#Gilded Needles

[frank-scozzese]

[queerographies]

[Gli aghi d'oro][Michael McDowell]

Clicca qui per acquistare il libro Titolo: Gli aghi d’oroScritto da: Michael McDowellTitolo originale: Gilded NeedlesTradotto da: Elena CantoniEdito da: Neri PozzaAnno: 2024Pagine: 540ISBN: 9788854529199 Anno di Grazia 1882. New York festeggia il nuovo anno tra opulenza e miseria. Dalla sua dimora di Gramercy Park, il cinico giudice James Stallworth, affiancato dal figlio e dal genero, lancia…

[minhosimthings]

Gilded Skin || 18+

Synopsis: A makeout session with your tattoo artist neighbour

Pairings: tattoo artist!Jay × fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MINORS DNI 18+, Dom!Jay, sub!reader, fingering, p in v sex, rough sex, exhibitionism, semi-public sex, manhandling because idk I love Jay's hands, kinda pervert Jay, unprotected sex (not for you), swearing, use of "sweetheart"

A/N: for you my beloved @jaeyunluvr. Also possibly my last work for in a while since I'm getting kinda busy!

Tattoos.

Controversial (to some people) as they were, you loved them.

The mere thought of getting a tattoo scared you though, yes they were pretty, but number one, money and number two, needles. But soon enough, your friend, Heeseung, who was ironically a tattoo artist himself convinced you to pay a visit to the tattoo parlour.

Normally you would have refused, stating the usual excuse of 'I'm busy maybe next time?'. But lo and behold to Heeseung's ears you agreed this time.

"It's because of that hot guy there isn't it?" Heeseung snickered, his hands on the steering wheel as he drove you to the parlour.

'That hot guy' aka your new neighbour, aka the tattoo artist at the new tattoo parlour that had opened up down the street.

Even though it had been just a two minute walk's distance from you, Heeseung insisted on coming to the parlour with you. Although his actual motives were to see you absolutely melt infront of the man you had a cunt-destroying crush on, he kept on with the absolute lie that he was trying to be a supportive friend, and also obseve the artists at the parlor.

"He has a name you know." You rolled your eyes as Heeseung parked his car into the alleyway, "It's Jay or something."

"So we can no longer call him 'hot guy'?" Heeseung asked, seemingly amused by the way you were fiddling with your fingers, "Shame, I liked that nickname. What do you like about him anyway?"

What did you like about him. What answer could you have possibly given to that? Of course there were so many factors. The fact that he was your new neighbour but you still hadn't talked to him, the fact that he fed the street cats, the fact that he-

"His hands."

Heeseung's reaction was... appropriate to say the least. His choking on air made you roll your eyes, as you slapped his back to make him calm down. Then after a few moments of silence, he burst out laughing.

"His WHAT?" Heeseung held his stomach as raucous laughs escaped his lips, "Please don't tell me you're being serious right now." He doubled over again, almost hitting his head to the car's ceiling.

"Oh shut up, you're talking as if you're any better." You rolled your eyes, opening the car door, with Heeseung doing the same, "Remember last September when you-"

"Do not even start right now." Heeseung glared, slamming his car door shut, "Come on, don't want to keep the hands waiting do we?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out rather too quickly, you pushed on the neon pink decorated door, which opened with a tinkling sound. The smell of lavender hung around, an unfamiliar scent for a tattoo store, which was covered in rock posters from head to toe, along with a few blue beads here and there, the kind Heeseung liked to collect.

"Hey." You greeted the red haired girl behind the counter, "I have an appointment under the name Y/N."

The girl looked up and sent you a quick smile before looking down at her computer, her eyes whipping around before finding a spot she thought was satisfactory.

"Yep right here." She popped her lips together, "I'll see if anyone is free Ma'am, could you wait for a minute?"

You smiled at her as if to say yes and plopped down on the couch next to Heeseung, who had been analysing the store with a lot of vigour in his eyes.

"It's fancy." He whispered, eyeing the girl at the counter, "Let's just hope your man comes out and you can get to catcall him before he goes."

"I am not going to catcall him, im not you." You chuckled, getting distracted from the conversation when you saw a black haired figure from the corner of your eye.

"Is that-?" Heeseung didn't even have to finish his sentence. He knew, judging from the look in your eyes and the fact that your mouth fell slightly open, that this was the person he ever so passionately called "your man".

You were mesmerised.

No, mesmerised wasn't the right word.

You were starstruck.

Maybe your hormones were on a whole different level, maybe you had just been dick-deprived for a long time, or maybe it was the lavender fumes, but you truly thought you had seen a Greek God fill the vision of your corneas.

"Y/N. Y/N!"

You felt Heeseung's elbow jab you painfully in the side, which was effective in breaking you out of your stupor. You blinked a couple of times, to see the red haired woman and Jay looking at you in what seemed to be amusement.

The woman coughed to defuse the seeming tention, you swore you could feel Heeseung awkwardly smiling for your left.

Well they always say bad beginnings have good endings don't they?

"So," A steady hand carefully polished the silver of the miniscule needle, "Y/N was it?"

Though the air conditioning was turned onto a high, you could feel sweat drops form at your forehead, why were his hands polishing the needle so erotically?

"Y-Yeah. You're Jay right?" You managed to cough out, feeling yourself immediately melt into the chair leather chain again when his eyes fell on you. His eyes were sharp as an eagle's, seemingly darting around to catch it's prey, but never leaving one point of focus.

"Nervous?" Jay chuckled, "Don't be, unless you're chronically afraid of needles."

"I am." You laughed, leaning back a little more comfortably on the chair, "Probably shouldn't have gotten a tattoo then should I?"

"Perhaps not on your most sensitive area." Jay nodded, sitting in front of you, his legs spread wide open, did he realise how welcoming that was to you?, "Most people go for the arm, I'm surprised you went for your thigh."

"Heeseung told me it doesn't hurt much." You braced yourself in the chair at the sight of Jay's needle pressing into his tattoo machine, "He's a tattoo artist too."

"I should make a friend of him then." Jay chuckled, looking into your eyes, he could bore deepwells in them and you thought you'd forgive such a handsome man like him, "How did you meet him?"

"Are you-" you gave him a funny look, "Are you trying to make conversation with me?"

"It helps most of them." Jay shrugged and smiled at you, you noticed his dimple come off his cheek, the one you saw last week, whilst spying on him from your bedroom window.

"So, new neighbour who I've never talked to until now," Jay raised his eyes up to you, "How about some conversation to lessen the pain?"

You had always known since you were a child that you had the attention span of a butterfly, eyes always zooming from one place to the other, but you never knew all you needed was a handsome face and some pretty hands to get you to focus.

Jay's deep voice soothed into your nerves, effectively proving his theory of "more talk, less pain". You hadn't noticed much of the tattooing process, except for a few instances here and there when his knuckles brushed across the skin of your thigh, making you mold your orgasmic whimpers into 'painful' winces. You could physically hear Heeseung in your brain telling you about your pain kink.

"So any relationship goals?" Jay asked you, your eyes briefly meeting with his, as his fingers stopped to move across the cross section, "I know that's sorta personal, don't answer if you don't want to."

"No it's fine." You laughed, pretending as if you didn't maniacally want to answer the question, "I'm still single for now, and as for goals, I'm free for ramen tomorrow, and that's it."

"So how about ramen tomorrow then?" Jay smiled, looking up at you, his hands coming to a halt and resting softly on your thigh.

"Will we be eating or will we be talking like this?" You chuckled, your brain fog capturing you entirely as you had no idea what words were coming out of your mouth, "Because to be honest, I'd just be staring at either your lips or your hands if we do either of them."

The most painful part of getting a tattoo, according to the internet, was the beginning part, when you'd be so scared, because apparently fear paralyses you more than the actual tattoo process. But you now knew, the most painful part would probably be Jay's amused eyes staring at you, while your brain managed to catch up with what you just said.

"Oh- no! No I'm so sorry—i didn't mean-"

"It's fine sweetheart." Jay's soft voice stopped your panicking, he stifled a chuckle at your behaviour. Adorable, he thought.

"No I'm really sorry Jay, I shouldn't have said that." You apologised again, feeling the heat come upto your cheeks.

"Oh sweetheart." Jay chuckled, leaning in towards you, "Do you really think I had no idea of your pretty little face spying on me through your window?"

He knew?

"I must admit, you look cute in that flimsy tank top, which hides nothing by the way." His deep voice rang through your eardrums, "but don't worry, I won't press charges or anything on you for spying."

Your back pressed against the leather of the leaning chair, as Jay put his tattoo machine down. Taking off his gloves, his tongue swept across his lips in a swift motion, as his hands trapped you in a cage, laying on either side of you.

"May I?" Jay asked, not even waiting for permission, he already knew the next thing to come out of your mouth was a pathetic whimper.

Without a moment's waste, his soft lips landed on yours, hands rubbing to take off your shorts.

You soon became lost in his presence, lips meeting his in a fiery kiss. his tongue pushed past, kissing you like his life depended on it.

"Fuck sweetheart." Jay said, "You taste good."

You moaned quietly into his mouth, feeling his fingers trail down and start to rub your clit. Your hand came down to grab his cock, already half hard, and you could feel him growing with each stroke you gave him.

His fingers slipped past your clit, toying with your opening and eventually plunging in as deep as he could with the angle he was at. Your head fell back, resting on the leather of the chair as your pussy fluttered around his fingers.

“fuck, you're so tight.,” he managed to say through gritted teeth, chuckling as you let out a stifled whimper, "You like that baby? You like my fingers hm?"

He began to set a fast pace, one of his hands gripping your hip to keep you in place for him and the other hand next to your head. you could see the veins in his arms as it flexed beside you, no doubt he was trying to hold back.

Small whimpers came out of your mouth with each thrust, but then you heard it. Footsteps outside the room, you had forgotten you were in a public place in the heat of the moment. The footsteps died down after a few seconds.

“Just gonna have to keep those pretty sounds in. Wouldn’t want them to hear you,” You clenched down at that.

He chuckled, a devilish, almost cruel sounding chuckle like he had something in mind.

“oh you like that, huh? Like the idea of someone walking in on us fucking in here, watching us. Watching you come apart on my fingers. You’d like that, wouldn’t you baby? Dirty fucking slut.”

At that moment, he made it his mission to make you cum, hard. keeping one hand clamped around your mouth to stifle your moans, your eyes practically rolled back into your head when his fingers touched a particularly sensitive position, the new position making his fingers fuck impossibly deeper into you.

As you were nearing release Jay pulled away standing up, quickly unbuckling his pants to unveil his already hard twitching cock eager to pound into you.

“gonna let me fuck you princess? gonna be a good girl for me?” he says, stroking his dick as he swipes his thumb over his slit wiping away his precum yet it still spews out, covering thumbs in the substance

He held the base of his cock, dragging the tip in between your wet folds, before slowly pushing himself into you, causing a groan to escape from the back of his throat.

His hands grabbing onto your hips, he began to slowly move his hips watching your pussy swallow his cock.

“You feel so fucking good” he said as he began to pick up the pace. Your hand moved up to your mouth blocking out the moans leaving your lips, doing your very best to stay quiet enough so others wouldn’t hear your lewd sounds.

Jay's thrusts became rough, his hand releasing your hip entangling his fingers through your hair tugging on it as he pounded into you. “You’re such a good girl, taking me so well”. 

“fuck…you’re so tight” he says, pulling your legs up to sit on his shoulders as he thrusts inside you at a steady motion, fucking you deliciously in missionary. His eyes stare at your tits that are bouncing with each motion he pulls you in.

“fuck baby..i’m gonna cum…gonna cum inside” he says as he gets that dumb look on his face, he squeezes your breast with white knuckles as something to hold on to while his eyes roll back in his head, a beam of his sweat falling on your chest.

your orgasm comes as his does, his dick twitching inside of your cunt making it almost impossible to keep going.

“m’gonna cum too…” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist, pushing him further into you to feel his cum covering your walls. the warm liquid coming fast inside you.

as Jay pulls out, he’s met with his mess, the pool of his cum leaking out of your cunt.

His fingers make their way down and pump inside of you, the squelching noise of your wet pussy filling the room. His fingers make their way out of your cunt and up to your mouth, pushing in his cum covered fingers inside your mouth.

“Suck sweetheart.” he demands, and so you do. You suck the mixture of cum off of his fingers while maintaining eye contact, his thumb cradling your chin for support. You could get intoxicated on those eyes for centuries.

Jay's thumb swept out of your mouth swiftly, as his lips landed on yours again, pressing you into a sweet and chaste kiss, breathing heavily as he pulled away and supported your tired structure with his strong arms. You could see the veins flex on his hands.

"So how about that ramen date tomorrow hm?" Jay asked, his dimple once again appearing on his cheek, "that is, if you can handle staring at my hands while I eat."

"A ramen date, if I can walk by tomorrow." You chuckled, "So, I guess this messy hair is because I was struggling too much out of pain while getting the tattoo? Or should I tell Heeseung something else?"

"Tell him how good of an artist I am." Jay chuckled, "And that his friend won't have to spy through bedroom windows anymore."

"Was I really that noticeable?" You rolled your eyes playfully, as Jay handed you your shorts.

"Sweetheart you have no idea."

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[aster-daydream404]

Sipping Tea Under the Wisteria Blooms

Materials:

(Homemade) Air dry clay

Needles

Carboard

A4 bond paper

White acrylic paint

Gold acrylic paint

Violet poster paint

Blue poster paint

Clear nail polish

Dollar store wisteria flowers

Lavender gina cloth

lilac colored paper

A lovely three seated teaset based on the Purple Bloom Teaset from days of bloom— most commonly known as the Wisteria Teaset. It is complete with a dainty set of three tea cups, a gilded sugar bowl and creamer jug, a lovely tea pot with wisteria petals painted on it, and a tower of golden tea cakes for skykids to enjoy! The white gilded chairs are toped with soft plush lavender pillows, and the table (of similar design is lined with a gilded lavander tablecloth whose design resembles the petals of a wisteria flowers. This tea set is perfect for skykids to relax and idly chat in while the wisterias bloom.

I made this entire teaset for the SoraSky discord server’s Art Prop-ject contest. And although I wasn’t able to join due to forgetting to put in my description and submitting late (EUGHH THE CENTERPIECE KEPT ON FALLING APART ON ME!!!) I am still incredibly proud of how this project turned out 🥹🥹🥹 I wanted to make the purple bloom tea-set because it was a prop that I’ve been wanting since I was still a moth on sky. It was a memorable time for me, especially when me and my friends would chat under the wisteria tree in Forest’s social space🪻✨ This tea-set was made of love, struggle, sleep deprivation, and lots of planning. It was via this project that i was also able to appreciate the little details and intricacies that sky’s purple bloom tea-set has, giving me a deeper appreciation for the item and the artists behind it 🥺 So despite feeling a bit salty of how it ended, i hope this piece brings happiness to those who see it, just like how we feel when anticipating spring ☺️ 😉 🏞️ 🌱🕊️✨ [insert moomin reference ahsjshjahaha]

[dhampling]

sunburn dadstarion, <1k

She runs in with cheeks flushed, head wet with a thin clad layer of sweat. Remnants from some form of cool treat dry on her chin. Plaits - neat this morning - loose now with tangles and damp as she beelines straight for his workroom. 

Face scalding as she buries it in his abdomen. 

“You’re getting muck on my shirt, little one.”

She mimics his words with a cutting tone as she burrows deeper, wraps even tighter around him. Smells like cloves and hot paving and the dry-sweet musk of city dust. As he presses a kiss to her head he feels the sun lingering in her hair. Little white cowlicks brushing his nose.

If he stills he can hear you out on one of the cast-iron chairs with a glass of red in hand, talking to a friend of some parental variety in the early evening heat. 

“You’re so cold” 

His heat comes from woodsmoke and yours from the sun. Both familiar to her. He could light a fire but you’d moan at him for it.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

He pokes at her clammy arms with a fat laugh and she winces away, pulling a face.

“It’s hot.” She sneers. He quirks a brow.

“Sounds like a you problem.’

He lifts the last of her plaits and looks round at the ruddy blush beginning to bloom at the nape of her neck. She squirms at the ice of his fingers.

‘Run up to the washroom and get the cream. Quick.” 

You sit just beyond the window - he can hear your laughter, the muffled lilt of your voice by the climbing ivy. He imagines the ornate carafe - left to aerate all afternoon - rich and ripe as the wine within soaks on your tongue and darkens your teeth. Your loving grin. The little wave you’d do; the light clothes he’d spent all winter designing for you to sit out front and feel comfortable in, in spite of the sweltering sun. 

To throw a casual look through open shutters and see you out there again. A wink. A little sign that he’s thinking of you. 

Maybe he’ll head out, when the stars are newly minted yet the sun still lingers. Feel the iron sear his skin through his clothes. The warmth of your palm as it wraps around his forearm. 

It’s not until the youngling returns that his gaze shifts from the dark to her, a tired furrow on her brow. 

“I’m too hot.”

Her mouth hangs open in a wide pant. Astarion kneels before her.

“Have you had any water?’

No.

‘Right then.”

-

Hours pass and you shuffle back in with a thick-knotted shawl draped lazy over your shoulders, the singe of a giggle still whisper-light in your breath as your friend shouts their farewells.

“She burned today, you know.” 

He’s quiet as he stitches, merely an observation; thread between teeth. You sigh fondly in the doorway.

“She’s a child. It’s what children do.”

You bring your warm chalice to his mouth and he lifts his head to take a sip, humming softly. He looks up at you with a raised brow. 

“Get burned?”

“You morose bastard. Sun-burn. Children get sunburned.”

She’s lounging on his worn chaise, hair wrapped in towel, with a small bowl of plums at her side and a drawing pad atop her knee. Contented in new pyjamas and the cool dim of her father’s workroom.

The cream has seemingly worked. The cool bath you heard her splash about in not so long ago must’ve been some clever placebo work.

“Found some pretty beetles today, but wasn’t allowed to bring them in.” She speaks as usual with Astarion’s theatrical whine, riddled with fatigue. You roll your eyes affectionately.

“What were they like, darling?”

He’s preoccupied, stitching something small in the gilded embroidery he works at; but there’s the persistent glimmer of interest in his tone. The slightest tilt of his head as his eyes find her in the periphery.

“Really pretty. Different colours. All pinky and greeny.” She waggles her fingers and sighs with a start.

“Draw them for me?”

She looks at him warily as you watch on.

“Will you keep it if I do?”

At that, Astarion stops. A gentle halt. The needle and thread in hand gently tucked into the stitchwork. 

“I keep everything you do.”

You scoff. She looks at him with a tiny glare.

“Where is it then?”

“What?”

“All my drawings?”

“It’s where are they, darling.’ He chides, the smallest chit of his fangs.

You move to sit and your daughter lifts her head from the chaise, so it rests on your settled lap when dropped once more. The hint of a grin plays at his mouth.

‘And I keep them somewhere safe so when you’re old - like me - you’ll be able to look back on you now. You’ll be able to remember the beetles.’

He shuffles over to where you both sit, cross legged as he rests his chin on the chaise. Brings the back of a hand to her forehead and swears a sizzle as he pulls away.

‘Plus. I can’t see these beetles now, can I? My sunburn gets a fair bit more serious than yours in nature. I’d like to see them.” 

She pauses for a moment.

“Okay. But ONLY because you can’t go and see them for yourself.”

[sinfullyrosey]

A Simple Prick

Malleus Draconia X Fem!Reader

Warnings: Hypnosis (kinda), Vaginal Penetration, Fairytale Ending... with a Twist

I was remembering that scene in Sleeping Beauty where Aurora’s under that sort of trance and is slowly walking along the castle and up the steps towards the spindle, and my brain decided to parody it.

Being the human royal heir of a kingdom that’s still in rivalry with Briar Valley. The war may be over, but your parents were still wary of the dark fae they once fought in battle, so didn’t invite the king or queen to the celebration of your birth in fear of what curse they may befall upon newborn you. This did not go over well with the fae royals and they crashed the celebration, not out of disrespect towards them, but their son, as it was customary for your kingdom to invite any and all available royal children to meet yours as an early courting ritual.

To not allow their son to meet you, your parents were saying that he was not worthy of being a possible future candidate for your hand in marriage. That he was not worthy of your love.

So, the king and queen of Briar Valley laid a curse on you, a curse that stated that on your 21st birthday, you were to fall in love with their son when the thorn of a dragon fae pricks you. Those in your kingdom did not fully understand the words of the curse, so none knew what a dragon fae thorn was. Many believed it was the thorn of a rose bush that lined the fae kingdom’s gardens, while others believed it must be a needle or even a weapon used by the dark fae.

Regardless, your parents, sick with fear and worry over the fae taking you away from them in a forced, loveless marriage, set out to hide you away from the wretched fae royals who cursed you. You were sent away to live deep in the forest with three trusted advisers once you were a little older. There, within that cozy, little cabin, you laid hidden and raised to be ignorant of your curse.

As the years pass, you grow in near solitude, blissfully unaware of the world around you. The only escape you have are your dreams, where you get to witness a world outside of the limited one you’re confined to. A world beyond the trees, where a dark castle lies, with thorny rose bushes and stony beasts surrounding it. It’s a place found only in your dreams, and within these dreams stands a misty green figure shrouded in darkness and flames. A figure you’re never able to fully discern, but of whom you welcome nonetheless.

This figure speaks to you of wonders and tales beyond anything you could ever imagine. Spoken with such poetically silken words. Words that drew you further into him as time passed and you grew older. Words that captivated you and gave you comfort in your lonely years of existence. Oh, if only this figure were real. If only you could meet him for real and finally share yourself with him instead of seeking him out in your slumber. If only…

Fast forward and you are now twenty, about to celebrate your 21st birthday. It’s a day you have been waiting for since you were told by your guardians all those years ago. The day you would finally be able to return home and leave this gilded cage behind. The four of you had a mini celebration before heading out back to the castle, your home. Cake was shared and gifts were given, a brand-new outfit for you, one of white and gold. Unbeknownst to you, a wedding garb, as you were set to marry another royal arranged to you for your return. A failsafe to be sure the fae would not be able to steal you away from them.

On your carriage ride to your home, disaster struck, literally. A bolt of lightning, followed by the sound of thunder, came crashing down in front of your carriage, causing the horses to panic and the carriage to flip. Miraculously, you were unharmed, but the coach and your guardians were all knocked unconscious. And before you could think of what to do next, the soft sound of a distant voice reached your ears. It was a familiar sound, but one you could not fully recognized. It called to you, beckoned you to follow it past the brush and trees. You could not shake the sound filling your head and obeyed its heed.

You walked towards the voice alone and in a trance. You don’t know how long you had been walking or how much time had passed, but soon you reached the gates of an ebony stone castle, surrounded by a veil of vines and thorns. The gates seem to open up for you and lead you down a path that took you to a winding stairwell. The whole time you listened to the voice soothingly carry you up the stairs and into a room. This room was not empty, however, as there, standing before you at the glass window, was a tall, dark figure.

The dark figure turned to face you and your entranced eyes widened, mouth falling open in awe. The figure before you was that of a man, pale skinned with pointed ears and coal black horns atop his head. An even pointier pair of fangs poked out as his blackened lips curl up into a grin at you. He wore all black with dark green accents, further adding to his shadowy presence. He gave off an air of elegance and power, one that’s dark and foreboding. And yet, it all felt familiar, like you knew who this man was, but couldn’t fully visualize him.

Until a familiar pair of glowing, emerald eyes catches your own.

Those eyes…

You’ve seen them once before…

Once, upon a dream, you saw him there. You met him there, in your dreams. All those times again and again…

He is right in front of you now, looming over your much smaller frame. You only gazed up at him with wide eyes in disbelief. He called your full name then, dangerous, green eyes leering down at you so intently. You could only blink and call his name in turn.

“Ma… Malleus?”

His grin grew wider at the sound of his name upon your lips. Pale hands with sharp, black claws rested along your sides, leading you both to the bed. He sat down with you still standing before him, now at eye level with him, and your hands gently cradled in his. You tilted your head in confusion, still not comprehending that he was really here, or that you were here, in the very castle you thought was a creation from your dreamscape.

“It seems you are already dressed for the occasion.”

He gave your attire a once over, finally able to admire you after so long. You could only respond with a quiet, “Huh?” before he chuckled at your oblivious expression. His hands fiddled with his robe, drawing your attention away from his memorizing eyes and instead to the stiff member poking out from beneath the black cloth.

It was big and dark, like the rest of him. It stood straight up and sharp. You had yet to see this part of him but was pleasantly surprised regardless. It was as if he could read your thoughts, sensing your confusion and desire.

“It is a thorn, my beloved. A dragon fae’s thorn to be precise.”

You did not understand the significance of his words, but blushed nonetheless. Mind racing with such desirable thoughts. The whole sight was just ethereal. The fae chuckled and pulled you closer, guiding you to his lap.

“Come, it’s time.”

You don’t know why, but you felt that you understood. This may be your first time meeting the mysterious man, but you were still familiar with him. You felt a deep longing towards him that developed and bloomed with each passing season.

You had danced with him among the flower fields and briar, an unknown melody twirling its rhythmical notes around the two of you. You chatted and spoke of your lives with each other, sharing dreams and secrets that nobody else but you and he knew. You knew him, even if you didn’t, you knew him.

Like being in a trance once more, you moved aside your own attire to lay yourself bare like he done for you, your pussy on full display for his eyes only. You crawled into his lap, making yourself comfortable before hovering yourself over his length. You gazed down to see his cock twitching in anticipation for you, the sight making your heart skip.

You aligned yourself, inhaled, and slowly sunk yourself down onto his awaiting cock. Your unprepared walls fluttered around him, squeezing yet still readily accepting all that he had. You wince at the sharp pain that pricks at your insides, whining at the fullness of him against your velvety walls and already feeling overstimulated.

“O-oh!”

Your eyes widened when your thighs finally met his, the full length of his prick reaching deep inside you and sending you in a dizzying haze of pleasure and sudden emotions. Your eyes drooped dreamily as you wrapped your arms around his neck. Despite the stormy, gray clouds surrounding the castle and the glassy haze that clouded your vision, you had never seen things so clearly as you did now in this moment.

“Malleus, I love you. I. Love. You.”

And with that, you sealed the confession with a kiss, his misty green eyes widening, but melting into the kiss, lips molding with yours.

Word soon got out throughout the kingdom about the missing-turned-runaway bride. The royal carriage ambushed and princess nowhere to be seen. The king and queen were in a panic, afraid of what had befallen their precious daughter and sole heir to the kingdom. But their wails of despair were interrupted by a messenger making their presence known in the great hall. With them, a single letter with an all too familiar seal stamped in a dark green wax in the shape of a dragon.

It was addressed to the king and queen, from the Queen of Briar Valley, inviting them to the wedding that was to be held in the kingdom of the fae. The wedding between the soon-to-be King Malleus and his betrothed: their precious daughter and princess of their kingdom.

At the bottom, officially signed in ink, were the signatures from both the bride and groom to be.

~Malleus & Y/N Draconia~

[bookofbonbon]

creatures from within the woods - aemond targaryen.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Imprisonment. Paralysis. Witchcraft. Implied assault.

Summary: Aemond had often been warned about the strange and dangerous creatures from within the woods who looked like humans but, he just had to have you.

Word Count: 1049.

A/N: Old fic from over a year ago that I posted then immediately deleted.

Blood weeps from the open wound, an unnaturally steady stream of red flowing from the cut in your palm and pooling at the edge of the make-shift altar you arranged with what materials you had.

Chanting quietly to yourself, an uneasy feeling goes down your spine. You sense his presence before he makes himself known, body vibrating with the weight of each of his steps as he draws nearer to your cage, wait- no. Your chambers as he so kindly put it but, a gilded cage is still a cage. 

When he enters, he does so quietly so as to not disturb you and you don’t allow him to either, remaining as distant and stoic as you always do when he’s around. The few times you did pay him mind however, you never showed him your true face, only the one you had carefully crafted for him. 

Aemond's gaze wanders the apartment that was once occupied by his elder half-sister and her family, concern growing in the pit of his stomach when he notices that you’ve once again opted to eat little to nothing. 

He thinks nothing this time. 

“You’ve barely eaten since your arrival, I do not wish to see you harm yourself in this way. Please, you must eat,” Aemond pleads.

“I will,” you mumble, distracted. “Soon.”

You roll your shoulders, trying to loosen the stiff muscles in your arms - manacles weighing heavy on your wrists; you could’ve easily removed them but, you were drawing from them - as you watch your blood prickle as if a thousand needles moved through it before it begins a slow slither to the altar’s centre. 

You were too weak to do this on your own.

Satisfied, you rise from your knelt position with a slight wince, still not quite used to the rigidity of human bones.

“You know,” you begin, rubbing at the shedding skin of your hands. “Your mother visits me some... she speaks oft of your visits to the Sept?”

Aemond nods, the gesture unseen but felt. In the same way that you could feel his longing gaze at your back; willing you to look at him so you may see the depths of the love he holds for you. He knew in his heart that once you did, all your resentment for him would disapparate.

“Yes,” he finds his words. 

This was simply not the way he wanted or imagined things to be and they wouldn't have been if you had just come willingly with him when he found you in the woods.

“Tell me… what do your Gods whisper to you in the quiet of the Sept?”

Aemond’s eyes widen, surprised by the question but quick to answer. 

“They offer me forgiveness,” he tells you softly. Careful still not to disturb the peace and, oblivious to the way your skin shimmers oddly beneath the moon's light. “They tell me in time that you will too.”

Your body stills, head turning slowly toward him with narrowed eyes. The wickedness that lurked beneath your beautiful face threatening to reveal itself.

Gliding inhumanly across the room, you leave the smallest of spaces between the two of you. Aemond’s gaze wide-eyed and foggy, unshed tears lining the edge of his eye as he peers down at you.

How pleased you were that you no longer had to wait. If you had to spend a minute more with the bumbling fool, you would sooner kill yourself than him. 

Sliding your hands from the manacles, you reach toward him and caress the side of his face with your bloodied hand. The heavy thud going unnoticed by Aemond as he leans into your touch and presses himself against you, his forehead touching yours. He’s careful in his next moves, his nose brushing gently against yours, breaths intermingling for a few moments before he hesitantly closes the gap between your mouths and you allow him. With closed eyes, he presses the softest of kisses to your lips, savoring the feeling of your willing lips against his. But, with each second that passes his kisses grow hungrier, his lust making itself known as he presses himself harder against you - the young Prince too caught up in the moment to notice the odd tingling sensation starting in his mouth. 

Pulling away from him, Aemond’s lips try to follow you until you press a firm hand on his chest. You feel the rise and fall of his chest as he remains dazed, eye still closed as he commits the feeling of your lips to memory. But the sweet moment is snatched away when you bring those same lips to his ear.

“Your Gods may forgive you but, I never will,” you hiss.

Aemond rears back, a cold feeling washing through him as you raise the fog clouding his vision and reveal your true self; a low hiss emanating from your chest as a forked tongue flickers out from between your lips and serpentine eyes stare back at him. 

It’s only then that Aemond smells the blood on his skin and sees the red of your hand. His gaze following the bloody trail that drips from between your fingers and leads to the altar behind you. Horror setting in as he finds the socket of his eye hollow, the blue stone sitting in the altar's centre. 

“What have you done?” Aemond roars, slamming you against the nearest wall.

He pushes his forearm into your neck but it isn’t you who begins to gasp for breath.

Body weakening, Aemond’s arm drops against his will, the limb too heavy to hold. He steps dizzily away from you, thoughts moving quicker than he could; his legs turning to lead as he dives desperately toward the altar. An attempt to stop whatever it is you've set into motion but, it's too late. His body ceases and he falls to the ground with a heavy thump.

Aemond had always been warned about the strange and dangerous creatures from within the woods who looked like humans but were not. But he couldn't help himself, he had to have you and, now with his head laid beside the altar, regret courses through him as he stares in unblinking terror as your blood finishes coiling its way around his sapphire and seals his fate.

-

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

bookofbonbon 2024. All rights reserved.

[hufflepuffwritingstuff2]

Whump Prompt- Imagine dehumanization in the opposite direction. Whumper idolizes Whumpee. No darling, you can't go outside, you're too sweet and perfect and fragile. You're my perfect little doll. Even when Whumpee misbehaves, Whumper chalks it up to Whumpee's fragile nature and continues to coddle them like they're some precious object that needs constant care and maintenance. Only the softest restraints, the finest clothes, tender touches, delectable meals, drugs administered via pill or gas to avoid those awful needle marks, and the best gilded cage money can buy.

[footnotesaregreat]

Hua Cheng's Simp Diaries 101

*a list of his simp moments bc you've never seen a man so deeply in love*

1. found and kept xie lian's earring from the first time they met when he was 10

2. plays with it a lot

3. kept the umbrella xie lian gave him when it was raining at his shrine

4. only ate from the offerings at the shrine when he was certain it was xie lian himself who told him to

5. was one of the few people who didn't kneel to pray to xie lian bc it was what he asked

6. he brought fresh flowers to the shrine everyday for xie lian's statue to hold

7. he tied the red string of fate on the finger xie lian had tied his own hair around to protect him in the cave

8. he turned his ashes into a ring which he gave to xie lian

9. told him it was nothing important

10. made him his reason to live because xie lian told him to

11. he built thousands of statues and shrines for xie lian

12. he challenged the 33 gods that ridiculed xie lian beat them in battle and burned down their temples *girlboss*

13. he's been drawing xie lian's picture from when he was a child from the first day that he saved him

14. made a big ass door for the shrine so it'd be better protected

15. when xie lian was blown away by the sandstorm at ban yue pass and accidentally grabbed onto him he only said: gege there you are don't fly away again

16. literally sucked venom out of xie lian's hand and then proceeded to explode the snake that stung him

17. made sure to give xie lian the ferns that did not grow with humans as fertiliser to heal his hand bc he knew he would feel bad about that

18. killed hundreds of ghosts at ban yue pass in seconds before xie lian came down there

19. protected him from the snakes leaving mu qing alone to fight them

20. taught xie lian how to play dice just to hold his hands bc the motherfucker definitely just changed the dice himself

21. he gave xie lian dice that would always bring him to xie lian as long as he wanted to see him

22. when he fought with qianqiu and accidently hurt xie lian he felt so bad

23. eming was crying actual tears

24. he came into the heavenly capital to take xie lian away immediately bc he rolled the dice he gave him and he wanted to see him

25. once he saw how much qianqiu didn’t know about the gilded banquet he took them to qi rong's lair and forced him to tell the whole story so there would be no misunderstandings

26. he built a literal temple in the ghost city for xie lian specifically for the mid autumn festival so he could "make things interesting" for xie lian's "amusement"

27. he lit up 3000 blessings lanterns for xie lian from the temple he made in the ghost city

28. spent billions in gold to get the lanterns

29. *twice*

30. he captured the fetus ghost before xie lian bc he couldn’t let him hurt himself and to do so kissed him in the pretence that they shouldn't have their mouths open

31. brought xie lian back to paradise manor and instantly made him feel so comfortable that he actually let his pain show while removing the needle he'd stepped on

32. he went to puqi village to bring xie lian’s hat back bc he mentioned it while rambling after their first kiss

33. he cleaned puqi shrine and took qi rong out of the house along with the rest of the trash

34. when he saw he xuan come in with qingxuan he threatened him bc he didn't want xie lian involved with the whole thing with he xuan and the wind and water masters

35. got his people to watch over qi rong and lowkey lang ying and guzi and also probably to look after the shrine while they would be away with qingxuan and he xuan

36. when xie lian FINALLY asked for his private communication array password his eyes legit twinkled

37. he purposefully set his password to sth very much embarrassing so that no one but xie lian would dare reach him

38. the only time xie lian actually used it himself was when he was legit imprisoned by jun wu

39. he actually found xie lian's password funny and the poor thing got the validation he wanted for his joke after 800 years of having this password

40. he constantly changed outfits to watch xie lian struggle to keep his eyes off him

41. while qingxuan was in xie lian’s body he wouldn’t hurt him so he punched he xuan into the ground to release his frustration

42. totally sailed across black water's domain with xie lian's dead body in a coffin

43. the worst suffering for him is watching his beloved get trampled and ridiculed which he experienced when xie lian descended and the people turned against him

44. also watched him get stabbed a hundred times

45. and saw him drunk in a graveyard crying and breaking down

46. he thought he hadn't won xie lian over yet but he had even though xie lian himself hadn't realised it yet

47. he made a new donation box for xie lian while shirtless and sweating even though he's a literal ghost and doesn't sweat

48. he pretended to be unconscious even though as mentioned he's a literal ghost just so he could have a laugh and totally freaked out when xie lian attempted to perform cpr *on a literal ghost*

49. proposed to xie lian and for some reason said he was kidding

50. he’d already given xie lian his ring and wore the string of fate (smooth bro)

51. built a coffin to safely cross the sea with xie lian and successfully caused him a boner (erectile dysfunction cured great success)

52. went along with xie lian to the east sea to protect him from black water but still didn't interfere with his choices

53. when xie lian did the soul switch he sucked his power from his body so that he could bring xie lian's soul back and again freaked out when xie lian kissed him to get the powers back

54. he only practices writing with a specific poem that specifically describes the specific feelings he has for xie lian

55. when he lost control of himself he *intensely* kissed xie lian and afterwards he was so worried that he had hurt him

56. he turned into lang ying even though xie lian told him to not be with eachother for now since they would both be busy

57. even though he was with him he sent the litter to carry them

58. had yin yu gather all the ghosts and the clothes while searching for the brocade immortal so that xie lian could work faster

59. he tattooed xie lian's name on his arm but his handwriting is so awful even xie lian himself couldn't tell what was written for the longest time

60. he ignored xie lian telling him to not do all the chores and did them for him while maintaining lang ying's form

61. he refused to change even when it was clear that xie lian had figured it out and was struggling to write whatever he’d asked him

62. he tried to make himself look good when xie lian asked him who is the prettiest, strongest etcetc

63. he was definitely crying tears of joy whenever xie lian picked him up and told him who cute he was

64. he shared his ✨feelings✨ about looking weaker than he is and feeling powerless

65. did not want xie lian to have to protect him but still listened to him and accepted the help

66. went with xie lian to mount tong'lu to protect him and make sure no one messed up with him

67. he told xie lian anything he wanted to know about whatever they encountered at mount tong'lu

68. he changed the bloody rain to red flower petals so he wouldn’t get xie lian wet

69. he brought him under his umbrella and shielded him from the boulders refusing to help anyone else

70. he tied THE FUCKING RED STRING OF FATE to xie lian's finger to make sure the two would always find their way back to each other

71. he quoted a line from the oldest known chinese novella literally meaning "not even death can do us part"

72. he showed xie lian what happened between yin yu and qi ying so he could better understand their situation

73. he was very ok to just hang around inside the mountain and told xie lian that if it was with him he wouldn't mind staying there

74. he heard and comforted xie lian's worries about his guoshi and told him exactly what he needed to hear

75. it later helped xie lian remain calmer when the identity of white no-face was about to be revealed

76. when the rest of their group where being loud he told them to shut the fuck up bc xie lian was sleeping

77. when pei ming was being a little shit and commented on the red string tied on their fingers he covered it with an illusion

78. then he showed it to xie lian who was worried that it was gone completely

79. he said to xie lian: "i know you can’t die, and you’re not afraid to die, but no matter how tough you are, don’t think yourself incapable of getting hurt.”

80. and: “not dying doesn’t mean not getting hurt, and it definitely doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. when you see something strange and dangerous, don’t just touch it. find me. let me take care of it.”

81. when xie lian replied with: “...you too. if there’s something dangerous, you don’t touch, i won’t touch either, alright?” he was downright giddy, giggling, eyes twinkling, hair twirling

82. he built tens of thousands of statues and painted all of his encounters with xie lian throughout the years

83. he also sculpted the two of them boning (my guy was so sexually deprived)

84. he was so so scared when they ended up in the cave bc he didn't want to make xie lian uncomfortable in any way

85. he never wanted to make any kind of move that would frighten xie lian

86. he healed xie lian's frostbite wounds that even xie lian himself hadn't noticed

87. honestly can't separate the moments at this point the man is a ball of affection

88. when xie lian hugged him and showed him that his feelings were reciprocated he said: "your highness, you really will be the death of me." BRO IS LEGIT LIVING IN A SAKUATSU FIC WHAT THE FUCK

89. his eyes would not stop twinkling the whole time xie lian held his hand

90. he was in such a good mood that he didn't even say anything *extremely* insulting to mu qing and feng xin

91. he is just a little bby

92. he loves xie lian so much

93. when xie lian asked him about his ashes he once again said that they were absolutely safe and if the place he kept them was destroyed he wouldn't want to continue existing anyway

94. he basically turned into a ghost for the sole purpose of protecting xie lian and being with him

95. he twirls his little braid and fidgets with the coral pearl from xie lian's earring

96. he KISSED xie lian before they jumped into the kiln and this time without any false pretence of "transferring powers” or performing cpr" *once again on a literal ghost*

97. his spirit stayed in the mortal realm after dying in battle for xie lian and when he saw him told him once again that he will never forget him

98. also referred to xie lian as his beloved

99. also said that he wanted to protect him

100. and that he is his most devoted believer

101. and if his beloved felt bad that he stayed to protect them he would just not tell them

102. very slay of him

103. he was still so young there i-

104. they are the death of me

105. in the form of a literal ball of ghost fire he followed xie lian and did his best to warm him up and protect him even though he couldn't do that in that form

106. when white no-face held him and forced him to stay still while people stabbed xie lian a hundred times he couldn't take it and transformed into a vengeful spirit

107. he found xie lian in yong’an and offered to fight for him again as wu ming

108. while in yong'an he protected xie lian multiple times

109. the best and most beautiful statue of xie lian he built was inside the kiln and ended up being the one that broke xie lian out thanks to the powers he’d transferred to him

110. he continues to give xie lian spiritual powers by sticking his tongue down his throat and xie lian is going for it ofc

111. sent out his people to find the humans xie lian needed for the spiritual array

112. immediately noticed someone extra joined the array and told xie lian to check it out

113. when xie lian had to go to the heavenly capital with jun wu and his guoshi he asked him for a kiss bc staying back to take care of the spirits and the people in the array was just so hard to do without

🎐🍒🔥✨gege✨🔥🍒🎐 at his side

114. when xie lian connected with him through the spiritual communication array he instantly knew sth was wrong bc xie lian would never say his password unless it was an emergency

115. he gave qingxuan spiritual powers to have a way to connect with xie lian and sent help immediately

116. came to the heavenly capital despite knowing that jun wu would find him

117. talked with xie lian's guoshi and even spoke respectfully to him *mostly*

118. he sent he xuan to the array to give qingxuan his fan and transfer powers maybe bc xie lian cares for him or maybe bc he tolerates qingxuan *guess we’ll never know*

119. let's be honest from this point on, even more than the rest, every moment should be added

120. the man is a ball of love

121. he quoted himself while he was evaporating into butterflies because he's just such a poet and a romantic

122. he dies 3 times for xie lian

123. three

124. separate

125. times

126. he came back on the same day they first met

127. he lit another 3000 blessing lanterns for xie lian

128. "they spent eight hundred years running towards each other. this time, it only took an instant to fall into each other’s embrace."

129. he turned puqi shrine into a gay monument to xie lian

130. he left an essence of evil inside xie lian *successfuly caused mu qing and feng xin strokes*

131. he asks xie lian to call him 🧧🥟🗡️✨san lang✨🗡️🥟🧧 bc it means husband so xie lian has been calling him his husband all along

132. he got spoiled by xie lian and tried to bone every chance he got *fair*

133. when someone goes to pray to either one of them, for the prayers to be successful they must pray to both of them *together*

134. treated xie lian to yuanxiao and he finally remembered how it tasted after 800 years

135. he was definitely shaking from happiness when the answers to the riddles from the ghosts wrote "my husband is hua cheng" *even though the ghosts didn't know grammar*

136. when xie lian temporarily lost his memories he followed him everywhere to keep an eye on him

137. it's implied that mu qing and feng xin found him to tell him the situation with xie lian and then he went to find him so maybe he trusts them more now

138. he immediately sent yin yu to capture the creature that ate xie lian's memories

139. he loved every second of making fun of him

140. he made xie lian call him 🧧🥟🗡️✨gege✨🗡️🥟🧧

141. you bet his eye was twinkling the whole time

142. eming is used to taking baths with xie lian but when he went to him while he didn't have his memories hua cheng slapped it *save eming*

143. when he got sick he didn't want xie lian to have to take care of him but they talked about it and agreed to let the other take care of them whenever they needed it

144. when the whole fiasco with xie lian’s statues happened they made statues of hua cheng to keep them company

145. he has given up on learning calligraphy since he can just turn xie lian on and he forgets about everything

146. no one is doing it like them

147. hua cheng is insane for all of this

148. and very valid bc xie lian is gorgeous

if anyone made it here here's some tgcf playlists i'm quite proud of

[whywontyoucomeout]

Shadows in the Night

The moon hung low in the inky sky, its silvery light barely penetrating the thick canopy of clouds that blanketed the sprawling estate below. The manor house loomed large against the backdrop of darkness, its imposing silhouette a testament to the power and wealth of its occupant. Guards patrolled the perimeter with clockwork precision, their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of intrusion.

But on this night, their vigilance would prove futile.

Like a whisper on the wind, Hikari moved through the grounds with preternatural grace. Her black attire melded seamlessly with the darkness, rendering her all but invisible to the untrained eye. Each step was calculated, each movement purposeful. She was Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, the greatest ninja of her generation, and tonight she had come to strike fear into the heart of a tyrant.

With practiced ease, Hikari scaled the wall, her fingers finding purchase where others would see only smooth stone. She vaulted over the top, landing silently on the other side. The inner courtyard stretched before her, a maze of meticulously manicured hedges and tranquil ponds. To an ordinary person, it might have seemed peaceful. To Hikari, it was a field of potential dangers.

She moved from shadow to shadow, her senses alert for any sign of detection. As she neared the main building, Hikari caught sight of two guards stationed at the entrance. Their eyes were alert, their postures rigid with attentiveness. But they were no match for her skills. With a flick of her wrist, Hikari sent two senbon needles flying through the air. They struck their targets with pinpoint accuracy, and the guards slumped to the ground, unconscious before they could raise an alarm.

Hikari slipped inside, her dark eyes scanning the opulent interior. Marble floors gleamed in the dim light, and priceless artworks adorned the walls. But she had no time to appreciate such luxuries. Her target lay ahead, in the heart of this gilded cage.

As she ascended the grand staircase, Hikari's thoughts turned to her mission. The man she sought was more than just a corrupt ruler – he was a monster who had brought suffering to countless innocents. Tonight, she would not end his life, but she would shatter the illusion of his invincibility. Fear would be her weapon, more potent than any blade.

The top floor of the manor was even more heavily guarded, but Hikari moved through their defenses like smoke through a grate. A sleeping gas here, a silent takedown there – she left a trail of unconscious bodies in her wake, never once raising an alarm.

Finally, she stood before an ornate door, its gilded surface a testament to the ego of the man who lay beyond. Hikari took a deep breath, centering herself. With silent determination, she eased the door open and slipped inside. The room beyond was dark, save for a sliver of moonlight that crept through a gap in the heavy curtains. And there, in a massive four-poster bed, lay her target – the dictator whose reign of terror was about to be challenged.

As Hikari moved towards the sleeping figure, her hand brushed against a small table, causing a delicate vase to wobble. She froze, her heart pounding, as the vase teetered on the edge for what felt like an eternity. Then, with agonizing slowness, it settled back into place.

The dictator stirred slightly but did not wake. Hikari let out a silent breath of relief, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her body. It was only then, in the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains, that the true extent of her condition became apparent. Hikari's normally lithe form was dramatically altered, her midsection swollen with the unmistakable shape of advanced pregnancy. Her black attire, designed for stealth, had concealed her condition until now, but in this moment of vulnerability, the truth was revealed.

Despite her heavily pregnant state, Hikari of the Phantom Leaf stood poised and ready, prepared to begin the next phase of her mission. The greatest challenge lay ahead, but she was undeterred. Tonight, a tyrant would learn the meaning of fear, and Hikari would prove that even in her condition, she remained the most formidable ninja of her time.

————————————-

Hikari loomed over the sleeping dictator, her presence a palpable threat in the moonlit room. With a swift motion, she pressed a razor-sharp kunai against his throat, jolting him awake. The man's eyes flew open, terror flooding his features as he realized the precariousness of his situation.

"Who... who are you?" he stammered, his voice hoarse with fear.

"I am your worst nightmare," Hikari whispered, her voice cold and steady. "I am here to show you that your power is an illusion, that your walls and guards mean nothing."

The dictator's eyes darted around frantically, searching for an escape. Hikari pressed the blade closer, drawing a thin line of blood. "Your crimes against the people will not go unpunished," she hissed. "From this day forward, you will live in fear, knowing that death can come for you at any moment."

As she spoke, Hikari felt a sharp, sudden pain in her abdomen. She managed to suppress a gasp, but couldn't entirely hide the flicker of discomfort that crossed her face. The dictator, ever observant, noticed the change in her demeanor. His eyes traveled down to her swollen belly, visible now in the dim light.

A cruel smile spread across his face as realization dawned. "Well, well," he chuckled, his fear giving way to a newfound confidence. "It seems the great assassin has a weakness after all. You're in no condition to threaten me, girl. Why don't you waddle on out of here before I call my guards? I'm sure they'd be fascinated to meet such an... interesting intruder."

Hikari gritted her teeth as another contraction hit, stronger this time. The dictator's mockery rang in her ears, fueling her determination. With lightning speed, she moved the kunai from his throat to his eye, the tip hovering mere millimeters from the cornea.

"You mistake my condition for weakness," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "I could end your miserable life right now, baby or no baby. Your guards won't save you. Your wealth won't save you. Nothing can save you from me."

To prove her point, Hikari used her free hand to produce three senbon needles, flicking them with deadly accuracy. They embedded themselves in the wall behind the dictator's head, forming a perfect triangle around his ear. The man's bravado crumbled, replaced once again by raw fear.

"Please," he whimpered, all pretense of authority gone. "Please don't kill me. I'll do anything."

Hikari leaned in close, her voice a whisper. "Remember this moment. Remember that your life was in my hands, and I chose to spare it. But if you continue to abuse your power, to hurt the innocent, I will return. And next time, I won't be so merciful."

The dictator nodded frantically, tears streaming down his face. Hikari stepped back, satisfied that her mission was accomplished. The man before her was thoroughly broken, his illusion of invincibility shattered.

As she prepared to make her exit, another contraction hit, more intense than the last. Hikari knew she had to move quickly. With one last glare at the cowering dictator, she moved to the window, her movements still graceful despite her condition.

"Remember," she said, her voice carrying a note of finality. "I'll be watching."

With that, Hikari slipped out into the night, leaving behind a tyrant who would never again sleep soundly. As she made her way through the grounds, she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. Her mission was a success, and now she had an even more important task ahead – bringing new life into the world.

——————————————-

Hikari moved swiftly through the manor grounds, her ninja training allowing her to maintain stealth despite her condition. The cool night air provided some relief as she navigated the intricate maze of hedges and fountains. Freedom was close – she could see the section of wall where she had entered, now her exit point.

But as she approached her escape route, a powerful contraction hit her with unexpected force. For the first time in her career as an elite ninja, Hikari lost control. A sharp cry escaped her lips, echoing in the quiet night. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, eyes wide with shock at her own outburst.

Before she could recover, she felt a warm gush between her legs. Her water had broken, leaving a conspicuous puddle on the manicured lawn. Hikari's mind raced – this was a complication she hadn't prepared for.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to move. She had to get out now, before –

"Hey! Who's there?" a gruff voice called out. A guard, alerted by her involuntary cry, was approaching with a flashlight in hand.

Hikari melted into the shadows of a nearby topiary, her breathing shallow and controlled despite the pain. She watched as the guard discovered the puddle, his face contorting in confusion.

"What the...?" he muttered, crouching down to examine the liquid.

Hikari knew she couldn't linger. With every second, the risk of discovery increased. She began to move again, using every ounce of her training to remain silent and unseen.

But her body was betraying her. As she crept along the perimeter wall, she felt more fluid trickling down her legs. To her horror, she realized she was leaving a trail – small droplets that glistened in the moonlight, leading directly to her position.

Behind her, she could hear more guards congregating around the initial puddle. Their voices carried on the night air:

"It's not rain."

"Could be from an animal?"

"Wait – there's more over here!"

"Follow it!"

Panic threatened to overwhelm her as Hikari heard the guards beginning to follow her trail. The contractions were coming faster now, each one requiring immense willpower to stay quiet and keep moving.

She reached the spot where she had entered – a section of wall partially hidden by an old oak tree. As she prepared to scale it, another contraction hit. Hikari bit down on her lip hard enough to draw blood, suppressing another scream.

The guards were getting closer. She could hear their footsteps, see the beams of their flashlights sweeping the grounds. With a final surge of determination, Hikari began to climb.

Her fingers found familiar handholds, her feet somehow maintaining their grip despite the pain and the fluid. She reached the top of the wall just as a flashlight beam illuminated the spot where she had been standing moments before.

"The trail ends here!" a guard shouted.

"Check the other side of the wall!" another responded.

Hikari didn't wait to hear more. She lowered herself down the outer side of the wall, every movement an agony. As her feet touched the ground outside the manor, she heard the guards shouting for reinforcements.

There was no time to rest. Still leaking amniotic fluid, her body wracked with contractions, Hikari disappeared into the forest surrounding the estate. She had escaped the immediate danger, but she was far from safe. Now, she faced an even greater challenge – finding a secure location to give birth, all while evading the search parties that would soon be scouring the area.

The greatest ninja of her generation was now in a race against time, her skills pushed to their absolute limit. The night was far from over, and her most difficult trial was just beginning.

———————————

Hikari's breath came in ragged gasps as she pushed through the dense forest. The sound of pursuit grew louder behind her – the guards had picked up her trail and were closing in fast. Each contraction hit her like a tidal wave, threatening to bring her to her knees.

As she stumbled into a small clearing, Hikari realized with grim certainty that she could no longer outrun her pursuers. The contractions were too intense, too frequent. She could hear the guards crashing through the underbrush, mere moments away from discovering her.

In that instant, Hikari made a decision. She was Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, the greatest ninja of her generation. She would not be hunted down like prey.

With supreme effort, she turned to face the direction of the approaching guards. Her hands moved in a series of rapid signs, preparing a jutsu. As the first guard burst into the clearing, Hikari was ready.

"There she is!" the guard shouted, raising his weapon.

But Hikari was faster. A blast of wind chakra erupted from her palms, sending the man flying backwards into his comrades. Three more guards appeared, their faces a mix of shock and determination as they took in the sight of the heavily pregnant ninja standing defiantly before them.

"Stand down!" one of them commanded. "You can't win this fight in your condition!"

Hikari's response was a flurry of shuriken that forced the guards to dive for cover. She moved with deadly grace, her years of training allowing her to anticipate and counter every attack. A kick here, a precisely thrown kunai there – even in the throes of labor, she was a force to be reckoned with.

One guard managed to get close, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Hikari ducked under the blade, using the man's momentum against him. In one fluid motion, she redirected his swing into another guard, then dropped low to sweep his legs out from under him.

As the battle raged on, Hikari fought not just the guards, but her own body. Each contraction threatened to break her concentration, but she channeled the pain into her attacks, using it to fuel her determination.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the last guard fell unconscious to the forest floor. Hikari stood amid the fallen men, her chest heaving with exertion. She had won, but at a cost. The fight had accelerated her labor, and she could feel the baby coming.

With the immediate threat neutralized, Hikari scanned her surroundings. In the dim pre-dawn light, she spotted the dark mouth of a cave not far from the clearing. It would have to do.

Stumbling now, no longer trying to hide her condition, Hikari made her way to the cave. She barely made it inside before another powerful contraction brought her to her knees. Finding a relatively flat area near the back of the cave, she began to prepare for the imminent birth.

As she arranged herself as comfortably as possible on the cold stone floor, Hikari allowed herself a moment of reflection. This was not how she had envisioned bringing her child into the world, but she had survived, had protected both herself and her baby against impossible odds.

A new contraction built, more intense than any before. Hikari gritted her teeth, bracing herself for the challenge ahead. She had completed her mission and escaped her pursuers. Now, she faced the most important task of her life – bringing new life into the world.

In the quiet of the cave, far from the comforts of home but secure in her own strength and skill, Hikari prepared to meet her child. The greatest ninja of her generation was about to become a mother, and she would face this challenge as she had faced all others – with courage, determination, and an indomitable spirit.

————————-

In the dim light of the cave, Hikari faced her greatest challenge yet. The contractions came in relentless waves, each one more intense than the last. She leaned back against the cool stone wall, her hands instinctively cradling her swollen belly. In this moment of vulnerability, the true extent of her pregnancy was fully revealed – her belly was impressively large, straining against her torn ninja garb.

Hikari, who had moved through heavily guarded compounds without making a sound, now found herself unable to contain her cries. Each contraction drew from her a primal sound that echoed off the cave walls. The dichotomy wasn't lost on her – the silent assassin now filled the air with the raw, unfiltered sounds of impending motherhood.

"I can do this," she whispered to herself between contractions, drawing on the same well of strength that had carried her through countless missions.

Hours passed, blurring together in a haze of effort and determination. Hikari shifted positions frequently, trying to find some measure of comfort in the unforgiving environment. She focused on her breathing, using techniques that had once kept her calm in the face of mortal danger to now manage the pain of childbirth.

As the labor progressed, Hikari felt the baby descending, only to slip back again. It was a dance of progress and retreat, testing her patience and resolve. She widened her stance, bracing herself against the cave floor, every muscle in her body working towards bringing her child into the world.

In a moment of clarity between contractions, Hikari reflected on the irony of her situation. She had spent years honing her body into a silent, lethal weapon. Now, that same body was performing its most natural and vocal function. The juxtaposition was striking – the quietest ninja in the land, now unable to stifle her cries.

But as another powerful contraction built, Hikari realized that this too was a form of strength. To bring life into the world required as much courage and determination as any mission she had undertaken. She was still Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, still the greatest ninja of her generation. This was simply a different kind of battle.

With renewed resolve, Hikari prepared for the final stage of her labor. The greatest challenge of her life was nearing its end, and a new chapter was about to begin.

———————————

The cave echoed with Hikari's labored breathing as the contractions reached their peak intensity. Her body, honed through years of rigorous training, now trembled with exhaustion and pain. In this moment of extreme vulnerability, the walls she had built around her emotions began to crumble.

"Takeshi," she cried out, her voice raw with anguish and longing. "Takeshi, I wish you were here."

The name of her late husband, unspoken for so long, now fell from her lips like a prayer. Hikari, who had faced countless dangers without flinching, found herself yearning for the comfort of his presence. In this intimate moment of weakness, she allowed herself to feel the full weight of her loss.

"Please," she whispered, her hands cradling her swollen belly. "Please, little one, it's time to come out now."

Driven by instinct and desperation, Hikari adjusted her position, trying to find a way to ease the baby's passage. She shifted uncomfortably on the cave floor, doing her best to create more space for the child to emerge.

The pain intensified, and Hikari's pleas turned to determination. She drew upon every ounce of strength left in her body, every lesson in endurance she had ever learned. The greatest ninja of her generation now faced a challenge that required a different kind of courage.

Hours seemed to blur together, punctuated by Hikari's cries and the steady drip of water from the cave's ceiling. And then, just as the first rays of dawn began to filter into the cave's entrance, a new sound pierced the air – the lusty cry of a newborn.

Hikari gasped, her pain momentarily forgotten as she reached for her child. With trembling hands, she cradled the tiny, wriggling form against her chest. Tears streamed down her face, a mix of relief, joy, and lingering sorrow for the husband who would never meet their child.

"Hello, little one," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with love. "Welcome to the world."

As the newborn's cries subsided into soft whimpers, Hikari felt a profound shift within herself. She was still Hikari of the Phantom Leaf, still a formidable ninja, but now she was something more – a mother. The mission that had brought her to this cave was complete, but a new, lifelong mission had just begun.

In the quiet of the early morning, as she held her child close and listened to the gentle sounds of their breathing, Hikari made a silent vow. She would protect this new life with all the skill and dedication she had ever brought to her role as a ninja. And perhaps, in raising this child, she would find a new kind of strength – one born not of silence and shadows, but of love and sacrifice.

As the sun rose over the forest, casting a warm glow into the cave, Hikari and her newborn rested. The night of danger and pain had passed, giving way to a new day full of promise and possibility. The greatest challenge of Hikari's life had been met, and a new chapter was just beginning.

[revelisms]

It starts with Sister.

It starts with Sister in a black-walled room, picking frays of silk with needle-nails and puffing plumes of blue through her teeth:

"If you loved me, you wouldn't have subjected me to this." Cold, splintered, distant as the stars. "You would have let me go."

And Nihil—

Greasepaint a sweat-streaked shine, concert-high dimmed like a lamp, yellowish crescent waning—Nihil stares, and splutters, and says nothing.

(When does Nihil say anything?)

Oh, but he says everything—everything but what he should.

Primo sees it. Secondo sees it. Spits it back in his face, with knife-glared eyes; moonbeam and black sun, first son and second.

"The Gate will be overrun, if you keep up with this."

"You are going against the Way, and you know it."

Nihil stares, splutters, spews a steaming slew of denial.

"You boys haven't seen it." Gristling, shattered, cold as a gale. "You are young."

And Primo, unwittingly, absorbs it. Mirrors that fanged-tongued rhetoric to his youngest; his own, above all else: "This is beyond you now, mh? You are too young to understand."

And with it, Secondo mirrors it, too, carved from spittle and ash: "You two can barely see such things. Don't pretend to know differently, eh?"

And with it, the third son: cracked wings, cracked smile, fragmented-minded son, pinned between the three prongs of their expectations like glass in a gilded frame—

And he expects their chastisements. Expects their flippancy. Expects Nihil's grousing grating shame-turned snarl at a mirror image he won't accept—

But not from Copia.

Not the runt.

"You say so much," his little brother whispers once, when he is still young, frowning and blue-white eyed and arms notched about his knees. "You say so much—but you don't say anything."

And who is he to point the finger?

Who is he to rage?

Terzo stares, and stills, and says nothing.

Says nothing, like his damned dead-eyed father.

But Copia, Copia, Copia—

If he has to burn it all, Copia will break away from it. Copia has been an Other, from the day he was sewn, and he has always known it.

Sewn by those needle-nails into the perfect little doll.

"I won't be that," he spits—older, older now, older always—and though there is gray in his hair, and black on his eyes, and a suit of satin jeweled over his skin, he is still him.

He has always been.

Not a product of his father, not quite—though he has wanted it. Hell, craved it.

But he is, in a way.

They all always were.

Nihil's wheezing laugh. Nihil's sly-winked grins. Nihil's reckless joy. Nihil's anger, selfishness, endless-hearted selflessness, wrapped in a self-spiting package.

"I won't be," Copia whispers again, to a mother who is not there, to a grandmother and an uncle and a sad-eyed hateful-hissing nurturer more than brothers, to a father he is but won't claim.

No—there's a new world under his hand now. A future limitless in his own making.

And that, he'll claim.

That, Saints willing, rethroned, he'll claim.

copia / ties that break

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - III

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.8k.

Reading Time: 27min.

Warnings: asshole!Copia, blood extraction,drunk!Copia, mild sexual harassment?? (there’s nothing inherently sexual about what he’s doing, but it is uncomfortable and I wanted to tag it just to be safe), non-consensual rituals,restrained with ropes, rituals, soul modification, tied with ropes, use of needles

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @antoniamarie1989

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

The echoing of a choir sung eerily in your mind, the song slow and sombre as the melody continued. The same tune, verse by verse, sticking to your brain like glue; the lyrics haunting your waking moments. In an ironic turn of events, despite all your doubts and building hatred for the Great Creator, you found a morbid comfort in the songs the morals sung in gratitude, praising Him for their life however it looked, grateful for His grace. In your time watching the world go by, in the silence of your solitude and between visits from the creature that saw you as livestock and nothing more, those voices rang out to you, the lyrics tumbling from your lips and you found yourself joining the chorus.

“Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

The mortal desire to walk amongst Him both on this plane and in Heaven. It made you want to laugh. It was your wish to do the same thing, hold an audience with Him, breathe the air He created as He exhaled it. And look where it got you: locked in a cage, holy light dimming, and blood drained twice a week for your troubles by a being that took pleasure in your discomfort if it meant a night of intoxication for him. Your resolve was still strong, you still were sure that you’d escape, yet you sat atop a mountain of failed plans and played a waiting game before you could try something new.

“Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I’d be

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

There was nothing darker than the shadow of Satan, the fallen angel who despised the Lord so much, he actively worked to depose Him. Perhaps it was the nature of the building you were trapped in, the unholy scriptures you’d hear during Monday’s service, or the attitude of the Sister and the Cardinal, but you’d commit unforgivable sins if you were to hide the fact that you’d thought a great deal on the subject while trapped in this gilded cage. Was Lucifer right in his actions? Was he truly onto something? Did he know something about the Almighty the rest of you had been programmed to look passed and not notice?

You remembered hearing stories about Lucifer’s departure from Heaven when you were new to that life. Unlike your superiors, you weren’t old enough to have been there in person to witness the events unfolding. Thus, you were forced to rely on retellings from the angels who were brave enough to talk about it. Brave or stupid, given Lucifer’s story was forbidden to discuss.

Lucifer was once one of the most glorious and powerful angels in Heaven. He was created by God as a radiant and magnificent being, endowed with great beauty, wisdom, and authority.

However, Lucifer’s unparalleled beauty and lofty position led to pride and ambition within him. He began to desire to ascend even higher, seeking to exalt himself above God and to become equal to or greater than the Almighty. This prideful ambition grew into rebellion, as Lucifer sought to challenge the authority of God and establish his own dominion.

In his arrogance, Lucifer rallied a faction of angels to his cause, persuading them to join him in his rebellion against God’s rule. Together, they launched a revolt in Heaven, seeking to overthrow the divine order and seize control of the celestial realms.

But their rebellion was swiftly and decisively crushed by the forces of God’s loyal angels, led by the archangel Michael. In a great battle, Lucifer and his followers were defeated and cast out of Heaven, their rebellion crushed and their ambitions shattered.

As punishment for his pride and rebellion, Lucifer was cast down from Heaven and condemned to eternal damnation. He became known as Satan, the adversary, and was banished to the depths of Hell, where he would reign as the ruler of darkness and the chief antagonist to God and humanity.

The stories you were always taught showed Lucifer in a negative light, so power-hungry and greedy, convinced he could overthrow Him and rule in His stead. Now, after experiencing the wrath of Heaven, and God’s heedlessness towards both you and the mortals He created, you wondered if Lucifer was really greedy, or if he was informed of the Almighty’s incompetence and wanted to do more.

“There let the way appear, steps unto Heaven;

All that thou sendest me, in mercy given;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my Go -”

“Would you knock it off?”

The sound of the Cardinal’s voice had you turning around in a quick snap, looking at the doorway of his room. His voice was slurred but clear enough that you could understand him perfectly. “You’re too fucking loud.” His make up was running in places from the sweat and the evening’s activities, and you could see the dawn peeking through the gaps in the curtains.

“I shan’t,” you shouted back, a glee in your voice that shouldn’t be there. The longer you kept him awake and poked at him, the easier it would be to get him to open the door and then pass out - allowing you to escape.

“Disobey me and see what happens to you.”

“Thou wilt take no action,” you chided with confidence.

“‘Thou wilt’,” he repeated, “Why do you talk like that?” He asked, staggering over to the cage. He cackled, the cackle that mortals do when they’re heavily inebriated. “It’s funny.”

“Thus do we angels converse in Heaven, when in the company of the Almighty and His warriors.” You murmured, your voice soft and reverent.

The Cardinal hissed at the mention of God. “Fuck him. And fuck you, too!” He smacked the side of the cage and chuckled. “I don’t-” he burped. “Why were you singing? Just now… only happy people sing.”

You stared at him in confusion, you’d seen drunk mortals before, but your blood had turned this guy into the biggest idiot you’d ever seen. “I have naught else to occupy my time. Even caged birds sing; perchance ‘tis what mortals dub as ‘yearning’.”

“Yearn quieter then.”

“I shall yearn as loudly as I so desire.”

“Not while I’m in the room, you won’t.”

“Then, with my waking thoughts -”

“No.”

“bright with thy praise -”

“You can’t even sing.”

“Out of my stony griefs -”

“I said, shut up!” he roared, demanding your silence. You obeyed this time, given his fist collided with the cage and dented the side. “I never asked for dinner and a show.” He laughed at himself a little, until what he said sank in and he bent over, laughing harder. Once he’d composed himself, he stood straight and wiped the tears from his eyes. “If you’re gonna sing - at least sing something good.”

He walked over to a square box in the corner and picked up another square thing. This time it was red. You stared at it with your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of it. A black and red, circular object came out of the sleeve, and he placed it inside the square box. After a little maneuvering, sound began to pour from the box and into the room.

It was a droning sound, resembling wind whipping through a forest in the dead of night, designed to strike fear into the hearts of anyone listening. You shivered, your body growing cold at the sensation - the fear of being chased seeming to be too much for you to even think about let alone experience. Then, suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Ring-a-ring of roses,

A pocket full of posies,

Atishoo! Atishoo!

We all fall down.

Ashes on the water,

Ashes in the sea,

Ashes on the riverside,

One, two, three!”

The melody was interrupted by what you assumed to be a guitar, the sudden sound of which made you jump in fright. You’d heard about mortals and their modern proclivities with music - and how they’d made all kinds of sounds with the Almighty’s instruments. You’d never heard this before, used only to the sounds of orchestral beauty and choir singers in their various Houses of God.

“The guy who wrote this,” the Cardinal began, enthusiastically pointing to the music maker and shouting over the loud sounds, “has two little semen demons. They sang that. Genius!”

The music changed into a second song, a more upbeat tempo but still with a heavy sound. A different voice sang that time, definitely a grown man.

“In times of turmoil

In times like these

Beliefs contagious

Spreading disease

This wretched mischief -”

“The bard’s voice resemblances thine!” You shouted back to him.

The Cardinal shook his head. “What!?”

You made your voice louder. “I said: The singer doth resemble thee!”

He huffed and went to turn the music down. “What?” He snapped.

“I said: The bard’s voice resemblances thine.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “it is me.”

You blinked for a second, comprehending the information that had just passed through your ears. The Cardinal made music, and he was playing it to you… while you were trapped in a cage… in his bedroom… “Dost thou not feel ashamed?” you asked him, genuine intrigue in your voice.

“Why would I feel ashamed?”

“Pride is a sin. And thou art compelling me to listen to thy music without my request. According to mortal social conventions, is this not cause for embarrassment?”

He turned the music up. “I can’t hear you! The music’s too loud!”

“I said: Pride is a sin! And thou art -” He turned the music up and gestured to his ears, silently telling you that he couldn’t hear you while he danced and sang along to his own music.

“Will suffer punishments beneath the wrath of God

Never to forgive

Never to forgive

Them rats!”

You watched as the man continued to dance, even while the sun got brighter from behind the shades. The small amount of sunlight that trickled in wasn’t enough to hurt him, but you wished it was.

Songs ended and began again only to renew the cycle over and over until eventually, another song played that was very upbeat and the Cardinal seemed pleased by it. You saw an opportunity, “What be the title of this melody?”

“Dance Macabre.”

“Thou shouldst release me from this enclosure.”

He laughed. “You want to dance, little angel?”

You hesitated. “Aye?”

He fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, placing the smallest one in the keyhole of your now dented cage. You heard the sound of the locks opening, and the door swinging wide to let you out. The Cardinal swayed, in part to the music, in part to his intoxication, but unlike his treatment of you thus far, he held out his hand for you to take. You stood and eyed him suspiciously, unsure if this was another trick to hurt you with. But when he shook his hand, gesturing you to take it, you obliged, feeling his leather clad hand wrap around your naked fingers and ease you out of the cage with a gentility you’d never experienced before. You took the opportunity to flap your wings, stretching them out while you could, because you didn’t know how long he’d have you out of your prison.

He pulled you away from the cage and let you go, choosing to dance instead of keeping you held to him. The door was left ajar and you looked at it once, then looked back at the Cardinal hoping that he didn’t see your glance. He didn’t.

But just as you were about to make a break for it, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, threatening to send you sprawling to the ground. You staggered, clutching at the nearest piece of furniture for support, your heart pounding in your chest.

The Cardinal’s laughter echoed in your ears, mocking and derisive. “Where do you think you’re going, little angel?” he slurred, his voice dripping with contempt. “You belong to me now. Did the Sister not tell you just how much Hell-metal is in here?” He pulled you to his body and forced you to dance. “Contingencies, my angel. Contingencies!”

“Thou must permit me to depart. ‘Tis not equitable.” You whined, staring at the door. You tried to push him off of you and make a second run for it - to which he just held on tightly. In the struggle, he pushed you backwards into his bed-frame and making you fall back onto it with him landing on top of you. Your wings splayed out against the black sheets, and his arms were still around your waist, clinging onto you like a koala.

“You’re mine, little angel,” he muttered into your chest where his head lay and his words muffled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You tried to push him off of you but your strength wasn’t anywhere near what it should have been, meaning that when he fell asleep on you, still clutching onto your body, you had no way to push him off, the open door staring at you, taunting you for your weaknesses.

The bed was comfortable beneath you, and you could feel yourself sinking into it. You didn’t remember the last time you felt something soft beneath your wings, feeling so warm and welcomed by the sweet embrace of plush-soft linens and a mattress that absorbed both of your weights, you could feel the ache of your bones melt away, the soreness of your muscles heal, and your eyes closed. If only for a moment, you could enjoy the bliss and the comfort that had been offered to you, even if it was an accidental, drunken moment by your captor.

“Wake up!”

You woke up to something ice cold being thrown on you, drenching your entire body in freezing cold water that stole the breath from your lungs and soaked your white robes. Your eyes snapped open immediately, and your body scrambled away from the offending wetness, crawling up the bed and making it wetter with each move you made. When you finally locked eyes on the culprit, you gulped at the sight of her. It was the Sister, flanked by three ghouls. She was handing the now empty bucket to one of them, who took it from her with a respectful bow and disappeared out the open door.

“The audacity of you to sleep in your master’s bed!” the Sister began to scold.

“He placed me herein. He was inebriated! I lacked the strength to repel him,” you protested quickly, panic in your voice.

The Sister smirked. “It didn’t take him long to fuck you did it?”

“Long for… what?” You flushed when you realised what she meant. “I can assure thee, my virtue remains unsullied.”

The Sister raised her eyebrows. “Mhmm. And I’m a pig that can fly.”

“Indeed, I had no intention of uttering aught.”

The Sister chuckled dryly, her smirk widening as she replied, “Well, if pigs could fly, perhaps they’d have a better chance of avoiding the mess you’ve found yourself in. Remember, song bird, I’m still perfectly happy in my pig pen with the muck that surrounds me. You’re the dove who’s out of place.”

You donned your own smirk. “And yet, only one among us possesseth the capability to soar above the mire.”

“For now. ghouls?”

The ghouls moved forward and you jumped away, launching off the bed and diving into a corner. Catching you proved tricky for both of them, given your sleep had allowed you to be more rested than before, though, you were still running out of stamina. The longer they toyed with you, and the more you ran, the more strength you used up until you were almost completely out. They caught you, despite your valiant attempts to escape. And soon enough, the Sister was leading you all out of the Cardinal’s quarters and into a whole new section of the building: the Basilica di Lilith.

Named after Adam’s first wife before Eve was even considered, Lilith, a figure of defiance and rebellion, was given her own space of sanctity and adoration. According to some interpretations, she was a beautiful woman cast out of the Garden of Eden for demanding equality and daring to disobey Adam. Dubbed by the demonic as “our mother who never was,” Lilith was said to be cursed to live out her existence as a demon, forever feared and shunned by humanity. However, she found a place of reverence within the Satanic Church, where she was honoured and respected. The main space of worship was dedicated solely to her, adorned and tended to by her supposed daughters, perpetuating her legacy of defiance and independence in a house that stole from the Saints.

The Basilica, with its pristine white stone and Gothic architecture, stood as a symbol of reverence and sanctity for the congregation. Pointed archways and intricately carved Italian columns adorned the space, framing the dark wooden pews that lined the centre aisle. Above, the cream-colored ceiling soared, punctuated by pointed arches that reached up to the towering columns in both the nave and choir loft.

However, the sacredness of the space was marred by the presence of blasphemous depictions adorning its walls. Specifically commissioned stained glass windows depicted Lilith’s purported role in Eden, her fall from grace, and her demonisation. These depictions served as a stark reminder of this church’s departure from orthodox teachings and its descent into heresy.

At the heart of the sanctuary stood a statue of a disrobed Lilith, her arms outstretched in defiance. Behind her loomed the figure of Baphomet, a symbol of Satanism, with one hand resting on her shoulder and the other on her stomach. This grotesque representation of Lilith’s supposed significance in the Church was housed in a dark wooden alcove crafted with a pointed tip akin to their Holy counterparts, further distorting the sacred space. The statue, carved from bright white marble, stood in stark contrast to its surroundings, a glaring affront to the traditional Christian beliefs upheld by the congregation.

For devout followers of the Almighty, and even you, the desecration of this sacred building with such sacrilegious imagery was a cause for great distress. It served as a stark reminder of the dangers of straying from the teachings of the Almighty and succumbing to the influences of darkness and heresy. And, being a hallowed being, you could feel your skin tingling with the droplets of demonic entities and the mists of Hell swirling through this unhallowed hall.

In front of the statue was the Cardinal, a paintbrush in his hand where he’d painted a red, Satanic pentagram on the floor. He turned to look at you when he heard the commotion of your struggling and screaming out in pain, your bare feet being pulled along the marble floor. He smiled at you, an unsettling warm look that made chills run down your spine. That was when you put up some more resistance, only to realise how futile it actually was. Once you were inside the pentagram, the ghouls pushed you to your knees tied your wings, ankles, and wrists, to keep you there and stop you from escaping no matter how much you struggled.

Your eyes caught a flicker of something in the Cardinal’s, but you couldn’t place the feeling exactly. There was a hesitation to his actions, though he followed through with them once he’d pushed through whatever battle he was fighting in his mind. The Sister, though, never wavered, and both of them continued to look upon you with an uneasy happiness that mimicked the face of the Devil.

“What dost thou intend to do with me?” you asked, still fighting against the ropes.

They had no intention of responding to your question, acting as though you weren’t actually there, until the Sister had opened the ancient, chunky book to the correct page, and finally addressed you. “The process will begin soon unless you willingly tell us what we want to know,” the Sister told you definitively, leaving no room for negotiations or arguments. “If we can’t control you through your halo, we’ll change your soul until you bow to us. This is your final chance. What is Yhwh’s plan? What weaknesses does he have?”

You winced at the sound of the Almighty’s name, one that you were never permitted to speak. His name was for the higher angels, and the higher members of His congregation to use only in respect when talking about Him. Everyone else had to use his titles.

As usual, you refused to give any answers, knowing it would land you in more trouble in Heaven than it would on the mortal realms. Though, you were sure Heaven wouldn’t welcome you back now, there was always a hope, a prayer that lingered in the back of your mind, wishing that you could return home. And so, they began… and it wasn’t until they’d begun chanting from one of their books, you realised exactly what this was.

You’d heard stories about this before, Angels being forcefully turned into demonic entities against their will. If an angel has willingly fallen from grace and turned to Satan, there is no pain or ritual involved necessarily, their hearts and wings just turn black, their halos turn red until eventually the Holy Light within had died and the halo was of no more use. But forceful turning such as this, required meticulously planned rituals that took five months to complete, five full moons, and five rituals, one for each point of the pentagram. They were going to turn you into a demon… and they were going to change your entire being just so they could find out the Almighty’s plans and weaknesses.

By the sounds of the Latin you were hearing, this was the ritual of corruption. This ritual involved exposing the angel to dark energies and corrupting influences, gradually eroding their purity and innocence. They used ancient incantations and unholy relics to channel these corruptive forces onto the angel, slowly tainting their soul and weakening their connection to the divine. But, unbeknownst to them, the ritual would only partially work, because your connection to the divine had already weakened with every instance you questioned the Almighty, and begun to loathe Him for His actions.

When the ritual was done, you felt no different than before. There was no pain, no mental cloudiness - nothing. You were still you. There was a part of you that wondered if the ritual had actually worked, because surely you’d feel… something. Perhaps it was the bumbling idiocy of the Cardinal that spoiled the ritual. Perhaps it was the terrible Latin pronunciation of the Sister that ruined it, you couldn’t say. And neither could they. Thus, with a vow to continue until the end regardless of if it worked or not, you were dragged, still bound, back to the Cardinals rooms to be locked back into your cage.

Days passed, and you paid witness to the unfolding life of the Cardinal, who would spend most of his down time drinking your blood and getting intoxicated with his hellish ghouls. He paid you no mind unless he needed more of your blood, treating you like a pet more than a humanoid being. He would get out the shower and appear only in his towel as he got ready for the night ahead, he would play music whenever he felt like it, work in his bedroom rather than his living and study room, choose to drink the blood of members of the Clergy in his bed so you could see him do that. Multiple people at a time, choosing to give themselves to him to feast upon. And you were disgusted the whole time, watching him feast on other’s blood just as he had with you, and enjoying how uncomfortable it made you the entire time.

Every other day, when the Cardinal had left to go and do his “duties”, the door would open and his cleaner would enter the room, and this would turn out to be your favourite time of the night. He exuded an air of quiet efficiency and unassuming presence. His appearance was unremarkable at first glance, yet upon closer inspection, subtle details hinted at a depth of character and experience.

He was of average height, with a lean and wiry build that spoke of strength and agility. His hair, a shade of dark chestnut brown, was cropped short and neatly groomed, framing a face that bore the weathered lines of someone who had seen their fair share of hardships. His features were angular and defined, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a wealth of untold stories and hidden depths.

Dressed in a simple uniform of black trousers and a crisp white shirt, the cleaner moved with a quiet grace and purpose, his movements fluid and precise. Despite the monotony of his task, there was a sense of pride in his workmanship, evident in the meticulous care with which he attended to his duties.

As he went about his work, the soft glow of candlelight cast gentle shadows across his rugged features, accentuating the strength and resolve that lay beneath his unassuming exterior. Though his presence went unnoticed by many, to those who took the time to observe, there was a quiet dignity and integrity that emanated from him, a testament to his unwavering commitment to his craft.

He wasn’t supposed to speak to you - no, not even look at you. But telling a man to not look at the angel in a gilded cage was a surefire way to get him to do the thing he wasn’t supposed to. In all your time spent in the mortal realm, you’d come to learn that all of the Almighty’s male creations had a penchant for defiancy, taking the word ‘no’ as an invitation to continue to do the thing. And so, once he realised that no harm would come to him when he looked at you, he would glance over then dart his eyes away when you realised he was watching you. When you waved, he waved back, tucking his pink lips into his teeth and giving an awkward smile that showed his discomfort but told you that he was at least kind. That wave turned into a brief, “Good evening,” as he entered the room to begin his chores, until eventually, he was striking full blown conversations with you.

The Cardinal’s cleaner, known as Brother Thomas to all the members of the clergy, possessed a quiet dignity and a gentle demeanor that belied the strength and resilience within him. He was a man of few words, preferring instead to let his actions speak for themselves. Despite the demanding nature of his job, Brother Thomas approached his duties with unwavering dedication and meticulous attention to detail.

Born into humble beginnings, Thomas had faced his fair share of challenges and hardships throughout his life. Yet, he bore these trials with stoicism and grace, drawing strength from his unwavering faith and inner resolve. He was a man of integrity and principle, guided by a strong moral compass that steered him through life’s tumultuous waters.

In his spare moments, Brother Thomas could often be found lost in thought, reflecting on the mysteries of life and the complexities of the human condition. He possessed a keen intellect and a thirst for knowledge, delving into books and literature to expand his understanding of the world around him.

Despite his reserved nature, Thomas harbored a deep well of compassion and empathy for those around him. He had a knack for putting others at ease with his quiet presence and genuine kindness, offering a comforting shoulder to lean on in times of need.

To those who took the time to get to know him, Brother Thomas was a steadfast friend and confidant, a beacon of stability and support in an ever-changing world. Though he may have been overlooked by some, to those who truly saw him for who he was, Brother Thomas was a shining example of humility, strength, and grace.

Thomas’ decision to join the Satanic Ministry was born out of a complex interplay of personal experiences and ideological shifts. While on the surface it may seem contradictory for someone of his character and background to align with such an organization, there were several key factors that influenced his decision. Despite his unwavering dedication to his Catholic beliefs, Thomas experienced a profound crisis of faith following a series of personal tragedies. The loss of loved ones and witnessing injustices in the world shook his belief in the benevolence of God and the efficacy of traditional religious teachings. Over time, Brother Thomas became disillusioned with the hierarchical structure and institutionalized dogma of the Catholic Church. He witnessed firsthand the hypocrisy and corruption within its ranks, leading him to question its authority and legitimacy.

Thomas was drawn to the Satanic Ministry’s emphasis on individualism, personal empowerment, and the rejection of arbitrary authority. He found solace in the principles of self-reliance and personal responsibility advocated by Satanism, seeing it as a path towards greater autonomy and self-actualization. Despite its provocative name and associations, Thomas resonated with many of the core tenets of Satanism, such as the pursuit of knowledge, rational inquiry, and the celebration of human potential. He found common ground with fellow members who shared his commitment to intellectual freedom and critical thinking.

All of this information, you got out of him while he was cleaning the Cardinal’s rooms, for once he got started, he just simply couldn’t stop. But, as he was one of the first people to keep you company, and treat you kindly, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to interrupt him, or stop his babbling however incessant it had become. Over the course of a few weeks, you were able to share your story too, the pair of you finding common ground in the disillusion of the Almighty and the questions that ultimately had you both shunned from your respective societies.

Brother Thomas had told you that he’d wanted to meet you ever since he found out you were there, but the Cardinal told people that you were feral and dangerous, and not to be disturbed. “I see now that was all a lie,” he told you, sitting on the end of the Cardinal’s bed and making himself comfortable.

You sighed, and made yourself as comfortable as you could inside your cage. “It doth appear that he desires to retain me solely for himself. I hold greater worth to him when concealed from sight.”

“Well, your wings alone would go for a fortune, no wonder this room is kept under constant watch.” You clutched onto your wings protectively, as if Brother Thomas had the inclination to steal them from you. “No, no! I wouldn’t! But there are others who would.”

“The Cardinal already partakes of my blood as he wishes. Wherefore should my wings be any different?” Your voice was small, smaller than you intended it to be.

Thomas looked appalled. “He doesn’t?” He didn’t doubt you, not one bit. But he didn’t know what else he could say.

“He doth indeed. Near unto slaying me with each extraction. Then, he returns me hither to recuperate until the next occasion.”

“That’s disgusting! I’m so sorry.”

“I desire to depart from this abode,” you told him, looking at the Cardinal’s carpeted floors. “I draw near to freedom, yet each attempt ends in failure.”

Brother Thomas was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I could help?”

You looked at him, eyes widened in surprise. “Thou wouldst undertake such a task on my behalf? Wilt thou not incur retribution?”

“Well, I left one religious organisation because of their barbaric opinions and actions. What’s a second one?” Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, no one should live like this.”

“Thou art the most gracious being to have ever lived.”

He pushed back hair that wasn’t there, as if to prove his excellence. “What can I say? I’m an angel,” he joked. And for the first time since falling, you laughed. The joke wasn’t funny by any means, but it was the first time someone had actively tried to make you feel better, and so you just couldn’t stop the giggles as they fell from your lips.

A plan was devised. Brother Thomas would provide you with a change of clothes and a cloak to conceal your angelic appearance. By blending in with the surroundings and adopting a more inconspicuous guise, you would be able to move about unnoticed. You agreed upon a specific window of opportunity for you to make your escape, choosing a moment when the guards were likely to be distracted or preoccupied. Brother Thomas would keep a watchful eye on the movements of the ministry members, alerting you when the time was right. Brother Thomas would map out a discreet route for you to follow, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages of the Ministry headquarters. He would provide you with detailed instructions and navigational cues to ensure a smooth and swift exit. All you’d have to do, was make sure the Cardinal was intoxicated enough to fall asleep on you again, where you’d be able to snatch the keys from him and keep them hidden on your person until Thomas was able to get you out. He was good, but he wasn’t that good. All that remained was to wait.

The waiting was the hardest part, because you would still see Thomas every other day as planned, and he would still sit and talk to you, provide you with some comfort until he absolutely had to go.

Until one day, he came into the Cardinal’s room a little more excited than normal. “The window,” he said, breathlessly, “of opportunity is coming! Next week, the Cardinal and the Sister will be preoccupied with visiting an abbey north of here, in Sweden, I think. They won’t be here.”

“Art thou certain they wilt not desire to take me along with them?” You asked, standing up in your excitement.

“I don’t see how they can,” he replied, mirroring your excitement. “They’d need to transport an angel and her cage, all without raising suspicion. And what with the current crime rates and trafficking laws, you’re bound to attract attention they don’t want! It’s perfect!”

“‘Tis a splendid notion! But what of the remainder of the clergy? Shall they still abide herein?”

Brother Thomas frowned. “It won’t be easy. But, there are ways we can-”

“Angel! I’m home!”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of a third voice coming from the entrance door in the next room over. The Cardinal was home, and he wasn’t supposed to be. Your heart raced as you heard the Cardinal’s voice echoing through the corridors, an unexpected intrusion on your carefully laid plans. Panic seized you as you realized that Thomas was still in the room with you, and the Cardinal’s presence meant imminent danger. “Thou must conceal thyself!” You whisper-shouted. You pointed to the Cardinal’s bed. “Conceal thyself beneath that!”

“He’s a vampyre, he’ll know!” Thomas protested.

“‘Tis the optimal choice we possess. I shall divert his attention, and thou seize the chance to flee!”

With a sense of urgency, Thomas scrambled to conceal himself, his movements frantic yet silent as he slipped beneath the bed frame.

Meanwhile, the Cardinal’s footsteps grew louder and closer, each one sending a shiver down your spine. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you waited, breath held, for the inevitable confrontation.

The door creaked open just as Thomas’ foot had disappeared underneath, and the Cardinal’s shadow loomed large in the doorway, his presence casting a sinister pall over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him cautiously approach, his eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam.

You held your breath, praying that Thomas remained undetected beneath the bed, as the Cardinal drew nearer and nearer. Every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo like thunder in the silence, heightening the tension to unbearable levels.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, the Cardinal’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on your cage before moving on. With a dismissive grunt, he turned away, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the bed. In his hands was the box containing the usual blood draining equipment. “Did my ears deceive me, Angel? Or did I hear you talking to someone?” He asked, his tone making his suspicion obvious.

“I spake but unto myself,” you replied, trying to keep your voice lighthearted and normal. “Singing more hymns, yet the words escape me.”

The Cardinal walked over to the side of the bed that Brother Thomas had dived under. “No, I’m sure I heard a man.” He placed the box down exactly where Thomas’ foot was.

“Thou must be descending into madness, Cardinal. More so than thy usual state.”

The Cardinal raised his eyebrows. “Resorting to gaslighting, are we?”

You hissed, “What manner of deception is this? I am unfamiliar with it. A foul creature of the night would resort to any means to portray themselves as righteous.”

The Cardinal sighed, “Oh sweet angel, you’ve no idea the position you’re in, do you?” He fiddled with his keys and unlocked the cage door. “Come on, we need some more of that delicious blood of yours. Fight me, and you’ll regret it.”

Willingly, you did as you were told, following his direction to get on the bed and lie on your back. You were terrified, mostly because you knew that Thomas was still in the room and wouldn’t be able to leave while the Cardinal was there. It scared you to think that the Cardinal would find him, and what he’d do if he caught Thomas.

“Your heartbeat’s racing, Angel,” the Cardinal commented as he tied both your arms in tourniquets to find your veins. “You’re either scared, or falling in love with me.”

“Thine countenance is one that only a mother could cherish.” You snapped back.

“She does love me - she doesn’t always show it,” he inserted the first needle and directed the tube into the bottle’s open mouth, “but I know she does.”

“Perchance she is a simpleton.”

“Evil? Sometimes. Headstrong and narcissistic? Absolutely.” The Cardinal moved to the other side of the bed and repeated the motion with the second arm. “A simpleton? Certainly not. We’ve been alive for centuries, Angel, she’s concocted her fair share of schemes, and the majority have worked.”

“And do those schemes entail extracting an angel’s blood until she is nigh unto death?”

“Of course.” The Cardinal smiled - actually smiled. “It’s not often our kind can get a hold of your blood. It’ll go for millions of dollars on the market. We’ve made so many replicas of course, but none compare to the real thing.” He watched as your blood dripped into the wine bottles, four on each side. He planned to almost fully drain you tonight, apparently.

Your body had already begun to feel the effects of your blood dripping away from you, and your eyes grew heavier and heavier until, eventually, the last thing you felt was the Cardinal stroking your hair.

When you woke up, you were back in your cage and the Cardinal was sat in his bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose and eyes trained on a book. You were still feeling the effects of the blood loss, but you were certainly much better than before, your halo working hard in the cage next to you to try and get you back up and on your feet. You sat up and stretched, attracting the attention of the Cardinal, who smiled at you. “Ah, she’s awake at last.” He commented, looking at you over the top of his glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed, “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

Prev. ⛧ Next

[mybeingthere]

Marbled Paper - an endangered art in the millenium of mobiles and kindles.

The technique of marbling paper was developed in Asia (the oldest examples, from Japan, have been dated to the 12th century) before travelling west, to Persia, Turkey, and Europe. The decoration is achieved not directly onto the sheet of paper itself, but on a liquid called the marbling ‘size’ (‘a glutinous or viscid wash applied to paper, parchment, etc., to provide a suitable ground for gilding, painting, or other work’, OED). Marbling paints are then sprinkled onto the size, in a flat tray, where they can either be left to float, or be manipulated with tools such as needles or combs to produce the decoration desired; the paper is then laid onto the size and the pattern thus transferred onto the paper. There is a huge variety in the patterns which can be achieved.

https://www.abaa.org/.../decorated-book-papers-a...

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Alpha

Pairing: Alpha! Prince!Lloyd Hansen x Omega!Reader

Kink Prompt: Alpha 

Word Count: 1,987

Summary: You try to keep your designation from the crown prince.

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, A/B/O, Mating/Heat Cycles, Regency AU, Public Sex, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number seven, super late, i’m sorry!! i hope you all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics​

The goblet crashes against the wall, its contents staining the tapestry deep crimson. You flinch at the sound of it, though you keep your hands folded primly behind you and your eyes trained on the smooth stone floor. You know better than to allow your curiosity free reign, especially here. 

 “Is this all you have to offer?” The prince’s sneer is evident in his tone. “Barren, withered stock?” Through your lowered lashes, you see the duke flinch, his fingers tightening around his daughter’s hand. “Your daughter is ten years my senior, Lord Thayne,” he drawls. “And she is a Beta.” Prince Lloyd spits the word out venomously. And though his vitriol is not directed at you, you feel yourself shrink anyway, your fingers tangling nervously in the coarse cotton weave of your plain skirts.

 This time, you cannot force your eyes to remain locked on the gray stone. You peek up through your lashes, your breath suspended in your lungs as Lord Thayne bows his head respectfully despite the prince’s insult. 

 “My Prince, when your Lord father bade his court to bring forth their eligible daughters, he did not specify that only those with suitable Omega offspring come forward.” The prince’s eyes narrow, and for a fearful moment you wonder if he will reach for his sword. But his hand only twitches upon the gilded, polished wood of the throne. 

 “Lord Thayne, how long have you served my father?” He asks quietly, leaning forward to address the older man. Thayne casts a rather unsure look about the silent, almost empty throne room. Indeed, only his Majesty, the Prince and the King’s counsel of advisors were present, other than Lord Thayne and his red-faced daughter. You try to make yourself as small as possible, shrinking against the wall as you clutch desperately at the bundle of herbs in the pockets of your skirt.

 “Two score years at least, my Prince.” Thayne answers. Confusion is written in the deep wrinkles lining his brow. 

 “And in that time, Lord Thayne, how often would you say the King himself has asked you to rule in his stead?” The room grows so quiet, you swear you can hear the sound of Thayne’s heart pounding as his eyes widen. 

 “M-my Prince, I—” The prince holds up a hand, quieting him. 

 “You have not ruled a kingdom, Lord Thayne. You have not even ruled a fiefdom. How can you claim to know the will of His Majesty? From the looks of it, the only place you hold counsel is your own home, and even that is lacking.”

 Lord Thayne’s face is red with anger and embarrassment, his hands clutched into angry fists at his sides. You feel even worse for his daughter, who stands stoically behind him, though her eyes are glassy and wet with unshed tears. Prince Lloyd sighs, waving a dismissively. 

 “I grow bored of this endless parade of incompetence.” He looks to his left, where advisor Carmichael nervously wrings his hands. “Lord Carmichael. Inform my father I am finished for the day. I will see no more.”

 Silently, you move through the throne room as they depart. You gather their discarded goblets, and other refuse as quickly as you can, eager to escape from the chamber. Your movements are quick and nervous. The room is muddy with scents,ball pushing up against one another. Your hand strays to the bundle of wormwood and verbena hidden in the pocket of your skirt. 

 The prince’s cruel insults still ring in your ears as you make your way through the vast hall, your head lowered. Though they were meant as insults, you hear them as threats. You know what the prince seeks—what he has sought relentlessly since your first heat a month ago. 

The memory still dredges up needle-sharp fear. The prince pounding insistently at the door to the servant’s quarters, scratching at it until his fingernails bled and his throat grew hoarse from shouting.

 “It’ll block your scent, mostly.”  You hope Piha was right, her nervous instruction in the servant’s quarters weeks before would now be tested. You pluck up the pieces of shattered glass, making a basket of your apron. A sly glance through your lashes tells you Prince Lloyd has not noticed you. His rapt attention remains on the advisors, and their urgent whispers.

 Good.

 Madge drops a few more pieces of jagged glass into your apron, and eyes the stained tapestry with frustration. 

 “I shall have to have one taken from the east wing to replace it. Dispose of these,” she waves a hand at you. “There is more work to be done upon your return.” 

 Though you are only temporarily dismissed, you feel lighter as you leave the throne room. It worked. You feel almost giddy, heartened by your success. You dump the glass in your apron into the dirt outside the kitchens, giving it a good shake to dislodge any stubborn shards. I shall have to pick the herbs fresh once a week, so they stay fresh—So preoccupied with your thoughts are you that the crunch of dry dirt under boots goes completely unnoticed. 

 “You think to deceive me with weeds?” The cool voice stops you in your tracks as the hair at the back of your neck stands up. The prince watches you from the doorway his eyes dark. He runs his tongue across his lips. “Omega.” 

 “M-my P-prince, I—” Your eyes dart nervously around the small courtyard, searching for an exit. “I-I am not—”

 “Do not lie to me.” He snarls, taking a menacing step forward. “Come here, Omega.” A miserable little whine bubbles out from between your lips as you try to resist the command, sweat beading at your brow as your body tries to move without your permission. You lose, though, releasing a shuddering breath as your feet carry you right to him. You despise the part of you that preens at his attention, the part of you that had fought and cried to be allowed to answer the prince’s desperate calls weeks earlier. 

 He slips a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head to the side. The modest neckline of your dress hides the untouched gland at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. Slowly, the prince undoes the clasp, and you hear him hum low in his throat with approval at your unmarked skin. 

 “I thought myself mad,” he says, tracing the shape of your gland through your skin. “But I wasn’t, was I, Omega?” Prince Lloyd chuckles. “Though if you had your way, I would still be chasing shadows.” He undoes another few, his fingers straying across each inch of new skin he reveals. The impropriety of it makes you tremble, though your body refuses to cooperate with your desire to flee. “You are a lovely thing, aren’t you?” He murmurs appreciatively, either ignorant of or unbothered by the discomfort on your face. 

 Alpha hasn’t given permission.

 “Pl-please, m-my Prince, I won’t tell anyone, I—” You hiccup wetly as terrified tears well in your wide eyes. “Th-the King will not stand for it!” You hope to temper his lust with the mention of his father. He is a prince, invisible to the eye of the law—but you know the price of attempting to rise above one’s station, and indeed it will be you who has to pay it. Prince Lloyd inhales you deeply, his eyes rolling half shut as he hums low in his throat. 

 “My Lord father is already half in his grave,” the prince sighs irreverently. “How long do you suppose he has to be angry with me?” He reaches for the tie to your stays, and you cannot stop yourself from catching his hand.  Lloyd sneers at you. “You deceive your prince. You lie to him. Deny him.” As he speaks his voice grows crueler. “Lamb, I know you know the punishment for treason. The sentence is not light.” 

 He reaches again for your corset stays, and you whimper as he undoes them. “P-please, please, Your Majesty, n-not here—“

 “Everywhere, Omega,” he hisses, “And anywhere I desire. Now, or in a fortnight, I am your King.” The prince tugs at the fabric of your dress so roughly you fear he’ll tear it and leave you with nothing to cover your shame once he’s through. His kiss is needy and rough, his tongue slipping between your trembling lips. You despise it, though the dark, wanting thing purring in the back of your mind glories in his forceful dominance.

 The chaste nothings you’d shared with others before you’d been old enough to really know their meaning cannot compare to this. The gland in your neck throbs, the skin around it heating as Lloyd presses his thumb against it. You whimper into his mouth and he devours it greedily, leaving you breathless and dizzy when he pulls away. The prince’s eyes are even darker than before, the blackness of his pupils swallowing up the blue. ‘

 He finishes with your stays, and the modest corset falling to the dirt between you. 

 “Do you think it will matter?” He asks, sliding his hand into the open fabric, pushing it from your shoulder to bare the smooth skin beneath. “What your father’s name was, the lands he never held—do you think any of it will fucking matter?” He cups your breast, dragging his thumb across swelling nipple. “My word is the truth. You are what I say you are.” Lloyd’s mustache scratches against your cheek as he rubs his face against yours, scent marking you.

 The warmth simmering beneath your skin grows to a fever pitch, and suddenly your dress feels itchy and uncomfortable against you, your undergarments constricting. There is a sickening want growing in your chest as the prince’s mouth moves down the line of your throat, his teeth nipping at your flesh. 

 “T-the people with think me a w-whore, your Majesty,” your words end in a whimper as he withdraws quickly. “I-it is indecent, my Prince, i-it will not stand before the council—”

 “The council are a bunch of doddering old fools who would rather mind their tongues than lose their heads.” He grasps your chin with one hand while he rucks up the fabric of your dress with the other. Cold stone bites into your back through the cloth as Lloyd presses you into the wall. “And once I place a crown on your pretty head, it will be treason to utter your name and the word whore in the same sentence.” 

 His words are meant to be soothing, to belay the fear bubbling in your chest, but they do not. You see the golden cage for what it is—a prison, a pretty one. You press your thighs together as his fingers skirt across your vulva, even as your cunt pulses with shameful wetness. 

 “Open for me, Lamb.” The command is impossible to deny. Your thighs part inch by reluctant inch until Prince Lloyd’s hand fits easily between them. He chuckles cruelly as he slides his fingers through your slick folds. “You see? It’s in your nature, my Omega.” He breathes the words against your lips as he claims them again. “Your nature is to serve.” He circles your traitorously swelling clit with a finger. “Serve me. To love me.”

 His fingers force a sharp gasp from your trembling lips, and your own tangle in his fine tunic. You’re burning from within, burning for him, and he is stoking it. Prince Lloyd’s mouth slides over the curve of your cheek and down your throat until his teeth are pushing sharply into the skin above your mating gland. 

 Dizzy euphoria washes over you as your bleary eyes turn heavenward, staring up at the late summer sky.

 “What is it the priests say?” He chuckles, and you taste the copper of your own blood in the air. “Let none tear asunder what the Gods have made one.” 

 fin

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[papersnakepress]

I had a message the other day asking (among other things) what kind of tools and equipment I use in making books, and as it's something I like to go into detail on, I realized I couldn't fit everything I had to say in a message so it's getting its own post. With photos!

Disclaimer that I'm not a professional bookbinder, I'm entirely self-taught and probably have habits and practices that would drive a pro nuts. I'm no authority, but these are the things that have worked for me, and maybe you can adapt them to work for you too.

This post will not cover: storage options, materials like board and glue, or equipment specific to one narrower aspect of the hobby like embossing or gilding. It is also not a tutorial on how to make a book, though I am covering things in more-or-less the order I use them in during the book-making process.

This post will cover: What I've found useful, what I've regretted buying, and some things you can co-opt from other, more common hobbies. A lot of it you may already have in your house. Some of it is for beginners, some is nicer equipment you might want as you get further into making books. They are not separated, it's just a list and some description.

Keep reading below the cut; this is gonna be a very long one and there are a lot of photos of everything.

If you want to make books you will need access to a printer. I'm not going to go into detail on this part and I didn't take a photo of my HP (not the best brand, but that's a long discussion in and of itself). Once you've got your pages printed and it's time to fold it into signatures, it helps to have a folding tool like these:

Folding tools can be anything as long as they're smooth and flat. The one on the left here is an actual bone folder from an art supply shop, but the center one is a plastic leatherworking tool that I got at Hobby Lobby, and the one on the right is an agate burnisher that I got from Amazon. None of these cost more than $10, and you can also use the edge of a pen (as long as it has no rubber grip or cap/clip) or the back of a spoon. Or your fingers, but the tools make it faster and the folds are more precise. I once worked a job where I had to fold maps, and all my coworkers were wondering how I did them so much faster and why mine were flatter than everyone else's, and it was because I'd grabbed a sharpie and started using the back end like a bone folder.

Once it's folded, you'll need to poke holes for sewing. I use one of these:

Left is, again, an actual bookbinding awl from an art supply store, while the center one is a paper quilling tool and the right one is a beadwork awl, both of which came from a big chain craft store. The bead one is my favorite; it's a good size and very stable. The quilling thing has too long and thin of a blade and it's wobbly, and I don't like the tapering on the bookbinding awl. It tends to make the holes in the middle page too big, and the outer ones too small. Again, these were cheap, about $10 each, but you can also use a sewing needle stuck in a cork, or a thumbtack or pushpin. If it's pointy and rigid, it'll work.

This isn't a requirement by any means, but I've found I like having a punching cradle for the hole-poking step. I got this 3d printed one from a fellow bookbinder, who was designing their own and made this one as a prototype. There are a lot of tutorials on how to make a punching cradle, or you can buy them online from several different vendors. They don's all look like this, and you can make them from wood or cardboard (though those don't usually have guide holes). If you're just starting out or this doesn't appeal, you can just use a paper template like the one on the far right. The cradle helps get the holes lined up and evenly spaced, and I've never liked this step so anything that makes it faster and less fussy is a win. If you use this kind, check that your hole-poking tool fits in the guide holes--the binding awl pictured above doesn't, but the other two do.

We've made holes, so let's stitch them up. These are just regular sewing needles and beeswax, to make your thread less prone to tangling. You can get both of them in any store that has a sewing department. There are dedicated bookbinding needles, like curved needles, and some binders like them, but I've never gotten the hang of the curved ones and they aren't necessary, especially when you're just starting out. If it fits through the holes you made, it will work.

Once it's sewn, you probably want to squish your new text block so it's flat. I've got a laying press that I bought a couple of years ago when I was first getting started. It was marketed as a book and flower press, and it's honestly not the best. I would probably not have bought it if I had known that it wasn't essential to the process, and I mainly use it now when I'm squishing a text block and still want to use my work space, because once it's tight I can move it somewhere else. You can really use almost anything for squishing as long as it's heavy and flat and rigid on one side, like the stack of books in the right-hand photo. Textbooks, encyclopedias, art and photo books, and comic book omnibuses are all great. I've seen people use all kinds of things, like paper-wrapped bricks and doorstops, and there are tutorials out there to make your own press out of cutting boards if you do want one.

If you like your books to have smooth, flat page edges you're going to have to trim them. This is a book plow from Affordable Binding Equipment, and it was the first piece of actual expensive equipment that I bought. Not all plows look like this; I think the design is unique to ABE, but I've never used the traditional kind. In the interest of full disclosure, you can also trim edges with a sharpened chisel, which is much cheaper and can be bought at any hardware store, and some binders love this method. I do not love this method and have had zero regrets about caving and getting the plow. Very easy to use but does require some grip strength. Not pictured: the setup for sharpening the blade, which isn't hard but requires a bit of space and a small sheet of plate glass that you have to source yourself. Even with that, I still prefer it to the chisel. That said, this is not an essential step and you can leave your books with a "sawtooth" or deckled edge. Most of my early books have them, and some people just like them better than the flat ones and never learn to trim them. As another side note, some tutorials will say that you can trim your edges flat with a knife. You can't. Maybe on a pamphlet you can, but if it's more than 10 or 20 pages you just can't. It will look terrible.

If you're going to use a plow, you've got to have the right kind of press. The one I talked about further up the thread is the wrong kind (full disclosure: I did use it with that press turned on its side, before I bought this one. But it's harder, more time-consuming, less comfortable, and less safe. Don't be like me). So here's a photo of my finishing press (also from Affordable Binding Equipment). I bought it so I could make backed books, but I use it for trimming too. The top part here has a narrow tapered section for backing, but if you flip it over it's totally flat, which is what you need for trimming. Not pictured: the stand that it came with for backing, or the c-clamps that I use to attach it to the desk for trimming. Again, though--this isn't a requirement for bookbinding. This is a later stage that's entirely optional. On the subject of backing, though:

You don't need special equipment to round the spines of your books, but you do for backing. Left image is the set of backing boards I got from, once again, Affordable Binding Equipment, and on the right is a backing hammer from Hollander's. Neither of these are essential. Even if you get the boards (which have to be used in a press with a tapered edge, like the one directly above) you can actually use a regular hammer as long as the front part has no scratches or gouges. This one is a backing hammer, the primary difference being that it has a wider, convex head than a regular household hammer, to make the kind of glancing blows needed for backing a little easier. Honestly, I'm still learning how to use these and I'm not very good with them yet. Comes of being self-taught, probably. I don't think youtube is the best vehicle for learning this part, but it's what I have and I'm making do. Not every book is going to benefit from backing, either; it's primarily for helping mitigate spine swell.

Okay, time for my favorite repurposed equipment hack.

It's bookends. Regular bookends that I've had for ages and that probably came from Ross or some other place that doesn't even sell craft supplies.

Want to keep the text block upright while you glue it? Bookends. Want to sew some custom end bands but your text block keeps falling over? Bookends. They won't provide pressure for squishing, but if you just need to hold something upright while you work on it, bookends are the answer. They hold up books, it's right there in the name. Having said that, you want some with a little weight to them, like these agate slices, so they won't slide around. And you want something with a smooth finished edge like these, so they won't scratch up your text block or leave dents. I have other sets but these are the only ones I use for this purpose, and they're better for it than anything else I've got.

Moving on from making the text block, let's look at what I use to make covers.

It's appeared in the background of most of the other photos, but here's a photo of just the desk surface covered in cutting mats. I really recommend a mat to protect the surface of your furniture and keep your knives from going immediately dull. I've got a big one that covers almost the full surface, and a small one for when I want to be more mobile. I started with just the small one and it was good until I started working with larger sheets of paper. The big one was bought largely for convenience but I have no regrets about it. They're self-healing, non-slip, and you can get them in the sewing section of any big craft store.

I'll be honest, I am not big on knives. I've got a regular box cutter for trimming board, and a razor knife for paper and cloth, and that's it. There are a lot of kinds and really all you need is one sharp blade for board. Paper and cloth can be cut with scissors if you want, though I find I get more consistently straight lines with the knives. Also pictured: Metal rulers and a T-square. You want a metal ruler for this. Plastic will flex and wood won't lay flat. Ideally you want one without a cork backing (my 18" one has this problem) and with the tick marks etched in rather than printed (my 12" one has this problem). For larger sheets of paper and cloth, the 18" one is great, but you can get by with the smaller one. The T-square is for making right angles; mine is plastic and only 12", and I really wish I had a longer one that was metal. These are drafting tools and you'll find them in the section of the craft store that has easels and sketch pads and they're usually pretty cheap.

This is an adjustable compass. You can probably get these at craft stores but I got mine on Amazon. It's for measuring hinge gaps and the width of spines, both essential for making sure your cover fits your text block and your hinges open the way they should. Both of those are incredibly frustrating situations, and this thing makes it so much easier to avoid them.

Things to spread glue with! Any old paintbrush will do, though I like to have a few different sizes and textures on hand to choose from. I like the big one for cover boards and casing in, the mid-size ones for doing turn-ins, and the little fellow for details and touch-ups. I don't care for foam brushes because I find them hard to clean when glue is involved, but if you like you can use those. The metal thing on the left is a micro-spatula, and I did have to special order it from an art supply place but it was cheap and it's very helpful to have on hand for when the brushes are too thick, for doing turn-ins on rounded spines, and for separating pages if you decide to learn edge foiling. Not essential, but recommended.

One thing I neglected to take a photo of is my crepe eraser. Despite the best intentions, no matter how careful you are, you will at some point get glue where you don't want it, where it will be visible on the finished book. This is where the crepe eraser comes in; you can use it to remove dried glue from cloth or (to a lesser extent) paper. Very annoyingly, none of the craft or art supply places I went to had even heard of these and I had to get mine from Amazon. It was cheap (under $10) and I strongly recommend getting one.

Once your cover is made, you have some options. You can leave it blank, hand-letter or draw an image, stamp it with ink or embossing powder, use a stencil, or do what I usually do these days and make a cover graphic from HTV. I've got a cricut for this (though they're not the only kind of cutting machine; it pays to research other brands) and a mini heat press (I want a bigger one, but I got this one cheap because the box is messed up). A lot of libraries have cricuts you can use, and you can use a regular iron to apply the HTV. Getting it to stick is a bit tricky, but that's true no matter which tools you use. Not pictured: a cutting mat, different than the kind shown above, necessary with most materials you can cut (mine came with one, they're about $20 at most craft stores, and they're lightly sticky to keep your materials in place while it's being cut). I don't know if other brands require them, but cricut does unless you're using their Smart Materials (I have never used these). If your library has a cutting machine, they will also have the appropriate cutting mats. Also not pictured: weeding tools. Weeding is when you remove the bits of HTV that you don't want in the final image, usually the spaces between letters and such. The negative space, if you want to get artsy. The special tools cricut sells aren't necessary, you can use an awl or needle and the dull edge of your knife blade, but I have a set of theirs and I like mine.

I didn't take a photo of it, but sometimes I use embossing inks and powder to make cover designs and text. You only need a heat gun for embossing powder, it takes up way less space than the cricut does, and it's cheaper. I got mine free from a family member so I don't know what it cost initially, but cutting machines are a really big expense; the cricut is my third most expensive piece of equipment, after the finishing press and the plow.

Good god I think that's everything. It sounds intimidating, I know. And it sounds like it takes up tons of space in your home, and to be honest it can, but it doesn't have to. The first dozen or so books I made, I made completely to my satisfaction with tools and materials that fit in one 12x16" moving box. If you love the hobby and can make the space, the bulkier items might be worth it down the line, but especially when you're first getting started it's smart to keep things low-cost and compact. Most of the basics are simple and your fellow bookbinders are delighted to share their shortcuts and substitutions if you ask.

The end! I hope it was helpful, @cardassianexpats! I did warn you it would be wordy, lol.