#he’s been more of a nuisance than evil so far :

[gabessquishytum]

(Recent binge reader, first time asker) Got some thoughts about that supernatural streamer! Hob and summoned! Dream ask: what if after that bout of radio silence Hob comes back like nothing's different, however now there some guy in the background of his streams? Not in a haunted way, more like "roommate doing stuff" way, except the roommate has starry black eyes and ethereal vibes, and yet Hob seems entirely unperturbed

There's a bunch of speculation about the guy, but when someone directly asks Hob about it he just goes "oh that's Dream" without further explanation as if that doesn't raise more questions than it answers

shenanigans include:

whenever the guy isn't there, a large fluffy black cat is lounging on Hob (Meowphesus)

if a watcher dreams of Hob, the guy also shows up and derails it (bonus? If it's a wet dream about Hob, in which the dreamer promptly gets cockblocked)

The rituals start seeming more real, but Hob is still nonchalant about supernatural stuff, however it's slowly turning into more of a "bit of a nuisance but nothing too bothersome" kind of nonchalance rather than a "not scared of something that doesn't exist" type (perhaps a bit of the "scared of what's behind you" trope where Hob is messing with things way above what he should be, but doesn't realise Dream is doing the whole "touch him and you die" death glare behind him and so that's why nothing bad is happening)

I love this. Imagine the conspiracy theories. They range from "that's a literal demonic entity haunting Hob’s ass" to "thats just his boyfriend and he just likes wearing weird contact lenses". (Both of these theories are technically true, except for the fact that they aren't contact lenses.)

Dream has decided to be Hob’s protector, since he has insisted on sticking his nose into things he doesn't understand. Demons and preternatural creatures and glitches in the fabric of reality pop up in Hob’s living room and immediately melt back into the shadows as Dream glares, arms folded, eyes blazing, far too many teeth sharpened and ready.

People start asking questions directly addressed at Dream, or asking him to appear in videos. He offers one word responses that come across far more funnily than he'd intended, and the viewers get a real kick out of his presence. They're like "Why do you hang around in the back of the videos?" And Dream is like "I am protecting Hob from the evil entities that he insists upon summoning" and everyone cracks up <3

Meanwhile, Hob is having to contend with the fact that he's falling more and more in love with the eldritch sleep entity who now hangs around in his house. And his viewers are definitely catching on to the massive heart-eyes he's been casting towards Dream, hehe.

#the sandman #dreamling

[everybody-loves-purdy]

This for sure has been thought of before but the Great Journey would have been better if Hawkfrost was on it so that he and Bramble could have more moments together that will make Hawk's downfall and death that much more impactful to him and to the audience.

They could have heart-to-hearts about Tigerstar, making the Dark Forest training more interesting....they could talk about Bramble's bond with Tawny, who's on the journey, and how it kinda matches Hawk and Moth (which is another thing that makes future events sadder) (and maybe he and Squirrel could bond here, with both their sisters being back home and being med cats).

Maybe the reason Hawk joins is because Tiger visits him in a dream to tell him to see what's up at fourtrees and he sees the cats meeting. Later he begins to think that maybe he should be leader of one of the Clans. He did help find the new territories, after all, and how bad can Tigerstar be if his father was the one to help him begin the journey to find it? (and maybe whispered advice throughout the journey).

(side note--maybe Tiger 'helping' the cats on the journey by speaking with Hawk and Bramble helps to convince him more realistically that Tiger wants to train them not for nefarious reasons, because Bramble believed him far too easily let's be honest).

I just think it was a missed opportunity. Instead of introducing him as a kinda obvious "this guy is gonna be a problem later" thing, he's introduced like a non-pov (or maybe pov) protagonist that is at first seen like a kind if not peculiar guy who falls lower and lower until he's killed by Brambleclaw.

And before this, Brambleclaw thought that he's not just his brother--he's like him, someone whose loyalties were doubted because of Tigerstar. He has a sister he cares about, a mother who, when he talks about her, reminds Bramble of Goldenflower.

And he thinks "he's like me."

And Squirrelpaw talks to him and learns that they have the same sense of humour, they both like bugging Bramble, they both have a sister med cat who they love and is back home worrying about them, they both live in the shadow of their father--good or bad. Squirrelpaw confesses that she's such a nuisance because she doesn't want to be compared to the great Firestar. Hawk tells her that he feels trapped by his parentage as well.

And she thinks "he's just like me."

That's what makes it so impactful in the end, because not only is he corrupted, not only is Bramble forced to kill him, but his evil isn't just a sign of his own downfall, but of how close it could have been Brambleclaw himself, or Squirrelpaw, or someone else who saw Hawkfrost in themself and who now has to wonder "will that be me?"

This is so good, I love this AU.

Hawkfrost is just a bundle of missed potential honestly. There’s so much more that could have been done with his character than what we got.

#residences of the darkforest #au #Hawkfrost

[russica]

My three Tav's I draw consistently 💜🖤💙 I just wanted to draw tongues and this was fun lol

Fun Facts! I have several playthroughs but these 3 are my fave Tav's!

Rax (He/They) is an old OC repurposed. He is a Tiefling Sorceror, played him as an all good run. Rax i calm and collected, a usually laid back guy with an electric temper underneath. He has his own traumas in his past, a history of SA and alcoholism. He's worked very hard to come as far as he has. He is gay and polyamorous, he romanced Astarion and Halsin and I see him going after Rolan and Zevlor as well 💜 He has so much love to give and we stan the Tiefling tail wraps!

Ryth (He/Him) was my first Durge run! He is a Dragonborn fighter and resists the Urge. He is bisexual and monogamous and romanced Gale. Despite his large and gruff, scarred exterior, he's a big sweetheart. Kinda like a cat, he chirps, chitters, and likes head scritches. Touch is his love language, and you can bet your ass he cuddle puddles with everyone and gives hugs and head smooches. He also does platonic cleaning via licking his friends' faces. After the initial confusion/culture shock, he does learn to ask permission first.

Naerym (It/Its) is my first and only Evil Durge run. It is a high elf monk. It is ambiamorous and slept around before canonically settling with Ascended Astarion. It's a cheerful little thing, always smiling and laughing while committing the worst atrocities. It's NOT a good person. Despite being THE WORST, it still cares for its friends (in the way a scientist might care about a long-running experiment). Naerym would've also snatched Kar'niss up in a heartbeat and would've refused to give him up when Astarion inevitably demanded it. (It would've been a bloody fight, but Naerym is a lethal weapon and would've eventually won either with sheer strength or by threatening dirty tactics). They're a toxic power couple lol

Rax and Ryth would be best friends. Rax would be smitten with the tall Dragonborn because Rax is usually the tallest in a room (6'2 v 6'6). Ryth being mono, they'd end up being the two quiet friends discussing their partners over a good meal. Very domestic. They act like they've known each other forever. Rax loves the pillow nest Ryth has and they constantly hug, hold hands, and cuddle.

Ryth and Naerym would be terrible for each other. Ryth is a resist (mostly), and Naerym is an embrace, so... Ryth would commit more crimes, and Naerym would get better at hiding theirs. They would bond over their love of blood and exotic meats, and battles would be bloodier than necessary, and Ryth would listen attentively as Naerym waxxed poetic about its pet spiders. Theor cuddle puddles would be a big production of a fight until Ryth pinned Naerym down (6'6 v 5'6) by flopping his massive frame on top of him.

Rax and Naerym are like fire and ice. Rax does NOT like Naerym. Naerym is touchy but doesn't ask permission. It just latches on, and Rax has electrocuted the thing more than once for it... (Naerym is into it 👀). Rax is a diplomat, believing you should talk it out unless they're slavers or abusing kids/animals, while Naerym is a kill em if they're boring kinda person. Rax would be exhausted trying to keep Naerym in line and Naerym would be having a hell of a time being the biggest nuisance possible. Naerym likes Rax a lot lol. Despite fighting constantly, Rax would still bandage up the dumbass after a battle and would still accept occasional cuddles because he's weak.

#my favorite tavs #look at my babies #love these dumbasses #mythings #russica #doodles #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #digitalart #male tav #rax #tav #agender tav #ryth #naerym #tiefling #dragonborn #high elf #durge #dark urge

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Lady Whistledown Returns: Chapter 8

Penelope fucked around. Colin finds out.

Need to catch up? Find previous chapters and works on AO3.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Violence, some gore, some blood, torture.

Please be sure to take care of you, and if you need or want to skip over this chapter, we will happily see you again next time. Your well-being is always more important than a fic!

Charlotte was sitting at her breakfast table picking at an orange and trying to ignore the ever-so-slight tension in Brimsley’s posture when a footman carrying a silver tray piled high with correspondence and papers. His arrival was notably later in the morning than she preferred, and the man was red-faced and puffing, as though he had been running.

And he likely has been, thought Charlotte. She was finding holding Colin Bridgerton far more irritating than she had anticipated. At first, she had found Bridgerton’s antics thoroughly entertaining. He could not escape and was clearly too smart to try vaingloriously to fail. That he had chosen to make himself king of nuisances was a choice she had nothing but respect for. And like his older brothers, he had more than a fair measure of charm and good looks. She had expected to remain entertained until his wife gave her a reason to carry out her threats. She had not anticipated the dark side of the Bridgerton personality.

The man was something of an evil genius for not only eating her out of house and home but also ensuring that as many of her servants as possible were running errands to cross-purposes at all hours of the day and night. Her bathwater had been cold, she was forced to wait far longer than she preferred for servants to appear, and her meals had been late, cold, or both as a result of his machinations. He had flooded his room, set the bed on fire after carelessly knocking over a candle, and upon requesting a dart board to keep himself entertained, had managed to put countless holes in the wall. Repairing the damage was going to cost a small fortune.

She had wondered, briefly, at three o’clock in the morning when she was evacuated from her rooms as her guards and servants worked to put out the small fire Bridgerton had started, if it might not be simpler to let him go and find another way to silence Lady Whistledown. Yet, she had been infuriatingly unable to win this war. And she did not dare lose this battle.

Ministers, lords, and foreign dignitaries were increasingly going to Georgie first, as Prince Regent, and neglecting to offer her the proper respect and deference. That resonated in her own court, and she was losing her authority. Georgie was a good boy, and would have to be king eventually, but he had not found his way toward the same personal responsibility and force of will that she had, and until he did, it was best that she was in charge. Furthermore—and more importantly—if she did not run the court and the kingdom, then she could not protect George. His happiness, his safety, those had to be first in her mind, and to ensure that she could look after him, she had to be in control.

If Lady Whistledown stripped people’s faith in her away, her power went with it, and George would be at the mercy of Parliament, the ton, and the world. If there was one thing that Charlotte would never, could never, condone, it was any harm or hardship visited upon her husband.

The breathless footman bowed, extending the tray to Charlotte. The letters and papers were fanned out so that she could see part of the directions of the letters, the printer’s marks on the papers and pamphlets, and choose what she wanted to review first. Today, however, her eyes missed the handwriting of several of her nieces and nephews, her favorite paper, and a few pamphlets that she enjoyed, because right at the top of the fan was a folded pamphlet with an all-to-familiar cameo and the banner headline Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers.

 Charlotte seized the paper, and opened it, looking for a printer’s mark. She would have the head of this printer. There was no printer’s mark. She sniffed angrily; that was a problem that could be dealt with later. Irritatingly, Charlotte had to admit to being surprised by the appearance of the publication. She had harbored no doubts that Penelope would publish—the chit seemed incapable of restraining her pen—but that she had found a printer willing to flout the law so soon after she had had that first printer transported was an unwelcome surprise. Her power was slipping more than she had imagined.

And would slip further, she realized. Without more time to trump up a plausible reason for why she had a Bridgerton guest, she was well and truly caught out in an action that the fools of the ton would see as unreasonable. She had become arrogant, and she had assumed she would have time to plan further. The wretched girl had forced her into an even weaker position. Well then. If she was to slide into a war of attrition, then she would begin by keeping her promise.

Reading over the latest issue of Whistledown, Charlotte’s rage rose. Violently shoving her chair back, Charlotte snapped at Brimsley, “Have Bridgerton brought to the dungeons.”

“Ma’am, if I may,” he began.

“You may not.” Charlotte would not be told that the quality of mercy is not strained. She would not be told what was the politically and socially wisest course. Her back was to the wall, and she would do whatever she had to in order to silence the single largest threat to her power that she could take action against. Turning back the clock to cut the chit off at the knees when Whistledown had first appeared was not an option. Neither was taking the title of Regent from Georgie. If she had no choice but to slip out of power, she would not go silently, and she would take Lady Whistledown with her.

Charlotte swept from the room, a pale-faced Brimsley behind her. 

Being a hostage was immensely boring. Colin was granted any books, food, or papers he asked for—and he had been amusing himself by sending a legion of palace servants running back and forth on as many ridiculous errands as he could think of—but he was rapidly becoming tired of staring at the same four walls, and it had only been a few days. He told himself it would take time for Anthony and Pen to come up with a way to get him out of here, that he just had to be patient. He was tiring of patience. 

The door to the little room burst open, admitting two agents of the queen–neither was Worth. Their faces were schooled to a careful neutrality, but the footman with the boxer’s build smiled nastily when the agents gestured for them to bring Colin. He and the other big footman who had been stationed at the window grabbed Colin’s arms far more roughly than necessary, pinning them behind his back. 

“This is where you pay for every high-instepped slight, rich man,” he snarled into Colin’s ear, twisting the arm he held viciously up.

Colin wrenched his arm back, although he had little leverage with which to do so. He didn’t bother responding to his captor, nor did he try to ask the agents what was happening. He had learned when they kidnapped him that the queen’s agents were chosen at least partly for their lack of instinct to chatter. He could ask a thousand questions and not one would be answered. All he could do was school his own face to neutral pleasantry and wait. 

Holding a neutral face grew increasingly challenging as he was dragged down several flights of successively narrower staircases with progressively fewer windows. Cheerful wood and plaster gave way to dark, stained, ominous stone, likely from when the building had originally been a fortress. His heart beat faster the deeper into the building they went. 

Something had to have happened. He had done nothing to go suddenly from untouchable to being hidden away in a cellar somewhere, at the mercy of his minders’ fists. If he was lucky, this heralded Pen’s arrival in England, and her collaboration with Anthony to free him. Surely the two were in the palace now, with a petition against his unlawful and wholly insupportable kidnapping. This was surely little more than a piece of political theatre to reinforce the fact that the queen was in charge. 

His stomach roiled as the party proceeded down a close, dark hallway with a single, dark wooden door at the end of it. None of the stories his traveling companions had told that included being swept unceremoniously down into a dark room ended well. Neither did any of the tales told around campfires, or the novels Pen would read. The hair on the back of his neck was standing straight out, and Colin imagined that if they could, each hair would detach itself and run. He was not fighting his captors, precisely, but he was certainly reluctant to proceed. Without his input, hefound himself leaning back and away, feet just barely avoiding scrabbling on the floor to arrest their progress. As the party stopped at the door for one of the agents to fish out a key, Colin carefully took a deep breath. Faith in Pen and Anthony; they would come through for him. And until they did, he was a Bridgerton. He would do the family proud, and he would not panic unnecessarily. He told his shoulders to stop crowding his ears; they listened, a little. 

The door looked like it should creak and squeal on its hinges as it opened, but in actual fact, it swung open almost noiselessly. The bruisers holding Colin’s arms had to awkwardly souffle their little party through the door sideways; there was barely room for one man to enter at a time, nevermind three abreast. Once he had a clear view of the room, however, Colin threw himself back. This was no cellar. 

The windowless room was far bigger than he had expected it to be, round with dark stone walls and floors that still somehow managed to show stains. There were soot stains above and around the hearth, at which a small metal holder sat, supporting a number of irons with their tips in the flames. Their handles were lovingly polished wood, with clear use grooves worn in from countless grasping fingers. 

To one side of the hearth was a long work table and a mounted rack of all sorts of tools that Colin had little doubt were not for wood or metal work. They had similarly well-loved handles, and some of them looked like they would fit perfectly around fingers, toes, limbs, and other tender parts. Some of them had alarmingly sharp-looking edges or spikes inside curves. The tools themselves were not stained or glowing with heat, but the table below them held soot stains and other dark stains that Colin did not try too hard to identify. 

The other side of the hearth was bare floor, but the wall held shackles of various diameters on chains of differing lengths that went from several inches above the floor to a mere six inches below the eight-foot ceiling. The wall behind the chains was patchily stained, with some of them looking distinctly splattered. He thought he could see rust and other matter clinging to some of the shackles, particularly the ones near the floor and ceiling. 

Centered in the room was a wooden chair that Colin would have described as overbuilt. It was oversized, blocky, bolted to the floor, and covered in an assortment of leather straps, chains, and shackles. The wood was so dark as to be practically black, something for which Colin was unabashedly grateful. He had no desire to see whatever individual stains might have marred the wood.

Colin’s escort did not appreciate his involuntary resistance on seeing the room. They threw him bodily toward the clear floor space, and he stumbled, just barely managing to keep his feet. Had his arms been restrained, he would have tumbled to the floor. He was desperate not to touch the chains or shackles. Turning to face the door, Colin saw the four footmen ranged across from him, shoulder to shoulder. They were all looking nastily expectant, but for the moment seemed disinclined to come at him. One agent had taken up a position beside the door inside the room; presumably the other was watching the other side of the door. Despite the healthy fire behind him, Colin was cold in little more than trousers and a shirt. He refused to think too hard about what might have caused the stains covering the stone floor his bare feet rested on. 

Colin had seen his fair share of fights at school, and barroom brawls during the London season. Everything about the posture and body language of the men before him said that they were spoiling for a fight, and yet they did not attack. What on earth were they waiting for? 

The door swung open again, disgorging the wide-panniered skirts and expansively wigged Queen Charlotte. Colin’s gaze did not leave the faces of his would-be assailants, but his sense of the queen’s presence was one of erupted rage. She practically loomed, making the dimly lit room seem even darker. The bruiser who had threatened Colin had begun to practically vibrate in anticipation.

“Why are you doing this? What have I done to deserve this?” Colin did not take his eyes off his would-be assailants, but his tone left no doubt as to whom precisely he was addressing.

“Did you not listen when I told you that your dear Lady Whistledown would publish again?” Charlotte asked.

“What has Pen to do with this barbarity?” Colin’s gesture took in the room at large, as well as the four men before him. The queen rolled her eyes, disapproving.

“Do not play dumb with me, Mr. Bridgerton. I explicitly told Worth to explain the stakes of your captivity to you.”

“Well he bloody well didn’t. Explain yourself.” Colin was past caring that Charlotte was his queen and that speaking so to her risked landing his entire family in hot water.

“You were surety against your wife publishing again. If she did, you would pay the price,” Charlotte bit out, clearly irritated. “I told you she would, but you ignored me, and now here we are.”

“Pen would never—”

“Do not take my word for it. Here.”

A somewhat crumped pamphlet was thrust into Colin’s hands. The Lady Whistledown symbol centered at the top of the page was unmistakable, and Colin read the pamphlet, his wife’s voice ringing in his head as his stomach dropped through the floor.

Dearest Gentle Readers,

As a phoenix rises from the ashes, so your favorite author returns. Where the phoenix has the power to immolate its enemies alone, however, this author is armed with ink, not fire. And while the pen is said to be mightier than the sword, in practice the sword most often destroys the pen without so much as dulling its edge. It is, however, when the sword strikes a hand adjacent to the one holding the pen that we must rise and reject the tyranny of the sword.

Long time readers will know that Colin Bridgerton has frequently been subject to the rigors of this author’s pen. Today, however, Mr. Bridgerton is subject to the unlawful, unsupportable, and unjust whims of Her Majesty the Queen. Secretly abducted from Villa Diodati by the queen’s agents while on a second honeymoon with Mrs. Bridgerton, Mr. Bridgerton is being held indefinitely without reason, without charge, and without trial for the express purpose of silencing this author’s pen.

As you can see, I shall not be silenced.

But, my dear readers, my voice alone is insufficient today. The members of the ton cannot allow the queen to unjustly threaten family—children, wives, loved ones—to force society into a shape she prefers. If she can offer so great an insult to a family as well-liked, well-connected, and well-off as the Bridgertons, who may she not offend? Shall the House of Lords thus be subjugated into a crown instrument? Or must we hope that the members of that esteemed body simply place duty above filial loyalty? I shudder to imagine such a reality.

The ton must unite and call as one for Mr. Bridgerton’s release. Anything less than immediate acquiescence sets a dangerous—nay, tyrannical—precedent, an ink stain on a white frock that we dare not allow to set. We can, should, and must expect better from our queen, and refuse to let family be held hostage to her personal agenda.

— Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers, 20 July 1817

Colin reeled, physically staggering at the flood of emotion in his chest. Only a hand on the ominously smooth wood of the threatening chair kept him on his feet. He knew Pen’s writing, could hear her desperation in every word. But he could also see a deep rage that he had somehow missed before—or perhaps it had not been present in other works.

“I do not dislike you personally, Mr. Bridgerton,” said Charlotte, voice offensively kind. “But I hope now you see your wife as she is. She knew what the consequences of publishing were, and she has done so anyway.”

“No…no this must be some sort of hoax.” Colin could hear the futile plea in his voice. This was Pen’s writing; he would know her voice anywhere. It was the implications of the pamphlet he was holding that he could not believe.

She had to have known the stakes. The plea behind the anger in the Whistledown and the extension of the threat to other innocent members of ton families not only served to instill the fear that this could happen to them, but it spoke of a clear understanding of what would happen to him specifically. And Pen had still made the choice to publish.

Pen, why? he thought. On the ship to the first stop on their second honeymoon, Colin had sat Pen down in their cabin for a serious conversation. He was an experienced traveler, he had told her, and part of traveling safely was having a plan for what to do if they were separated or if the worst should happen to him. She had sworn up, down, and sideways that if anything happened, she would make her way directly back to England, to Anthony and Bridgerton House. Then she would be safe and supported, and further plans could be made. Instead…well, instead it rather felt as though she had moved in to kiss him and then suddenly pushed him into the street before a speeding carriage.

“Well, get on with it,” said the queen.

Colin was still reeling too hard to register that the queen was no longer speaking to him, which meant that he was caught flat-footed when he was jumped from four directions nearly before she had finished speaking. He took the first two blows squarely on his jaw, and just barely managed to dodge a sweeping leg to his knee designed to drop him helplessly to the floor. They might very well kill him if he landed on the floor and couldn’t regain his feet. Unbidden, a thought crossed his mind: Do I care if they kill me? Do I want to walk out of this room?

Distracted by those three opening blows, Colin failed to block the punch to his midsection, which landed far, far more firmly that any blow in a friendly boxing bout. The blow threw him sideways, buying him a few steps of space from three of the men. The fourth stayed with him, trying to sling an arm around Colin’s neck to drag him down to the floor. Colin stepped into the attempted grapple, thwarting the man and throwing him off balance with two clean—is somewhat half-hearted—punches to the belly. Unfortunately, stepping in allowed the man to catch the slit in the front of Colin’s shirt. Their momentum and the assailant’s firm grip tore the shirt nearly in twain down the front. All that saved them from landing hard on the floor was the chain and shackle-festooned wall.

As he clung to chains to keep himself something resembling vertical, Colin fought to understand what had possessed Pen to provoke the queen. He would never have done so, had it been her safety on the line. You did not do that to someone you loved. Despite the flurry of blows raining down on his back and shoulders. Colin was perversely grateful for the chains to cling to as that thought sent his world crashing off its axis.

He thought he had known down to his bones and beyond that Pen loved him. That had been the touchstone of his world, the thing that made sense when nothing else did, the thing that gave him the strength to hold his head up in the world–his raison d’etre. If that emotional landmark was not where he thought it was…what else was not true? What had he to fight for, to survive for, if Pen was not the center of the world he would emerge from this room to?

Thinking only to buy himself some space, Colin kicked out backwards, and hit something alarmingly soft. The high-pitched screech, thud of a body hitting the floor, and loud moaning told Colin that he was down to three assailants as he somewhat mechanically got both feet back under him. A hand landed on his shoulder, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise as it whipped Colin around to face the remaining three assailants.

Unmoving, Colin watched the telegraphed lean back that heralded the headbutt that, had it actually connected cleanly with his temple, might have knocked him out. Unfortunately, the brawler’s aim was just slightly off. Stars exploded behind his eyes and the room spun around him; Colin thought the other man shook his head but couldn’t be sure. More from a combination of muscle memory and an animal instinct to survive than a true desire to fight back, Colin jerked free and swung wildly—if somewhat slowly—at his opponent.

Unfortunately, Colin’s aim was poor, and the rule that his boxing instructor at school had repeated until every boy could repeat it in their sleep proved true: When pitting finger bones against jaw bones, the jaw bone wins more often than not. Colin landed a square blow on the other man’s jaw and all four of his fingers popped. Colin grunted, sure he had broken at least one finger, handily removing that fist from the fight. And in his moment of disorientation, Colin had not managed to hit the man hard enough to drop him—just hard enough to anger him further.

“Think you can take out a city-trained wrestler, rich boy?” The question was followed by a second blow to the head and the sound of the other man spitting on the floor. “That was barely a love tap. Let me show you how we do it in Southwark.” The man rushed him, grappling a dizzy and nauseous Colin to the ground.

Even without a concussion and with sufficient motivation, regaining his feet against a wrestler would have been a challenge. And Colin was feeling too off-kilter, too betrayed, and too sick to have any motivation to fight his way back up. He wasn’t the Viscount, and he had two other brothers and however many nephews he was up to now, so the title and family would only miss him, not lack leadership. He did not want to fight, not if Pen had forsaken him. He missed her so much his heart cracked, and he allowed his body to go limp. He did not attempt to fight the takedown, the many blows to his chest and belly, or the other two men’s kicks to his legs. He no longer cared about the pain. He barely cared when the other man’s arm snaked around his throat and began to squeeze.

“Your Majesty, ought we to intervene?” Worth’s voice seemed very far away to Colin as the edges of his vision darkened.

“No,” came the extremely bored voice of the queen. “If he doesn’t care enough to fight, then why should I care enough to intervene? Besides, maybe his death is what it will take to silence Lady Whistledown.”

Worth’s voice sounded again, but Colin wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red—the shining, fiery red of Pen’s hair as it caught and reflected the dying rays of the Greek sunset. The coiled and pinned curls that bounced in time with the rapid passage of her quill across a blank sheet of paper. The rosy blush of her cheeks as he made a sly joke, or as they bantered back and forth. The deeper red of her lips as he bent to kiss her. The joie de vivre of the woman he loved when she was allowed to be herself out loud.

That woman loved him, would never hurt him, and would never have left him to the tender mercies of the queen if there had been any other choice. The pounding in his head was not helping him work out her logic, but if he trusted that she loved him and he loved her, then he had to trust that she had a reason. And when it came right down to it, Colin trusted his wife. Even on the brink of losing consciousness in a royal dungeon, he trusted Penelope. She was also not to blame for the queen’s actions—he spared a second to be shame-faced that he had, however briefly, thought so little of her as to blame her for the actions of another. He could not die here; not while Pen was out in the world. She would need his support, because the queen was right about one thing: Penelope would never be silent. And he did not want her to be.

He would not let them kill him; he had to live for Pen. Would do what he had to and survive for her.

The dark band at the edge of his vision was expanding; Colin had less than a second to escape the chokehold or he was doomed. With a silent prayer, Colin threw an elbow—a dirty move, but Colin was entirely unconcerned with good form at this point—that connected with the wrestler’s rib with an audible crack. The hold loosened immediately, and Colin slithered around in the man’s arms, where he somehow got a knee up between them, shoving the other man back. Colin used the brief respite—and the other men’s surprise—to get on his feet.

Colin’s head was swimming and his stomach was warning him that he might lose everything in it as he carefully moved to put all three assailants before him, in sight. Being caught unawares from behind was always dangerous in a fight, but it would be the end of Colin in this one. Unfortunately, to put all three men before him, Colin had put his own back to the wall and he did not have time to move to a more advantageous position before the men regrouped and attacked him again.

Ducking under and stepping into another swing at his head, Colin hooked one leg behind an assailant’s knee while throwing his weight down and back on the shorter man’s shoulders. The man dropped to the floor, catching his head on the edge of the chair on the way down. He grunted, tried to rise, and sank back to the floor, unconscious. Another elbow sent the second man back several steps, clutching his face as blood from his nose spilled between his fingers. The straight arm Colin attempted to throw into the wrestler’s throat did not land; the man backed off a few steps.

Still between Colin and the door, the two men still standing circled Colin slowly. Because they moved together, Colin circled with them, briefly thinking that if they kept moving, he would have a clear shot to bolt for the door. It only took a moment for wrestler to realize that his comrade was no tactician. The wrestler scowled at his companion and punched him lightly on the shoulder, gesturing in the opposite direction. The other man did a double-take before nodding and moving to flank Colin. His visible apprehension did not make him look terribly threatening, and Colin wondered if he might be able to take the man out of the fight and further even up the odds. However, the last thing Colin wanted was to turn his back to the wrestler, who would undoubtedly take advantage of the opening. Such an opening might be the thing that kept him from getting back to Pen, and that was not worth the risk.

As he circled and backed away as the two men moved on either side of him, Colin realized far too late that he hadn’t heard the moans of the man he’d hit in the fork of the legs early in the fight for long moments until that man’s arms wrapped around his neck and shoulders. The two men Colin had been focused on rushed in and threw blow after clenched-fisted blow at his ribs and stomach. Feeling at least one, maybe two ribs crack, Colin roared and flung his head back, connecting with the face of the man holding him. The man’s grip loosened enough for Colin to clutch his arms—ignoring the white-hot agony of broken fingers—and throw the man forward over his head, into the other two men. The wrestler somehow managed to get out of the way, but the other man was thrown into the wall in a cacophony of clanking chains and cries.

Rather than wait for the wrestler to square up to him, Colin kicked out at his knee. The other man rolled with the blow and caught Colin’s ankle. A powerful twist wrenched Colin’s knee, but he refused to fall backwards, Pen’s face flashing through his mind. Instead, he fell forward over the leg the wrestler held, hip flexors and hamstrings screaming, and forced the wrestler to either release his leg or risk Colin’s clawed fingers taking out an eye.

The wrestler let go and threw up a forearm that Colin’s fingernails took vicious gouges out of before the man was smart enough to roll to one side, allowing Colin to fall the rest of the way to floor. Trying to save his already broken fingers, Colin caught himself on his forearms. That let his definitely broken ribs slap the stone floor, driving the breath out of Colin and throwing pain stars into his vision again. He was slow, too slow, to roll over, and when he blinked into the air above him, he saw the wrestler standing above him, raising a knife from the table above his head. The wickedly sharp blade reflected the flickering firelight, dazzling Colin’s eyes and giving it a demonic, unworldly sense.

“Stop,” Queen Charlotte snapped, and Colin whipped around—nearly passing out as he did so from the pain in his ribs and his head. The queen’s words stopped the wrestler with the blade nearly a foot above Colin, although he snarled at being thwarted.           

“If your Majesty pleases,” said the wrestler, “I can continue.”

“No. I tire of this amateur brawling. Mr. Beerbohm-Tree, a professional, shall take over.” 

A threateningly skinny man a few inches taller than the queen but several inches shorter than her wig stepped into the direct firelight. He wore the dark accoutrements that Colin tended to associate with doctors, but his dark eyes sparkled alarmingly as his thin-to-the-point-of-being-bladelike nose crinkled. His hands were encased in gloves that had originally been white, but a maid somewhere along the line had clearly had too heavy a hand with the bluing on laundry day, because they were an incongruously bright shade of blue. One assistant’s collar was the same startling color, as was the other assistant’s neckcloth. The assistants took Colin’s arms and hauled him up from the floor and toward the behemoth of a wooden chair as Beerbohm-Tree minced ominously towards the wrestler and plucked the knife from his fingers.

“I shall thank you not to nick or dull my knives, sir,” Beerbohm-Tree said. His voice was thready but deep, an unnerving combination. “They are Damascus steel blades that I obtained from a colleague in the Orient at great expense. No English steel compares, and for my work, I require nothing less than the best.

“And do stop fighting my assistants,” he called without looking over his shoulder.

Colin had indeed been fighting the assistants. When brute strength had failed to wrench him from their grasp, he had dropped to dead weight, startling them and dragging one to the floor with him. The other kept his feet and a death grip—certain to leave bruises—on Colin’s arm. Colin had rolled atop the fallen assistant to keep him down and kicked at the standing assistant’s legs. The standing man was not bright enough to move out of the way, but he was light enough on his feet to dodge, especially since Colin’s limbs were beginning to feel weighted with lead and he could not stop the room from spinning in his vision. He was also expending some of his extremely limited energy and focus on keeping his stomach from rebelling. However, if he was to get out of here and get back to Pen—and he was going to—getting strapped into that chair could not happen.

Charlotte sighed, exasperated, and turned to the wrestler. “Help them,” she snapped.

“I need him conscious,” Beerbohm-Tree added quickly, correctly guessing that the wrestler had intended to strike Colin’s head or jaw.

Chastised and irritated at having been denied his fun, the wrestler stalked to Colin’s side and pinned his wrenched knee to the ground with one foot. Colin tried kicking out with the other leg, but the judicious application of body weight from the wrestler ripped a yell from Colin, which sufficiently distracted him long enough for the assistants to regain control and drag Colin to the chair.

Leather and metal tightened against his flesh as the assistants strapped Colin into the chair. He fought to put the pain and nausea out of his mind, focusing on Pen. Pen, who would undoubtedly feel awful about having to make the choice to publish. She would need him to tell her it was all right, that he understood. His plan had been to get out, if he could, and the feel of restraints against his skin—holding him, crushing him, oh god, he needed to get out of that chair—

No, he thought, firmly, swallowing the panic of being unable to move. Focus on Pen. How are you getting back to her now? Escape was not an option, so he was down to simple survival. He was a traveler, he had faced bandits, inclement weather, and dangerous terrain. He knew something about survival. He could do this, he just had to focus, somehow.

Someone was droning on in his ears, a distraction Colin didn’t want and couldn’t afford. He squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, thinking of how beautiful and happy Pen had looked when she had met baby Edmund for the first time, cuddling the tiny bundle to her bosom. Colin had spent a long moment imaging how she might look holding their child someday. The open-handed slap that landed across Colin’s face tore him out of the memory and back into the dimly lit nightmare of a dungeon, with the wrestler and Beerbohm-Tree’s faces above and too close to his. The wrestler looked absurdly smug about being allowed to deliver the slap. Had Colin cared a whit about the man, he might have been irked by his expression. 

“Welcome back, Mr. Bridgerton,” said an extremely miffed-looking Mr. Beerbohm-Tree. “Now, attend,” he said, sounding like every tutor and instructor Colin had ever had. He flourished a handful of slender, off-white sticks about the diameter of Violet Bridgerton’s finest knitting needles in his hand into an artful fan. “Lovely, aren’t they? Carved ivory, with the finest scrimshaw on the grip ends. I cannot take credit for the scrimshaw, unfortunately, but I harvested the ivory myself on a hunting trip in Africa.”

Pen’s voice blossomed in Colin’s head, something he had heard her say of a rather insipid young man who had not lasted long among the ton before retreating to his family’s country estates on a permanent basis: “I should hate to think of for what such a weedy fellow is compensating if he must kill the largest gentle creature he can find to prove his manhood. Surely that façade can be the only manhood he possesses.” Colin nearly smiled at the memory, and it seemed that her voice in his head relieved the pain, just a little.

Beerbohm-Tree plucked one stick from the fan, revealing a wickedly sharp point and grooves so narrow that only the rust-colored stain inside them made them visible. “I find that ivory is much gentler on my hands over the course of a long session than steel, even if steel is the standard of my industry. One must care for one’s joints, after all; we are only blessed with one set.”

Will the man never stop nattering on? wondered Colin.

Setting down the ivory needles, Beerbohm-Tree began gently feeling Colin’s elbows. “Ah, you have some exceedingly well-developed muscle tone here; somewhere between a boxer and a fencer, hmm?” He looked at Colin expectantly. Colin half thought to answer cuttingly, but Pen popped up in his head again, shaking her head. “Do not play his game, Colin,” she said. “You have nothing to win that way and he has everything.” He didn’t even bother to meet Beerbohm-Tree’s eyes. 

Sighing and placing a fingertip on a particular spot on Colin’s elbow, Beerbohm-Tree reached behind him. “It’s really no fun for me if you don’t engage,” he said, sounding nothing so much like a whining Hyacinth. Then he viciously rammed one of the ivory needles into the joint. 

Colin yelled in surprise and pain, instinctively trying to jerk away from the man but being too effectively strapped down to move more than a bare inch. After the initial yell, however, Colin found that he was having trouble inhaling; even the attempt seemed to increase the pain.

“I should be careful if I were you,” tutted Beerbohm-Tree. “That needle is in the joint space, and it’s a bit brittle. I should hate to have to dig shards of it out of you if you move too much too suddenly.” He stepped back, taking in his handiwork and its effects on Colin, much as Benedict would step back to take in the whole of a painting before continuing to work on it. “Uneven,” was his short assessment as he reached for Colin’s other arm. 

In short order—although it felt like a small eternity to Colin—Beerbohm-Tree had thrust three needles into each of Colin’s elbows and one in each wrist, after the queen mentioned that he was a writer. “It’s a pity that heat will warp ivory,” said Beerbohm-Tree. “Putting a hot iron to steel needles is such a staple of the profession, and the resulting burns are fascinating to observe. But we must adapt and overcome, mustn’t we? Just give me a moment to prepare, Mr. Bridgerton.” He turned away from Colin and began rummaging in a large basket.

Despite sweat still rolling down his face and back, the pain of the ivory needles in his hands and elbows was slowly becoming familiar enough for Colin’s mind to reengage as his frantic breathing slowed. He recalled the feel of silky strands of Pen’s curls wrapped around his fingers and the softness of her skin under his hands, which quite naturally gave rise to the feeling of paper in his fingers and the smell of fresh ink from his nose. Those scents, as much as her favorite lily-of-the-valley perfume or rose oils, were part and parcel of Pen. He knew them from every time she had taken his face in her hands after a ferocious bout of writing to kiss him. He found he could breathe again. He could keep her in his mind, in his senses. Maybe even blot out reality with them, to help him survive this.

White stars in his vision from another slap to the face shocked Colin back to the room as the wrestler stepped back—still smugly enjoying dishing out violence—to give Beerbohm-Tree space to access Colin again.

“Now, this is very exciting, Mr. Bridgerton,” said Beerbohm-Tree, holding a series of phials and a delicate glass tube inches from Colin’s face. “Aren’t you going to ask me what they are?”

Colin stared blankly at the man, focusing instead on fixing Pen in his mind. The pain from the ivory needles might have normalized in his senses, but that did not mean it had diminished, as he was reminded each time a muscle twitched and nudged a needle. Beerbohm-Tree sighed as though Colin had told him that his favorite biscuits had run out at a party.

“Well, I shall tell you despite your extremely poor manners because the story really is quite interesting. I have several colleagues who regularly explore the uses of exotic venoms in our profession, and they are kind enough to keep me in samples. I am really very lucky, because they take care of all the messy business of weeding out those venoms that will most often kill men as opposed to those that simply cause exquisite agony. I am free to experiment to see what venoms affect which men most severely. That is another part of the reason I had these—” he tapped the needle in Colin’s left wrist firmly, eliciting a sharp, pained exhale— “made specially to be hollow.”

Beerbohm-Tree carefully reviewed the phials in his hands, and set all but one down on the table, also retaining the glass tube. “The ivory needles become a perfect vector for administering the venom of my choice.” He carefully uncorked the phial in his hand and set the glass tube inside it. “This is the venom from a species of African ant that my colleagues tell me is quite painful but requires consistent reapplication. I often have to move on from this one, but not always, and I am curious to see if your emotional state will make you more or less vulnerable to its bite. Your reaction to this one will dictate what we try next.” Placing a finger over the dry end of the glass tube, Beerbohm-Tree lined up the end of the glass tube—with a glistening drop of liquid clinging to it—with the ivory needle in Colin’s wrist and removed his finger, releasing the venom and allowing it to trickle down the hollow ivory needle into the joint space.

The immediate sensation was of uncomfortable fullness in the joint that worsened—but stopped short of true pain—as the liquid slowly drained into the space. Within moments, however, the wrist burned and stung, capturing all of Colin’s attention. His shoulders tensed as he tried not to move, and his breathing became sharp and shallow. Colin had been stung by a bee at school, and the pain was similar to that, if magnified. It was not, however, as severe as the insertion of the ivory needles had been and it receded to entirely manageable and perhaps even forgettable within a minute or two. 

“I certainly hope this is not the best you have,” said Charlotte, flat tones promising danger.

“Of course not, ma’am,” said Beerbohm-Tree. “This particular venom is one that I most frequently use when ladies need persuasion. For strapping—” he interrupted himself with a brief giggle and a pointed glance at the straps holding Colin down— “young men such as Mr. Bridgerton, I tend to find that a combination of the venom of a particularly potent scorpion with that of fire ants is most effective.” He proceeded to mix the contents of two phials and use another glass tube to rapidly dose both wrists and elbows.

Colin’s vision went white. The pain began in his joints but rapidly traveled up his arms and into his chest. The world outside his skin disappeared completely, and Colin’s world shrunk to the dimensions of his body, every inch limed in something that felt like lightning. Quite without his input, his muscles clenched, and he writhed and strained against the straps on the chair. His breathing stuttered into gasps, then pained vocalizations slipped out with each exhale, until finally Colin screamed, and screamed again.

Pen was gone from his mind; he could not find her. Could not find the smile that was half love and half challenge, the soft warmth of her lips, what it was to hold her in his arms and be held by her. He couldn’t hear her voice, either spoken or in writing. He was alone, and he could not survive this alone. There was no room in or around the pain to focus, to think of or remember or experience anything else. He kept screaming until the world mercifully faded to black around him, dulling but not deadening the pain. The pain stayed with him in the blackness of the void, burning up everything that was not itself—including Pen.

#polin #bridgerton #the poiln fic #polin fic #polin fanfiction #polin fanfic #colin bridgerton and penelope feathertington #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #penelope featherington

[casbeeminestiel]

I had a really fun time writing this one. I've got zero plan for where this month takes me, but much like Dean in this fic, I'm enjoying the ride.

This one is mildly spicy. I haven't quite worked up to a full M or E, so I'll go ahead and rate this one a T for now. Ask to tag!

Day 4: Wicked

Hunts are few and far between these days. With Chuck’s downfall came a few months with no paranormal activity, giving every hunter in the country a bit of a much needed break. Even though cases have begun to appear once more, Dean has realized that they are nowhere near the volume they were before they iced God. In fact, about half of the leads they chase these days turn out to be false.

Still, a job is a job. This is why, when a potential haunting pops up in Rhode Island, he decides to take the case. Dean shoots a quick text off to Cas. The angel is currently out doing “bonding activities” with Jack and Claire, who had shown up shortly after breakfast for a surprise visit. Dean shakes his head and wonders what they’re up to, knowing that bonding activities probably means at least one felony. 

From the looks of it, the spirit is not out for blood yet. Right now, it seems to be more of a nuisance for real estate agents. Whatever it is has chased out four potential buyers from an old house in Newport.

He raps on Sam’s door.

“Sammy, I’ve got something in New England. You and Eileen want to come along?”

He hears a muffled curse from inside Sam’s room, followed by a thump. Sam’s voice carries through the door.

“What is it?”

“A casper in Newport is shaking up the housing market.”

Sam opens the door, hair in complete disarray and a deeply skeptical look on his face.

“And you need my help for that?”

Dean sighs. “Tone down the bitchface, man. I don’t need your help, but I thought we could make it a family thing. Sue me.”

Sam unclenches and reaches a hand up to smooth down his diva hair. “Yeah, ok. Give me an hour to get ready.”

“Make it two. This thing ain’t urgent. No one will touch that house. Plus we’ve gotta give Cas and the kids time to clean up whatever situation they’re getting into right now.”

Sam laughs a little at that. “What, you don’t think they’re apple picking or something?”

“Not a chance.”

“Wanna bet ten bucks that Claire is somehow roping Jack into trouble and the kid doesn’t even realize it?”

“We both know I would lose that bet. Claire is evil.”

“She gets it from you,” Sam teases.

Dean will accept that. “I feel sorry for Cas.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Cas can hold his own. He also gets that from you.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m a bad influence on the guy,” Dean shrugs. “At least his music taste is better than yours. I don’t know where I went wrong with you, but you really put the hair in hair rock.”

Sam just squints at him for a moment, letting him sit with his own joke before straightening. “Right. Anyways, I’m going to tell Eileen the plan and get ready. Let me know when the others are all set to go.”

“You do that, bitch.”

“Whatever, jerk.”

………

Almost exactly two hours later, they’re all packed in Baby. Cas and Claire are in the front with Dean, and Sam, Eileen, and Jack are in the backseat. Claire has her own car of course, but it died unexpectedly in the driveway when she tried to start it.

“No I didn’t leave my light on, jackass,” had been the preemptive reply to Dean’s question. Claire scares him a little, but mostly she reminds him of himself in a not-totally-reassuring way.

As snarky as Claire is, she chooses to be a good sport and rides with them rather than calling AAA. Dean promises to fix her car when they get home from the case. Her one condition is that she gets to sit shotgun. Nobody wants to argue with her, including Sam.

They roll Northeastward as fast as Dean can go without getting pulled over, taking all the backroads they can to avoid major traffic. Dean has been on some truly long drives before, where the roads seemed to lead nowhere and the next gas station was easily one hundred miles away. He shudders, thinking of US 95 in Oregon. Talk about desolate.

But this one is shaping up to be good. He’s got all his favorite people in one vehicle, his favorite cassettes on deck, a nice and easy haunting to squash, and no big bad on the horizon. Hell, he even has money to burn on a nicer hotel for the night, and he will be using it.

Maybe I can get some alone time with Cas. 

He glances at Cas over Claire’s head where she has it buried in a book, only to find him watching Dean already. Dean smiles bashfully and hopes Cas can’t see the pleased flush rising to his face. Judging by the way his eyes light up though, he can.

This thing between them is largely responsible for the high he’s been riding for the past few days. It’s a wonderful development, truly, but it’s also very new. Dean wants to enjoy the honeymoon phase of their relationship just a little longer before they settle into things more. 

He knows, of course, that he’ll enjoy being with Cas just as much in ten years as he will in ten days, because it’s Cas, and he’s perfect even when he’s the most idiotic and infuriating son of a bitch alive. But he reserves the right to be horny and dumb about his partner when he’s in his prime.

So yeah, he’s booking two singles and one double for the night. 

Humming along the highway, lost in his own mildly solicitous thoughts, Dean doesn’t hear Sam at first when he pipes up from the back.

“Dean, are you listening?”

“Hm?” Dean very resolutely does not look at Cas right now. He especially doesn’t look at his lips. Nope, that would be a bad idea. He needs to pay attention to the road. 

“I said,” Sam starts imperiously, “that I was reading this article about regional dialect, and there was this link to a quiz at the bottom. It’s supposed to guess where you’re from based on your vocabulary. I think we should take turns taking the quiz.”

“Huh, alright. Lay it on me.”

Sam starts in on a series of questions, asking Dean how he pronounces different words and the terminology he uses for a variety of commonplace objects. The others in the car offer their own commentary, especially Claire.

“There’s no way people call a water fountain that.”

“Claire, you’re literally from the midwest. Have you never heard anyone refer to it like that?”

“I like that word,” Jack says, not looking up from his game.

“It is a fun word,” Eileen agrees. “Bubbler.”

“Sam, did it give you my social security number yet?”

Sam is frowning in the rearview, clearly puzzled. “Actually, it can’t seem to pinpoint your region. Your map is showing some similarity everywhere.”

Dean thinks on this for a moment before he gets it.

“Dude, we were raised on the road. You and I have picked up words from everywhere.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. So we have generic dialects then?”

“Guess so.”

Soon, Claire demands to take the quiz, and is the first one who gets a fairly accurate location, unsurprisingly. She’s spent more of her life in the midwest than not. 

Cas thinks the quiz is a waste of time (“I don’t think they have enochian in their database, Dean.”), but he indulges his family anyway.

“Cas, the results are showing your location as somewhere around… Kansas.”

“I do spend most of my time in Kansas.” His tone is dirt dry, but Dean can tell he’s secretly amused by all of this dialect business.

“You’re a billion years old. Have a few years in Kansas really made that much of a difference?” Claire asks.

Cas tilts his head, meets Dean’s eyes with intention. “Perhaps.”

Oh, he’s flirting with you.

Dean swallows. Cas can definitely see that he’s blushing now. 

……… 

Sam seems to be down a dialect rabbit hole today, telling them facts about different regions and how they developed linguistically over time. By the time he reaches a few articles about New England, everyone's a little punch drunk and overtired. Dean is determined to make this drive in one go. The others can sleep if they want. He just needs a little coffee in him, and he’ll be able to make it to Cleveland before he switches off with Sam. 

“Get this. People in Massachusetts and Rhode Island emphasize things they really like as ‘wicked.’” 

Dean snorts, startling a half-asleep Claire from where she’s been nodding off against his shoulder. She glares at him, earning an apologetic grin.

Cas, who has been “resting his eyes” but is seemingly aware of this conversation, murmurs a request for an example from Sam. Dean wants to wrap him in a blanket so fucking bad right now.

“So uh, imagine you’re eating a good sandwich.”

“I don’t know what a good sandwich tastes like, Sam. I don’t need to eat.”

“It’s just a hypothetical.”

“I personally like the footlongs from Subway.”

“Gross, Dean.” Sam pulls a face.

“The more inches the better, right Cas?” He winks at the angel. The look he gets in return is so worth Sam’s disgusted noises from the back. Half-lidded eyes track lazy and hot over his frame from the passenger side. Dean finds his lips suddenly very dry.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Your face says otherwise, Sunshine.

“Anyways,” Sam coughs, “someone from New England might say the sandwich is wicked good or wicked awesome.”

“Doesn’t wicked have a negative connotation?”

“Normally, yes. But people make their own rules for this stuff, man.”

“After all this time on earth, humanity finds new ways to surprise me.”

“I’ll bet.” Sam chuckles.

“Hey Sam, what do they call a sandwich in New England?”

“They have a few terms for sandwiches. Subs, spukies, grinders-” Sam cringes, immediately knowing he messed up. “No, Dean. Don’t.”

“Grinder?”

“Please.”

“But Sammy-,”

“Stop.”

“I don’t even know her!”

Sam groans and buries his face in his hands. Dean for one is very pleased with himself. And hey, he even made Cas crack a smile.

“That was a wicked good joke, Dean.” Eileen, apparently not asleep, chimes in. 

“I’m here all night.”

“I don’t get it.” Jack is right behind Dean, so silent for the past hour that Dean forgot he doesn’t need sleep. Dean immediately does damage control to spare himself from Cas’ wrath.

But he’s hot when he’s mad.

Shut the fuck up, brain.

“I’ll explain it when you’re a little older, kid. Adult joke.”

“But physically I’m-,”

“Don’t care. You’re not old enough.”

“Dean!”

“Talk to your dad about it.” He means Cas, who does not look happy to be saddled with this conversation, but he forgets one important thing about Jack.

He is swiftly reminded.

“Which one?”

“The one who isn’t Lucifer, obviously.”

“You? I’m already talking to you.”

Dean gapes, just a little. He won’t get emotional about Jack seeing him as a father figure. He won’t.

Wait.

“Kid, you ain’t fooling me. You know I’m referring to Cas. Talk to him about it. He makes the rules.”

“Oh, but I was hoping you could override them.”

Dean’s mind is going down a very specific path regarding Cas and rules, so it takes him a second too long to catch up. Unfortunately for his overheated brain, Cas decides to intervene.

“Dean knows better than that.” There’s a suggestion in that rather confident statement that makes Dean go hot all over, the tips of his ears burning and his palms sweating. 

He really likes this, the back and forth routine they’ve got going on right now. They haven’t had sex yet, content for now to let things simmer while they get used to each other in this new capacity. They haven’t really talked about it either. There seems to be an understanding between them that they are both ready, and have been ready in some way for twelve years, but neither of them have made a move.

It feels less like first time nervousness and more like a game. It’s anticipation undercut with mutual responsibility and respect for each other. Cat and mouse, a delicate dance, etcetera. Bottom line is, Dean loves this, and he loves Cas even more. 

………

Sam takes the wheel in Ohio, and Dean passes out for a few hundred miles.

When he wakes up with a familiar crick in his neck, they’re well into Connecticut. The trees lining the freeway are a watercolor riot of red, yellow, and orange leaves and striking birch bark. He presses his palm against the window, feeling the chill seep into his hand from the pane. It must be early, then.

“Morning sleepyhead.” He’s greeted by a grinning Eileen, whose shoulder he has definitely not been drooling on this whole time. He knows immediately by the sing-songy cadence of her voice that she has a picture stored away for blackmail.

In the front seat, a ray of morning sun lights up Cas’ side profile as he appears to be deep in a discussion with Claire and Sam. Dean forgets all about his blackmail suspicions, breath caught in his chest and warmth percolating through his body at the sight of him.

It’s not even lust, is the craziest part. Obviously he feels desire too, but this is much bigger than that. Because for a moment, his sore neck and pins and needles and the other occupants of this car whom he cares deeply about all fade away when he simply looks at Cas. 

Goddamn, I want to wake up to see your face every day. 

He must’ve prayed it, because Cas turns to look at him with a smile so sweet, Dean swears his tooth begins to ache. 

Dean thinks, certainly not for the first or last time, that he might be dreaming. That Cas, grounding, charming, genuine, stubborn, perfect Cas couldn’t possibly be real. But when the angel winks like a dork and turns Dean’s insides into mush, what he does know is that what they have is too wicked damn awesome to ever let go.

#suptober22 #dean winchester #castiel #destiel #deancas #sam winchester #eileen leahy #saileen #jack kline #claire novak #mildly nsft #mentions of sex #they're on a little road trip to Rhode Island

[countlessrealities]

Discussed starter for @angeliclute - Evil Rick & Lute

Rick was used to trouble and potentially deadly situations. They had been a constant in his life since his youngest years, no matter if he had tried to avoid them...At least for a while. By the time he had turned sixteen, he had become so jaded not to care enough to do so anymore.

That, however, didn't mean that he didn't find such occurrences extremely annoying to deal with. Even more when he had other, more important plans on the way.

That was hardly his first time in a Hell dimension. He visited them almost on a regular basis, both as an observer and as an active participant. He had even captured and dragged away a few specimens in some occasions.

That particular visit, though, should have been a swift one. He had come to recover a very interesting sort of weapon he had by chance seen used. An alien metal alloy, which seemed to have special properties, definitely worth a closer look and some experimenting.

Unfortunately, choosing a time of chaos in the city to go unnoticed had turned out to be a double-edged sword. While, on one hand, most of the residents were too busy with their petty turf wars to notice him, the few who did necessarily needed to be terminated before they went screaming that a live human being was walking around their streets.

The demon's blood splashed on the bottom of his lab coat as he shot the latest nuisance that had step in his way in the skull, their blood joining the rest of the stains that already covered his skin and clothes. Not that he noticed. He was more than used to be covered in blood, his own and others' alike. What mattered was that he had finally reached his destination. He just had to find the right room and then he could have left to never return.

Yet, he barely had the time to cross the atrium, when he felt a presence close behind him. Rick jumped on the side, much more quickly than a human should have been capable off, avoiding the sword that had been aimed at his back.

The creature he found himself facing was more humanoid than most of the beings he had encountered so far and with less animal traits, aside from the wings on her back. Under other circumstances, those differences would have piqued his interest, but right now he was single-mindedly following his aim.

"L-Let me go." Cold, emotionless gray blue eyes locked on her weapon. "Or I'll take what I've come for off your corpse."

#[ threads :: Evil Rick ] #&& Lute #[ v. Nightmares never die ; canon div :: Evil Rick ] #angeliclute #[[ this took much longer than I had planned ]] #[[ sorry about it !! ]] #[[ let me know if it works! ]] #[[ I sort of left this open HH timeline wise ]] #[[ up to you whether or not you want this to be before or after season 1 ]]

[fishedeyelenz]

aggie, Agnes. Baby girl!!!

FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings?

BIRTHDAY CAKE - when is their birthday? do they like celebrating it?

HEAR-NO-EVIL - what is the worse thing your oc could hear from someone?

SEEDLING - what is their most vivid memory from childhood?

BABY BOTTLE - what are their thoughts on children?

PAPERCLIP - a random fact

SHOOTING STAR - if they could make any wish with no repercussions, what wish would they make?

SPARKLING HEART - are they a subtle or a showy lover?

Agnes my beloved

Family- well ya know </3 parents were abusive and neglectful to both her and to her brother Billy, though he took the brunt of it. Grew up being simultaneously a nuisance that should be seen and not heard while also being the example of a golden child who Billy should look up to. Of course that led to even more abuse from Billy, who was extremely jealous of her getting to live in the main part of the house have her birthdays celebrated, and all in all got physically more cared for. And for a period of time after she was born she was very doted over. Billy wanted to see the baby. They didn't let him. In a way he loved her I think, but he quickly grew jealous of her when he noticed how much more love and care she was getting. And it all culminated in him getting revenge on her by ripping her eye out one night. They were both very small children. But that made the animosity his parents had towards Billy even stronger, and Agnes was made out to be a perfect child and victim by them. Thoug that didn't stop them from failing her too though.

She never did get why Billy choose to keep her alive after he killed their parents. Was it out a need for control, revenge or maybe even some twisted form of love she doesn't know. She misses her parents sometimes. When the killings were very fresh she borderline sanctified them. But after she headed off to college she became dissillussioned with that kind of idea of them, and started reavaluating her relationship with her family. Thoughs on them are something that haunt her. At least Lily is family now.

Birthday cake- I think she would have a summer birthday to be honest. June, maybe July. Times when family and friends would come over and celebrate in the garden. Times when Billy could be let out of the attic to attend it. She always ended up with bruises. She doesn't like celebrating them.

Hear no evil- Not anything specific. Just hearing his voice again. Him laughing, screaming, going on and on with his insane ramblings. Whether over the phone or in real life, things wouldn't end good. For both Billy and for her too.

Seedling- It's hard for her to remember anything good from that time, or anything at all in fact. Most of it's forgotten about, or better yet, repressed. The things she remembers are so far removed and vauge she sometimes wonders if that really happened to her of if she dreamed it. However, the image of her dolls heads and limbs and torsos floating in a big tub out in the yard stayed with her. Billy told her she's next. It must've been her birthday.

Baby bottle- she is very awkward around small children as she finds them unpredictable. A part of her is afraid of hurting them as well. She kinda wants to have one one day but also kinda doesn't. On some days she has trouble taking care of herself, but is miles more functional than her brother. Though, she thinks about adopting a teenager sometimes.

Paperclip- Her foster family was kind to her, but sometimes she thinks she was too much of a handful for them.

Shooting star- She was planning to run away from home for months before finally snapped. She wishes she would have stopped being careful for once in her life. She was constantly postponing the day she left until it was too late. She wishes she wasn't such a coward.

Sparkling heart- very very subtle and repressed. Lily had to make the first step on almost anything lmao. But she loves that in her partner. So carefree and confident. She told her once she wishes she was more like her. Lily told her they compliment each other nicely the way they are.

#Aggie Aggie Aggie agoiie my beloved 😭😭 #My one wish is for an official Agnes comic or graphic novel to exist #Jdhdndjxjcdb #Too much to ask for ik 😔 I can name all he ppl who would be interested in it (hi moots and especially you Leslie) #(cause if you remember we talked about it a few months ago </3) #Anyway. Agnes <3333 #Agnes Lenz #Asks

[phanfictioncatalogue]

hi! last anon here who asked abt the time travel thingy, would also like to hear your all time favorite fics! im a bit overhwlemed with the so many fics i could read so a small list to start with would be immensely helpful 💗

All admins feel free to add on! But off the top of my head, here’s some of my favorite longer fics! Lmk if you want shorter recs too!

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

(TW) Absolutely Lovely (ao3) - Autumn_Kismet

Summary: His friends and family think he's acting strange, they're worried that he's depressed again, but Dan doesn't see it. The only thing he sees is the new guy at school, the quirky one with the black hair and stunning blue eyes, and that's bad. So bad... because he likes him, and Dan can't like him. Dan can't be gay. He'll lose his family, he'll lose his friends... he'll become just like his father, and that's the last thing that he wants in the entire world. It's a scary thought that he doesn't think will ever go away and if there's the possibility of that happening, of him becoming the disgusting monster that his father was, or is, then maybe the world is better off without him, regardless of what PJ's dad, his mum's new husband, has to say.

Believe in Me (ao3) - Elleberquist6

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

(TW) Break Me (ao3) - MySecretsX

Summary: In this world, you're marked with black. That's if you have a soulmate at least. Everyone is destined to cross paths with the one who is meant for them, at least once in their lives.

When you and your soulmate meet, you will touch, if only briefly, and the exact area of skin you touch with the other turns from black to white, with streaks of blue, purple, yellow, all marbled in with each other.

Daniel Howell is well-known in town. People cross the street if they're approaching him and newcomers to the neighbourhood are warned about his presence. Exactly like the Lester's were. But Phil Lester has other ideas, he saw the pain within the boy, how bad can he really be?

Bury Your Flame (ao3) - worriedpeach (skeletonflowers)

Summary: After receiving a dragon egg when his grandfather passed away, Phil is forced to ask for help from the local dragon tamer. As he soon finds out, Dan Howell is nothing he’s been expecting. Infuriating, ludicrous, and completely lacking respect, Dan is everything Phil hates. But Phil will do anything to make his grandfather proud, even if that means getting help from the local cluck.

Cat and Mouse (ao3) - jilliancares

Summary: Dan Howell is the Panther. He's evil, nefarious, ingenious, and good at coming up with adjectives for himself. The Raven is a nuisance, but he's definitely the most fun part when it comes to being a villain. As a child, Dan had been scared of his powers. He'd been weak. He'd become strong, though. Strong enough to torment the city; strong enough to annoy the Raven with every opportunity he got.

Phil Lester only had one goal these days. To become strong enough to defeat the Panther.

Desires (ao3) - A_Million_Regrets

Summary: What would you do if you were suddenly hauled from your inauspicious life and dumped into an unforeseen catastrophe with your worst enemy?

Dan Howell and Phil Lester completely and utterly hate each other. They fight every time they meet, and all of their friends are tired of it. But one day, these two hot-headed, reckless men stumble through a secret passage in a mysterious old house and wake up on a strange island uninhabited by other intelligent life forms. They only have each other and no way to escape. Will they fight to death, or will they learn to trust each other in a world where no one else exists? Can they put aside their mutual hatred for each other to survive this misfortune?

(TW) Get Out Your Damn Umbrellas (ao3) - llamalamp

Summary: Phil's only gone for one weekend.

Apparently that's all the time it takes for everything to fall apart.

(TW) Head Down Low (ao3) - Rhensis

Summary: Dan isn’t right. He’s not like most of the others, he’s not genetically pure. He has no destined path, he has nothing going for him in life. He’ll be lucky to get himself a job in a fast food kitchen, and everyone looks down on him like he’s a piece of dirt stuck at the bottom of their shoe. Except one person: Phil Lester.

The Colors in You (ao3) - Phandiction

Summary: Dan is a dragon with scales as black as a moonless night. Part of the Dark's, he’s not supposed to get along with the colorful Chrome dragons from the other side of the island. But after seeing a Chrome for the first time in person, he’s transfixed by the rainbow of colored scales and against his better judgement rescues the dragon from a group of Dark’s seeking to kill it. Now responsible for hiding and protecting the Chrome dragon named Phil until he’s recovered enough to return to his home, Dan questions the laws that's kept the two species from each other for centuries.

The Slave Boy (ao3) - Phandiction

Summary: On his eighteenth birthday Phil receives a quiet and timid slave boy as a gift from his father. Phil intends to make Dan his friend more than a slave but social status and pressure from his father forces the two to keep an emotional distance when it comes to being in public. Behind closed doors though the Master and his slave become close. Phil is expected to take over his father's business and marry a prestigious young girl but this isn't what the young Master wants. What he wants is something he can't have in his world, his slave boy.

(TW) Those Who Trust (ao3) - theshyauthor

Summary: Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.

Thyme after Thyme (ao3) - chisomo

Summary: Dan Howell runs an apothecary shop in the heart of London, a city wrought with rising tensions between witches and normal humans. Dan tries to ignore the daily instances of prejudice towards his kind and keep his magical abilities a secret, but his life is irrevocably changed when a garden shop is opened next door by a certain sky-eyed young human.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

Weather With You (ao3) - Evening42

Summary: Phil moves to an isolated cottage to start his dream of writing a novel. He meets a mysterious silent stranger on the beach who has a tragic history.

-Rae

#answered #anonymous

[philsmeatylegss]

omg yes pls make the list of fics

This is the most important list I’ll ever make

Here’s the very important list of fics I read once a week (or ones i recently found that I predict I will read once a week)

Big shoutout to @phanfictioncatalogue as ao3 scares me and I wouldn’t have found it without them

Some of these are a bit dark because I’m emo uh pls read tags

A Stolen Ring (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan’s not normal. Why?

He's not human, he has a mysterious ring, and he hates Phil Lester. They have a strange past, one filled with bullying and avoidance, but when Dan turns into an incubus, everything changes. He struggles with his identity and cries himself to sleep most nights, yearning to be normal. And somehow the universe makes it worse by bringing him and Phil together - in the most literal sense.

Absolutely Lovely (ao3) - Autumn_Kismet

Summary: His friends and family think he's acting strange, they're worried that he's depressed again, but Dan doesn't see it. The only thing he sees is the new guy at school, the quirky one with the black hair and stunning blue eyes, and that's bad. So bad... because he likes him, and Dan can't like him. Dan can't be gay. He'll lose his family, he'll lose his friends... he'll become just like his father, and that's the last thing that he wants in the entire world. It's a scary thought that he doesn't think will ever go away and if there's the possibility of that happening, of him becoming the disgusting monster that his father was, or is, then maybe the world is better off without him, regardless of what PJ's dad, his mum's new husband, has to say.

Believe in Me (ao3) - Elleberquist6

Summary: Dan Howell is living at home while he’s saving money for college, which isn’t easy since his parents don’t understand him. Unlike them, he loves dogs, is a vegetarian, has no interest in the family business, and he despises the supernatural. He struggles to accept things that are illogical, even though he is a kitsune. Kitsune are foxes whose powers involve the ability to cast illusions, but Dan just wants to be normal. Phil Lester has just moved to London, where he works as a dog walker. When his path crosses with Dan, Phil is eager to get to know him. Unfortunately, Phil soon finds that being friends with Dan is far more complicated than he could have imagined.

Break Me (ao3) - MySecretsX

Summary: In this world, you're marked with black. That's if you have a soulmate at least. Everyone is destined to cross paths with the one who is meant for them, at least once in their lives.

When you and your soulmate meet, you will touch, if only briefly, and the exact area of skin you touch with the other turns from black to white, with streaks of blue, purple, yellow, all marbled in with each other.

Daniel Howell is well-known in town. People cross the street if they're approaching him and newcomers to the neighbourhood are warned about his presence. Exactly like the Lester's were. But Phil Lester has other ideas, he saw the pain within the boy, how bad can he really be?

Bury Your Flame (ao3) - worriedpeach (skeletonflowers)

Summary: After receiving a dragon egg when his grandfather passed away, Phil is forced to ask for help from the local dragon tamer. As he soon finds out, Dan Howell is nothing he’s been expecting. Infuriating, ludicrous, and completely lacking respect, Dan is everything Phil hates. But Phil will do anything to make his grandfather proud, even if that means getting help from the local cluck.

Cat and Mouse - jilliancares

Summary: Dan Howell is the Panther. He's evil, nefarious, ingenious, and good at coming up with adjectives for himself. The Raven is a nuisance, but he's definitely the most fun part when it comes to being a villain. As a child, Dan had been scared of his powers. He'd been weak. He'd become strong, though. Strong enough to torment the city; strong enough to annoy the Raven with every opportunity he got. 

changes (turn and face the strange) (ao3) - happy_hufflepuffle

Summary: Kath likes to think she doesn't miss things when it comes to her family. But maybe this time she did.

Or, Kath watches Phil through the years.

Christmas Coming Out (ao3) - FandomFeels17

Summary: He didn't intend to come out to his mum in his future mother in law's kitchen at Christmas... But here he was, doing exactly that.

class a klutz (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan's an asshole who stars in high quality films and Phil's just a clumsy idiot who has bad timing.

Dogs - dans-awkward-phanfics

Summary: Phil’s dog has the habit of getting him into bad situations and Dan is Phil’s next door neighbour that seems to hate him and his dog. Oddly enough, their dogs like each other. Really like each other.

Ethereal (ao3) - Sinncity

Summary: Dan’s not normal. In fact, he’s never met a single person exactly like him. No one else can move objects with their mind, just by a simple thought. He lives life carefully, limited interactions and semi-non-existent social life. That is, until a pair of sapphire eyes change everything.

Get Out Your Damn Umbrellas (ao3) - llamalamp

Summary: Phil's only gone for one weekend.

Apparently that's all the time it takes for everything to fall apart.

Head Down Low - camisadan

Summary: Dan isn’t right. He’s not like most of the others, he’s not genetically pure. He has no destined path, he has nothing going for him in life. He’ll be lucky to get himself a job in a fast food kitchen, and everyone looks down on him like he’s a piece of dirt stuck at the bottom of their shoe. Except one person: Phil Lester.

I love him (ao3) - Misha_with_wings

Summary: Phil had hidden who he really was for such a long time that he was scared of people knowing the truth.

Luckily Dan comes into his life, making him feel safe and so extremely happy.

Dan makes Phil feel less scared to be himself, and he finally feels comfortable and ready to come out and show the real side of him.

No more fear, no more secrets, no more hiding.

I Want It, I Got It (ao3) - Yiffandquiff (paradisobound)

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie starring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Make Me Feel Like Someone Else - sin-n-city

Summary: His strong persona is gone, broken into a million pieces and it feels as though all of him is shattered. "They kicked me out." Phil doesn't know it in him to walk away now. 

Or the one where Dan gets kicked out of home for admitting his gay and runs into a guy named Phil, who doesn't have it in him to let Dan stay on the streets.

Midnight Garden (ao3) - silentdescant

Summary: In which Phil is a gardener at the palace and Dan is a reclusive prince.

pastry chef attempts to steal phil's heart (ao3) - sierraadeux

Summary: If anyone asks, Prince Philip's sneaky morning journeys down to the royal pastry kitchen are for nothing more than the perfect cup of coffee.

restless (ao3) - overwhelmedbysonder

Summary: Breathe. Just breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. In.

It’s not that I don’t try. I see my family, my friends, visiting with their faked smiles and forced laughter, desperately trying to pretend that things are fine, that nothing’s changed. I see them and I want to reach out, I want to look at them and smile and reassure them that I’m here and I’m fine and I’m here, but I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Or, the one where Phil struggles with depression, PTSD and being mute, and Dan just wants to hug him.

Shut Your Mouth and Listen Closely (ao3) - SimplyUndead

Summary: Dan is mute with an unfortunate past. Phil is a nice boy with a warm heart and love to give.

The Blind Boy - jilliancares

Summary: Dan Howell liked to think of his entire life as a series of tragic accidents. Because really, how many people can say that they managed to become blind and obtain a supposedly Cute Boy’s hate all in the span of one year? And Phil Lester has not had the best school life, so in order to avoid bullying or a bad reputation, he refuses to take shit from anyone at this new school. Even if that someone just so happens to be blind.

The Music In Me (ao3) - DiamondValley

Summary: Phil takes on Martyn’s bet that he can’t learn to play the piano and gets lessons to prove him wrong. He expects a few things:

- He’ll be terrible

- He’ll get bored very quickly because he is terrible

- Martyn will win the bet, but he’ll have tried something new and completed his new year’s resolution

What he doesn’t expect is the instant connection he forms with his curly-haired piano teacher.

the second tetris block (ao3) - dizzy

Summary: Things seem to be falling into place for Phil.

The Slave Boy (ao3) - Phandiction

Summary: On his eighteenth birthday Phil receives a quiet and timid slave boy as a gift from his father. Phil intends to make Dan his friend more than a slave but social status and pressure from his father forces the two to keep an emotional distance when it comes to being in public. Behind closed doors though the Master and his slave become close. Phil is expected to take over his father's business and marry a prestigious young girl but this isn't what the young Master wants. What he wants is something he can't have in his world, his slave boy.

they grew up so nicely, didn't they? (ao3) - natigail

Summary: Cornelia doesn’t just get a boyfriend when she starts dating Martyn, she gets a whole second family too. Kath and Nigel welcome her with open arms and she becomes a pseudo older sister to Phil.

She is there watching from the sidelines as a boy bolts right into Phil’s heart and sets up camp. She gets to watch as Dan and Phil build careers and an internet community and all the trials and tribulations, as well as the pride and happiness, it brings along.

They'll Tear Us Apart If You Give Them the Chance (ao3) - orphan_account

Summary: Dan and Phil are both princes and they've been taught to hate each other their whole lives. They meet in a forest.

Those Who Trust - theshyauthor

Summary: (TW) Dan used to be a submissive and now he’s just a broken shell of a man.

Trust Me, I'm Broken Too (ao3) - natigail

Summary: The Lesters – the royal family of his homeland – was nothing like Dan thought they would be. Well, the King was just as horrible as he had heard but the King’s brother’s son, who was third in line for the throne, was nothing like Dan thought he’d be. Dan had been adrift for three years going from one “place of employment” to another, only his life was seen as worthless and he was more property than an employee. He had never imagined he’s end up as the property of Prince Philip.

The Prince had no intention of ever taking on a personal servant, which was a fancy name to disguise the fact a law essentially enslaved people. Phil often had to do things he didn’t want to or risk being removed from the succession to the crown. If that happened, who knew who his tyrant of an uncle would pick as a successor? When pressured into the choosing, he’d wanted to go for the most innocent, young girl, but hard brown eyes caught his attention instead.

Venus’s Looking Glass - auroraphilealis

Summary: Shy!punk!Phil has been crushing on confident!pastel!Dan for years now, but he’s never felt comfortable enough to do anything about it until he accidentally comes out to his brother Martyn, who is nothing but supportive. It’s Martyn’s idea to woo Dan with flowers - only, he didn’t mean do it anonymously.

we’ll never be royals (extended) - phanimist

Summary: royalty au where phil's the kind handsome prince and dan's a poor commoner who dreams of becoming world class musician. phil's parents hold a ball so he can meet his suitors, but he ends up falling for the pianist instead.

where we belong (ao3) - parentaladvisorybullshitcontent

Summary: "Only you," Martyn says.

"Only me what?"

"Only you could end up stranded in the middle of nowhere with a gay author who writes gay books. Jesus Christ, Phil."

In which Phil is snowed in with nobody but the mysterious dark haired author next door for company.

Weather With You (ao3) - Evening42

Summary: Phil moves to an isolated cottage to start his dream of writing a novel. He meets a mysterious silent stranger on the beach who has a tragic history.

This is pathetic😭

#asks #dan and phil

[presentfuckingmic]

Did a prompt lmao

————

“End of the line, Mic.” Thankfully. God, Shouta’s been chasing this guy for years. Literally since he debuted as a hero. The first time he met Present Mic, public nuisance number… well, not one, and not public cause he’s only out at night and no one knows who he is, but he’s up there. Anyway, Shouta quite literally met him on his first solo patrol. And, even as he’s been a hero for 5 years, even as been chasing this guy for 5 years, he somehow hasn’t even gotten this close to the capturing the villain before.

God, his sunglasses and hairstyle are even uglier up close.

“I can’t believe you have all the villain lines,” Mic groans, leaning as far away from Shouta as he can. Considering he’s quite literally tied up in Shouta’s capture scarf and can barely move, it isn’t very far.

“Just- what the hell are you doing?” Shouta asks bluntly. Seriously, he’s wanted to ask that since the beginning. Mic does the weirdest shit! Once, he robbed a jewelry store at gun point and made a point to only steal a penny! Then he returned the penny! Not to mention, sometimes he does stuff that gets dangerously close to vigilantism. Minus the, you know, murder that those instances sometimes end in.

“Huh?” And he’s confused. Well, at least that makes two of them.

“Your grand plan, your end goal, your… whatever you’re executing.” Mic looks at him, incredulous. Well, there has to be a reason for the bullshit Mic does, right? Like no one would just do that for the hell of it! Right? Mic’s eyes widen in realization before they narrow, a smirk playing onto his face.

“Oh, yeah, don’t worry! I’ve got a whole speech that details my evil plan! It has a lot of moving parts, like a Ruby Goldberg Machine, and the meat of it, the real answer to your question of what the hell I’m doing, is right next to ‘I don’t have an evil plan, idiot!’” Shouta blinks, more than just slightly shocked. He… doesn’t have an evil plan? He was literally just doing that stuff just to do it? Not to further some goal?

“Then… you had no reason? Not even just some noble cause that you just tried to fulfill in a not so noble way?” Shouta double checks, because there has to be something. There has to! There’s no way-

“Correct! Got bored, y’know?” Holy fucking shit. He really does do this bullshit just for the hell of it.

“Got bored- that isn’t how villainy works! What about-“ Mic groans loudly, interrupting Shouta.

“Oh my god, shut UP! I never said I was one of those villains you’d see in those overrated, dry as hell movies! Hell, I’m not even pressed for money! I am, quite literally, just bored!” Ok, what kind of selfish bastard would do that? What kind of person would go out of their way to... well, he mostly just mildly inconveniences people, but it’s still a shitty thing to do because you’re bored! God, this guy needs a hobby.

“But what about your acts of technical vigilantism? What about the people you murdered? Was that just because you were bored?!” Shouta demands, tightening his scarf slightly. Mic rolls his eyes.

“I never said it was a healthy way of dealing with boredom! But the healthy ways didn’t work, so I had to try more creative approaches!” Mic argues. Oh, this is more than just “unhealthy”. Retail therapy is unhealthy. This is madness.

“Those are dead people! On your hands!” Well, Shouta isn’t too mad about those. They were all people... well, he can’t say they deserved it out loud, but he can definitely think it. But he’s still pissed!

“Well, the world’s better off without them! And I only ever killed the boss types, so!” Mic retorts, sticking out his tongue. God, this guy is so childish!

“Oh, cause that’s so much better than just killing everyone you think deserves it!” Shouta retorts, tugging on his scarf just to watch the guy stumble. Mic really gets under his skin, and it’s giving him frown lines. At 24!

“To be fair, most of those guys would’ve ended up killing more people afterwards if I hadn’t killed them, jail time be damned. Pun unintended, of course!” Mic exclaims with a falsely cheerful smile on his face that makes Shouta want to punch him. Again.

“Are you messing with me?! God, no wonder we couldn’t catch you! We thought you were some super genius mastermind, and in reality you’re just a fucking child!” And isn’t that embarrassing? This immature brat has been running circles around Shouta for years. Fuck!

“Well, I’ve also befriended a lot of underground heroes, so that definitely helped me not get caught!” Mic says with a grin. Shouta stare at him. What?!

“You what?!” He shouts. Mic... he’s a villain! He’s not a vigilante! Underground heroes shouldn’t like him! Mic sighs and rolls his eyes.

“I’ve literally killed less people than most heroes have.” Okay, so he has a point. But still! “Yeah, it’s still a shitty thing to do and I’m still a murder who deserves jail, but some heroes deserve worse than that!”

“Fuck you,” Shouta hisses. Mic snorts.

“No, I don’t think I will,” he fires back. Shouta groans.

“Fuck off!” He exclaims. Mic laughs.

“Well, I’m trying!” He says. Shouta glares at him.

“I’m taking you to the police,” he states, tightening his grip on his scarf to drag Mic towards the nearest police station. Mic stumbles at Shouta’s first tug, but keeps grinning. Because of course he does.

“Oh, how bad do you think my boredom will become in jail? I mean, I can and will set up a whole criminal network from jail if I’m bored enough!” He teases. This guy literally said he deserved jail, what the fuck?! Like... okay, yeah, Shouta can see him doing that, but still!

“This isn’t up for debate!”

“Everything’s up for debate if your debate partner is still talking!” Wow, this guy SUCKS!

“So you’ll shut up if I shut up? Is that what you’re saying?” Shouta tries. Because if that works, then he will literally never speak again. That’s now much he hates listening to this guy.

“Very much not what I’m saying, but I don’t mind you shutting up!” Oh, what an ass! “But I do have a tip for you.” Shouta pauses, turning to study Mic. He’s given people tips before. Almost all of them were legit, so this might actually be serious. Or it could be something childish and annoying. Whatever, hero work is about taking risks.

“A tip? What kind of tip?” He asks, eyes narrowed. Mic better not be lying.

“One on a villain! And it’s a juicy one, too!” Mic teases. Shouta sighs and rolls his eyes.

“Well, spit it out,” he demands. Mic’s eyes glimmer.

“Check someone’s pockets before typing them up!” Um. What?

“Wait, what?” The scarf falls off Mic in pieces and he sprints off. How… how did he even break that?! Even with the proper knife, it takes a lot of strength to get through Shouta’s scarf! Strength Shouta didn’t realize Present Mic had! “Oh, fu-“

“Bye, Eraserhead! See ya later! You got close this time, I’ll admit!” Mic shouts with a wave before he grabs ahold of a nearby fire exit to pull himself on. Shouta snaps out of his stupor, but it’s too late. Mic’s already disappeared. Again. Shit!

#mic doesn’t use his quirk cause he doesn’t have his speaker and he doesn’t wanna take down a bunch of buildings #also cause it’s funnier that way #bnha #mha #present mic #hizashi yamada #shouta aizawa #eraserhead #yamada hizashi #aizawa shouta #mha fic #bnha fic #villain mic #mic’s also aizawas annoying upstairs neighbor that’s always playing music too loud. aizawas complained abt it but nothing came of it lol #mic’s 100% aware of this. Aizawa is not.

[miss-bvnny]

Okay fine. MY re-write for Kion.

The lion guard has not existed for several generations. There was never a replacement guard inaugurated after Scar killed his. And while Simba had many friends, he had no siblings. When Scar took the throne after murdering Mufasa, he forbade a guard from forming, fearing that all the younger and stronger lions would form a coup and overthrow him. When Simba returned, he didn't feel the need for one either. Sarafina and Sarabi explained the tragic fate of Scar's guard to him when he returned, and Simba didn't want more stress in the middle of his busy term rebuilding the pridelands. The guard as an idea died out, and perhaps it was for the best. The royal family had enough of a rule over the Pridelands, and did not need to micromanage every little detail to an almost fascist extent. Everyone was shocked but content to see the new King Simba ACTUALLY fully retire the idea.

...And it might've been best if it had stayed that way.

Kion never took anything seriously. He could always be found fooling around and shirking his responsibilities. Simba worried about himfor this. The cub was adopted after he'd been found alone in the grasslands, and having a hard time fitting in with the royal family. Simba was the king. Nala led the hunts. Kiara was to be Queen one day. So...what was Kion? The spare? Royal only by mere adoption? He didn't seem to have any sort of importance to his name like the rest of his family. As a child that had always seemed nice. He would tease his older sister for the responsibilities she would be burdened with. Ha! He had none of that! He was free to play and goof off with the other cubs his age as much as he pleased! Such wonderful golden days! Nothing but a life of Hakuna Matata as far as he could see!!

...The ignorant bliss only lasted until Kion realized what it REALLY meant.

He stumbled across the abandoned lair of the Lion Guard by chance one day while playing. These days, the pride occasionally used it for privacy when lionesses gave birth, but not for much else. When he asked his father what it was, Simba felt like explaining the Guard and its controversial level of control over the pridelands was a good idea. Kiara had learned the dangers and true story about it not so long ago, after her adventures with Scar's heir that fateful day. Kion deserved to know as well. Simba cautioned him that the guard was a gateway drug. An open door to a lust for power that would eat him alive, the same way it had eaten Scar alive. Even a royal lion was not meant to have that much power. Kion seemed to finally take this seriously, and vowed to never become like his great uncle. But....in a way, it was always out of his paws.

The truth is...Kion was almost always destined from the start to follow in Scar's footprints. Despite being adopted into Simba's family with no idea of his own parentage...the evil red lion haunted his family tree far closer than anyone else might've wagered.

Kion was in a hurry to get the Lion Guard out of his head and go back to his normal life. And yet...it didn't leave him alone as easily as he wished it would. He kept thinking about how the guard would give him a purpose. Something important to do in the family. It would be just like being a king, wouldn't it? Keeping everything in check, and ensuring no harm befell innocent pridelanders. A lot of Kion's best friends were prey animals! And he wanted to help his friends! Simba always acted so calm about it in front of mixed company, but Kion heard his father's whispering about the hyenas, when no one was around. There was still a hint of resentment and distrust for the creatures. So...someone had to do something to keep the scum out of their lands, right?

It was a game at first. Something for Kion and his little ''Guard'' playing pretend as they went all over the pridelands. Being heroes and helping where they felt their help was needed. In reality, they were a bit of a nuisance. But the children didn't quite see it that way. The guard interrupted hunts, important ceremonies held by other species, and nearly got other animals killed with their interference. In an attempt to catch the eye of the beautiful Tiifu, Kion thought to show off by trying to fight Janja, the direct descendant of Shenzi herself. Had it not been for Nala interfering, the entire ordeal might've ended much worse.

The king and queen had to do quite a lot of cleaning up to fix the mess Kion and his friends seemed to leave wherever they went. Kiara wet along with them, dutifully trying to prove herself a proper princess in the wake of Kion and his chaos.

They were children. Children playing with something bigger than they could comprehend. Kion saw it as his rightful place in the circle of life, and his infatuation with his ''destiny'' blinded him from the truth. There even came a time when Ono, Fuli, and Beshte grew tired of the game and no longer wanted to play. Their parents had explained the gravity of things to them, and they understood. Kion refused to give in. Surely this was HIS destiny. HIS calling. His so called ''friends'' didn't believe in him. They were just like everyone else! They thought he was a useless spare! Bunga was the only one who stood at Kion's side, but...arguably that was just because Bunga was the only one fool enough to go along with it. Kion broke down in a fit with no one but Bunga to talk some sense into him, and...''talking sense'' was simply not Bunga's strong suit. With what he perceived as his purpose on the line, Kion decided he would have to show them all that this was what he was meant for.

He was so consumed and inconsolable about the idea, that he failed to realize the very familiar path he was walking down. But how COULD he know? He was only a child, seeing things from a very one-sided perspective. A perspective that was bound to get him in bigger trouble with other pridelanders one day....

#Identity crisis + fear of failure and uselessness + a dash of Lord of the Flies was kinda what I was going for here #Kion fears he's nothing compared to his family and overcompensates but his hubris and naive mind both combine into something Ugly. #Like you LITERALLY cannot have a character like this and not dabble in a a literal child having police jurisdiction #without it getting a little fucked up. #this isn't a fanfic or a lead-in to an AU or a comic or anything sorry #I was thinking about this in the shower today and I wanted to write The Brainstuff out. #the lion king #the lion guard

[maxbegone]

It’s late, but I just finished my first Ragnarök playthrough and I wanted to share my thoughts.

Firstly, this game is worth the hype. It’s a beautiful continuation of the 2018 game, and though that one felt big, this one is far bigger. The world itself is on a grander scale, the risks are higher, there are more allies to meet, old relationships to mend, some to watch go to ruin. It’s truly seamless.

I know cinematic, story-driven gameplay isn’t everyone’s forte (and I will be the first to say that I prefer story when I choose my difficulty), but this game had an absolutely fantastic balance of story and combat. The major fights were thrilling and really kept you on your toes, though I will say the smaller enemies you encounter such as the wretches or gulon or the grim (but especially the wretches) are a bit repetitive. Nothing like the trolls in the 2018 game, luckily — just nuisances.

Now, the characters — they’ve grown immensely. We watched the relationship grow and mend in the previous game between Kratos and Atreus, but in Ragnarök we watch it flourish. We start off seeing father and son proud of one another, and while there are ups and downs, we continue to witness their betterment. I’ve mentioned before that through-line of “be better,” and it’s really shown here as well. Once we get Freya on our side again, she continues to blow the player away. We have her as a genuine companion this round, but the grief and anger she feels toward her past comes full-circle in the end, and while it will never quite go away, she has an easier time breathing knowing Odin’s hold on her is no longer. My love for her grew, as did it for all the characters — old and new.

The story in God of War: Ragnarök is truly emotionally-driven and by far one of the most phenomenal games I have ever played. Heart-wrenching, beautiful scenes that make you sit and think, a deeper dive into lore, one-off comments that mean much, much more in the end…incredible.

To see Atreus’ growth within himself, discover who he is, who “Loki” is and will be, this little curious boy we once knew become a young man is truly seamless. His devotion to his father but also to himself in the end, and to the giants, is not lost on me. He will return, we will see him again, Kratos will see him again. Loki goes, Atreus remains.

And Kratos…where to start with him. I will say I came into this series with the 2018 game, so my knowledge and experience with Kratos as a character firsthand is that of the Norse telling. I haven’t ventured into the original trilogy, and I’m not sure I will, but if I do, I know that Kratos will be very different from the one I’ve gotten to know. Though I’ve read up on his past, seen a few videos, etcetera, I might remain biased. (Note that I also tend to play games out of order unintentionally; tftbl before the borderlands series, uncharted 4 before the original games).

In the 2018 game we saw glimpses of a scared, anxious father, not a god, once Atreus fell sick. In Ragnarök, we see more of the fatherly side come out. He trusts his son wholly and fully, he seeks to understand him, and he is open to what the world can teach him. He no longer seeks vengeance, he’s wise and sage, and wishes to, again, “be better.” And, more importantly, make sure his son will be prepared and better than he could ever be.

We only got three, but seeing a (somewhat) vulnerable side of Kratos in those dream sequences with Faye were so lovely. She has been his guide, a teacher without the title, and continues to walk the path with him just like she promised. I wish we had more time with her.

Coming right off a 2018 replay really puts into perspective how massive this game is. The previous one was homegrown: the mission being to scatter the ashes of Faye. In this, there is a war leaking into every realm, no one is left untouched by it, and we see what true evil, unmitigated power could be in the wrong hands. Ragnarök, regardless of how you see it, is a game about family in every way. Found, blood, convinced. Be better. Protect your family. Do what is necessary, not because it is written.

This is long, I know, and I doubt anyone took the time to read this, but I just needed to get my thoughts on the page while they’re fresh. I will, without any doubt at all, be playing this game again soon. And I do truly, truly, highly recommend. It is phenomenal.

#god of war #god of war ragnarok #gowr spoilers #god of war ragnarok spoilers #ally plays gow ragnarok #ok….phew that’s a lot #but I had to

[alltimefail-sims]

Idk if I'm super late to this or if I missed a response, but I'd like to hear your thoughts about Roberto Crinkletop being Robert Crumplebottom. I'm not sure how I feel about it and would be happy hearing somebody else's opinion

You are not late on this nor did you miss a post from me about Roberto, but oh boy do I have thoughts! LOTS of them! I forgot about EA's atrocious little video until this ask remined me. Thank you!

I considered making a whole lore post on Agnes and I still might - but this whole thing with Roberto has re-contextualized her lore in the most inconsistent way, in my opinion. It has also discouraged me from wanting to talk about her. No surprise there though - they have fumbled the ball with lore in TS4 time and time again, and I think I am apart of a minority that just doesn't want them to address it any more. Even the slight mention of the Landgraabs in their most recent livestream made my skin crawl in the worst way. I just wish the Sims team would just stop pandering to a fanbase they do not care about in order to seem like they're putting thought into these families when they make them (spoiler: it's clear they don't put that much thought into them, if any at all. I truly believe they used to care, but that has been lost to time and that's why the games just aren't the same as they used to be. Trying to fuck with preexisting families, like the Goths for example, is only ruining what made them good in the first place... but I digress.)

Basically though, I'll sum it up now by saying that it seemed to be canon that the death and/or disappearance of Agnes' husband is what made her turn sour and callous (grief is what made her the person she is today, grief and loss made her hate romance). But then that wretched video drops and they decide to portray young Agnes as this mean, naggy wife that her poor husband (eye roll...) had to escape from? It even feels like they're insinuating that she was actually abusive because he says coming to Chestnut Ridge and becoming a nectar maker literally saved his life. Like holy shit! Just seems really fucking dumb to me if we're being honest!

It's just lazy writing, and it doesn't make sense with what we know of Agnes from TS2/TS3. In the original games it felt like she was a nuisance and a miserable old woman who we're supposed to feel bad for. In TS2 her actions aren't explained, but we know she is adverse to romance. In TS3 we see her in a whole new light, and it's pretty devastating how the loss clearly impacted her (that half unfinished nursery lives in my mind rent free). It was implied that they loved each other, in my opinion, but it seems like the Sims team will never miss an opportunity to villainize a female premade. I'm serious - it's actually getting concerning how the negative traits or actions of the male characters in this game are always twisted to be endearing, understandable, or momentarily misguided. But the women? Oh no, they're insufferable nags, abusers whose husbands need to leave them, women who never really loved their spouses at all, they're evil, they're mean, they're distant, they are bad wives and mothers, they are money-hungry, they are killers, and that's the whole of their marketing.

Poor uwu baby boys, save them from the mean ladies!! And if they cheat on the mean ladies, the ladies deserved it! If they are a serial cheater who will go as far as to leave their fiance at the aisle, that's okay because they're just a lovable himbo! If their wives go missing and they date a woman much younger than them, that's okay - she's actually the money hungry one! Yes he is lazy and does not have any ambition or drive, but his wife is so mean for being tired of their life being stagnant - she is the problem! She is a money hungry evil woman and he is just her husband who has no idea! He's rich and literally lives with her but uhhhh he's so nice that the estranged son (who looks just like him) isn't even his!

Ugh. Give me a break sims team. I'm tired!

#I'm sorry but it's giving sexism. I'm over it #Anyway that is the gist of my opinion. Thank you for your ask <3 #Don't get me wrong I love a lot of the male characters in this franchise but we can't have one female character whose depth - #isn't like 'she's actually evil lol' or 'she actually sucks lol' and I'm tireddddddddd #Roberto Crinkletop #ts4 #the sims 4 #chestnut ridge #ts4 horse ranch #sims 4 #simblr #atfs ask #anon

[miqomonkly]

Hi idk which one to ask! 😅

✘: Who do they detest the most? Do they typically avoid this person or antagonize them?

💧: Are there any places they avoid? If so, why?

💔: Have they ever had their heart broken? If so, why or how did it happen?

There are just so many good ones, yeah? XD

X: (Couldn't find the emoji) There are several people Lyanna outright despises, though most of them actually deserve her ire.

Lord Lolorito: Outside of his dealings surrounding the Bloody Banquet, I'lyanna finds the man wicked and conniving. She has a modicum of respect for him only so far as his business management capabilities; beyond this, she sees him as nothing more than a greedy, scheming villain. A necessary evil that she wishes she could expunge from history.

Tedalgrinche de Dzemael: Considering her close relations to House Hallienarte, including but not limited to her tutelage in Machinistry under Stephanivien, it's natural that many in House Dzemael night consider her a nuisance. Tedalgrinche's effort to discredit and shame the Manufactory, however, have earned him a particular place in the Miqo'te's blacklist. Even after their victory against Veri Seren, Lyanna makes sure to keep a wide berth from him... lest a "stray" gesture mar his ever so perfect Visage.

Baroness Melisie: Again featured during the Machinist storyline, Melisie is an inquisitor who seeks to besmirch the name of the Hilda's Hounds and the newly founded hierarchy of Ishgard. Her lack of empathy towards the lower class and her willingness to go as far as heresy to see her goals accomplished fills I'lyanna with a rage even she can't quite describe. Thankfully, after thwarting her plans, the Temple Knights took her into custody and away from the Miqo'te'a wrath.

Ilberd Feare: I don't think there needs to be a reason listed, but on top of being an accessory to murder, his efforts led to the betrayal of friends and colleagues, and caused far more damage then he could even realize. Add to that his orchestration of the murder of hundreds of his own countrymen... well...

Professor Erik: This man... while I'lyanna respects and appreciates him for the work his has done towards the study of aetherology as well his assistance in the trials she and Widargelt faced in their Monk training... she also will be the first to tell you he is an arrogant, stuck-up, inconsiderate soul... mostly, anyway. His nonchalant insults and demeaning behavior of those with "lesser minds" will never cease to infuriate I'lyanna, and she will always call him out on it... though the way in which he brushes such insults aside makes her even more furious. There are several instances where she has been held back from outright clocking the man across his jaw.

💧: For the longest time, I'lyanna would avoid Pearl Lane on Ul'dah like the plague. Even before Ala Mhigan refugees tried their luck at making a living there, it had always been known as a rather seedy place. Lots of dark and unsavory things were believed to have happened along it's street, and I'zahn wasn't about to let his daughters go anywhere near it, even if chaperoned.

These days, it doesn't scare I'lyanna to go down Pearl Lane... but even now, she still feels a hint of trepidation when she does.

💔: The greatest heartbreak she's experienced to date has been the loss of Haurchefant, the one man she truly felt she had fallen in love with. And of course, losing her family was certainly heartbreaking.

As far as "unique" heartbreaks, I don't currently know of any. Sorry to disappoint...

Thank you for asks! 🧡🧡🧡

#ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #miqo'te #ff14 #ffxiv oc #final fantasy 14 #ask me #oc asks #answered asks #oc: ilyanna zahn #ilyannazahn #ilyanna #ilyanna zahn #oc lore #ilyanna lore

[voidfragments]

qi rong; avenger-class servant

true name: qi rong class: avenger attribute: earth traits: humanoid, demonic, undead alignment: chaotic evil

one of the four calamities of the ghost realm, nicknamed the night-touring green lantern. he’s only considered a calamity to make the number four. in truth, he’s considered more of a nuisance than anything else--bitter, spiteful, and vulgar, hating everyone and spewing obscenities to anyone who will listen.

qi rong’s wish for the holy grail is “to be respected”. as far back as he can remember--his entire 800 years and more of existence--nobody’s ever looked upon him with anything but disgust, hatred, or pity. he’s never been better than second-best. even now, as a calamity, he’s seen as lower than dirt because he doesn’t match up with the others. he doesn’t care much about being loved; all he really wants is to be granted basic respect, or even to be looked on in awe.

active skills:

vulgar rant: apply target focus to self for 1 turn & apply evade to self for 1 turn. disengage a battle continuation a

passive skills:

avenger b riding d self-replenishment (magic) d

noble phantasm:

night-touring green lantern: imitation of the greatest calamities rank: b type: anti-populace a manifestation of the behaviors that gave him his reputation; desiring to be seen as powerful and feared, he copies the other three calamities. the white-clothed calamity wore a mask, so he at times wears one too. ship-sinking black water devours anything that enters his territory, so he eats those whose territory he encroaches upon. crimson rain sought flower was named for the bloody rains he creates, so he simulates those with corpses littered throughout the branches of trees. they’re crude imitations, and part of the reason the rest of the ghost realm looks down on him with disdain.

full fgo-style profile including voice lines can be found here! (*disclaimer: voice lines for other characters are based on a full collab event premise a friend & i came up with and nobody is obligated to follow the implications they may have on other characters' servant versions)

#qi rong; avenger #verse info #can you tell i love this verse a lot #he has another version too but i haven't written a wholeass profile for qr lily (rider)

[countlessrealities]

@evilmcg sent: "Um, sir, you wanted to see me?" For Evil Morty (devoted girlfriend verse for on the Citadel)

From where he's sitting behind his desk, Morty grins, his expression too sharp and darkly pleased not to promise trouble. After a morning spent dealing with nuisances and incompetence, he has decided that he deserves to have a little fun.

Of course, he already had the perfect targets in mind.

"Ah, Meg, here you are. Come in," he calls out as the girl steps inside the room. He waves her closer, his grin getting a little wider. "Yes, I did. I have an extremely important job for you."

Behind him, Rick is standing as still and silent as per usual, but there's the lightest crease between his brows, betraying that, unlike the president, he isn't happy with whatever this is about.

"You see, something very valuable has been lost and I need it retrieved. I'm far too busy to deal with it myself, so I need someone trustworthy who can take up the task in my place. And who could be better than you...and Rick?"

His second-in-command breathes out a little more heavily than he usually does, a sound that only Morty can read as a scoff.

"W-Who else indeed, master."

The president gestures him to be quiet, but he looks more amused than annoyed by the sarcasm in the man's voice. His eyes quickly return on the girl, staring at her as he continues, as if he hadn't been interrupted at all.

"You have till tomorrow morning to find it. I know that it's not much time, because the sewers of the Citadel are a lot of ground to cover, but I'm confident that you two will succeed."

With that, he picks up the pen he has left lying next to the blueprints he was reviewing. A clear sign that the matter is closed for now.

"Dismissed."

#[ ic :: Evil Morty ] #[ ic :: Evil Rick ] #&& 'Evil' Meg #[ v. Now is the time for action ; main verse :: Evil Morty ] #evilmcg #[[ I had to add Evil Rick it was a too good opportunity to waste it x3 ]] #;; queue