#epithet fanfiction

[sadsoftserve]

I have to go back to school today 😡😡😔

Take this bit of fanfic I worked on a bit

The night sped by, and soon enough Sabrina was in bed, alone. Only her thoughts entertain her. She got to thinking. “Okay. I know it's not Parker, she's straight. Bonnie's aroace. Aiko… no, she's not… that's mean. Uh, Definitely not Lorelai or Destiny. Micah? No, he's into parker. That only leaves…” She sat up instantly. Was she…?

“It's Fucking Dalia.” She said to herself as she blinked and sighed. “Oh my God… I'm an idiot.” Sabrina was silently bearating herself. Sabrina has a crush on her of all people, sure she looked nice, and smelt like lavender… her hair… was pretty, Sabrina liked the purple. Sabrina plopped back on the bed, completely helpless, and confused. Was she allowed to feel like this? Towards a girl? Hell she didn't know… it felt like some sort of identity crisis.

[epi-embraced]

Epithet Embraced

By: Discord User Lullabye#7785/Tumblr User Epi-Embraced

Disclaimer: This is a fanworks based on JelloApocolypse’s Epithet Erased series. I am not affiliated with, and I do not own Epithet Erased. This fanworks contains copious amounts of cussing (i.e. shit, fuck, damn, bitch)

-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==-

Prologue: Verbilia

The violet city skyline stretched unto infinity, bits of smog clouding the air like cigarette smoke in an apartment without an open window. Neon adverts swung; akin to a hypnotizing pendulum, promoting an amount of freedom that most who lived here knew was a bold-fonted lie. While it may have been a claustrophobic prison cell for many of the citizens, the city of Verbilia was like opening a brand new book for someone like Pastiche Artisan.

Pastiche was a small teenage girl, looking possibly an entire year younger than she actually was. She had big floofy hair which appeared dense enough to smash concrete to rubble if she swung her head around too fast. She skipped through the dystopian streets in a skirted pair of messy, handcrafted overalls, coated in a rainbow of paint which had been there for far too long for her to ever hope to have a chance at it washing out.

Verbilia was a lot louder than her small country home, a lot more dangerous too, but she didn’t mind! Ms. Artisan had an Epithet after all. A strange ability which only few are lucky enough to be born with. With a word attached to their soul, the ones with Epithets; The Inscribed, were capable of performing amazing feats. Jets of fire, breathing underwater, remembering every pokemon's name; the possibilities for what an Epithet granted its Inscribed were boundless. The young teenager’s particular Epithet was called “Replica”, allowing her to make a copy of anything she’s recently seen and could thus picture in her head. Not as if anyone would have to know; usually just being Inscribed (or bluffing about it) was enough to keep villains away.

Speaking of villains, this entire complex was filled to the brim with violence! The county girl skipping along like a doomed Little Red Riding Hood proved as an astonishing contrast to the multiple EFs (Epithet Fights) which consumed the sidewalks. Suddenly—a tacky, pink car zoomed past her, kicking up a dusty whirlwind which blew her hair back! And then another! Zip! Zip! Zipp-zip-zip! One after another, more; similar looking cars trailed behind the de facto leader. Pastiche smiled widely at the interruption, her rose gold eyes shining like polished porcelain in the opportunistic light.

“So this is Verbilia? I can’t wait to meet my new friends!” She lept in the air with her exclamation, as if expecting opening credits to roll at the apex of her leap, and not the reality that she’d fall and hit her butt on the sidewalk. She winced, but the pain of her tailbone against stone wasn’t nearly enough to deter the girl from wandering in a dangerous part of the world in search of friendship. Pastiche came from Verbilia’s lesser cousin, the one not invited to all the fancy family dinners or piano recitals; Mackentire. Verbilians joked that the place still wasn’t out of the dark ages, and it hadn’t even reached the industrial revolution…which was only a slight exaggeration of Mackentire’s current condition. But Mackentire was sparse of humans, and, in an impulsive fit of loneliness, Pastiche left her cozy, school-skipping life behind in favor of Verbilia, with nothing but her hand knitted, drawstring bag (which she promptly forgot at the train station). Pastiche shook her head and bounced up, like a toy popping back into place after being bent by an unruly child. Suddenly, the girl’s ear twitched, hearing a scuffle nearby. She knew that it’d probably be safer not to investigate, but…

“Curiosity killed the cat…” she thought, remembering the old proverb her mother berated her with, most commonly when she went wandering into the woods. “Well, I’m not a cat! SoI’m like, immune to curiosity-based damage!” She somehow rationalized. Pastiche may not have been an olympian, but her mental gymnastics could’ve won a gold medal. She poked her head into the alleyway of which she heard the noises come from, yet by the time she looked, any shrieking was gone. She was now gazing upon what can most accurately be described as “A teen clown examining a shaking office worker’s wallet”

“Eep! Killer clown!” The country girl thought, ducking her head out of the alley and pressing herself against the wall like a 1970s Scooby-Doo scene.

“Lord have mercy, I thought a guy with this stature would have more than 40 bucks on him at a time.” The clown scoffed, like a spoiled child not getting the right color of Porsche. They left the alleyway after ripping the money from the leather wallet and throwing the alligator skin back to him with little grace.

Pastiche looked to her right in horror, seeing the mugger staring right at her with a vacant expression, as if they were daydreaming. She could now get a full view of the assalent. A teenager, not much taller than herself, with ripped off sleeves and the baggiest pants known to man. Their hair was a messy navy blue color, and their shirt had the words “Not Funny” written on it in sharpie. But the strangest thing about this person was their face. The stranger’s skin was completely white, almost like snow, and two large red spots were on either cheek. It looked like some kind of makeup. The person steps forward and stares down Pastiche.

They pause, examining her closely. “I love your aesthetic.” They say, monotone, as if reading off a script of a play they didn’t want to be a part of. Or perhaps in a way in which it was an objective and irrefutable fact which Pastiche just had to go on accepting. Not that she wouldn’t accept it. She didn’t fully understand what the word “Aesthetic” meant, but apparently hers was great! That was good, Pastiche liked having her positive qualities pointed out. But before Pastiche could reciprocate the compliment with one of her own, she was cut off by a shiny sports car screeching to a halt next to them, the driver stomping on the brakes so hard that the vehicle seemed to stop out of fear rather than mechanical obligation. The window rolled down and they were greeted by a blonde haired girl with bright pink sunglasses obscuring her eyes, but her mouth was in a shocked sneer.

“Ollie, what the fuck?” She yelled at them in a tone akin to when your dog throws up on the new carpet. “I say we need cash for ice cream and your first instinct is to rob someone?”

“Your own fault for forgetting your wallet.” The clown replied, matter of fact.

“You robbed a man…for ice cream?” Pastiche questions, wanting to ensure that she fully understands what she just witnessed. She blinked, shocked.

“Hm?” This was the first that the driver noticed Pastiche standing there, she was shaking timidly, like an autumn leaf in the wind. “And whatsittoya?” The driver spoke in a single breath, extraordinarily defensive over her acquaintance’s behavior. “You got some kinda problem with it? Do you know who I am?” She rapid-fired questions, not making it clear if they were rhetorical or not. She was nearly punching the car’s horn in white hot anger.

“W-well” The small girl stammered. Ollie looked at her, expectantly. “that's not a very nice thing to do and I think you should give him his money back!” She half expected laughter in response, and she half expected to be beat up in the nearby alley.

The blondie didn’t laugh. She didn’t even speak. She slowly removed her technicolor sunglasses and a giant ugly grin creeped onto her face. Her eyes stared into her soul with utter shock and awe, like she had just found bigfoot. “You’re not from here, are you?” The driver asked in a mocking tone. Ollie had disappeared by now. “Oh that's gold, that's utter gold.” She cackled like a witch “Here's a verbilian tip shortstack, you don’t get anywhere here by being nic-“

“Yo Erin I gave him his cash back” The clown reappeared

“-wha…Ollie you can’t undo a robbery!” Erin, the driver’s name, fired back assertively

“Just did.” Ollie stood their ground, crossing their arms “Sorry fam. Sucks that we don’t get ice cream though.”

“Oh gosh, I think I have a 20, if this is all about ice cream…” Pastiche offered kindly, reaching into the front pocket of her overalls and pulling out a crumpled up 20 dollar bill. Ollie swiped at the paper.

“Give!”

“Hey!” She held it away from the thief. “On two conditions. One, you don’t rob anyone else.” Erin blows a raspberry at this, and mumbles something about dogs. It's not like it was her idea to rob someone for ice cream money. With that kind of behavior, it was almost as if she wasn’t driving a car which cost more than half the apartments in this city. “And two…I get to come and get ice cream too!” The artist bounced in place with a gleeful smile, seeing this as a wonderful chance to make new friends.

Erin sighed “Ollie, a word?” She beckoned her companion over, trying with all her might not to yell. Like when you’re annoyed at your baby sibling but don’t want to make them cry. The clown was walking with no bounce in their step, almost as if they were a ghost gliding over the concrete. It was heelys. They were wearing heelys.

“What? We get free ice cream, and we don’t need to speed back to your shitty house to get your shitty wallet.”

“My house and wallet are both gorgeous, thanks. Are you really about to let that…” She peeks up from the huddle like a rich, pompous gopher, spotting Pastiche waving to her. “…bumpkin into my car” she poked the car’s exterior for emphasis, as if Ollie didn’t hear this conversation any time the smallest particle of dirt was found on the custom-interior. The entire vehical could’ve been mistaken for a chariot forged by gods from the stars. The paint job was flawless, the speed incredible, and the seats meticulously cleaned. At Least that's what Erin says to anyone who shows the smallest bit of interest in it. But nobody did. Cause they didn’t care about her car. And Ollie didn’t particularly care either, but it's not like they had much of a choice but to negotiate with this rabid eel of a woman.

“Ah c’mon shes not a bumpkin. Im sure her outfit she got from Fleaced” Fleaced is the hottest hipster fashion store in Verbilia. Their torn jeans are ‘Mathematically proven to make you look adventurous’. Not to mention it was incredibly expensive. Ollie could only afford clothes that they bought from there because they were friends with The Eon family. Erin’s high class household which paid for her expensive habits and had a reputation for being ‘Absolutely fucking insufferable’. “C’moooon Eriiiiin.” They taunt.

Erin let out the longest groan of her 1st world life, nearly slamming her head onto the car horn, before letting out the tiniest “Fine”

“Hell yeah, ice cream. Cmon overalls! The council has spoken, and it's a yes!” They called over the bumpkin.

“Woo! Oh and uhm, its Pastiche.”

“Ollie!” Ollie said.

“Erin.” Erin groaned.

“Great to meet you! We’re gonna be great friends!” Pastiche clapped like a seal. Her first friends, she was so happy.

[furbtasticworksofart]

I didn’t have a better pose idea so this is the “you got games on your phone?” pose

[starwritesficsandstuff]

I have officially started posting drabbles for Epithetober this year! One drabble every day for the last 15 days of October, leading up to Halloween!!!

The epithetober prompts were created by @pazdeflore and you can find the prompt list for yourself here!

[archduchessgortash]

I use epithets in my writing. I will probably never stop. Each character has a few, and they are theirs and theirs alone in that fic.

Whenever I read a paragraph with roughly seventeen separate instances of proper name use and there are only two characters in the scene, my eyes start to lose focus, and I have to just stop reading for a while.

I know that there are fic-writing guidelines out there that encourage using proper names almost exclusively, condemning epithets as so-called 'bad writing,' with the explanation that names are invisible words, and so are dialogue tags such as 'said.'

My autism respectfully yet vehemently disagrees.

I've only managed to finish reading one fic that used proper names without any epithets. It was gold and totally worth it, but it was a pitched battle for me to make it to the end.

Character names may be invisible to some readers, and I truly envy you lucky bastards, but we are NOT the same.

[imasyd]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Epithet Erased (Cartoon), Pressure (Roblox) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Rick Shades & Sebastian Solace (Roblox: Pressure), No Romantic Relationship(s) Characters: Rick Shades, Sebastian Solace (Roblox: Pressure) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Putting Sebastian in a situation by putting Rick in a situation, Light Angst, Near-drowning experience, Sebastian-typical rudeness, Attempt at Humor Summary:

Rick is swimming through the ocean as he feels the bonds snap. He can no longer breathe, but he got turned around a few times along the way, and he’s still so deep… when he spots an… underwater facility?

[zombiemollusk]

"let's invent a variation of the word 'brunette' for this hair color so we don't have to say the character's name" <- this is the devil speaking

[aspenispoplar]

When the silent, analytical character has trauma:

[incomingalbatross]

.

[floofyboi57]

I love posting WIPS out of context

[lovepotiion]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Epithet Erased (Cartoon) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Phoenica "Feenie" Fleecity XV/Bellatrix "Trixie" Roughhouse, Phoenica "Feenie" Fleecity XV & Bellatrix "Trixie" Roughhouse Characters: Phoenica "Feenie" Fleecity XV, Bellatrix "Trixie" Roughhouse, Mushroom Girl (Epithet Erased), Rex Roughhouse Additional Tags: badfic, mentioned molly blyndeff, implied Phoenica x Trixie, Fluff Summary:

baby's first fic on ao3. hello world! :o)

phoenica, the twins rex and trixie, and another special guest, go to the grocery to shop for snacks after school

^ a teeny tiny bit of lovepotion but it's super silly! I made this!!!

[alpydk]

Snippet Thursday

Thanks for the tag @coreene.

You're all going to get a part of Red on You because this is my ZhentWeave baby and, like any parent, I'm going to flood you all with it whether you like it or not. (With the WIP posts and then me just sharing in general, you'll read it through osmosis)

Rugan lifted his glass, tilting it in Astarion’s direction. “You ever meet that sweet lass who worked in the Elfsong? Halfling bird, she could do that thing where she bent her leg up around her-” “Gabby, Gabriella… Oh, what was it? I know who you mean. With the cherries.” “Yes, that's the chickadee. Gloria?” Astarion concentrated, his pale brow furrowed. “No, it wasn’t Gloria…” Two hundred years of skulking Baldur’s Gate. He couldn’t be expected to remember the name of every barmaid. “Isabella.” Gale interjected, wanting the topic to move on. Rugan looked up with a grin on his weathered face. “Isabella. Gods, she was a pretty sight. Surprised you knew her name, though.” “Oh, Gale here has always been quite the charmer. Isn’t that right, love?” “Learning a person’s name is the least one can do.” Gale answered, scowling at them both as they smirked, their minds clearly trawling the gutters they would soon find themselves in.

[kranagok0]

oh shit, here go again

@blaithnne ...Girl, I sincerely hope Lauren knows some fighting techniques or at least some personal self-defense. because this is serious

and I am very sorry for what I am going to do, but there are not many Hilda's sisters who enter this race (in fact, I don't know any others)

Lolerai Blyndeff VS Lauren

place your bets people

The fight will begin in a small hospital after the fight that Hilda and Molly had.

so vote

Lauren is a OC the @blaithnne

[epithetemporium]

Did a quick doodle for the Sassy Molly fic by my friend @neowollymoxie

I might do a more cleaner version of this as I'm REALLY in a messy scribbles mood lately but I still hope you like it!

Also the original design belongs to @fizzyfazstudio as well as the color palette as I didn't want to mess around too much with the creative work put into this

(actually I really don't know that much about the original source because that is a mess of a story as it seems? Well anyway) I only added a few small changes such as giving Molly's puts little fluffy tails, making the belt in more of a wrap around style to make them slightly seem like bunny pawy, made the ribbon around her collar have an orange piece to make it resemble a carrot and I gave her skirt a little bit of layer with the green....lace thingy? I actually don't even know what that's supposed to be

Also I know that the ribbon in her hair is supposed to be bunny ears but I put the same theme into her hair. Kinda wanted it to look like her hair has these floppy ears why the ribbon has the ears stand up. Like some sort of interpersonal conflict

[sadsoftserve]

Sneak peak at the fanfiction, it's Parker and Percy centric :)) plus the rest of the Quintuplet :)))

Sneak peak under cut!!!

Bonnie,” Parker said with a twinge of cringe. “What are you on about?”

“Coke probably,” Bonnie replied with a shit-eating grin as the three girls in front of her mentally facepalmed. “Anyway, why are we talking about me, when we need to be talking about Parker? Her aunt is holding her hostage!”

[missuspairo]

I read your Zora fic recently and thought it was very good! Would you be willing to write a hurt/comfort or whump scenario with her, maybe?

wrote this super fast since i liked the idea so much… its not the best or most lengthy but i think its alright for my first hurt/comfort fic idfk how to write

cw: blood and stitches

You worked as a nurse at Bliss Ocean, responsible for patching up and caring for the bounty hunters after their perilous missions. Your medical office was in disarray, tools and equipment strewn across tables, and machines humming in the background. You were in the midst of tidying up when an unexpected visitor arrived.

Today was your lucky day: Zora Salazar stood before you with a deep cut on her arm, blood dripping onto the floor, staining the once-pristine tiles. Her poncho did little to contain the crimson flow.

"Jesus, are you okay?" You asked, genuine concern in your voice as you approached to inspect her wound.

Dealing with bounty hunters always made you nervous, especially someone as formidable as Zora. The reputation of these ruthless individuals and their potential use of epithets on those who crossed them weighed heavily on your mind.

"I'm fine. Can I just get a bandage or something?" Zora replied, her voice tinged with a smooth, Southern drawl.

"No, you clearly need stitches," you insisted.

"Dang it," she muttered, glancing away.

As you began to tend to her injury, you couldn't help but notice the blood pooling on the floor. With a hesitant chuckle, you looked up at Zora and remarked, "You know you're getting blood all over the floor, right?"

"Yeah, I know," she replied, somewhat nonchalantly.

She eventually sat down in a nearby chair, crossing her legs and leaning back as if she weren't bleeding profusely.

"So, how did this happen?" You inquired as you rummaged through the cupboards for gauze bandages, tape, a suture needle, and thread.

"Oh, well, things got a little heated during the mission," Zora sighed, extending her arm. "We had a run-in with some bandits. Let's just say one of them was quite the fighter."

As you worked, you assured her, "It might sting a bit, like a pinch."

"Fine," she replied.

As you stitched her wound, Zora winced in pain. For a moment, your eyes met, and a connection sparked.

"You know, I haven't seen you around here before. What's your name, hun?" Zora asked.

"It's Y/N," you replied.

"Y/N," she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue smoothly. "Have I heard of you before?"

"I used to be a bounty hunter myself before I decided to take on this nursing role," you explained.

Zora smiled, brushing a stray hair from your face. A blush crept onto your cheeks.

"What's that for?" you asked.

"Just felt like it," she said.

With the stitches complete, you wrapped her arm in gauze and taped it securely.

"All better," you declared.

Zora examined her bandaged wound with a curious expression. She then reached over, ruffling your hair, and both of you shared a laugh.

As the laughter subsided, Zora's gaze softened. "You know, I usually take care of myself, but having you around wouldn't hurt."

You were taken aback by her statement but responded with a smile. "Yeah, just don't get into more trouble during your work."

She leaned against the doorframe with a smirk. "Maybe I will. Who knows?"

With that, Zora left the office, leaving you with a feeling that this encounter was only the beginning of more interesting interactions to come.