#free glossy posters!

[mollyolikeme]

.......

90's kids:

[victory-cookies]

also rip to the posters that did not make it across the border

[mostly-imagines]

Who Needs Heaven? : The Drop-In

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason meets his daughters

warnings: it’s not specific if the kids are bio or adopted — this probably doesn’t make sense on multiple fronts but i DON’T CARE

see for: the vibes

His body jolts like he’s snapping out of sleep. The first thing he processes is loud conversations echoing, the sound of young girls talking over each other. He surveys over a book in his hands that he’s never heard of, though it’s opened more than halfway through and considerably worn. He drops the book to the side, coming to a stand and scanning over the environment. 

He looks around the adorned living room, taking in details rapidly. He doesn’t recognize the house he’s in but he can tell it’s somewhere he definitely does not belong. The room is filled with books on shelves and picture frames are littered in every free spot in between. The lights are warm and the furniture is colorful with pillows and blankets strewn all over. It’s a stark contrast to the refined stoic Manor he’s so used to; there’s a distinct feeling of homeliness and warmth that seeps through the walls.

He creeps into the front entryway to the house as quietly as he can, peering up the staircase to the landing above for any signs of familiarity or danger. From his right, a girl comes darting into the space, running face first into Jason. He immediately reaches out to steady her but she shows no sign of disruption. She makes a point of holding the wrapped popsicle in her hand away, keeping it safe. She blinks up at him before taking off past him, calling out, “Sorry, dad!”

Dad?

“Anna, I swear to God—” Another girl of similar age runs past, paying him no mind.

He gapes after her, thoroughly confused. Where the hell is he?

“Daddy?” He turns around and looks down to a younger girl who looks about six at most. She stares up at him with wide eyes and freckled cheeks. “Are you okay?”  

He can’t think.

This isn’t…this can’t be real. It can’t be. This is a dream. He got knocked out. He’s hallucinating. He’s dying.

He tries to keep his breath steady as this little girl peers up at him with curious eyes. “Daddy?”

He opens his mouth, struggling to find words, let alone get them out. “Where…where’s your mom?” He can barely make out his own voice.

“She’s in your room,” she tells him, looking up the stairs. 

He treds up the stairs slowly, the chatter downstairs barely getting any quieter. The second floor seems deserted in terms of the presence of children. If, if this were real (or more likely, a dream) you’ll be here somewhere. There’s no scenario where he’d ever imagine a life in a big house with a big family without you—subconsciously or otherwise. 

Several doors line the wide hallway, most of them open. He peers in the room closest to the top of the staircase, finding a heartily decorated bedroom with two twin beds. Polaroids and movie posters litter the walls and clothes are strewn across on top of the bed covers and in a few small piles on the floor. An orange lava lamp illuminates the room from a desk, shining off the glossy cover of magazines. Above, sports medals dangle off the wall against a white board, a scribbled on game of hangman midway through. A full-length mirror covered in stickers along the edges reflects a bookshelf across the room, dozens of books stuffed on each shelf. He blinks vacantly, pulling back from the doorway and continuing on.

He continues on down the right side of the hallway, passing up a bathroom and a closet before peering into the next room. It also has two beds, but it’s filled with remnants of young children. A small table with a tea set laid out on top sits in the middle of the room with various princess dresses draped across the short chairs. Pink bed sheets and butterfly-filled curtains joined by toy cars lined against the wall and strings of pink starry lights hanging from the ceiling. Both beds have stuffed animals arranged in thoughtful piles. It takes Jason a moment to notice the tattered, worn elephant with the green polka dot tie on the bed with the Cinderella comforter. Pickles. It was his when he was a kid. It’s placed delicately at the top of the pile, like he’s the king of the crop. A grand dollhouse sticks out against one of the walls, the dolls all lying asleep in their makeshift beds. Fluffy bubblegum and fuschia rugs scatter the floor just enough that you could jump across the room without ever touching the hardwood.

He turns to the last room, a door directly across that’s just cracked open. He can hear light music coming from inside and the almost inaudible shuffle of movement. He pushes the door open cautiously and takes in the sight of a woman, back to the door, folding laundry on the bed. He doesn’t even need to see your whole figure to know that it’s you.

“Sweetheart?” He sounds like he’s out of breath. 

“Yeah?” You turn around with your same kind eyes and gentle disposition. You look older, not much older but your face is more mature. You even hold yourself a little differently. You quickly notice the way he scans you with a look of bewilderment on his face and jump into concern. “What’s wrong?” You drop the shirt that you’re folding on the bed, approaching him with soft steps. Everything feels fuzzy.

“This—this is…” His voice seems far away, this body feels further. “This isn’t real…”

“What? Jay, what are you talking about?” You’re so genuinely concerned about him it makes his heart hurt and does nothing to help clear his head.

His breathing starts to stutter and his eyes can’t pick something to focus on. Everything is telling him that this is a false sense of security, he’s not safe, you’re not safe, everything’s wrong—

“Woah, hey, hey. It’s okay.” You take his face in your hands the way you know tends to ground him. “Catch me up.”

He tries to focus on the sliding clasp of the necklace around your neck. “I…I think this is…” He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up only to wake up in a few seconds and find that it was all pretend. Instead, he’ll settle for, “...This hasn’t happened…”

You frown at that, tilting your head. “What do you mean?”

He breathes out heavy, “I think I’m dreaming.” 

“What are you dreaming of?” You walk along this train of thought with him, though he has no idea why you would entertain it. This really must be pretend.

“The future…this is…is this the future?” He’s whispering, he’s not even sure if he’s asking you or himself or maybe even God. 

You’re quiet for a minute before you speak again. “Oh,” you say contemplatively, not nearly as alarmed as you should be. You should probably be calling him crazy, right? “This is—you told me about this. Yeah, it had something to do with that clock guy—”

He blinks a few times, “The Clock King?” That does sound…familiar. Was he—he was with Bruce wasn’t he? Or maybe Dick. Both?

You nod, “Yeah, yeah. You said you ‘time traveled’ for a minute...but that was in, like…”

He fills in the blank with the year as he remembers it and your eyes go wide. “Well, this would be a bit of a surprise then.”

“We have kids?”

You laugh, brushing his hair back gently, “Yes. Yes, we definitely do. Five girls.”

“Five?” He breathes.

“Yeah. Wasn’t the plan but…” you shrug easily, “Here we are.” 

He barely stops his next question from coming out of his mouth and replaces it. “Is this something I should be hearing?”

“What?” You tilt your head for a second before realization flashes across your face. “Oh, you don’t end up remembering any of this.” You shrug, mouth scrunched up to the side, “So why not?”

He does really want to hear about them. “Please.” He whispers faintly. 

You nod reposefully, “Okay, well…” you pause, eyes on the ceiling. “Oh, wait.” You dart over to the bookshelf against the wall and pull a book from the second shelf from the top, a large pink photo album.

You shuffle back, guiding him to the bed and sitting thigh to thigh with him and placing the album on your laps. You flip it open to the first page, which displays an array of photos of who must be his daughter.

“This is Mia—Miriam—she’s the oldest. She’s thirteen now, she’s very smart and a sort of a perfectionist. Really a perfectionist.” A couple of her baby pictures were taken in your apartment and it makes his heart absolutely melt to see you as he left you, holding a baby—his baby—with a glowing smile on your face. There’s another photo of her, kindergarten aged, dressed up as Spoiler for halloween. One shows her on a bike with shimmery handlebar streams, Jason holding her steady as she learns. He’s wearing the brightest smile he’s ever seen on his own face.

“Then there’s the twins,” you continue, flipping to the next page. You laugh when his breath hitches at that. “I know. It’s not as scary as it sounds. Well, not now that they’re older. Ryan and Anna.” You point to them as you say their names, and he recognizes them quickly as the two girls that had run past the stairs. The twins look identical, the only discernible difference found in that Ryan is grinning in every picture with a glint in her eyes and Anna nearly always has a stoic look on her face. 

“Ryan is her father’s daughter. She thinks she’s very clever and even more funny, and she is but don’t tell her that, it goes straight to her head.”

There’s a picture that has to be a couple of years old by now of the two of them dressed in what looks like brand new soccer gear. Another depicts one of them chasing Tim with a firework sparkler at dusk. He sees one of Ryan covered in dirt and tiny cuts, smiling big, helmet crooked on her head.

“Anna’s a happy kid, she is. Don’t let her attitude trick you—she just likes to keep her feelings to herself.” Anna’s pictures remind him of Damian in some ways. The very intentional lack of a smile but the happiness still seeps through anyways. One of her pictures has her cuddling with two rottweiler puppies in classic Damian style. Another one shows her a bit older, on Jason’s shoulders, surveying the land.  

You turn to the next page, “And Laine, uh, Elaine,” you smile, “She’s a bit eccentric. She lives in her own world but she’ll bring you into it with her. She likes magic and glitter and offbeat things.” Laine’s pictures leave a particular warmth in his heart. She has the absolute widest smile and the brightest eyes he’s ever seen. One photo shows her having a picnic with several stuffed animals, another has her drawing a rainbow with sidewalk chalk. One picture towards the bottom of the page grabs his eye, one of Laine happily braiding Cass’ short hair at what appears to be the Manor.

“And then the little one is Aurora—Rory,” You turn to a page full of pictures of the wide-eyed girl, who has the sweetest baby face. He can tell from the pictures alone that she has your personality. You point to a picture of her giggling with bubbles all in her hair as you explain, “She’s still small but she has a big heart and a very sensitive soul already.” Jason’s practically staring a hole in the picture of Rory as a newborn in the hospital, held delicately by Bruce.

You play with the hair at the nape of his neck as he processes quietly, letting him take his time.

“They’re happy?” He asks in a whisper.

“We’re happy.” You say affirmingly. He looks you in the eyes and you see a specific vulnerability in his that you haven’t seen in a long time. “You are a good dad, Jay.”

He’s still surprised that you can read him like a book, even though at this point you’d have been together for at least fifteen-some years. His eyes burn and he’s not sure he can keep it together. But you dig the knife in all the same, “They love you. A lot. We couldn’t live without you.”

You flip through until you find a page later in the book, plopping it back open fully. The first picture he takes note of shows him outside with picked flowers scattered in his hair wherever they’ll stay put, Laine and Rory trying to straighten them out. Another is of Anna hesitantly feeding a horse an apple, Jason crouched next to her, reassuring her. On the other page, Rory is mid-air being thrown into an absolutely massive leaf pile, glee adorning her face. He turns the page to find one of the girls with a red hoodie pulled over her head and a makeshift mask made from a red plastic plate with holes cut out for the eyes. One has Mia resting against his back, passed out, as he helps Ryan tie off a friendship bracelet on her wrist.

This isn’t—he doesn’t deserve this. This can’t be true, this is more than a happy ending and he’d never even expected you to love him this long, let alone give him the world and then some. He stares at the page for a while, trying to burn every detail into his head. 

You tear your gaze away from his face to glance at the clock on the side table, muttering, “Oh shit. Hang on.”

His eyes follow you as you stand from the bed and walk across the room to the door, cracking it open a few inches before shouting out, “Bed!”

There’s a brief delay before a clamor starts towards them, all five girls thumping up the stairs.  

You turn back to him, heedfully, “You can stay in here if you want. They’re a little…a lot.” You say tentatively. Well, if there’s anything he’s accustomed to it’s big families with bigger personalities.

Jason lingers behind you as you enter the hallway, looking like a little kid in an unfamiliar place. Whatever conversations were going on downstairs have simply moved location, no urgency present whatsoever to continue on with the progression of the night. You’re trying to verbally corral them towards their respective bedrooms, but it’s a tough job with two clear headed parents on a good day.

He stands frozen in the midst of the clutter of them as they rattle off to you and to each other. He’s scared to say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing. He doesn’t want to upset or alarm them. But because he is their father, they don’t need him to do anything strange to realize that he’s being strange.

Ryan squints up at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

The question grabs Laine’s attention and she looks to you with wide eyes, “What’s wrong with Dad?”

You shake your head, “Nothing’s—”

“He’s not having a stroke already, is he?” Anna faints, no alarm in her words. Mia thumps the back of her head for that with no returning acknowledgement given by Anna.

Ryan is looking at him like she’s sizing him up. Something you did not get a chance to tell him about Ryan is that she can smell blood in the water like a shark. So it’s not surprising to you that she picks up on Jason’s disoriented state.

“Father?” She calls out sweetly.

You sigh, “Ryan—”

“No, it’s okay. I want to ask dad specifically.” She turns him away from you with a smile. She doesn’t know what’s going on and she doesn’t need to. She’s an opportunist like that. “Could I have the last popsicle?”

Anna cuts in harshly, “You better n—”

“Hey Annie, few notes for ya,” Ryan says with widened eyes and a pointed finger, “One, you shouldn’t interrupt your father, it’s disrespectful,” Anna’s face contorts at that, and she’s about to bite back but she’s cut off quickly by Ryan’s dedication to dishing out her hypocritical sermon. “Two, you shouldn’t interrupt me because it’s potentially the single greatest sin you’ll ever—”

Alright, you gave her a chance to turn it around, she’s done now. “No, you’re all going to bed now and if you’re lucky that popsicle is still there when you get home from school tomorrow.” You tell Ryan with a pointed look. She gives you a half-hearted glare, absolutely nothing compared to her real one. 

“Mom, you said—” Mia throws her hands up as she recounts a promise that you may or may not have given her, it’s anyone’s guess. 

Then Anna starts up, “That’s not fair, I called—”

Rory pipes up from behind you. “We’re supposed to read our story first.”

You inhale sharply, turning to face her, “Oh—” you crouch down to her level, holding her waist. “How about I read it tonight, Rory?”

She frowns, “Daddy always reads it.”

Ryan taps on Jason’s shoulder, pulling him closer. “Dad, listen,” she says lowly, like she’s trying to get him in on the deal of the century. “Anna doesn’t deserve it, she’s rooting for you to stroke out—”

You frown at Rory with repentance, “I know sweetheart, but—”

Laine looks quite contemplative as she announces, “It’s unholy to break tradition.”

You scrunch up your face and swivel your head to her, “What?”

This declaration does enough to break Ryan away from her scheme. She turns to her and says flatly, “You haven’t said anything that makes sense in like two weeks.” 

Jason’s mind is going a mile a minute, trying to process the fifteen things that are going on all at once and take in the fact that these are his children. His daughters and they’re so loud and opinionated and bold and he loves it. He thinks this is the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. Hell, he’d take this over heaven a million times over.

“Mom. Mom!” Mia urges, “Can you help me?”

Your head stutters between your daughters, “I—yeah. Rory, just—”

“I can do it.” He says quietly.

“Yeah?” You look up at him, hopefully, genuinely delighted that he wants to jump into this mess without the twelve years of prep that you’re dependent on. 

“Yeah.” He nods, determined and you and Rory smile up at him. Mia all but yanks you up from the floor, pulling you to her room and you can just barely make out Ryan’s hushed murmur of, “I’m getting the popsicle…”

Rory takes Jason’s hand, drowning her own in his. She leads him to the pink bedroom with all the toys, and climbs onto the unicorn bed, shoving all but a few of the stuffed animals onto the floor. Elaine follows close behind and does the same with her own bed, though the only one she keeps is Pickles.

He stands next to the bed a bit awkwardly as she pulls a book off the table next to her, the length of the book easily taking up half her arms. It takes her looking up at him expectantly for him to get the hint, shuffling to squeeze in next to her on the small bed. 

She hands him the book and he regards it with a smile. Little Women. He pauses as he starts to open it, “Where, um…where did we leave off?”

She looks at him funny, smiling like he’s messing with her. She flips the book open a little more than halfway through and stops on chapter fifteen. She presses her pointer finger down to the start of the chapter with a thump. “Right here.”

Jason takes a steadying breath and begins reading in the same soft voice he reads to you in, and it seems to appease both girls. He’s not processing what he’s saying as he sits there with his littlest daughter tucked into his side and hanging on to every last word. He can feel her breathing in and out softly and it all feels so surreal now. 

““I don't think you'll blame me, for I only sold what was my own." As she spoke, Jo took off her bonnet, and a general outcry arose, for all her abundant hair was cut short.” Rory giggles as Laine gasps, and Jason can feel the rhythm of his heart fluttering in a new way. 

He reads to the end of the chapter and returns the book to its place on the side table, and reluctantly pulls away from Rory, standing up again. He tucks her nicely, if not inexperienced, into the sheets and kisses her forehead. She immediately holds out her toy bear, silently requesting the same treatment for him. Jason kisses the bear too, happily. He does the same for Laine, taking particular note of the way she hugs Pickles to her chest tightly. 

He starts towards the door, but is quickly put to a halt. “Wait,” Laine calls out. He turns back to her wide-eyed, terrified he did something wrong. “The lights,” she says, looking up to the ceiling at the dangling stars. Oh, right. She watches him skeptically as he innocently looks around for the switch, and Rory tilts her head at him, not sure what he’s playing at. 

“It’s right there,” Rory points with a mildly sullen look to where the mechanism dangles near the outlet. Jason quickly flicks the lights on, the soft orange-pink glow of stars illuminating against the walls. Rory’s pleased enough and adjusts to get more comfortable in her bed. 

Laine however, hisses out a, “Hey,” gesturing him towards her. He sidesteps the tea table and comes around to her side of the room, kneeling down by her bed attentively. She glances over at Rory before asking in a hushed voice, “Are you an alien?” 

That, he wasn’t expecting. “...What?” 

She shakes her head reassuringly, “It’s okay, I won’t tell. But um…I would like my dad back eventually please. If that’s okay.”  

His breath stutters and he forces out an, “O—okay.”

She holds out her pinky and it takes him a second to register what she’s asking. He wordlessly pinky promises her and she smiles big, pleased with the agreement.

He stands again, feeling light headed as he heads for the door. 

“Goodnight, Daddy,” Rory murmurs against the pillow, watching him leave.

His gaze flickers back and forth from them to make sure they like having the door closed, Rory watches him bemusedly and Laine nods at him slyly with a twinkle in her eyes. “Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight,” He exhales, not as loud as he meant to. He clicks the door shut softly and there’s a warmth in his chest that he could get addicted to.

He wanders down the hall towards the sound of your voice, passing Anna and Ryan climbing under their covers and murmuring something to each other, half eaten popsicle in the ladders hand. He passes the staircase, peering his head into the next room over. His eyes immediately land on you and Mia stood in front of an armoire, shuffling through clothes having an exchange of considerative words.

Mia’s room is very neat and put together, everything is placed with much more intention than in the other girls rooms. Her room has more mellow colors too, largely white with soft shades of pastels throughout. There’s a desk with organized notebooks and multiple vases of flowers, with bundles of yarn placed nicely in a basket in the corner. A tall bookshelf is filled with fifty-some books with a violin case leaning up against it. Nail polishes rest beside a jewelry box on the side table next to her bed. She also has picture frames across the walls, some containing photos of flora, others of the family, and a few of what appears to be her own sketches.

“—worried it’s too showy, you know?”

You hum, “I don’t think so, I mean, not for picture day.” 

Mia turns to Jason, shirt held up against her body. “What do you think?”

He takes a second to bounce back from the surprise of being asked the question, “I, uh…I like it.”

You smile at him as Mia faces you again, “Okay, so this with that flowy lilac skirt?”

“The lilac…yeah, that would be cute.”

She nods pleased, draping the shirt over the back of the armchair in the corner.

You and Jason head out of the room, closing the door on your way out so she can change into her pajamas. 

“Goodnight!” she calls out through the crack in the door. You and Jason return it in sync, clicking the door closed. You hold his hand as you walk past the twins' open door, giving them the same sentiment with Jason’s own following quickly after. They call it out back, louder than necessary, and you close your bedroom door behind the two of you.

You rest against the door and he leans his head back against the wall next to you, glancing over at you. “I won’t remember any of this?” He seems dejected at the idea, not happy to have been handed the world and then having it swiped from his memory immediately after.

You consider it for a second, shaking your head, “I don’t think so.”

He’s quiet for a bit, thinking. “Do you have a marker?”

“A marker?” You look around casually, “Uh, yeah.” You unclip a sharpie from the mini calendar pinned against the wall, tossing it to him. You watch curiously as he holds his forearm out in front of him, popping the lid off with his mouth.

The light in the room starts to dim dramatically until his vision is completely dark. The pull of gravity on his body feels wrong and a pang of fire shoots against the side of his head.   

“Hood.” He hears in the darkness, “Hood.” The commanding voice startles him awake once again. “Are you alright?” 

He blinks up at Batman blearily, feeling like he’s just gotten hit over the head with a chair. “What…what—”

“The Clock King. He threw some sort of device at you. It knocked you out for a few minutes. Are you alright?”

He feels dizzy. “Uh…yeah.”

He cranes his head to glance over at where the Clock King is hunched over on the ground, handcuffed, inspecting the cartridge of his device closely. “Damn it, I knew it wasn’t right. Meant to knock him into the past.” He tells Nightwing like it’s some common mistake they can bond over. 

Nightwing moues at him “I don’t care?”

Knock him into the—did he go to the future? He can’t get his thoughts in order, let alone summon memories from the future. Frankly, it doesn’t matter that much to him right now—he’s sore and wants to just fall asleep next to you. 

He sits up slowly, grimacing as the pain in his head sharpens for a moment. Batman clasps his hand on his shoulder, holding him steady. “Can you stand?”

Hood grunts and pushes himself up, anchoring his weight against the ground. “Fuck. I’m going home.”

Batman says nothing to protest, instead joining Nightwing and pulling The Clock King up from the ground. Jason stumbles away towards his bike, thankful that he’s only a couple miles away from your apartment. Jesus, the future? You’re not going to believe that shit.

He climbs onto the bike with a groan, pushing up his sleeves as he prepares to start the bike. He doesn’t notice it until he revs it, but when he looks down at his left arm, he sees scribbled on his arm in sharpie:

WE’RE HAPPY

vote: do you have a favorite daughter?

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[kaiser1ns]

𝗺𝗶𝗰𝗵𝗮𝗲𝗹 𝗸𝗮𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

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╹synopsis :: good luck appears suddenly, even if it's just for little while, but there is always hope and faith for another tomorrow.

╹contents :: MAP OF THE SOUL PT. 2, 2.4k words, fluff + angst, KAISER BACKSTORY TW: physical abuse, alcohol.

╹taglist :: @chaosinanutshell @rinitoshisgirl @thebluelockroyals

Closing the door as he heard a glass breaking once he stepped outside in the sun that shined upon him, giving some type of warmth as he put the black hood over his head walking away from the so called 'home'. As Michael strolled through the neighborhood, the faint jingle of a bell caught his attention. Pausing, he realized the sound ceased whenever he stopped. Strange, the boy though and continued walking, the bells chiming anew as he moved forward. Turning, he spotted a sleek black cat with a white collar and a bell attached to it.

A lost cat? Kneeling down, he inspected the collar, discovering the cat's name, Felicity, and a phone number. Too bad he didn't have a phone to call and get the cat out of here. Well, there's nothing for me to do. He patted the cat on the head, got up and continued to walk aimlessly leaving the animal behind. Michael was now a little further away, and there was no sound of the tinkling of a bell. Maybe the cat found its owner already and is taken care of by receiving treats and pats.

Speaking of treats his stomach rumbled, and before he went out, he took a little bit of his savings in case of getting hungry. It was strange for him to go into the store and buy something instead of stealing it like his father wanted him to do. He took the most ordinary sandwich with ham, cheese and some sauce. When he was at the register paying, he saw the candy Y/N gave him as a reward — he will keep the location of the sweets in mind.

Walking out of the store, holding the soccer ball in one hand and the sandwich in the other, the blonde boy made his way to the playground where he first saw the girl two weeks ago, and sadly he hadn't seen her since. Well the boy can't blame her — she probably went to school and has other close friends to hangout with, something he doesn't have. Sitting on the ground, leaning against the graffiti wall he began to eat, until suddenly the sound of a bell was heard again.

Michael looked up, his eyes locking with the familiar black cat from earlier. She mewed at him, her white collar glinting in the sunlight as she approached rubbing at his leg. He couldn't help but smile at her persistence. "You again, huh?" he murmured, tearing off a piece of ham from his sandwich and offering it to her.

The cat wasted no time, devouring the ham eagerly. Once they both finished their meal he got up and without hesitation, started dribbling and kicking the ball around. To his surprise, the cat seemed intrigued, her paw batting at the ball whenever it came close. It reminded him of someone, though he couldn't quite put his finger on who. Michael took a break, sitting back against the wall and Felicity wasted no time in curling up in his lap, purring contentedly as he stroked her fur. It was a rare moment of peace for him, every time he goes out it's his free time from the prison with the awful guard that stayed in. He cherished moments like that more than anything and he wished to see Y/N again, so they can play together and maybe win another pack of candy.

As he enjoyed the quiet moment with the cat, he heard footsteps approaching. Turning his head, he saw the angel in disguise running towards him, clutching a poster in her hand that had a photo of the now sleeping pet. His heart skipped a beat at the sight of her bright smile and eyes that were glossy, Did she cry?, he wondered but her sad face was quickly replaced upon seeing the boy.

"Michael!" the girl exclaimed, relief evident in her childish voice as she reached him. "Thank you for finding Felicity! I was so worried to where she could have gone."

A smile graced Michael's lips as he realized the cat belonged to her. No wonder it reminded him of someone he knew. "I didn't know it was yours," he admitted, still patting the sleeping feline. "She just followed me all day."

You chuckled, your eyes twinkling with amusement. "She has this habit of following people, though it was only family members and not one of my friends." The word friends echoed in Michael's mind, stirring something warm and unfamiliar in his chest. He looked into Y/N eyes, feeling something that he had never imagined to exist, as if he was lost in the galaxy with millions of stars to explore, falling deeper and deeper into the black holes, losing himself. What's this feeling? Why is my heart beating so fast? He couldn't figure it out, what's happening inside him, and why is she the reason for it?

"And you know animals can sense if a person is good or not, so she chose you for a reason." Michael couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth at your words, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush. "I'm glad I could help," he replied softly, his gaze still locked with yours. "And I'm glad you were here, because I was going to ask you to help me, but there is no need anymore."

There was a moment of silence between them, Michael shifted uncomfortably, unsure of what to say next. But before he could gather his thoughts, Y/N spoke again, her voice gentle and caring.

"Michael, are you okay?" she asked, eyes searching his face with concern. "Where did you hurt yourself?"

For a moment, panic gripped Michael's chest as he instinctively reached for the hood of his jacket, pulling it over his head to hide the scar his father had left that morning. "I fell very hard on the ground while dribbling," he lied, of course he would lie not to make her worry about his personal matters and mostly not to scare her, because what if she tells her parents about him being abused? It will not end well.

The girl frowned, clearly not convinced by his answer. But instead of pressing further, she reached into her bag and pulled out some pink bandages. "Sorry, it's the only color I have left," apologizing, a small smile playing on her lips as she gently applied the bandage to his forehead.

Michael's heart swelled as he watched Y/N tend to him with such care and kindness. Despite his best efforts to keep his struggles hidden, she always seemed to see right through him, offering comfort and support without hesitation. It was a feeling he wasn't accustomed to, but one he found himself craving more and more with each passing day.

As she finished bandaging his wound, Michael couldn't help but meet the girl's gaze once again, his eyes soft and vulnerable — a child's look. "Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper, but it was genuine.

A smile tugged at the corners of Y/N lips as she reached out to tuck a hair behind his ear, wanting to see his beautiful and gentle face. "Anytime, Michael, friends help eachother."

For twelve year old he thought she was very mature, always so kind, so gentle — a beacon of light in his otherwise dark world. He couldn't help but be jealous at her innocence and grace, hoping that she would never lose that spark, unlike him, cursed by the mistakes of two adults.

"Also I'm sorry for not showing up, I know you must have been waiting for me"

He just stared at the girl slowly nodding his head acknowledging what she said but he wasn't mad, not even in the slightest. The cat who slept in Michael's lap woke up and went to her owner "Felicity don't you run away like that!" Y/N scolded the cat but of course the animal just let out a 'meow' as she laughed enjoying a moment with her pet then she looked back at Michael who was still staring.

"Hey, Misha, do you want to play tomorrow?"

"Misha?" Y/N giggled, noticing Michael's uncertain expression at the nickname. "Sorry, is it okay if I call you Misha? It just popped into my head, and it's kinda cute, don't you think?"

Michael blinked, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he processed her words. "I mean, sure, yeah," he replied, his voice softening at the end. Looking doen kicking the ball with his feet to distract himself from the burning tension in his body. He couldn't deny the warmth that spread through him at the sound of her calling him by that name.

Y/N grinned, delighted by Michael's response. "Great! Misha it is then." She scooted closer, her excitement bubbling over. "So, tomorrow, let's meet at the playground at 14:00. We can play some soccer, swing on the swings, and I can give you the cookies I made. What do you say?"

Michael's heart skipped a beat at the thought of spending more time with Y/N. "Yeah, that sounds cool," he said, his smile widening. "I'll be here."

As they continued chatting, Y/N suddenly leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Hey, Misha, can I ask you something more?"

"Yeah," Michael replied, a hint of curiosity in his voice. Y/N hesitated for a moment before mustering up the courage to ask, "Um, do you have a phone? I thought maybe we could exchange numbers so we can call eachother for when to play."

Michael's cheeks flushed even deeper as he nervously played with the ball. "Um, actually, I don't have a phone," he admitted, feeling a pang of embarrassment. "Sorry."

Y/N's smile didn't falter as she reached out to gently squeeze his hand. "Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about it," she reassured him "We can still meet up here at the playground whenever we want to hang out, okay? And if anyone of us doesn't show up we can always see eachother the next time."

A sense of relief washed over Michael as he gazed into Y/N's comforting gaze. "Yeah, okay," he agreed, feeling grateful for her understanding. With a bright smile the youngster nodded, her eyes filled with happiness. "See you tomorrow at 14:00 then?"

"Yeah, see you tomorrow," the young boy replied, his smile matching hers as they made plans for their next date. Y/N and Michael stood facing each other as the silence fell, but it was calm and pleasant, not oppressive as if they were expecting some monster to come out of nowhere.

"Thanks for looking after Felicity," Y/N said softly, leaning in and planting a quick kiss on Michael's cheek, it was a tender action, making him melt on the spot, something so simple meant a lot — it was his first kiss, his first touch filled not with anger and hatred but instead of love and care. She was causing his heart to flutter even more, was it not enough for his heart to beat so fast earlier?

"It was no problem," Michael replied, trying to hide the excitement in his voice. With a shy smile, she turned to leave, her cat cradled in her arms. Watching her go, feeling a sense of longing already creeping into his chest as he didn't want this moment to end, not now, not ever. Michael touched his cheek gently, still feeling the warmth of her lips lingering there, is this what it feels like to be blessed with angel's grace? He hopes he will get to experience it again. Realizing he was standing alone in the fading light, the sounds of laughter and play fading into the distance.

He took a deep breath and he was infront of his home, his heart now heavy with the weight of the inevitable goodbye and the welcoming sounds of glass breaking.

Opening the door he was met with his drunk father who was watching TV but he didn't seem entertained and the bottles and trash on the ground made it for the energy in the house. But before the boy stepped further into the room he removed the patch from his forehead because he knew there would be even more scars if a bystander helped him and he wanted to keep Y/N safe.

His father's eyes snapped towards him, bloodshot and furious.

"Why the hell aren't you home earlier?" His father's voice boomed, shaking the walls of their small house. "I told you to be back hours ago, you useless piece of shit!"

The boy swallowed hard, trying to find the right words to appease his father's anger. "I'm sorry, Dad. I lost track of time."

"Lost track of time?" His father's voice rose, the frustration palpable in every word as he got up from the couch. "And where's the damn alcohol I asked you to bring,huh?"

The boy's heart sank. He had hoped his father wouldn't notice, but the empty bottles strewn across the floor were impossible to miss. "I... I couldn't find any," he stammered, knowing it was a feeble excuse.

The older man's face turned a dangerous shade of red. His eyes widened, his pupils narrowed, and the emotions he displayed were enough to scare anyone. Maybe it's better for his mother that she's gone so she doesn't have to see this, even though that she is the cause of everything. "Couldn't find any? You stupid pig..."

Before he could finish his sentence, the boy's father lunged towards him, his words drowned out by a tidal wave of anger and disappointment. The boy braced himself for the onslaught, knowing that this was just another night in their tumultuous existence. But amidst the chaos, he made a silent vow to be stronger so he can have another day to see his angel.

With a swift motion, his father's hand connected with his cheek, the same cheek Y/N kissed him now is tarnished, sending him crashing to the ground. He layed there, stunned and helpless, as his father's tirade continued, the sound of breaking glass punctuating each sentence. There was no defense, no escape from the torrent of anger that engulfed him. All he could do was endure, his body trembling with fear and resignation but he was already so used to it.

Each blow, both physical and verbal, carved deeper into his already bruised soul. But through the haze of pain and despair, one thought burned brighter than the rest: he had to stay strong, for her. For the hope of a better tomorrow, where he could see his blessing sent from above, but why isn't he blessed with good fortune right now? Is his suffering not enough, dear God?

As his father's rage finally subsided, leaving only a hollow silence in its wake, the boy clung to that flicker of hope, knowing it was all he had to hold onto. Will something be different? But this day will be over when the minute and second hands overlap as the world holds its breath for a little while.

Felicity means happiness, good fortune

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work.

[mortalityplays]

LAUNCH GIVEAWAY - FREE ART TIME!

To celebrate the upcoming launch of my sensible freelance editing business and all-around senseless 'make more free art' lifestyle, I am giving away a whole bunch of my old print stock!

Included in the prize pool are some of my best-selling prints, and a lovely little glossy print edition of Under the Skin - a standalone experimental comic about love and decay.

Here's what you need to know:

8 winners will be chosen randomly from my Patreon followers - 3 Prize A winners and 5x Prize B winners.

Prize A winners will receive their choice of one large print (A3/poster size) and their choice of two small prints (A4/8"x10" size)

Prize B winners will receive a copy of the minicomic (A5) and all 7 postcards pictured (A6).

You do not have to purchase, like or reblog anything to enter. Obviously sharing is appreciated, but the only entry requirement is that you follow me on Patreon (the free tier counts!)

Depending how many people enter, I may add a new prize tier / increase the number of winners. This depends on numbers, I want the odds to be reasonable.

Winners will be chosen and announced on April 1st!

I've written about why I'm doing this here. Simply put: I'm tired of paywalling and ringfencing and worrying about how and why and when people are allowed to look at my art. I made it to be looked at. Nothing makes me happier than the thought of my work on someone's wall. So take it.

I'll be relaunching a paid storefront on my website later in April, where you will eventually be able to buy many of these prints alongside new work. However, I will also be launching a free shop this Wednesday that will host original copyright-free artwork of all kinds, including hi-res prints you can download and print off at home. Keep your eyes peeled! I'm dying to give you stuff!

Obligatory disclaimer: This giveaway is not sponsored, endorsed by or affiliated with tumblr. You don't have to buy anything and you're not obligated to keep following me after the prize draw!

[innamorament0]

This is an X-Files AU. 1 chapter - 1 case and only Rao knows how many chapters there will be =D

It wasn't the first time Lena Luthor was in Washington, but for the first time, she descended into the basement to meet her new partner. She took her phone out of her pocket to look at the time and watched cellular service bars disappear one by one until she finally reached a dead zone. 

"What am I getting myself into?" Lena whispered under her breath, but the elevator doors slid open. She didn't have much more time to think about her fate; instead, she stepped out into a dusty corridor with the only door in the middle of a wall.

She stopped before it, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves. She shouldn't be so nervous, but neither her surname nor beautiful but cold exterior made her particularly likeable to the people she met, especially in the Bureau, where more than half of the agents worked over at least a dozen different cases against either her family or the goons who worked for them. Lena doubted this encounter would be any different.

KARA DANVERS

special agent

Lena reread the words on a plate at least five times as if she hadn't known the whole biography of this person that she could find online, along with her thesis and credentials from the Academy. She lifted her arm painfully slowly before finally gathering her courage and knocking at the door.

"Sorry, there is no one here but the FBI's most unwanted!" she heard a muffled voice behind it.  

Lena wiped her clammy hands over the expensive burgundy 3 piece suit before pushing the door open and entering the small, cramped office. The air there was stale, which wasn't surprising - there were no windows, and the only source of relatively fresh air was a small vent near the ceiling covered in a thick layer of dust. 

The office looked like a portal to the 90s - an old yellowed projector stood out, placed on a small table almost in the middle of the room. The phone looked like it was brought here from the antique store. The walls were clad in photographs and posters with UFOs of at least five different sizes and shapes and abandoned places that Lena couldn't recognise. A few pictures of mutilated bodies and mummified remains littered all free spaces between posters. 

The central part of this exposition was a large glossy photo of something that looked like a humanoid figure flying across the skies of a city that appeared to be Metropolis, NY. The words "Up, up and away!" were printed on the lower part of the picture.

"It's nice to meet you, Agent Danvers! I am your new partner - ag…" Lena started, but the blonde woman who sat in a creaky office chair abruptly turned around, cutting her off.

"Special agent Lena Luthor, scientist and prodigy of a kind. I read your Quantum Entanglement theory - it was quite entertaining."

"You mean?" Lena asked carefully, expecting Agent Danvers to make fun of her.

"I mean, I liked it! And I like how cool, analytic and scientific your mind is." Kara jumped up, switching on an old projector that threw a dull light over the grey wall.

"I have also read your work - "Psychology and Unexplained Behavioural Patterns of Separated Twins". It was fascinating. But your approach is… different." Lena instantly felt regret over making this borderline offensive pause between words, but Kara wasn't phased. She only smiled at Lena, the tingles of genuine joy touching her eyes. 

Kara had a beautiful, contagious smile.

"I presume Hank, I mean Assistant Director Henshaw, put us together, so you would be a science to my… different approach. Orrr, maybe he sent you to spy on me? 

Whatever it is, it leads me to a very important question!" Kara slapped the film on the projector's surface and walked to the picture of a plane crash that appeared on the only clean wall. "As you see, this is a view of a cockpit - although the plane crashed into the water, it broke in half. Thankfully, there are not a lot of casualties, but look at what is especially interesting in this case. The plane crashed down into the river in unclear circumstances - there were no malfunctions, no distress signals. When the rescue team entered the crash site, they saw that the cabin was broken in half, but the cockpit was intact, the doors closed, and the windshield undamaged. But both pilots vanished without a trace. How would you scientifically explain it, Special Agent Luthor?"

"They could have left the cockpit in panic and gone into the cabin, then fall out of it when the plane broke. Did the local police search the river?" Lena knew that her explanation was flimsy at best, but it was the only thing she could come up with now. 

For some unexplained reason, she wanted to impress Agent Danvers despite her promise to herself that she would never do it again, not after Lex. But Kara was so endearing that she let her insecurities go.

"Well, I would say that it's highly doubtful that two pilots with more than twenty years of experience would go cuckoo enough to leave the cockpit and run away. And yes, the local forces searched the river. They found all survivors and all the bodies, but still, there was no trace of the pilots." Kara took the film off and put another, showing the view at the door into the cockpit from the cabin. It was securely sealed shut. "This picture was done as soon as the rescue team entered the crash site."

"They couldn't just vanish into thin air - there should be an explanation for this! An early evacuation? A terrorist attack?" Lena started to stress it out, but Kara put a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with a warm smile.

"Do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?" Agent Danvers suddenly leaned close to Lena and whispered in her ear. It sounded a bit too ominous, and Lena turned around to look at her. 

"Well, logically, I would have to say no," Lena sighed, somehow expecting this question. "Given that the distance between celestial bodies is enormous, and the energy required to cover this distance is exceeding anything that exists in this realm, making it impossible to…"

"See? You try to find the existence of these substances here in our world, but the possibilities become much, much wider if you see beyond our realm. You just need to think outside the box! You need to believe!" Kara seemed excited despite Lena's bewildered expression.

"What I see as hard to believe is the fact that these people vanished without any scientific explanation." Lena shrugged. "There should be one; there should be a logical way of how they disappeared."

"Welp, Agent Luthor, it seems like we will need to find it out together. Be ready to depart to National City, California in… Oh, in less than two hours. See you at the airport!"

[secondbeatsongs]

since none of the poster-printing sites (block posters, rasterbator) were doing exactly what I wanted, here's a tutorial for you!

how to print out a seamless poster on a normal printer

download this free printer calibration sheet from blockposters (links: a4 - letter. I'm using the letter size one, since that's how my printer works)

2. set your printer settings so that it uses borderless printing, exactly the way you would if you were planning to print a high-quality photo.

3. print the calibration sheet, and then look at the edges of it. write down which arrows touch the edge of your printed sheet (for me this was 7 on the left, 10 on the bottom, 5 on the right, and 4 on the top)

4. open the calibration sheet image in GIMP (or another photo editor of your choice

(you can use the image I posted above for the letter one, but for A4 you can use an online convertor to make the pdf into a png)

5. create a rectangle that exactly covers up the arrows that were right at the edge of your paper this is your template!

6. now you can edit your poster image to fit within that rectangle! (I'm using this speed racer poster as example because of fucking course I am)

7. export the pieces of your poster to .png (the full sheet, not just the part in the template rectangle! include the whole 8.5" by 11" sheet!)

8. make sure you have enough ink!

9. print your poster using the exact same settings you used before to print the calibration sheet. for me, this was borderless, high-quality printing

10. let the ink dry, tape your shiny new poster together, and you're good to go!

ta-da!

bonus tips:

glossy paper is the best for printing posters

off-brand ink is cheap, and depending on your model of printer, it's often easy to refill ink yourself! with some (like mine), you can just drip the ink onto the lil sponge things in the cartridges!

if you're worried that your calibration measurement wasn't 100% accurate, you can leave some overlap in your image design, especially where the seam in the middle is. but it probably won't be necessary?

two 8.5"x11" sheets of paper = one 11"x17" poster! but you can go as big as you want with this. paper your walls like this, idk

make sure your images are at a high enough resolution to look okay when printed! ideal print quality is 300ppi, but I printed this at 200ppi and it was fine. 150ppi would probably be fine too, but if you go too low it'll start to look fuzzy

[solradguy]

SOL RADGUY SCANNING GUIDE

Covers:

What you need to scan a book.

How to do it.

How to do it better.

What to do now that it's scanned.

This is a long post with images.

WHAT YOU NEED //

A scanner.

I use an Epson Perfection v39. It's old but it was affordable (~us$60 in 2016 money) and it's reliable. You need something that can scan in color, greyscale, and black & white modes at 300 DPI. DPI (Dots Per Inch) is the resolution the scanner outputs the scan in. Anything over 300 DPI for art/comic scans is a little overkill, imo. However, if you're planning on printing physical copies of your scans, consider scanning them in at 600 DPI for something around printer paper sized, or 1200 DPI for posters. These files will balloon in size considerably with the increase in DPI. It may be worth it buying an extra hard drive just for managing work in progress scan files if your computer's local hard drive is smaller than 500gb.

Black construction paper.

Construction paper that's black. Put this behind the page you're scanning and it prevents page bleed through. More on how this is used below.

Masking tape.

Not really necessary, but useful for mapping out the ideal scanning area on your scanning bed. Speeds things up.

Art/photo manipulation program.

I use Clip Studio Paint EX ver. 2.0 and Photoshop CS5. Your program should have a clone tool and basic image manipulation such as cropping and rotating. Free alternatives are GIMP and Photopea.

OPTIONAL:

White inspection gloves.

These are thin cotton gloves used to handle sensitive things such as historical photos, coins, and old books. Highly recommend investing in a cheap pack if your book has glossy pages. Don't have to worry about cleaning up greasy fingerprints in post with these on.

Bone folder.

This is a flat plastic (bone, historically) stick used to crease pages in book-making. I find having one is useful for carefully pushing pages flatter to get cleaner scans. If your book has tense binding this tool might prove useful.

Heat gun, hair dryer, or a stovetop + big skillet.

Tools for de-binding books in order of most to least useful. I use a heat gun. More on how these are used two sections down.

X-acto knife.

For skinning. It's sharp, it's a knife.

Non-abrasive document cleaning pad.

If you buy a book with glossy pages that's greasy as hell consider picking one of these up. It's a fabric pouch full of a soft powder that gently picks up and removes dirt and oils from paper. I've got one by Lineco and used it on the Dengeki PlayStation magazine scans. Some art stores will carry these but I had to buy mine online.

HOW TO DO IT //

Remove the dustjacket, obi (informational band around the book), and any other loose materials inside of the book (mark what pages those materials were found on). Clean the pages as best as you can with the doc. cleaning pad or just wiping it down gently with a dry paper towel, then get your black construction paper and stick it behind the page that's going to be scanned. If your book is really big, remove the lid on your scanner. It's only going to get in the way.

Try to put as much pressure on the spine as you safely can and hold down the parts your hand can't reach with something heavy-ish. I usually use this paint water jar. Scan in PNG or TIFF format at 300 DPI. For art books and manga use either the color or greyscale modes. Raw text (novels, etc) benefits from the black & white mode.

Here's the raw scan:

Artworks of Guilty Gear X 2000-2007 scans very nicely despite being perfect bound (bound with glue) and rather stiff, but it's still an old book and has some minor damage that will need cleaned up in post later, as well as any dust that I missed cleaning off my scanner bed beforehand. The gutter is on the left. Note the black specks of dust in the right corner and in the big white area, and how you can't see any of the image printed on the other side of this page due to the black construction paper preventing bleed through:

HOW TO DO IT BETTER //

SKINNING BOOKS. A scary thought... But sometimes necessary. Manga volumes have really tight binding that makes them almost impossible to get clean scans of in a traditional flat scanner bed.

You will need either a heat gun, hairdryer, or a big skillet and a stovetop for this part. I use a heat gun. Warm the spine of the book CAREFULLY over the heat gun while gently pulling back on the cover until it pops free from the glue. A hairdryer will be used the same way as a heat gun, just slower. Turn it to the hottest setting.

For the skillet method, heat it up until it's just a little too hot to touch (BE CAREFUL; don't actually touch the skillet with your bare hand). Then hold the book spine-down on the skillet and peel the cover off that way. This method can burn your book very easy because it's harder to gauge how hot the skillet is. Take your time.

Now that the cover is off, use the same method to remove the pages one by one. Make sure to keep them in the right order. Sometimes there will be a thick glob of binding glue that can be sliced off with the X-acto knife. Watch your fingers.

Scanning loose pages is mindlessly easy and there're ways to make it even more mindless. Tape black paper to the top of your scanner lid and use masking tape to mark where exactly on the bed to put the pages so you can get them all in about the same spot. Makes lining them up later in the digital cleanup stage a piece of piss. Don't be a fool and think to use regular tape or duct tape. Cleaning adhesive off glass is a nightmare.

Time to put on some Zeppelin and zone out for about an hour. Remember your page order.

My setup and the raw scan:

I number my pages how they are in the book with the cover, obi, and inside cover flaps usually being zeroes with a letter following it ("00a-dustjacket-FRONT, 00b-dustjacket-BACK, etc":

Your art program should load in the file as a layer with the file name. Load in about 10 to 20 at a time (if your computer can handle it), line them up, clean the dust, adjust colors, sharpen image, then save them in a new folder separate from the raws. Use the clone tool to clean up dust. If you sharpen the image, remember that less is more.

WHAT TO DO NOW THAT IT'S SCANNED //

Upload it. I put all my (non-doujinshi) scans on Archive.org and include a .PDF of the scanned book with smaller resized pages and a .ZIP of the full size pages as loose files. This is optional, don't feel obligated to do both because it really adds a lot of extra work saving the files in two different sizes. Having the full size files is more valuable than a compressed .PDF, though, if you're unsure about which to go with.

For smaller files (<25mb total as a .PDF or .ZIP) you could put them on Neocities too. Neocities doesn't really like the idea of people using their site as a file sharing host so while I don't really recommend using just Neocities, it's definitely something you could do if coding a website sounds fun to you. Here's the archives page on my NC site for an example of how you could code/organize your own archive, if you wanted: solradguy.neocities.org/archives

If you scan something and wanna get more eyes on it, feel free to slap my @ somewhere on the post or you can email it to me (junkyarddogmkii [at] gmail [dot] com ) and I can reblog it and share it with the lore server crew.

Here's a link to the Guilty Gear scans masterpost: https://solradguy.tumblr.com/post/701138089295364096/comprehensive-guide-to-unofficial-guilty-gear

[brooklynbutterflyarts]

Blade Runner Poster Framed Molding:Professional 1" Flat Top Black (solid-wood) Matte: 100% acid free board, Print: Full Color dry mounted glossy print Glass is included, Comes Fully Assembled Ready For Your Wall The double mat adds depth giving the display a unique "looking through a window'' appearance. The calendar print is bonded to foam core on a hot vacuum press. This bonding gives the print a perfect flat and smooth texture. This process also insures the print will never fold or fade with age or moisture. This wonderful display makes a thoughtful and original gift containing a classic vintage touch yet modern design, allowing it to fit alongside both modern and classic decor. BUY WITH CONFIDENCE. ALL OF MY DELICATE ITEMS ARE SHIPPED WITH A SPECIAL 3 LAYER PROTECTION SYSTEM.

[gerbiloftriumph]

Floating Castle Liveblog (second read)

Turns out I just can't stay away from this book, or stop myself from doing live updates on Goodreads, probably to the irritation of my followers there and to the chagrin of the website itself, which is now overwriting old updates with newer ones, thus, my need to post them all here. For posterity.

And because I love Telgrin just that much.

March 17, 2019 –

page 0

I feel a sad reading funk coming on and the only way I can think to save it is with my boi, the greatest sassy villain ever, Telgrin. Awww yiss (I don't feel the mood for Princess Bride for once, so next step down it is). Feel free to follow along as I keysmash glee about this doofy lame villain and his impractical floating castle (usingthekqreddit's.pdfshackcoughahhhhkkk you didn't hear that from me.)

page 3

It just cracks me up to see a literal castle sailing by in the storm. Alex can pretend all he likes that it’s just a cloud formation—it’s still dang wacky and impractical.

page 8

Graham: Did you see anything weird out there? Alexander: Well, I mean. A literal floating castle, probably? Graham: Yes, that sounds sensible. Carry on. I’m grinning like a fool and I’m not even ten pages in. This book is my flavor of perfect delight, glossy purple prose and all.

page 11

The fact that Telgrin's castle is in a perpetual thundercloud? He's the sort of dude who would, in a modern au, just listen to the rainymood app constantly. I feel it deeeeeeep in my soul. The anticipation of the plot points has me positively grinning and I keep telling myself, "No, slow down and enjoy. The kelpie and troll and frog and tree wizard and all aren't going anywhere. It's okay."

page 14

I want to scoop Graham up in a big hug. He seems like a great person, such a strong king. Showing nothing but peace and respect to everyone, regardless of social status, who comes in talking about that Spooky Castle, and he's completely chill *until* he's alone with Alexander and can finally drop that mask and honestly show his fear. Even if you're unfamiliar with the source material, this is good character detail.

page 17

"A strange castle has intruded upon the peace of Daventry. I think it fair to assume that only a powerful magic could have transported it here." No, Graham, flying castles are perfectly normal things. Like birds. (here comes telgrin the sassmaster i'm so exciiiitedddd)

page 18

"While Graham occupied the throne, what misfortune could long hold sway over Daventry? What evil could prevail?" cough foreshadowing cough cough hack wheeze

page 19

I still believe with my whole heart that this bearded and blustery and large Sir Brian is a reference to Brian Blessed and I don't care what anyone else thinks.

page 21

Heeeeeeere's Telgrin! Struttin' in, debris from the door all in a cloud, swinging that stupid crystal staff in step with his walk, and freaking "pleased by the dumbfounded reaction his appearance had caused." My melodramatic diva. Let's do thiiiiis.

page 22

Graham, furious, demands to know why Telgrin's here. Telgrin flings back his head and cackles: "'Who am I? Why, I am your new neighbor! Have you not seen my castle there in the distance?' The man paused. He seemed to expect Graham to say something then, but the king simply stared at him. This seemed to unnerve the stranger somewhat" because how do you banter in silence? You can't be the sassmaster if no one plays! :3

page 23

Telgrin wouldn't come to the castle to announce himself as Ye Olde Villain until Graham had summoned a full contingent of knights. Telgrin, Sassmaster and Diva, requires a proper audience before strutting around. <3

page 23

"Do you seriously believe that simply declaring yourself king will make you king in truth?" "*Believe* it? I know it. It is a fact. Who can dispute it?" Graham rose slowly from his throne, straightened to his full height. Unblinking, his gaze was fixed upon Telgrin. "*I* can." "You dare defy me?" "I do." A twisted smile tugged briefly at the corners of Telgrin's mouth. "Good. I was rather hoping you would." Sassy.

page 25

Telgrin is so blissed out on his own sassy triumph that we could SO EASILY dropkick him and snap that stupid crystal staff in half and we'd win and the book would be over in a mere 30 pages. I swear, he's not watching his back at all. Alexander, take him out at the knees! ...or, don't. That's fine. We contracted a full novel from Sierra. I get it.

page 32

I want a Valanice book. I want this series to be a quartet instead of a trilogy. I want this so deep in my soul.

page 32

TREE WIZARD. I can't stop grinning; I love tree wizard. He's trying to nod and shrug and he doesn't have shoulders so he can't, because he's a TREE.

page 40

"Telgrin is a stealer of souls." "A stealer of souls? What's that?" Alexander, the name is on the tin. It isn't hard to figure out.

page 41

I know I should stop updating every few pages. I'm spoiling things and probably being annoying but it's been a long weekend and this is Exactly my flavor of comedy: tree wizard is offering Cyril to Alex, since he "'does all those things that I can no longer do for myself. And he is very good at keeping the woodpeckers away.' This did not sound like the sort of help that Alexander was looking for." Be polite, Alex. :3

page 45

Of all the things I remember from reading this book a year ago, Tree Wizard and his Tea is one of my top favorite mental images. Doesn't matter that we're slowly turning into a tree. Tea time is very important and we will Not miss it. There's even fanart of Tree Wizard and his tea on Tumblr, that's how important it is.

page 45

Alexander (paraphrased): "Sooo...do you know how to stop being a tree?" Morowyn: "Oh, yeah, totes figured that out. Could do it whenever I wanted. Kinda has a drawback, though." Alexander: "Yeah? What's that?" Morowyn: "I would immediately die." Alexander: "......yep, that's a drawback."

March 19, 2019

page 57

“Do you know where to look for a soul? Have you ever seen one?” One would assume it’s glowy and vaguely Graham-shaped.

page 64

I can not believe I forgot about this Literal Ringwraith character. It’s...just a Ringwraith. Pure and simple and obvious.

page 74

I did remember the Literal Lembas Bread, though. Fantasy tropes! *jazz hands*

page 78

One of the classic fantasy tropes is doing a long walk from point a to point b. I’ve got to give Mills credit: I don’t think I’ve read any other book that fills its protagonists up with magic bread that induces energetic power-walking before.

page 80

I remember being annoyed by this conversation the first time, but that was before I realized I held a Masterpiece of High Literature in my hands: “Good apple,” Cyril said. “Very good.” “Sweet.” “Mmm.”

page 87

“A rope, some apples,” Cyril said, frowning. “I still don’t see what you’re planning.” It’s called A Sierra Solution, Cyril, and they only make sense half the time, because this game series is haaaaard.

page 90

Kelpie rodeo. In what sensible fantasy novel would this be allowed? None, man. I love this book. [gerbil note: this scene also has fanart, because this book is amazing]

March 19, 2019

page 97

Alexander: Ho there! Sir Ogre! Ogre: /what did you call me/?! At least, that’s how it should go.

[gerbil note again: i did totally steal this very lame joke for captive crown later on and i'm not even sorry about it]

page 100

I didn’t quite realize how dorky this was the first time, but now I’m paying attention I’ve realized: Telgrin has exactly One lone storm cloud that occasionally spits out a lightning bolt, just hovering over the tower. In my head, this looks like a Winnie the Pooh cloud. Is that all the magic he could summon? One tiny cloud? Lame, and yet So On Brand for my sassmaster.

page 107

We've now entered the Road to El Dorado sequence of the book and I'm perfectly content. Barrel scene eheheheheeeee

page 112

Once again, the book stresses, it is but *one* cloud. One very black and lightning filled cloud, but a single cloud, nevertheless, providing all the ambient noise and mood. I find this bizarrely hilarious. It feels like Telgrin's equivalent of keeping his phone on low battery mode so he can keep using the Rainymood app.

page 120

The sassmaster's lair is just the most Extra thing. It's like he read a book on what villains are supposed to do, so he did it. He's got it all: high ceilings that vanish to dark, ludicrous amounts of moldering velvet curtains, "hideously ornate" braziers, and a perfectly silly black throne. Telgrin, pleaaase this is so unnecessary and not remotely sensible. You've copied someone else's homework, and badly. ilu.

page 121

And Alexander refuses to play the game. Telgrin has all these expectations on how this conversation is meant to go, he's basically reciting a script, and Alexander's just like, "Uhhhh....what?" So Telgrin moves on to Cyril, like Cyril will play along properly. I just can't. I love Telgrin to unfeasible levels of nonsense.

page 122

(Incidentally, I'm still kinda salty that Graham's soul isn't in the throne room, wedged in Telgrin's overly-flashy staff. It just feels more right than where he *actually* is.)

page 123

"You are an evil man." "So it has been said." Telgrin shrugged. "Personally I've always found that such abstractions do not apply well to life in the real world. They make matters that are by their very nature complex seem rather too simple, don't you think?" "Evil," Alexander repeated. Telgrin sighed. "I can see that you're really not up to a probing and dispassionate philosophical discussion" Modern AU: he's a Bro

page 125

I'm fairly certain this reference to Alexander having a hard time with stairs is a reference to the older KQ games in which if you misstep, you're going down, and if you're more than a few feet up, you're a dead man and you've got to reload a save. :)

March 21, 2019

page 129

Out of curiosity, I googled a Barikar to see if this was a real fantasy creature, but the only actual result is from the King's Quest Fanwiki to tell me that, yes, Telgrin owns a Barikar. ....nice, I guess.

page 130

By all technical and decent writing standards, this book is probably awful. Er. I mean, awfully great. High literature, deffo. But it *feels* like a King's Quest game. Every new place is described with just enough detail that you can so easily picture it in those stark, retro early gaming colors, or that pixel painting KQ5 style. I super love it.

page 131

The King's Quest fanwiki tells me that Telgrin owns the only Barikar in all of the entire canon of all fantasy, but it doesn't tell me if Telgrin *loves* his Barikar. I hope he does, because no one else possibly could. What a hideous beastie.

page 134

You boys should be ashamed of yourselves, disposing of a barikar. There was only one in ALL of fantasy EVER and now there's none.

page 139

I hate how funny I think it is that Alexander isn't even pulled together enough to answer his own mental questions. "Yes" is not always the correct answer, sir.

page 143

sassmaster diva telgrin's tragic childhood backstory-----OH WAIT NO IT'S NOT TRAGIC HE'S JUST ALWAYS BEEN A PUNK. I love him.

March 27, 2019

page 143

I wonder what Telgrin’s first thought was when he, A Pathetic Scullery Boy (tm) chopped Owen’s head off, presumably with a Vaguely Magical movement because clean-one-chop head removal is hard even with the help of gravity, man, and Owen’s head just started swearing at him from the floor. Like. That’s a dang weird mental image.

page 144

He holds his own head under his arm like it’s a football and it cracks me up. It’s meant to be serious and scary, probably, but I just love this headless ghost.

page 146

The most over the top baby monitor ever created

page 152

In fairness, this part is one of the most like the game-version would probably be, and it works the least because Alexander is working from information we don’t have. As a gamer we would have heard all Owen’s instructions and had to replicate them perfectly to avoid nasty game overs. As a reader it would have been repetitive for Owen to tell us, then watch Alex act, but there’s a disconnect now.

page 156

“After allowing himself to wallow in depression for a short while”—like, twenty seconds, if that.

page 180

Sinofas (paraphrased): Sooooo.....about that magic flying leap out of the tallest tower. What was that about? Alexander: We had a pressing need to leave the castle. Sinofas: Ever heard of a *door,* sirrah? (do note that I haven't stopped smiling for like twenty pages; this book's greaaat)

page 181

Alexander, paraphrased: So....you're not...friends with Telgrin, are you? Sinofas: He put his Giant Castle in my front yard and won't move it. What do you think??

page 183

I can't believe Mills feels he has to point out that Alexander makes for one Handsome Frog. A "rather large and handsome frog," indeed. Ffff.

page 183

And, I quote, "Did you speak, Sir Frog?" "That's Prince Frog, to you." Alexander, *please* reign in some of your sass. It's not helping matters.

page 198

I feel like the further this book goes, the stronger Alexander's sass gets. It'll never be Telgrin levels of sass because that man is the Sassmaster Diva, but it's dang good.

page 212

Sassmaster Telgrin *still* can't get anyone to dialogue properly with him. Graham's just as obstinate as Alexander and is really good at One Syllable Responses. My gorgeous royal family.

page 223

"At that moment, her second head . . . appeared to wake. It opened its eyes, blinked, and said, "Hmph. What's happening? Where am I?" "It's all right, dear," the first head said. "Go back to sleep. I'm just going to kill this man here." "Oh, that's all right then." I adore this book in ways I cannot express.

page 225

I'm so glad magic in this world, with this staff, works by wishing. So, basically, Telgrin must have said, "I wish King Graham's soul was mine" and so it was, and "I wish I had a fireball to kill Alexander," and bam. It's like he's making little birthday cake wishes, but Horrible Magic happens instead and it's kinda hilariously great. :3

page 230

Telgrin, through a magical hologram because this book is great: "Oi! There you are!" Alexander, exhausted and annoyed: "Whaddya want, Telgrin?" "What do you think? You've stolen my staff. I want it back." "That's too bad. I'm fairly sure that I don't want to give it to you." Now is not the time to start having a holographic fight. Pull back that sass, kiddos.

April 2, 2019

page 231

"The fact that this book is about the same size and heft as my Nintendo Switch tablet with like a pt 14 font, and the fact that it's still taken me into week three to read it, means I'm nice and deep in this reading slump. This should be a six hour read at *maximum*. Telgrin, take me away.

page 236

Alexander, you can't just order princesses to do what you want with magic. that's so rude.

page 237

To be 100% clear, Alexander, Telgrin learned literally everything he knows from Owen, and we can see how Telgrin turned out. One miiiight assume that Owen himself is not the most Noble of nobility.

page 240

"Alexander looked long upon the poor, filthy, shabby, beheaded, half-crazed man" -- I dunno, Alex, I might have led with the Beheaded part. Just sayin', seems the most important part.

page 248

"Alexander thought that it would be inappropriate to express regrets for the incident, since those regrets would not be deeply felt." Alexander, be polite. Don't start snarking with the villain, now.

page 250

"Lydia, Lydia, don't you understand? A man wants to idealize the woman he is to wed. This becomes extremely difficult *when she keeps bloody carping at him.*" Telgrin's breakdown from Eloquent Bro is the best thing ever.

page 260

Since the fight is taking place off screen, it reads most hilariously, with each combatant yelling, "Oh, yeah, that was okay, but what about THIS" followed by just basically a stream of sound effects. It's like reading an anime battle where they would normally shout out their attack names and I'm so into it.

page 266

Can I also add that I find it Entirely Hysterical that this HUGE FLOATING CASTLE is literally pinned into place? With like, a big bobby pin driven into the ground? And that's *it*? This is so impractical on so many levels, Telgrin.

April 3, 2019

page 267

Alexander actually expected Telgrin to win that fight, hah. Good confidence for the Good Team, I guess (Owen's placement on the Good Team being...sketchy, at best, of course).

page 273

See, Graham, Cyril remembers HIS adventuring rope when he goes off on missions. Take notes; it'll help you out in your 2015 voyage.

page 278

Cyril, you stud muffin.

page 283

"How did you find this?" "I got lost." Bab.

April 16, 2019

page 289

Graham Dying bedscenes are like, a favorite staple of this series, innit? And then KQ9 just had to go and take it allllll the way. Hhhh.

page 292

Come on, come on, someone say "a heart is a heavy burden" at Graham. Make this book perfectly complete. No? Okay, fine.

page 293

"I have much to be thankful for. I have escaped the torments that Telgrin thought to inflict on my spirit. I am in my own body again, in my own home, safe and surrounded by family and friends. But what makes me most grateful is that I am able to look upon your face once again, my dear one. For that is everything." Valanice laughed softly, and said, "Rest. You are delirious, I think." My FAVORITE royal couple hhhhhhh.

April 16, 2019 – Finished Reading

Five stars out of five stars. Again.

[breadarcade]

Hey saw your requests were open and thought I'd give em a shot! Hmmmm....how about Shining glitter x y/n cookie! That sounds fun!

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘁, 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗶 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗼𝗽. 𝗪𝗢𝗔𝗛 𝗜𝗗𝗘𝗔𝗦, 𝗶 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘄𝗮𝘆𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁!

𝗣𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝘅 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗻𝗼𝗻𝗲, 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳, 𝗶 𝗮𝗯𝘀𝗼𝗹𝘂𝘁𝗲𝗹𝘆 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 <𝟯

★𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 an exasperated gasp once she heard the door click, and you entered. After moments of waiting and matters of impatience, you were just in time before she felt her sanity snap, and do something stupid such as going outside to report you as missing. You were so late, really late, more than 4 hours, she had been waiting for you, it was time for both of you to make up for lost time; she is free, you are free, that’s how she expected it to be! She felt herself panic for a moment before your voice called out to her “Shining?” your voice rang in her eyes, making her face you with a relieved expression. “You—-! YN!” she called out your name before she ran to pull you into a tight embrace.

“Where have you been? I thought we would be hanging out together. I cleared out everything this time and–” She took a step back, her hands on your shoulders, letting you get a better view of her as for you as well. Some strands in her hair were left astray and she looked frantic, unlike the more collected persona that she maintained as a celebrity. “I’m sorry about our last date, but something came up and–” she gasped, her eyes filled with dramatic betrayal as she looked down to see.“Is that supposed to be a shirt from a different concert?!” she ask, letting you go as she put her hand on her chest, giving you an offended and shocked expression in her face.

“Shining–I can explain.” you tried to hug her but she put her head away “Have you been cheating on me with another artist!?” she asked once more, her mouth pursed to a playful pout, her eyes as glossy as a puppy, “I wrote you lots of songs dedicated for you and you–” she put her hand on her mouth as she pretends to cry, making you chuckle and hug her anyway“Come on Shining, it’s nothing like that! My friend dragged me to the concert and–” “I don’t want to hear it, hmph!” Shining cut you off, but her face betrayed her statement when her eyes looked back at you with some curiosity “I promise I didn’t mean to ‘betray you’, to leave you alone–” you cooed at how playful and adorably petty Shining Glitter get to be, it was one of the very reasons you were attracted to her, as your girlfriend, as your wife—”I was so worried, you were doing this, and that, and I was this close on putting multiple missing posters with your name on it!”

She grumbled and buried her head on your chest, she also felt your chest rumble with joy as you made another chuckle, resting your hand on her gorgeous pink hair and stroking it comfortingly. “And? I’m here now, now we are even at that, especially what happened last time.” you teased, earning a groan from Shining Glitter Cookie, how are you so okay with this? Did you know what happened when you were gone? She was worried! After what happened with the Summer Soda Rock Festival? She has these kinds of out-of-pocket thoughts! Duraineers, perhaps? Muggers? Oh maybe a—“I’m okay, love, nothing happened with me, alright?” you brushed her bangs out of her forehead to leave it a small kiss, with your hand on her cheek, stroking it so delicately, leaving her face red and flushed as she finally took in how irrational she was with panicking and with her other kinds of thoughts

“Hmph, you could’ve at least told me about it, home is not as bright without you in the picture.” she defeatedly murmured and melt to your touch, leaning to your palm as she felt the warmth radiating off from it, “Fine, I did something–a lot, but it’s hard not missing you for a moment,” she added, her eyes half-lidded as she suddenly thought about the warm memories that you and Shining Glitter shared, the first day you met; in the Summer Soda Rock festival, you in the crowd, cheering for her, helping her as she ruled the stage and turned it to her color and made it shine. Her popstar get up attracting you, and your initiative to help her, attracting her, making both of you tick, then eventually date, then eventually getting married—

Oh how she missed that, she missed you in particular.She snapped for a moment as she looked up at you, suddenly tired from the energy she exerted from worrying about you.

“YN—can we–sleep?” she asked, yawning for a moment, her energy drained out, which made your lips curl to a small smile “Alright, you should’ve not been too worried about me, now look what happened.” you teased, earning a small groan from Shining Glitter Cookie“Then you should’ve not worried me so much, and I would have not been too worried about you and–and–! You.” she chuckled as she realized the playful banter both of you shared, she loved that, she loved you, her gorgeous muse, you.

“You are too much, should I like that?” “Maybe you should, maybe not.” you retorted back, giving her another quick kiss, but on the lips this time, instantly making her melt from the intimacy both of you shared, she loved you.

“You win, fine—-you always win” she chuckled to herself before holding your hand to both of your shared bedrooms to have the lately due cuddles both of you are about to share.

[contreparry]

Happy Friday!!!! From the fluff prompts: "kissing their bruises and scars" pls pls and thank!

Absolutely! Here’s some Zevran/Surana for @dadrunkwriting !

“That one is from when I fell out of a tree,” Bran said suddenly. Zevran, who had been idly tracing the puckered scar that snaked across Bran’s bare knee, started at the remark.

“A tree?” he repeated, certain he misheard him, but Bran flushed all the way to the tips of his pale ears and tucked his legs underneath him.

They were sitting on Bran’s couch. There was a movie on the television, something Zevran was happily ignoring in favor of coaxing Bran to relax into the cushions, to lean into him, to rest his head on Zevran’s shoulder. It was manipulative, perhaps, but Zevran got what he wanted. Bran snuggled into him and Zevran was free to touch anything that caught his fancy, from his surprisingly muscular arms to his lean legs to the scar on Bran’s knee. But when Zevran ran a finger over that, Bran jolted away like a frightened rabbit.

“Hide and seek,” Bran said, an explanation that explained very little. Bran Surana was such an academic, content to shut himself away in his lab or live his life behind bookshelves that Zevran couldn’t imagine the man- or the boy the man once was- choosing to play (and outside at that).

“No one ever looks up,” Bran added. “I thought it was a good place to hide. And I had a library book in case I got bored while waiting.”

“What sort of book?” Zevran asked. He could already imagine a young Bran clambering up a tree with a massive tome that he could barely hold, his expression as haughty and aloof as it was today. The image brought a smile to his face. Did Bran find playing with other children exhausting? Beneath him? Zevran didn’t learn how to play as a child. Piecing together Bran’s life through these fragmented tales was an educational experience, one that he found enchanting. Part of him wanted to ask Bran for baby pictures. He wanted school yearbooks. He wanted everything.

Since when had he gotten so sentimental?

“… it was… it was a book about dragons,” Bran confessed. “Warden Willow’s Wild World.”

“Ah,” Zevran remembered those glossy paperback books about rare and strange animals. He remembered their glossy covers and beautiful pictures. He remembered commercials about the series, and that one could buy the entire set and a poster of a dragon. Not that he ever read any Warden Willow. Zevran had other concerns at that age. But it was heartening to know Bran had something of a normal childhood. He read books. Appropriate books. He wasn’t learning how to disable security systems at the tender age of eight.

“Good book?” Zevran pressed. Bran’s mouth widened into a toothy smile, and Zevran’s heart leapt into this throat when Bran laughed.

“I loved it. Borrowed it nearly every other week,” Bran replied, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm. “But the scar. I lost my balance and fell off the branch. Split my knee open on a rock. First time I ever drew on magic to fix something without supervision.” His expression shifted then, his smile dimming as he considered this memory.

“It came early to you, didn’t it? Your magic,” Zevran asked, his voice gentle, hoping to coax more out of the man. His curiosity wouldn’t let him rest, and Bran was so interesting- prickly and vulnerable and trusting while still being so… so cynical. Yet sometimes there were these moments where Bran’s joy for life and thirst for knowledge overwhelmed Zevran, and part of him wanted to grasp the man by the shoulders, cup his face in his hands and ask him- how? How do you manage it? How did you endure so much and still manage to hold on to the soft and the good?

“I was… four, maybe? Early for most. There are case studies about magic showing in infants, but it’s pretty rare. Statistically speaking eight is the average age. There’s this old wives tale in Denerim that says the older you are when you awaken, the stronger Mage you’ll become.” Bran shrugged and slowly, by inches, returned to rest against Zevran’s side. Zevran snaked his arm around Bran’s shoulders and pressed a kiss against his slender neck, where a hickey had blossomed in a purple-reddish hue- a souvenir from last night, he thought with impish delight. No hiding that mark.

“So you fell, hurt yourself, and tried to fix the damage,” Zevran said. “Healing can be a painful business, especially when your healer is untrained.” There was a reason many magical healers offered anesthesia in their practices. The re-knitting of broke bone and skin on a sped up scale was not easy to endure. But to think of a young Bran holding back his tears to sew his own skin together with magic- that was a dreadful thought.

“Was more scared of my Gran than the pain,” Bran confessed. “She told me a thousand times to be careful when I played with the others. Said she’d ban me from the library for a month if I got into trouble. So I healed it. Badly, but it worked. And then-“

“And then?” Zevran repeated.

“I climbed up the tree and finished my book,” Bran said, as if it was the only conclusion that was feasible in his little tale. Zevran cackled and drew Bran closer, kissing his cheek, the top of his head, wherever he could reach. He’d kiss that little scar as well, and any other he found because that was what you did when you found someone precious, was it not? You treasured them.

“A favorite, you said,” Zevran murmured, and he wondered just how difficult it would be to find a copy of Warden Willow’s Wild World: Dragons nowadays.

[avidprozactaker]

Brain Games

hi hi, i wrote something :)

dirty dirty mind controlled sex. 

1,667 words

:D read below 

I sit down on the stool; the hard wood is cold against my jeans, expressing that nobody has sat here in a few hours. I grab a pencil, looking for the dark green one that I prefer over the others in my bag, patiently waiting for the coffee I ordered, my headphones playing music in my ears. Subconsciously, I stare at the counter, waiting for him to make my coffee.

He pours something into a cup, his dark hair falling in curls over his forehead, his jeans many sizes too big for him, his apron hanging off him. His eyes scanning across the room, knowing someone is looking at him. I quickly look away once his eyes fall on me; reaching into my bag, I look for my eraser, focusing on my music playing through my headphones.

A name is called out, I look down at the table, staring at my fingers running along the gray table, the fake wood slowly being peeled up by others who have sat here before me.

I feel eyes on me, one specific pair that I normally never feel, a pair I tend to avoid. I slowly look up, directly at him, his eyes dark, almost black, his pupils dilated and his fingers lightly tapping the table. I swallow the nervousness down, quickly looking away, a red hot feeling spreading across my face, knowing he’s still looking at me.

“Hey.” He whispers from across the room, but I hear it deep within my ears, rattling my brain. I quickly look back up at him, staring him in the eyes, falling into them, almost being dragged in.

I hear his breathing against my ear, my head being pressed to his chest. Panic arises in my throat, his fingers are tightly holding me close to him. I look up at him, his eyes darker than before. His tongue darts out, lightly licking his lips, sheen left over them from his spit.

“How’d I get here?” I ask quietly, careful not to disturb the people standing around him, but nobody seems to notice I’m here, pressed tightly against him.

“You can’t seem to stop staring, so I gave you what you want.”

My cheeks flush darker than before, his free hand slowly running across my thigh, the other still pulling me close. His slim fingers focus on the large hole in my jeans, running along my bare skin, lightly playing with the fringe. I look at his hands, his fingernails painted a dark green, chipping slightly.

“Would you like to go somewhere else? I can tell you’re overwhelmed.” He mutters, his thumb slowly rubbing circles on my inner thigh. I nod my head, his shirt a soft material against my cheek.

I blink and we’re in his room, sitting on his bed, my legs wrapped against his waist, his hair brushing against my nose. I look around; his bedsheets are dark grey with black stripes. Many posters hang from his walls, bands I love and others I’ve never heard of.

“Is this your room?”

“Yeah, you like my posters?” he asks, his hand finding the hole in my jeans again, inching higher and higher with every stroke.

“I do.”

I look at him, his eyes still glossy and black, his lips pink from over-biting. Another wall holds many skateboards, some broken and others completely unused, with beautiful art on each of them. Rainbows, black and white on each of them, all hold a different story.

“Rose, why do you stare so much?”

“What?” I quickly ask, blushing and shoving my face into the crease of his neck. He takes the hand that was wrapped around my back and lightly grabs my cheek, making me look at him.

“Answer my question, pretty girl.” He whispers, his tongue darting out again and wetting his lips. The pet name shakes my core, vibrations sent across my whole body, a pool of wetness gathering in my panties.

“Oh? You like that, don’t you?"

I nod my head, wishing he said more. His finger lightly runs across my cheekbone, looking into my eyes, smiling lightly, his teeth peeking out behind his overly pink lips.

“I could give you so much more that you would like.” He whispers, taking the hand that was running along my thigh and grabbing my hip, pushing me down on his thigh. His other hand connected with my other hip. He slowly drags me along his thigh, a gasp being pushed out of my lips, his fingers digging into my soft skin.

“Does that feel good?” He questions, and I nod my head, falling into his neck again. His movements are slow, making my hips buck, begging to have more of him. He chuckles, moving his thigh, his fingers gripping me tightly so I don’t move myself.

“Be patient and I’ll give you more.”

He continues grinding myself against his thigh, taking one of his hands and bringing it up to my mouth, his thumb resting against my lips, telling me to open my mouth. I oblige and slowly start sucking his thumb, lightly flicking my tongue against it. He lets out a low moan, indicating that he is thinking about how good my mouth would feel wrapped against his cock.

He quickly pulls his thumb out of my mouth, grabbing my hip again, flipping us over so he rests on top of me. I focus on the feeling of his against me, his lips connecting with my neck, sucking, leaving dark red marks.

Quiet moans leave my mouth, his body pressed firmly against mine, his hips pushing into mine while his mouth leaves more and more marks soon to turn purple.

“How bad do you want it?”

I whimper, not wanting to say anything and instead focus on the feeling of him being this close to me. I move my hips up to meet his movements, my hands gripping onto his shirt, the air being pushed out of my lungs.

“Answer me.” He says sternly, stopping his movements.

“I want it so bad. Please.” I whispered out, begging for him to continue. He licks his lips, reaching down between us and unbuttoning my jeans, pulling them down my thighs. His fingers slowly rub my clothed slit, pleasure raking through my body, his slim fingers lightly moving my panties to the side, running between my folds, collecting the wetness.

“Open.” He grunts, sliding his wet fingers in my mouth. I taste myself on his slick fingers, a smile on his face. He takes his fingers out, a string of spit falling on my chin while he moves his hand down again, moving the fabric to the side and slowly pushing a finger into me.

A whine leaves my lips, his actions slow and painful, my body craving so much more. He adds another finger, moving them slowly. Huffs of air leave my lips, my hips moving against his fingers on their own, my mind and body on two different paths. His lips connect with mine; the softness of them feels like I'm being pushed underwater, unable to breathe through the kiss.

“You so desperately want more, don’t you?” He asks, pulling his face away from mine, gently taking his fingers out of my core. I quickly nod my head, pleading for all of him to myself. He unbuckles his belt, pushing his pants down, his boxers going with them. His fingers found the top of my panties, lightly pulling them down my thighs. I look between us, gasping at his size, knowing I won’t be able to take him.

“You can take it, I know you can.” He whispers in my ear, his lips connecting with my neck, my eyes lightly fluttering shut. Slowly he pushes into me, a deep grunt leaving his throat, a moan bubbling out of my lips. His movements are steady and slow, making sure I’m fully comfortable.

“That feels good?”

I quickly nod my head, giving him more access to my neck; light kisses along my throat moving upwards, kissing along my jaw and cheek, finding my lips. Quiet moans fall out my mouth; my eyes shut tight, unable to handle all of him. My legs wrap around his hips, pulling him closer to me, sloppy kisses being placed against my lips.

“Harder.” I whimper out, needing more. His pace quickens, his thrusts going deeper, my whole body feeling like it’s going to be ripped in half by his cock, my mouth lolled open, words not leaving my lips; instead, pants and moans fill the room.

A fire slowly starts to burn in my core, his cock pushing deep inside; a small bulge in my stomach every time he pushes deeper, tears welling up in my eyes, his black eyes staring at me, a line of sweat forming on his forehead, heavy grunts coming out of his mouth every time he drives further in me.

“Are you close?” He mutters, his thrusts turning into sloppy, messy thrusts. His lips sucking on my throat again, more dark marks left behind.

“So close.” I cry out, needing more of him, my hands gripping his hair, running through the curls, clawing at his back, most definitely leaving marks.

“Cum for me, baby. Be a good girl.”

I scream out, the heat exploding in my core, tears freely running down my cheeks, his hand tightly wrapped around my throat, his lips fervently moving against my own. His movement stutters, his hips snapping against mine, pushing as deep as he can into me.

I’m ripped out of his mind, his eyes looking back at me; a smirk across his face. I look down at the table, becoming extremely aware of the wetness in between my thighs. I quickly look up at him, the dark eyes still staring at me, my name being called for my drink.

[bratanimus]

Self-hype WIP Wednesday! I was tagged by @hangon-silvergirl to share a snippet from one of my WIPs.

I'm a day late, but here is a bit from "Two for One," the next chapter in Man to Man, my series which follows Eddie dealing with several of the men (and boys) in his life. In this part, Eddie's doing some grocery shopping and runs into one of the Cunninghams.

He parked in front of the hair care section and rested an elbow on the cart’s handle as he took in the colorful wall of shampoo, conditioner, gel, creme, mousse, and spray—endless choices to make your hair as big as possible, not that Eddie had ever needed much help in that department. It was possible, hair-wise, that he was living in the greatest era known to metalkind, and he’d genetically lucked into the perfect ‘do for this cultural moment. People were frying their hair with perms to get the look he got for free. 

Absently twirling his mom’s class ring around his finger, he stepped closer to the shelves to reach for a bottle of Chrissy’s dark pink Suave Strawberry Essence shampoo…and hey, Piggly Wiggly was having a two-for-one sale, so he grabbed a second one for the cart. 

Now came the more difficult task: choosing products for his unruly mane.

Last night after the show, citing Eddie’s impending nuptials to Chrissy, Steve “The Hair” Harrington had drunkenly impressed upon his friend the importance of using the right shampoo–and conditioner, for Pete’s sake!—for his curls, and had twiddled a lock of Eddie’s hair as he slurred You’re in need of moisture, which had made Eddie cringe and guffaw at the same time, a rollercoaster he was in no hurry to experience again. Nevertheless, the expert had made the point that Eddie’s all-in-one go-tos like Pert or Head & Shoulders were probably not meant for hair such as his. (Or Nancy’s, the drunken mess had repeatedly declared, imperiously wagging a finger—not that his ex or her boyfriend, who were then arguing quietly but obviously over by the bar, were close enough to hear that particular proclamation.)

Eddie looked left and right, but no barbers magically appeared down either end of the aisle; so he began the arduous task of scanning the small print beneath brand names for words like curly and dry and, because the hair god had spoken thus, moisture. 

Shit. There were so many products. How was he supposed to choose the right ones? How dare Big Boy Harrington not have the same hair type as his? What gave Harrington the right to make Eddie question twenty good years of frizz?

The wedding, that was what. A low blow, and Harrington had been drunk enough to throw that punch, and goddammit, it had landed. Hair care. Fuck.

Okay, Eddie could do this. He inhaled and exhaled, interlacing his fingers and stretching his palms forward to crack his knuckles. He looked in desperation down the aisle again…

And saw Caleb Cunningham.

Chrissy’s brother stood stock still a few steps into the aisle as though he’d frozen in place when he spotted Eddie. His shock of thick red hair was longer than it’d been the last time Eddie saw him at graduation, though the length probably wouldn’t have turned any heads at their church. He looked taller, too, but that was thirteen-year-olds for you. In a light blue polo, khaki shorts, and docksiders, the handsome teen could’ve been the poster boy for any number of prep schools. A magazine dangled from one hand. The other rose tentatively in greeting.

Eddie waved back.

Caleb hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. He rolled up the magazine and started toward Eddie, still turning the glossy paper nervously in both hands as he drew near. 

“Hey, Eddie,” he said in that weird, gravelly way of boys whose voices were changing.

Tagging @blondiest, @little-scribblers-heart, @enoughtotemptme, and @cricketsatnight if you're inclined, and anyone else who fancies it!

[wolfontheloose]

|| Tony & Ryden ||

Ripping the door to his apartment open after the first couple of eager knocks against the painted wood, Ryden let the other man through without much of a greeting since his visit was expected, their plan to hang out and watch Jujutsu Kaisen long awaited and prearranged. Ryden had been looking for someone to watch anime with like the nerd that he secretly was and meeting this dear friend of Bellamy’s opened up the opportunity. Because watching animated series was at least ten times more fun in company than alone.

“Come in. I got popcorns and beer ready.” Ryden informed, leaving it up to Tony to close the door behind him and make himself comfortable in whichever way he wanted. Inside, Ryden’s apartment was a punk-rock biker fairytale dream come true, an alternative kid’s sanctuary when he got too tired of playing a proper grownup. Walls were painted insultingly black, fading into grey in a subtle gradient near the floor. Posters and wall art were scattered all over, in a chaotic but still somehow aesthetically appealing disarray, not merely a cover-up for a bad paint job or holes in the walls Ryden might’ve punched in for some recreational anger venting - which he never actually did although he looked like a bloke who regularly punched holes through walls. Almost everything was carefully framed, purposefully hung up, especially the limited editions hard to come by and therefore cherished and given special spotlight places. Iggy Pop, Nick Cave, Leonard Cohen, Johnny Cash, David Bowie; faces of many a legend watched on from their lofty vantage points, cozily observing in between framed movie prints and comic book covers. Flat surfaces had picture frames of more real people, ones Ryden encountered daily in his life and kept them there, and artwork or mementos made or gifted by them. Taking up an honored place on the TV stand against the central wall, among Alien and Predator figurines, were framed hand-done doodles and drawings in charcoal or pen, shiny little car models and wooden 3D train puzzles Ryden assembled himself in what little free time he had.  

The furniture arrangement was where one would expect it to be in a space as small and predictable as this. The kitchenette was tiny, separated from the rest of the living space by a large kitchen island with rusty-colored countertop, tall leather-dressed barstools tucked under it. Ryden’s precious curved plasma TV was huge and very likely the most pricey thing he had ever bought with decently earned money, taking up most of the wall opposite to the black leather couch matching the barstools. The coffee table was Ryden’s own invention - a couple of beer crates and a wooden panel over them all securely nailed together, spray painted a glossy black, with stylized pair of claw mark engraved across it. Two Pacman-shaped lazy bags were shoved into a corner, stacked one on top of the other. An Xbox and a PlayStation sat under the TV.

Most blinds were shut and the only source of artificial light was a red lava lamp strategically placed where its crimson illumination would be at its best. A rosewood guitar sat in another corner on its stand, the amplifier connected, stereo mounted on the wall. An old jukebox was next to the instrument, still recuperating from when Ryden had salvaged it from a dumpster. He’ll fix it eventually and make it work. Heavy hand weights were stacked neatly on their rack, proudly being the reason why Ryden didn’t have a dining table. Instead of any ceiling lights hanging, there was a very professional looking punching bag, definitely sand-filled. The door to the bathroom was open and a sneak peek would reveal that it was kept pretty neat, yet sadly only large enough for a shower stall. Aside from that particular space dedicated to cleanliness, Ryden didn’t believe in storing everything away immediately after use - anything that might belong in a drawer was equally comfortable on the floor.

@tony-baxter​

[brooklynbutterflyarts]

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