#Marble patterned crafts

[renato-crepaldi]

"Gotham Skies" is another one from the new "Skyscapes" marbled paper collection. Release date is April 6th - next Saturday! Sales starts at 12 UTC.

[rkschweiger]

Absolutely obsessed with Victorian endpapers and had to try marbling some of my own

[juniperandjustice]

Coffee colors bouquet pattern marbled scarf

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Interiors

As a followup to the very popular post on architecture, I decided to add onto it by exploring the interior of each movement and the different design techniques and tastes of each era. This post at be helpful for historical fiction, fantasy or just a long read when you're bored.

Interior Design Terms

Reeding and fluting: Fluting is a technique that consists a continuous pattern of concave grooves in a flat surface across a surface. Reeding is it's opposite.

Embossing: stamping, carving or moulding a symbol to make it stand out on a surface.

Paneling: Panels of carved wood or fabric a fixed to a wall in a continuous pattern.

Gilding: the use of gold to highlight features.

Glazed Tile: Ceramic or porcelain tiles coated with liquid coloured glass or enamel.

Column: A column is a pillar of stone or wood built to support a ceiling. We will see more of columns later on.

Bay Window: The Bay Window is a window projecting outward from a building.

Frescos: A design element of painting images upon wet plaster.

Mosaic: Mosaics are a design element that involves using pieces of coloured glass and fitted them together upon the floor or wall to form images.

Mouldings: ornate strips of carved wood along the top of a wall.

Wainscoting: paneling along the lower portion of a wall.

Chinoiserie: A European take on East Asian art. Usually seen in wallpaper.

Clerestory: A series of eye-level windows.

Sconces: A light fixture supported on a wall.

Niche: A sunken area within a wall.

Monochromatic: Focusing on a single colour within a scheme.

Ceiling rose: A moulding fashioned on the ceiling in the shape of a rose usually supporting a light fixture.

Baluster: the vertical bars of a railing.

Façade: front portion of a building

Lintel: Top of a door or window.

Portico: a covered structure over a door supported by columns

Eaves: the part of the roof overhanging from the building

Skirting: border around lower length of a wall

Ancient Greece

Houses were made of either sun-dried clay bricks or stone which were painted when they dried. Ground floors were decorated with coloured stones and tiles called Mosaics. Upper level floors were made from wood. Homes were furnished with tapestries and furniture, and in grand homes statues and grand altars would be found. Furniture was very skillfully crafted in Ancient Greece, much attention was paid to the carving and decoration of such things. Of course, Ancient Greece is ancient so I won't be going through all the movements but I will talk a little about columns.

Doric: Doric is the oldest of the orders and some argue it is the simplest. The columns of this style are set close together, without bases and carved with concave curves called flutes. The capitals (the top of the column) are plain often built with a curve at the base called an echinus and are topped by a square at the apex called an abacus. The entablature is marked by frieze of vertical channels/triglyphs. In between the channels would be detail of carved marble. The Parthenon in Athens is your best example of Doric architecture.

Ionic: The Ionic style was used for smaller buildings and the interiors. The columns had twin volutes, scroll-like designs on its capital. Between these scrolls, there was a carved curve known as an egg and in this style the entablature is much narrower and the frieze is thick with carvings. The example of Ionic Architecture is the Temple to Athena Nike at the Athens Acropolis.

Corinthian: The Corinthian style has some similarities with the Ionic order, the bases, entablature and columns almost the same but the capital is more ornate its base, column, and entablature, but its capital is far more ornate, commonly carved with depictions of acanthus leaves. The style was more slender than the others on this list, used less for bearing weight but more for decoration. Corinthian style can be found along the top levels of the Colosseum in Rome.

Tuscan: The Tuscan order shares much with the Doric order, but the columns are un-fluted and smooth. The entablature is far simpler, formed without triglyphs or guttae. The columns are capped with round capitals.

Composite: This style is mixed. It features the volutes of the Ionic order and the capitals of the Corinthian order. The volutes are larger in these columns and often more ornate. The column's capital is rather plain. for the capital, with no consistent differences to that above or below the capital.

Ancient Rome

Rome is well known for its outward architectural styles. However the Romans did know how to add that rizz to the interior. Ceilings were either vaulted or made from exploded beams that could be painted. The Romans were big into design. Moasics were a common interior sight, the use of little pieces of coloured glass or stone to create a larger image. Frescoes were used to add colour to the home, depicting mythical figures and beasts and also different textures such as stonework or brick. The Romans loved their furniture. Dining tables were low and the Romans ate on couches. Weaving was a popular pastime so there would be tapestries and wall hangings in the house. Rich households could even afford to import fine rugs from across the Empire. Glass was also a feature in Roman interior but windows were usually not paned as large panes were hard to make. Doors were usually treated with panels that were carved or in lain with bronze.

Ancient Egypt

Egypt was one of the first great civilisations, known for its immense and grand structures. Wealthy Egyptians had grand homes. The walls were painted or plastered usually with bright colours and hues. The Egyptians are cool because they mapped out their buildings in such a way to adhere to astrological movements meaning on special days if the calendar the temple or monuments were in the right place always. The columns of Egyptian where thicker, more bulbous and often had capitals shaped like bundles of papyrus reeds. Woven mats and tapestries were popular decor. Motifs from the river such as palms, papyrus and reeds were popular symbols used.

Ancient Africa

African Architecture is a very mixed bag and more structurally different and impressive than Hollywood would have you believe. Far beyond the common depictions of primitive buildings, the African nations were among the giants of their time in architecture, no style quite the same as the last but just as breathtaking.

Rwandan Architecture: The Rwandans commonly built of hardened clay with thatched roofs of dried grass or reeds. Mats of woven reeds carpeted the floors of royal abodes. These residences folded about a large public area known as a karubanda and were often so large that they became almost like a maze, connecting different chambers/huts of all kinds of uses be they residential or for other purposes.

Ashanti Architecture: The Ashanti style can be found in present day Ghana. The style incorporates walls of plaster formed of mud and designed with bright paint and buildings with a courtyard at the heart, not unlike another examples on this post. The Ashanti also formed their buildings of the favourite method of wattle and daub.

Nubian Architecture: Nubia, in modern day Ethiopia, was home to the Nubians who were one of the world's most impressive architects at the beginning of the architecture world and probably would be more talked about if it weren't for the Egyptians building monuments only up the road. The Nubians were famous for building the speos, tall tower-like spires carved of stone. The Nubians used a variety of materials and skills to build, for example wattle and daub and mudbrick. The Kingdom of Kush, the people who took over the Nubian Empire was a fan of Egyptian works even if they didn't like them very much. The Kushites began building pyramid-like structures such at the sight of Gebel Barkal

Japanese Interiors

Japenese interior design rests upon 7 principles. Kanso (簡素)- Simplicity, Fukinsei (不均整)- Asymmetry, Shizen (自然)- Natural, Shibumi (渋味) – Simple beauty, Yugen (幽玄)- subtle grace, Datsuzoku (脱俗) – freedom from habitual behaviour, Seijaku (静寂)- tranquillity.

Common features of Japanese Interior Design:

Shoji walls: these are the screens you think of when you think of the traditional Japanese homes. They are made of wooden frames, rice paper and used to partition

Tatami: Tatami mats are used within Japanese households to blanket the floors. They were made of rice straw and rush straw, laid down to cushion the floor.

Genkan: The Genkan was a sunken space between the front door and the rest of the house. This area is meant to separate the home from the outside and is where shoes are discarded before entering.

Japanese furniture: often lowest, close to the ground. These include tables and chairs but often tanked are replaced by zabuton, large cushions. Furniture is usually carved of wood in a minimalist design.

Nature: As both the Shinto and Buddhist beliefs are great influences upon architecture, there is a strong presence of nature with the architecture. Wood is used for this reason and natural light is prevalent with in the home. The orientation is meant to reflect the best view of the world.

Islamic World Interior

The Islamic world has one of the most beautiful and impressive interior design styles across the world. Colour and detail are absolute staples in the movement. Windows are usually not paned with glass but covered in ornate lattices known as jali. The jali give ventilation, light and privacy to the home. Islamic Interiors are ornate and colourful, using coloured ceramic tiles. The upper parts of walls and ceilings are usually flat decorated with arabesques (foliate ornamentation), while the lower wall areas were usually tiled. Features such as honeycombed ceilings, horseshoe arches, stalactite-fringed arches and stalactite vaults (Muqarnas) are prevalent among many famous Islamic buildings such as the Alhambra and the Blue Mosque.

Byzantine (330/395–1453 A. D)

The Byzantine Empire or Eastern Roman Empire was where eat met west, leading to a melting pot of different interior designs based on early Christian styles and Persian influences. Mosaics are probably what you think of when you think of the Byzantine Empire. Ivory was also a popular feature in the Interiors, with carved ivory or the use of it in inlay. The use of gold as a decorative feature usually by way of repoussé (decorating metals by hammering in the design from the backside of the metal). Fabrics from Persia, heavily embroidered and intricately woven along with silks from afar a field as China, would also be used to upholster furniture or be used as wall hangings. The Byzantines favoured natural light, usually from the use of copolas.

Indian Interiors

India is of course, the font of all intricate designs. India's history is sectioned into many eras but we will focus on a few to give you an idea of prevalent techniques and tastes.

The Gupta Empire (320 – 650 CE): The Gupta era was a time of stone carving. As impressive as the outside of these buildings are, the Interiors are just as amazing. Gupta era buildings featured many details such as ogee (circular or horseshoe arch), gavaksha/chandrashala (the motif centred these arches), ashlar masonry (built of squared stone blocks) with ceilings of plain, flat slabs of stone.

Delhi Sultanate (1206–1526): Another period of beautifully carved stone. The Delhi sultanate had influence from the Islamic world, with heavy uses of mosaics, brackets, intricate mouldings, columns and and hypostyle halls.

Mughal Empire (1526–1857): Stonework was also important on the Mughal Empire. Intricately carved stonework was seen in the pillars, low relief panels depicting nature images and jalis (marble screens). Stonework was also decorated in a stye known as pietra dura/parchin kari with inscriptions and geometric designs using colored stones to create images. Tilework was also popular during this period. Moasic tiles were cut and fitted together to create larger patters while cuerda seca tiles were coloured tiles outlined with black.

Chinese Interiors

Common features of Chinese Interiors

Use of Colours: Colour in Chinese Interior is usually vibrant and bold. Red and Black are are traditional colours, meant to bring luck, happiness, power, knowledge and stability to the household.

Latticework: Lattices are a staple in Chinese interiors most often seen on shutters, screens, doors of cabinets snf even traditional beds.

Lacquer: Multiple coats of lacquer are applied to furniture or cabinets (now walls) and then carved. The skill is called Diaoqi (雕漆).

Decorative Screens: Screens are used to partition off part of a room. They are usually of carved wood, pained with very intricate murals.

Shrines: Spaces were reserved on the home to honour ancestors, usually consisting of an altar where offerings could be made.

Of course, Chinese Interiors are not all the same through the different eras. While some details and techniques were interchangeable through different dynasties, usually a dynasty had a notable style or deviation. These aren't all the dynasties of course but a few interesting examples.

Song Dynasty (960–1279): The Song Dynasty is known for its stonework. Sculpture was an important part of Song Dynasty interior. It was in this period than brick and stone work became the most used material. The Song Dynasty was also known for its very intricate attention to detail, paintings, and used tiles.

Ming Dynasty(1368–1644): Ceilings were adorned with cloisons usually featuring yellow reed work. The floors would be of flagstones usually of deep tones, mostly black. The Ming Dynasty favoured richly coloured silk hangings, tapestries and furnishings. Furniture was usually carved of darker woods, arrayed in a certain way to bring peace to the dwelling.

Han Dynasty (206 BC-220 AD): Interior walls were plastered and painted to show important figures and scenes. Lacquer, though it was discovered earlier, came into greater prominence with better skill in this era.

Tang Dynasty (618–907) : The colour palette is restrained, reserved. But the Tang dynasty is not without it's beauty. Earthenware reached it's peak in this era, many homes would display fine examples as well. The Tang dynasty is famous for its upturned eaves, the ceilings supported by timber columns mounted with metal or stone bases. Glazed tiles were popular in this era, either a fixed to the roof or decorating a screen wall.

Romanesque (6th -11th century/12th)

Romanesque Architecture is a span between the end of Roman Empire to the Gothic style. Taking inspiration from the Roman and Byzantine Empires, the Romanesque period incorporates many of the styles. The most common details are carved floral and foliage symbols with the stonework of the Romanesque buildings. Cable mouldings or twisted rope-like carvings would have framed doorways. As per the name, Romansque Interiors relied heavily on its love and admiration for Rome. The Romanesque style uses geometric shapes as statements using curves, circles snf arches. The colours would be clean and warm, focusing on minimal ornamentation.

Gothic Architecture (12th Century - 16th Century)

The Gothic style is what you think of when you think of old European cathedrals and probably one of the beautiful of the styles on this list and one of most recognisable. The Gothic style is a dramatic, opposing sight and one of the easiest to describe. Decoration in this era became more ornate, stonework began to sport carving and modelling in a way it did not before. The ceilings moved away from barreled vaults to quadripartite and sexpartite vaulting. Columns slimmed as other supportive structures were invented. Intricate stained glass windows began their popularity here. In Gothic structures, everything is very symmetrical and even.

Mediaeval (500 AD to 1500)

Interiors of mediaeval homes are not quite as drab as Hollywood likes to make out. Building materials may be hidden by plaster in rich homes, sometimes even painted. Floors were either dirt strewn with rushes or flagstones in larger homes. Stonework was popular, especially around fireplaces. Grand homes would be decorated with intricate woodwork, carved heraldic beasts and wall hangings of fine fabrics.

Renaissance (late 1300s-1600s)

The Renaissance was a period of great artistry and splendor. The revival of old styles injected symmetry and colour into the homes. Frescoes were back. Painted mouldings adorned the ceilings and walls. Furniture became more ornate, fixed with luxurious upholstery and fine carvings. Caryatids (pillars in the shape of women), grotesques, Roman and Greek images were used to spruce up the place. Floors began to become more intricate, with coloured stone and marble. Modelled stucco, sgraffiti arabesques (made by cutting lines through a layer of plaster or stucco to reveal an underlayer), and fine wall painting were used in brilliant combinations in the early part of the 16th century.

Tudor Interior (1485-1603)

The Tudor period is a starkly unique style within England and very recognisable. Windows were fixed with lattice work, usually casement. Stained glass was also in in this period, usually depicting figures and heraldic beasts. Rooms would be panelled with wood or plastered. Walls would be adorned with tapestries or embroidered hangings. Windows and furniture would be furnished with fine fabrics such as brocade. Floors would typically be of wood, sometimes strewn with rush matting mixed with fresh herbs and flowers to freshen the room.

Baroque (1600 to 1750)

The Baroque period was a time for splendor and for splashing the cash. The interior of a baroque room was usually intricate, usually of a light palette, featuring a very high ceiling heavy with detail. Furniture would choke the room, ornately carved and stitched with very high quality fabrics. The rooms would be full of art not limited to just paintings but also sculptures of marble or bronze, large intricate mirrors, moldings along the walls which may be heavily gilded, chandeliers and detailed paneling.

Victorian (1837-1901)

We think of the interiors of Victorian homes as dowdy and dark but that isn't true. The Victorians favoured tapestries, intricate rugs, decorated wallpaper, exquisitely furniture, and surprisingly, bright colour. Dyes were more widely available to people of all stations and the Victorians did not want for colour. Patterns and details were usually nature inspired, usually floral or vines. Walls could also be painted to mimic a building material such as wood or marble and most likely painted in rich tones. The Victorians were suckers for furniture, preferring them grandly carved with fine fabric usually embroidered or buttoned. And they did not believe in minimalism. If you could fit another piece of furniture in a room, it was going in there. Floors were almost eclusively wood laid with the previously mentioned rugs. But the Victorians did enjoy tiled floors but restricted them to entrances. The Victorians were quite in touch with their green thumbs so expect a lot of flowers and greenery inside. with various elaborately decorated patterned rugs. And remember, the Victorians loved to display as much wealth as they could. Every shelf, cabinet, case and ledge would be chocked full of ornaments and antiques.

Edwardian/The Gilded Age/Belle Epoque (1880s-1914)

This period (I've lumped them together for simplicity) began to move away from the deep tones and ornate patterns of the Victorian period. Colour became more neutral. Nature still had a place in design. Stained glass began to become popular, especially on lampshades and light fixtures. Embossing started to gain popularity and tile work began to expand from the entrance halls to other parts of the house. Furniture began to move away from dark wood, some families favouring breathable woods like wicker. The rooms would be less cluttered.

Art Deco (1920s-1930s)

The 1920s was a time of buzz and change. Gone were the refined tastes of the pre-war era and now the wow factor was in. Walls were smoother, buildings were sharper and more jagged, doorways and windows were decorated with reeding and fluting. Pastels were in, as was the heavy use of black and white, along with gold. Mirrors and glass were in, injecting light into rooms. Gold, silver, steel and chrome were used in furnishings and decor. Geometric shapes were a favourite design choice. Again, high quality and bold fabrics were used such as animal skins or colourful velvet. It was all a rejection of the Art Noveau movement, away from nature focusing on the man made.

Modernism (1930 - 1965)

Modernism came after the Art Deco movement. Fuss and feathers were out the door and now, practicality was in. Materials used are shown as they are, wood is not painted, metal is not coated. Bright colours were acceptable but neutral palettes were favoured. Interiors were open and favoured large windows. Furniture was practical, for use rather than the ornamentation, featuring plain details of any and geometric shapes. Away from Art Deco, everything is straight, linear and streamlined.

[asidian]

Set breakdown time! Next up: Niko's room.

As before, I've circled the points of interest and numbered them to make them easier to talk about. Cool? Cool. Let's do this!

1: Niko's mom's name! This part is her and Niko's surname. The kanji are 佐々木.

佐 – sa, meaning help or aid

々 – an iteration mark. When you see this, basically it means "exactly what the last one said, one more time." So another sa meaning help or aid

木 – ki, meaning tree

It's really neat that they picked a last name for her that doubles down on her role in the narrative. Just like Niko is there to support and help other characters in whatever way they seem to need, her surname hammers it home by including 佐 not once but twice.

2: Riza (リザ) Niko's mother's given name. Somewhat odd here is that it's written in katakana and not kanji. Without getting sidetracked too much (you can pop over here to read more if you're interested) most Japanese people write their names in kanji.

Katakana seems like a bit of a strange choice here, unless a) Niko for some reason doesn't know the kanji for her own mother's name (weird, given that she's in high school) b) her mother is a foreigner (a possibility; foreigners usually write their names in katakana) c) the set designer/whoever prepped the letters didn't know the appropriate kanji for "Riza" (seems unlikely, given how accurate all the rest of this is) or d) some sort of personal habit. An interesting side note is that her letter to Niko also puts Niko's name in katakana.

3: Cutesy stationery, used for marking your place in a document or book

4: A cute blue purse!

5: Watermelon! Judging by the shiny material and placement near the other bag, I'm going to guess this is another purse

6: Niko's clothes :>

7: Pink luggage

8: Lots of instant noodles

9: A rice cooker

10: Rice vinegar

11: This girl LOVES her some plants

12: Probably food items…? The one on the right looks like it might be a five-pound bag of rice, but I don't recognize the brand

13: Lots of unwashed dishes

14: A toaster oven

15: Chopsticks

16: A cute octopus pillow. I think I saw someone mention that it's from Ikea :>

17: She often leaves dirty dishes sitting on the bedside table

18: A painting of what seems to be a skyscape

19: Brightly colored pillows

20: Metal art in the shape of a moon

21: A decorative window hanging

22: More plants :)

23: Candles

24: Her tv

25: Cute pens with pompoms on the end

26: Regular tape

27: A cute cat statue

28: Marble Pop Ramune, strawberry flavor. Ramune is a type of soda that's a popular festival drink in Japan. It's sealed with a  glass marble and you have to pop the marble down into the little catch basin before you can drink it.

29: Anime wall décor

30: Fruit jelly cups. In Japan, small gelatin based snacks like this are popular. They're tiny, about an inch tall, and you eat them in just one or two bites.

31: Niko's laptop. She has stickers on it

32: Washi tape! It's decorative Japanese tape, often with bright colors and patterns, used for crafting.

33: A lot of cute magnets, including the bunny one, which serves double-duty as a kitchen timer

34: Niko's grocery list. The only thing on here that's here because she wants it is strawberry ice cream. The rest of the items, licorice tea, manuka honey, and Epsom salts, are all natural remedies. She's been trouble-shooting how to get rid of the effects of the sprites. She knows she's sick, but not why

35: Cutesy craft supplies! Sequins, glitter, and pompoms

36: More washi tape!

37: Niko's manga collection. She is that particular brand of organizational mess that does not put her numbered volumes in order. She has made an exception for the series that makes a complete picture when you line them up, though

38: More plants :)

39: Manga posters! Issho is one of the series that she has on her shelf

40: A decorative jar

41: Little metal bird sculptures

42: What seems to be the only framed picture in her room. The angle is wrong to see what the photo is, but it's interesting that they added just one in here. Maybe it's her family…?

[grandisknight]

welcome to philo | jeremiah

summary: Jeremiah knows your flower order by heart, and you plan on repaying the favor in kind.

tags: nsfw (mdni), developing relationship, gn!reader (no specific descriptors), banter, flowers, exhibitionism, oral sex/blowjobs, feelings, jeremiah losing his mind, swearing, m!orgasm, facials, (1) xavier mention

wc: 3.0k | ao3 | kinktober in deepspace masterlist

a/n: first time giving jeremiah some lovin' and i have no idea how it spiraled into this but we are here :D

Soft notes of plucked guitar strings and accompanying percussion filter the floral air of Philo, marking another quiet yet fulfilling day at play.

Jeremiah enjoys these moments of peace, lost in thought with his hands neatly arranging a new vase of freshly bloomed marigolds. 

It still took some time getting used to, truthfully. A life where turbulence and struggles amongst the cosmos that once felt like yesterday began to dwindle in the lanes of his memory. The warmth of Linkon City was a form of domesticity he had the privilege of knowing. Though, it didn’t hold the same shine to the bask of Philos’ cobbles and fields.

Even so, he’s made great efforts to carry on since. Jeremiah believes he’s done well for himself, and his cherished flower shop is a testament to it.

He dusts away the nostalgia amongst the skirt of his apron, gloved hands rough at the friction when his masterpiece is finally set. The golden petals stood proud, a reflection of their crafter’s touch. 

A chimed ring accompanies the completion in apt timing, soft footsteps echoing soon thereafter. 

The florist straightens his back, puts on his practiced award-winning smile with a chirped, “Welcome to Philo.” He’s ready to roll out his customer-friendly and marketing genius spiel when he pauses in his tracks, eyes widening in recognition. “It’s you!”

“It’s me,” you wave back in greeting. Your strides make their way to his countertop, where he excitedly pulls you in for a half-hug. “Business hours slowing down?”

“A bit,” Jeremiah says, pulling back and a smile in his eyes. “Are you here for your usual?”

You nod, settling your hands along the edge of the cool marble. Jeremiah is quick on his feet, scurrying around the tiles and swiping at certain pots. A handful of fine greenery, baby breaths for a splash of white decor, and the main star—pale blue florets with a ringlet of yellow blossomed in the center, each of the three pieces beautifully nurtured and bright. Bunches nestled in his arms like a newborn, he slides past with a playful wink and lays them before you.

“You’re the only one I know who still orders these kinds of flowers,” he comments, reaching for a pair of scissors. Procured from his hip pocket, he carefully snips at the excess leaves, green plates of flora fluttering to the floor.

“And you’re the only one who knows how to care for them properly.” You prop your chin into your palm, observing him in interest. The florist was in a world of his own. It was truly admirable to see someone so dedicated to a craft as intimate as floral arrangements. 

“The best in Linkon, no one does it like you.”

Jeremiah chuckles, laying out a pattern of baby breaths and myrtle atop a clean sheet of parchment. “I’m flattered. Don’t let the other flower shops hear, surely they’ll come and be nothing but a pain in my ass.”

You laugh with him at the thought, shaking your head. “Nothing wrong with keeping your competition on their toes.” 

Taking one of the three blue focal pieces in hand, you carefully push at its petals, silken soft to the touch. It was fascinating, a small piece of life so fragile yet present in your grasp.

By the time Jeremiah notices his last piece was missing—presently doted for in-between your fingers—the bouquet was only a centerpiece and hard string away from being complete. He clears his throat, noticing you jump in surprise, before a sheepish smile dressed itself across your expressions alike.

“Ah, right. Sorry,” you hold out the flower to him, a bridge from your heart to his. “Didn’t mean to interrupt the master at work.”

With a faked tone of lower cadence, Jeremiah offers a generous, “But of course, you are forgiven.” His best attempt of mimicking a kind and benevolent ruler, though it cracks towards the end into his regular voice.

You half-curtsy once the flora was out of your hands, raising an imaginative skirt in the air. “Oh, how gracious of you, good sir.”

He lets out a softer chuckle, before quickly wrapping the composition into a perfect bundle. A loop of string later, he lifts the flowers tenderly, one hand at the base and the other underneath the bedding of petals.

“For you, my liege,” Jeremiah jokes, though it strums his heartstrings when you let out the sweetest laugh. He could feel a flush tickle his neck, to which he holds in an odd form of defense with a clammy hand. The other is still outstretched, waiting for you to accept his graces.

To which you happily take in, eyes wide in appreciation and the flora reflecting in its glimmers. “Thanks, Jer,” you speak into the petals, inhaling them calmly and enjoying their fresh scent. “I owe you one.”

“No, no,” Jeremiah shakes his head, hands in his hips in turn. “I’ve told you before. These are always on the house for you, just as long as you swing by.”

“Mm.” You hum, before gently placing down the bouquet to the countertop. “Still, it doesn’t feel right. To just always take some of your flowers with no real payment in return.” 

You were sure that wasn’t a viable business practice either. It’s been this way ever since you were first introduced to one another; you’d say hello, and Jeremiah would send you off at the end of your visit with a smile and selection of budding flora in tow.

“That’s—“ Oh, the words lodge themselves in his throat when he feels something warm touch him. It would’ve scared the wits out of Jeremiah, if it weren’t for the gaze that found itself on your hand—neatly perched atop of his. 

Jeremiah stumbles in his response. “That’s, ah, fine?” 

Fine? He wasn’t sure when it turned into a question, nor when did the air in his greenery space become so… impeccably stuffy. But Jeremiah just stares at your hand, processing it all before sparing you a glance.

“You don’t sound so sure,” you tease, tapping the pads of your fingers against his knuckles. In a blink, you’ve met him halfway across the counter once more—though this time, your noses were only a hair away and he could see his surprised expression so clearly in your mischievous eyes.

Your voice lowers some, paying attention to the growing flush that stains his cheeks. “Let me pay you, Jeremiah.”

“I—Wow, you’re pretty,” he blurts out. 

He meant pretty close, though ‘pretty’ wasn’t exactly wrong either. The sunlight dripping in from his ceiling rooftop painted a halo around the crown of your head, shadows gently shaping your face into a newly bloomed sunflower. More than just pretty, he thinks to himself. An absolute angel, even.

Jeremiah bites his lower lip in quick realization and embarrassment, though it only curls the edges of your smile further. “Thank you,” you say, tilting your head in thought. “So, can I take that as a yes?”

He considers this. “I have a feeling that if I say no, we’ll just be going in circles,” he says, more so to himself than in answer. Thinking out loud, letting the ideas process in the moment they occur.

“Maybe,” you shrug. “Maybe not. I promise I’m flexible, but I just think…”

You manage to turn his hand over, and much to his surprise, he naturally accepts the way your fingers slide into his. Warm, very, very warm. And soft. But more importantly, your hand is entwined with his—and he likes it. Jeremiah likes the feeling of holding your warm, soft hand.

When you squeeze his hand, it pulls him out of his thoughts and back to your words of, “You deserve to be compensated and taken care of, Jer.”

“I do?” He sounds almost bewildered at the fact.

“Of course,” you say, stating the obvious to his oblivion. 

Slowly, you bring your closed hands to your lips, looking past your lashes and enjoying the sight of rouge blush saturating his skin. A kiss as soft as those silken petals touches his knuckles before you pull away. Even through the fine leather covering his hands, he feels their presence.

It would be fine, Jeremiah thinks, if he passes away at this moment. If he lets the heavenly graces take him away after receiving a piece of love so tender, from someone he’s grown to adore—it would be fine.

And also, because it has his mind running a hundred miles per hour at the thought of wanting all of that and more. Put him out of his misery to save him the embarrassment of these heated feelings immediately at the forefront of his mind.

“Let me pay you,” you repeat, a quiet intent slowly sinking into your words. “Please?”

Knowing his voice would betray him somehow, Jeremiah only nods and says, “Alright.”

—

Jeremiah is a mess.

He normally prides himself on being organized, keeping things in shape and surfaces clean. After every bouquet, he would sweep the floors and recycle leftovers—even spray down the marble with disinfectant and wipe until it was sparkling clean. Like clockwork, he’d dust his skilled hands across the skirt of his apron and feel that it was another successful day. Whistling while he works, keeping up a tune to the radio or one from his imagination—Jeremiah’s day normally went like this.

Today had almost everything on that agenda. What would he call his, though? A special occasion, probably?

Those very same hands, now gloveless, found themselves tangling and toying through your hair. The lips that push together in an airy shrill of whistles are currently? Pushing out quieted moans of your name, head lolling back from the ecstasy of it.

Jeremiah shouldn’t be doing this. 

Uniform in disarray as much as his curls of auburn, his back practically engraving the countertop’s edge into his skin from how hard he was pushing against it. The zipper of his pants long forgotten, the fabric pooling around his ankles.

Oh, but Jeremiah realizes that there’s something so ungodly pleasant about seeing your lips hover above his cock. Tongue flat against his length that currently hides between a fine layer of cotton boxers. The fabric ran a shade darker from where the heat of your touch traces it, leaving quite an impression.

Jeremiah is a mess, at your disposal, and can’t deny that a part of him screams in joy.

“You,” he breathes out, somehow finding his voice amidst the lustful sighing. “I told you, we—we could’ve done this in the backroom.”

“And I said I wanted you here, Jer.” You press a meaningful kiss to his lower head, smiling when it twitches at your touch. A firmer press allows the stained spot to push past beads of pre to your mouth, and you hum at the tanginess through soiled cotton. “Besides, no one’s going to see us, yeah?”

“I-I mean, yes.” Jeremiah confirms as much, making an effort to conceal the shop with a wave of energy. 

To the naked eye, the glass interior of his shop houses his well-grown plants and marble befitting of its owner. To Jeremiah’s wide gaze, he could only watch the way you make your way downwards, kissing and caressing wherever possible.

“But it’s not going to last, and ah—hah, shit—“ He hisses when your hand squeezes along his length, and he could feel your nails lightly drag along the underside. “I can’t concentrate when you’re down there like this.”

It’s not the first time he’s managed to conceal his shop from the outsider looking in. Sometimes it was required, especially when Xavier tumbled in and out as he pleased, evol abilities damned and secrets afloat. It was, however, the first time he’s had to pull strings just so no one would see the show playing out at the reception countertop. 

A shiver ran down his spine whenever his eyes made contact with a passerby—fleeting, and wondering if they could somehow see past the veil. See how there was an angel between his legs, and that he enjoyed it.

You let out an almost pitiful hum, though the sympathy differs from the fingers dipping past his waistband. “Mm? I think you can, don’t underestimate yourself.”

The thought was kind, but even Jeremiah had his limits. His hips cant on instinct when your unblocked warmth curls around his length, only growing with need by the second. Swiftly, and much to his relief, you free him from those confines.

“Wow, Jer. You’re real pretty,” you coo, delicately raising your fingers from the cusp of his base to the curved head of his cock. “Hard just from looking outside?”

“Wha—No, I just,” he stutters, but even he can’t deny it. One glance to beyond the glass and back to your knowing smirk has him weak in the heart but strong where it matters. “Just keeping a lookout,” he strains.

Flush and stiff from the newly exposed air, you take your time in stroking him. An occasional press to the skin just below his tip has his knees buckling. He fit perfectly into the palm of your hand, a beautiful sight and weight to behold.

“Maybe let down the curtain then? I’m sure everyone would love to see their precious florist be deflowered like this,” you tease lightly.

‘Someone might see’ rings like blaring sirens in his mind—and for a moment, he seriously considers it. Jeremiah’s blush only worsens, the thought doing a number to his senses. He dares to raise a witty quip in return, but it melts into a gasp when your lips seal themselves over his leaking slit.

You have the gall, he thinks, to hum around his cock this way. And look devastatingly stunning too, eyes round in pleasure, all for him to see. To feel, to watch how you take care of him. 

His fingers cradling your head tighten some, though nothing too heavy-handed. Whether it is your doing or his, you make a slow descent down his length, jaw slacking to take in as much of him as you could.

If he thought your hands were warm, your mouth was an oven that neatly shaped and swallowed around him. He feels you huff, before firmly rubbing your nose to his abdomen and a garbled noise rouses from you.

“Don’t force yourself,” Jeremiah pants, gently leading you away from his nestled cock. 

You allow him to do as much, popping his head from your lips and smiling. The lightest string of saliva pulls at your bottom lip and stays with him—Jeremiah can only stare, entranced. 

“On the contrary,” you say, a slight grit to your voice from the loss. “I’m doing all of this because I want to.”

Room for argument falls naught when you return to his erection, and that devilish warmth warps his senses once more. With every bob of your head, Jeremiah’s wanton moans only grow in volume. You search for his hand—which, currently gripped the counter for dear life—and bring it to rest around your throat in permission. 

His fingers twitch over the skin, before realizing he could feel it. No way, no way. Curiously, Jeremiah presses his fingers closer to find that his cock occasionally brushed them, the shape all familiar and busied down your throat. It tingles, feels way too good, especially when you hum in delight.

“Oh, I’m about to—yeah, yeah,” Jeremiah rambles, abdomen clenching at the rush of searing heat spreading throughout. “Gonna cum, come, shit—!”

In the heat of the moment, his hand draws you away from his cock, throbbing and welcoming warm streams of his undoing. You work him through the spurts of release, leaning down with an open mouth to capture what you could. Some of it lands on your tongue, hanging off of the curves—a majority stuck to your cheeks and painted them in a viscous white, smooth and sticky all the same.

Jeremiah feels like a leafless stem, waning in the wind and completely blissed out by the time he comes to. His fingers massage your skull gently, and his half-lidded gaze blows wide when he realizes what an absolute mess he’s truly made this time.

“Oh, sorry, let me get that.“ He searches for his apron, only a few inches away and neatly crumpled in a pile. The pockets, somewhere in there is—ah, he pulls out a small handkerchief, pleating the square and bringing it to your cheek.

You follow his hand whenever it swipes at his excess cum, patiently waiting and watching with satisfaction rimming your eyes. Jeremiah is gentle, patting and swiping alike with the calm moment settling between you.

“There,” he declares, putting aside the fabric that definitely needed to be washed. A wave of decorum crashed against him, and he’s quickly pulling his pants into place. Bringing you up with him, he smooths out your hair and starts to ramble. “Are you okay? Was this alright? I know we kinda just, went for it and all, but I—“

You squish his lips together with a press of your finger, amusement clear in your sigh. “Yes, yes and yes.” You pull your finger then, tapping your own lip in thought. “If anything, those should be my questions to you, Jer.”

Jeremiah blinks, then listens to the pace of his heart and rise of his breaths. To which he deeply inhales and says, “Yeah, I’m great. Thanks, actually.” 

The blush settles into his ears this time, and you can’t help but reach for them in a light pinch. “Cute,” you mumble, though loud enough for him to hear—the red only deepens because of it.

“A-anyway, your flowers,” Jeremiah coughs, waving a hand sheepishly towards them. “They’ve been, well, paid for.”

You turn, picking up the lovely arrangement and hugging it to your chest in content. “I’m glad,” you nod, before pressing a fleeting kiss to his unsuspecting cheek. “All is well!”

Before he could even scramble to words, you were already halfway across the tiled floor and standing at the entrance. Flowers nestled in your arms, and a smile so brilliant it made them seem dull in comparison. “Same time next week?”

Jeremiah cups the cheek where you touch lingers. In his heart, the budding adoration grows another branch, his affections blooming steadfast. 

“Yeah.” He finds himself smiling back. “I’ll see you then.”

[ps-froggie]

Bound two ObiKaka works by beetlebee, aka @sloaners using the sewn boards technique!

Akatsuki Babysitter's Club (left)

Obito thought quickly. "They're part of a... club... for babysitters." "A club," said Kakashi, flat. "Yep. A... babysitter's club." "I see," said Kakashi, who clearly didn't see at all. "Yeah, the clouds on the coats are supposed to be a soothing visual for kids?" Obito said, as he decided to dig himself deeper. "In red and black." "Okay, the color scheme could maybe stand to be changed," Obito conceded. He heard Konan snort from underneath the table. He glanced briefly at Hidan, who was now shaking his shoulders, and the entire curtain, laughing at Obito. --- (Kakashi decides to raise Naruto. The Akatsuki takes a new direction.)

Thirst Contact (Right)

Two shining, reflecting eyes are staring right at Kakashi. It’s a person, at first glance, holding some kind of ring of fire. Kakashi opens his mouth to say something, anything, but the person steps closer, and he realizes that the ring of fire seems to be dancing along his shoulders, where protrusions—tendrils—are breaking through from the skin. The skin itself is pale, green tinged, and speckled with scales along the being's right side. Which is nothing compared to the horns sticking straight out of his head. Or the—wow, the *incredible* lack of clothing. This alien seals it: Kakashi's absolutely high. And should maybe stop reading so much Icha Icha. ---- (Kakashi's crew goes to answer a distress signal on a seemingly abandoned satellite. And then the story goes in three wildly different directions.)

Some ramblings about making it and a few more pics to hopefully make up for my phone's less than stellar camera under the cut.

First off, Akatsuki Babysitter's Club. This one is a certified classic and I had some marbled paper I had lying around from 32NorthSupplies on Etsy that I used for the cover. It has a some real nice gold veins in it that shimmer so nice.

For the endpapers, I carefully used gold paint with a stamp to make a pretty pattern on black cardstock.

And for the title page, well, I copied the look of the old babysitters club books as closely as I could for that part of it and chose a font I thought looked like it'd compliment it for the "Akatsuki" part.

For Thirst Contact, the cover paper is this really thick and glimmers black paper I got at a craft store and it just felt sci-fi to me.

The endpapers are made from a piece of cardstock I marbled myself and liked the look of.

For the title page I used a Star Wars-esque font already installed in my computer because it well, reminds me of space, and then did some heavy editing in Affinity Design to get that Thirst looking juuuuust right lol.

For both books, the spines are made of homemade bookcloth. For Thirst Contact, it's the same cloth I used for my Small Medium at Large bind so they're kind of like cousin binds.

[flowerbetweenfangs]

They call you the Stitch Witch. Because you form little bits of magic in every thread you use. Every loop, weave, and piercing of the needle sparks a bit more into what you're fixing.

It begins with a ghost. Only remembering the shroud marking them as dead, they come to you as a simple sheet. After some thought, you get hair donated and use it as your thread, embroidering patterns and attempting to pull memories from the ether. They become humanoid, but remember there are more, wandering and lost.

Always the same, sheets marking them as dead. They beg for your magic and memory retrieval. You explain to your village, and soon many are donating their hair to help in your endeavor.

Some only need a few stictches and are on their way into the afterlife. Some are nearly a new tapestry when you're done, and you've guided them through unfinished business.

The Guide brings more to you, but never asks for more so they can pass on. You entertain them as a good host should, offering them a polite cup of tea and offerings generally reserved for the dead. They seem happy and appreciate all you do, giving small things like messages and news from other parts of the world.

Sometimes families of the deceSed come by and offer their gratitude for helping identify their loved ones and putting them at rest. It's not much, but it's honest work.

Years pass, and you have a small gap in clientele for the first time in seasons. Your hair has started to go white, and calluses have long formed on your fingertips.

Others have picked up your craft, spreading awareness and assisting many around the region. Of course, you're still the one many go to. And your first client always brings in new customers.

But today was different. There was a stillness in the air, the air finally taking on autumn's chill, but a few shuddering breaths of summer remained.

The silence curled through the air like the steam rising from the tea cups. The Guide sat and stared at your latest project, a combined tapestry of nearly a dozen types of hair, forming a rich forest scene.

"Are you ready to move on?" The words were out before you realized.

They shook their head, hovering a few finger widths above you.

"I have unfinished business."

"Let's stitch some memories." You pull out a spoon of dark hair, curly and thick, and cup you hand under the edge of the shroud, pulling it toward you. While the edges are frayed, some having faded into the ether , you see a few white ones that seem fresh.

"And try to make sense of it all. Finally make a map of your unfinished business "

"I'm afraid I can't." Translucent hands form and take yours. Your skin tingles, like it's fallen asleep.

"why not?"

"Because I know what it is." Hands squeeze yours once, twice. Three times.

"There is one soul I want to make sure I guide to the other side. But they aren't wrapped in a shroud. Until then, I will remain. Creating memories and mapping out this life."

And freezing lips press toward yours, the cloth barrier making it rough, like the faintest hint of scruff on a chin. Lips form, but are like chiseled marble, too hard and unmoving. When they pulled away, threads moved across their shroud, twisting into braids and knots that just as quickly untied themselves.

"Who I was before doesn't matter." They assure you. "I feel like these threads pulled us together for a reason, and it would be a shame to damage this work of art by cutting them."

Your lips still tingled at the memory of their touch. Reaching up, you pluck a few hairs from your scalp, slipping them into a small pouch.

"Then I expect you to be there and ready to guide me when my time comes. And I'll finally get to see your true face."

You reached out and touched the shroud. Pins and needles went up your arms. Not unpleasant, but certainly... Different.

The places your hands traveled formed under your fingers, memories of a body allowing it to form.

You kissed Guide again, a chill going through your being. Closing your eyes, you blew into where their mouth would be. And for an instant, the limbs formed and arms wrapped around you.

"I've wanted to do this for years." They whispered in your ear. "To feel your warmth in this icy world."

"Do it as long as you like." You leaned into them, a smile on your face.

You had been one another's constant, and knowing it would continue into the next journey gave you a bit of comfort, and you could already see the memories forming, creating a small picture in your hearts.

[villain-enthusiast]

The hero knew they'd be found one day.

So they weren’t entirely surprised when they were ambushed in their house, drugged, and dragged off to the enormous castle that they used to call home. But their anticipation didn’t stop the dread from pooling in their gut as they were tossed, unceremoniously, onto the ground.

They stifled a groan, flexing their bound hands behind them as they tried to shake off the last of the sedative in their system. Someone grabbed the scruff of their collar and yanked them up to their knees before pulling down their blindfold.

They blinked several times at the ground, squinting through the sudden change in light. As their vision cleared, the marbled pattern of the throne room's floor came into view and they involuntarily stiffened.

"Dismissed."

Fuck. That voice. The cold, cutting power laced in every syllable, the venom in each word that had haunted the hero's dreams for years, even after they escaped. Or so they thought they did. The hero's mouth went dry.

They kept their gaze trained down, hearing the guards behind them leave and close the doors with a harsh, resolute click.

Silence stretched between the hero and the villain, who sat languidly on the throne in a grotesque show of vanity. Of pride.

After a moment, the villain sighed. "So you thought you could get away."

The hero swallowed, hard. "I guess I was just playing hard to get." They hated how unstable, how hoarse their voice was.

The villain chuckled dryly. "You, my prized possession, the greatest weapon I've ever had the pleasure of crafting, were just playing hard to get." The hero heard them shift in their seat. "I'm sure that's a fantasy you'd love to be true, but I knew you'd run. Did you really think I haven't dealt with this before?"

"Guess I thought I'd get lucky." The hero looked up then, to stare the villain straight into their eyes.

The villain held their gaze and smiled, flashing teeth. "Unfortunately, even the most precious treasures are always found at some point." They tilted their head, brow furrowing. "Come here."

The hero did not move.

The villain tapped a finger, and an invisible force pulled the hero taut, dragging them towards the foot of the throne. They grit their teeth, knowing better than to struggle, but hating the agonizing memories that flashed through their head of when they used to fight back, of what the villain was capable of beyond simple commands.

"I see you've grown into disobedience after so many years," the villain tutted. "That's certainly fixable, but what I want to know," they dragged a hand through the hero's disheveled hair, who shuddered at the familiar touch, "is if you still remember what I've taught you." Their touch suddenly turned sharp as they grabbed a fistful of—

The hero's body reacted to the pain before their mind did, and they kicked their leg around, slamming their foot into the villain's forearm. Apparently they still remembered a thing or two.

They landed on their stomach, panting as they faced the wide expanse of the gilded room before them. The villain crouched down beside them, placing a boot on their back and squeezing the air from their lungs.

"Look at you. You could've had all this," the villain hissed in their ear. They grabbed the hero's chin, forcing them to look up. "You could've been by my side, sitting with me on the throne. But you chose to run and try to become someone who could overthrow me, the very person who created you. You are nothing, nothing, without me."

For the first time since they've been back, fear struck the hero deep in their heart. "Please," they breathed, and immediately realized their mistake.

Begging was a weakness. A crack in the boulder. An infection in a festering wound. And the villain saw it all too well.

"Forgiveness," the villain murmured, honey-sweet, "is for the traitors. Punishment is for the cowards. Which one do you think you are?"

As the villain's hand tightened on their face, the hero closed their eyes, knowing the question had already been answered for them.

[renato-crepaldi]

Magenta stir marbled paper. Marbled with black, white and silver in a Suminagashi-like structures, bright magenta duo stir and metallic old gold spots on top. Only 10 sheets available! Signed and dated. Base paper is red, 80 gsm, long grain. Sheet size is 66 x 94 cm (26" x 37"). Will be available in the next release - July 24th at 12 UTC.

Home | Renato Crepaldi Hand Marbled Papers (bigcartel.com)

[specialagentartemis]

I just started trying out stained glass, which I know you also do...any hot tips for beginners or things you wish you'd known when you were first learning?

YOOO STAINED GLASS. Fave. I would love to see what you come up with!

Are you primarily using foil+solder or lead came? I've never actually used came so I have very little advice in that department, though I do want to at some point...

Some things to keep in mind, some imparted to me by my craft center teachers and some discovered by trial and error:

Get a designated box to cut glass over, because the more ambitious the shapes you want to cut, the more shards WILL go everywhere and you want to keep them contained.

If you're cutting glass by hand, you cannot make sharply concave shapes. You will think you can. You will think it can't be that hard. You WILL push your luck. You will end up frustrated. Avoid concave shapes.

If you want to cut concave curves, make them very gently and generously sloped.

If you want to incorporate concave shapes in your design, use multiple pieces of glass to make the curve.

Design with glass in mind from the get-go, rather than trying to adapt a complicated image. If you're designing your own work, try to build it around larger, geometric shapes, without a lot of small fiddly curves. Small fiddly curves DO make fun images, but they will also drive you crazy when they inevitably don't quite fit together right. Make sure you build in enough larger, geometric shapes into your design to anchor your piece and save your sanity.

That said. NGL incorporating things like fossils and marbles and weird shaped natural things is Fun. You can wrap anything you want in copper tape.

Draw or print out your pattern on paper and number each piece on both the pattern and the glass itself. Sharpie wipes off glass pretty easily.

When grinding glass, make sure each piece is ever so slightly smaller than it is on your pattern. The thickness of copper tape seems negligable but adds up when you want pieces to fit precisely.

There are non-lead solders, and they're basically fine, if a little more annoying to use. Lead melts more easily, but I usually use zinc because it's not lead lol. Though if you're not eating off of your stained glass, using lead proooobably isn't a huge deal. Always wash your hands after glasswork regardless.

Tip tinner is your friend! Tin the tip of your soldering iron before and after use, it makes it so much easier.

When you're soldering pieces together, I find laying down a base of thick cardboard, laying out your design on the cardboard, and then using thumbtacks around the edges to anchor the glass pieces in place and prevent them from sliding around helps a lot.

If you want to hang up your stained glass creation like a suncatcher, add loops or hooks, and try to put them at junctures/seams of different pieces of glass to distribute the weight and pressure. My go-to method to make loops for hanging the pieces is to take a metal paperclip, and then loop it around needlenose pliers to make a circle with the wire sticking straight out on either side. Lay the flat wire ends along the outside and solder it down. It makes good secure loops that you can tie a ribbon or attach a chain to, while distributing the pressure along the outside of the piece. And it’s metal so solder sticks to it.

I hope that's not too much! I love working in glass, it's fun and it's so pretty.

[ns1108]

First glimpse

ErisxOC

Level: Fluff Summary: Eris finds beauty hidden in the woods.

The autumn leaves crunch under Eris’ heavy leather boots, a satisfying sound in the stillness of the forest. The sun had been shining for days without pause, draping the land in an amber glow that made the Autumn Court seem more vibrant than ever. The leaves on the trees shimmered like burnished gold, each one ablaze under the sunlight, casting the woods in a perpetual twilight. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of damp earth and woodsmoke from distant hearths, though the court itself lay miles away.

Eris halted mid-stride, his keen eyes scanning the horizon, but it was not the beauty of the forest that caught his attention. His shadow hounds, ever-loyal, prowled unseen around him. He couldn’t see them, but he could sense the faint flickers of warmth radiating from their spectral forms. They moved through the shadows like wraiths, eyes sharp and focused, ready for the hunt. But no quarry had drawn his attention, not yet. Despite the crossbow slung over his shoulder and the finely-crafted hunting blade at his side, hunting was far from his mind today.

This journey was more about escape than pursuit. He had told his staff he was heading into the woods to hunt, a convenient excuse to evade the suffocating demands of his title, if only for a while. The throne room, with its high vaulted ceilings and polished marble floors, had felt more like a prison as of late. The responsibilities of ruling the Autumn Court weighed heavier with each passing season, each decision layering an invisible shackle around his soul. Out here, amidst the rustling trees and flickering shadows, he could at least pretend to be free.

He breathed deeply, the sharp scent of fallen leaves and damp bark filling his lungs, grounding him in the moment. The forest was alive with the hum of insects and the occasional call of a distant bird, but even this symphony of life did little to quell the restlessness that stirred within him. His hands flexed at his sides, itching for action—anything to drown out the nagging thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.

Ahead, the forest thickened, the trees growing denser and the canopy darker. A trail he hadn't noticed before wound through the underbrush, overgrown and nearly hidden, as if the forest itself had kept it secret. Eris tilted his head, intrigued. This path was not on any of the maps he’d memorized over the years. Curious, he started down the trail, his boots crunching softly against the fallen leaves.

The shadow hounds shifted around him, alert to his change in direction. Their silent, unseen forms moved as one, slipping between trees and shadows like phantoms. Eris smirked to himself; even if he didn’t know where he was going, his hounds would ensure nothing caught him off guard. He might be running from the court’s suffocating embrace, but here, in this realm of twilight and flame-colored leaves, he was still very much in control.

The further he walked, the quieter the forest became, as though the very air was holding its breath. His pulse quickened—not from fear, but anticipation. Something was different about this part of the woods, something ancient and untouched. The trees here seemed older, their roots gnarled and twisted, almost as if they had a will of their own. Sunlight filtered weakly through the thick canopy, casting eerie patterns on the forest floor. Shadows moved where no breeze stirred, and the scent in the air shifted—from the fresh tang of autumn to something older, earthier, like forgotten tombs and whispered secrets.

Suddenly, a flash of movement caught his eye—a figure, just at the edge of his vision, moving swiftly between the trees. His breath hitched, his hand instinctively reaching for his blade. But as quickly as it appeared, the figure was gone, leaving only the lingering rustle of leaves in its wake.

Eris narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t alone.

Without hesitation, he signaled to his hounds, feeling the subtle shift in their energy as they spread out, sweeping through the trees in pursuit of the intruder. A thrill shot through him, the pulse of the hunt finally igniting within his chest. Whoever—or whatever—had dared to venture into his path would soon be found. Perhaps this hunt would be more than just an escape after all.

With a determined step, he moved forward, the autumn leaves crunching once again beneath his boots as the forest closed in around him. Yet when he ventured further into the thickness of the forest, he ended up between the bushes to an opening of a clearing. In it a cozy looking cabin layed. Through the chimney smoke lazily danced out, and the windows stood open from every ankle he could see, voices ringing out. Primarily male all of them, yet a couple of females voices joined in the laughter.

This is a wonderful continuation of the story, bringing in more characters and a shift in tone as Eris encounters a family in the clearing. Let me refine and expand the scene for clarity and tension, while keeping the spirit of your original input.

Before Eris could retreat from the clearing, a door creaked open, and the inhabitants of the house began to spill out into the amber-drenched glade. Six burly men emerged first, all of them young—around Eris’ age, or so he guessed. Their deeply tanned, olive-toned skin reminded him of the people from the Court of Dawn, though their hair marked them as unmistakably of autumn—each of them crowned with fiery red locks, classic in the way of the Autumn Court’s bloodlines. Their builds varied, from a head taller than Eris to as broad and bulky as an Illyrian warrior. Despite their formidable appearances, they paid no heed to their surroundings, immediately falling into a playful brawl as soon as they stepped outside, wrestling like children despite their size.

A sharp, feminine voice cut through the air, calling after them. Eris tensed, his hand hovering near his blade as he watched a black-haired woman rush out, waving a wooden spoon as if it were a weapon. She scolded them loudly, berating them for their recklessness, shouting something about safety and manners. The men barely paid her any attention, though one broke off from the brawl long enough to drape a large arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug with a wide grin. She wriggled free, but her scowl softened, betraying a hidden fondness for these ruffians. 

Eris furrowed his brow, studying the woman closely. Her appearance was foreign, her black hair and features distinct from those of the Autumn Court. She was beautiful in a rugged, earthy way, though clearly worn from managing the chaos of these men. She had the air of a matriarch, yet there was no regal grace about her—only practicality and fire. No, she wasn’t from the Autumn Court. She was an outsider, likely the mother of this wild pack.

Behind her, a giant of a male appeared in the doorway, stepping out onto the porch with slow, deliberate movements. His pale skin and flaming red hair marked him as a true son of Autumn, and yet his figure was even more imposing than his younger counterparts. He was heavyset, his large sweater pulling taut over his broad stomach. But that wasn’t what caught Eris’ attention.

It was the man’s legs—or lack thereof.

Below the knees, where his legs should have been, were two wooden prosthetics. The craftsmanship was exceptional, the wood smooth and polished, but the sight of them shocked Eris nonetheless. The man moved with a practiced ease, though, his gait steady and sure despite his wooden limbs. Eris felt a pang of respect ripple through him, a silent acknowledgment of the strength it must have taken for this male to endure such a fate and still stand so tall.

And then, a sound like ringing bells filled the air. At first, Eris thought it was the chime of actual bells, but then he realized—it was laughter. Sweet, bright laughter. His heart lurched in his chest.

From the house came the last of the family: a young woman with chestnut-brown hair and dark olive skin, far curvier than the lithe, ethereal fae women Eris was accustomed to seeing at the palace. Her hair, haphazardly pulled into a low bun, had already half fallen out, loose tendrils framing her face. She was short, especially compared to the men surrounding her, but her presence seemed to fill the clearing as though she belonged to it more than any of them.

Eris’ breath caught in his throat.

She was beautiful—stunning, in fact. There was something raw and natural about her beauty, unrefined by courtly polish, and it hit him with the force of an unexpected storm. She laughed again, her voice dancing through the air, and Eris, in his shock, took a step back. His heel caught on a large branch, and before he knew it, he stumbled, crashing ungracefully to the ground with a soft thud. 

He cursed silently, his pulse quickening. What was he doing? The High Lord of the Autumn Court, lying in the dirt like a fool, spying on strangers in the middle of the woods. He scrambled to stay as quiet as possible, pressing himself into the damp earth as leaves stuck to his clothes and hair.

But it was too late. Both the father and the daughter had turned toward the sound of his fall, their eyes narrowing as they scanned the trees. Eris held his breath, silently cursing his curiosity for getting him into this situation.

This is ridiculous, he thought bitterly. A joke, surely. That their High Lord, the ruler of the Autumn Court, was lying flat on the forest floor, covered in leaves, praying to the Mother that this strange family wouldn't find him. If his court could see him now, they'd laugh until winter came.

Certainly! Let’s add the moment where Eris decides to winnow back to the castle, with the memory of the woman still vivid in his mind.

Eris held his breath, heart hammering in his chest, as the father and daughter scanned the woods. His pulse quickened, the stillness of the forest magnifying the sound of his own shallow breathing. For a few agonizing moments, he remained frozen on the damp earth, eyes fixed on the pair as they surveyed the clearing.

The father seemed to hesitate, his sharp eyes flickering in Eris’ direction, though it was the daughter who lingered longest. Her brow furrowed, dark lashes framing her olive-green eyes as she studied the trees with a knowing look. It was as if she could sense him, though she couldn’t quite see him. The air between them seemed to hum with an unspoken connection.

Eris bit back a curse, forcing himself to stay utterly still, his body pressed against the cold, leaf-strewn ground. His shadow hounds shifted nervously in the unseen distance, but he called them back with a silent command, urging them to remain hidden. He couldn’t afford to be discovered now, not like this—sprawled in the dirt like some court fool.

After what felt like an eternity, the father grunted, turning back toward the house. The daughter hesitated a moment longer, her eyes narrowing at the edge of the trees where Eris lay concealed. But then, as if dismissing the thought, she let out a soft sigh and turned back, following her father inside.

Eris waited until the last creak of the door faded into the rustling of leaves. Slowly, cautiously, he pushed himself up, the forest suddenly feeling stifling despite the crisp air. His cheeks burned with embarrassment. What kind of High Lord had he become, sneaking through the woods like a child and falling flat on his back at the mere sight of a beautiful woman?

His pride bristled at the thought, but no matter how much he tried to shake the image from his mind, the sound of her laughter clung to him like the crisp scent of autumn leaves. Her face, her presence—so different from the pristine, cold beauty of the fae he knew at court—had stirred something in him that he couldn't quite name. Something ancient and raw, like the forests themselves.

The memory of her lingered as he rose to his feet, brushing the dirt and leaves from his clothes. He cast one last glance toward the small house, nestled in the clearing, feeling a strange tug in his chest. He could still hear the echoes of her laughter, bright and bell-like, as it rang out in his mind. 

Ridiculous, he told himself again, more sharply this time. He was the High Lord of Autumn. There was no place for distractions like this—not now. Yet, even as he tried to harden his resolve, the memory of her face remained, stubborn and vivid.

With a swift motion, Eris summoned his power. The world around him blurred, the golden leaves and towering trees dissolving into a cascade of shimmering light. He willed himself to winnow, the familiar pull of magic coursing through his veins as he focused on the only place he knew would bring him back to order—his castle, his court.

Yet, even as the clearing vanished, and the oppressive weight of the Autumn Court’s ancient walls began to settle around him once more, the memory of her remained. Her laughter, her dark olive skin, the way her hair had fallen loose from her bun—it was all too fresh, too vivid, like a dream he had only just awoken from.

As Eris reappeared within the familiar halls of the castle, the cool marble beneath his boots doing little to steady his racing thoughts, he allowed himself one final, indulgent thought: Who was she?

And why did the memory of her still echo so loudly in his mind?

[girlkisser13]

nemesis cabin headcanons

children of nemesis

• they’re the ONLY cabin that is safe from pranks by the hermes cabin.

• they never have problems with balancing chemistry equations.

• whenever someone from camp needs to settle a debate/argument, they always ask someone from the nemesis cabin to be the mediator/judge.

• they're also frequently asked to be referees for games of capture the flag, as their reputation for fair judgment makes them ideal for ensuring the game is played with integrity and without bias.

• when a child of vengeance is saved of a certain death by another demigod, they now owe a debt to their savior.

• whenever the savior calls for help, they are obligated to come and help them no matter the danger.

• they are all CRAZY competitive. it’s like they're in pre-revenge mode.

• the demigod that nemesis traded the ability to make a difference in the world for one of their eyes was nick fury (and ethan).

• at this point, she just has a passion for children with eyepatches.

• i can just picture nemesis cackling and pointing to her children "you get an eyepatch" "you get an eyepatch!" "but mom-" "EYEPATCH FOR YOUUUUUUUUU!!"

• they care the least about the appearance of other people, because they see their mother as the person they hate most.

• the hephaestus cabin helped them build a gigantic celestial bronze scale in the middle of their cabin.

• they don't get along well with the children of athena, largely because many of them struggle with hubris as their fatal flaw.

• since nemesis is the goddess who punishes those who are overly prideful or self-assured, this same principle extends to her children, creating natural tension between the two groups.

cabin exterior

• the cabin has dark stone walls, almost like slate or obsidian, giving it a brooding, intimidating appearance. the stones have subtle cracks running through them, symbolizing the balance of vengeance and justice.

• deep red and crimson accents are used around the cabin to signify blood, vengeance, and the balance of power. the entrance to their cabin is a red door. it has the scales of justice etched into it, representing nemesis’ role.

• above the doorway, there is a carving of an eagle, nemesis' sacred animal, holding a sword in its talons. the sword represents retribution, and the eagle embodies her watchful, unforgiving nature.

• a small statue of nemesis herself stands in front of the cabin, holding her sword and scales, symbolizing the ever-present concept of justice. her eyes are made from rubies, watching those who come and go.

• the shadows cast by the cabin seem to move subtly, giving the impression that the cabin itself is watching or judging those nearby. these shadows stretch and shift depending on the actions of the people passing by.

cabin interior

• the central theme of the cabin is balance. there are symbolic representations of scales EVERYWHERE— on the walls, carved into the furniture, painted in murals. every item in the cabin is placed with perfect symmetry, reinforcing the idea of equilibrium and fairness.

• instead of modern lights, the cabin is illuminated by dark iron lanterns or torches with low, flickering flames, casting dramatic shadows around the room. this lighting adds to the cabin’s mysterious and foreboding atmosphere.

• the furniture is made of dark wood— oak and mahogany— each piece sturdy and simple, but elegantly crafted. the chairs and beds have an almost throne-like quality, with high backs and intricate carvings, to emphasize power and authority.

• large mirrors are placed strategically around the cabin, but these mirrors do not show your true reflection. instead, they show you as balanced with your opposite. for example, someone who is overly confident might see themselves looking unsure or humble. these mirrors serve as a reminder that nemesis governs balance in all things.

• the floor is made of glossy black marble, cold and smooth underfoot. some areas are etched with swirling, abstract patterns that represent fate and karma, with a glowing red hue filling in the designs at night.

cabin traditions

• they have a tradition of making penance offerings or performing acts of restitution for any personal wrongs they’ve committed, reflecting their dedication to correcting imbalances.

• every month, the members hold a ceremony where they balance scales to symbolize their commitment to justice and fairness. this involves a ritual where they offer symbolic items representing their past grievances and mistakes.

• they frequently engage in debates about justice and morality, using these discussions to hone their skills in resolving conflicts and understanding different perspectives on retribution.

• each member keeps a small stone where they inscribe significant personal experiences related to justice and retribution, creating a collective memory of the cabin’s journey and values.

divider by @strangergraphics-archive

[oceanlipgloss]

NICE

MEPHISTOPHELES.

+ no warnings.

+ my mc is the heroine, so the pronouns are feminine.

Violet bruises, grass stains. Her pale knees, smudged with a marble-like pattern of purple and green. Expected with frequent, clumsy falls.

Nothing that grotesque. Peeking out from under dark fabric. To some, the vision may have seemed a piece of art. He sat together with her in a pillow fort. Pressed close. A stubby candle spat light over a sandwich quite small, perfectly enough for one.

The soft space was cramped. Long legs stuck out of the ‘door’ to the mellow chamber. He liked the weight of her smooth legs over his.

It was nice.

Makeshift seats, bruised knees, commoner meals. Was she gifting him the taste of pauperism and its childish experiences?

Perhaps it was inappropriate, but...his fingers traced spirals over the curious colour palette on her skin. The bone was hard as it was crafted to be, though not cold. She was warm. Stars—magnetic and sweet—seemed to flow from his silk-coated fingertips.

His hand was in hers. A pair of white gloves rolled off like buttercream. They were put aside. Wasn’t it better to feel her bare touch against his? A slow interlace.

Taking his big hand, delicate fingers filling the gaps, a man pleasantly trapped. There were flames under his skin. She had him feeling somewhat dizzy.

It was nice.

Birthdays are meaningless days. They don’t have to be made out into celebrations or parades. There is nothing particularly precious about a date on which one was born. What matters most is the person, their everyday presence at the current moment in the world.

There are times when less is more. The tiniest things may craft happiness of the purest, most unfiltered sort. There doesn’t have to be cake or confetti; they’re not necessary.

There are times when it’s better to withdraw and forget the existence of invitations. Stay alone, or stay with someone.

Happiness was glowing in his heart then—a moon dulcet in its humming and silver in its colour—not a noisy, gaudy neon.

Ketchup on his nose, licked away with her cheeky tongue. An exasperated sigh. So playful.

Makeshift seats, bruised knees, commoner meals. Pillow, candle, sandwich.

He was thinking about it all when warmth glossed his lips. It was wet and unfamiliarly familiar. A sneak peck. Not the first, not the last. She loved surprising him like that, and he loved—though almost begrudgingly so at first—when she did.

These days he unthinkingly gave in.

He had pocketed the flavour of her kiss. And he was never forgetting it now. Will she keep doing this all again for him?

It was nice.

Riches are important and money is for survival, but so are the proper emotions. Perhaps his was the heart that had been throbbing in a life bleaker than a pauper’s.

+notes: first birthday fic in years and it's for Mephi. Intimacy bar when

+ MASTERLIST

+ AO3 POST

©𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣𝙡𝙞𝙥𝙜𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙨

[uwmspeccoll]

It’s Fine Press Friday! 

Today we’re taking a deep dive into Songs for Gaia, a slim edition of poetry by Gary Snyder (b. 1930). This understated, beautifully-crafted letterpress volume was printed in 1979 for Kah Tai Alliance at Copper Canyon in Port Townsend, WA, a fine press dedicated solely to poetry since its founding in 1972, and was handbound by poet and bookbinder Samuel Green. It features woodblock illustrations by poet and printmaker Michael Corr (b. 1940), who learned his craft while living in Kyoto from block printer and illustrator Takeji Asano (1900-1999). Asano was a notable figure in Japan’s Sōsaku-hanga woodblock printing movement. The book is quarter bound in cloth with a cover marbled in a finely executed combed feather pattern, a touch that lends a hint of psychedelia to its otherwise traditional aesthetics. It was released in a limited edition of 300 copies.   

Snyder, who is popularly known for his time amongst and spiritualist influence on the Beat poets and the counterculture of their generation (along with Kerouac’s portrayal of him as Japhy Ryder in the 1958 novel The Dharma Bums) spent 13 years in Japan (1956-1968) studying Zen Buddhism, forestry, and ecology. A scholar of Asian languages versed in cultural anthropology, he also studied calligraphy with accomplished calligrapher and seal carver Charles Leong during his time at Reed College. Snyder’s calligraphic signature graces the half-title page of this edition.  

This modest yet potent edition of Songs for Gaia is a fitting form for the work of a poet whom writer Bob Steuding once characterized as cultivating an “accessible” style and “a new kind of poetry that is direct, concrete, non-Romantic and ecological.” As Snyder wrote of his own work in A Controversy of Poets, “I try to hold both history and wilderness in mind, that my poems may approach the true measure of things and stand against the unbalance and ignorance of our times.”  

View more Fine Press Friday posts

View more woodblock illustration posts

View more marbling posts (shout out to Alice, our resident marbling expert!)

-Ana, Special Collections Graduate Fieldworker