#blackwell pages

[the-blackwell-pages-fans]

somewhat older Laurie, Reyna, and Fen that I drew a while ago! I hope to do more soon since I’m so much better at art than I was when I started posting my own fanart on this account. I can finally bring the characters to life in the way I always wanted to :)

- Matt

[yrptraumacentermanga]

And so... our first story comes to a close. Thank you all so much for reading our first entry in this manga series. It's been an honor to entertain you. We will be on break for a time as we prepare for our next entry.

Derek and Angie have another journey ahead of them but for now... We have a team to meet and new area to explore.

Thank you, everyone.

Till we meet again.

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

The Cat Ate My Gymsuit by Paula Danzinger

Marcy Lewis is bored by school, she knows she's never going to be thin, and she is dead sure she'll never have a date. Life at home isn't great either, since her father bosses her and her mother around. Then along comes Ms. Finney, an English teacher who'll try anything in the classroom and actually treats kids like human beings. Now that she's found a teacher who sees Marcy as more than a name on an attendance sheet, Marcy realizes her life could mean something. When Ms. Finney is suspended, Marcy knows she's got to take a stand. But is this new independence worth the price she'll pay at school and at home?

Magic Shop by Bruce Coville

Russell Crannaker, a rather timid boy who is eager to frighten the school bully on Halloween night, acquires a magic ring and the power to change himself into a hideous monster.

Thimble Summer by Elizabeth Enright

When Garnet finds a silver thimble in the sand by the river, she is sure it’s magical. But is it magical enough to help her pig, Timmy, win a blue ribbon on Fair Day?

The Edge Chronicles by Paul Stewart

Fourteen-year-old Quint Verginix is the only remaining son of famous sky-pirate Wind Jackal. He and his father have journeyed to the city of Sanctaphrax – a great floating rock, bound to the ground below by a chain, its inhabitants living with their heads literally in the clouds.

But the city hides a dangerous secret: deep inside the great rock, something horrible lurks. With his father away, Quint may be the only one who can save Sanctaphrax from the dreaded curse of the gloamglozer . . .

School of Fear by Gitty Daneshvari

Everyone is afraid of something...

Madeleine Masterson is deathly afraid of bugs, especially spiders.

Theodore Bartholomew is petrified of dying.

Lulu Punchalower is scared of confined spaces.

Garrison Feldman is terrified of deep water.

With very few options left, the parents of these four twelve year-olds send them to the highly elusive and exclusive School of Fear to help them overcome their phobias. But when their peculiar teacher, Mrs. Wellington, and her unconventional teaching methods turn out to be more frightening than even their fears, the foursome realize that this just may be the scariest summer of their lives.

Pillage by Obert Skye

Upon his mother's death, fifteen-year-old Beck Phillips is sent to live with an eccentric uncle he had never met in a remote manor house, where he learns that his family suffers from a curse that allows him to make plants grow on command and dragon eggs hatch.

The Blackwell Pages by K. L. Armstrong

In Viking times, Norse myths predicted the end of the world, an event called Ragnarok, that only the gods can stop. When this apocalypse happens, the gods must battle the monsters--wolves the size of the sun, serpents that span the seabeds, all bent on destroying the world.

The gods died a long time ago.

Matt Thorsen knows every Norse myth, saga, and god as if it was family history--because it is family history. Most people in the modern-day town of Blackwell, South Dakota, in fact, are direct descendants of either Thor or Loki, including Matt's classmates Fen and Laurie Brekke.

However, knowing the legends and completely believing them are two different things. When the rune readers reveal that Ragnarok is coming and kids--led by Matt--will stand in for the gods in the final battle, he can hardly believe it. Matt, Laurie, and Fen's lives will never be the same as they race to put together an unstoppable team to prevent the end of the world.

The Star of Kazan by Eva Ibbotson

Annika is happy living in the servants' quarters of a house owned by three eccentric professors. She adores Ellie and Sigrid, the cook and housemaid who found her as a baby, abandoned on a church doorstep. In the eleven years since, they have taught her how to bake and clean to perfection. Then one day a glamorous stranger arrives, claiming to be Annika's mother. Annika is no servant, she learns, but an aristocrat whose true home is an ancient castle. But at crumbling Spittal, Annika discovers that all is not as it seems in the lives of her newfound family. . .

The Enchanted Castle by E. Nesbit

Jerry, Jimmy, and Cathy stumble upon a mysterious castle with a beautiful princess asleep in the garden. The princess is really Mabel, the housekeeper's niece, who is only pretending to be royalty. But when she shows them a secret room filled with treasure where they discover a magical ring, enchantment becomes a reality.

Fairy Oak by Elizabetta Gnone

Fairy Oak is the name of a village that grew up in the shade of a talking oak tree, an imaginary place, lost in the mists of time immemorial, overlooking a stormy sea, next to uplands covered in snow in winter, surrounded by enchanted woods, vast meadows, crystal clear rivers and lakes. A healthy and uncontaminated nature, which dominates and envelops the worlds in which the stories unfold. Within the walls of the old village there lives an equally old community, a mixed bag of funny characters, with the rituals, customs, habits and familiarity of a serene, cheerful, lively people. The books chronicle the adventures of the adolescent twins Vanilla and Lavender. To save their people, menaced by a cruel enemy, they go on a long journey deep into the labyrinths of their powers. Since the girls are very young, at first lots of things go wrong. Some are frightening. In short, it’s not going to be easy at all! But someone and something will help them.

[tbp-but-make-it-incorrect]

Baldwin: *tries to create a calm atmosphere by lighting incense only to find out that the sticks are actually sparklers*

Laurie: This is painfully on-brand for you.

[goldenpinof]

i kinda forgot that my ywgttn paperback came this morning right when i was leaving for work

[szappan]

jonathan strange and mr norrell time tomorrow. haha hehehehe

[ilikecreepypastas102]

Owen: When I was your age—

Matt: When I was your height—

Owen:…

Matt:….

Owen:….

Mat: I’m sorry

Owen: You better be

[onhirel]

A World Without Batwoman ch. 16

Louis Blackwell is being consumed by something terrible, something that is changing him, something that is reducing him to one thing and one thing only: the unholy need to murder Lotte Jansson. He just might get his chance as he spots his quarry heading up into her apartment. His revenge was soon to be had!

Found on AO3, 6081 words. Co-written with @ameliamircalla

[foolishaetherguardian]

Mr. D from the porch: “Technically it was domestic terrorism and you are number four on the list.”

Chiron, rolling past while swapping the wine for DC: “And all of that is resolved. You are not wanted for any outstanding crimes.”

Percy would try and explain it and would be just hazy enough on the details due to manticore poisoning at the time that no one really fully believes it wasn’t his fault except for Grover and Annabeth. And neither of them are going to explain it because Percy realizing that people might be scared of him is a good thing.

Percy: so let me just get this clear, Leo speaks three languages, he's super tech savvy, and he's in AP math classes.

Leo: pretty much, yeah.

Percy: and Solace over here is like number one professional doctor with years of training and actual practice.

Will: I'm kinda cheating with the magic, but I read the books to make sure.

Percy: meanwhile Reyna, Jason, Hazel and Frank were/are a teenage war general. That must had required something.

Reyna, jason, Hazel and Frank: way too much leadership skills.

Percy: Calipso can make clothes from scratch, and how to grow her own food.

Calipso: I do.

Percy: Nico knows like six languages. And had years of playing video games.

Nico: I know Italian, Latin, Greek, English, and a little bit of French, so like, four and a half.

Percy: Annabeth gained architectural experience when she designed the fucking Olympus.

Annabeth: that was awesome.

Percy: Piper have a famous father, and she speaks French.

Piper: I don't like to talk about it.

Percy: all of you people are actually useful in the mortal world. I am wanted for arson.

[a-kind-of-merry-war]

What do you do when you hear your best friend's hand in marriage is the grand prize in a tournament? You steal your brother's armour, cut off all your hair, and enter in disguise to rescue her. Obviously.

All The Painted Stars is a sapphic, medieval romance novel with...

⭐ Knight's Tale Vibes ⭐ Women in armour ⭐ Skinny dipping ⭐ Ruining arranged marriages ⭐ The pain of being in love with your best friend

It's OUT NOW in the UK wherever books are sold in paperback, ebook and audiobook!

Out Nov 5th in the US!

Bookshop.org / Waterstones / Blackwells / Amazon / Kobo

Full blurb & content warnings under the cut.

Oxfordshire 1362

When Lily Barden discovers her best friend Johanna’s hand in marriage is being awarded as the main prize at a tournament, she is determined to stop it. Disguised as a knight, she infiltrates the contest, preparing to fight for Jo’s hand. But her conduct ruffles feathers, and when a dangerous incident escalates out of Lily’s control, Jo must help her escape.

Finding safety with a local brewster, Lily and Jo soon settle into their new freedom, and amongst blackberry bushes and lakeside walks an unexpected relationship blossoms. But when Jo’s past catches up with her and Lily’s reckless behaviour threatens their newfound happiness, both women realise that love must always come at a cost.

Content warnings:

ATPS contains mention of past emotional and physical abuse, and some mild violence.

It also contains explicit on-page sex scenes.

[swordsandholly]

Treat Me Gently (Because No One Else Will)

Ch 1: The Arrangement | next | masterlist | Ao3

Ghoap x reader | MDNI 18+ | cw: PiV sex, fingering

You yawn and stretch, back popping all the way up as you finally give it some reprieve from your hours of sitting at your low coffee table that doubles as your work station. As much as you try to stop hunching like a goblin, you always slip back into it. It’s hard when your mind gets lost in the words and the pages flying by. Good posture seems to equal bad writing, unfortunately.

Your knees pop slightly as you stand up from your cushion that doubles as a ‘chair’, decidedly clocking out for the evening. Really, you should have stopped two hours ago, but you just can’t get this one damn scene right. You sigh, heading to your dresser to change out of your “work” clothes and into a ratty, oversized shirt and pajama shorts. Your phone dings just as you go to stand in front of the fridge that you already know is practically empty.

S >> Come over?

S >> I got takeout.

You snicker. Perfunctory and presumptuous, as usual. He timed it out for when he knew you’d be done with work - even taking in your propensity to go well passed your designated office hours. He probably knew you were out of food, too. Not that you’d ever expect less from Simon Riley.

>> Give me 5

You pad across the the hallway between your flats, the dangling of your keys echoing off the old walls. The floorboards always creak, announcing your presence before you could even knock on the door. Simon’s place is bigger than yours - a one bedroom as opposed to your studio. Both have small balconies, his furnished with only two fold-out chairs. You’ve tried to convince him to get a plant or something, but he just insists it will die in a day despite that being literally impossible. The whole of the apartment is sparsely decorated - the main features being that of his well worn L-shaped couch and the fancy surround sound system Simon installed. The rest of it made up of shelves lined with physical media and books.

“Evenin’.” Simon says from his kitchen as you let yourself in. He stands at the island, broad shoulders hunched as he fiddles with something.

The lock clicks behind you when you shut the door. Some soft classical music drifts from the speakers. You don’t recognize it, but you also know that asking will result in a lecture that will undoubtedly become a pop quiz at a later date. You don’t need another Tchaikovsky incident on your hands.

“Sushi?” Your brows raise as you eye the rolls and sashimi. He really went all out. “What’s the occasion?”

Simon shrugs, plating the food up on his uniform black, square plates. Yours sits neatly on a plate of it’s own, soy sauce and all. Sometimes you wonder if he keeps an index of your take out orders or if his memory is just that good. “Shipping out soon. Figured I’d get it while I could.”

You grin and move behind him. He shivers slightly as you push your cool hands up under his shirt to run along his strong core. “Doesn’t have anything to do with the whole aphrodisiac thing?”

“Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, bird.” Simon feigns ignorance. The corner of his mouth briefly quirks up before he forces it back down.

“Sure, sure.” You retract your hands, wandering over to pick up the TV remote off the well worn coffee table. “Which movie are we on?”

“Blackwell Ghost 5.”

You settle in your usual spot on the couch, leaning on the right armrest. Simon has always liked the middle - he says it’s the best for his back. You know it’s just because he likes to manspread five miles wide. It doesn’t bother you, as you generally prefer to curl up in the corner with your feet tucked. The movie rolls and you eat in comfortable silence, humming around the fresh food. He really does spoil you, sometimes.

You eye Simon while you eat. With anybody else this would all be pretense - an unnecessary preamble to imply, somehow, that this is more than a booty call. Not with Simon. Never with Simon. This is just as important as the rest of it. You watch the way his hands practically dwarf the single-use chopsticks, the way his body melts into the cushions. Your eyes rake over the strong planes of his face littered with various scars; his nose broken one too many times, the ear that’s been slightly clipped by a bullet. His hair has grown out and more stubble sprinkles across his jaw than he usually allows.

“Wotcha lookin’ at?” Simon mumbles around some tuna.

You tilt your head, smiling. “You’re fun to watch.”

“Creep.” He nudges your foot with his knee.

“Freak.” You push back.

“’ow’s the book goin’?” Simon asks.

You groan, shoving your last piece of sushi in your mouth while you debate your answer. “S’fine. Slow. My agent is being a real pain in my ass.”

He hums, that slight smirk gracing his lips. If you knew him any less you might have missed it entirely. “Need some inspiration?”

You sputter out a laugh, placing your plate on the coffee table. “Very smooth, Riley.”

“C’mere.” Simon rumbles, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you over his lap. It’s almost uncomfortable how far you have to stretch to accommodate his hips, but its so worth it as his hands rest on your waist, grinding you down against him. You gasp, giving him entrance to press his lips to yours - tongue flicking over your lower lip.

One hand tangles in his hair, the other caressed downward, shoving his shirt up and tracing the lines of muscle across his torso. You’ve always loved bodies - loved taking in their shapes and texture, their variety - and Simon’s has so much to take in. Ridges of muscle and scars, plus that little plush layer over his middle he gets while home from deployment. You tug on his shirt, only breaking the kiss long enough to yank it off and toss it somewhere on the floor.

“Y’so fuckin’ pretty…” Simon mumbles, hands wandering from your waist, to your hips, to knead at your thighs and the curve of your ass.

You squeak as Simon lifts you, locking your legs around his waist. No matter how many times he does it, his strength still catches you off guard. He doesn’t unlock from your lips, moving back to his room purely based on muscle memory. You have to resist the urge to tease him about the time he knocked your head against the doorframe in this exact position.

Your hands drift over the curvature of his broad shoulders as he lays you back on his bed. You can’t help but be fascinated by him - all hard muscle and sinew. So different from your own soft figure. Even the pads of his fingers are rough as they push under your oversized t-shirt, kneading at the soft layer over your middle.

“This okay?” Simon mumbles in your ear. You nod vigorously as his hands move up, up, up until he’s pulling your shirt and bralette off in one swift motion.

Simon buries his face in your chest, nipping at the sensitive skin before taking a nipple in his mouth. You arch into the touch, unsure of where to put your hands and opting to let them wander.

“May I?” He murmurs, fingers catching in the hems of your underwear and sleep shorts. Again, you nod, forgetting that isn’t enough for him at this stage. “Use your words.”

“Yes! Please, Si.” You whine, rolling your hips against the too-light touch.

Simon chuckles at you, pulling your bottoms off and dropping them onto the floor somewhere. He runs his fingers between your folds, obviously reveling in the way your breath catches and your chest heaves when he finally circles your clit. His lips connect with yours, swallowing every gasp and moan as he presses a finger inside.

“Fuckin’ tight t’night, bird.” He grumbles into your mouth. “‘ave I been neglecting you?”

Quite the opposite. If anything, he’s fucked you silly this past week, but you can’t exactly argue that when he presses against your g-spot and retakes your nipple between his teeth.

“Oh, fuck!” You moan as a second finger joins the first. Your nails dig lightly into his shoulders when he pressed his thumb against your clit, moving in short circles to the rhythm of the fingers inside you. You swear he’s too dexterous to be human sometimes.

You keen, body tensing as stars dance behind your eyes. You can feel the slickness of your cunt on your thighs, the squelch of Simon’s slowed movements almost too lewd.

He only disappears long enough to shuck off his pants before he’s hovering back over you, tucked into the crook of your neck. Simon gives you a moment to come down, cooing praises in your ear. “Doin’ so good f’me. Always so good f’me.”

He sits back to lightly tap his cock against your pussy, sending jolts up your spine, obviously enjoying your reaction. He grinds his cock against you, sliding easily between your soaked folds. “Christ.”

Simon reaches into the nightstand, plucking a condom out from their designated spot. He hands it to you for inspection, as always. You don’t really understand why he still does it after the two of you have had this standing agreement for so long, but it’s not a gesture you’re going to call into question. Some of Simon’s sexual habits are simply best left as they are - they’re always for your mutual benefit, anyway. You flip it over in your fingers briefly before passing it back.

No matter how many times you take him, it’s always a stretch. He’s not the biggest you’ve had, but thick enough the sensation would teeter into pain without any preparation. That’s another thing he insists on: pain has no place in intimacy.

Your lips fall open in a pitchy moan - hands fisting the sheets on either side of you. Simon falls onto his forearms resting on either side of your head. You revel in the way he cages you in, the way his tongue laps at the sweat-slicked skin of your collar bone. You both sigh in sync as his hips finally settle against yours.

You wrap your legs tightly around his back as he begins to move. A solid rhythm slowly turning into something more desperate. Simon sits up, his weight suddenly off you. Just as you crack your eyes open his hands grab tightly onto your hips, lifting them just off the bed. The new angle ruts him against that spot inside you, pushing you over the edge into another orgasm faster than you can process it.

He eventually lets go of your hips, one hand braces by your head, the other tracing your body. Plucking at your nipples, kneading at the flesh of your thighs, pressing onto your soft stomach to emphasize the fullness with him inside you.

“Give me another.” Simon demands, thumb pressing to your clit. His eyes bore through you, watching your every minute expression. “C’mon, one more, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. A rarer pet name - one you’d probably be pissed about coming from anyone else. With Simon it melts into your bones, pooling at the base of your spine. Your eyes roll back, pathetic sounds and babbling falling from your lips as you cum again in such a short span.

“Fuck.” He grunts, voice low and breathless in your ear. “Cunt feels so fucking good when you cum f’me.”

You whine, useless under him. Your limbs are utter jelly. Even as you try to roll your hips with his, your movement is stuttered. Uncontrolled. You know he enjoys how sensitive you are, how pliant you become. It feeds his ego - the part of him that needs to do things right. Your body shudders under Simon’s as he groans, all depth and gravel, his hips stuttering and slowing as he cums.

You both stop, for a moment, foreheads pressed together as you catch your breath enough for Simon to push himself up, tying off the condom and tossing it before falling into his back beside you.

A silence lapses over you - the only sound in the room is that of your breathing with a slight pitch difference between your breaths. You’ve always loved this part. The quiet afterglow. The gentle way Simon will reach over to soothe down your hair while you lazily meet his eye. No words, no expectations. Just existing with someone in your vulnerability. With someone you know is safe.

“Go piss.” Simon points to the bathroom as soon as his breath is even.

You snort, pushing yourself up on slightly shaky arms. “So demanding.”

“So considerate.” He quips back. “It’s important.”

“Fine, fine.” You throw your hands up and pad off to the bathroom. You pause, looking at yourself in the mirror. What is it about Simon’s bathroom that makes you so much more beautiful than your own? Your skin glows nicely, your hair shines even as it’s mussed up from getting fucked six ways to Sunday.

When you come back Simon’s sitting up against the headboard, scrolling through something on his phone. You crawl back into bed beside him, flopping on your back and staring at the ceiling fan as it circles, circles, circles.

“When do you have to leave?”

He sighs, dropping his phone back onto the nightstand. “End of the week.”

You nod, accepting the oncoming semi-dry spell as usual. You’ve always wondered what he does when he’s gone - if he has another you out there. Another arrangement. You can’t imagine Simon going more than a couple days without someone. That’s what brought you into this in the first place - a mutual benefit. You don’t truly feel the need to ask; it’s more curiosity than anything and you don’t want the question to go misinterpreted. Not that Simon would, necessarily, he’s always been good about taking your words at face value.

With a sigh, you roll onto your side to face him, head propped on your hand. “Know where you’re heading?”

“Mexico.” Simon grunts in that tone that signals you to stop asking questions.

You trail your fingers over his chest, through the dusting of blonde hair. “Wanna go again?”

“Fuck yes.” He rolls over. You can’t help but giggle as he knocks your knees apart and eagerly plants himself between your thighs.

banner by @the-aesthetics-shop

[the-blackwell-pages-fans]

Heyyyy! It’s been years! I just wanted to let you all know I appreciate you all and I still think about this fandom every day. I’m almost 20 years old now, I’ve been running this blog and been obsessed with these books for many years at this point. This was one of my first senses of community :) Though I don’t have much new content to share with y’all, I hope the old content will continue to stay forever archived on this blog for memories . Thank you!

- Matt

[yrptraumacentermanga]

Epilogue time. Let's wrap this story up shall we?

[book--brackets]

[tbp-but-make-it-incorrect]

Laurie: I'm a nice person, but I'm about to start throwing rocks at people.

[ollie-ollie-oxenfreee]

@extramachine

I love these tags so much and they've got me thinking even more about this lovely concept

(full ficlet under the cut!) At first, their interactions are as brief as he can manage. Joey hovers sullenly by the little girl's side, fielding her endless questions, biting his lip not to snap at her and let the simmering bitterness come pouring out.

It’s not the kid’s fault that he’s stuck with her. It’s not her fault that she has no idea what she’s getting into.

It’s not her fault that her aunt is dead.

(He has no one to blame but himself for that.)

By the time Lauren's "final arrangements" are made, and the foster care busybodies have started clucking about "placements," things have gotten - somewhat better. Tolerable.

The kid - Rosa, not Rose or Rosie or anything else - is nice enough. Kinda cute, in a scruffy, Raggedy Ann doll way, with her frizzy red pigtails and big green eyes. And her questions have tapered off from "nonstop" to "every couple minutes," which he figures he can - well, not live with, but you know.

He's put up with worse - way worse - as far as Blackwell girls go. Hell, this one even acknowledges he exists.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he feels the bullet-scarred walls thrown up around his heart start to crack.

He wraps his tie around his wrist so she can hold his hand as they walk home from school. She chatters excitedly about the newest book she's reading, leafing through the pages with her free hand and holding them up from him to see.

He catches himself calling her “kiddo,” just like Lauren had.

He teaches her to sew with a shitty dime store kit that she picks up one winter, walking her through the stitches and patterns that came so easily once.

Her first few attempts are a little clumsy, but she gets the hang of it soon enough. She's a quick study, his kid. Smarter than he ever was.

She takes to the job the universe lays out for her just as quickly. At eight years old, she's spending every day on the outskirts of the playground, talking to the shade of another timid little girl. Twelve, and she's getting in trouble for scaling a neighbor's fence to chase after a runaway spook, her blushing face scraped and dirty from the fall. Sixteen, and she's knelt in an alley surrounded by a halo of broken glass, holding out her tie-wrapped hand to help the soul of a car crash victim from the wreckage.

She’s growing up to be a good medium. Patient. Kind. Resourceful and clever and quietly, fiendishly stubborn.

So much like her aunt, and yet nothing like her at all.

He wonders, sometimes, hovering by the window late at night, where Lauren Blackwell ended up. If she’s still out there somewhere, wandering through the city with a spectral pack of cigarettes and a dictaphone in her pocket. If she'd be proud of her niece.

He supposes it doesn't matter. He's proud enough for both of them.

Blackwell AU where Lauren dies in 1981 instead of being hospitalized and Rosa starts seeing ghosts at age 5 and Joey has to deal with a preschooler in the middle of his grief