【 loni says | You gonna catch me if I eat a brick? | bg3 party banter , accepting. ( i think this is the right meme i check last night fjlajf )
droplets dart across concrete, puddles of stagnant water forming, small ripples forming with each step. air damp, the faint scent acrid scent of mildew and humidity lingers in the air. it's one long corridor—— well, sewer, honestly. it's one long sewer, a twisting tunnel of refuse / a maze of underground runway and whatever others nasties might dwell within. it's a mess of rubbish, spiderwebs and lost toys. each more sad to come across than the last—— lost treasure not meant to find itself back home again. ( and brad wouldn't change that. )
fingers crackle with magic, the tinny hum of sorcery, the twisting of unnatural forces. hand sits aloft, flames crackling in palm, light chases off shadows—— rats scurry from stomping feet. it's not his usual locale. give him an ancient tomb over some musty, funky sewer, but there's something here. something worth finding, something worth braving shards of broken glass and risk of infection. it helps when neither of those things bother him anymore; a twisted, unnatural body has benefits, far more benefits than cons. dulled sense of smell ... well, that works wonders here. ain't perfect, mind you. small air fresheners drift around them, cutting down on stomach-turning nausea. it gives more time to think, to scout, to consider riddles given. gaze never drifts far from map nor etching in grimy walls. at least, not until she speaks.
voice draws attention, plucking focus with ease. no small feat, mind you ! not many could've managed that much when he's lost in thought, drifting between countless possibilities; it's a moment of grounding. it brings him back to the same plane; it brings him back to her. a ship sent out to sea returning to harbor, again and again. ( always destined to depart. ) / never truly meant to stay.
❛ counter point ... don't fall down here because i literally don't know what you'll land in. ❜ lips pucker, brows knitted together in worry, regarding the trash around them far more consciously than before. head turns to watch her, eyes flickering in conjured flame, something dances in them. something circles in dark hues, a dancer wreathed in flame, a passionate trance only illuminated by fire. ❛ BUT and big but, not your butt, mind you, if that were to happen then i suppose i'll give it a college try. no promises. no refunds. no returns. ❜ a faint laugh echoes off tunnel walls, gentle yet ringing down a treacherous path. a pause, boots slowing to a stop with a firm thud. ❛ ... ❜ free hand reaches for her, fingers gesturing towards her. ❛ hold my hand. that make you feel any better? ❜
@packless
𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄?
deep staining red. ripped out confessions, warm velvety whispers and a heart like an open wound. your love flows out like dripping blood, beautiful, flawed and twisted. it's gut wrenching, the type of painfully dramatic feeling that makes you clutch your chest, picturing dramatic monologues about love and loving and big screen over the top scenes of sobbing into your pillow until you fall asleep. it rips out of you, clawing it's way up your throat more so than tumbling out. sticky words that just need to be let out, feelings so big they don't fit inside you. your love isn't easy, it's a true bloody mess, dripping and staining everything it touches in a desperate attempt to be seen, to be felt, to be loved back. and you, you love so hard, so deeply, so much for someone who carries all that pain. atlas holding up the world, how are you? is your love still flowing? is your heart still open? still pumping and bleeding and dripping with blood and tears? still painting your beautiful pictures and writing your love letters in deeply personal red ink? because i see them, i read them, i love them and you, you, you, you. clench your chest, scream your love, cry it out. spill your words of loving, keep your heart beating, keep your love coming and paint the entire world red with it. make it in your image, keep going, it's okay. maybe one day the whole world can be red and loved and beautiful just like you.
tagged by: @hadobreeze ty ty tagging: steal it.
They be fathering and daughtering too hard.
Detective Comics #1097 cover by Mikel Janin.
Batgirl #7 cover by Dan Mora.
some metas for brad / overhaul information ;
001. the abelli family has deep ties to magic; it's their breath, it's their blood, it's their life. it consumes their actions and mystifies their thoughts; they are a family of wanderers, explorers, and adventurers. their house flits between the material plane and countless others, an ever-changing locale. the multiverse itself a countless sea for them to explore—— for better or worse. their house is a grand treasure for things they collect.
002. bradley, like ancestors before him, have delved into countless unknowns with sorcery. braved the depths of forbidden knowledge, unraveled the elements, looked upon its treasures with greedy eyes. such exposure, such dredging into the arcane, has changed him. magic seeps from his veins; it replaces blood——flesh shed for a mystical body. he is magic. a shell of arcane power shaped as a man with all the volatility of the sorcery.
003. those deep ties to magic give deep insight to its workings. access to secrets is not meant for common sorcerers; it's the result of going too far in pursuing something not meant for mortal hands. power, surely, yet not without drawbacks. a dulled sense of taste, a numb sense of feeling, a lack of emotion towards life's small wonders. a need to seek even more grandiose things. it loosens the mind, it taints the sense of reason, it's having thoughts scattered between one plane and the next at all times.
004. brad sits somewhere on the chaotic spectrum. sometimes good, sometimes evil, never against trickery or deceit. all his schemes are a means to an end, a step towards another grand adventurer. despite lacking physical sensation in some regards, his emotions are present. prone to changes based on mood, quick to reflect external circumstances, dangerous at times. he's the life of the party until he's not.
【 @metanoen | emma's fingers slink and then pull; scalp captured from behind, tilting his head back and back until his throat is exposed. up on her tip-toes, so they can see eye to eye, and her smile is all red lips and teeth. " thane, darling, i'm bored. " and then she releases him, just like that, watching his hair spring back into place as she steps around him. face to face, a painted blue nail taps his nose. " do something about it, won't you ? i think we should get away somewhere. somewhere i don't have to smell logan's reek from across the city or listen to summers' latest lecture on politics. just us. " | unprompted.
mind touch; intermingling—— dancing. a song of them / a waltz of empathy 'pon telepathy. it tangles and twists, telling thane of emma's presence. ( of her strut, of her prowling. ) then, she comes. digits like claws, catching hold, pulling forth prey ... a lioness. grey locks part, silky and loose, a warmth seeping from her laid claim, to him—— to body, to mind, to heart, to soul. thin lips curl into a smile, an apparition of his delight. ( it's kind, yet mischievous lurks beneath it all. ) centuries of wisdom, the cunning of a shrewd king lurks beneath all acts. it defines him. it becomes him. &. he never felt more like a king than when he's in her grasp.
silver eyes worship, silver eyes adore, assessing each note and tone. ( she is art. carved &. perfect. ) drawing eyes, making them yearn for touch—— yet knowingly, she denies. a twinge of disappointment rings out, still, nonetheless gaze adulates her when she appears. pupils, thin slits, grow wide and a light rumble begins in the king's chest. he lays claim; he hunts now. step brings them closer, arms looping loosely around her waist. stormy hues gleam, something hungry beneath pools of quick silver. forms press closer, warmth ebbing between them. it's greedy—— a greed only royals might taste.
❛ that's dangerous. you get oh so tricky when you get bored. ❜ laugh comes gentle, only so tender with her. giving her a peer behind porcelain mask, letting her see each gear clink and whirr &. glimpse beast hidden within cages of eloquence. ( it hunts her. prowling the depths mind, it brushes against thin prison bars, eager to reach ... to pounce. ) ❛ you must think the world of me to give much such a tall order. we both know logan's stench could reach the hells themselves. ❜ as for summers' ... those lectures never truly end.
cheek brushes against her own, gentle although insistent. nudging her head to side, exposing same tread of neck she did so sweetly to him. lips trace beautiful jaw, nipping and kissing where he pleases. he follows curve from back to forth, leaving no inch unclaimed—— tender longing, devouring need. it chases itself in every action. an ouroboros of wants and needs. then, he brings himself closer to her pretty neck—— close enough to hear faint drum of pulse. warm breath sits over frail veins, so frail ... so exposed. then, it's thane's turn to retreat, to flee from the final moments, offering a kiss on her cheek instead.
❛ murozia's lovely this time of year. ❜ and to see emma clad in murozian silks ... sounds quite delightful. ❛ i'll make the arrangements. ❜
same thing i said on kai but less so since this blog is already kinda how i want it being smaller? ill just be on break. tata.
❛ hey ! i make an honest living—— it's not stealing if you're stealing it from people it didn't belong to begin with. ❜ it makes for a fun challenge, too. a bit of rolling in the mud before appreciating what glitters beyond it. ( although no small part of him prefers the hunt over acquisition. ) it's a game—— a challenge worth puzzling over. by now, well, he'll be able to give the staffordshire hoard a run for its money &. half that treasure wasn't even magical. silver and gold is nice, sure, but enchanted silvers and gold? no contest. ❛ help yourself. it won't be missed, and that one you've been eyeing suits you. although, anything here would. 'sides, i ain't falling for those sticky fingers again. ❜
“ woah, look at all this stuff! ” he's got all kinds of things- things she's never seen before, things she wouldn't consider stealing. she doesn't know where to look first, or what to grab first, take for her own collection. the glint of a gold necklace catches her eye, and she crouches down to get a better look. “ how did you find all of this? do you steal it from people, or do you buy it? ” if it's the latter, he must be rich. / @amcssing ( ♡'d , for brad)