#penwell

[dimespin]

PENWELL WHAT HAPPENED

This happened when Pen was about 110. His brother Clay had moved out decades before and didn't find out what happened for a long time since he had lost contact with his family at the time (the saratoan bachelor lifestyle is not always super stable)

And unfortunately in the intervening 70 years he outlived those joeys, but not all at once as what triggered his tusk development.

[z-paladin]

Have you ever been close to tragedy Or been close to folks who have? Have you ever felt a pain so powerful So heavy you collapse?

@binarybreak

[illustrationsbychristina]

Happy Holidays to all of you, from all of us at @binarybreak !

[binarybreak]

FUN FACT: Mothman was first spotted on November 15, 1966.

Penny Penwell was first spotted twenty years later on November 15, 1986. Not to be conspiratorial or whatever, but they're never been seen in the same room 🤔 🤔 🤔 🤔

[tempest-toss]

((based on my previous post))

[meetinginsamarra]

mayprompts2024 #9, intimidation

Read parts 1-7 on AO3 here

++++++

The Perfect Place - Part Eight

Of course, both of them pondered closing the final gap between their mouth and the other’s cheek, or fore head, or even - most daringly -the other’s delectable lips. But also, both were too afraid to currently move any further, as to not destroy whatever it was that had developed between them in this short amount of time.

They didn’t know for how long they lay side by side in this surprising and fascinating happy bubble of seemingly endless future possibilities, facing each other and exploring whatever bubbled up in the depths of the other’s eyes.

“Watson!” A voice boomed from behind their heads.

Sherlock and John petrified.

The scintilillating bubble of a future together burst and died a sudden and violent death. They could practically hear the shards falling down and feel the piercing senstaion on their bodies.

“It’s after closing time. Why are you still here?”

A big man came into view as he rounded the bed, stopping at the foot end. A grumpy face with a veiny nose and the remnants of some acne scars looked down upon them, disapprovingly.

“Mr. Penwell!” John scrambled into a sitting position. “Bernie, I…”

“What are you doing in the Royal Metropolis?” Bernie squinted hard, as if he needed glasses to see clearly. “Who is this woman beside you?”

(The glasses were on top of Bernie’s head but he had forgotten that he had put them there as he often did. Even being cripplingly myopic, Bernie was a vain man and hated needing the eyewear. Without them he could barely see, only able to discern blurry blobs of colour and a bit more detail when he squinted. Given the vibrant purple blob that was the other person’s upper body and the curly-ish and long-ish dark blob that must be the hair, he assumed Sherlock was a woman.)

(Also, the concept of same-sex relationships was quite outlandish to him.)

Sherlock was loathe to admit that the sudden voice had also startled him badly, however he regained control over his wits and body faster than John. In a fluent motion he glided into standing right in front of Mr. Penwell (John wondered enviously how Sherlock did that and if he possibly had vampire ancestors).

“Greetings Mr. Penwell,” Sherlock cried, using his deep velvety voice to shock the man, “I have to congratulate you on employing the formidable salesman Mr. Watson here!”

Sherlock grabbed the stunned man’s hand and shook it vigorously. Bernie reflexively shook the hand back. The glasses dislocated from his bald head and slided down onto his nose, making him blanch strongly.

John wondered if Bernie’s face had lost all of its usually rather reddish colour because he had confused Sherlock with a woman or because John had laid so close to a man or because Sherlock had lauded his salesmanship.

(It was the latter, of course.)

“Formidable?” Bernie choked out the word while pushing the glasses upwards on his nose. “Watson?”

Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. Taking on his poshest accent, he drawled, “Your excellent shop assistant Mr. John Watson has been going out of his way not only to explain all about the correct rigidity and appropriate springiness of boxsprings (John bit his lip to avoid giggling in the background), he also selflessly offered himself to help me decide if the Royal Metropolis would be an adequate accessory fixture to my second bedroom.”

Bernie gasped. He didn’t know what to say, overwhelmed by the fact that John Watson (the most terrible salesman in history) was praised most profusely by this distinguished member of the upper class and also slightly confused by this man’s labyrinthine sentence structure.

Meanwhile, John had stood up, had straightened his cardigan and rearranged the gun in his trouser pocket, positioning himself at Sherlock’s side.

“I’m glad to have helped. Shall I get the contract ready now?”

“Yes yes,” Sherlock absent-mindedly confirmed, “fill it in so I can sign the purchase.”

Bernie gasped again. He took the glasses off his nose and cleaned them with a wet wipe he fished out of his jacket, in dire need to reassure himself that what he had just witnessed had not been a trick of the light (as in a blotch on the usually dirty glasses blurring his view on reality).

While John was occupied with the contract, Sherlock took Bernie aside, whispering into his ear.

(Apart from having the advantage of superiour eyesight versus Bernie’s, Sherlock also had superior brain matter to use his all-observing deduction skills. Thus, he already knew why Bernie had been so upset to find them both in this bed.)

When John returned, Bernie’s face had become boiled-lobster red and he nearly stumbled over his own feet to grab the pen out of John’s hand. Bernie viciously crossed out the printed retail price of “2549” and scribbled a shaky “500” over it.

Sherlock signed with his name, adding some unnecessary swirls.

“It’s been a pleasure doing busisness with you, Mr. Penwell.” Sherlock bowed his head curtly, then turning to John. “Now get your belongings, Mr. Watson. You promised to help me find the perfect place in my flat for the bed to be positioned. Making sure the Feng Shui energy flow won’t be compromised.”

Five minutes later, they stood outside the shop, leaning against its brick wall.

“What did you say to him? He never gives discounts. To anyone.”

“I said that it was unwise to hide his stash of weed in the Royal Metropolis’s mattress, given that such an amount could easily get him sacked by the police for possession if someone would relay such information.”

John laughed out loud. “You intimidated him.”

“No. It was merely a friendly and well-meaning reminder.” Sherlock laughed as well. “I even offered to help him with the evidence and wouldn’t it also be nice to get rid of the old overpriced shelf warmer, too. Killing two birds with one stone, as the saying goes.”

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done.” John said in between guffaws. And I’ve invaded Afghanistan, he thought.

“Shocking, indeed.”

Either man would yet need to notice that John’s walking cane was still leaning against the shop's counter, forgotten.

+++++

tagging some people @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @lisbeth-kk @peanitbear @raina-at

[qbdatabase]

Renovated to Death by Frank Anthony Polito Real-life domestic partners and stars and producers of the new hit reality home renovation show Domestic Partners, bestselling mystery author Peter “PJ” Penwell and actor JP Broadway are enjoying work and life in their sleepy Detroit suburb of Pleasant Woods—until a suspicious death makes an unscripted appearance . . . View the full summary and rep info on wordpress or check it out for free from the Queer Liberation Library!

[keybordcaps]

redesigned one of our ooooold MLP OCs, Bloodwell “Penwell” Pen [She/It/Vamp/Bat]

bat pony and something else with a vampire writer aesthetic, she grew up in a dense forest and doesnt like going out in the sun much due to sensitive eyes, but will do so just because thats when most shops are open though. What does she write? idk. but i love her.

[dcwnthercbbithcle]

Would Ophelia like the Night King?

Ophelia hummed a quiet sound, the compilations she had been shown illustrating moments across Game of Thrones:

" Hmmm, does he not speak? " "No, 8713, I'm sorry, he's more of an... imposing character," Interjecting with an understanding note, Ophelia waved a hand, fanning away any notion of potential wrongdoing, " Nurse Penwell, but it's more than alright,"

" That boy he was with, the one with the long hair-" " Jon Snow?" " -Yes, him. He reminds of a man from the facility, an MTF Officer... Leonard? Leopold? Ah, either way, he bares a striking resemblance! I must let him know the next occasion I see him. Aside from that, however, he is not for me; a touch too young and too pretty," Ophelia gave a short chuckle after her comment. Though the intern wanted to interject that Ophelia was only in her thirties, this was a battle not worth fighting.

" How about the Night's King? " Bringing a hand to her chin, Ophelia thought hard, and harder still, it was hard to speak for a man who's character was so shrouded in mystery, yet; " I admit, he is attractive, in an... ethereal sort of way. I would give him a chance, at least until I was able to read him better," this is a lie, she would totally let him smash.

[dimespin]

wait, can the Atau interbreed with the other kinds of saratoan?

Hmm I wonder

[z-paladin]

Wanted to draw another bit of @binarybreak fanart and what better bit to draw than BADTOTHEBONERIFF.MP3

[binarybreak]

Official Notice

Have you or someone you know been robbed by Mark "Penny" Penwell?

You may be entitled to compensation in the form of a new episode of Binary Break on Digi-Monday, April 1, 2024.

[tempest-toss]

X

(ooh thanks for the response! [/gen] and for also opening up some thinking for me

Below is me rambling about hypothetical's involving @dcwnthercbbithcle's OC Nurse Ophelia Penwell. I talk a lot so I'm putting a keep reading!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Just thinking about Ophelia's visit to 230. Easel (at that point) would absolutely despise his nickname as he wouldn't trust Ophelia and thinks the nickname is an act to befriend him to take him back to the Gallery

Lily very much confused by hers

And Yam...wouldn't actually be there yet. As after Ophelia visited the earthquake happened and after that Yam fled to 230 with the help of then Site Director Enigma

oh but another thing! (Ramble incoming)

Thinking of a hypothetical scenario where Ophelia stays at 230 and/or is turned human/was always human: She would love it there. Especialy since it's well after Enigma's plan is enacted and staff is encouraged to be loving and supportive? Ophelia would have to be held back from adopting them all. Hanging out with them in the inner courtyard, listening to them ramble, helping as much as she could with their abilities, patching up the littles' scrapes.

While it isn't mentioned a lot, 230 is home to sapients from all across the age spectrum, so Ophelia could also be seen helping the elderly to their rooms, maybe help deliver food to a sick adult couple, or help a teen trying to learn chess?

Not to mention she might also really want to help the foundlings, especially if they aren't anomalous and help them feel like they belong in a place seemingly dominated by anomalous folk.

Maybe Ophelia would like the anomalous pets they have on site too? (Unless she's allergic of course... can paintings have allergies?)

Of course the only problem in this hypothetical is that it would mean she's cut off from her polycule and the rest of her skip family and friends. Perhaps some of the skips she befriends offers a dimensional warp service? who knows.

If you got this far, then thanks for reading my wild rambles, and check out Bunni! They v cool and make great headcanons, aesthetic reblogs, and they write a-mazingly! :>

[zira-blackwell]

Check and Mate + [Penwell feat. Belle]

In which Zira successfully steals the first cobblestone and grows closer to her goal...[takes place: August 29]

@arthur-of-camelot, @labellerose-acheron

[tw -- graphic threats of violence]

BELLE: One would think that maybe having the King of Britons ‘round for a spot of tea was intimidating, but Belle was used to entertaining such characters of legend. After all, she was married to the King of the Underworld. And she’d dined with the Great Prince of Enchantra Forest. Had worked for the Queen of Swynake’s Fairy Hollow. 

Besides, she quite liked Arthur. He was not quite as brash as some legends made him out to be. In reality, he was rather quiet, contemplative and thoughtful. She had her knight-memories, of course, of a young man who had been slightly more boisterous, but she found she liked this settled down second-life version of Arthur. The two of them got on quite well, especially considering the brash nature of a few of their comrades in arms. Yes, she was including Merida in this assessment. 

They were meeting today to put the final touches on the trip to Elfhame. Belle’s notebook that she kept specially for this was out on the table and the teapot had cooled, the two of them already on their second cup each. The house was quiet. Hades and Toulouse had the children for the day, to give Belle the proper focus to plot the way she needed to.

And she was rather satisfied with the plan, overall. It was risky. There were a million ways that it could go wrong, but they’d done as much as they could. Overplanning would just get them in their heads about it. 

“I don’t trust this fae prince, but I believe he at least intends to get us there and back in one piece. Other than that, the plan is solid. Don’t you think?” she asked, looking over at Arthur. 

ARTHUR: The trip to Elfhame was one that Arthur had briefly considered taking part in himself. He wanted to, and thought that he should, seeing as he had lost Excalibur to someone after having tracked it down. But then he thought better of it. Largely because he was the sheriff of this town, and Arthur couldn’t leave the town defenseless if Zira did anything. He didn’t trust her not to do something.

But he did want  to help as much as he could with the planning and with making sure that his knights had the best chance possible to retrieve Excalibur. If he couldn’t be there himself, he would do his best to support them here.

Arthur took a small sip of his tea, considering the notebook once more. “I do believe it’s the best plan that we have.” Did he think there were a lot of things that could go wrong? Yes, but there was only so much that they could plan for. The rest was out of their hands. 

“I don’t trust him either, and it would be wise to keep a watchful eye on him, but I think he knows not bringing you back would have consequences. Tiana and I will be here and alert. If he were to return without any of you...it would not end well for him.”

BELLE: Belle nodded thoughtfully, smiling a little at the protective edge to Arthur’s voice. She thought it was nice and Bedivere recognized it too. There was an affection there that wasn’t hers, but she couldn’t deny. It was such an odd feeling. She wasn’t the kind of person to be coddled, but Arthur had a way of saying things that just sounded…warm. Not patronizing. 

And while Belle was secure in the knowledge that Hades would raze Elfhame to the ground if she didn’t come back in one piece, it was nice to know there were others who felt the same way. Belle wasn’t the biggest team player, but she could admit to its advantages. 

“I think he’s aware,” Belle told Arthur with a little nod. “He’s given his word to bring us all back and the fae are bound by their word. I think I covered all the loopholes, but even if I haven’t, from what I understand we only need him to get to Elfhame, not back again.” She smirked, a little light of mischief in her eye. 

“Besides, I—“

There was a knock at the door. 

Normally, an unexpected knock at the Acheron’s door was always cause for slight concern. Even Shuck, who had been contently lying on the floor near them was on his feet, a growl rumbling in his throat. 

Belle was unperturbed. “Oh, I should get that,” she said, even though she had no idea who it was. She smiled at Arthur and then stood, moving to the door. Shuck walked ahead of her, his massive body blocking the doorway. 

“Shuck, move,” she huffed and pulled the door open without looking. 

“Ah, hello, Dr. Blackwell,” she said breezily. 

“Hello, Mrs. Acheron.”

ARTHUR: “As long as we’ve got the basics covered it should be alright. And as I said, there are a few of us staying back so he would be held accountable.” Arthur believed that it would be alright. And he trusted his knights to have a good head on their shoulders. Belle going when he couldn’t helped him feel better as well. He knew that unlike some of the others, she usually had a pretty sound logic and wouldn’t just jump right into something.

He startled a little at the knock on the door, glancing over at Belle. Had she been expecting someone else? They hadn’t discussed that.

And then Arthur heard the familiar voice and he was on his feet in an instant, stepping behind Belle ready to back her up however he could. He didn’t have a sword on him, which felt like the worst mistake of his life, even if it was odd to go around with a sword strapped to your waist in this day and age. “Zira...what are you doing here?”

BELLE: Belle knew that she should be alarmed. 

Actually, she was alarmed. She could feel her heart beating, but she also realized that she wasn’t in control. Her hand was on the doorknob and it had turned without her say so. It didn’t make any sense. Only that she knew she was somehow enchanted. Belle knew what that felt like. She had had magic used against her plenty of times.

She opened her mouth to say this to Arthur, to warn him, but nothing came out.

Instead, she could only look at him incredulously for a moment before turning back to Zira, who was smiling pleasantly at them.

“Hullo, Arthur. I would love to stay and chat, but as you are aware, I’m very busy these days.” Her gaze cut back to Belle. “Would you be a doll and fetch me what I’ve come for?”

“Of course,” Belle said, her brain supplying: cobblestone. She gave Arthur another horrified look before she found her feet moving of their own accord toward the stairs a few steps away. 

ARTHUR: This shouldn’t have been happening. 

How was Zira doing that? She hadn’t stepped inside or gone anywhere. Why was Belle doing exactly what Zira had said? It was like...well it was as if she was being controlled.

Arthur immediately stepped in between Belle and the stairs, an arm coming up to block her way to them. “And you expect that to work, Zira? Just have her walk over and bring it to you? Do you think that I would allow that?” Arthur asked, eyebrows furrowed as he steeled himself up.

He didn’t know what Zira was trying to pull, but he refused to allow her to get away with the cobblestone. The knights had found it and fully intended to keep it safe from her. “I suggest you leave.”

BELLE: Belle let out a little sigh of relief as Arthur stepped in front of her. She wasn’t in control of her actions. She knew that much, hopefully he realized it too and didn’t think Belle was betraying him. Belle was many things: not a very good team player, small and slight and not a very good fighter, but she also wasn’t someone who would betray someone. Not unless they betrayed her first. And Arthur hadn’t ever done that. In this life or the last. 

But, she couldn’t speak. 

“Hm, Mrs. Acheron, would you be a dear and inform Arthur of what I told you?” Zira said from the door. 

��If anyone tries to stop me, I should slit my throat,” Belle repeated automatically. She blinked after she said it and turned to look at Zira, eyes wide with horror. 

Zira just smiled. “Good girl, now run along.”

Belle looked again at Arthur and then reluctantly, but without her control, stepped around him and headed up the stairs. Her heart pounding. All she could think was she was glad the children weren’t home. 

“I didn’t think I’d have to tell you to stay out of my way, Arthur, but apparently I was wrong,” she heard Zira comment with a sigh as Belle ascended the stairs. 

ARTHUR: He couldn’t help but glare at Zira, though he reluctantly stepped out of Belle’s way. He couldn’t allow harm to come to her, though Zira’s methods were low. Despicable really to use someone in this way. 

And once again, he wished he had Excalibur with him, that he could use it and swing at Zira and stop her evil right then and there. 

Alas, he did not, and he couldn’t allow Belle to come to harm’s way. They would have to accept this loss. As infuriating as it was. “Really? You should know better than to expect me to just roll right over and let you take anything you want.”

Arthur stepped a little closer to Zira. “You might win today, but you will not win with this ridiculous scheme of yours. I will defeat you.”

ZIRA: The problem with being so moral and chivalrous meant you were so incredibly predictable. You could never gain the high ground because you weren’t willing to do the things that needed to be done. It was why Arthur was losing. He could not bring himself to use people the way that Zira did. He wanted to make friends with his minions. He cared about them. If their situations were reversed, Zira would let Belle open her neck and bleed out all over her new rug. 

(There might be only the slightest twinge of regret in a mother recognizing a mother, but children lost their mothers every day.)

Zira had known that this would work. Had been so confident that she’d waited until Arthur was here to call on Belle’s compulsion. Nuka had done such a wonderful job with it, she would need to remind herself to thank him when the time came. 

The floor creaked above them and Zira glanced up before looking back at Arthur.

“But isn’t that exactly what you’re doing? Rolling over and letting me take exactly what I want?” She stepped closer until she was right on the threshold, though she did not want to let him know she was magically bound to stay outside the house. 

“You do not want to lose anyone and that is the difference between us: no one else matters as much as breaking the charter. I will leave a river of blood so deep I will wash this town into nothing more than a memory and stain the earth so nothing else can ever grow here.” 

ARTHUR: He had only ever loathed one person as much as he loathed Zira in this moment. And that was Mordred, the person responsible for his death. Zira...she had a thirst for blood that was revolting and horrific, and she didn’t care who she would go through to get what she wanted.

“No. I’m not. Like I said, you win this time now, but you will not win the war. I will figure out how you did this.” And he would safeguard his knights so that something like this couldn’t happen again. He would make sure of it. 

He took a step back from her, a cool smile spread across his face. “You will try. But you will fail. I look forward to you seething with frustration when all your little fantasies turn to dust.”

Arthur couldn’t help but glance back, worrying about Belle and how she was doing. He wished that he could do something to stop what was happening. He hated how powerless he felt at this moment. They would have to do better.

ZIRA: Arthur was so cute. He reminded her of a badger trying to defend itself from a lion. Admirable, but ultimately foolish. She supposed she could appreciate his tenacity and the belief in his cause. Even in the face of failure, he tried to keep his pride. At least he would not be boring to kill. In fact, he’d probably make it rather fun, dying like a martyr. 

The top of the steps creaked and Belle appeared, descending the stairs. Zira smiled at her, denying Arthur a proper answer to his challenge. The beautiful, tragic woman slipped between them and dropped the stone into Zira’s hands, who curled her fingers over it. 

“Thank you, darling.”

“You won’t win,” Belle snapped, her eyes burning with tears. 

“Yes,” Zira’s eyes flicked toward Arthur. “Your king said the same thing.” She let out a put on sigh, especially considering vampires didn’t breathe, as she put the cobblestone in her bag. 

“I look forward to seeing you try and stop me. Ta ta.” 

And with that, she turned and sauntered down the walkway. Going a few steps before speeding up and disappearing into the dusk. 

ARTHUR: As Zira turned away and left, Arthur let out a breath he hadn’t even realized he’d been holding. Okay. So they’d lost this one. He wasn’t going to let that happen again. They could make this right. He was determined to make it right again.

But for the moment, he turned and stepped over to Belle, glancing her over carefully. “Are you alright?” He asked. Zira had threatened the woman’s life, and though no harm had come to her as Arthur hadn’t allowed that to happen, he still felt he needed to check in. Even if no physical harm had occurred, her bodily autonomy had been taken from her.

“I’m sorry. What she did...that was...well I know she has to have some form of magic...but I would never have guessed her capable of controlling someone like this.”

BELLE: The moment the stone fell into Zira’s hand, Belle felt her body return to her. She touched her neck, then her chest—feeling her heart beating frantically against her rib cage. She leaned against the stair bannister, but as soon as Arthur turned his gaze on he, she snapped to, like a proper soldier. 

The team of Knights was mostly Mundus, as it had been before, and Belle refused to seem weak just because of that. She had dealt with far worse. If anything, she was just annoyed that it had been so easy for Zira. Her hand clenched into a fist around the banister and she took a breath. There was an intention for her to smile at Arthur, but it turned into a grimace. 

“I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” Belle reassured him. 

“Possessions are worse, let me tell you,” she chuckled dryly, trying to inject a bit of humor. Thinking about it, though, Belle had had her body snatched by her plenty of times. From possession to death to, well, pregnancy to be honest. Though, this didn’t feel like that. 

It felt like—

“Oh. Wait—I know what that was. I-I think.” Belle brushed past Arthur as her brain turned back the clock years and years now. To a much more naïve Belle. Her gaze looked toward the door and then the kitchen. 

“She didn’t cross the threshold, did she?” Belle asked, turning to her king. “I think she may be a vampire.”

[authorbrandonscott]

Saturday's ink is Gruene Cactus. 🌵🌵🌵🌵🌵🌵 In the Jinhao 992 with a Goulet #5 nib swap. 😎 #gouletnib #gouletnation #penwell #noodlersink #gruenecactus #noodlers #fountainink #jinhao992 #screenwriting #screenplay #writerscommunity #writingcommunity #HorrorCommunity (at Linville Gorge Wilderness) https://www.instagram.com/p/CIJHrWlAaYf/?igshid=1pzcmhcccx9qh