblings on it, and tickets of some sort. The scrap of paper had one string of info on it; "McB's, M-F, 2-10 PM", and a drawing of the same fast food logo that had been on the previous bag she'd left him. That had to be where she worked, it seemed.

The tickets seemed to be to some sort of five day weekend music festival just a few towns over, a rock and metal based one it seemed based on the name. The "VIP" punched at the bottom was sure to imply something, but it couldn't be ascertained just what exactly from the vague abbreviations on the back of the ticket stubs. No doubt these had to have been expensive, and there were four of them.

...

Elsewhere, the cold mist of the morning was overtaken by the first few rays of sunlight as Roxanne lie practically comatose to the world, buried deep in a nest of blankets and pillows like a bear in hibernation. A deer stood just outside of her small yellow tent, helping itself to Roxanne's unattended box of wheaties as she blissfully snoozed the day away.

(@gildedgriffon)/(@serpent-of-feathers)

His hands were pink, borderline red from the cold. He'd lost feeling in them a couple of minutes ago. He would've kept them stuffed in his pockets, but he got paranoid as hell when he walked around without his hands at the ready. Especially at night. Especially through the shady part of town. Nnoitra had decided on a short-cut ( or rather, the rain had decided that for him ), which took him through some alleys that you'd best be prepared for a confrontation if you ventured into. There was ONE good thing about the weather ( and the fact that it was past 3 at night ) - there was nobody out. The only people Nnoitra passed were some tragic looking homeless people. Not that they should be underestimated. Who ever said a homeless dude couldn't try to shaft you? He shivered.

This was late for him to be going back home ( Ikkaku's place, was that really ' home '? ), even for him. His fight was always the main event of the evening, and saved for last. Normally it would be around midnight, maybe a little later. It would always be over quickly, simply because nobody stood a chance. Tonight's fight had gone smoothly. It wasn't HIS fault that he was walking home so late. Nah. There had been staffing issues at the bar. The new guy hadn't turned up, or - he HAD turned up, but he'd turned up in hospital, like some fucking jackass. Nnoitra didn't give a shit about that. There was nobody else who could step in, and so HE had been asked to man the bar. It was the last thing in the world he wanted, but at the same time... Grimmjow had worked there. Walked the steps behind the counter. Touched the glasses and bottles. Somehow, that had made Nnoitra unable to say no. He missed him. Missed him so much he thought it would fucking kill him any day. Pathetic, wasn't it?

In any case, he'd reluctantly accepted filling in for the night. He knew jack-shit about bar tending. That hadn't been a problem. The bar had been FILLED with people who were there just to talk to him. His ' fans ' or whatever. People who came every night only to watch him fight. Nnoitra liked that people admired him. However, after two hours of intense attention... He could say that he'd had MORE than enough. At least nobody cared that he was unable to mix up drinks. He wouldn't say it had been a BAD experience, but certainly exhausting. And he'd been unable to think about anything other than Grimmjow the whole time. To complete the night - he now had to walk home in the coldest rain in history. He felt pretty gloomy.

He might not be lucky with the weather, but at least he didn't get fucking JUMPED on his way home. He got back safely ( though drenched to the bone and freezing ). With numb fingers, he fished his ( Ikkaku's ) keys out of his pocket, struggling to unlock the door. Then he spotted something ON the door. It looked like someone had tried to push some paper in through the gap between the door and the doorframe. It looked like an envelope. For fuck's sake, didn't the mail-man know there was a fucking MAIL BOX right over there? Annoyed, Nnoitra yanked the envelope free. He assumed it was for Ikkaku - it wasn't. When he realized this, his annoyance immediately switched to curiosity. He RARELY got mail.

Back in his room, Nnoitra shook his head like a wet dog, his long hair splashing a little bit of water everywhere ( including his bed - he did not think that through ). His fingers were stiff from the cold, but he was too impatient to wait. He flopped down onto the bed, the mattress bouncing gently from the added weight. Nnoitra opened the letter.

It was probably because of his birthday present, that he quickly realized who this letter was from. The stick figure, the writing - this was from Roxanne. Nnoitra looked at the letters written on the scrap piece of paper. His tired brain TRIED to comprehend. WHY did she have to write in coded messages? The cogs in his head were struggling to turn. In the end, he really was too tired to even understand what the letters meant. He'd give it another try tomorrow ( or ask Ikkaku, who, unlike himself, was not fucking retarded ). He moved onto the other content in the envelope. Tickets. SEVERAL tickets. They were for a music festival in a neighboring city that Nnoitra had never been to. It was hard to miss the VIP-stamp on them. Even if he was tired ( and depressed as fuck ), he had to admit this intrigued him. Being a VIP on a music festival... He liked the thought of that. He had no idea what he'd do with four of them though... One was for Roxanne herself, of course, since she had gotten the tickets in the first place. Who else could he bring though? Nnoitra lay back in bed, still fully clothes in his wet pants and hoodie. Tomorrow... He was going to figure out the mysterious message... Yeah, tomorrow. / @serpent-of-feathers , @xx-gold-n-sunshine-xx .

[distopea]

@nezumivc103221

“Kaizen—,” Nezumi begins in a thoughtful, serious voice. “Have you ever thought about installing a stripper pole in your bedroom?”

When they entered the bedroom, Kaizen was already aggressively getting rid of his belt, throwing somewhere in the room with no concern whatsoever if he would lost it at some point. He has quite jet lagged and tired after those five weeks in Europe, and he only wanted to fuck Nezumi and fell asleep in his own bed. 

He turned around, anticipating the man to be already naked, purring, perhaps even on his fourth, but he was instead staring at the room as if he had a fucking home decorator diploma. Kaizen raised his eyebrows while he continued to undress himself. 

“What?” He grunted and then looked at the dead pan face of his occasional lover, who seemed to be very serious regarding his question. Kaizen couldn’t help but let loose a rather tired chuckle, before he eventually shook his head. “For real.” He came closer, wrapped his giant hands around Nezumi’s hips and pushed him onto the bed. 

“Wanna play monkey?” He asked, his voice husky while he was actively removing the last pieces of clothes of the other one. “Or dance? For me?” He asked, lips already mapping his skin with a certain eagerness. He was more thinking about the lube inside the night table rather than Nezumi spinning around a metal pool. 

Kaizen paused mid kissing, looking up with a little smirk curling the corner of his mouth. For once he would break his rule saying just three words to answer someone, so perhaps after that, Nezumi wouldn’t spend too much of his time thinking about how to decorate the area. “We ain’t disciplined enough to wait for the end of your dance.” He simply said, before he buried his lips deep between Nezumi’s legs. 

[redxriiot]

Upon becoming a father, Ei would absolutely ensure he’s the most present parent possible for his kid(s). The worst possible thing in the world for him would be to miss something important of theirs ( milestones, school presentations, etc ); he would absolutely take it quite badly, even if the kid reassures him it’s okay/unavoidable.

[momentsofamber]

The Scream fandom might absolutely jump down my throat for this, but it just occurred to me to tell all the Freaks and Weirdos (/affectionate) who follow me here that Scream has been one of my comfort fandom SpIns since middle school ('05-ish), and one of my more recent gateway ships into the proship community was one of my partners and I shipping Richie and Wes from Scream 5.

Like we had this AU where Wes was a teen sex worker lying about his age online and Richie (already in his 20's) had been following him for a little while and they got to talking one on one and bonding. Wes told Richie how old he really was and Richie was like 👀 HEY THAT'S EVEN BETTER. And then Richie's dad used his Police Power(tm) to help Richie kidnap Wes yandere style so that no one else could ever have him the way Richie does.

I was the one writing Richie for this rp. 😂