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melusine0811 · 2 years

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It's Fangirlia's Doctor Who Ficvember 2022!

Hello Whovians! Unfortunately Fictober couldn't happen this year, but we've decided to reinvent it and turn it into "Ficvember" to coincide with NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writers' Month). This is a writing event that will go on officially from November 1-30, just like NaNoWriMo. Anyone can participate, even if you haven’t written for the Doctor Who fandom before. This event is based on the Fictober event we've had in previous years, still using some of the autumn prompts– even the scary ones since Doctor Who pretty much always applies.

However this year, since Thirteen is regenerating, we thought we'd add in some themes from the show as well.

To participate:

Your work can be as long as you want. You can even connect a multichapter WIP or a chapter of it, if it applies. We also love when people add stories that they've written in the past. Really, the more the merrier.

For each day, there will be a prompt, and also a regeneration/specific Doctor/ villain theme. You can do one, or both, or think of your own!

Late submissions are fine, we know that wrangling the muse can be tricky!

Any ship within the DW fandom universe is great, and poly parties are welcome. And you don't need to include a ship at all if you don't want to.

Any rating is welcome, but we also ask your discretion concerning big triggers- use common sense, please. We reserve the right to refuse anyone's work that could potentially be upsetting.

You can use any characters from the show, the Big Finish audios, comics, and any of the spinoffs, including Torchwood and the Sarah Jane Adventures. It can be in-universe or AU, totally your choice

Tag your work 'Fangirlia Doctor Who Ficvember 2022' on AO3, and add it to the collection of the same name.

Message either @melusine0811 or @elialys to join the Fangirlia Discord server. We're an 18+ server of women and non-binary people who love a variety of Fandoms but we have a strong emphasis on Doctor Who Fanfiction. Many of us have been writing for the fandom for more than a decade and love to talk writing fic and even writing original projects. We're a pretty close-knit group and are always looking for like-minded people to add to the Fan Family!

November 1: Leaf pile. What is more autumn than jumping in a pile of leaves? / Regeneration Theme: First Doctor

November 2: A maze. Involves a corn maze, a mirror maze, any maze at all / Regeneration theme: Second Doctor

November 3: Kiss of Death/Life. Regeneration Theme: Third Doctor

November 4: Running from Zombies/Graveyard. Regeneration Theme: Fourth Doctor

November 5: Walk in the cold November forest. Regeneration Theme: Fifth Doctor

November 6: One person is trapped. Regeneration Theme: Sixth Doctor

November 7: November rain/storm. Regeneration Theme: Seventh Doctor

November 8: Apple/Pumpkin picking. Regeneration Theme: Eighth or War Doctor

November 9: Warm sweater/hoodie/blanket. Regeneration Theme: Ninth Doctor

November 10-First frost. Regeneration Theme: Tenth Doctor

November 11-Aliens! Regeneration Theme: Eleventh Doctor

November 12- Full moon/werewolves/Bad Wolf. Regeneration Theme: Twelfth Doctor

November 13- Telling scary stories/watching scary movies. Regeneration Theme: Thirteenth Doctor

November 14- Telepathic being. Regeneration Theme: Fourteenth Doctor

November 15- Near-death. Regeneration Theme: The Master/Missy

November 16- Making fall treats such as candy/caramel apples or apple/pumpkin pie, etc. Regeneration Theme: The Daleks

November 17- A bonfire. Regeneration Theme: Weeping Angels

November 18- Forest of trees that are alive. Regeneration Theme: Cybermen

November 19- Witchcraft/pagan tradition/sorcery. Regeneration Theme: Time Lord Victorious

November 20- Hayride. Regeneration Theme: Lady Cassandra O'Brien

November 21- Scream. Regeneration Theme: Family of Blood

November 22- Haunted house/place. Regeneration Theme: The Carrionites

November 23- Omens/Ouija board/Fortune teller. Regeneration Theme: Celestial Toymaker

November 24- Coffee/hot chocolate/spiced cider. Regeneration Theme: Pting!

November 25- Mind control/possession. Regeneration Theme: The Snowmen

November 26- Parallel world/wormhole. Regeneration Theme: Nestene Consciousness

November 27- Mythical beings. Regeneration Theme: Vashta Nerada

November 28- A warm fireplace. Regeneration Theme: The Valeyard

November 29- First snow. Regeneration Theme: Tzim-Sha (Tim Shaw!)

November 30- Preparing for Christmas. Regeneration Theme: The Zygons

#doctor who fanfiction #fangirlia doctor who ficvember 2022 #doctor who #fanfiction #prompts #ten x rose #tentoo x rose #thasmin #whouffaldi #doctor x master #four x sarah jane #nine x rose #thirteen x rose #torchwood

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danakatherine · 3 months

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Tom Baker admitting he was in love with Elisabeth Sladen while on stage at the Panopticon, 1993

#show: cdw #elisabeth sladen #tom baker #panopticon #doctor who #classic doctor who #the doctor #sarah jane smith #fourth doctor #four x sarah #i can’t believe my eyes and ears

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pier-monsters · 1 year

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there's so much going on in doctor who right now omg

#Fourteen and fifteen art coming soon I promise #Also donna omg #Also thirteen and yaz #dw fanart #doctor who #four x sarah #classic who #fourth doctor #sarah jane smith

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beezonia · 1 year

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Thank You For The Memories

#classic who #fourth doctor #sarah jane smith #four x sarah #4/sarah #doctor who moodboard #doctor who #sarah jane adventures #third doctor

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tree0frog · 2 years

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So I’m planing on doing head cannons next month one each day I have the first 15 planes but if anyone has any they would like me to do then please ask :p

I also plan to do 30 day of fluff for October so their that as well

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cowgurrrl · 1 year

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Graceland Too

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader (plus platonic Ellie Williams x fem!reader)

Author’s note: okay but I kinda want to write this into a series (gif by @loregifs)

Summary: “I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love. We are good people and we’ve suffered enough.” - Seventy Years of Sleep #4. nikka ursula aka Miller/Williams family time plus one [1.1k]

Warnings: Pregnancy talk, tooth rotting fluff, can be read as an additional part to What Sarah Said and Sweet Jane but can also be read as a stand-alone, that’s all

"How's are the Miller's doing today?" He asks as he walks into your shared room. You're laid on your side, counting baby kicks obsessively and trying not to fall asleep. It's still the middle of the day, and your sleep is already fucked. Rest has not gotten easier as the weeks have passed, but it feels especially impossible now at thirty-four weeks.

It's been a relatively normal pregnancy. Your morning sickness returned with a vengeance and got so bad that you had to go to the hospital to get fluids because you were throwing up so much. It's subsided a little in your second and third trimesters, but even the slightest smell can make you nauseous for the rest of the day. Poor Joel had to switch soaps three times before finding something that didn't agitate either of you. These days, you're exhausted, sore, and ready not to be pregnant anymore.

"This one," you point to your swollen stomach. "Has been kicking my ass all day. I barely got out of bed before I had to lie back down." You sigh. Joel kisses you before leaning down and kissing your belly.

"You be nice to your mama," he says, and you laugh when the baby kicks in defiance. You grab his hand and place it where you just felt them, and he smiles when the baby kicks at him, too. "Stubborn."

"Wonder where they get it from." You hum, and he smiles. For a while, you two lay together, feeling for tiny movements as the sun shines high in the sky. He lights up each time the baby moves against his hand, which is more than enough to tolerate the constant kicks in your ribs. He loves this baby so much already.

"You're in the home stretch now," he says. "Any last guesses on what you think it'll be?"

"I still think it's a girl. I'd be shocked if we had a boy."

"I think it's a boy."

"Because you want a boy or because you actually think it's a boy?"

"Excuse me, I do think it's a boy, and I'd be just as happy if we had a girl," he says as he runs his hand over the hill of your belly. "You're carrying lower. My mama always used to say that was a good way to tell what someone was having."

"Alright, I'll let you have it. Ellie thinks it's a boy, too. She said she just felt it," you look down and poke at your stomach. "Whoever you end up being, can you come out soon? I'm tired."

"Couple more weeks."

"Easy for you to say."

"That's true," he says as you push the hair out of his eyes. "D'you think we're ready?"

"I think it's a little late to ask that, cowboy," you laugh, and he rolls his eyes. "But, yes, I think we're ready." You, Ellie, and Joel spent weeks converting one of the old rooms in the house into a nursery. At first, they were fine with you helping, but as the weeks passed and you got bigger, they put their foot down. Even if you picked up an empty box or a paintbrush, Ellie would yell from the other side of the room and take it from your hands. When they painted, they barely let you in the house because they thought the fumes would harm you and the baby. You've had to remind them that you've been the one to save their asses multiple times, and you can still do things even though you're pregnant, but you might as well have been talking to a brick wall.

Joel and Ellie built most of the nursery together— everything from the crib to the rocking chair to the space mobile hanging from the ceiling. They painted the walls a pretty yellow, making the dusty, old room fit for the newest Miller. They painted a growth chart by the door and even marked their own heights and ages in pencil on the wall. You came in when you heard them giggling, and then they insisted on marking how far your bump came out on the wall, too. You couldn't say no when they looked at you with those stupid grins and big eyes. Ellie took a polaroid of you standing in front of the chart as Joel pressed a paint-stained hand to your stomach and kissed you.

Seeing her so excited about the new baby made both of you feel so much better. She's talked nonstop about everything she wants to do with the baby pretty much since she found out you were pregnant. You were unsure how she would react since she's been your only priority for years now, and she's getting older, but she's ecstatic. She held your hair when you woke up throwing up, and Joel was on patrol. She made you soup and reminded you to take the way-too-expensive prenatal vitamins. She even learned to play lullabies on her guitar to sing to the new baby. She'd be a great mom.

"I'm so excited to meet them," Joel says softly, and you smile.

"Me too," You say. You lean in to kiss him and barely graze his lips when the baby kicks in Joel's direction. You try to ignore it and kiss him again when they do it again. They kick you hard enough that Joel feels the baby's foot against his hand, and you both laugh. "I can't believe we're getting cockblocked by a fetus."

"How do you think you got here?" Joel asks loudly, looking down at your stomach.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Ellie asks as she walks into your room, and you laugh.

"Every time I try to kiss Joel, the baby kicks at him," you say. She gives you that classic Ellie stink face, and you hold out your hand. "C'mere." You urge. She hesitates before walking over to your side of the bed. You take her hand and let her feel the baby's movements, making her smile.

"That's so weird," she says but doesn't move her hand. She lingers, having a semi-private moment with the baby as they turn and wiggle against each of their hands. They are moving back and forth between Joel and Ellie, like they can't decide who they want to hang out with, but they want to be involved. Ellie crouches down next to the bed, resting her chin on her hand, and Joel traces little patterns into the fabric of your shirt. Slowly, the baby settles down and falls asleep, their movements less crazy but still sporadic.

Ellie and Joel come to the same conclusion but don't move. They stay there with you and the baby as the day rages on outside. Let it rage, you think. I have everything I need right here.

🍓

tag list: @evyiione @nyotamalfoy @abbyhaslongshorts

#he’s so girldad your honor #joel and ellie #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #the last of us x reader #ellie williams #joel tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader #ellie williams fluff #only happy endings here bitches #look for the light

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penguinwithitsarseonfire · 2 years

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Falling feels like flying (till the bone crush)

Pairing: Eleventh Doctor x Reader, Tenth Doctor x Reader, Ninth Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 2, 243

Warnings: All angst, no happy ending

Summary: Reader is faced with a gross realisation. What everyone has been saying about her is true, she's a flight risk. Now it's up to her to show the Doctor that.

A/N: This entire thing literally only exists because I read Flight Risk by @storytelling-timelord so from one Elle to another, thank you for giving me the jump start I need to get to writing again!! For everyone else, I super recommend reading her stuff!!

On a day that wasn’t then, but long before today, you would wonder why Jack Harkness would call you this. Why, saddled up in the console room, giving the Doctor a private, sad smile, he would map the words onto your skin, a brand of hot iron at the base of your neck.

“She’s a flight risk,” he would say. He would warn.

And the Doctor would scoff, his Northern drawl spilling from him with ease, with the confidence of a man who was used to being right, of reading people right.

He would say that’s absurd, that you were human, too human. The kind of human who would look just as quickly at a lone daffodil in a field, or a new-born nebula, and see nothing but the beauty in the matter that formed it, of the star dust that danced around you in every bated breath.

No, he would say. You ran because you ran with the Doctor. You wouldn’t run without him.

And Jack would move to reply, his eyes far more honest that the rueful grin he forced his features into, but you would skip into the console room, curious, but unspoken. It had been some time since you established this little tradition with the Doctor, a dance just shy of moving in.

Every month – maybe, time was never accurate on the TARDIS – you would gather more of your belonging, tucking them into the space that made up your room.

And the Doctor would grin, look at you with an expression you wouldn’t be able to name, but would later learn, and ask if you were ready to go.

And Jack would grin, eyes dark though smile bright, pat the Doctor on the shoulder and ask for his own pit stop.

Today however, you roamed the TARDIS’ ever sprawling library, greeting each hard bound book, each fraying paperback, like an old friend.

And there, in golden letters, printed in the grain of an old bookshelf sagging under its own weight, was what you had never thought to be afraid of. Your name.

Your fingers ghosted over the imprint, trailing every stroke, every curve.

Your body went cold.

You knew these halls, floated through them like ink flows on paper, yet you had never seen this. Did you dare ask how long it had been there? Breathe your knowledge of this into the air? What would the Doctor say? Would he tell you he had been the one to do this? Would he see how terrified it made you feel?

Your free hand went to the back of your head, fingers trailing over the fine hair from where your skull met your neck. Your hand stopped as it met the base of your neck. In an instant you gripped tight.

Flight risk.

In the beginning, you found falling felt rather like flying. The Doctor didn’t steal your breath, he would snake into your lungs with an easy grin and bright laughter, and you found yourself giving it to him.

You hadn’t known yet, how easily Sarah-Jane Smith saw things. You didn’t yet know about the knowing. How important knowing was when it came to love.

But she knew, you think now she always had.

You only knew four things at that point, which you had thought was enough. First, you loved the Doctor. Second, he loved you. Third, loving one another was hard – harder than anything you had ever done.

Fourth, it was worth it.

But Sarah-Jane Smith had gripped onto the Doctor's arm, eyes wide and afraid as she spoke to him. She was speaking from experience, recognising him in you. Recognising why he loved you.

“She’s a flight risk,” she would say. She would implore.

And the Doctor would laugh, a full body movement that would sweep into his coat. He would say that you were fast, that lighting crackled beneath you, and he was the thunder – hand gripped tight in yours. That flight was fine because he was flying with you.

And you wouldn’t intrude on the way their conversation would unfold. You would turn off the monitor in the console room, toying with the idea of flight.

Because the Doctor was right, wasn’t he? You were already flying, where was the risk if the flying was for him?

Today however, you stumbled into the hallway, tripping over the slippers you had left at the foot of the library door. Your hand grazed the nearest wall, fingers mapping the grooves and nubs that you had tracked thousands of times.

Thousands? Had you really been here long enough for thousands?

You twisted down the hallway, finding your bedroom. You pawed for the light switch, a thin smear of dust pressing into your fingertips. Under the soft light, it barely looked familiar.

Trinkets you had long forgotten about sat on makeshift shelves, detailing adventures you would so often bring up in soft jokes and old laughter. An old journal sat on a desk, framed by photographs and pressings from flowers and leaves of various planets, untouched. Even your bed was locked in time, the sheets firmly tucked in all corners – unslept and well kept.

It had been so long since this had been your room, the room you spent your time in, the room you slept in. The evidence was clear as day. This room, which had once been yours, inviting and warm, was foreign. You were a stranger in your own space.

Had you lost yourself?

Flight risk.

Three faces you had known him. Three lifetimes of learning – of cataloguing and developing your very best knowing. Because it was the knowing that was key to any good relationship.

Like the knowing in how the Doctor took his tea, always with a dash of milk, always two sugars.

And in the knowing of how the Doctor looked at the stars, with the sort of wonder you had thought unparalleled, until he looked at you.

Or in the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled – always.

It never was a matter that the face had changed, that the eyes were new, and the slope of his jaw would bend into each new shape. The Doctor, you had come to find, was familiar, the extraordinary bottled into skin and bones with two hearts.

River Song was next, with a curious expression you have yet to unravel. She would take the Doctor’s hand, draw his eyes into her own, her voice low when she spoke. She would tell him how he was playing with fire, how – for once – he was the one who was about to get burned.

“She’s a flight risk,” she would say. She would mourn.

And the Doctor would shake his head, because River had seen, same as him, how cemented you were by his side. He would tell of her of the obstacles you had overcome, of the fears you had faced within each other, of the fate defying feats you had both pulled to keep one another in your orbit.

Then Amy – or maybe it was Rory, would call out to you, and their conversation would be lost behind you as you planned for the next adventure.

But the comment would linger, eat away through the goosebumps that would rise when Rivers gaze turned to you.

And it was then that you would wonder about Jack's first comment. It was arrogant, foolish. What did any of them know?

But the Doctors gaze would follow, it would wrap against your throat and claw into your skin.

But as always, you kept your thoughts onto the next adventure.

Today however, you gripped a photograph left on the desk. It was you, grinning into the camera, Martha Jones on one side, the Doctor on the other. You were young, your smile brighter, your eyes wider.

Your hand found itself on your cheek. Your fingers paved over your skin, over the new lines that had formed around your eyes, the creases in your cheeks, the weariness in their colour.

You were older now. So much older.

How many years had gone by? Would you ever be able to count them?

The photo fluttered out of your grasp. There was only one choice.

Flight Risk.

Permanency wasn’t a luxury you afforded yourself. Love was hard, and the knowing was harder. You loved knowing people, loved recognising the things that made them smile, made them laugh.

But the knowing in turn was ruthless.

The Doctor was changing, it was a knowledge that wrung itself in your chest, twisting into your veins and clotting itself into your arteries. If you had been self-aware, you would have seen the change you brought with it, how you drew yourself in, built around you more walls before the Doctor could find a jackhammer to carve them through.

You wondered if loving the Doctor truly was good – if the flying was true. How long until the flight was the Doctor leaving, once he saw too much of you?

Madame Kovarian would give you a lazy grin, the eye not hidden by the eye-patch toying with the way she looked at you and the Doctor. It was slow, languid, revelling in all the time she had to unravel you.

It only took her a moment, a cat like pause before her grin would stretch and twist into something wicked.

“She’s a flight risk,” she would say. She would applaud.

The Doctor would waver – he had never done that before. His voice would shake before falling firm. He wouldn’t mention you, he would talk of her, of the tricks she would pull, of the grip she held on to the universe.

And you would tell yourself that was enough, and you would forget it, hyperfocus on the need to fix this, on the need to win. This is what you did with the Doctor, fall into step, a routine so focused your body and his weren’t their own.

Today however, you fumbled for the vortex manipulator you knew was hidden here. You weren’t sure who the one who hid it was. Maybe it was Jack. Maybe it was River. In the end, it didn’t matter.

Your fingers curled around the worn strap, hidden deep in the console. For a moment you marvelled at the memory of the others, of the people who had left their own mark on the TARDIS.

The thought soon soured.

Because how could you think of a mark in the TARDIS, without thinking of yourself. You could see the evidence of you in this very console room. Your jumped hung over the railing. The book you were currently reading sat by the controls. An old mug, paired with the Doctors, sat by the staircase.

It sprawled out in front of you.

You. You.

You.

You tried to place the change, the moment where the you in your bedroom had spilled into the TARDIS. The moment your space was the Doctors.

You were everywhere.

There you were, your sunscreen stuck by the TARDIS front door. You were in the kitchen, tins of your favourite teas lining the shelf by the kettle. Your footsteps marked the hallways, old shoes you had kicked off before reaching your next stop, the scuff from old boots.

Your breath came in shaky, knotting in your throat.

Flight Risk.

The Doctor would rip the last page out of every book, all to avoid the ending. It was a quirk of his you knew well – you knew all his quirks well.

And although you knew it, you didn’t understand it.

Leaving was an inevitability for you and him. An end for all endings, even this. There was no permanency here. No proof that things would last, that he would stay. That you would stay.

There couldn’t be. Time was fickle, time was fleeting, and it was flying. Just like you were flying – you were sure of it.

Falling rather felt like flying. Until the fall was less flying, and more bone crashing into cement.

You couldn’t see the Doctor before you left, you had half the heart that he did, and that wasn’t accounting for the physical accuracy of the statement.

It was a rash decision, the logical part of you, the part screaming for you to slow down, knew it was rash. But wasn’t rash what you were known for?

Rash was jumping into a time machine with a man you just met. Rash was dancing with the stars, chasing time figures in the night. Rash was the running, all the running.

So, this time it was you. It wasn’t River, Jack, it wasn’t even the Doctor. It was simply you.

You scrawled a note, leaving it against the final lever on the console, the one the Doctor would throw before his next adventure. Alone.

I’m a flight risk, you had said.

You were gone.

If you had stayed, you would have seen it. You would have seen the way the Doctor stood – silent, alone – the note gripped in the palm of his hand.

The Doctor shattered.

His body splayed the TARDIS floor like ceramic before the mosaic, hauntingly tragic, ripped into the seam of the canvas.

By his side lay the ring, the reason he had left the TARDIS at all. It clattered against the railing; louder than the question he could now never ask you.

And it was the Doctor who now knew, who had learned. That the flying, that the falling? Was bone crushingly broken.

A/N^2: I really loved playing with prose while writing this, seriously, it was so fun. Thank you so much for reading! For the regulars, I've got a lot of unfinished wips that should I get the motivation are almost done, so hopefully I'll get to posting again more regularly!

EDIT: I'm writing a happy ending sequel! Lemme know if you'd like to be tagged when it comes out!

#the doctor x reader #eleventh doctor imagine #11th doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor #tenth doctor imagine #10th doctor x reader #tenth doctor x reader #10th doctor #ninth doctor imagine #9th doctor x reader #ninth doctor x reader #9th doctor

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dalekmeep · 3 months

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My favorite moments from the Genesis of the Daleks commentary

*man in a gas mask pops up*

Lis: “Are you my mummy?”

Tom: *whispers* “Elisabeth!”

Lis: *whispers back* “Tom!”

*Mutos examining Sarah Jane’s face and saying there are no flaws or imperfections*

Tom: “No…absolute perfection”

Lis: *laughing* “I never knew what episode I was in!”

*about Davros*

Tom: “I think he should get down to Spec Savers. Got bloody cataracts.”

Lis: “…and nothing was overdone, was it?”

Tom: “Well I wouldn’t say that, did you see me in the last scene?!”

Tom: (to Lis) “If I’d been directing that I’d have spoiled it by telling you to give him a kiss!”

*about the Doctor following behind Sarah as they crawl through a vent*

Tom: “Ohhh, I was full of admiration for you there.”

Tom: “What’s she handing out here, dynamite?!”

*after The Doctor turns the wrong way*

Tom: “I never did have any sense of direction.”

Lis: “They kept telling me to wear a bra otherwise I’d be mistaken for someone else.”

*after explosion*

Lis: “Oh there you go, Tom, hand on my head…was always very chivalrous.”

#tom baker #elisabeth sladen #fourth doctor #sarah jane smith #doctor who #classic who #four x sarah jane

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stephaniebrownslover · 10 months

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!REQUEST PAGE!

𝙃𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙤 𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙮𝙤𝙣𝙚. 𝙄'𝙢 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙮 𝙘𝙧𝙚𝙚𝙥𝙮𝙥𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙖 𝙥𝙝𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙙𝙚𝙘𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙞 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙢(it's a lie, i just want to make this everyone's problem).

𝙄'𝙡𝙡 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚 𝙭 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙧 𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙧𝙖𝙡 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨. 𝙃𝙚𝙧𝙚'𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 "𝙙𝙤 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩", 𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙗𝙚 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙛𝙪𝙡 𝙩𝙤 𝙛𝙤𝙡𝙡𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙧𝙪𝙡𝙚𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩.

✎Characters I will write for;

Jeff The Killer

Clockwork

Puppeteer

Laughing Jack

Homicidal Liu

Hoodie(creepypasta version)

Masky(creepypasta version)

Sally(not romantic way)

Ticci Toby

Lazari(not romantic way)

Zero

Nurse Ann

Ben Drowned

Bloody Painter

Judge Angels

Eyeless Jack

Lulu

Nightmare Ally/Slender Doll

Slenderman

Splendorman

Trenderman

Emra

Jane The Killer

Dr. Smiley

Dr. Pain

Kagekao

Nina The Killer(version 1&2)

Candy Pop

Lost Silver

Glitchy Red

Rouge

Cat Hunter

Stripes

Zalgo

X-Virus

The Chess Master

Nick Vanill

Killing Kate

Nathan The Nobody

Papa Grande

Dollmaker

April Fools

Suicide Sadie

Vailly Evans

Lifeless Lucy(not romantic way)

Sam(not romantic way)

Lily The Dollmaker(not romantic way)

Kate The Chaser

Hobo Hearth

Dark Link

Jason The Toymaker

Laughing Jill

Sadie Serenade

Candy Cane

Nemesis

Skroll

Weeping Forest

Scarecrow Girl

Silent hunter

Gasmask Maid

Four Eyed Jessy

İris/Hung Girl(not romantic way)

Chris The Revenant

Asylum Nancy

Pinkamena

Rainbow Factory

Wilson The Basher

Nightcrawler

Mary Vaughn

Will Grossman

Freddy Butcher

The Bartender 1941

Sarah lee

Zachary

✎Characters i won't write for;

Offenderman

Armless Bob

Tails Doll

Sonic.exe

Smile Dog

Grinny Cat

Red Angel

Virus

Seed Eater

Rake

Ani The Wight

Pencil Neck

Mr. Widemouth

BBVR

彡Things i will write;

General headcanons

X reader headcanons

Oneshots

X reader oneshots

Angst

Fluff

Ships that i like

Crack plots(please indicate it)

And other things i didn't mention under this

彡Things i won't write;

Any kind of sexual content/smut(I'm asexual so please don't request it)

Rape/non-con

Ships that i don't like

Weird kinks

Way too much gore

Underage relationships

Pedophile

İncest

Zoophile

English is not my native tongue so please let me know my mistake in grammer and characterizations!

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