#he has the tiniest antlers

[thesleepingstag]

Alone in the fields at midday, dreaming your little mythical life away

Little jackalope, gouache and watercolor on 8x8 cold pressed watercolor paper

Part of several new pieces I’m hoping to add to my solo show next year/art fairs and displays!

[dewdropdinosaur]

Smutmas Day 9 - Egg-Snog

Alastor x Deer Demon! Reader (Third Person POV) Summary: You are a deer demon, and so is he. But what happens when your deerest puns get a little too much fawning over? Warnings: Fingering, cum, use of pet names(cher, my dear), slight sub/dom dynamics if you squint, very obnoxious puns, etc. MDNI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Requested by @dragbunstudios Hope you enjoy!

The Hazbin Hotel was anything but calm normally, but tonight, the noise level had reached new heights—or perhaps, new lows. It started innocently enough: Alastor had pranced into the lobby with his usual swagger, his grin sharp enough to cut glass. Y/N, lounging in one of the chairs, twitched their velvety deer ears at the sound of his vintage voice. Alastor had been in a particular mood as for late, much to the annoyance of several other hotel residents, though that never detered him. 

“Ah, Y/N!” Alastor greeted, his red eyes glinting with mischief. “What a deer-lightful surprise to find you here tonight!”

Y/N’s nose twitched, matching his energy effortlessly. “Oh, I’m just trying to stay out of tr-hoof-le. You know how it is.” They flicked their fluffy tail for emphasis.

Angel Dust, perched on the sofa with his legs sprawled dramatically, groaned. “Oh, for Lucifer’s sake, not this again.”

But Alastor was already cackling. “You, stay out of trouble? Fawn-tastic joke, my friend!”

“Oh, it’s no bull,” Y/N countered, leaning forward with a playful smirk. “Unlike you, who’s clearly just stag-ing for attention.”

“HA!” Alastor clapped his hands together. “Touché, my dear! Touché!”

Across the room, Husk muttered into his half-empty bottle of whiskey. “Why don’t you two just get a room already?”

Vaggie slammed her hands on the bar. “Seriously, do we have to listen to this? It’s like watching two sitcom dads try to flirt!”

Charlie, the ever-optimistic hotel owner, giggled behind her hand. “I think it’s adorable!”

Angel Dust rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t pop out of his head. “Adorable, schmadorable. They’ve been dancing around each other like this for weeks. Either they start locking lips, or I’m locking them in a room together until they do!”

“Angel!” Charlie scolded, though her blush betrayed her amusement.

Meanwhile, Y/N and Alastor were still locked in their pun-filled duel. 

“Tell me, Y/N,” Alastor said, leaning casually against his cane. “Are you fawn-d of me, or is this all just a game?”

“Oh, I herd you the first time,” Y/N teased, their nose twitching again. “But maybe you should stop deer-tering me to respond and make a move yourself.”

For a moment, Alastor faltered—not that anyone else would notice. His smile remained intact, but the tiniest twitch of his ear betrayed his surprise. Then he threw back his head and laughed. “A bold challenge! I always love those, cher~”

Husk’s ears flattened against his head, letting out a low whisper from behind his beer bottle. “Kill me now.”

Angel Dust slapped the table with his hand. “Okay, okay, that’s it. If you two don’t kiss by the end of the night, I’m stepping in to make it happen.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, their lips quirking into a sly grin. “Oh? And how do you plan to do that, Angel?”

“Easy!” Angel Dust leaned forward with a wicked grin. “I’ll make you two the starring act in my next performance—‘The Lusty Antlers of Passion.’ You won’t be able to resist!”

“Angel!” Charlie squeaked, her face as red as a cherry.

Alastor merely chuckled, tapping his cane against the floor. “While I appreciate the offer, Angel, I think Y/N and I can handle things on our own. After all—” He glanced at Y/N with a sly wink. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Y/N tilted their head, their tail swishing. “Well, I’m not one to rush, but I’d hate to keep you pining for too long.”

Alastor’s grin widened, and for once, there was a flicker of genuine warmth behind his crimson eyes. “Then perhaps we should continue this conversation... elsewhere?”

As the two of them strolled out of the lobby, their laughter echoing behind them, Angel Dust threw his arms up in victory. “FINALLY! Took them long enough.”

Husk groaned, pouring himself another drink. “I need a vacation.”

Charlie sighed happily, her hands clasped in front of her chest. “Love really does bloom in the strangest places.”

Vaggie pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not love. It’s deer puns. Endless, insufferable deer puns.”

But as Alastor and Y/N disappeared around the corner, their tails swishing in perfect harmony, it was clear to everyone else in the hotel: this was more than just a passing fancy. 

Deep in the hallway, as the two demon walks quietly, the jokes seemed to vanish. An awkward silence filling the space as each had a small tint on their cheeks, hearts pounding. However, in a moment born of incessant desperation to end such a silence, Alastor stopped and faced Y/N. 

“Cher, would it…be too much to ask you if you mean your words earlier?”

Facing him with a small smile, Y/N’s hand came to rest comfortingly on the lapel of Alastor’s suit. “I meant every word, Al.” 

“Then I hope you won’t mind—“

Before Y/N could even respond, Alastor pinned Y/N against wall, trapping them between his arms before locking their lips in a soft but passionate kiss. Pulling his mouth away to trail wet kises down the valley of their neck, Y/N’s hands came up to tug in his hair as a breathy sigh spilled past his lips. Alastor’s hands slowly dipped low, deft fingers trailing down the the waistband of their pants, pulling them softly in a request. Y/N nodded quickly, eyes rolling into the back of their head as his lips still continued worshiping their neck. 

Pulling down the offending garment, panties and all, Y/N was left half bare before the heated and intense gaze of the Radio Demon. Licking his lips hungrily, Alastor drug a finger along the slit, pleasently surpised to find it already so wet and inviting. Bringing his hand back up, he sucked the juices from his finger with a low grumble of appreciation. 

“Absolutely deer-vine, cher.”

Allowing his hand to flow back down, he plunged two fingers into their warm cunt, marveling at the way its walls constricted around him in desire. Y/N bit their lip, a desperate whine eeking past, body overflowing with arousal. Alastor’s face now was painted with a devilish smirk, speeding up only to hear those exact whimpers escape and reign freely for him to here. Relishing in all the delicious noises that came to pass through his partner’s puffy lips. His fingers curled up, hitting that delicious spot inside Y/N that nearly had her screaming, hands coming to grip his shoulders tightly. 

Pannting as they squirmed ontop of him; the coil in theur stomach became too tight to ignore as his fingers continued their onslaught. 

“Al—“

A blinding hot flash of liquid pours out of their overstimulated pussy without warning,, soaking the Radio Demon’s hand in release as he continues to pump into them; working Y/N through their high. 

“That’s it, cher. Looking so pretty for me.”

After a moment, letting them catch their breath, Alastor removed his fingers and wipes them unceremoinsuly on his trousers. Looking back up at them with half-lidded but lust blown eyes, he spoke once more. 

“Fawned of another round, my dear?”

[onesidedradiostatic]

Ok, but imagine Vox when he first comes to hell. He just died, went to hell, and has a freaking box set as a head now. He probably started off small but quickly rose in the ranks through his TV influence and powers, but with every person he meets, they give him one warning. Don't cross the Radio Demon, especially if you are in 'competition' with his favorite medium.

He probably didn't think too much about it, figured as long as he kept to himself, he'd be fine. Based on the way the other overlords act around Velvette, the Vee's are all relatively young or new overlords in comparison to their older counterpart. Cocky.

Then he actually meets the famed Radio Demon, likely at his first ever Overlord Meeting or shortly before. He expected someone to be terrifying and cruel, someone to be feared. Someone larger than life and intimidating. He didn't expect a cute, scrawny deer demon with big ears and the tiniest antlers just barely poking out of his soft, fluffy looking hair.

LMAOOO I mean honestly if anything vox may have seen it as something to look up to, I mean clearly he saw at least some kind of….. partnership….. beneficial. definitely hope to see their first meeting covered in season 2

[katyahina]

Did Brador kill Laurence or someone else?

Okay so I realised that I never had a coherent reference, so here

It is kind of visible in the game, but it is true that Old Brador does have unique head piece variant that is not accessble for the players by normal means without datamining (similarly to Arianna's pregnant state dress, Eileen's set variant torn by beast claws, Fauxsefka's barefoot leg piece etc)! And the difference here, is one horn being broken!

Brador secluded himself in the cell and according to him we are the first person he meets physically past that time! It is not certain how exactly he died, only that it likely happened when he was old (and killed the Cleric Beast in his middle-age (?) state). If his words are any indication, it isn't likely that the horn got damaged in the battle or something like that! But at the same time, we meet Bradord in the Nightmare Realm, so he might in reality refer to just his stay here.

However, an interesting bit is that suggests that one horn might have gotten ruined with the time; in Chalice Dungeons, beast-like Messengers show horns developing asymmetrically!

Coincidentally, they depict the same horn that Brador has broken as smaller one!

Brador's beast hyde is specifically that of a Cleric Beast, which Laurence was the first precedent of, so what we know for certain is that Brador could not have had his hyde while Laurence was still alive! The Cleric Beast that he had to kill had to be either Laurence himself, or some Cleric Beast that came after Laurence's deasth!

Laurence's beastly skull does have a hole in itself, and no traces of antlers, so this is actually a reasonable assumption that the scalp might be his! The model of headless Bloodletting Beast is drastically different, so I think it is safe to assume that they either never planned that implication or retconned it when DLC was finished! It lacks the asymmetrically larger left arm and has a tail, for one + from the version that does still have a head we can see this type of beasts lacks the antlers (the trademark of Cleric Beasts), let alone very different type of skull

(Models from this ( x ) video by Sinclair Lore) Ok ok sorry for making ya'll look at Laurence's ass I just need to show that in model he has no tail, and with the fur variant he has only the tiniest tuft of fur

On the other hand, only so many things could be blamed on them basically reusing Cleric Beast model for Laurence just with fire textures, as they're not entirely identical like I thought before! In fact, there is a potential evidence against linking him to Brador's hyde as the horns are different:

Not only Laurence has one horn broken when the hyde Brador is wearing had both horns whole at the moment of the murder, but also it is the different horn; left one rather than the right one!

Brador is wearing clothing that is almost identical to male Black Church set, who are the lower-ranking members of the Healing Church, whereas his headpiece says that the person he killed was his friend. Now, it is fair to assume that maybe someone from lower ranks was, in fact, not 'friends' with Laurence, who was THE head of the Healing Church!

According to Alfred's dialogue we can further confirm that Healing Church leaders are so secretive that they do not give the full lore even to their own lower-ranking personnel, and Brador was only given his bell after the murder of that Cleric Beast!

At the same time, Brador uses the Frenzy-Inducing Bloodletter, not unlike Black Church Servants with their crucifixes that cause Frenzy. Meanwhile, White Church Servants rely on the weapons that, on the contrary, are sensitive to high Insight: when you have 15 Insight or more, their lanters become covered with eyes and their scythes emit blue Arcane glow! Insight-sensitive weapons align with.. well, the bell that only someone aware of the Fishing Hamlet secret could hear.

So far, the evidence points more towards Brador having been a more or less lower-ranking member of the Healing Church, that one time killed his (higher-ranking?) cleric friend, not Laurence, but by effect learned too much about the Healing Church's secrets that were NOT meant for him, and obligated to keep them safe. It would align with his philosophy of some things "better left unknown", as if he regrets having learned all this, as well as with Laurence's horns not being true to his beast hyde scalp.

.....and yet, at the same time, I would not put it past Laurence to be friends with someone from lower rank, or maybe Brador's lower rank was merely a cover? Even his horns situation could be blamed on some life still yet residing in his scalp, and thus, the antlers attached to it still grow and crumble on their own. In other words, I do not have a strong point towards this or that version. Question isn't answered, but maybe some observations are helpful to choose one on your own!

[secret-explosion]

Random Alastor Snz Head Cannons That Won't Leave Me Alone

Alastor hates sneezing. Hates it to the point that he will fight it off for as long as possible, (while keeping up appearances, of course) trying his damndest to hold it in and seem like there is nothing stirring underneath the surface. Alastor would definitely try to fight a sneeze with all of his sheer willpower before his body eventually gives him no choice

While in the company of others, he will hold back as long as possible, but usually find an excuse to leave just in time to sneeze far away from prying eyes

If done successfully, this will appear as if he is simply disinterested in a conversation or lost in thought when the deer will abruptly interject that he has some other business to attend to before being swiftly spirited away by his shadows. All conveniently fast enough to avoid any questions or delays. However, there have been times that the man has misjudged how long he could keep the mask up.

I think underneath the slightly heavier radio static overlay, Alastor would have an airy sneeze that will usually lead to a fitty string of unsatisfying sneezes. I kinda thought he would have a dad sneeze for a while, but I just think it would be kinda funny that this obnoxiously expressive and noisy character has the tiniest wisp of a sneeze; and the possibility that this juxtaposition is a minor insecurity of his in and of itself.

If someone were to witness this rare occurrence, they would realize what causes the seemingly random radio wave disturbances across a few miles radius. They would also notice his antlers grew and warped a bit from the loss of control

The few times his body betrayed him in front of the other denizens of hell during his early years of the afterlife, it ended with first some light chuckles at his expense and then with a few new voices on his radio show

So when the Radio Demon himself unexpectedly gives the closest approximation to a kitten sneeze possible in front of all the hotel's residents, he damn near implodes. However, he didn't have much time to dwell on that as there were a couple more fast approaching

Hope you guys like them! Feel free to use them in your fanfics or art because Lord knows I cannot write to save my life XD

[unethicallypleistocene]

I know I keep pestering you for snippets about Blake but I'd LOVE to see how he interacts with Rogue since their powers are somewhat similar! No pressure ofc!!

Pestering?? I just about let out a Victorian-level gasp! Your asks could never be any form of annoyance whatsoever, especially when it comes to snippets! I absolutely adore doing these, and I'm really feeling Blake come to life in my head the more I sit down and try to get some ideas out there. Thank you so much!!

"You arrive at a fork in the darkened road, the cloaked figures still hot on your heels. In your hesitation, one of them calls out, raises his sword- and that's where we'll end our session tonight!" There were groans around the table, along with a few hands thrown up in exasperation. "Ugh, who died and made you DM?" asked Jubilee, starting to collect everybody's dice. "As I recall, nobody else wanted the job," said Hank dryly, removing his glasses to polish them. "You all really give me no choice other than to end on a cliffhanger. It's 11:00 PM, for goodness' sake." "Not like ol' Gambit has anywhere to be," said Remy, propping his feet on the table. Rogue slapped his arm. "I didn't sign up fer one of your sleep-deprived moods tomorrow," she retorted, "especially not after your critical fail streak tonight." "That owlbear came out of nowhere," Remy muttered darkly. Blake stretched and yawned. "Regardless, I really think we should all be going to-" Blake stopped, detecting the tiniest cracking noise coming from outside the window. "Blake?" asked Rogue, eyebrows knitted together. "You guys head upstairs, I'll be up in a bit," said Blake quickly, throwing on his coat as he backed away from the dining room table. "I'm fine, I promise." He turned before he could register the rest of their confused expressions, hurrying out the back door and skittering to the southern treeline. "Hello?" he whispered, feeling stupid and determined and terrified all at once. The ground on which he stood began its telltale vibration, weeds sprouting around his boots. He felt something tug at the bottom of his pant leg. "Come on," Blake muttered, jerkily turning his head as he scanned the edge of the woods in the darkness. His vision caught on a lone antlered buck, eyes glowing gold. The buck flicked its tail and stared at him. "You again," Blake shuddered despite himself, "what do you want?" The buck stood still, eyes growing brighter in the night. "I need to know. Please!" Blake looked down at his hands, which rapidly becoming ensnared in ivy. "Blake! Where'd ya- Blake?!" He heard Rogue's voice, and it sounded too distant to be real. "Why won't you say anything?" Blake pleaded, the buck's gaze burning his skin. The ivy began twisting around his neck.

"For the love of- Can you hear me? Blake!" Rogue called out, speeding to her friend's side. His eyes were rolled back into his head, his feet bound by thick roots to the ground as the greenery started to strangle him. Rogue yanked off her glove and carefully tried to pull at a vine, only to get repelled the instant she touched Blake's skin. She huffed. "I'mma try something new, you just hang on." She sped a good distance away, took a deep breath, and flew at Blake with all her strength. She tackled him, pushing him into the ground, holding him tight. He gasped for air, the ivy rotting away as he gripped Rogue back, suppressing a sob. "I'm sorry," he said, his words coming out garbled between pained inhales. "You're alright," she replied, squeezing him, "you're alright."

[bluestringpuppeteer]

It was odd how similar snow was to sand, on the surface. The grainy crunch, the way it settled over everything and got everywhere, the way it reflected the sunlight and made everything brighter than it would be otherwise. Of course, snow was completely different from sand beyond those base similarities, but the way it was even the tiniest bit similar was so strange.

This was his second winter here, and Legato was sure he'd never truly get used to it.

That was alright, though; he didn't really want to get used to it, for the season to lose the magical quality it possessed.

Snow blanketed the fields and dulled sound, reduced his footsteps to a soft crunching noise as he walked with the herd of lovely little antlered creatures. The glittering frost on their bodies tinkled softly as they walked, creating a soft melody as they guided him through the mildly treacherous footing.

And they were guiding him, with a nudge here and there, turning back to make sure he was still in their midst, a tug on the strings he'd woven gently to connect them all. Apparently, there was somewhere they wanted him to go, someone they wanted him to meet. That was alright; creatures rarely steered him wrong after all, especially the magical ones here. Whatever they wanted to show him was surely worth it.

Ah, a someone, apparently. There was a man seated under a tree, surrounded by several more of the gentle creatures. Legato huffed a little as he was lightly butted to walk up to the somewhat scruffy looking human.

"Apparently, we are to meet," he says, voice only pitched loudly enough to carry. He's not wearing his usual coat, not out here in the snow. Instead, he has something similar but markedly better insulated against snow and water, lined with soft fur at the sleeves and around the hood and collar. With Astarion to make him clothes now, surely even Elendira would approve of his fashion.

"I have been advised that it is unwise to ignore the advice of the cerdae when they give it." One of the males tossed his impressive head and snorted, prompting Legato to hum and nod. "I did follow you, though I do not see why you decided we needed to encounter each other." The creature huffed again and checked Legato with its shoulder, causing him to stumble several steps forward.

"Yes, alright, I am going, thank you. Demanding."

@deathtohextech

[palushiemalis-fr]

Abraxos awoke with a throat tickle; his neck lunged out from the tight curl he had been sleeping in and hacked out a cough. He groaned, it was a fever. He knew he had felt ill the past week or so but had been ignoring it in favour of creating additional imbued sulphur for the clan's supplies. He shook out his sweaty mane and rolled onto his back with a huff. "Steady on!" A small voice squeaked. Abraxos looked down at his sternum. A Veilspun was clinging on to him, tiny claws dug into his scales. He was a tiny thing, all green and fluttery. His long mane braided back from his head. "Oh, err, apologies..." Abraxos managed hoarsely, too weary to question what he was doing in his chambers, "... who are you again?" "Soroush." The Veilspun gave a little bow, before padding up to his neck, "I am the clan nurse. I was informed you weren't the sociable type when I did my rounds of check ups when I first arrived. Nevertheless, Lassuarium sent me--" "Of course she did..." He muttered. "Don't interrupt. She sent me because she was alerted to the fact you were ailing." Soroush, pressed an upturned ear to his throat, presumably to check his pulse and temperature. "She never minds her own business." He grunted. "It is the lair's business when you insist on coughing and wheezing all night and waking up Marmaroth's little ones!" He snapped, "You have Alchemist's Pox. You must be kept warm and supplied hot peppermint tea." "I see." he said, raising an eyebrow, "That was a quick assessment--" "Are you doubting my qualifications? Because I'll have none of that." Soroush snapped, before drawing himself back up on his hind legs to glare at him eye to eye, "As I was saying, you're to rest and not leave this chamber. I'll see to it that it is well ventilated and remove the dust covering everything as it is no doubt exacerbating your condition." The idea of this tiny nuisance cleaning, and no doubt rearranging and changing the calibration, of his laboratory was a pox in itself. He had dwelled in the Wyrmwound as a hatchling, a pox couldn't hurt him. And, he thought, his chamber wasn't dirty, it was attuned to his exact liking! Dust couldn't do any harm to his tough lungs; it was just flecks and bits from his experiments. The truly toxic things were all kept in sealed jars and never opened for long. Besides... it was his room. His own chamber. No one bothered him usually, why care now? He was about to protest when he felt another wretched tickle in his throat, he coughed and growled as the pain seized in his chest. Soroush fluttered onto his antlers and peered in him in the eye and put his cheek to Abraxos' huge brow. "I'll send for some honey tincture..." His voice soothing, "You're a strong thing, but you need to sleep. From the look of this place and the sound of your phlegm, this has been a long time coming, hm? Please trust me, I shan't move anything out of place, you'll thank me in the long run." "...You promise?" "Promise. The dust in here is nasty stuff, I can smell it. Poor thing, you've been breathing it for so long you don't even notice it. I'll have it out in no time at all." "... Okay..." Abraxos sighed and laid his head down on his pillow, which Soroush took to plumping immediately. He felt the tiniest claw on his snout, petting him before he closed his eyes. He fell asleep to a small voice chanting a enchanted wind into the room; a warm but fresh breeze swirling around every nook and cranny. It tousled his mane and tail tuft, it cooled his throat and left him feeling adrift. As the wind caressed him, he soon fell deep asleep.

Soroush & Abraxos. Grumpy Boy meets Grumpy Nurse C:

adoptable by @squeeblestudio

[phanfictioncatalogue]

Long Oneshots (3) Masterlist

part one, part two

2009x2015 Phan (ao3) - auroraphilealis (peachrayne)

Summary: A series of interactions between 2009!Phil and 2015!Dan, and 2009!Dan and 2015!Phil. Probably going to result in some smut, and have a very loose plot.

A Human Heart (ao3) - andthenshesaid-write (ladyknight1512)

Summary: Phil's mother has always said that there are creatures in the forest and Phil has always thought they were just stories. Then one day he runs into the forest looking for somewhere to hide and meets Dan, a man with antlers and the ability to talk to trees. Phil's world opens up but there are dangers in the forest that he can't even begin to imagine.

All That You Are is All That I'll Ever Need (ao3) - ficslesters (sohmaskyos), starrywrite

Summary: Dan Howell is just ordinary, but his boyfriend Phil is Amazing(Phil from YouTube). Or, AU in which Dan isn’t a YouTuber.

Before We Turn Into a Monster (With Two Heads) (ao3)- blueshirt

Summary: “Once this case is over, I’m getting a new job. Maybe one where I just sit in my bedroom and make videos about my life. That would be nice,” Dan muses dreamily to himself—or rather, mumbles indistinctly to himself, because it’s a little hard to articulate when you’ve been shoved into the trunk of a moving car, bound, and gagged.

begin and never cease (ao3) - palomeheart

Summary: Dan is a grumpy second year law student living with reclusive, perpetual grad student named Phil. When the holiday season brings out a side of Phil that Dan’s never seen before, Meanwhile, when Phil finds out Dan hates all things festive, he makes it his goal to change Dan’s mind before Christmas. And also to find the perfect mince pie.

I'm Half Doomed And You're Semi-Sweet (ao3) - The_Blonde

Summary: When he was eleven Dan wished for Phil to help with a family curse that there’s no hope of breaking. Fifteen years later he’s stationed in coastal Wales, working the late shift in a supermarket while secretly protecting a whole village from various supernatural beings. Everything is going fine(ish) until Phil, impossibly, shows up.

it's no good (unless it's real) (ao3) - blueshirt

Summary: (Or, the one where Dan accidentally starts reverse-dating Phil in the midst of executing a foreign tour, sharing the world's tiniest mattress, and generally failing at Amish table-making.)

Just the Beat of My Own Heart - howellhaze

Summary: Dan and Phil are rivals in every sense of the word. The problem is that they’re already madly in love. Or, where Dan and Phil fall in love on tumblr, unaware that the person they’re talking to online is the person they hate in real life. A “You’ve Got Mail” AU.

like a perhaps hand (which comes carefully out of Nowhere) (ao3) - palomeheart

Summary: Dan is in his second year of uni studying law– or he would be if he hadn’t failed his resits. After being talked into a semester-long leave of absence to get his life in order, he takes a job at the café of a local botanic garden through a flatmate’s family connection. Or so he thinks.

super soul (ao3) - waveydnp

Summary: Phil has spent his whole life believing that meeting his soulmate will give his life the meaning he’s been looking for.

Then he meets Dan.

The Future Starts Slow (ao3) - frihed_liberty

Summary: Dan is acting strange and Phil wants to know why. But then he sees something that can’t be unseen and things will never be the same again…

Tried to do headstands for you (every time I fell on you) (ao3) - popsongnation

Summary: “I’m not always this clumsy and accident prone, I swear,” Dan says, and maybe he’s lying, but Phil doesn’t have to know that. How hard can it be not to injure yourself at a coffee shop? He just needs to remember which way the doors open, and buy new shoes. He’ll be fine.

Or: coffee shop/uni AU in which Dan keeps injuring himself in increasingly ridiculous ways, Phil regularly has to patch him up, and it’s Christmas time.

when i sing, you sing harmonies (ao3) - The_Blonde

Summary: Witch Phils and the Piano Playing Dans that they just want to make happy (with a sprinkling of magic).

Wrestle With Your Demons So You Can Be Left Alone (ao3) - starrywrite

Summary: Dan learns the hard way that not everyone understands no means no.

You Can’t Tackle Your Demons on Your Own (ao3) - Merrydith

Summary: Dan is obsessed with a series of books by the amazing author, Phil Lester. He spends his time at the coffee shop he works at reading the books over and over again in the closet. When he meets a new co-worker who is also named Phil, they go on a date. Little does Dan know, he’s sharing a cup of coffee with the author he’s considered his best friend for years.

As he gets to know Phil, he finds that Phil is housing a destructive secret. Why did Phil apply to work at The Brew Bean in the first place and what happens when Phil starts breaking away, piece by piece? Can Dan save his beloved author or is Phil going to fall slowly and hopelessly into loneliness and despair? All the while, Dan is falling in love.

You’ll Find Me Waiting Here For You (ao3) - commonemergency

Summary: Walking down the streets of London is like walking down a ghost town, missing people posters filled the streets along with trash and cars. They’ve had many discussions of relocating somewhere safer, somewhere with more possibilities of food and other resources, but it’s hard letting go of the place that shaped you. or Dan and Phil (+ two lesbians) vs. a post apocalyptic world.

Zoe’s Café - six-foot-two-phanchild

Summary: Dan works with his two friends at the coffee shop one of them own. He meets someone there who takes him on a journey he’d never imagined before.

[purple-cray0ns]

Putting the details here instead so i can keep the original image short lol

The first thing that stuck out to me was the fact None of his design even hinted that he was Creole (which for definitions sake means in this context European & African lineage) besides a single offhanded comment about making jumbalaya and having spiritual powers that deal with favors and shadows, essentially Voodoo Lite. I gave my boy some melanin and hair texture cause those traits are Not Easily Out-Gene'd which is why i was SO confused that his hair was straight as a pin and in a bob. of all hairstyles. willy wonka lookin ass /affectionately. I kept the original silhouette of the deer ears but made them devil horns and ditched the bob cause, yeah. I did a little research (maybe too much) and modified his entire vibe to reflect the styles of clothing and hair styles that have cultural signifigance :D

Next was the deer symbology? Which at first I understood seeing as its a fitting theme for 'harbinger of destruction and deception' so I immediately thought 'deer soul reaper' until i saw what parts of his original design were the deer. Big ass deer ears and the tiniest little antlers youve ever seen and like...if you have a guy, that is Very Clearly Evil, everything about his design from colors to shape language conveys sharp and dangerous, why would you make the most lethal parts of a deer the smallest, and make the most non-threatening part of them the largest??? So i made this man the souliest reaper of all time, and skulls themselves are an important symbol in Afro-spirituality as well. Deer skull. Very menacing

And then some smaller details like instead of yellow teeth he has a gold tooth, yellow eyes and red iris’s, pointed dress shirt sleeves,

All in all his design isn't 'bad', it just needed a lot of shaping. It felt like Viv wanted a character that was the "1950's trans-atlantic accent serial killer that is spiritually powerful and dark enough to threaten overlords" but just slapped 'voodoo' onto him and then to make it culturally appropriate threw in "btw he's creole." Dr Faciller would be a better example of that vibe ffs you're gonna let Disney outdo you??? Nahhhh cmon now. If youre gonna give a character culturally specific traits, put your whole chest into it, research. You can have your cake and eat it too, only if you put in the effort of baking it

Here comes the booyyyy I finally finished yipeeee

This post is gonna be a long one cause i wanna explain some stuff and infodump about this design so if youre here for the art here it is!!

[demonsandco]

Silly ish question about the boys demon forms. Do you think they have any certain task they find annoying when it comes to caring for their demon forms?

Ex. Maybe their horns grow constantly and they have to file them etc etc

I've talked about what type of care goes into maintaining their individual demon forms over here!

Lucifer : Lucifer finds preening is wings, or just all his feathers in general, to be practically infuriating. The act itself is actually soothing, but it takes up so much of his time that he’s grown to despise it. It doesn’t help that he’s a perfectionist about his appearance either, preening his feathers more often than he really needs to, and each time he takes much longer than required to comb through his wings, searching for the tiniest of imperfections, even though no one else would actually notice it. It’s no surprise that he’s exceptionally moody while molting.

Mammon : Being a model, Mammon puts a lot of effort into his appearance, and he usually enjoys taking care of his looks. No matter how often he deals with it, though, his horns never seem to work with him, always being a source of annoyance. Like any demon, Mammon’s horns need to be filed down to keep them from overgrowing, but the tight spirals and backwards angle make it a challenge for him to even reach them on his own and to see what he’s doing. It’s not uncommon for him to spend hours struggling with his horns, only giving up and being forced to ask for some help when his neck is cramping and his arms are sore.

(cont under the cut)

Leviathan : Levi doesn’t have anything special he has to do for his demon form, which he’s thankful for. As long as he swims every once in a while, his scales don’t need anything, and he has antlers rather than actual horns, so there’s no need for him to file them down. He does have to deal with shedding, which is something he greatly despises, but that doesn’t happen often, and he’d rather deal with that every once in a while, than have to follow an actual self care routine like his brothers.

Satan : Even mentioning the care his demon form needs is enough to annoy Satan. Alongside his fast growing horns, he has many other horn-like spikes all over his body that need constant filing. He doesn’t mind the act itself, but it takes up so much of his time, and the longer he puts it off, the worse it gets. He hates feeling like he’s wasting his time, and he can’t help but think about all the other, much more productive, things he could be doing, instead of spending hours just to file down all his horns and spikes.

Asmodeus : Asmo never seems to find any of his self care to be annoying, even if it takes up a lot of time. In fact, he genuinely looks forward to it, excited to have an excuse to have an extended spa day for himself, always taking much longer than necessary to make sure every part of his body is perfect. None of the things he needs to do are particularly troublesome and he finds grooming himself to be a very soothing experience. His little routine is very important to him, and he refuses to let anything get in the way of his self care.

Beelzebub : Beel doesn’t really have anything he needs to do for his demon form that he finds annoying, mostly because he doesn’t actually do any of it half the time. His horns are his main problem, but he can afford to ignore them for a while with how slow they grow. Self care is unbelievably low on his list of priorities, and by the time he gets to the point where he can’t put it off any longer, his twin steps in to help. Unsurprisingly, he finds it much easier to find the time to take care of Belphie, rather than himself, so they help each other out, handling the tasks that the other can’t be bothered to do.

Belphegor : What part of caring for his appearance in general doesn’t Belphie find annoying? It’s more effort than he feels it’s worth, and his horns especially are difficult to deal with because of all their curves. He has a hard time gathering up the motivation to handle such a time consuming task, and if he does try to do it, he gets frustrated and stops pretty quickly. Luckily, he has Beel around to step in and force him to take care of himself. As well, Belphie finds it much easier to find motivation to take care of his twin, handling Beel’s horns with much more care and patience, while Beel helps brush out his hair and file down his curvier horns in return.

[good-things-do-happen-dean]

the world begins anew | destiel | post-s15 softness. again

tags and the rest under the cut bc it got long!

The change is abrupt.

Right after the last of Cas’s grace burns out, he strips off his old clothes, toes out of his shoes, and walks stark naked out into the rain, eyes closed but turned to the heavens, arms outspread. It’s baptism. It’s absolution.

Sam goes inside to get him a towel, but Dean can only stand frozen and watch the Angel Castiel wash away into the earth, and Cas the human be reborn.

Now that Cas is human, he doesn’t wear his trench coat anymore. It’s a struggle to get him in shoes, let alone a suit and tie. He’s always padding around the bunker in (very distracting) low slung sweats and Dean’s ratty old shirts and bare feet, and Dean has to tear his eyes away from the sharp lines of his hipbones peeking out from his waistband.

When it gets chilly, he adds a chunky sweater on top, a couple of sizes too big, sleeves long enough he can use them as a sort of potholder for the steaming mugs of coffee he drinks just shy of boiling. He works at the cuffs until there are thumbholes, which delight him. He switches to old jeans, old enough that the denim has gone faded and soft, and thick woolen socks that match his sweaters, for when he crunches outside with Jack over a thin layer of frost. They spend a lot of time out there together, long walks through the woods surrounding the bunker and packed lunches. And they come back in, noses and cheeks red from the cold, grinning like mad about an interesting rock Jack found, or a perfectly preserved set of tracks, or a bird call they heard echoing through the trees. It’s the little things. The tiniest things Dean hasn’t thought about for decades, maybe ever.

That first winter, they do Christmas. Dean says it’s for the kid, but it’s for all of them, really. A celebration of surviving, of living beyond.

It’s a big deal, too. Everyone comes out. When they’re all together, Dean realizes their network is big. Bigger than he ever thought, spreading out over the years, the roots of a great tree. There’s him and Cas and Jack, of course. Sam and Eileen.

But then there’s Jody and Donna and the girls. Krissy, too, who becomes fast friends with Alex. They spend the tree-decorating tossing unstrung popcorn at the back of Dean’s head. Claire and Jack get along like a house on fire, it turns out.

Garth and Bess and all their kids. Claire catches a shot of Cas with little Castiel in his lap, both of them with their heads tilted, regarding each other earnestly with wide blue eyes. (Dean gets that one framed.)

Then there’s everyone who was shaken loose at the end. From upstairs, from downstairs, from just next door. Bobby and Rufus and Missouri. Charlie and Kevin and Linda. Max and Alicia. Ellen, Jo, and Ash. Benny. It turns out Benny, Charlie, and Jo are inseparable, for some reason. Dean can’t quite make sense of that one, but he grins himself stupid at the three of them chatting away in a corner of the library.

It’s better than he could ever have hoped. The bunker is full of life, finally, after so many years. Long unused bedrooms are dusted off and cleared out. They set up a huge tree in the map room that stretches up nearly to the top of the stairs. They do cocoa and gingerbread houses and they pile into cars to see the Christmas lights on main street. They decide to do movie night, but there’s no way they can all fit in the Dean Cave, so Charlie sets up a projector outside and they bundle up. (Cas smiles a little sadly at Clarence the angel.)

They can’t all stay forever, but they promise to come back. For birthdays and holidays and just when they feel like making the drive. And before people start peeling off, they take a family photo.

It’s Jack’s idea, or it’s Garth’s, or it’s Kevin’s, maybe. But hell if they don’t make the trip to the Target in Lincoln to get matching Christmas pajamas for all 29 of them. It’s the most obnoxious thing Dean’s ever done, and he can’t get enough of it.

Bobby and Ellen roll their eyes, but there are spots of pink high in their cheeks from the eggnog, so they do it anyway. Rufus puts his on without saying a thing, and stands right in the middle, holding up a sign that says, “Chag Sameach!” Charlie plops an elf hat on Kevin. Garth wears a Santa beard that’s way too big for his face. They set up a tripod all the way back in the library to get them all in the shot, crowded in front of the Christmas tree.

Dean isn’t sure if they get one with everyone looking at the camera before Alex and Krissy hold up a sprig of mistletoe as high as they possibly can, laughing when Sam bends to stand under it, bends even further to kiss Eileen. Claire snatches it from them and holds it over Cas with an exaggerated wink at Dean, shrugging and saying, “I don’t make the rules,” when Dean blushes scarlet.

Then everyone’s in on it, merry from the eggnog, and Dean asks Cas quietly if this is okay because they still haven’t figured out this decade-plus-long thing between them even now, and Cas just says yes, plain and simple. It’s quick, chaste, even, just a soft brush of lips, but when Dean pulls away, Cas is looking at him with stars in his eyes in his ridiculous reindeer footie pajamas, except Dean is also in ridiculous reindeer footie pajamas, and he can only hope Bobby clicked the remote to capture it. Everyone cheers. Even Claire cracks a smile as she rolls her eyes at them and says, “You’re welcome.”

Some of them have to head back to their lives. Some of them stick around for longer. Charlie and Ash set to streamlining the database Sam created. Benny takes up a permanent post in the kitchen, which nobody complains about. Claire decides to give school a try, for real this time, and enrolls at Kansas State. She gets a little place with Kaia in Manhattan, but they make the drive back to the bunker nearly every weekend. 

And now that it’s all finally out, finally in the open after years of longing and secrets and heartbreak and, eventually, trust, Cas moves into Dean’s room. They cover the walls with photos, at first mostly from that Christmas. The big one with everyone, even though Kevin’s eyes are closed and little Sam is mid-sneeze from Garth’s beard. Little Castiel in Cas’s lap. Ash wrapped in a string of Christmas lights, and Charlie and Jo doubled over laughing in the background. Claire and Jack with their arms around Cas, Jack’s head tilted against Cas’s shoulder. Missouri and Patience holding up their gingerbread creation. Ellen sandwiched between Rufus and Bobby on a couch, toasting something or another. Kevin after the movie night, cocooned in blankets, Max and Alicia on either side of him. Benny and Linda, another unlikely duo, mid-arm wrestle, Jody, Donna, and Bess cheering Linda on. Krissy and Alex with that sprig of mistletoe almost over Sam and Eileen.

The one Bobby managed to catch of their first kiss, or, really, right after it. Cas with his reindeer antlers and Dean with his Santa hat, both of them in those ridiculous pajamas, still crowding into each other’s space, smiling like the world was beginning anew. Because it was.

tagging: @joharvele | @contemplativepancakes | @fluffiestlou | @never-forever-more | @emblue-sparks | @tearsofgrace

[axil-fleetwood]

op op please op do you have more of this i’d love more of this you say no one asked for this, i’m now asking for this this is incredible this is lovely this is amazing the details are incredible the wINGS AH the different styles of each dragon oh my godddddddddddddddddddddd please op i love this so much they’re all so cool and pretty

dl is over but I’ve been rotating a dragon rider au since like the first episode

[heli0s-writes]

Ugly Christmas Sweater Party

Summary: Bucky (sort of) agrees to wear an ugly Christmas sweater, but what he ends up wearing is much worse. This is for @holy-captain‘s 1.2k writing challenge! Congratulations, Liv and thank you for hosting! I’m so sorry it’s late!! 

Pairing: Exasperated!Bucky x ChaoticDumbass!Reader

Warnings: Swearing Word Count: 1.8k

It’s supposed to be a fun and light-hearted thing—a season full of shiny-glowing-fantastic-twinkling excitement and ruddy red noses and misty breath in the chilled air. A season of joy and celebration, of spiked eggnog, fuzzy striped socks, and sliding down the compound hillsides on Steve’s shield.

And he’s screwed it all up.

It sinks in like the swollen marshmallows in his now cold cocoa, drooping to the bottom where the rest of the sediments lie. Outside, snowflakes gust and whip, blanketing the pine trees and skeletons of shrubbery in white flurries. Red holly berries peek out where they can and glare at him with their crimson eyes.

His phone lights up with picture messages of Steve and Sam, hurriedly trying on a cluster of sweaters in preparation. Horrid renderings of cats on ornaments. Oversized slouchy sleeves flecked with tinsel. Santa’s dreadful ass-crack peeking out of a chimney.

Bucky grumbles and turns his phone face-down, leaning back in his chair to stare at the Christmas tree in the corner. He wants to scream and put his leg through the damn thing.

Soft footsteps draw his attention to the hallway when you emerge, blinking slowly as you stifle a yawn from behind your hand until you see him. Then, you scoff and disappear back down the hall.

“Wait!” Bucky calls, leaping from his seat and nearly knocking the tepid mug from the table, “Damn it, wait!”

You’re gone. Stomped back to your room and even if he starts running now, he wouldn’t be quick enough—only getting the slamming door on his nose. He’ll try anyway.

Bucky slumps against the panel, pushing his chest against the cold metal of it and his cheek until his words come out smushed into his teeth.

“C’mon!” A pathetic whine of your name before he sticks his fingers underneath the slit of the door like a cat, wiggling the bent tip back and forth. Incredible. The Winter Soldier sprawled out all over a corridor, begging for forgiveness over this.

Only silence replies; you’re probably on the bed, thinking about scratching his eyes out. He can practically see you flicking him off with both hands. You’ve never been this upset before, and it deeply troubles him considering the dynamic of your very friendship spun on the axis of one single truth: Bucky’s the annoyed one. You’re the fuck up.

And now he has no idea what to do.

One week of it and he’s completely lost; the start of it all—December 1st when Tony announced: Ugly. Christmas. Sweater. Party.

Two days before Christmas, the team will be gathering in the common area for a white elephant gift exchange, and sweaters will be judged based on ugliness. What a stupid idea.

The winner will be awarded with “no team meetings for a month” and Tony’s personal stash of bourbon as long as no one touches his whiskey.

Upon the proclamation, you had clapped your hands together and grinned, “We’re gonna win this damn thing.”

And Bucky, being regular Bucky who ignores your half-witted ideas and short-sighted fixations, muttered, “Whatever,” and went back to thinking normal-person thoughts.

For the next several weeks, you dove into your knitting, the needles clicking together faster than he’s ever seen, weaving sparkling black and bright cherry red. The rows were tightly bound, looped and coiled expertly until he could finally make out the shape on the front of it.

He really did love your sick sense of humor—although he’d never admit it—funny, twisted, always brought him a bit of joy.

“Fuck no,” he had laughed at the image of a mutilated deer, antlers dangling silver ornaments showcasing his sigil. “I am not fuckin’ puttin’ that on. It looks like hell.”

“You agreed!” And then the needles and yarn hit him right in the nose.

On your way out, a low chuckle came from the corner of the living room where Steve sat sipping a cup of steaming chai. “You know Christmas is her favorite holiday?”

A snorting laugh bubbled the surface of Steve’s tea, “Good goin’, Buck.”

-

“Last Christmas” is on, blaring synth beats through the halls. George Michael croons sweetly, longingly, grieving an unrequited love before jingle bells ring in the scattered percussion.

Bucky hears your voice as you carol along to possibly the cheesiest song of all time—infuriated and baffled that you won’t speak more than two words to him but will sing your heart out to this crap. George Michael, Wham! and all of England can eat his whole ass.

He trudges from his room and into the den where the lights are dimmed and the table is set with snacks and a crock pot of hot chocolate. A dish of pine cones sits in the middle, flanked by a merry snowy village filled with little ceramic teddy bears and reindeer. On the edge is a deflated Santa Hat filled with paper scraps and pens for the voting process at the end of the night.

It is seven-thirty and you are standing next to Sam with bent elbows, wiggling your hips to the chorus, sliding back and forth on the polished floor in fuzzy socks. The two of you are facing the window, pointing at the flurry and a mountain of sludge that was previously a horrid misshapen lump of Snowman Steve.

Bucky squints a little, alert when he sees two matching sweaters—black on the back. Hell no, he thinks.

Sam turns around and Bucky’s worst holiday fears are confirmed. One innocuous “Oh hey, man,” and all the warmth drains from him.

On Wilson’s chest is that terrible disfigured deer you constructed, its antlers spearing out from its head to reach all the way up to his shoulders.

Bucky flies across the room and before either you or Sam can do anything about it, he’s peeling the hem of it over Sam’s head, kneeing him in the groin, and taking him down onto the floor. “What the hell!” Sam yells, struggling to get out of his grasp. “Shit—get off—Barnes!”

“A red star isn’t even your fucking symbol!” His hair is in his eyes along with Sam’s elbow, their limbs and joints knocking into each other in the wrestling bout. The sleeves and front are being stretched terribly, but neither of them seem to notice.

“Hey,” Your calm voice calls from above them—falling on four deaf ears. “Hey,” You try again, and when it doesn’t seem like two grown men can stop aggressively fondling each other over a damn pullover, you raise your hand and decisively land it across the back of Bucky’s head in a deafening crack.

A swell of multiple shocked gasps rises from behind you and when Sam and Bucky freeze, they see the rest of the compound’s inhabitants staring at the scene like a disfigured Nativity display. They also see your palm, at the end of your motion, resting next to your shoulder.

Bucky gingerly rubs his wound. “Ow,” He grumbles.

“Room… now.” You command, pointing your finger down the hall. Wilted, he shuffles away dutifully, saying nothing to the others as he passes. When he’s gone, you look scornfully at Sam and your beloved jersey, loosely hanging at the edge of his torso, pulled nearly apart.

“Voting starts in twenty, kid,” Tony mentions breezily.

“Yeah,” You reply through gritted teeth, “Don’t worry, we’ll be there.”

-

Steve coughs behind his hand awkwardly when Bucky steps back out, the once snugly-fitting sweater around Sam hanging collapsed and loose on Bucky’s right side. You’re close behind, bouncing on your heels and smiling as if nothing had gone wrong. Steve’s not sure which is worse: your wrath or glee.

“You, uh, you alright?” He calls quietly.

“Oh yeah, absolutely. Right, Buck?”

Bucky swallows, “Uh. Yeah.”

He has no fucking idea; when you shut the door behind him, the sweater in your hand was calmly unfolded and held up to his shoulders, damage assessed by a calculating mind. Bucky still has no clue what possessed you not to scratch his eyes out that very second.

Then, you looked him up and down and said, “Put it on, Barnes. Show’s about to start.”

And if he was a weaker man, he’d be shaking in his goddamn boots at how calm you are.

The team gathers around the tree, various colored pens and torn scraps in hand as they evaluate each other’s attire. Natasha is boldly displaying a patchwork kind of cardigan with what looks like the Michelin man ominously hovering behind a tree. Tony, of course, has custom-ordered a perfectly sized wreath knitted around his arc reactor heart. Steve has completely missed the Christmas memo (or is perhaps the politest Grinch on Earth) wears blue, the tiniest hint of gold tinsel woven through.

And Sam -- stupid, stupid Sam-- who didn’t plan on being robbed of a perfectly knitted sweater five minutes before the voting process, is out of the game.

Bucky is about to write your name down, because a medium part of him feels guilty for hurting your feelings while a much larger part of him feels apprehension about what exactly might happen if you lose, but you suddenly dig your hand into his pocket.

All five fingers shove deep until your fist is gripping tight and your knuckles stab his thigh.

“Hey! No hanky-panky during voting!” Tony is scandalized.

A vicious snap of his pocketknife swings open and before he knows it, your left hand is fisting the yarn on his chest and your right is ripping it straight through. The room falls silent when you do it a second time and Bucky’s at a loss for words until the breeze hits.

Chills.

A tendril of AC sneaks through the two open holes you’ve carved and goosebumps bloom all over his chest. Dread settles in his tummy.

His nipples are pebbled and exposed for everyone to see and with a quiet click of the blade retracting, you tuck it back into his pocket. 

“Let the voting begin.”

No one moves. No one makes a single sound and the whole place is quieter than a crypt until a shrill wheeze squeaks out of Sam’s nostrils. Through the choked snickering and the slowly building crescendo of everyone else’s laughter, Wilson admits, “They’re browner than I thought they’d be.”

There’d be no need for a voting process, Bucky knows. You’ve stolen the show – or rather, his nipples have stolen the show, and the once-worthy prize is now his Sisyphean burden to bear. He closes his eyes and counts to a million.

Screw exemptions from team meetings, Bucky thinks, praying desperately that when the bourbon is bestowed to him, by some miracle of sweet baby Jesus, he’d be able to get shitfaced again.

-

perm tags: @whothehellisbucky @serpentbaby @badassbaker @alagalaska @cake-writes​ @crist1216​ @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @infinity-saga @jamesbarnesthighs​ @pinknerdpanda​ @xoxabs88xox​ @imsoft-barnes​ @momc95​ @typicalangel​ @wretchedgoddess​ @readeity​ @iwannasail​ @ya-lyublu-tebya​ @geeksareunique​ @wildefire​ @satanxklaus​ @jhangelface0523​ @wkemeup​

[charlessmithhasmyheart]

Away in the Night

Type: Charles Smith; Introspective

Trigger Warning: Mention of Alcohol

A/N: A few days or weeks ago I posted something about wanting to do more fics that center around the character without a reader insert etc. This one is for @fangirl-ramblings​ who requested one with Charles. 

While I’m not sure %100 about his relationship with his father, I do feel as though the relationship was healthy enough before the loss of his mother, so I would feel as though he would have some remorse for leaving, even if its the tiniest amount, though he knows it’s something he has to do.

----------

The room was dimly lit by the moonlight peaking through the cracks in the dulled, yellow curtains. A few pieces of mismatched furniture could just barely be seen; a small bed with a thick, wool blanket, a bedside table with an oil lamp, a large dresser with one door broken on the top hinge, and a second side-table with a bowl of tepid water.

Despite the limited light, Charles was able to move around his bedroom with practiced memory. His eyes, though still adjusting, scanned the room with accuracy as he quickly and quietly grabbed a few odds and ends and stuffed them into his traveler’s pouch. Though there wasn’t much to his name, he still chose to pack light, only taking with him what he deemed essential.

A hunting knife was one of the first items he had chosen. It had been given to him by his father now that he had been deemed ‘of age’ and ready to make the first steps into the strange world of manhood. The hilt had been carved by a family member long since passed. The design was simple, yet elegant; an outline of a whitetail deer head with antlers reaching to an unseen sky.

The second item was a beaded bracelet that had belonged to his mother before she too had passed. His memories of his mother were far and few between, and they became more unclear with each passing year, but it gave him courage whenever he was frightened, so gently into the pouch it went.

The rest of the bag he filled with some food he had stashed away, a sleeping roll, and a change of warm clothes.

Closing the pack, Charles swung the strap over his shoulder and, taking one last look on the space he had come to know as a refuge over the last few years, exited the room.

One of the first things he noticed was the fireplace was out. The only way he knew it had even been lit, was the dull glow of a few embers peaking out from among the ashes. The second thing he noticed was the slumped over form of his father on a wooden chair before the fireplace. An empty bottle of whiskey lay tipped over on the floor and a second one hung loosely from his fingers.

It was an unsurprising sight to the young boy. After his mother had been taken by the army when Charles had been even smaller with no sign of ever returning, his father had begun drowning his sorrows in beer and whiskey at each and every opportunity. This proved to be very difficult for Charles. As he was the only other member of his small family, it became his burden to see to it that they had food on the table and a warm place to stay. While there were times his father tried to sober up and fly right, his grief would only come back with an even stronger hold.

After a few seasons of the same scenario, Charles knew he only had two options; stay and watch his father and his future slowly drift away, or strike out on his own in the hopes of making something of himself. It didn’t take very long for him to realize which seemed to hold more promise.

Approaching his father on silent feet, he eased the bottle from his fingers and set it on the ground, out of reach. Then he removed the hat from his head, and placed a final kiss on his forehead, his lips barely brushing his father’s temple.

Goodbye father, he thought solemnly. May you see better skies.

A moment later and Charles was out the front door, his feet leading him towards the great unknown and his heart leading him to a greater sense of self.

[hanniba1]

i was tagged by @matthewbrown and @cannnibal for these super fun hannibal questions!! thank you both so much i always love gushing about this show as we know

Favourite episode and why: oh god okay, if i HAD to pick one it’s mizumono. it’s just such a Perfect episode, it’s so ridiculously beautiful down to the tiniest detail, like the ticking clock sound that plays through most the episode???? love it. my other top favorite episodes are secondo, primavera, shiizakana, dolce, naka choko, appertivo, tome wan, trou normand, the wrath of the lamb, the number of the beast is 666, contorno, mukōzuke and su-zakana.

Least favourite episode and why: uhhh, i honestly love them all?? i guess probably either hassun or takiawase?? just they feel the slowest to me i guess.

Favourite side character: jimmy price!!!! i love him so much. i’d say beverly but she’s not a side character in my eyes.

If you could bring back one character who died, who would it be?: abigail because she didn’t deserve to die. i know it held value for the story but i really wish she hadn’t, especially in that way. it’s beautifully tragic and painful but she as a person deserved better.

Dish prepared in the show that you would like to try eating/ making: all of it except the weird ass nietzschean trout and that disgusting jello with the fish in it because those look DISGUSTING. and the frois gras for the same reason as bella. everything else i would try, can’t promise i’d like it but i’d definitely try it.

Which side character would you kill off?: chilton just because for god’s sake just let the man DIE ALREADY poor guy

Was there any scene that you didn’t like to look at?: i’ve talked about it before but the intubation scene is by far the scene that causes me the most discomfort. it feels so much like a rape scene and the symbolism of it, it Is a rape scene, a violation of will’s body. the way hannibal strokes his face i just. yeah. also the lobotomy scene but i have a thing with eyes. other than that the gore never bothers me much, at least not anymore i’ve seen it some many times.

Biggest ship: hannigram obviously like..... why is this even a question

Why did you start watching Hannibal?: i have always been a big fan of the hannibal films, and red dragon was always my favorite so when i found out they were doing a show i was stoked! i watched the first two seasons when it first aired but i lost cable around the time season 3 aired so i didn’t end up finishing it until 2016. so yes, i ended on MIZUMONO and didn’t see any more for TWO YEARS. it was traumatic.

Favourite Hannibal fic if you’ve read any?: okay i went through a period of like 3 months where i just Binge read them and they were all good but they’ve sort of blurred together. but a few that really stuck out for me were

Blackbird

Two Solitudes

As soft, as wide as air

Of Putrefaction, Saccharine (lol this one fucked me UP and i CRIED)

I Didn’t Know It Could Be Like This (part 1) & If The World Burned to Ash, Still We Would Remain (part 2)

What We Talk About When We Talk About Blood (i never read the second part bc it’s not finished, and i REFUSE to start a incomplete fic)

Change Me (If You Dare)

Have you watched any of the Hannibal films?: yes!! i grew up watching red dragon, silence of the lambs and hannibal. i think i watched silence of the lambs for the first time when i was like 7 or 8 LMAO which explains a lot. the only ones i haven’t seen are hannibal rising and i really wanna watch manhunter!

Have you read the Thomas Harris books?: i’m in the process of reading red dragon, but i most definitely prefer the show.

Favourite murder tableau: in the whole show it’s the prisoner, because the significance it holds for will’s character arc. but if we’re talking about the more traditional murder tableau’s i’m gonna go with cassie boyle’s it’s visually very striking and beautiful in a horribly morbid way.

Favourite blood spill: oh god a lot of them but uhhh, obviously the slaying of the dragon, will imaging slitting hannibal’s throat in tome wan, and then i completely loose my damn mind over will imaging being randall tier in shiizakana when he’s covered in blood and has the antlers coming out of his back i— 👁👄👁

What’re some of your headcanons?: it’s not necessarily a headcanon and more of an analysis but i go absolutely FERAL when i read any meta talking about will holding a more traditionally feminine role in the story of the show, especially talking about him being a gothic heroine. it’s why i loose my mind over any comparisons of hannibal and dracula and will being mina i just [incoherent screaming]. i also obviously love any headcanon’s of dark will graham. it’s something i post about myself a lot because to me it’s not headcanon, it is canon supported throughout the show, that will is killer who wears a person suit the same as hannibal. he’s not just a righteous killer, he has the exact same capacity for violence as hannibal. he just had a harder time accepting it.

i tag (and once again if i double tag y’all i’m sorry!!) @aragima @arunima @horrorcupid @nietzscheantrout @honnibal @hughdancyx @marg0t-verger @serialcannibal @hotgirlhannibal @francisforever and anyone else who wants to do it obviously xx