#so i think the edges are just going to be deckled

[soupandsorcery]

the fic i'm working on binding now is the biggest one i've done to date, and it's going suspiciously well??

[radiojamming]

Prompting you for anything with Tartnell

hi i'm DJ and i and i want to write all the missing scenes i wanted to see in the terror.

---

In a memory with no date, they are children. It is a honey-gold day with sunlight playing on the river, a wood-warm scent in the air from the fences around the orchards. John carries Tom on his back down the road from the Burnt Elm farm, the corner of John's mouth still stained purple from the blackberries they picked out of the hedgerow. Tom's fingers are dyed the same shade, and their mother will surely have a few words to say about the stains on their clothes.

But for now, Tom is full, warm, and happy. There is sweetness in his mouth and the sun on his back, his brother to his front, the sound of magpies chattering in the trees around him.

John hums a tune. He's not a particularly good singer, but Tom likes to listen to him anyway. It's a shanty—one that they've heard at the Dockyard when they run down to see their father and walk home with him. Tom thinks it's about ladies; most of those songs are. He tries to hum along, but the sway of John's gait makes him too sleepy to try.

Instead, he yawns and asks, "Can we do this again tomorrow?"

"Sure," John replies, hefting Tom up a little further up his back. "We ought to bring a basket, though. To take some home."

Tom nods and turns his head so his cheek is pressed against his brother's back. He watches the Danbury farm slowly give way to the Simon orchard, and he counts the rows of trees until he gets to the one that was hit by lightning last summer. Eventually, he closes his eyes.

There's not much meaning to this memory. No lessons learned, no part of Tom's life altered. What's important is that John is there—a child, thin, tall for his age, keeping Tom close and safe. Walking so Tom doesn't have to.

No. This memory means everything.

---

They fight only once. Truly fighting; not just the general struggle of being brothers with only two years' difference between them.

Tom doesn't recall his exact words. All he knows is that he's angry. Angry that John keeps himself cloistered in the same job that's slowly killing him, that he exhausts himself day after day to make ends meet without a care for himself, that Tom's certain he'll come home on leave only to find John's headstone beside their father's in the churchyard.

(He's scared; not angry. But it's so much easier to mask it as anger than to ever admit he's frightened.)

But Tom's words are coarse, scoured over with years on the Volage and deckled on the edges with every gunshot or dying wail of a comrade in his ears. He curses in a way their mother would scold him for, but he can't take the words back even as he sees John go milk-pale at the sound.

He remembers only one sentence. The only one that matters.

"You're so selfish," he snarls.

(It's not true. It's never been true. John doesn't know how to be selfish. His life has always been attached to someone else, for someone else's benefit. His mother's, his brothers', his sisters', Mister Sarge's, Jane's. Selfish people don't lose sleep like John has, don't wince when they move their hands the way he does.

But all the other words Tom wants to say don't come out. They change shape, consonants, vowels. They turn into something awful.)

He sees the whites of John's eyes, and as soon as his brother takes one step forward, straightens himself out of his perpetual slouch, Tom remembers how much taller John is.

"Shut your mouth, Thomas," John says. His voice has always been low, a little scratchy like he's in need of clearing his throat.

And never—never has he used Tom's full name.

John takes another step forward.

(Where they are, Tom can't remember. There's a wall of a building. Home? Church? The Inn?)

And another.

(He remembers John's shirt, stained at the wrists. Shoemaker's black.)

And then John's hands are on Tom's shoulders, and he shoves. Tom reels back, catches himself before he can hit the ground. He knows he should step back and apologise. He knows there's so much more he could do or say that could fix this. But he's a sailor, and there's this awful crashing noise in his head that he simply can't quiet. He balls his fists and before he can think clearly, he swings.

At his fucking brother.

(He remembers crying into John's shirt at their father's grave.)

He has to aim up because John's so much taller.

(Remembers John standing under the lychgate into St. Mary Magdalene's, fist pressed to his mouth, biting his knuckles so he wouldn't cry.)

His fist connects with John's upper lip and nose, causing his brother's head to snap back. Something crunches under Tom's knuckles, and his stomach twists in a fierce knot at the feeling. He sees blood—orchard fruit bright red—on his hand when he draws it back.

(Remembers John in bed, gasping with breath that simply wouldn't come. A bloodstained handkerchief clenched in his fist. Their mother weeping as she watched their father dying of the same affliction.)

John doesn't make a sound. No yelp of agony, or gasp, or curse. Just silence. Agonising silence that makes a minute into an hour. Tom only sees him stagger a little, blood pouring freely out of his nose and onto his mouth, his shirt collar.

(Their mother scrubbing blood out of his shirt.)

It drips onto the ground. Slow. Raindrop-heavy.

(The bed linens on the line. A blossom of blood visible, drying in the breeze.)

He says nothing. Instead, he raises his head and sniffs once. Hazel eyes in skull-deep sockets. Exhaustion bows his back again as he nods.

"Alright, Thomas," he says. Another sniff. "Alright."

And he walks away.

(Where does he go? Where does this happen? Tom wishes he knew, wishes he would have run after him and begged his forgiveness. They never fight again after this, but Tom can't shake the memory of his brother's blood on his hands.)

---

They join up together. It's easier this way—two incomes flowing into their house, right when Charlie's on the cusp of joining up as well.

"I can help," says Strickland. He bounces on the balls of his feet as John signs his name in the allotment book. "Mum says she doesn't need the full amount or nothin', but I think Aunt Sarah would like it."

"No," says John, mostly to the book and to Mister Helpman who's watching the whole family scene with amusement. "Good Lord, Stricks. Why would we make you do that?"

"You're not makin' me do nothin', Harts," Strickland retorts. "I'm contemplatin' doin' a kindness, you joyless thing."

Tom doesn't have to see his brother's face to know he's rolling his eyes.

"Well, tell your mum so," John replies, then steps back and gestures to Tom just as Mister Helpman turns to a fresh page. "You're next, Tommy."

Tom walks up to the book and tells Mister Helpman all the details he needs to know. Where his pay goes, to whom, what's the relation, where does he hail from. He watches Helpman's quick hand neatly record every word.

"Sign here, sir," Helpman says.

Behind Tom, Strickland grunts in a way that suggests John has him in another headlock—his favourite method of subduing anyone. "Lemme go, you big oaf!"

"Come now, Mister Strickland," John says primly. "Is this any way for a member of Her Majesty's Navy to behave?"

"I'll show you Her Majesty!"

"That doesn't make sense. Actually, that sounds right obscene." John pauses, just as Tom finishes signing his name. "I'm just sorry, Mister Helpman. He's usually a good boy."

Helpman stifles a laugh and shakes his head. "Well, you lot will surely keep the ship entertained. Now, please release Mister Strickland so he can give me his details."

"You heard the gentleman, Stricks," John says, releasing Strickland who darts forward, sand-brown hair a mess. "Do we need to remind you how to spell your name again?"

Strickland gives him a very unkind gesture behind his back where Helpman can't see.

Tom returns to John's side and grins at his brother. People often comment how they look nothing alike, save for their smile. John gives him a perfect reflection of it now—playful, tilted up at the left corner, eyes squinting in happiness.

"You gonna behave yourself on this trip?" he asks John.

"Of course," John replies. "I have to be the responsible older brother, don't I?"

They laugh.

As if John's been anything else.

---

John starts to get sick in November.

It comes on slow. Coughs stifled in his fist or elbow. A wheeze he can pass off as simply poor lungs struggling in tight quarters with far too much pipe smoke in the air. Begging off early for bed even when they're deep in a game or a book.

Then he falls off a ladder, and Tom knows something's wrong.

John's never been particularly graceful. Uncle Hoar used to compare him to a colt that wasn't quite sure of its own legs. But in the rigging, he's a different creature entirely. It's as though he's waited his whole life to get off the ground, to see the world from some place higher than the world he'd been relegated to. His grip is always sure and steady, his footing secure. Only a few years in the Navy and he's done well by himself.

But it's the ladder—the damn ladder that does it. Just the one to maintain the lamps on deck. Only a few rungs. A few steps. It's not so very far to fall.

(It is. It's only ice and hard wood under his back when he lands. He's in so much pain by the time Tom, Sullivan, Tadman, and two Marines on duty get to him that he can't speak.)

He recovers for a few days in the sick bay until he can stand without wobbling on a weak ankle again. Doctor Stanley gives him some concoction and a few terse instructions. Mister Goodsir diligently follows up a few minutes later to advise on the dosage and how much rest John should get.

John improves.

And then he doesn't.

December comes in with a howling gale that sings in the lines holding the tent to the deck. And it comes with an awful sound rattling up from John's lungs.

It comes with blood on a handkerchief.

(Scrubbing it out of a shirt.)

---

"They say one of the stokers on Terror's got it, too," Tadman tells Tom in confidence. "He's barely conscious."

Tom stares down hard at the floor.

"You don't think he's been sick all this time?" Tadman asks.

Tom's quick to say, "He hasn't. He'd have been sent back by now."

Outside, on the stony shore of Beechey, two men sent by the captains of both ships make note of a particularly flat spot of land. Good for graves, they say.

"He'll make it through," Tom says.

---

In the doorway, Tom watches as Mister Weekes makes measurements of John. His height, the width of his shoulders, the width of his knees side-by-side. As he does, John sleeps fitfully, a pinch between his brows and sweat beading his top lip.

Weekes doesn't know Tom's there. He finishes his work, penning some numbers down in a little pocketbook. Then, he turns and sees Tom at last. His eyes go wide.

"Ah," he says. "Mister Hartnell."

Tom doesn't reply. Anything polite is caught in his throat. He only nods.

Weekes seems sheepish, apologetic. He fights for his words, but in the end only says, "A good evening to you," before walking by Tom.

Tom silently walks to John's side, looking his brother over now with new eyes. His height (for the coffin's length), his shoulders (for its width), his knees (tied together). But his eyes move restlessly under their lids, his cheeks are flushed, his fingers twitching as he dreams.

Then, he jerks away. He gasps, sputters, coughs. His glassy eyes cast about the sickbay until they catch on Tom's image, and immediately he settles.

"Tom," he croaks. Even sick as he is, he manages to smile. "S'dreamin' of 'alifax."

Tom forces a smile and pulls up his usual chair. He hasn't slept in two days, afraid of sleeping through what now seems inevitable. "Were you now?" he replies.

"Mm."

"Which part?"

John closes his eyes and grins. "You much for guessin'?"

"If it's what I think, then I'd rather not."

"Hah." He coughs out a laugh, and Tom tries his damnedest to ignore the rim of red on his bottom lip. "No. I was dreamin' about 'olystoning a bloody deck."

"You were dreaming about work?" Tom asks incredulously.

"Right?" John cracks an eye open. "I'm dyin' in a sickbay and that's what I dream about. S'awful."

Tom goes quiet then. John's never said anything about dying before. Up until now, it's been quiet reassurances that he'll make it through this again. As a veteran consumptive, he knows all the right strategies. He's made jokes about it.

John looks at him, his expression hard to read. If anything, he seems to try to read Tom's, searching his face for something. He clears his throat and looks away. "They plannin' anything for Christmas out there?" he asks.

It takes too long for Tom to comfortably respond. Eventually, "Yeah. Full-on feast or the like." He cringes, but manages to wrangle it into a weak smile. "Don't suppose there's a Goldner's Christmas Meal in one of those cans, d'you think?"

John laughs again, and it crackles in his throat. "I'd love to see it if there was."

"You will," Tom says. Maybe a bit too fiercely, too defensively. It takes him by surprise as much as it seems to take his brother. But he reiterates it, "You will."

"Sure, Tommy," John says. He nods, and a single drop of blood drips out of the corner of his mouth. He doesn't seem to notice. "I will."

---

By Christmas Eve, Mister Goodsir kindly tells Tom and Strickland that John's not doing well. It's soft sympathy, meant to cushion a blow that Tom's felt continually since November.

"He's not taken much by way of meals," Goodsir says. He fidgets with the cuffs of his shirt, apparently eager to do something with his hands. "I've managed with a little broth and some medicine, but he's gotten... Well, he doesn't seem particularly pleased with it."

He's gotten combative, Tom thinks. He's seen John's reactions lately, the way he strikes out at nothing, snarling at the ceiling like something there personally offends him. Tom can only imagine John trying to hit Goodsir as the man feeds him, like a temperamental, colicky child.

Strickland's hat is in his hands, and he's squeezing it so hard that Tom worries he'll crush it.

Goodsir goes on, saying they'll keep him comfortable, try to keep him fed, medicate him as needed.

Never once does he say John will get better.

---

They bury the stoker on New Year's. Tom doesn't see it—no one sees much of anything from the ships, as dark as it is. But he hears about it from Billy Orren.

That's how he learns about the open grave right next to the stoker's.

---

Tom sews a pillowcase. His hands are quick at this sort of work, learned from years of watching his mother and sisters, his aunts and cousins. He's always had a knack for sewing and mending, which is why some of the men on Erebus come to him for repairs. John was always—

John is good at it, too. Shoemaking and all.

He uses his fingertips to crimp the frills around the edges of the pillow, sewing them firmly into place. He's already got some cast-off rags and such to stuff it with, provided by some of the other Chatham boys who felt they needed to contribute somehow.

They've all been to see John—anyone who knew him in any capacity. Any man who didn't know him directly but who hailed from Kent and felt they needed to see their man off properly. Mister Armitage came the night before, offering his quiet condolences to a fellow St. Mary Magdalene congregant.

They paid their respects.

Tom swallows hard, blinks harder, and keeps sewing.

Then he pricks his finger with the needle, hissing at the contact. It stings, and he immediately sticks the tip of it in his mouth until he tastes copper. It seems to spread in his mouth, at the same time he notices the pin-sized droplet of blood on the pillow.

He stares at it for a long while as the bow of Erebus creaks and groans around him, as the sound of men enjoying the New Year carries down to his ears, as blood spreads across his tongue.

---

He doesn't want to remember this.

The high pitch in his ears, drowning out the ship, the Arctic, the world. His heart rampaging in his chest, throttling itself against his ribs like a prisoner. Tears ember-hot in his eyes.

No.

No, he doesn't want to remember this.

(He remembers it in sections now.)

The grief—

(John, still. Cold. Bloodless.)

Good God, the grief—

(Hands cold in Tom's. Unmoving. Callouses on his index fingers and thumbs from all those years of work.)

The way he cries out to nothing, to no one—

(Lips still, but slightly open. The barest shine of his teeth. Like he got caught on his last breath and forgot to shut his mouth after.)

The way his knees hit the floor—

(The blankets are damp with the sweat of a dead man.)

The way his whole body shudders, wracked with an animal noise—

(He can't look at his brother's face.)

And his forehead in his hands, like he's trying to hold himself together—

(Or the blood on his clothes.)

---

Tom shaves John's face. Orren trims his hair. Strickland cuts his fingernails. They wash him down, quietly trying to find something to joke about.

"God, remember when we were in Plymouth together?" Strickland says. His voice wobbles as though he's caught on a laugh and a sob. "That whole time he was trying to get Betsy off the breakwall. Like watchin' someone try to get a cat out of a tree."

Orren snorts and trims a piece of hair from behind John's left ear. "I heard about that," he replies. "The same time he fell in the water, yeah?"

"Absolutely," Strickland says.

"I'd have paid good money to see it," Orren goes on, brushing the hair off John's gansey. "This poor scrump absolutely soaked like a drowned rat."

It's easy to disguise a sniff as a laugh. "He's hardly a scrump, mate," Tom says.

"Eh, it kept him humble to say so."

They keep working in silence. Tom carefully shaves away the last of John's dark red stubble, the only part of him other than a smile that he shared with his brothers. He's clean-shaven save for some whiskers on his chin that he would no doubt be damned to see off.

Quietly, Strickland says, "I think he looks right proper, eh?"

Orren agrees. "Hardly a sailor no more. Looks more a'like one of those ponces in the high parish."

Tom silently agrees. Something about seeing John like this—shaven, trimmed up, relaxed—it almost doesn't look like him. For a moment, Tom thinks of what his brother would have been like if he'd been born anywhere else, to anyone else. If he'd just had more of a chance to be a child, to have a job he didn't hate and only find one he loved when it was far too late.

He hears Strickland sniffle beside him, and he wonders what he must be thinking. Of all their cousins, Strickland looked up to John the most. Proud to share a name with him, to sign his name alongside his, eager to follow him anywhere.

And now this.

Tom clears his throat. "He's to be buried in the morning," he says. "Sir John wants to say a few things then an' have a proper service."

"Feels wrong to just leave him tonight, though," Strickland replies quietly. "Should one of us stay?"

"No," says Tom. "I need— We need the rest, I think."

"Right," says Strickland at the same time Orren says, "Of course."

---

Fucking Christ, he doesn't want to remember this.

He sees his brother's chest open, blood bright on Goodsir's hands. He sees—

A heart.

His brother's heart.

Gore has to hold him back—

(Graham Gore, handsome and proud and practically glowing on the deck of the Volage. "You're a good man, Mister Hartnell," he'd once said.)

Restraining him by the chest, pinning his arms behind his back. Someone's hands are on Tom's shoulder, and someone else is yelling in his ear.

He feels delirious with it. The sight of Goodsir holding his brother's innards in his hands like he's simply been playing about in his chest. Oh, look what I've found, he imagines Goodsir saying. A liver. Ought we check if he drank overmuch?

Rage now.

(Not fear.)

Pure, bloody fucking rage.

(What could he be afraid of?)

He gnashes his teeth and wails. He snarls. He begs. He tries everything he can just short of clawing his way past all the men holding him back to shove the doctors and surgeons away and let his brother fucking be.

("They say men don't go to heaven if parts of them are amiss.")

Then he's on the floor, half-compressed under Gore's weight as he bodily holds him in place. "Hartnell, I know. I know," Gore says into his ear.

(Which Hartnell? he wants to snarl.)

"It has to be done. You know it does."

The person behind him hauls him back by the shoulders, and only then does Tom see that it's Armitage, his own eyes wide and face sickly-pale. He doesn't say a word to Tom, but Tom knows he's just as appalled. Only he's trying to keep Tom from getting a lashing or worse for acting out like this.

Tom moans in agony, the weight of this crushing him. He's steered away, the last sight of his brother open on the table like he's nothing more than a specimen to be studied.

Blood on the fucking linens.

---

Tom feels nothing on the day they bury John.

He's spent too much of himself. He feels like a candle guttering on its last supply of wax. Just smoke and air, now.

All he thinks to do is help cover John up a little more. His shirt, monogrammed, dated, wrapped around John like it'll keep him warm in the grave. That maybe something will change if he carries Tom's name on him to wherever it is he goes.

("They say men don't go to heaven—")

He doesn't hear Sir John's service, or the words of sympathy the officers give to Tom. He hears them say how John was a good man, and Tom wonders how they could possibly know that. How could men who scarcely leave their comfortable bedrooms and wardroom, who grew up in gilded halls with servants and cooks who made them wholesome meals that no one had to share—how could they know?

That's uncharitable. They're being kind.

But they don't know how this feels. The sensation of a heavy stone in his hand that he has to throw onto the navy-blue coffin lid, listening to the sharp tock as it makes contact, resounding in the half-filled hollow below.

He hopes to God they never have to bury one of their own.

---

Much happens after. Too much, too quickly. The world ends. A gun goes off.

Nothing happens at all. Not in this part of the world.

---

"Go be with your brother now."

---

John is carrying him back up the knoll. The air is summer-sweet, birds singing in the morning air. It rained last night, and John leaps over puddles while Tom shrieks in laughter.

They get to the hedgerow, still dripping with rain. John carefully lets Tom down and hands him the basket. "Remember to mind your fingers, Tommy," he tells him.

Tom eats more berries than he stores away. They stain his mouth and fingers again, and when he looks at his big brother, he giggles at the sight of berry stains on his face as well. They laugh together, their smiles identical.

When the basket is half-full, John pats Tom on the shoulder and motions for him to hop up on his back again. "Let's go home," he says.

[sevencardigans]

Getting tagged in this by the wonderful Silja @wunderlichkind is literally the highlight of my evening. 🫶🌞

An estimate of how many physical books i own: so these are solely the books I collected over the last 5 years, since that’s all I own at this point: exactly 194 (including the 6 books that I ordered yesterday) so not that many

Favourite author: incredibly difficult answer, so I’m going to give two academic and two not so academic answers. I enjoy a fun and easy TJR read, although there are definitely a lot of things I don’t agree with when it comes to her writing + I’m a Sally Rooney girl through and through. A serious academic answer would be Virginia Woolf and Shirley Jackson. 

A popular book I've never read and never intend to read: anything Colleen Hoover. Need I say more?

A popular book I thought was just meh: totally copying Silja here, but I also did.not.get why people went crazy over Where The Crawdads Sing. I also didn’t vibe with The Song of Achilles as much as I hoped I would. It was alright, but I didn’t feel it – Circe is Madeline Millers superior novel.  

Longest book I own: Just from looking at my bookshelf right now, it’s To Paradise by Hanya Yanaghara (which is also why I still haven’t managed to read it)

Longest series I own all the books to: I’m usually not a book series reader, which is also why I own only half of the Harry Potter books in English (not counting my moms full English collection). I also have the unfinished V.E. Schwab Shades of Magic series if that counts. 😅

Prettiest book I own: I’m literally so guilty of only buying books with pretty book covers. I’d say I'm most proud of my Penguin Orange Book editions of We Have Always Lived In This Castle and Ceremony, though. I mean, just look at those gold details! (not pictured: the deckled edges)

A book or series I wish more people knew about: one of my favorite books of all time, and a book I read every year at least once, is I’m Thinking Of Ending Things. It’s a psychological “thriller” novella. It’s incredibly subtle and uses its vagueness to evoke uncanniness in its truest form. There IS a Netflix movie about this book, so I guess it has become more popular. Other than that, All My Mothers is another unknown favorite of mine. It’s a study on mother-daughter relationships, family dynamic, illness, family trauma, and chosen families. It’s beautiful, heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time (also, beautiful book cover if you ask me). 

Book I’m reading now: I’ve sadly been in a bit of a reading slump, mainly because I have too many options and somehow still can’t seem to find the book with the right content and pace for this very moment. But I technically am reading Memphis and listening to The Hunger right now.  

Book that’s been on my TBR list for a while but I still haven’t gotten around to it: literally half of my bookshelf? I can’t wait to read The Mercies (I want to wait for winter) though.  

Do you have any books in a language other than English: I got a bunch of German books since that’s my first language, but I despise reading German books because it takes me forever to get through them. My favorite non-English book is the latest Asterix comic in German, signed by the German translator who I worked with for a reading/Q&A that I helped host. 

Paperback, hardcover or ebook?: Paperback all day long. I have a bunch of hardcovers, but I have to have A LOT of faith in a book/author if I buy the hardcover ones. I also love audible! 

[elizmanderson]

I was mildly disappointed to find that my hardcover copy of your book was bound with perfect binding like a paperback and not the case binding I expect in a hardcover. (I would have purchased the book in paperback if I knew I was going to get perfect binding either way.) I'm not really that bothered, but it got me thinking. I'm an amatur writer, and I was wondering if your publisher Hansen House allowed you any say about the corporeal form of your story (illistration, binding, size, etc). If none, what would you have wanted input about? What might you change in retrospect?

hi there! so in case anyone sees this and hasn't seen the hardcover yet, this is what it looks like.

basically, the pages are glued rather than thread-sewn. my publisher is very small, so I'm not sure their printer gives them the option to have thread-sewn bindings. but even if they do, my publisher also has limited resources and may have chosen to opt for perfect binding because it's more affordable.

(this is also why, for example, they ran a Kickstarter for the audiobook and print small batches or on-demand rather than doing a set print run like larger publishers. being a small press comes with its own unique advantages but also its own unique challenges!)

quick side note that Hansen House has been working on a rebrand since not long after I signed with them, so they are now called Midnight Meadow Publishing! the change just went through recently, so obviously the book still says "Hansen House" (and probably will, unless the head publisher feels like tweaking the cover and interior), but I think I've updated my bios/website/etc.

okay, onto your question

I had more control over the design than authors typically get with a larger publisher.

(for example, with Mira Books, which is the imprint publishing my next book, I do not expect the same level of input into design that I got with Midnight Meadow.)

I did not get asked about the binding, size, or fabric wrapping/undercover (if you will) of the hardcover. the interior was designed by the head publisher. but! I did get input into things like...

paperback, hardcover, or both

dust jacket vs. image wrap (image wrap is like how hardcover textbooks are generally printed)

cover design - I got to provide ideas, inspo from covers I like, requests for changes as the design evolved, and final approval

I think I also mentioned the yarnballs early on, and the head publisher was like OOH YES and ran with putting them as chapter headers, which I loved

with Midnight Meadow, I probably could've had even more input into various design elements if I'd thought to ask about them! but this was my debut, so I didn't have much idea of what to ask for. and since larger houses tend to give authors relatively little control over design, I think I assumed I would also have relatively little control, so I'm not sure I would've bothered asking about anything they didn't explicitly offer.

(for example, a larger publisher would probably not ask if I wanted a hardcover: they'd decide whether or not I'd be getting one on their own. I might've had final approval over my cover, but I might've only gotten to approve it by mutual agreement, or I might not have had any approval over my cover at all. how much design control an author has is limited overall but in regards to covers in particular varies wildly.)

some things I love that I might've asked for if I'd thought about it/would love to see on a future book:

deckled edges (I know some people hate them, but they are my beloved)

sprayed edges (I realize this actually would not be possible with deckled edges lmao)

fancy endpapers

cool foil stamping on the front cover

I'm positive I've forgotten some things, so let me know if you have additional questions or if there was any part of your question I failed to address! as you can probably tell from how long this response got, I love to talk writing and publishing and I'm happy to provide any insight I can into what is an often opaque industry.

[damianacottos5]

Week 4

Artworks:

starting to develop or rather create characters -> stencils than utilising other pop culture references, yes i have used pop culture references and still plan to its just that i am beginning to make more of a push on my characters.

cutting the stencil

coming back to this work after several weeks i have decided to scrap the initial idea and go down a different route utilising text and imagery

i want to create this composition where this figure says I SAID WHAT I SAID CAUSE I SAW WHAT I SAW idk i relate to it so i wanna use it

i wanna put a character next to it or a speech bubble to give this person/character a voice,

im still unsure on the canvas so i am leaving it to come back to later

however during the process of creating i knew i wanted a collage of sorts and decided to use boarding passes collected from travelling back and forth from home to BNE for school/holidays etc as well as NZ

i then put an image of the canvas onto PS and played around with potential ideas

other works were not really purposeful in terms of creating something that is deep in meaning and feels like a work, i instead took this as a chance to try and place things in different positions against different backgrounds etc.

this was very informative, allowing me to further grasp how to successfully layer these stencils without creating too much congestion that the work becomes unrecognisable/not good

it also allowed me to trial different methods of application, one thing that has stuck with me throughout the process of creating these works was probably a better understanding of when to use positive vs negative stencils to showcase or hide certain elements of the composition without interfering with the whole look or feel for the work.

another takeaway would be a better grasp or feel for the medium as well, like i have found that i am more understanding with the spray-can and leaning in to the qualities that i like about it (overspray, raw, street etc.) , i found that when creating the placement of stencils feels more free, and when applying im getting better and how much pressure to use the angle of the can when to release the trigger which all helps with my process as it betters my understanding of what i like but how to do it?

exploring further in PS

Artists:

OG Slick

Og Slick. (2019). 'Fight Club' [8-color silkscreen print on 250gsm Stonehenge fine art paper with hand-deckled edges. Hand-Embellished throughout by Slick with red and blue spray paint/splatter / 61 × 61 cm]. Gallery, Temecula, California, U.S.A. https://www.artsy.net/artwork/og-slick-fight-club-2

Title: 'Fight Club'

Year: 2019

Medium: 8-color silkscreen print on 250gsm Stonehenge fine art paper with hand-deckled edges. Hand-Embellished throughout by Slick with red and blue spray paint/splatter. (61 × 61 cm)

i like the artists use of imagery and colour

i find that it creates this playful blend between cartoons and real world events that may be occurring

i like that the artist creates instinctively and unconfined allowing for his ability to take over and guide the creative process

the work is very dynamic and i like that, transforming these discrepancies into meaningful connatations rather than accidents

for some reason it reminds me of the famous painting Washington Crossing the Delaware this could be because of the colour palette

id like to somewhat mimic this approach or style, however with my own twist, not mimic entirely but combine the layering of overspray and imagery to create a cohesive piece rather than sepearte enteties joined together

Mr. Brainwash

Mr. Brainwash. (2022). Everyday Life [Silkscreen and Mixed Media on Paper / 91.4 × 91.4 cm]. Galerie Adrienne Desbiolles, Zurich, Switzerland. https://www.artsy.net/artwork/mr-brainwash-everyday-life-2920

Title: Everyday Life

Year: 2022

Medium:

i think what interest me most about this artist is the combination of all elements to create a cohesive piece, i feel like mine is lacking in complexity as most compositions only show 1 or 2 objects/characters -> maybe i need to start thinking more about background foreground middle ground, another thing i could do is to have an abundance of stencils in one composition ,like what if i tried as a experiment with 4/5 stencils all on one canvas like the above work?

theres this blend between commercialism and rebellion but it also kind of puts up this front of fake happiness or forced happiness

Research:

Pierce, S. C. (2023, April ). Depictions of Trauma: How Art Can Heal Invisible Wounds. GUGGENHIEM New York.

art is seen as a form of liberation, the process of creating something out of nothing provides a sense of accomplishment shifting perspectives from negative to positive

its also a tool to process traumatic events from the past

well i wouldn't say never but i do feel like i may have disregarded in my own art the process of understanding or exploring past events through art, and it has actually allowed myself to delve deeper into the subject imagery of my works. For instance not only looking at them as tools but symbols that reflect these events like KM markers on a road, looking at them evokes a memory

art is seen as a form of liberation, the process of creating something out of nothing provides a sense of accomplishment shifting perspectives from negative to positive

its also a tool to process traumatic events from the past

well i wouldn't say never but i do feel like i may have disregarded in my own art the process of understanding or exploring past events through art, and it has actually allowed myself to delve deeper into the subject imagery of my works. For instance not only looking at them as tools but symbols that reflect these events like KM markers on a road, looking at them evokes a memory

Bonvissuto, D. (2025, May). Healing Through Expression: Young Adults’ Journey in Recovery Art Workshop (slideshow). VUMC NEWS.

i found it interesting how art is fostering this community that benefits all wether it be a mode of understanding oneself or even revisiting and finding oneself

just some light reading not really getting to much out of it accept for the benefits of introducing art as therapy to overcome trauma

[theskeletonprior]

Tag 10 People You Wanna Get to Know Better

I was tagged by @pinespittinink and I actually have a day off (sort of) so here we are.

Relationship Status: Married. I’m polyamorous, but I’m not seeking any additional partners at this time. Favorite Color(s): This is nebulous for me. Black is always good. Favorite Food: I struggle with my appetite, so it’s hard to pin down any particular favorites. I think that fondue and hot pot is one of the most delightful ways to enjoy a meal. Tonkotsu ramen is also very good. Butter chicken comes to mind. Song Stuck in My Head: None, presently, blessedly. But I had People Are Strange by the Doors in my head for two days recently. Last Thing You Googled: The Ratman of Southend. Time: 1:20pm EST. Dream Trip: I just want to get back to my polycule. But I’d also love to take a long train trip across Canada, and visit BC. I want to see the redwoods! Last Thing You Read: I just finished Uzumaki by Junji Ito, which I enjoyed thoroughly. He really can’t do wrong by me. I love how visceral, and how dynamic his images are. I’m also reading an ARC of Fayne by Ann-Marie Macdonald. Last Book You Enjoyed Reading: I lately finished A Dowry of Blood by S. T. Gibson, which was a pleasant treat. The experience of eating a nice bonbon, but as expressed by reading. Favorite Thing to Cook/Bake: Oh, I do not like to cook. I think if I had my own kitchen, that might change. I have an interest in putting together charming little lunches, and that sort of thing. But since I don’t, I don’t really have any favorites. Favorite Craft to do in Your Free Time: Bookbinding. I love making little books. I also like origami, though I’m not particularly talented at it--paper stars are about as far as I go, these days. Most Niche Dislike: I hate, I hate, I hate the deckled edge on books. It’s hideous, and it disrupts my reading experience because I have to page-turn from the bottom. I also don’t like French flaps, because they make your book gape open. I also also don’t like when there are just testimonials on the back of a book instead of a pitch.  Opinion on Circuses: They’re all right. Aesthetically, I’m not particularly moved by them. But I do like to watch acrobats and aerialists and contortionists and that sort of thing. It’s impressive. Do You Have Any Sense of Direction: My sense of direction is middling. I can follow directions, but when wayfinding on my own I can get turned around.

This is an open tag. Feel free to answer these yourself and tag me.

[sheepisreading]

Books I finished in June 2022

We’re back on our regularly scheduled program: I read more than one book this month! Here we go:

The Dharma Bums, Jack Kerouac, 1958

Apparently it was Kerouac’s birth/death anniversary (I can’t even be arsed to google it, sorry) recently because the bookstore was full of Kerouac when I bought this one a few months back. I’d always wanted to read this one because I had a beat generation phase during which I read a lot about the beat generation but never actually read any of their works.  Anyways, back then I’d landed on this one as the beat generation book I would probably read amongst all of them and here we are! I saw the nice Penguin Deluxe edition with deckled edges and saw it as my sign. It was... good! I confess it was kinda hard for me to get into (I feel like I type this very often) but it was worth it in the end. There are very nice sentences in this, dreamy descriptions and kinda-sorta interesting introspective thoughts. In a weird way, The Dharma Bums shares some vibes with shiey’s train surfing videos even though literally the only thing they have in common in train surfing. Or maybe considerations on life and freedom and existence as well, which I guess is rare enough to make the link. Would recommend, hold on!

On Chappel Sands, Laura Cumming, 2019

Non-fiction! The cover intrigued me at the bookstore and I read the blurb and impulsively bought it. It’s about a woman investigating her mother’s weird/strange family history to try and uncover everything about her. Or rather it tells the story of how she and her mum did just that. It’s an intriguing book, very unusual but very compelling. It’s a mystery novel but it’s not a novel. The picture the author draws of her mother’s native village is striking, you feel like you’re there. She uncovers the truth bit by bit, always slow enough to make you want to know more but fast enough to keep your interest. This book is also a portrait of the mother and a love letter to her. I sympathised with her quite a lot and grew to like and relate to the idea of her. I’m happy she existed on this earth. 5/5 stars.

Mary: a fiction, Mary Wollstonecraft, 1788

Okay this is my hard-to-read book of the month I guess. It’s feminist fiction by Mary Wollstonecraft. It follows the life of Mary, her travels, her friend’s illness, her romantic adventure(s). It was written (an published) in  so obviously it’s not feminist in the way we use the term today but it’s a book about a woman who uses rationality (the way only men were thought to do at the time) in her life while still being a proper woman (you see what I mean). She doesn’t want to submit to a life with her assigned-at-18th-birthday husband so she doesn’t until the end where she is sort of forced to fit into the mold a bit more. It’s a book that shows to people at the time that women are as capable as men of being intelligent and furthering the world and living distinguished lives. It’s interesting to read just to see the vision of womanhood and menhood at that time and the dynamics between those too, as well as rationality and sensibility and all those concepts developped in the introduction. I recommend it but get a version with an introduction, I suspect I wouldn’t have enjoyed it much without it because it’s kinda far removed from modern literature in a way.

De Nouveaux Endroits, Lucile Génin, 2022

French book! Or french-canadian I guess. I feel like I haven’t read a french book in such a long time. I stumbled upon this one in the bookstore as well and bought it because the blurb seemed promising. It’s a book about a teen (like last year of high school) who doesn’t feel like she has her place in the world. So me being the sad me that I am thought that would be relatable and bought it. However, I think I’m not cis enough to relate to this kind of stuff because feeling unadequate in one’s womanhood is a subject breached a lot in this book and I just. Don’t give a shit about that. I just don’t relate to a lot of the shit that bothers the main character of this book and yeah. I had the same issue watching Ladybug, I thought I was gonna be able to see myself in it based on everything I was hearing about it and then I couldn’t at all and so I was mad at it. So I was quite annoyed at the book for a while but I kept on reading it and it’s actually pretty good. Like once I started reading it like normal fiction and not something that owed me therapy I found it enjoyable. It’s quite raw, emotional but also calm, rational and open to the world and new experiences. Afraid but then unafraid to start living. It’s the kind of book that does convince me to just do stuff, stop worrying and lying around doing nothing. Obviously, easier said than done but the feeling is there, and has been brought back up by this book.

The Tempest, Shakespeare, 1610-1611

The Shakespeare book of the month. This one I wanted to read because it intrigued me: not a tragedy but not quite a comedy either. Plus I love sea-based stuff. I like the ocean, I just think it’s neat (probably part of why I enjoy Virginia Woolf the way I do). Once I got through the 77-page preface (curse you Yves Bonnefoy) I finally got to the text and yeah! Very dissimilar to the other Shakespeare I’ve read, in that it flows differently I found. It’s got love and revenge and repenting and scheming but it has a different feel to it. It has magic in a more hands-on manner than in the other plays. Definitely one of my favourite Shakespeare plays until now!

[pressedinthepages]

Crave

next fill for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

also big thanks to @major-trouble for beta-ing and @sometimesiwrite and @lookoutrogue for pointing me in the right direction and helping me along <3

(shhhhh @continentcakeshop i know its like the second one in as many days but its fineeeeeeee)

Prompt: Incubus/Succubus

Relationship: Eskel/Jaskier

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: modern au, bookshop au, Jaskier is an incubus, magical genitalia, intersex Jaskier, masturbation, oral sex (f receiving), m/m penetrative sex

Summary: Eskel runs into Jaskier and helps him with his 'research,' leading them closer and closer together.

The little bell over the door tinkled and Eskel peeked up from where he was emptying his stock cart. He couldn’t see who walked in, only the faintest glimpse of a lavender shirt disappearing around a corner, down into an aisle. Eskel shelved the last few novels before returning to the counter, sneaking his book out from its hiding spot and flipping to his bookmark. He didn’t even hear the approaching footsteps, engrossed as he was. But a soft clearing of the throat caught his attention and he startled up, his breath catching at the sight of the man before him.

The young man had on a soft-looking lavender jumper and his hair fell in chestnut waves over his forehead. His eyes were the clearest cornflower blue, and he sported just the barest beginnings of smiley wrinkles. His mouth moved in pretty pink words that tasted like spice drops on Eskel’s tongue, and-

Oh shit.

He asked me a question.

Eskel cleared his throat and blinked, shaking the blush off his cheeks. “S-sorry, what did you say?”

The man smiled, blinding white and cheeky. “No worries, I do talk a bit fast. I asked if you had any books on mythology, specifically succubi?”

Oh, and if that didn’t conjure up some ideas in the dark edges of Eskel’s brain. He prided himself on being a gentleman, but he’d be lying if he said that the very basest part of his mind didn’t imagine the young man laid out beneath him, his honey-laced voice crying his name while lust poured from their very pores.

Eskel glanced around the empty storefront as he walked around the counter, crooking his finger to the man to follow him. “Don’t have much, at least here in the store. But I’ve got one or two.”

“Lovely,” the man said with a smirk, and Eskel could’ve sworn he felt the tracks of his eyes down the line of his back and over the swell of his ass as they went to the last aisle of fiction. He bent down and pulled out two books.

“Here, this one’s not too dense, and is good for the basics. But…” he trailed off and looked over his shoulder, catching the man’s eyes glance back up to him, “this one is good for more in-depth research, without gettin’ too murky.”

Eskel watched the bob of the man’s throat as he swallowed thickly, taking the books from his hands. “Sold. Thank you, Eskel.”

Eskel blinked and racked his brain. I swear I don’t know him, I’d remember his face, his eyes, his voice, his bum-

The man chuckled lightly, “Your nametag. Must say, I was cheating a bit. Call me Jaskier.”

Eskel’s cheeks pulled up into an easy smile. The next words fell from his lips almost too easily, forgetting himself and his scars on and under his skin and who he even was under Jaskier’s intense gaze. “Well, just when might I call you, Jaskier?”

Jaskier (thank fuck) blushed and bit his bottom lip with a grin that set Eskel’s already pounding heart alight. They walked slowly back towards the front of the bookstore to the register. “Well, I should think I’ll come back ‘round soon to see if you...get anything new in stock?”

Eskel nodded as he stepped behind the counter, taking the two books back and scanning their black and white barcodes. He discreetly threw on his brother’s phone number for a discount and slid the books across to Jaskier. “I’m sure we’ll find something.”

“Oh,” said Jaskier as he handed over his cash and his fingers just barely glanced over Eskel’s, sending sparks beneath his skin, “I think we already have.”

---

“Back already?” It was the next day, just shy of when Eskel was going to lock up for a quick lunch. Jaskier had blown in through the door with a bright smile on his face, and Eskel would’ve been lying if he said that his heart hadn’t skipped a beat when he recognized him.

Jaskier nodded and leaned his elbows on the edge of the counter. “Mhm. I read both of those books last night, they were fantastic. But I was wondering if you could maybe help me order one or two more? If you have time, that is?”

“Of course,” Eskel said, gesturing to Jaskier to walk around the edge of the counter and join him at the monitor. “Here, we can look through what we carry and can order.”

They scrolled through the website for what was available, narrowing and adjusting their search parameters for a while before finding some interesting titles. “Oooh,” murmured Jaskier, bumping lightly into Eskel’s arm and pointing at one of the books on the screen, “that one looks helpful.”

It was a leather bound tome entitled ‘Succubi and Incubi in the Modern World,’ by one J. A. Pankratz. It seemed almost a little too perfect for what Jaskier had been looking for, and Eskel hoped that by ordering this one book, he wouldn’t have been driving Jaskier from coming back into his store. He added two copies to the cart and placed the order. He’d save one for Jaskier, and he would take one home for himself. Looks pretty interesting.

---

The books had arrived early in the morning, and Eskel called Jaskier to let him know that he could pop in and pick it up at his convenience. Jaskier had stopped by in the evening, thanking him endlessly before swooping away as Eskel locked up.

Eskel briskly walked home with the leather-bound book weighing heavily in his pack, tempting him to just break it open with every step down the sidewalk. As soon as he got into his flat, he tossed the keys to the side and toed off his boots, making a beeline for his dresser. He changed out of his smart button-down and jeans and into a comfy jumper and a pair of dark sweatpants.

He put on the kettle and unpacked his bag, throwing the empty tupperware from his lunch into the sink and setting the book onto the side table by his armchair. Yes, the bookseller had a reading nook. Don’t judge. He pulled the kettle off just before it started to whistle and made his cup of tea, leaving it to steep for a moment while he washed the few dishes that had found their way into the sink.

Puttering over to his cushy chair with tea in hand, Eskel sighed. He sat down and nestled himself into a comfortable spot, one foot tucked under him and his elbow resting on the velvety arm of the chair. Air whistled through the notch in his lip when he lightly blew the curls of steam away from his mug before taking a sip, letting the warm tea drag down his throat and settle in his stomach.

He set his mug down atop a coaster and ran his hand slowly along the strikingly plain cover of the novel. It was a deep mahogany leather bound tome with golden embossed lettering, and it even boasted a little light blue ribbon to keep his page. The spine crackled as he tipped open the cover, revealing thick ivory paper with deckled edges. Eskel took his time in feeling the book in his hands, running his thumbs down the rough edges of the paper and along the lettering of the title page.

J. A. Pankratz. The name jumped out at him, almost as if it were peering up at him from the page. Waiting. For what? Eskel shook his head with a heavy sigh. It had been a long day, and now his imagination was running rampant before even starting the book. He smiled to himself as he pictured Jaskier, tucked away and cozy, cracking open his own copy of the book and seeking the knowledge that he had been chasing.

There was no introduction, no prelude into the lore that lurked in the supple pages. Only a simple table of contents, and publication information. Nothing odd that caught Eskel’s eyes, but his fingers felt beckoned to the page of chapter one. Myths and Reality.

Eskel felt submerged in the writing, enveloped in the dense weave of storytelling that swam into the forefront of his mind. Contrary to the myths of old, creatures of lust no longer require feeding from the unquenchable arousal of others. They live and breathe as humans, though you will find several marked differences. Their magic, though subtle, is a powerful compulsion, breaking through inhibitions to access the cravings that lay beneath the surface…

Now, Eskel boasted an ability to read and retain at breakneck speeds. He could finish a full-length novel in a night and be able to explain the plot and key details with surprising clarity. But his eyes glazed over as he darted around words and theories, letting them almost bleed into his brain as his fingers flipped the pages by. His tea sat forgotten: he read as though searching to sate a deep thirst in his belly.

The air around him grew warm as the moon rose higher and higher, and Eskel felt a welcome flush crawl its way up his chest and around his throat. His cock stirred between his legs, filling slowly while his mind swam in a hazy bliss. The words on the pages blurred together, though Eskel tried valiantly to bring his focus back to the book in his hand.

Though not for much longer. With a gentle sigh he slipped the light blue ribbon (almost exactly that odd shade of blue that was locked away in Jaskier’s eyes…) in between the pages and set the book back down on the table. Eskel dropped the heel of his palm down to drag up the base of his cock. His breath hitched and he dropped his head back, squeezing himself lightly through the soft cotton of his pants. Fuck, when did he get so hard?

The elastic band was pushed out of the way, only halfway down his thighs, just enough to let Eskel wrap his hand around his cock. He was already dripping precome, slicking his hand with every swirl around the head. His mind filled in hazy edges and wandering bubbles of arousal with Jaskier, that soft smirk and wavy brown hair and broad shoulders and a tongue that seemed like it could cut glass.

Eskel adjusted his legs, planting his feet down on the floor and spreading his thighs open, swallowing thickly as another bead of arousal dripped down the length of him. His other hand wandered up to his chest where he almost absentmindedly ran his fingers over his tender nipple just as he had thumbed along the rough edges of the pages in the book, scratching through the rough pull of the fabric of his jumper. His back arched and his hips chased a building pace, his climax building from the base of his spine.

His mind helpfully supplied an image of Jaskier, kneeling on the floor between his knees, his lips open and waiting for him. Eskel tensed as he felt himself draw closer and closer to the edge of the euphoric cliff, almost feeling the pressure of Jaskier’s hands drag up his legs. Piercing cornflower blue eyes looked up at him with burning intensity and shoved Eskel into the most intense orgasm he had given himself in a long time.

Heavy gasps tore into drawn-out sighs, his jaw clenched as his muscles tensed and rippled beneath his skin. His vision whited out and his ears rang with deafening silence, drowning him in oblivion that he couldn’t have torn himself out of if he had tried. Instead, the world came back to him slowly, waves of a tide depositing the whir of his ceiling fan, the ethereal echo of the moon’s light on the hardwood floors.

Eskel slowly blinked open his eyes, taking long, heavy breaths and smiling headily. He glanced down, finding long white ropes of his spend draping down the collar of his jumper to where he still held his cock gently in his palm. He stroked himself once more, slowly, dragging the last beads of his spend off of himself. He didn’t think twice before bringing his fingers to his lips, tasting the salty bitterness of his climax on his tongue.

Eskel sighed once more as he felt the world push in on the comfortable quiet of his mind, prodding his eyelids to grow heavy and his bed to beckon him from behind the cracked door of his room. He tucked himself away and pushed himself out of the cushy chair, dragging his feet towards his washing machine. He shucked his soiled jumper off into the empty drum and set it to do an extra pre-rinse.

He flipped the lights off and toed open the door to his room, gracelessly flopping onto the bed and shuffling under the blankets. Eskel curled up around himself, feeling warm and fuzzy, though maybe...maybe a little empty? He sighed and hugged his arms against his chest, wishing to all hopes that he wasn’t actually alone as the sweet embrace of sleep overtook him.

---

An entire week passed before Eskel saw Jaskier again. Which he couldn’t say was odd; they had only been in the same place a handful of times, and there hadn’t been any sort of routine to it.

At least, that’s what Eskel told himself.

Another long day of needy customers and screaming children left Eskel drained, and he didn’t hesitate to close the bookstore early. He flipped the sign around to say ‘Closed’ and counted down his money, leaving it in the safe in the back for the morning.

He pushed the glass door open and spun around as it fell shut, slipping his key in and letting the cylinder fall into place. Eskel glanced around, spying a familiar cock-sure smirk on the face of a man as he strode over to him from the coffee shop across the street with a quite attractive swagger. Jaskier stopped at a careful distance, though Eskel tried to keep his face as open and friendly as possible. “Hey, Eskel.”

“Oh, Jaskier,” Eskel peeked behind him towards the shop, “did you need something from in there? I was just locking up, I’m sorry-”

“Oh, no. Well, maybe. We’ll see. But uh. That’s not why I’m here.”

Eskel crooked his head, “Okay…”

“Listen, I didn’t want to do this while you were on the clock, cause that’s icky, but uh…would you be interested in going out sometime? Grab some coffee, or lunch maybe?”

Eskel had completely blue screened. He didn’t think he’d actually get this far. Shit, how long had it been since he actually went on a date? What was he gonna wear? Where were they going?

Fuck.

Didn’t even give him an answer yet.

---

The coffee across the street was fine, but Eskel really just found himself more and more enamored with the striking young man who kept gently bumping their knees together beneath the table.

It was the easiest date that Eskel had ever found himself on. Jaskier was kind, funny, intelligent. Caring. It was the simplest thing in the world for him to invite Jaskier on a quiet walk, meandering through the city streets until they found themselves at Eskel’s stoop.

Eskel glanced down at the prettiest ethereal blue eyes he’d ever seen and smirked. “Wanna come in?”

Jaskier grinned toothily, “I thought you’d never ask.”

The keys clattered to the floor as Eskel led the way over the threshold, grabbing Jaskier by the waist and kissing him deeply. Their lips danced and Eskel could almost taste the lust that poured from his very being. They pushed and tore at hemlines and buttons, craving the release of skin hidden away. Eskel finally got Jaskier’s shirt open and threw it to the floor, running his fingers through the thick hair that was so generously dusted over his broad chest.

Eskel’s own shirt fell open by Jaskier’s fingers and he let his hands drop down to the button on Jaskier’s trousers. But a soft hand stopped him, and Eskel watched his throat bob in anticipation.

“Before we go on,” Jaskier smirked, though his eyes shone with a tinge of worry, “I…have a bit of a…situation to inform you of.”

Eskel’s mind started spinning in circles, covering different scenarios and how best to respond to them. Does he have an STD? Is he a fugitive on the run from the law? Hung up on an ex? Maybe he’s ace? Poly? Enby? Trans? Is it his first time? The list went on and on, greased gears turning rapidly in Eskel’s head. However, what Jaskier actually said hadn’t even made its way into Eskel’s mind.

“I wrote that book. About the incubi.”

Eskel blinked and glanced between Jaskier’s eyes, searching for more answers, rubbing his thumbs gently along Jaskier’s hips. “O-okay…”

“How far did you get?”

Eskel thought back to the night that he had brought the book home, and the fantasy that his mind had woven for him. “Uh...not far. I...I got distracted.”

Jaskier nodded, just the barest hint of a blush spreading like watercolors over his cheeks. “Well...when I say that I wrote the book...I wrote it from personal experience. I am actually an incubus.”

At that point, Eskel’s brain completely stopped computing. He was confused beyond belief and undeniably still horny, and the only thing that he could let slip from his lips was an eloquent, “Huh?”

Jaskier offered a none-too-sheepish smile, his eyes shimmering with unbridled attraction. But he let Eskel process, the two of them standing just inside of Eskel’s doorway, naked from the waist up.

Eskel swallowed and willed his brain cells to work, dammit. "You're a-an incubus? I thought they were-I mean, forgive my ignorance I just haven't, ah, met one... or heard of anyone else... meeting one. Recently."

Jaskier chuckled, the sound like music to Eskel’s ears. “Oh gods, you’re adorable. There’s only a handful of us left, and we don’t generally tend to advertise. Of course you thought it was just a myth. Kind of the point, love.”

Jaskier gently ran his hands up Eskel’s arms, smoothing his fingers into the generous muscle. “I want you to know, though, that I…we don’t feed off of lust. Never did. It...it was a lie, a myth. Our magic is...it’s indulgence, an amplification of lust that’s already there. So I didn’t like...hunt you down, or anything creepy. You just caught my eye, and I thought I’d see if you were interested.”

Eskel nodded, resting his forehead down onto Jaskier’s. “Gotta say, this isn’t quite how I imagined this evening goin’. But...weirder shit happens. And...I’d be lyin’ if I said that I wasn’t still ridiculously attracted to you.”

He brought his lips down and kissed Jaskier sweetly, sliding their lips together slowly and languidly, relishing in the balance of wills that they had found themselves in. Jaskier broke away first, brushing the tip of his nose over Eskel’s. “A-and one more thing-”

“Whatever it is, it’s fine.” Eskel couldn’t really help the way that his brows scrunched in disbelief, even the tiniest bit, but he didn’t want to put Jaskier off by not buying into whatever he was trying to convince him of.

“Well…” Jaskier blinked, biting his lip, “I...one of the things with my magic. I can...I can change the...parts that I have. I can kinda switch? Between a-a...you know?” He gestured vaguely to the region between his legs, and Eskel nodded, somewhat getting the picture. “And I don’t really have a preference, everything’s enjoyable...so if you do, I can just kinda…*poof*,” he smiled.

Now, Eskel really wasn’t sure if anything weirder had happened, at least that he was aware of. Did I eat something off today? Not that he could remember, but this all felt...well. Like an odd fever dream. But Jaskier felt so real in his arms, and he was looking up at him with such sincerity that he figured, ah, what the hell. I’ll humor him...or, them? Ah shite, I should ask-

“Right...so, d-do you want me to call you something else? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or use the wrong pronouns or-”

Jaskier smiled and reached up, ruffling Eskel’s hair and sliding the tips of his fingers down the line of his jaw. “You’re sweet. No, Jaskier is perfect, and I use he/him always. Sometimes I change the parts that I have for pleasure, but I am always Jaskier.”

Eskel squinted, still feeling like he was maybe having the wool pulled over his eyes. “Mhm. And uh-”

“Would you like a demonstration?” Jaskier smiled sweetly, still running his fingers along Eskel’s shoulders in lazy swirls. Eskel nodded and led them further into the apartment, giving Jaskier some space to strip himself of the remainder of his clothes. Eskel wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but this seemed like a lot of effort for someone to create a falsity that intricate. He stood bare before Eskel, broad chest tapering down to a soft waist and thick thighs, with a pretty cock nestled in a bed of dark hair.

Eskel sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Y-you’re gorgeous…”

“Oh, stop it you. You’re making me blush,” Jaskier smirked, popping his hip. “Now, don’t watch too closely, or else you’ll never look at a human quite in the same way again.”

But Eskel couldn’t tear his eyes away as Jaskier’s hips lit up in a burst of buttercup-yellow sparks that dissipated with a blink of his eyes, and then there was a little slit that was just barely visible beneath the nest of dark hair, rather than what had been there only a moment prior. Eskel’s jaw fell agape, now fully in awe of the apparently magical creature that was standing naked in his living room.

“Believe me now?” Jaskier shrugged, spinning himself around to show off his pert buttocks and legs with muscles that delicately danced just beneath the surface.

Eskel swallowed, and he felt his cock throb in the tight confines of his jeans, an impatient reminder that he was, in fact, still very into Jaskier. “Uh... yeah. Yeah, I-fuck, that's incredible. I certainly don't need more convincing and I...well, um..." Eskel got a wolfish look in his eyes, "Which would you like me to start with?"

Jaskier bit his lip and nodded, stepping backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of Eskel’s armchair. Eskel quickly wrestled with the buttons and zipper of his pants before tearing them down his legs, shucking them off to the side before following Jaskier to his reading corner.

Jaskier sat down, sprawled bare with his cunt shining and dripping with his arousal onto the soft red cushion of the same chair that Eskel fuckin jerked himself off in. Eskel really really couldn’t decide just where he wanted to look, so he just...dropped to his knees and leveled his face with the blushed pink lips between Jaskier’s legs.

Jaskier gasped and his fingers flexed on the arms of the chair. “Usually, we’re the ones giving pleasure, but yeah sure, I’m not gonna say no…”

“C’mon,” Eskel rumbled as he rested his chin on Jaskier’s thigh, his breath fanning gently over the glistening lips between Jaskier’s legs. “You can’t expect me to see this whole package and not want to bury my face in you?”

And sure, maybe it had been a while since Eskel had found himself with his lips between someone’s thighs like that, but fuck he hadn’t realized how much he missed it. Eskel finally dragged his tongue through his slit and around the sensitive bud at the apex of his thighs, shooting pleasure up through Jaskier’s stomach and into his neck with a soft pink blush. Eskel even had a bit of stubble sprouting over his chin, and he could almost see the sweet burn that it left on the insides of his thighs. A dark moan crawled up out of Jaskier’s chest as he threaded his fingers into the soft strands of Eskel’s hair.

Eskel leaned into his touch and wrapped his lips around Jaskier’s clit and sucked lightly, running a finger down through Jaskier’s slit before slowly pushing inside. Jaskier arched into him, his head hitting the back of the chair and his legs wrapping around Eskel’s head. But there was suddenly one very demanding problem: Eskel, while he normally sported an unending well of patience, was running out. He wanted to feel Jaskier fall apart around him, to feel him everywhere. So he slid his hands up beneath Jaskier’s thighs and around his bum and pulled, resettling him on the very edge of the seat, basically sitting him on Eskel’s chin as he drank anew.

The glide of Jaskier’s hips up and down Eskel’s chin was enough to have him dripping slick onto the hardwood floor beneath him, and he felt more than heard the wet squelch of Jaskier’s tender spot inside of him as he slipped in a second finger. Jaskier keened high and started fucking himself on Eskel’s fingers in earnest, and Eskel crooked his elbow so that he could hit that angle over and over and over again.

Eskel could feel how close Jaskier was, with the fluttering and tightening of his walls around his fingers and the near constant drip of slick down his arm. He lapped and sucked at his clit with fervor, pushing him relentlessly towards the climax that loomed over them both with each wet slap up and down of his fingers.

And oh, when Jaskier finally plummeted over that cliff of euphoria? Eskel was drenched in a wave of slick that dripped down his chin and into the dark coarse hairs on his chest. Jaskier’s fingers tightened in his hair and he cried out Eskel’s name, even sweeter than anything he would’ve dared imagine. Eskel slowed his fingers and lapped gently at the tender flesh between Jaskier’s thighs, coaxing him down through the blinding pleasure that overtook him.

“Oh,” Eskel murmured, resting his forehead on the mound of soft hair over Jaskier’s still fluttering arousal, “th-that was…fuck that was amazing.”

Jaskier chuckled and loosened his grip on Eskel’s hair, gently scratching and running his fingers down Eskel’s cheek. “I wish I could’ve warned you that was coming, but uh…my brain was definitively not keeping up.”

Eskel rose to his feet, pulling Jaskier up onto shaky legs. “C’mon, little bird. Let’s get to the bed.”

Jaskier followed Eskel through an open doorway into his bedroom, and Eskel could once again feel the intense gaze of his eyes roving over his ass. “So Eskel, do you want to fuck me?” Jaskier smiled, pressing his lips softly to the rough valleys of Eskel’s scarred cheek.

Eskel blushed, running his hand back through his hair, the muscles of his arm swelling and running Jaskier’s mouth dry. “I-well. I was actually wonderin’ i-if you’d-well. If you’d fuck me.”

Jaskier‘s eyes alighted with a fire that sent a sounded thread straight through Eskel’s core. “Oh, you have no idea just how much that would be my pleasure.”

Jaskier set his hands on Eskel’s hips and pushed him gently towards the bed, tapping him lightly on the ass. “Mind if I have a snack?”

Eskel shuddered and chuckled, climbing onto his hands and knees on the bed with his bum pointed to Jaskier. “Help yourself.”

Eskel braced himself to be licked and brought to pleasure with a fervor that had matched his own, but what he got instead was a soft hand that smoothed up the back of his thigh, gently palming his cheek and spreading him before a sweet kiss was placed on the globe of his ass.

“Y-you dont have to be gentle with me-“

“I want to be gentle with you, you mountain of a man. Now, let me make you feel good.”

A warm ghost of breath slid over the small of Eskel’s back as Jaskier knelt on the bed behind him, settling his hands on Eskel’s hips and squeezing lightly.

“Oohhhh,” Eskel groaned as Jaskier flattened his tongue over his entrance, mouthing around the tight ring of muscle and kneading his fingers into the meat of his bum.

He felt himself relax into Jaskier’s touch, letting his mind drift into a pleasant haze. Jaskier’s hand snaked around his leg and wrapped around his weeping cock, slowly stroking in time with his tongue pushing into his entrance. His hips rocked back and forth into Jaskier, riding the comfortable waves of arousal as they washed over him.

“Fuck me dead, you’re delicious,” Jaskier’s voice was thick and husky, dripping like syrup. “I’m assuming you’ve got lube hidden away in here?”

Eskel laughed breathily, adjusting his shoulder to point to his bedside drawer. “Right up top.”

Jaskier patted Eskel’s behind and pushed himself up, reaching into the drawer and rummaging around. Eskel heard a cute little ‘aha!’ and the click of a plastic cap being opened.

A slick pair of fingers circled his entrance and he keened, gasping back into Jaskier’s touch. “I-in, please-“

“Alright, Eskel. You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

Eskel nodded and Jaskier slowly pushed his finger in, thrusting lightly until he was buried to the knuckle. He poured some more lube onto his finger and let Eskel set his preferred pace, following the rocks of his hips and the heavy flexing of his cock between his legs.

Before long, Jaskier slipped in another finger, and then another, stretching Eskel open. Eskel growled and moaned and pushed hard back into Jaskier’s fingers, only just barely brushing against that sweet spot that was nestled so deep.

Eskel was sweating, his hands tangled in the sheets as pleasure built to crescendo behind his eyes, and he felt the stirrings of the point of no return hanging just out of sight. “W-wait, Jaskier. Fuck, I’m ready.”

Jaskier hummed and slipped his fingers from inside of him, leaving him gaping and empty as he patted his hip. “Flip over, Eskel. I wanna watch you fall apart.”

Eskel flipped onto his back and looked up at Jaskier, his soft skin dusted with a generous coating of dark hair, his tummy soft and leading down to-

Hnnnggggg

Instead of the pretty cunt that Eskel had buried himself in, that same equally pretty cock from earlier now jutted out from Jaskier’s hips, flushed and dripping with slick. He spoke without thinking, “Fuck I want you in my mouth.”

Jaskier giggled and ran the bottle of lube up the line of his cock, spreading it around with his hand and dropping the bottle to the side. He clambered back onto the bed between Eskel’s thighs and ran his hands up either side of his stomach reverently. “Maybe later. For now, though, I’d very much like to fuck you.”

Eskel reached up and ran his fingers into Jaskier’s hair as he felt the blunt head of his cock press against his entrance. He breathed deeply, tasting the arousal in the room on his tongue as Jaskier pushed in slowly, slotting their hips together and leaning down atop him.

“I’m not sure,” Jaskier gasped, resting his forehead on Eskel’s, “that I’ve ever felt anyone so sweet. I could die here, and would do so happily.”

“I’d rather if you didn’t,” Eskel smirked, clenching around Jaskier in an effort to get him to move.

“Gah, ca-can I m-“

“Please. Please move. Fuck me. Ruin me.”

Jaskier grinned like the cat who caught the canary, rubbing his thumbs back and forth over Eskel’s flanks as he oh so slowly slid back out of Eskel, and just as slowly slid back in. Eskel felt every slick inch of him in stark relief, his head swimming with how beautifully he was filled.

“F-faster...go on, Jask- y-you won’t break me…”

Jaskier gasped a hitched breath as his hips snapped forward accidentally, sending a shockwave of pleasure up Eskel’s spine. “Ah, fuck. O-okay. D-don’t wanna push too f...far-”

Eskel slid his hand up to cup the delicate jaw of the incubus atop him. “I’ll tell you. I promise. But I trust you. Take me.”

Jaskier’s eyes fluttered shut and he slammed his cock into Eskel, rocking back and forth with a fervor unlike anything Eskel had ever had the great pleasure to have been a part of before. Eskel could feel the crown of his head hitting the wall behind his bed with every sharp thrust of Jaskier’s hips, but he really couldn’t find it in himself to care. He just took it, not even able to form a coherent string of words together, only offering soft grunts and drawn-out moans that were swallowed by Jaskier’s lips.

Eskel’s mind swam in an impossible oblivion, every thrust of Jaskier inside of him pushing him closer and closer to an unstoppable climax. He felt Jaskier’s hands drag down beneath his thighs and lift, settling his ass on the tops of his thighs and oh holy shit right fucking there-

And then. Eskel thought that he was about to pass out when Jaskier adjusted himself to prop one of his elbows next to Eskel’s head and grabbed his cock with the other, stroking in quick jolts that matched every time he hit his prostate and-

Oh fuck he was coming. Eskel shouted in high breaths that escaped from his lungs as his body shook with wave after wave after wave of pleasure. He spent thick white ropes of seed between them, dripping through both of their chest’s hair, his fingers clenching onto any inch of Jaskier that he could reach.

And oh sweet gods above, Jaskier didn’t miss a beat, just slipped his hand off of Eskel’s oversensitive cock and fisted his hands in the sheets on either side of Eskel’s head. Eskel lazily opened his eyes as his blinding orgasm faded away and gently ran his finger down the soft, just barely stubbled line of Jaskier’s jaw. “Go on, Jask,” Eskel rumbled, watching the shudder that ran through Jaskier’s taxed nerves, “Come for me.”

Gasps of hot breath ghosted over Eskel’s face as Jaskier drove his hips deep, his eyes rolling back in his head as he spent inside of Eskel. His entire body shuddered and rippled as he came under Eskel’s hands, something shimmering just beneath the surface of his skin. Jaskier dropped his head into the crook of Eskel’s shoulder, pressing his lips softly to the tender flesh as his spend leaked past the tight seal of his cock.

They both ran their hands slowly over each other, soothing overexerted muscles and lust-hazy minds. Jaskier hummed quietly, still nestled against Eskel’s neck and laying atop him, though Eskel really couldn’t find it in himself to complain. He swallowed thickly and rolled them over, holding Jaskier tightly to him and pressing his lips to his shoulder.

“That was...really nice,” Eskel’s voice was husky and cock-drunk, and he could feel the gentle blanket of sleep falling over his eyes.

Jaskier hummed and squeezed Eskel tighter against him as his softening cock slipped from the tight embrace of Eskel’s entrance. “Truly. You’ve rendered me near speechless.”

Eskel hummed with a sleepy smile, nestling his nose into the soft brown locks of Jaskier’s hair that just barely tickled his throat. “Stay tonight?”

He felt the muscles shift beneath his hands as Jaskier twisted around and pulled the lamp cord, bathing the room in darkness before tugging his throw blanket around them. “Sleep, darling. I’ll be here when you wake.”

As he drifted into the comfortable embrace of a well-earned rest, Eskel knew that he had somehow stumbled into one of the most exceptional people that had ever walked the Earth, and that he wasn’t letting him go any time soon.

[hexapress]

The Chasing of Moons by @helenamayhathaway

The biggest dilemma in all of this is that Frank slept with his future husband. Now Frank’s just got to make sure that the future with him stays intact, but it’s not so easy when present day Gerard seems to hate his guts.


My biggest dilemma is that I do not have the words to express how wonderful the journey Helena’s story took me on is. I am pretty sure I experienced every emotion known to man throughout these 36 chapters. Helena’s narration of Frank’s character and the obstacles he faces is just… so entertaining. His inner monologue, the way the trio interact (Pete, Brendon and Frank, and Mikey, Ray and Gerard, then both trios), and the sheer complexity of having already slept with your soulmate who by the way, you have not really met in your present had me aching for, laughing with and pining along with each character. This is not an obstacle you expect to be faced with, so I sympathize with Frank, but at the same time, I cannot help but roll my eyes at his extreme attempts to woo his soulmate. Surely, there had to be a simpler way to achieve that? Well, this had me thinking about what I would do if I were ever in such a position. Luckily, I am a very diplomatic person. I am not one to make enemies on purpose. But I am very forgetful. Not on purpose, never on purpose. So it is not entirely impossible that I could find myself in such a position, which can turn out to be a daunting experience. Frank’s extreme attempts are totally justified, it turns out. Luckily, Helena makes it clear that good things happen to those who wait… and persistently stalk and annoy their soulmate until they get them to (admit to having) fall(en) in love with them (courtesy of their from-the-future!soulmate’s help), because their present!soulmate is one stubborn bastard. 

Take notes everyone. In fact, go read this fic. I don’t think it was written as a guide for dealing with such dilemmas, but it’s worth covering just in case. You never know!


One of my favorite thing about the construction of this book was the book cloth I used. It’s a purple-blue duotone that changes color depending on the light. Another thing that I’m discovering about the beauty of making books is that people see them. They exist in the tangible world… 


Because we are still quarantining in this part of the world, only the members of my household have seen and touched these books. My sibling who has no interest in fandom or bandom saw this particular book, said it looked nice then went and looked up the story! I wonder, when I start having people over again, if they will also take an interest in these fics… 
So this was my first time rounding a book and leaving the edges untrimmed. They’re called deckled edges. I am not sure I am a fan, which is why you do not see a proper picture of them in this post as I am still making up my mind about them. they look pretty, but they are also somewhat fragile, because my folding is not 100% neat, some are uneven and thus with use, they probably will fray. I want my books to last, so I may revisit this in the future. 
This time, I used a paper strip to make the spine! It’s a bit harder to round thicker paper around a rounded spine… things to remember for next time!

[nothingunrealistic]

TAYLOR: I don’t know if you can understand… maybe me being the way I am, but just breathing the air here can be discomforting.

AXE: The air is thinner. Nah. You don’t belong here. You’re outside it all. Sometimes you catch yourself watching all the people like they’re another species. So you retreat… behind your aquarium walls, watching.

—————

SACKER: Dollar Bill’s tough. We have a history. Anyone else?

STEPH: Try Taylor Mason. They have become something of a prodigy, a go-to. Anything big Axe is wading into, Taylor’s there with a snorkel mask.

—————

TAYLOR: I wasn’t hiding. It’s just that when I was younger the bathtub was the only place I could go to be alone and think. I’d press myself against the sides so hard eventually my legs would go numb. Then I’d start thinking I didn’t have legs, and I’d wish for fins.

—————

DOUGLAS: You could not get uni like this back home.

TAYLOR: Back home is hundreds of miles from any body of water.

—————

TAYLOR: Materials on what… a proposed business?

DOUGLAS: Yes. Lattice grid fins, you know?

TAYLOR: Your white whale.

—————

TAYLOR: But there is a white whale out there — Saler’s biggest debtholder and you haven’t put his blubber within reach.

LAUREN: You’re talking about Sanford Bensinger, Mr. Giving Oath, the “American Champion.”

TAYLOR: I am.

LAUREN: Good. Grab your harpoon.

—————

TAYLOR: Axe still isn’t talking to me about what you might call “the deckle of the chop.”

CHUCK: Just nibbling at the edges, huh? And swimming in place.

TAYLOR: As you see, yes.

CHUCK: But you have both the imagination and the perseverance to convince yourself that this is not treading water. What this pool says about you is that you have the capacity to fight boredom, the tide, the endless, beating march against you.

—————

TAYLOR: We are trying to stop you from the same fate the whalers had. Back in the mid-1800s, whaling was like Facebook. Blubber was the oil that lighted the Western world. But by the second half of that century, whale oil was replaced by kerosene. Whaling became MySpace. And then kerosene collapsed with the invention of electricity.

2x02 dead cat bounce // 2x09 sic transit imperium // 3x11 kompenso // 4x03 chickentown // 4x04 overton window // 4x09 american champion // 5x01 the new decas // 5x04 opportunity zone

[crayfishcoffee]

Hello! I know you did this project well over a year ago, but I just found your post about making a physical copy of DCWT. I have been toying with the idea of doing the same for a couple years, but never quite got around to it. I also realize what a significant undertaking it is. I wanted to ask if you have any suggestions for someone hoping to make a hard-cover book. Like: why did you decide to do the binding yourself rather than ordering from a company? What were some of the important formatting aspects for the document prior to printing? I would really appreciate any advice you have on this. Thank you so much!

-Laurel

Alrighty so! Let me try to answer these well, so bear with me.

1st of all, the reason why I hand-bound it was largely because I’d been curious about trying my hand at book-binding for a while, and I was passionate enough about DCWT that it felt like a project I would follow through on. (I will say that I got lucky things turned out decent. I would NOT recommend starting on a work this long to bookbind if it’s your first time like it was mine). I also went into the project with the intention of giving the final book (if it turned out nice) to my friend Charlie as a Christmas gift, since they introduced me to DCWT in the first place and I always think a hand-made touch is nice. I never really looked into companies who bind things for you since I intended on using this project to learn from the beginning, so I don’t really have any opinions there either way.

For formatting, to make things a little easier for myself I decided to format for standard 8.5x11 printing paper which would then be folded in half to make the mini booklets that would be bound together to make the full book. A.k.a. each “page” of the book is itself half of a standard printer paper sheet. I will say though, that standard printer paper is deceptively thick, and because I formatted the book this way the pages were a little narrower/smaller which resulted in a VERY thick and a little bit cumbersome book I’m ngl. If I were to do it again I would probably go through the hassle of formatting the pages wider (since you’ll need to trim the edges anyways) or the book larger overall and try to find access to a thinner/book friendly paper.

Speaking of trimming the book edges, I originally attempted to follow a tutorial which uses an exacto knife and ruler. This obviously wasn’t meant for a book as monstrously thick as mine, which meant when I tried it, it still resulted in ugly, uneven edges (I hate deckled edges on books, fight me). Now, typically if you have a thicker book the way to get a smooth edge would be to use a specialized guillotine. I’m lucky enough to go to an art school which gives me access to a ton of these specialized equipment, but for reasons I won’t get into I didn’t have the courage to ask someone where/how to use it. Therefore, I defaulted to using a belt sander. DO NOT USE A BELT SANDER. The only reason this technique ended up working for me was because my book was so monstrously thick. Using a belt sander is NOT an advisable way to get a smooth edge, but worked for my home-made Frankenstein needs. These are the only two options I know off for that part of the refinement process, and so if you don’t have access to these kinds of equipment I’d probably just google.

Speaking of googling, I won’t go more into any more of the binding process since the above are things that were specific to my project. Everything else I pretty much learned from Sea Lemon’s youtube channel where she posts a bunch of various bookbinding tutorials. She can say it better than I ever could lol.

Lastly, in terms of digitally formatting the actual text into an actual book form, I used Adobe InDesign. I don’t really have any more concrete advice beyond that, since I am an unexperienced book maker and pretty much just took cues from how some other books I owned were formatted. I would be open to sharing my InDesign files, except that because I was/am an unexperienced book maker, the way I formatted those files was super inefficient and super not flexible to any future change, and so I would consider them super static and not any more helpful than looking at a printed book. Since I pretty much went on intuition and tips from my university type classes, I’m sure there are tutorials or lessons out there on good book type setting etiquette. Youtube is always your friend.

I know a lot of that wasn’t concrete, but I’ll be honest. DCWT was and is the only book I’ve ever bound, so the best I can do is tell you what I did, what not to do, and straight up recommend you people who actually know what they are doing. This was kind of long but I hope at least some of that was helpful lol.

[gideongrace]

hello! what’s the best analogy you know for sexual attraction that doesn’t have to do with food or paintings?

Analogies. Ooh, this is a tough one! 

But one I often think about is books. I love books. Like, paper books. Especially fancy ones. Ones with extra pretty covers. Ones with covers that have raised text and bright colors. Or ones with pages with deckled edges. And then there's the feeling of being in a used bookstore, the feeling of not knowing what you're going to find but you're excited it's going to be something good. And then there's the feeling of comfort; the familiarity of it, even if it's a used book store you haven't been in before. There's just something about it. 

That's how I'd explain sexual feeling to an asexual person. Like what thing excites you and makes you feel all buzzy and happy inside? 

This obviously doesn't mean you feel sexual attraction to an object or a hobby or a place, just that it's the closest similar thing, similar feeling to what sexual attraction feels like, that excitement, that happiness, that drive.

Another good example for me is romance. I get excited about romance. Even just the idea of holding hands with a cute guy, getting flowers from a cute guy, cuddling in bed on a lazy Sunday morning with a cute guy. 

That stuff all makes me happy, makes me feel a sort of longing, makes me feel a sort of sadness when I want it and don't have it. 

(Which is basically like, all the time these days.)

Doing any of that fills me up, makes me happy in a way that if any of it led to sex just makes me sorta bored. Sex, by comparison, makes me feel kinda bored. Like touching and making out is great, but the one time I had sex it just left me feeling like, "I liked the other stuff better! Can we go back to that?"

If I were trying to explain what being asexual is to a sexual person I would take these and flip them, say something like, "Well, you know how you feel about sex? How you think about it all the time? I get more excited by thinking about pretty books than I get by thinking about sex. Or having sex." Or, "You know, I just love thinking about romance. Being in love, doing romantic things, I feel about that the way you feel about sex. Kissing, for me, is exciting. Sex for me feels like more of a chore." 

Which isn't exactly an analogy… 

It isn't exactly like "sexual attraction is like x" but then you asked for analogies involving stuff other than food so I kinda figured you were maybe looking for something other than me just swapping in other words for that analogy that sets up attraction as like being in a donut shop and not being into donuts, or only certain types of donuts, or whatever. I hope this helps. 

PLEASE REBLOG THIS ANSWER AND SPREAD ASEXUAL KNOWLEDGE AROUND! AND SEND ME ANY ASEXUAL QUESTIONS YOU MIGHT HAVE! (EVEN ANONYMOUSLY!)

[leclerc-xo]

A warm summer evening, sat out (sharing a chair of course) on their deck with a few drinks, doggies curled at their feet and celebrating their join return to the pitch? A win of course. (Does that work?)

Here you go, sorry if it’s a bit rambly and crap but this is what my brain came up with 💕

***

The dying rays of sunlight bounced across the patio and deckled the edges of everything with a soft, warm glow. The heat from the day still simmered in the air and Eric was glad for the small breeze that had picked up as the clouds had started to turn from a deep orange to a hazy purple, the way the colours bled together reminding him of a painting he’d once seen in a gallery. He could hear a faint hint of the hustle and bustle of the city around him, the distant honk of a car horn or the sound of laughter drifting across from a nearby garden. He sometimes felt hemmed in. The confines of the space the city allowed, even with his money, could feel claustrophobic. Not tonight though. No. Tonight North London was Lilywhite and he could still hear the roar of the fans at the final whistle as he sat in his garden. He didn’t think he’d ever felt happier.

He’s forgotten what it felt like. To play without being weighed down, to kick a ball and not have his body protest at what should come so naturally. He’d forgotten the buzz that was still fizzing through every one of his nerves, how it made everything seem brighter, more intense. He’d forgotten what it was like to glance across the large expanse of green, the ball at his feet and see Dele. See Dele and give him that look that told him to make the run, make the run and I will find you. And he had. 3-2 in the 91st minute and it was them. They’d done it. Together.

It had been chaos. Chaos and joy and relief all mixed into a miasma of energy that was only just starting to wear off.

The sound of glass clinking bought him back to the present and he angled his head, spotting Clay out of the corner of his eye. He held out his arm, leaning it over the side of the lounger he was on and the Labrador brushed against his fingers. A bottle appeared in front of his face and he reached up to grab it, tipping his head back. A smile spread across his face as he locked eyes with Dele. He was mostly cast in shadow but he could see the rise of his lips, the corners pulled up in a smile that matched his and he hummed softly as he felt his fingertips run over his hair.

“Hey you.”

“Hey you back.”

Dele laughed, a warm sound that was no longer tinged at the edges and Eric knew he was feeling the same way. The last couple of months had been hard. After a summer spent apart, plans made with the promise of a long preseason together, coming back to injuries and fitness problems had put them both under a lot of strain. Eric had seen it in the slope of Dele’s shoulders, the chewed skin on his bottom lip, the restlessness at night. It had only been a few weeks but to Dele it was an eternity. For Eric it had been months. Months since he’d done more than just train and listen to the physios tell him ‘he was nearly there.’ He’d missed out on so much already and there were times when it had felt like everything was slipping through his fingers. New signings were made, chances were taken and he was on the sidelines watching it all unfold without him.

But the gaffer had reassured him he would get his chance, that he had faith him. And that’s what Eric had held onto. Those words and the idea that he still mattered, that there was still a place for him. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what some fans thought of him and it would be silly of him to ignore the doubt that had been gnawing away at his insides since the day he’d been told he needed yet another surgery.

“Get out of your head Diet,” Dele said, running a hand along his shoulder as he edged around the lounger. He was cradling a bowl in the crook his arm and he lifted it up slightly, sucking a piece of popcorn into his mouth. Eric cocked his head to the side and crinkled his nose, shifting as Dele unceremoniously plonked himself down on his lap. Dele wriggled slightly, manoeuvring himself so that he was sat between Eric’s legs rather than on him. He rested against Eric’s chest and he leaned back, placing his head against his shoulder. Eric angled his head placing a kiss to Dele’s temple. He felt his boyfriend melt back into him a little more and he lifted his hand, drawing lazy patterns on his forearm.

15. 20. Mine.

He moved his head back a bit and lifted the bottle to his lips, enjoying the cold tang of beer on his tongue. They shouldn’t be drinking but one wouldn’t hurt, not when they had so much to celebrate. Dele was shovelling popcorn in his mouth and flicking through his phone, thumb swiping the screen as he scrolled through twitter.

“You seen this? Someone put the goal to Titanic music,” he scoffed holding it up so Eric could see. They both laughed at the video but Eric felt a thrill as he watched it unfold, the split second between him getting the ball from Toby and his pass finding Dele’s amazing first touch had felt much longer during the game. The video showed their celebration, the pure unbridled emotion on their faces. It had been a release, a cathartic way to rid themselves of the demons that had been pulling them down. He had barrelled into Dele, momentarily forgetting the fans and the cameras. All he could see was him, the person who had kept him going through everything over the last 18 months. He watched as they wrapped their arms around each other, as Dele buried his face into his neck and he shivered slightly as he recalled the hushed “I love you Eric,” as Dele’s lips had brushed against his ear.

“You fucking bossed it today,” Dele said, twisting his head so that he could press his lips to the ball of Eric’s shoulder. Eric laughed, shaking his head and he widened his eyes as Dele shuffled around, sitting up a little bit straighter. “Says Mr injury time winner with his nutmeg that lead to the goal,” he teased, needling at Dele’s side with fingers. Dele raised his eyebrow in response and Eric grabbed his chin with his hand and pulled him into a kiss. “I’m being serious, look at the stats. Most interceptions, most tackles completed, 5 aerial duels won, one assist,” Dele said showing him a graphic on his phone. His heart burned in his chest and he grabbed it out of Dele’s hand, scrolling through the tweets replies.

Dier’s back.

This season is Dier’s mark my words

I love Eric Dier...

Dier with hair >>>>

Beast mode activated

So glad he had a good game

There were a few negatives ones, there always were, but he couldn’t stop rereading the others, the ones that made him feel as though all the waiting and the extra training had been worth it.

“It’s our season Diet.”

“You think so Delboy?”

“I can feel it.”

He so wanted it to be true. He’d been dreaming recently about playing again and it was always the same dream. Last day of the season, must win game, to win the Premier League. Ball falls to his feet and he looks up. Dele. Always Dele. Waiting for the pass. And it’s much like the goal today only in his dream they’ve won the trophy and he jogs over to Dele and gathers him in arms and kisses him, right there on the pitch. He doesn’t know if he’d do it in reality but it’s a secret that he’s been keeping, a discussion he’ll have with Dele if they get that close.

“It’s our season,” he whispered, repeating Dele’s words back to him. Dele nodded and smiled, pulling his phone out of Eric’s grip. Eric watched as he opened up the camera and flipped it forward facing before lifting his arms up. They framed themselves in the shot and Dele busied himself with editing it. They’d posted to their public accounts not long after the game, pictures they’d chosen from the professional photographers. They’d both gone with the same image, the two of them after the celebration their backs to the camera. It had reminded them of a similar photo taken years ago. The comments had gone crazy underneath with people talking about the resurgence of their bromance. This photo though was private, something only their inner circle would see. Dele lifted the phone up for approval, the post ready and waiting for Instagram. Eric’s heart clenched at the caption and he cupped Dele’s face with his palm, pulling him into a kiss.

“Clear eyes full hearts can’t lose,” Dele whispered against his lips and Eric nodded, rubbing his thumb along his jawline. Yes he thought as realised how lucky he was. This was definitely going to be their season.

[teabooksandsweets]

Nobody tagged me, but I saw this and thought it would be fun. Of course, there’s more than one book for some, so I’m just either choosing my favourite or the one I can think of in that moment, rather than every single one, since that could get a bit silly. Also, I tag whoever sees this and would like to try.

Do you have a book with deckled edges? A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket (the American hardcover editions) 

Do you have a book with 3 or more people on the cover? Charmed Life by Diana Wynne Jones

Do you have a book based on another fictional story? The Chronicles of the Imaginarium Geographica by James A. Owen

Do you have a book with a title 10 letters long? Greenwitch by Susan Cooper

Do you have a book with a title that starts and ends with the same letter? The Lives of Christopher Chant by Diana Wynne Jones

Do you have a Mass Market Paperback book? I had to google what this means. I suppose I do, but I don’t really know where to draw the line.

Do you have a book written by an author using a pen name? If Only They Could Talk by James Herriot

Do you have a book with a character’s name in the title? Goodbye, M. Chips by James Hilton

Do you have a book with 2 maps in it? The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien

Do you have a book that was turned into a TV show? Yes, many. Two of them already mentioned, so I’ll go with one that will soon be turned into a hopefully wonderful one: The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart

Do you have a book written by someone who is originally famous for something else? (celebrity/athlete/politician/tv personality…) Love is the Cure by Elton John

Do you have a book with a clock on the cover? The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern

Do you have a poetry book? Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats by T. S. Eliot

Do you have a book with an award stamp on it? The Grey King by Susan Cooper

Do you have a book written by an author with the same initials as you? Das Licht in den Kronen by Chiara Kilian (is this cheating?)

Do you have a book of short stories? Oscar Wilde’s Fairy Tales

Do you have a book that is between 500-510 pages long? Most certainly, but I am not going to check that now

Do you have a book that was turned into a movie? I mean, seriously, who doesn’t? Anyway - Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen is going to be my random pick for this one

Do you have a graphic novel? If The 20th Anniversary Nearly Complete Essential StarChild by James A. Owen counts as a graphic novel.

Do you have a book written by 2 or more authors? Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett

[ninja-muse]

Do I Have That Book Challenge

Tagged by @books-are-portals. Thank you!

Do you have a book with deckled edges? Yes. Genius Loci, La Belle Sauvage, The Annotated Brothers Grimm.

Do you have a book with 3 or more people on the cover? Yes. Several of my Vorkosigan Saga books, most of my Discworld collection, and my LOTR set, for starters.

Do you have a book based on another fictional story? I don’t think I have any straight-up retellings, but To Say Nothing Of The Dog is inspired by Three Men in a Boat, Anno Dracula mashes up a bunch of vampire and Jack the Ripper stories, Discworld sporks all sorts of stories, and I have several series that riff on mythology and Arthuriana.

Do you have a book with a title 10 letters long? Greywalker and Possession by Kat Richardson, Genius Loci.

Do you have a book with a title that starts and ends with the same letter? Three Men in a Boat.

Do you have a Mass Market Paperback book? So, so, so many. Pretty much everything I own.

Do you have a book written by an author using a pen name? Yes! Mira Grant and Ariana Franklin.

Do you have a book with a character’s name in the title? Some of my Vorkosigan books are omnibuses like Miles in Love and Miles, Mutants, and Microbes and Cordelia’s Honor. I also have Howl’s Moving Castle and Jane Eyre and Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell and The Riverside Chaucer and Darwin’s Watch and The Ulysses Voyage and Emma… I’ll stop now.

Do you have a book with 2 maps in it? And there we go with LOTR again, and also The Name of the Rose.

Do you have a book that was turned into a TV show? The World of Pooh? And possibly the His Dark Materials series that’s coming up.

Do you have a book written by someone who is originally famous for something else? ?(celebrity/athlete/politician/tv personality…) Nope. All my famous authors are famous for being authors.

Do you have a book with a clock on the cover? The Watchmaker of Filigree Street.

Do you have a poetry book? I have eleven.

Do you have a book with an award stamp on it? I feel like, miraculously, no.

Do you have a book written by an author with the same initials as you? Nope.

Do you have a book of short stories? Eight of them.

Do you have a book that is between 500-510 pages long? The Harper Hall of Pern. The Foundation Trilogy. Emma. Probably more but I’m not tearing through 700+ books for this.

Do you have a book that was turned into a movie? LOTR again! Half my Narnia set. Dune. All the Austen. Jane Eyre. The Name of the Rose.

Do you have a graphic novel? Again, lots.

Do you have a book written by 2 or more authors? Not counting my anthologies, I presume? Then I think just The Mote In God’s Eye and probably a few of my old linguistics texts.

Tagging @thelibraryofmars, @heretherebebooks if she feels like procrastinating, @elizabethsyson and @therefugeofbooks because they’re some of my newest mutuals, @lizziethereader, @the-knights-who-say-book, and anyone whose username starts with a, h, m, s, or z.

[booksandtea]

It should be no surprise after my announcement post that I eventually posted a Book Hooked Box unboxing. I had planned to do January’s but by the time I finished photographing and editing it I was in a cast and honestly this is just an excuse you’re going to see for a lot of upcoming posts.

So I had Januarys and I loved it but opted to skip Februarys as I’m not hugely into Dystopians lately but after figuring out what March’s book would be I just knew I needed it.

For those who don’t know though, Book Hooked Box is a UK book subscription box with a focus on providing you a hardback book and items you’ll love and use that month too. The items will help to create a relaxing and indulgent experience for you so you can live your best bookish life tbh.

M A G I C A L  H E A L I N G

The main goodie of this box is a signed bookplate + deckled edged edition of The Antidote by Shelley Sackier, with a letter from the author.

Whilst I actually got this book earlier this year from Harper I’ve yet to finish reading it – sorry guys! Again I can blame breaking my wrist for this because I started consuming a lot and then got overwhelmed with being behind on reviews so yay.

However, what I have read I do like and I’m very ready to put some time aside with a hot choclate and finish reading it.

Synopsis: Magic is not allowed, under any circumstances — even if it could save someone’s life. Instead, there are herbal remedies and traditional techniques that have been painstakingly recorded in lieu of using the mystical arts. Fee knows this, so she keeps her magic a secret.

Except her best friend, Xavi, is deathly ill. He’s also the crown prince. Saving him is important, not only for her, but for the entire kingdom.

Fee’s desperation to save her friend means she can barely contain the magic inside her. And after the tiniest of slips, Fee is thrust into a dark and secretive world that is as alluring as it is dangerous.

If she gives in, it could mean she can save Xavi. But it also means that those who wish to snuff out magic might just snuff her out in the process.

I T E M S

As I’ve mentioned in my first post Book Hooked Box’s main aim is for the box to be affordable and to provide a relaxing experience foryou whilst cosying up with your new book. Its safe to say I definitely think they’ve achieved this.

Full Item List: – Myosotis Sylvatica Botanical Bath Oil from Hearth & Heritage – A four piece luxury chocolate bos from Whitakers Chocolates – Marshmallows & Milk Chocolate Hot Chocolate Stirrer from Pendragon Drinks – Themed Artwork from R.N. Merle – Hocus Pocus themed bookmark from Felfira Moon Designs – Mandrake pin from Spellwork Studio (extra item) – one of four Autumn Witch prints from Oktoberdots (extra item) & the back of the spoiler card was designed by Tecsielity

I had a nice late night reading session where I enjoyed my chocolates – which really helped because it was one of those nights where you stay up so late you start to feel hungry but dont want to wake the whole house up.

I actually used some of the bath oil earlier tonight too and omg I am in love. My skin is so soft and it didn’t make my hair feel gross so that’s awesome.

Anyway I’m really pleased with this box and unfortuantely I think they’re sold out of Aprils so you’ll have to keep your eye out for Mays which I am very excited for too.

Stain was from their January box!

Have you read The Antidote yet?

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Magical Healing | @BookHookedBox Unboxing #booksandteabc It should be no surprise after my announcement post that I eventually posted a Book Hooked Box unboxing.