#Side Spiral Binding Notebooks

[rotworld]

A Bird in the Hand

you've been "partnered" with the nightbound who betrayed you for weeks now and neither of you are happy with how things are going.

->virgilio/reader. explicit; contains hypnosis, blood drinking, mild gore, power imbalance, aphrodisiacs, food control, mentions of conditioning.

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Every day, there’s a notebook open on the kitchen counter. You can’t miss it because it sits right next to an enormous breakfast feast, already made, plated and waiting by the time you drag yourself out in hungry desperation. Everything is artfully arranged like it came right out of an upscale restaurant’s kitchen from lightly sprinkled garnish to elegant, swirling sauce patterns. Even the fucking cereal looks like a mouthwatering food blog photo, a row of sliced fruit ringing one side of the bowl. 

There’s a pen tucked into the notebook’s spiral binding. At the top of the page, a single question is scrawled in neat cursive: What is your favorite movie?

It’s late. The sun shields are open and you can see the city skyline glittering through the windows. The only light in the room comes from a lamp perched on the counter, the thick dome shade softening the light to sunset orange. You uncap the pen, watching clouds drift across the moon. 

Fuck you, you write.

*

Some nights are spent at Cassowary Tattoo. 

It’s that or stew in your own misery for long, silent hours, because you’re not allowed to leave the house on your own yet. You claim your spot in the waiting area, stretched out on the sofa by the front windows with a stack of books on the coffee table beside you. It’s so cozy it makes you suspicious, the comforting and non-confrontational vibe almost smothering—lots of plants and pottery on the wooden wall shelves and muted rugs to soften the hardwood floor, some slow-tempo jazz playing over the speakers. Was it already like this or did they do some hasty redecorating? It feels more like a coffee shop than a tattoo parlor.

Your name is called with slow reluctance. “Hey, uh…” It’s the guy working the desk—nightbound. You saw him sipping from a blood pouch earlier. He knows what you are, too. That’s why he watches you like a hawk. He looks young but that doesn’t mean anything. What does is how nervous he is around you, anxiously vigilant whenever you shift around to get comfortable or exhale just a little sharply. Not like he’s scared of you, but scared of potentially having to handle you, like he’s watching a priceless vase wobble precariously on its stand. A lot of fledglings are like that because the older nightbound teach them that witches are some kind of endangered species, rare and skittish, necessitating firm but gentle handling.

He’ll chase you if you try to run. He doesn’t want to. He’s afraid he might hurt you by accident and then Virgilio will be mad at him, and he would sooner chop off his own hand than risk one of his superiors, his elders, being mad at him.

“Yeah?” you say. 

He flinches whether you soften your tone or not. “Are you, uh. Are you hungry? Sergeant—uh, Virgilio wants to know.” 

“I’m fine.” You pretend to be interested in the books you brought along, propped up on your side with one of the musty tomes open in front of you. It’s all dry, boring shit, leatherbound antiques on loan from the Dusk Council’s extensive library. Nightbound biology, nightbound psychology, nightbound history—there’s a lot here that you don’t know despite how they’ve been breathing down your neck your whole life. 

“Oh. Okay.” He fidgets nervously with his phone. “Well, uh. I think he ordered you something anyway.” 

He did, of course, and it shows up just a few minutes later in the hands of a delivery driver. Virgilio appears at the same moment, pushing through the curtain dividing the shop. There’s no doorbell or chime or anything. Every nightbound in the shop can hear it when somebody parks on the street right outside, or when the front door opens with a wheezy creak. Virgilio exchanges pleasantries and leaves a nice tip. He places the takeout bag on the coffee table right next to your books and then he pulls up one of the armchairs. His hair’s up in a ponytail. He’s wearing a black tank top so his tattoo sleeves are on full display—a moon and clouds, raven wings, a skull hidden among full-bloom flowers and half-melted candles. 

His smile makes your stomach twist up in angry, sickened knots. “Hey. Got you something.” 

You don’t answer and you don’t meet his gaze. Undeterred, he pulls a container out of the bag and opens it for you, steam and a garlicky scent wafting out. It’s some kind of spinach dish, sauteed leafy greens topped with crunchy garnish. 

“Smells pretty good,” he says, stirring it with a plastic fork. “Let me know if you like it and I’ll make it at home sometime. Just need some garlic and olive oil. Maybe a little amaretto if you want it fancy.” He slides the bowl across the table, closer to you. “Come on. You must be hungry. You barely touched breakfast.” You still don’t take it and his smile wanes, all that cheerful enthusiasm souring into weary resignation. “I don’t want to put you under but I will if I have to. It’s for your own good.”

“Stop saying that.” The threat of hypnosis makes you sit up, but you still don’t reach for the bowl. You don’t want it. You don’t want any of this. “‘For my own good?’ This is all for you, so you can feed as much as you want.” 

“It’s for you,” Virgilio insists. “So you don’t end up anemic or worse.” 

The wounded look on his face makes your blood boil, soft eyes and furrowed brows like he thought this would go any other way. He wants to talk? Fine. You can talk. “I wouldn’t need to worry about that if you fed from anyone or anything else sometimes. But I’m here, so you might as well take as much as you want, right? Why bother with a donor who actually likes getting fed on? Is that not as fun? You can’t get off if your blood bag is having a good time, too?” 

Virgilio catches your chin between his fingers and jerks your gaze up to meet his eyes. He’s got your mind in a vice-grip before you can even blink and for a blissful moment, there are no thoughts in your head. No anger. No fear. Nothing. Just fuzzy warmth and gentle drifting. His eyes are glittering gold and you’re sinking, all the tension leaking out of your body, all your worries evaporating—and then he lets go, slowly, like a fist loosening. He maintains just enough control that you can’t muster the energy to yell at him or tear yourself away. 

“Eat the fucking food,” he says, his voice low and ragged. You can only think clearly when he stops touching you, and even then, you find yourself picking up the bowl and spearing spinach on your fork. Virgilio leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his face.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you mutter between bites. “I didn’t choose to be what I am.” 

Virgilio takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. Me, neither.” 

*

Every three days, your breakfast comes with roseblood. Virgilio brews it himself on the stove and the delicate garden-fresh aroma fills the whole house by the time you wake up. He pours the first dose into a black mug with a golden bird silhouette stamped on the side, and then he drops in a few colorful crystals that gently fizzle, making little prismatic bubbles at the surface. That’s nectar, condensed and edible magic. The sweet scent makes your mouth water. He sprinkles a couple leftover rosebuds on top and slides the mug over to join the rest of the trays, plates and bowls he painstakingly prepared. 

“Buon appetito,” he says with a grin. He usually makes himself scarce when you show up for food but today he’s decided to stick around. He stays on the other side of the counter, at least, a newspaper unfolded in front of him so he can pretend he isn’t watching you intently. You eat begrudgingly. Virgilio is such a talented chef that it makes you angry. His plating is immaculate and his dishes are perfect whether he’s baking, boiling or braising something—a sharp contrast to the single small plate at his elbow with nothing but a piece of toast smeared with marmalade. 

You watch him. He watches you. Neither of you speak to each other and the only sounds are the clink of your silverware and the whisper of turning paper, the occasional muted crunch when Virgilio nibbles on his toast. The roseblood is delicious, sweet like honey. You catch him smiling when you hold up the mug, enjoying the soft floral scent and the warmth against your palms, but he quickly averts his eyes back down to the newspaper. 

You think about those videos of animal shelters and people who sit with nervous dogs until they stop shaking. That’s how he sees this, you think. A selfless act. Doing you a favor. Coaxing you to him with food and gentle words, like he doesn’t already have the leash around your neck. 

Today, the notebook asks, What do you like to do in your spare time? 

Virgilio’s gaze is drawn by the scratch of the pen across the paper. You scribble quickly and furiously, then shove it aside. He doesn’t have to look to know you’ve written the same words you always do. He gathers up his newspaper and toast and finally gives you some privacy.

*

Some nights are spent in Dr. Griffiths’ office. The two of you look like a couple on the verge of divorce. Virgilio hunches like a man in a confessional booth and you’re scrunched up against the armrest of the big Victorian sofa, keeping one full cushion between the two of you. Your gaze travels across the room in careful avoidance of Virgilio, wandering from the bookshelves to the hanging paintings to the swinging pendulum of a grandfather clock. Candles flicker atop ornate brass stands. It smells like leather, parchment and incense. 

“I just don’t know what else to do,” Virgilio says. “It’s not like I don’t get it. I do. But you have to understand that the second you became active…look, you weren’t leaving that dinner party without the rug getting pulled out from under you, okay? That’s just how it is. If I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve. And I know you hate me for it, you feel like I took advantage—” 

“Let’s not assume,” Dr. Griffiths says gently. “It would benefit you both to ask each other how you feel, rather than jumping to conclusions. Even in situations where you’re certain you already know, is it not better to ask? To have the opportunity to voice those thoughts and feelings?” He’s nightbound, of course, because why would the Council send you to any other kind of therapist? His eyes glint like an animal’s and he has the uncanny, fluid grace of an elder. He dresses somewhat eccentrically for his profession, stylish and formal in a black blouse with translucent sleeves and fitted slacks, his high heels glossy like obsidian. He looks the way people expect nightbound to look, sickly pale and ghostly as though carved from marble. 

Virgilio glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “They don’t talk to me if they can help it.” 

Dr. Griffiths tilts his head, regarding you with a pensive frown. “You’re still not speaking to your partner?” 

“No,” you mutter.

“Why not?” 

“You can’t guess?” 

He smiles and pushes away from the desk. You watch him warily as he comes to stand beside you, resting his palm on the armrest of the sofa. He looks down at you, tilting his head in that odd, bird-like motion the nightbound all share, like an owl tracking a scurrying mouse. “No assumptions, remember?” he asks.

“It’s really not that hard to figure out,” you insist. He hums, urging you to continue. You don��t look at Virgilio but you can feel the weight of his stare. “My life doesn’t belong to me. I’m like his pet or something.”

“That’s not true—” Virgilio starts to say. Dr. Griffiths cuts him off with a sharp glance. 

“Go on,” he says patiently. 

There’s a lump in your throat, the burning sensation of tears forming in the corners of your eyes. You swallow hard. “And my time, that’s not mine anymore. I’m basically nocturnal now because I have to be. Even if I get up early, I can’t see the sun because of the stupid shields on the windows. It’s so dark everywhere, all the time. And my bedroom isn’t mine, it’s just the guestroom in his house. Some of my stuff’s there but it doesn’t matter. He can come in whenever he wants.”

“I would never—”

“Virgilio,” Dr. Griffiths says, firm but gentle. 

“And,” your voice cracks, “and the food, too. He picks that. And I know why, I know about roseblood and the risks and all that stuff, I know that. But it just reminds me that I don’t have anything anymore. I don’t even have myself. And…and…” Your words unravel into sobs. The sofa creaks under Virgilio’s shifting weight and you see him in your periphery looking sick with guilt. 

His hand trespasses onto the cushion between you. You hear him come closer. You know what he’s going to do and it makes you feel even worse, but you don’t try to stop him from touching your shoulder and turning you towards him. You don’t fight the gentle pressure of his fingers on your chin. You don’t squeeze your eyes shut or try to look away. Your eyes meet and Virgilio’s calming presence fills your mind, quieting your sobs to sniffles and numbing the ache in your chest.

Everything is okay for a while. Everything is light and airy, soft and sweet. You’re freed from thought and fear and worry, left with nothing but peace. When you surface, it happens slowly. You feel an arm wrapped around you, a gentle hand stroking your head. You smell chewing gum on his breath. Virgilio holds you against his chest, idly stroking your back and pressing kisses to your tear-dampened cheeks. 

Dr. Griffiths is back by his desk, frowning thoughtfully. “You have a problem with control, Virgilio,” he says. “Understandably, you crave it. You exert it however and whenever you can. Losing it makes you lash out and act impulsively. I would hope, then, that you might have some sympathy for someone who has none.”

Virgilio wraps around you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces. He knows this will end badly once you get home; more tears, more distance, days of agonizing silence and refusing to meet his eye. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “Yeah, you’re right.” He holds on tight while he still can. 

*

There are indents in the notebook paper, like someone scribbled furiously on the page before it. You turn back and find line after line written and then hastily crossed out. A handful are still legible:

What is your favorite breakfast food? What is your favorite food? What foods do you like? What would you like me to make you? I will make you anything you want if you ask for it. I didn’t know it upset you so much. I thought maybe it upset you, but I didn’t know what to do. I’m trying to make the best of a difficult situation. I know it’s not fair. I’m not good at this. I can’t let you go but I will do anything else, just name it and I will do it. I’m going to put a better lock on your door. Do you want a better lock on your door? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m really sorry.

On the next page, Virgilio’s handwriting reverts to its usual neatness. It simply says, List some foods that you like. 

*

Some nights are spent at home. Virgilio’s coworkers say he’s allergic to time off, which is news to you. It feels like he’s around more than he isn’t. Usually you stay in the guest room and only venture out for food but tonight, you reluctantly join him on the living room sectional. Virgilio is hunched over and doodling in a sketchbook, so shocked by your sudden appearance that you hear his pencil lead snap. You flick on the lamp and unceremoniously drop your entire stack of books on the coffee table, picking one from the pile at random to start with. 

You peek over the edge of the book. Virgilio is frozen for a moment like he thinks the slightest twitch might scare you off. You don’t think he’s even breathing. He watches you carefully, assessing you with cold focus like he’s sizing up a threat. The intensity in his stare frightens you. You don’t know what gives you away—quickening pulse? Hitched breath? Some subtle scent? He blinks and his gaze softens. He sets his sketchbook down and turns to give you his full attention. His casual lean, the way he drapes his arm over the backrest, reminds you of the night you met. 

“How about a truce?” he offers. 

You stare at him suspiciously. “What kind of truce?” 

“Less mesmerism.” 

“How about no mesmerism?” 

“Less,” he stresses with finality. The way your expression crumples with disappointment makes him sigh and rub the back of his neck. “What else do you want? Within reason.” 

You almost scoff at that but Virgilio’s anxious stare makes you reconsider. He’s trying, at least. It’s the smallest of consolations, but he’s giving it to you. “Could you talk to me the way you used to?” 

“The way I used to?” 

“Like at the party. Before…” Before he ruined your life. Betrayed your trust. Claimed you in front of the whole Council. Your heart is in your throat. “Like before,” you say quietly. 

The hoarseness of your voice makes him restless. He drums his fingers along the back of the couch and his gaze wanders. “I tried that,” he says. “When you first came here—” 

“When I was brought here,” you correct him. He clenches his jaw. “I didn’t choose to come here. You know that.” 

“The point is I tried that already. I acted like nothing was different. You still wouldn’t talk to me.” 

“Because I was angry. I still am,” you tell him. “I know I didn’t have much of a choice. I know somebody else would’ve done it if you didn’t. But it hurt. I’m allowed to be hurt. You can’t just snap your fingers and make me forgive you—”

“I could,” Virgilio says. He turns towards the kitchen windows where the moon is just a curled sliver. “I could make you. Probably not in one session. I’d need to reinforce it a few times. But I could.” He says it so plainly. Soft and contemplative, like something he’s spent long nights turning over in his mind. “Hm. That sounds extra fucked up when I say it out loud.” You flinch when he gives you a sidelong glance. “I really am sorry. About the way I did it, anyway. If we’d been anywhere else, I would’ve taken you home and talked it over first. I would’ve made you comfortable first. Been gentler about the claiming mark.” 

The reminder makes you pick at the turtleneck collar of your shirt. The scars on your neck are crescents of bumpy, gnarled tissue like the prints left by a vicious mauling. Virgilio follows the movement of your fingers intently, hoping you might peel the fabric down and show him the proof of his claim, but you won’t. You keep it covered as much as possible. The way he looks at it even through your clothing, the voyeuristic hunger in his eyes, unsettles you. 

“And yeah,” he says wryly, “I know you would’ve agreed to it. I would’ve laid out your options, and you would’ve picked me. That’s not a brag. The bar is real low and I know that. I’m perfectly happy being the lesser evil.”

He’s lying. You can’t usually tell. Before he started covering everything up with cloying, overindulgent sweetness, he hid all of his feelings behind a veneer of deadpan sarcasm. But that last part, you’re certain, was a lie. He doesn’t look at you when he says it. His voice gets small and timid, almost ashamed. You set your book down on the table slowly and take a steadying breath. 

“Do you want to feed on me?” you ask him. 

Virgilio blinks a couple times, like he’s trying to wake himself up. “Are you fucking with me?” 

You were really hoping he wouldn’t make a big deal out of this. “Remember what I said at the therapist’s? About how I’m basically your dog?” 

He frowns. “You’re not—” 

“Not looking to argue,” you cut him off tiredly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re trying to train me. Rewarding me for good behavior, punishing me for bad, all that stuff. Well, we’re trying to make things fair with a truce, right? So now I’m going to train you, too.” You lean back against the couch cushions and hook your fingers into the turtleneck, rolling down the collar until your throat is exposed. Virgilio’s pupils dilate. “If you’re good, you get extra.” 

He drags his gaze up from your neck to your face and your heart races. You don’t see him like this very often. Virgilio is old enough to control his appetite, normally unfazed by the sight or scent of bare human skin. The temptation of your blood when he didn’t expect it seems to have caught him off guard. He looks at you like a starving wolf looks at a lone deer, how the same wolf looks at a mate in heat, lust and hunger a single entity. Virgilio prowls closer on all fours, crawling towards you on the couch. You both know he’s the one in control here. He can take what he wants, when he wants. 

But he stops just short of you, one hand landing on the cushion beside your feet, and looks at you with that animalistic tilt of the head. “Have I been good?” he asks, his voice low and eager. 

Heat rushes through your body. “Yes,” you say. “You’ve been very good.” 

There’s something ritualistic about the way Virgilio feeds. You don’t know if all nightbound are like this or if it’s unique to him, but he goes slow. There’s foreplay before the bite. The approach is a dance, graceful and gradual. He caresses your leg as he shifts closer and he presses kisses everywhere, even over your clothes. To your ankle. To your knee. To your hip. They’re chaste but they linger and they feel reverential. He slides into place beside you and pulls you into his lap, hand wandering. He rubs your shoulders and strokes your sides. You see desire in his eyes but also sadness and solemn determination. This is about more than blood. 

His fingers slip beneath the hem of your turtleneck but he doesn’t take it off right away. He feels you first, his palms sliding up and down your chest. It feels good—not just the stroke of his fingers against your hardening nipples but also the undivided attention, the focus on your body and your pleasure, the weight and wanting of his stare. To Virgilio, nothing exists but you right now, you and your warmth and your pulse thudding beneath his fingertips. His lips move hungrily against yours, coaxing you to tangle your tongue with his. He makes small sounds, contented sighs and soft moans. 

“I’ll make it up to you,” he murmurs, nipping at your lower lip. Your heart flutters at the teasing prick of his fangs, his venom fizzling pleasantly on your skin. “I swear I will. Someday I’ll be worthy of this partnership.” He pulls your turtleneck off and buries his face against the side of your neck, inhaling deeply with a shudder. His hips move involuntarily, short, needy thrusts that grind his clothed, hardening cock against your ass. He presses his lips against your neck, teasing you. He knows exactly where you’re most sensitive. The marks from the last time he fed still haven’t faded. But he likes to feign ignorance, enjoying your quiet moans until he reaches the spot that really makes you squirm.

For all his protests about you not being a pet, he really does have you trained. You don’t flinch anymore when he prepares, stroking the back of his fangs with his tongue until his mouth is full of venom. Sloppy, open-mouthed kisses leave tingling numbness in their wake. Testing nips make you shiver in pleasure rather than pain. You wrap your arms around him and hold on tight, not out of fear but in anticipation. Virgilio savors you, dragging his tongue over your pulse. His hand cradles the back of your head as you turn and bare your neck to him. 

“Two and a half centuries in this shitty world,” he whispers, “and nothing has ever been as precious to me as you are.” 

Virgilio’s bite is ecstasy. The moment his venom floods your veins, your toes curl, your back arches, and you cum. If he didn’t hold onto you so tightly and keep your head still, you would thrash and flail wildly. You know he feels just as good, maybe even better, because his hips buck like he’s fucking you, rolling, languid thrusts that lightly bounce you in his lap. You’re aware, dimly and distantly, that the bite is shallow. He’s keeping it light and controlled, sucking the blood that beads to the surface rather than widening the wound, and in a state of pure instinctual want, it infuriates you. You want more, deeper, harder, everything he has filling you. He keeps a firm, steady grip on the back of your head to make sure you don’t try and impale yourself on him further. You whine when his fangs retract and he laps at the punctures left behind. 

“You’re so good to me,” he murmurs against your skin, trying to soothe you. The praise goes straight to your sex, heat and arousal making you move your hips against him. “Mm, yes, you are. So sweet and delicious.” His hand dips between your legs. He doesn’t undress you but he loosens the clothes on your lower half enough to get his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, and then he’s mercilessly working your sex with his fingers. “Cum one more time.” He’s growling, so deep in his own primal need that his voice is low and rumbling. He’s not asking. It’s an order, and it makes you whimper. “One more. Come on. Sweet thing, letting me have a taste of you. Let go for me.”

Already raw and right on the edge, you cum with a sob. Virgilio doesn’t let up, still mouthing at your neck and whispering filth. He coos about the mess you made on his fingers while your hips helplessly chase his hand. He doesn’t stop until you sag against him, worn out and oversensitive. The blistering pleasure phase has run its course but his venom will keep you in an extended post-orgasmic bliss for a while longer. He lays down and keeps you tucked against his chest, gently rubbing your back. 

It’s nice, you think deliriously. Every feeding is nice, but usually you shake him off and demand to be left alone once it’s over. It was a mistake to stay. Now that you know what it feels like to be in his arms, you’re not sure you’ll be able to leave.

“You can take a nap, if you want. I’m not going anywhere,” he says softly. Warmly. He sounds happy, you think. Because you fed him without prompting? Because he’s in control again? You don't know if tonight was a step forward or back, but you aren’t going to worry about it right now. Not when the lights are low and Virgilio’s touch is so tender, and everything almost feels alright. 

*

The next night, you're up and moving a little earlier than usual. Viriglio is still cooking. You sit at the counter to watch. He looks back over his shoulder at you briefly, almost shyly, like he doesn't want to scare you into leaving. He nods in greeting. You nod back. He looks a little disappointed but he smiles anyway and returns his attention to the stove. 

You tell him your favorite movie. 

[jessepinwheel]

notebook hours

as a bonus for the real ink and paper aficionados you can tell us about your favorite notebooks

[lemimmaid]

Day 6: Journal

Iaera (she/her)

A pinky shifted away from the pen in her hand in a practiced motion, gently nudging her glasses up her nose before returning to its starting position. As she leaned back in her chair, a quiet exhale escaped her lips, the tip of her head allowing the silver-blue locks to fall away from her face. How many hours a day was she expected to study? There was so much going on outside this castle, and she was destined to miss it all.

What a backwards existence, where Father kept the two of them holed up in the comfortable safety of home, while Mom and Tessie gallivanted across the worlds fighting dangerous monsters. A summary befitting a novel targeted at teenage girls, though she was beyond certainty that plenty had been inspired by her mother. She'd read several of them herself, in attempts to busy her mind amidst the suffocating amount of free time she faced. Memorizing the ins and outs of every trope, how they were marketed, the parts of her mother's life left conspicuously absent... fiction based in the reality that was the grandeur of Master Aqua.

Her sister was sure to get the same treatment sooner rather than later, no doubt. How would she handle it?

Iaera's musing stirred her out of her thoughts, the loops upon loops of boredom spiraling endlessly in her constantly buzzing mind. Allowing her gaze to fall to the door, she focused on the gentle bustle of the hallway outside. It truly seemed no matter how many people occupied the castle, it was empty. The echo chamber of her room was laden with specialized furniture, disorderly trinkets, and an overwhelming number of pillows and plush toys. Admittedly, she was glad she didn't occupy a larger space, one could only do so much with accessibility without becoming borderline nonsensical in construction. Regrettable that castles are built up instead of out. This entire world was built with an endless movement upward, it seemed, and the benevolent founders hadn't seen fit to add a ramp or two.

Listing into a fresh round of disinterest, she found her ears wandering from the noise outside her door to the far more appealing sounds filtering in from her window: the live symphony that was a Radiant Garden afternoon.

Her fingertips gently lay her pen between the open bindings of her notebook, marking her place, but beyond that, freeing her hands. Hands which moved to lightly caress the metal on either side of her, cool from the precisely 68 degree air, exactly as Uncle Even liked it. She oft considered the gloves Tessie wore to be more of a hassle than they were worth, but the weakness in her hands wasn't aided by cold fingers, she supposed. Perhaps a reassessment was in order...

With motions she imagined more than once would be just as fluid as moving one's own legs, she wheeled to the window, looking down at the vibrant world below. The overlapping voices of other children huddled around the edge of the fountain, ice cream in hand. Laughter and conversations of adults leisurely traversing the stone pathways lining the city, uneven cobble she had envisioned the cracks and valleys of many times. Dreams like the illusions her Father wielded, picturing the bounce and tremor of these wheels on those streets...

Hazarding a glance at the clock, Iaera found herself relinquishing another sigh. Father would be finished with his work soon, perhaps she could see something beyond this room today, at least. At any rate, she was certain to get considerably better stimulation from attempting to assert a word in edgewise with Even than she would staring into her soulless notes and textbook chapters she'd already passed over several times today alone.

She wheeled to the door, letting her gaze fall to the light pouring in from the window once again, the glittering sky of the most beautiful world in existence that lay just outside of her bedroom, from which her sister brought gifts and photographs and stories.

Perhaps one day she'd see it.

For now, all she had was illusion and fantasy.

Artists: @ramatetsu, Baydews, Chibi Dollmaker, Kureihii.

@khoc-week

[paste-n-paper]

Hi! I saw your Hades journal and was immediately hit by Aphrodite, because I think I'm in love!!

Unfortunately, I'm not very familiar with journals, because I'm more of an artist than a writer. I have many questions. I hope that's alright.

On bindings: will the reusable cover lie flat without breaking the spine? Do coptic bindings always lie flat on the table, or only when using the center pages?

I've found that finished pencil drawings are much less likely to smear over time in bound notebooks than spiraled. Do you have any experience with this in coptic notebooks?

Finally, I haven't worked with the paper weight you use. Do you have any bleed tests? (pen, sharpie, highlighter). I'm assuming it wouldn't take alcohol markers or watercolors well.

Sorry for the long ask!

Hi there! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly, but you had some great questions and I thought the answers might benefit other people as well.

So both the reusable journal and the coptic journals lay flat. That was a big deal for me - I hate fighting with a journal to get it to stay open. The exposed stitching means that they open completely at the spine no matter where in the journal you open it. Flat is subjective because if there is only a few sheets on one side and the rest of the journal on the other it's going to lean slightly. See the photo below of the coptic journal.

As far as smearing, I don't have a conclusive answer to that as I don't personally use them for art. I will say that because of the stitching, the pages don't shift up and down like they would with a spiral bound books. They are much closer to a hardback sketchbook than a spiral bound sketchbook in how solid they feel.

Finally, I use Canson Sketch paper in most of my journals. It's 65lb/96gsm with a very slight tooth. I chose it specifically because it has a good balance both for writing and drawing, has a good hand feel (texture is important to me), and doesn't break the bank so I don't have to charge an arm and a leg for my journals. You're right, it's not rated for wet mediums like alcohol markers or watercolors. Here are two photos of a quick pen test. The first is the front, the second is the reverse side so you can see the bleed/ghosting when the pages are stacked.

That being said, I'm always willing to make custom changes. So if you're looking for a thicker paper that's something we can do, just for a little extra cost.

I hope that helps!

And to anyone else, my asks are always open. I'm here to make sure you get the journal that is just right for your needs!

[cirrus-grey]

Soooo I used to doodle in my notebooks during college, right? Particularly when I had assignments that needed me to sit and listen to a long audio track for homework. And, me being me, I would generally write down the date and which assignment I was working on next to the doodle.

Anyway recently I remembered that I'd been doing that for the class that first introduced me to TMA, and lo and behold I was able to find the exact notebook I'd been doodling in:

[ID: A sketch done in pen on the cardboard backing of a spiral-bound notebook. It features two human-shaped beings standing side-by-side, holding each other's hands. The one on the left is holding a sword in his free hand; the one on the right is holding a bent object, meant to resemble a tire iron. They both wear ties and a collared shirt: the one on the right has a short suit jacket, the one on the left has a longer coat. Both have large wings rising behind their backs, shaped like angel wings but without any further definition or details. They have simple ovals for heads, with no facial features or hair. Above them is handwritten text that reads "It was nice knowing you." "Here's to the next time." To the far left, near the spiral binding of the notebook, is additional text: "ENL podcasts 3/1/18".]

...Yeah that's Good Omens fanart. It's rather fitting that I was sketching for my previous special interest while being introduced to my current one lol.

Anyway happy 5th anniversary to the day I listened to my first-ever episode of TMA!

[creati79]

The Essentials of Wire Binding and Spiral Binding for Professional Document Presentation

In the ever-evolving world of document presentation, two binding methods have stood out for their efficiency, durability, and aesthetic appeal: Wire Binding and Spiral Binding. Both offer unique benefits, making them ideal choices for various binding needs.

Understanding Wire Binding

Wire binding, sometimes referred to as twin loop or double-loop binding, is a popular method for creating professional-looking documents. It involves the use of metal wires that are inserted through punched holes along the edge of the document. This method is highly regarded for its neat and elegant appearance, making it a preferred choice for business reports, presentations, and proposals.

One of the main advantages of wire binding is its durability. The metal wires used are strong and resilient, ensuring that the pages stay securely in place. This durability makes it an excellent option for documents that are frequently used or need to last for an extended period.

Another benefit of wire binding is its ability to lay flat when open, providing ease of use for reading and note-taking. Additionally, it allows for a 360-degree rotation of pages, making it convenient for photocopying and scanning.

Exploring Spiral Binding

Spiral binding, also known as coil binding, uses a plastic or metal coil that is threaded through holes punched along the side of the document. This method is favored for its flexibility and ability to withstand regular handling, making it an ideal choice for manuals, notebooks, and educational materials.

The flexibility of spiral binding is one of its key features. The coil allows the document to lay flat when open and can also be folded back on itself, which is particularly useful for reference materials and workbooks. This feature enhances the usability of the document, especially in environments where space is limited.

Spiral binding also offers a high level of customization. Coils come in various colors, allowing for a personalized touch that can match company branding or the theme of the document. This aesthetic flexibility is a significant advantage for businesses looking to maintain a consistent and professional image.

Comparing Wire and Spiral Binding

While both wire and spiral binding offer distinct advantages, the choice between them often depends on the specific needs of the document. Wire binding is typically chosen for its professional look and durability, making it suitable for business and formal presentations. On the other hand, spiral binding is favored for its flexibility and customization options, making it ideal for educational materials and frequently used manuals.

Conclusion

Both wire binding and spiral binding are excellent choices for various document presentation needs. Whether you prioritize durability and a professional appearance or flexibility and customization, these binding methods provide reliable solutions for presenting documents in a polished and functional manner. As the demand for high-quality document presentation continues to grow, understanding the nuances of these binding techniques becomes increasingly important for businesses and individuals alike.

Choosing the right binding method can significantly impact the perceived quality and usability of your documents. Whether it's a business proposal, a training manual, or a personal project, wire and spiral binding offer the perfect combination of functionality and aesthetics to meet your needs.

For more information on binding solutions, visit Wire Binding and Spiral Binding to explore a range of options suitable for your professional and personal document binding needs.

[happeninghippo]

All New Diaries and Planners! 

Who doesn't like pretty planners?

Our Evergreen Undated Planner features unique designs as the season's newest arrival.

This planner is your go-to cute diary to keep you productive and stylish all year round! You can use it as a bullet journal, study planner, notebook, and journal diary or set other agendas such as monthly goal planning, budgeting, and habit tracking.

Our high-quality planners are made from 100 GSM coloured paper. They come in beautiful matt hardcover and feature unique artwork with stunning designs! 

Inspired by nature's elegance, the supernatural and treasures of the plant kingdom are highlighted with the beauty of chirping birds. Each spellbinding design tells a story with hidden meanings and transports you to times gone by.

Do you like/want to:

Plan things out beforehand

Maintain records of every step 

Write Notes

Draw out your imagination

Be artistic

Then this planner is the only thing you will ever want. 

Don't miss out anymore on capturing all your fleeting thoughts!

Use this planner diary to bring out your creative side along with your thoughts and ideas to always keep them safe inside this notebook. 

An idea you might love- These planners are great for gifting too.

Here is your chance to unlock creativity!Details: Size: A5 Cover Type: Matt Hard cover Pages: 100 GSM colored paper Binding: Spiral Bound

What’s inside? An illustrated start for every month Monthly calendar layout Vision board Daily write up section Budget tracker Section to improve on personal or professional growth Month review

[noeliaenpapel]

How to fill a sketchbook and not die trying

If you are reading this, you probably have a sketchbook (or many) waiting for you. Or maybe you are thinking about buying one. Perfect! Welcome to the club!

The most difficult thing is to fill the first page, the reckless blank page. And for that I have a very simple solution. Don't use it! How? Yes yes, you are reading it right… start on the next page. It seems like a very silly thing but it really works and it takes all the pressure off to start something new.

Now, before continuing, I invite you to confront some myths regarding sketchbooks. Of course, it's my personal opinion and we may not agree in everything, but after years of failure, I learned a little bit and now I really enjoy the minutes I can dedicate to my lovely sketchbook.

Use a sketchbook that you like. It doesn't have to be very expensive, otherwise it can be intimidating. But you have to be attracted to it, you have to like it.  You can do it yourself without knowing anything about binding. Chose the sheets, go to a printing shop (i dont know the correct name in each country) and bound it with a spiral. Ta dah! A perfect sketchbook with the best paper for the materials you will use, or a mix of papers.

Your sketchbook doesn't have to be perfect but it doesn't have to be a disaster either. We are always advised to use it as a notebook, as the name says, for sketches, but the ones we see online are works of art themselves and we want ours to be similar, right?. So, if what we do is very ugly, we hate the sheet and if it is an amazing work of art, it generates us too much pressure to continue it like that. If it's for drawings or doodles, I rather use cheap paper or other simple notebooks. In my sketchbook I draw slightly more elaborate sketches that  don't take much time. And if I do something ugly, I remember that "I DONT HAVE THE OBLIGATION TO POST EVERYTHING I DO ON INSTAGRAM".

You can have a sketchbook for each type of material that you use or purpose that you are going to give it, but if you are just starting, I recommend using only one so you will not end up with four incomplete ones.

Use materials that are suitable for the type of paper that your sketchbook has. If it's plain computer paper, using  watercolors is going to be impossible. Unless you have 300g watercolor paper. Otherwise use pencils, markers, gouache, crayons. But if you really want to use watercolors no matter what, try to make a few washes because the paper will get ondulations because of the wáter and it may bleed to the other side.

[vimalb-blog]

Mc Sid Razz Official Friends -TV Series Infographic Notebook Warner Bros Licensed

Price: (as of – Details) Product Description Spiral Binding , Metal wire bound ergonomic style with an all new lay flat design.High Quality – Both sides ruled , Easy to carry and use.Number of pages : 150 [ with 80 gsm natural paper ]This designer notebook is A5 sized, with dimensions of 5.83″ × 8.27″

[anujprintland-blog]

Print your customized notebooks for yourself or for your Company use with Printland for the simplest quality of style and printing. To Know More Please visit: https://lnkd.in/gA_cY4p    https://bit.ly/2PoqWc6

[nokingsonlyfooles]

OK, I broke Tumblr. It got upset about indented formatting for some reason. Let's try again: Done with the feed, now I plug the thing. And for the sake of the old readers, we will go backwards instead of forwards for a little sample.

How 'bout some more Milo? From TS # 56, Rose and Hyacinth:

She could never recall if he knocked on the door. If, by then, he had reached the point where he would knock on an object to draw attention to himself. Certainly he wouldn’t have waved his hands around or jumped up and down. It was possible he just stood out there waiting for her to open the door, and when she did so she promptly forgot her original reason for doing it.

There was a thin young man standing on the porch in a white button-down shirt, black suspenders and dark trousers. A scuffed suitcase sat on either side of him, one large, one small. He had shoulder-length dark red hair tied back in a tail, and glasses.

For a second, she thought they had to be those magnifying-type glasses you get in drugstores that made your eyes comically huge, but they really were that wide. He looked terrified, and the instant he had processed that a person had opened the door, he ducked his head away.

He had a spiral notebook (Is that steel? Hyacinth wondered.��Can I take that?) with cheap, greyish, lined paper, and multiple shreds of torn sheets poking out of the binding. The cover, if it was still intact, had been folded to the back. He held it up in front of him with both hands, fingers curled around the pages and pressed white, hiding behind it like a shield.

There was a sketch of the sign on the front of the house done in photographic greyscale, with the carved, painted letters replicated exactly and the unsanded texture of the wood evident beneath the brush marks. The thin blue lines of the notepaper showed through. The part about “Rooms to Let” had been circled precisely and connected via a sharp line to a question mark.

Hyacinth leaned in a little closer and puzzled at it.

This tableau — silent man, pad of paper, confused woman, suitcases, open door and porch — continued for some time.

“Can I help you?” Hyacinth attempted at last.

He handed her the pad of paper, which she accepted. At the very least she might get a little piece of steel out of this. It would be enough for some staples. She toyed with the spiral binding as she considered the drawing.

The young man stood on the porch, looking fixedly down and aside as if his head had been screwed on wrong.

“Do you want a room?” she asked him.

He stuffed his hand in his shirt pocket and presented another piece of paper. This one had been folded and worn, and the pencilled writing was smudged. It had been torn from the same pad and the left-hand edge of it was ragged like a mouthful of bad teeth.

My Name is Milo Rose, headed the page and was underlined. The following phrases were written beneath, at one to a line: I can hear you but I cannot speak. I am 19 years old. I have a respectable job. I am looking for a place to stay. I can pay rent.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ve got rooms. They’re not in absolutely mint condition, but they could certainly be used in an emergency.” She laughed. He did not lift his head, look at her or acknowledge her in any way.

She glanced down at the paper. I mean, it does say he can hear me. Is this a prank?

Now she glanced at the boy. Is it possible he can’t read what it says and someone is pranking him?

He wasn’t looking at her like he was trying to read her lips or anything. Or like he was a human being with a working brain. He had null expression, except for the scared eyes.

“Uh, you want to come in and have a look around?” She stepped aside and gestured through the door, just in case.

He glanced sideways at her and took a hesitant step forward.

She put up a hand, “Wait. Don’t leave the suitcases. I don’t know if you know, but this is not a real great neighbourhood here.”

He picked up the suitcases and stepped inside, still looking fixedly away.

All right, thought Hyacinth. He heard the thing about the suitcases.

“Are you new in town?” she asked him.

He had already walked past her and was standing in the middle of the front room. He was staring up at the hole in the roof, which was normal human behaviour. Everyone did that.

(The General had taken one look at it, said, “No,” turned on her heel and walked out. Sanaam had to go after her. There was a hell of an argument.)

However, he did not turn and look at her when she spoke. He dropped both suitcases with a clatter, then he hunched his shoulders and hung his head.

Then he shook his head.

Okay, and he heard that, thought Hyacinth. And he answered me. What kind of rules is this person operating under?

Alright. Gonna set down the feed and plug the thing.

New year, new habits!

I write this travesty!

The site is in constant need of repair, so are the characters, and so is the author (me). Part 1 is steampunk, and in Part 2 we've gone diesel. It starts with a hate crime, this is not for the faint of heart, but it does get quite funny in places. The absurdity is a coping mechanism!

I've got to break my website later so I can try to fix it, but there's a new instalment this week so I'll give people time to read that, if there's any takers!

Known Readers: 2 (hi 5th and Kith!); 1st Goalpost: 10?

If you're reading, check in with me. My hit counter is buggy AF and I moved the comments offsite, to Tumblr. I won't know you're there if you don't say hi!

Known Supporters: I'm burning my Patreon to the ground because they annoyed me, give me some time to set up someplace else! 1st Goalpost: 5?

If you WANT to support, go ahead and let me know that too. I'll be working on a subscription basis in the future - you'll only pay when I publish!

[fioletowa-krowa]

So I’ve had to deal with the absolute worst customer in my entire working career ever this past week. (It’s Rose at the Notre Dame university bookstore in case anyone was wondering) apologies in advance, it’s going to be long

So for this school we have two “titles” that are basically just boxes of lab equipment. There’s a lock, goggles, a lab coat, a notebook, and an access card for the online book. These are shipped as individual boxes since there’s a good amount of materials. This is different from what we usually send to stores, which would be boxes of multiple notebooks. I mention this bc the store manager, Rose made such a damned big deal about it.

So the whole ordeal started at the beginning of the month when my boss CC-ed me on an email conversation with Rose letting her know that she was going to be out of town so to contact me with any questions or requests for her order of the two bundles we had for the school. She ended the email with “hopefully things go smoothly this year” so already I have a bad feeling that this is going to be difficult.

Rose emails me to let me know that this is a time when they receive a lot of deliveries at their store (she specifically mentioned receiving football equipment in addition to books and school supplies) so she wanted to make sure that their order of nearly 1000 bundles could be split into smaller orders with only one order arriving per day to make sure that they weren’t overwhelmed at the store. A bit of an annoying request, but not impossible for us to attempt to accommodate. The only thing being that once an order leaves our warehouse we have zero control over how long it takes to deliver or when it gets delivered so I told Rose that I was putting notes on her orders so that they would hopefully ship on different days and then be delivered on different days. And she again reminded me that they needed the orders to arrive just as she specified. Okay, fine, I’m doing what I can.

Now, unfortunately, we’ve been having delays it’s getting materials and books in stock on time this season bc our printers are all short staffed and they can only print and ship so much at a time. So the bundles are already going to be a little later than expected. We had a team of people putting the boxes together at our satellite warehouse last last week so we could get them shipped out last week.

So we finally get things together and get the first order shipped out Tuesday. This first order was for 85 boxes of one title (11181) and 150 copies of the other (11171) and the manager at the satellite warehouse gets it shipped out Tuesday last week. On Wednesday I send Rose an email with the tracking information (I had to wait for our regular warehouse manager to get me the info bc the satellite manager was out all of last week after Tuesday) and at 4:56 Wednesday evening I get the following email from Rose:

“Beth, do you realize we already got three skids today? You sent a skid of 11181 when we only wanted 85 and two skids of 11171. Please do not send any more of 11181 and I will write up everything tomorrow and you can arrange a call tag to pick up the others. This is a hot mess and the paperwork the driver had was wrong and we have damaged cases as well. Way to go..........................”

So I was about to lose my mind at this. Not only was it at the end of the day, but she was incredibly rude over something that was genuinely a mistake and moreso, not my fault! The editor in charge of the projects wanted to respond to her that evening, but I told her that, quite frankly, I was off for the day and Rose didn’t deserve any of my unpaid time. Plus i wanted to hear back from the warehouse to see their end in case something happened so they sent out more than they were supposed to or if Rose was just stupid and we did what we said we would and it just wasn’t exactly what she was expecting. So the editor sent Rose a message saying that I’d get back to her in the morning with more information and I went to dinner w my parents and papa so that I wouldn’t punch a hold thru a wall in anger

So Thursday morning I get in to an email from our main warehouse manager (since the satellite manager was out the rest of the week) letting me know that we had sent three skids for the order. Because each skid holds 96 boxes. So, since the order was for 235 boxes, it physically had to ship as three skids. I was fucking giddy as I typed my response to Rose, spelling out why she received three skids and letting her know that I would be holding her remaining four orders for 150 of 11171 each until I got the go-ahead from her that she was okay with the fact that the orders would be one and a half skids each.

Well, Rose emails back that we actually sent three full skids instead of one full and two partials. She included the phrase “believe it or not, I can count” and then after reiterating how she wanted her orders sent said, “My next suggestion would be to fulfill my orders as requested going forward.” And asked if they’d be getting another order that day. So I typed up a very off-color response to her informing her how obnoxious and cunty I thought she was being and how her attitude was helping exactly zero people and quite honestly making me feel less inclined to be helpful at all. And then I typed up a nicer response and asked my boss for read it over to make sure that it was professional and appropriate. In my email i let her know that we only had the paperwork to go off of as the warehouse manager who put the shipment out was out of the office, so we legitimately did not know that she received more than what was on her order and that, no I had held her other orders to make sure that she was okay with how they were going to be shipped, but I could put them in and hopefully get the next one shipped out that day or Friday.

At that point, she got the other manager at their store involved who emailed Friday morning to ask me to confirm they’d be getting the rest of their order that day as they had students arriving on campus who would need them. I informed her that no, we hadn’t shipped anything else yet and said that it was bc our satellite warehouse was short staffed (which is essentially true. There’s one person who works in that warehouse— the manager— and he’d been out all week) so Rose jumped back in to say “Just to make certain I understand correctly, there hasn't been another order shipped since the first delivery? We need to get on the ball with this order short staffed or not folks!!”

At that point i was beyond pissed. They were asking for something above and beyond what we do normally, and we were doing everything we could to keep them placated, including shipping the rest of their orders for free, but there’s literally only so much we can do with the staff that we have. So, after venting into an empty word doc, I responded with “That is correct. We wanted to make sure that we wouldn't overwhelm you with multiple orders in a day, like you asked, and since the first shipment went out incorrectly, we wanted to be sure that it didn't happen again. Unfortunately that means that we aren't able to schedule a pickup from the shipper until Monday as it took some time to confirm that the rest of the shipments were okay to go forward per your instructions. The remaining shipments will be going out all of next week, but if you need us to send more than one order at a time, please let me know and I can coordinate with our warehouse team to make sure that happens.” (Also I’m now realizing that rose never actually confirmed that we could/should ship the rest of the orders so that’s a fun thing) as this was going on, I was trying to coordinate with our warehouse manager to see if we could get the next order out and (as my dad who works in that warehouse told me) they were basically running around asking every shipper who came by that day if they could take the order bc the store’s preferred shipper wasn’t available to pick it up. But we finally managed to get it picked up and shipped around 1 Friday afternoon

So, Rose, in all of her Karen-ness responds “In what world would it be, as the buyer, my fault for making and having confirmation of shipping directions the reason why your company has failed??” Funnily enough, that email sent me passed pissed off to just calm and I’d started typing a response when a message from my boss (who had been CC-ed on the entire conversation) popped up saying “take a minute, step away from your computer, then respond” so I laughed to myself and explained to Rose that I wasn’t trying to blame her (yes I was) but that I was only trying to explain why I was being so cautious and why there would be a gap in their shipments. Of course, then I get an email from the other store manager saying that she wished we had communicated the delay in shipments ahead of time and that if that had happened they would have been able to tell us that it mattered more that they received the boxes on time, not that they were received separately as originally requested, ending with “I would have thought this would be a logical conclusion on your part, so the mistake was mine in thinking that.”

And that’s when I realized that this manager (Becky) hadn’t been informed of everything that actually had happened and most likely just got the bitching from Rose that we’d messed up and it was all our fault that they wouldn’t be getting the boxes on time. So I got to inform her that I had told Rose immediately that we were going to be holding the remainder of her orders until we got the ok from her to ship since she’d been so upset with how the first shipment had arrived.

So once I’d gotten that all explained and smoothed out, I got an email from the freaking Macmillan rep for the area who’s been “filled in” on the situation and wanted to make sure that we were going to be able to get the store what they needed and when 🙄 and she followed up this morning to make sure that we’d done what we said. So we got the order delivered today, another one that’s either been delivered since or is being delivered tomorrow, a third that’s either tomorrow or Wednesday, and the last order that’s shipping tomorrow being delivered Wednesday or Thursday depending on shipping times.

Behind the scenes, I wasn’t aware, but my boss’s boss and his (new) boss had also been filled in about the situation and my boss had explained our half of the story, so I got a message from my boss’s boss thanking me for handling the situation and that he thought it had handled the situation well and professionally and that it was “100% the fault of an extremely difficult customer”

I’m just so Done with this and I hope to God I don’t ever have to deal with this store in the future

[suprsaturatd]

Herb Spiral 2022 Part 1: Research

Image source: The Permaculture Collective

[ID: An illustration of an herb spiral. The spiral is a clockwise circle outlined in stones with plants in four colored regions. The top region is red, with Rosemary, Thyme, and Oregano. The east section is orange, with Parsley and Chives. The southeast region is yellow, and holds Basil, Lavender, and Sage. The northern region is blue, and holds Cilantro and Dill. The spiral ends in a Frog Pond. Text to the right of the image reads as follows. Mediterranean Top (in red): Windy and Sunny; Susceptible to drying out; Great for Mediterraneans. Delicate East (in orange): Exposed to gentle morning sun; Ideal for delicate plants. Sunny Southeast (in yellow): A great home for your Sun-lovers. Low North (in blue): For shade and moisture preferring plants; A great opportunity to flow your spiral into a small pond. End ID.]

I've decided in 2022 that I'd like to have some practice in making permaculture structures and taking care of a garden that isn't scattered between indoor containers. I've had some small luck with a homemade raised bed in 2020, but this year I have access to a larger raised bed that's already constructed for me.

This post will have detailed image descriptions, as there is technical information in the diagrams and notes I've included.

[ID: a pencil diagram on lined paper of an herb spiral. The ruled lines are vertical on the page, and the metal spiral binding of the notebook is at the top of the image. The four sides of the garden are labeled with the cardinal directions, with South at the top. Clockwise from the top, the plants are Thyme?, Rosemary, Oregano, Mint, Chamomile, Chives, Lavender, Calendula, Sage, and Basil. A panel labeled "25 inches" extends vertically from the top center of the garden bed into the middle, dividing the top and bottom of the spiral. A panel on the top right of the bed is labeled "30.5 inches," a panel on the right of the bed is labeled "50 inches," and a panel covering the bottom three quarters of the bed is labeled "69 inches." End ID.]

Essentially, I've settled on a rectangular half-spiral that works with the fence already in place around the bed. I'll be detailing my research with photos and my notes under the cut!

RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT

So, what do I need to consider when making my herb garden?

I'm in a small space. I am in an apartment, and we're lucky enough to have access to a shared backyard. I've already gotten permission from my landlord to use the raised bed, along with some bricks left behind in it.

I'm in an arid, high-altitude climate. I was raised in the Northeast, and my mother's gardening advice is for that climate. I'll need to make sure I'm careful with my plant research.

I'm on a budget. I'm trying not to spend tooooo too much money on this project. My roommate's hardware store discount will help!

I'm disabled. I'm a spoonie, and some days I do need my cane to walk. I want to be able to access my herbs easily and safely, but I also need to be cognizant of what I'm capable of when building the bed. I will likely have help from my partner, and possibly my roommate.

I have limited free time. I do work from home, which is a massive boon to my personal projects this year. However, it's a full-time job, and I'm still responsible for the pets during the day, along with feeding myself, and any applicable chores around the home. I need to have a solid timeline to approach this project and get the plants in the ground on time.

SOURCES

I reviewed several YouTube videos and blog posts (which is so much, I know). I'll go into more detail on what I learned from each video, but here's who I consulted:

Work With Nature - How to Grow Food!: This is how You build a Herb Spiral! A charming video by a German permaculture group. They had a group of six or so people working on this structure, which is the only one I've included here to add the frog pond option!

GrowOrganic Peaceful Valley: DIY Herb Spiral. This nice lady has a large garden in California, and two "strong young people" to help her build her spiral. The website for this farm indicates there are over 60 staff members at the company at peak.

The Citystead: Herb Spiral | Urban Permaculture. Gives "stay at home dad vibes" according to my roommate. He gave me the idea to do a rectangular half-spiral in a raised bed. Don't let your mint go like that though, sir!

Heirloom Permaculture & Preparedness: Why A Permaculture Herb Spiral? | Micro Climate Gardening. This lady actually already built her herb spiral a while ago, and maintains it after some neglect in this video. Has mint woes 3: Emphasizes the micro climates created by an herb spiral.

RESULTS

Here are my conclusions thus far:

[Image Description: a photo of a lined spiral notebook. The page is titled "Herb Spiral: What did I learn?" End ID.]

The spiral will need to settle for two months after it is built. I caught this from the GrowOrganic video, and this actually works well for my timeline. I can plan the bed and gather materials in February, build the bed and start my seeds indoor in March, and have the bed ready for planting after the last frost date in May.

Cardboard on the bottom of raised beds. From the Citystead video. To keep weeds out and support healthy soil development. I'm not sure if I can pull this off, since I'll need to dig out all the existing soil to get to the bottom of the raised bed as it stands right now, but it's good to know.

Layers of soil & coarse stones to encourage drainage. This came from several videos, but essentially, to both cut down on the amount of soil and compost I'll have to use, and to make sure the spiral drains properly, I'll need to add some coarse gravel and large stones. This will also help the spiral keep its structure. The top of the spiral, where the Mediterranean plants grow, also should have some sand and compost mixed in.

Can make a rectangular spiral with wood (or bricks). This is really the entire conclusion of the Citystead video: you can modify the structure as needed for your space, especially if you don't have several people to help move the rocks a larger structure necessitates. I'm still going to try to hit the three foot height recommended by the Work With Nature video and other sources, as detailed a bit below.

Mint needs to go in its own pot or it can take over the spiral. Two of the four videos I watched included gardeners bemoaning what mint can do once it gets loose. The Heirloom Permaculture video's spiral had been almost entirely overtaken by the mint! Mint spreads via its roots, so even embedding the pot in the bed is risky, but I'm honestly only going to be in this apartment for a year or two and can let the next tenants tackle the mint ;) Plus, like my roommate said: I don't see how more mojito supplies are a problem!

6' square & 3' tall is optimal size. As I said above, this came from the Work With Nature video, and was reiterated in the Heirloom Permaculture video. You want your spiral to be large enough that the appropriate micro climates form, as each of these herbs thrive in different conditions.

Half-spiral or curve can also work. This is mostly a restatement of the fourth point, but the traditional structure isn't required! This project is partially an experiment on how well this method of making an herb spiral will go, hence the documentation.

PLANT RESEARCH

But wait! That's not all the research we'll need to make this garden successful! We need to hear about... the plants!

[ID: a small lined notebook with a messy list handwritten in pen. It is titled "Plants to Grow This Year" in all caps. Below the title to the right, a note reads, "Start indoor, transplant after frost." Several plants are listed, but those selected with a star and underline are: Oregano, Basil, Rosemary, Sage, Calendula (which is crossed out, then circled), Mint, Chives, and Chamomile. Those not selected are Nasturtium, Yarrow, Peppermint, and Roses. Below the list in all caps reads "Last Expected Frost," with some information scribbled out, then the words "Late April / Early May?" The latter date is circled. Below that reads, "Around May 5th: Tomatoes in Ground after no frost...; Around March 10th: Onions & potatoes." Below reads "Herb Spiral" in all caps, with some descriptions scribbled out. End ID.]

I looked at several lists of herbs to include in spirals, then narrowed my list to what I was familiar with and comfortable starting. I left off Nasturtium, Yarrow, Peppermint, and Roses for either being unfamiliar, a duplicate, or more complicated than I wanted to get into. I did originally have some plans for tomatoes, onions, and potatoes, but decided to focus just on herbs this year.

I'm not including screenshots to keep a handle on the amount of images, but I found an app for Android called Planter that allows me to track the best indoor start dates and transplant dates for the herbs I want to put in my garden. It was fairly simple to manually add the Calendula flowers, and according to that app and my own research, all my plants can be started indoors between March and April, then transplanted in early to late May.

I've started herbs indoors before, and usually keep in containers or transfer to a larger outdoor pot, so starting my seeds indoors this year should be simple! I already have all the seeds, and have been collecting paper towel and toilet paper rolls to use at the very beginning. Plus, we already have grow lights from past indoor gardening experiments.

BED STRUCTURE

So, with an idea of what plants I want to grow, I need to figure out where to put them. The second image in this post shows my finished plan, but how'd I get there?

[ID: A small ruled notebook with notes and diagrams. The top reads "Garden Notes" in all caps. There is a numbered list, where the numbers correspond with raised beds in a diagram of a backyard below the list. The diagram is labeled with the cardinal directions, with North at the top. Bed #1 is the small back bed, and has a length of 8 feet and 2 inches, a width of 1 foot and 1 inch, and a depth of about 19 inches. Bed #2 is the large left front bed, and has a length of 69 inches, a width of 50 inches, and a depth of about 6 inches. Bed #3 is the large right front bed, and has a length of 84 inches, a width of 50 inches, and a depth of about 6 inches. The bottom diagram is of Bed #2. It is split into four equal sections, each measuring 34.5 inches by 25 inches. End ID.]

I went into the backyard and measured the available raised beds. The one best suited to my needs is about 5.75 feet by 4.2 feet, labeled Bed #2 in my diagram. Beds 2 and 3 are technically the same bed, but there is a wooden divider between the two halves. The back of my yard is north, and the house is on the southern side. Originally, I was going to have the highest point of the spiral in the upper left quadrant, but I determined that makes the most sense for the sunny east portion of the spiral.

[ID: a spiral lined notebook. The text at the top reads, "Need: 2 x 4 in lengths: 25 inches, 30.5 inches, 50 inches, 51.75 inches." There is some scribbled addition on the side. The bottom diagram shows Bed #2, with wooden walls segmenting the top three sides of the upper right quadrant. The middle and right wall are labeled "2 feet;" the top wall is labeled "2.5 feet." A shape that looks like a curved teardrop begins with its widest point in the upper right quadrant, then curves and thins clockwise into the lower left quadrant. The teardrop is labeled "Gravel & Bricks/rocks." End ID.]

Now, this is subject to change as I think about lighting/temperatures and get a hold of actual materials, as with all projects. I think what I'm going to end up doing is building a mound of gravel, rocks, wood, and food scraps like the teardrop shape in the diagram above, using more stones and bricks to build up the rightmost wall, and use wood for the middle and top dividers. Then, I'll fill in with dirt.

[ID: a drawing in a lined spiral notebook. Text at the top reads: "A: 24" = 2'; B: 11.5" = <1'." There are other figures and math scribbled on the side. The top drawing is of a garden bed from the side. To the right of the drawing, a bracket extends vertically from the top to the bottom, and is labeled "A." A second bracket to the left of the first extends vertically from the top to halfway down the bed, where the fence ends, labeled "B." A third bracket in the center of the bed, labeled "C," is also labeled "2.5 feet." The second image below is a three-quarter view cross-section of Bed B. There is a 3D rendering of a wooden panel in the center, labeled "25" x 24" x 2" ~ 2' x 2' x 2"." The bed has dirt sloping down from the center, clockwise down to the left side. There are scribbled lines to the right of the bed that indicate where bricks and rocks will go to hold the dirt in place. There is math on the bottom. End ID.]

This is a very rough drawing of what I'm going for in 3D. I doubt it will actually come out this neat, but that's what I think I can pull off.

[ID: an image of a lined spiral notebook. There is a drawing of a wooden panel, labeled "3'" on its left and right sides and 25" on its top. Columns are sectioned off on its left and right sides, each labeled "4 inches" at the top. Each ruled line represents one 2x4 section, and 6 of the 8 reserved lines are filled in. A table to the right of the drawing has a column for # and a column for Size, indicating there are 2 sections at 3' x 2" x 4" and 7 sections at 25" x 2 " x 4" needed. There is math scribbled below and tally marks that determine that 4 ten foot 2x4s are needed. End ID.]

The actual bed walls will be put together by cutting and assembling some 2x4s into the panels needed. I added the lengths I needed together, then determined how many ten foot 2x4s that worked out to be. Two panels of the size in the above image means four planks!

ROUGH MATERIAL LIST

But what will I need to do that?!?! Here's what I'm thinking so far. Items indicated with a * are items I already own. This material list is only for the bed, since I have seeds and materials to start them with already, save the soil.

Wheelbarrow

Shovel*

Kneepads*

Trowel*

Sturdy clothes, shoes, and hat*

25 cubic feet of bed materials total: 13 cu ft dirt, 8 cu ft wood, 9 cu ft gravel

Seed starting mix

Wooden panels measuring 25" x 30 " x 2" and 30" x 30" x 2", which can be made from 4 10' 2x4s.

Wood saw*

Electric screwdriver*

Wood screws

Bricks & stones currently in garden*

Watering can*

Compost and appropriate food scraps

Tarp*

So that's pretty good news for my budget. I've estimated the dirt/bed materials will cost me around $90 with my roommate's hardware store discount, plus another $10-$20 for the wood and screws. The wheelbarrow will be expensive for an item I'll likely only use a bit, so I'm considering whether or not that's necessary.

And that's where I'm at right now! I have a materials list and a plan! I'm going to be keeping this blog updated semi-regularly under the tag "#herb spiral adventure 2k22" for my own ability to look back on this project, but also in case anyone else is looking to do something similar in an urban garden.

Happy gardening!

[fijiangecko]

The End of It All

Vampire!Katsuki Bakugou x Witch!Reader

WC: 6k+

Warnings: Cussing

Angst - breakups and makeups

A/N: I wrote this over two years ago and just found it. If I decide to edit it I’ll post that one on my AO3, or if people ask me to post it here I can <3

~~~~~~

The idea of a calamity had never even crossed their minds until a couple of days ago. Everything seemed to be harmonious between the humans and the supernaturals, but never in a thousand years could they guess just how wrong they were. In a matter of days, war had broken loose between the few humans who knew of the other world, and the extremists of the supernatural that wanted only bloodshed. The Negotiator was notified immediately, and brought a group of friends onto the scene. It only spiraled from there.

Mina and Uraraka sobbed into one another as it dawned on them that very soon everything they loved could be eviscerated, while Kaminari and Kirishima attempted to soothe them as the night went on. Midoriya and Iida ran around searching for books that could possibly lead to a solution, but there was no manual on how to fix the destabilization between the supernatural world and the human one. Todoroki sits in a chair by him lonesome, contemplating if he should leave, while Katsuki has the same thought on the opposite side of the room as he leans against the doorframe.

“Do you think we should try (Y/N) again? She might pick up this time,” Iida flips through a tome as he speaks, eyes glancing at Midoriya.

“I don’t think we should. Last I heard from her she was going to visit the harpies, and if her phone went off during that meeting then we could be royally screwed. They could have a solution, so I think it’s better if we just have faith and-” “Have faith?! That’s your shitty advice?!” Katsuki growls from across the room, a deep scowl decorating his features. “We all know damn well that (Y/N) could have ditched us and left the world for dead! She’s a fucking witch and doesn’t give a shit what happens to the rest of us as long as it doesn’t fucking bother her!” His fangs started to grow as he spoke. During his little outburst he had walked over to the table and slammed his hands down, putting more emphasis on the cuss words than anything. “She. Doesn’t. Give. A. Shit. About. Us.”

“You shouldn’t say that about her, Bakugou. We know you have a past with her, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to forget about the rest of the world. She’s not that petty.” Iida is calm as he speaks, making sure not to make eye contact with the vampire, as it could set him off even further.

“You see her as a friend, and I see her as a lover. She’s a completely different person, I can promise you that.” A low growl had escaped Katsuki’s lips after he spoke, but his ear twitched as he sensed movement outside. Looking out the window, he saw no branches move, but a bright light shone through it.

Todoroki gets up and inspects the outside of the estate, careful to not move the curtains too much. He didn’t want any uninvited guests knowing what room they were in. As he stared outside the glass, he could see an alchemy circle burned into the grass with your figure lying in the middle of it. Your body is in a fetal position, as if trying to protect something. Upon seeing this, Todoroki bolts out of the library without saying a word and goes out into the cold night. Katsuki runs after him to see what was going on with the rest of the party in tow.

The stream of people watched as Todoroki made no hesitation to pick you up bridal style from the ground and carry you back to the house. In your hands is an old book; its sides were ripped apart and there was a lock preventing it from being opened. The bind had decorative gold inlays, but no title. As of now, Todoroki did not care for the book, but the girl he carried in his arms.

“She’s breathing,” he looked to Uraraka, “and will most likely need medical attention.” With nothing left to be said, he walks briskly into the house and finds the nearest couch. Uraraka follows him and starts to check on you and perform a series of healing spells.

Kirishima, Mina and Kaminari walk back inside and sit near the other three, but make no move towards them.

“Is there anything we can do?” Mina’s quiet voice pierces the thick coat of silence around them.

“Right now I don’t need anything, but stay put just in case there is an emergency,” Ochako’s eyesight don’t leave your figure once. The party of four sits behind nod silently and watch as she works..

Outside, Iida and Midoriya are trying to figure out what the alchemy circle means. Not everyday does someone use such powerful magic to teleport, let alone a witch who prefers not to use alchemy at all. They carefully examined the etchings in the ground, the symbols older than anything they’ve had the chance to work with. Katsuki stood a couple of feet away, also trying to figure out where the fuck (Y/N) teleported from.

“Well this symbol means ‘ancient’ and this one over here means ‘creature’, but there’s one in between…” Midoriya pulls out his notebook and starts to sketch the symbols down.

“This is definitely from a different plane of existence, but I’ve never seen it. Is this from her personal dimension?” Iida spoke.

“No, it’s not. Her sigil phrase would be ‘nisi rogatus non transient’ and her keyphrase is ‘fiducia’. Plus there aren’t enough swirls in the alchemic circle to fit her personal taste,” the blonde grumbled. His eyes fixed over the old text, but this language was way before he turned into a creature of the night.

“Did (Y/N) use alchemy way back? I haven’t seen her use it in decades,” Iida ponders out loud.

“Doesn’t matter. Shouldn’t you be fucking figuring out what this shit means?” The two nerds nod and walk quickly back into the library where they begin a whole new search. The vampire slowly approached the living area where his once lover was lying on the couch with a fairy over her form. A glow erupts from Ochako’s hands as she tries to wake you up. Again, Katsuki leans against the door frame, eyes carefully watching what was happening.

He couldn’t help but feel concerned; he never truly got over you, no matter how poorly he acted. Remembering everything you had, everything you lost and the times he wished he had spent with you only caused his cold heart to clench in pain. What if I had been there when she asked? Would things be different? Does she still care? His mind raced with a thousand different thoughts. This was, afterall, the first time he had seen you in almost a century after one of the worst breakups to ever exist. 

Long story short, he was more focused on hunting rather than your relationship, so you decided to give a dangerous alchemic spell a shot after having no one to talk sense into you. Bakugou doesn’t know what kind of spell you were trying to cast, but he does know that it caused some sort of damage to your magical force. He wasn’t there during the ritual, but showed up at your hut months after the disaster. You had looked sick, as if death’s grip was starting to drag you down into hell, and before letting him speak you told him to leave, and never come back. After hours of screaming and bickering, he left. Not once did either of you try to speak to the other, but you both knew you were in the wrong. Katsuki wasn’t there for you, but you blamed him for your dangerous actions, which was in no way his fault. 

Nothing brought him joy after that; not the hunt, not the warmth of another. Nothing. For almost a century he felt empty. Katsuki wanted nothing more than to embrace you in his arms once again. Take you away from everyone and keep you to himself, but he knew that it simply wasn’t going to happen. He knew he had fucked up and is now trying to find a way to fix it. Not in a century had he been this close to you, and it was slowly taking away his life force. For all he knows, you’re in a coma caused by the harpies and have no way to save the world - or you found a way to save the world and sacrificed yourself. Either way, someone has hell to pay.

“Bakugou!” Ochako breaks his train of thought, her eyes screaming concern. “I need ice, her ribs are broken.” Standing up straight, he swiftly walks to the kitchen and retrieves the ice, taking a plastic bag and some paper towels.

“Thank you,” the round faced girl was sweating at this point, tired from healing but knowing that she couldn’t stop anytime soon.

“Guys! We found out what (Y/N) was doing!” Midoriya races into the lounge, holding several books within his arms. “She was trying to make contact with the Great Ones!” He flipped open some of the books, showing different languages and sigils.

“Why the fuck would she do that?! Wasn’t she going to see the harpies?” No one needed to look to understand who was speaking.

“I contacted the harpies, and they said she did speak to them, but only for a short time. They didn’t have anything that could help, so she left in a hurry.” The green haired male put his books down on the nearest surface and flipped through a particular book. “They did say that she bought some mandrake liver, which is odd considering it’s very expensive and very hard to come by, but I guess if she made contact with the Great Ones it makes sense. No one has been able to talk to them in years, not after they cut themselves out of the supernatural. If (Y/N) actually talked to them, then she is the first person in a millenium to ever see or speak to them. It’s a miracle she’s even alive.”

“Yeah, they almost fucking killed me.” You start to rise from the couch, rubbing your temples as you do so. “Think I could get a glass of water, my throat is fucking killing me.”

“You’re up! And so quickly!” Izuku stared in amazement at the girl who not only escaped death, but talked to some of the oldest beings in the universe.

“Yay, lucky me.. Can I just get some fucking water? Don’t mean to be rude, but I can feel my broken ribs and my dry ass throat so a little help would be appreciated.” Dry as ever, you spoke to no one in particular as you lean back into the couch and press the ice bag into the ribs that are broken. “Could someone grab me some rat tails, lavender powder and milk from the toad? Should fix these ribs real quick…”

“On it,” Mina hops up from her seat and runs off to gather what you asked.

“How are you feeling? Besides the ribs and headache.” Ochako reaches for your hand, taking it into her own.

“Pretty good, actually. Great Ones offered some knowledge, albeit for a price.” Peeking an eye open, you gaze at your peers. 

“Did you find the answer?”

“What ‘price’?” The negotiator and the vampire spoke at the same time, both asking valid questions but concerned about different matters.

“Cool your jets, besties,” fangs bared, Katuski growled at the thought of being “besties” with a fucking nerd, “I need to heal up before I start spilling the details.” Just then, Mina runs back into the room, all three ingredients in hand along with a mortar and pestle. 

“I got the stuff! What do I do now?”

“Now, you hand it all over and watch a witch work her magic.” Your greedy hands swipe the contents of a healing elixir and begin to mash everything together. Tediously, your fingers throw components into the mortar, then pressing them together with the pestle makes a liquid in which you drink in one big gulp. The group watches as your ribs emanate a sickly light, making the room glow in a mysterious manner. After about five seconds, it stopped and you stood up to stretch.

“Much better, now how about we go into the library so we can examine this,” you wave the torn book, “and figure out how to save the world.” Moving forward, you give them no time to answer. It gave them no choice but to follow you.

“Would you at least answer my damn question?” Katsuki remains in the doorframe, unmoving from his comfy position..

“How about you move out of my fucking way, and go to the library like I said? Maybe you’ll get your answer there, huh?” You shoulder check your way out of the lounge and into the library.

After everyone takes their places in various spots around the library, you begin to speak.

“I want to apologize for being so late, after I said I was only going to the harpies. Turns out, they don’t have much more information than mine and Midoriya’s libraries combined. Right as I was about to leave, Tokoyami said there might be one more group I should go see. He pulled me into his private room and gave me the liver of a mandrake as well as a page from his personal grimoire. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but it was the alchemic way to reach the Great Ones. We talked for a short time after it about how to approach them and what would happen if they did or did not decide to help. Knowing we’re getting short on time, I did the ritual right there in his room, and low and behold I was taken to a dimension far outside our normal planes of existence. It was cold, dark and dank with a stench that rivaled the odors of giants. My senses were being attacked in the most foul of ways, but that was the least of my concerns as I was met with the eyes of not one, but three of the Greats.” You shudder at the memory. “When they spoke it was deafening. I felt like I was going mad, or at the very least I was losing all sense of control. They knew why I was there, and decided that it would be more beneficial to help me, as what is going on now also affects them.” You cast your gaze downward, whispering the next sentence. “They agreed to tell me what to do only if they were given a sacrifice-”

“EXCUSE ME?!” Bakugou roared from the other end of the room. “YOU TOLD THEM YOU WOULD SACRIFICE SOMEONE?!”

“Kacchan-”

“YOU DON’T GET TO SPEAK, DEKU. SHE IS GOING TO SACRIFICE SOMEONE! SHE DECIDED TO TRADE ONE OF US OFF FOR THE ‘GREATER GOOD’! THIS IS WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU ASK A GOOD FOR NOTHING WITCH FOR HELP! I TOLD YOU IT WAS A MISTAKE TO ASK HER FOR HELP!”

“I NEVER SAID IT WAS GONNA BE ONE OF YOU.” The commotion stops. All eyes are now on you. “I never fucking said it was going to be one of you, I didn’t even finish what I was saying…” Your eyes look down at the shaking in your hands. 

Todoroki reaches forward and takes your hands in his own, stopping the tremble that has overcome you. “Go on.”

You take a deep breath in, “Like I was saying, they asked for a sacrifice of a magical being, but one of great power so the balance in the cosmos would be right. I tried to ask them what the requirements were for ‘great power’, but I received no answer. Instead, this book,” you put it down on the table, “appeared in my hands. Next thing I knew, I was on the couch…”

“So you don’t know how to unlock the latch on the front?” The green haired boy slides the book to himself, examining it with a sense of importance.

“No, but I have a feeling I’m the only one that’s going to be able to open it.”

“Why is that?”

“I mean, I’m the first person in forever to even see one of the Greats, let alone live from an encounter with them. If I’m not able to open it, then no one can.”

“Okay, well are there any keys that you have on you now? Maybe it’s the same one as your house key or lab key?” You shrugged and pulled out a set of keys from your pocket. Immediately you noticed one that hadn’t been there previously.

“Or the one that just happened to appear…” Inserting the key, and twisting it releases the metal strap on the bind of the book. It makes a soft clicking noise as it opens. Greedily, you opened up the pages to see what they held, only to find them blank. “What the fuck?” Aggressively, you flip through the whole thing until you find one page where a plethora of information was held.

“Is that it?” Iida was peaking over your shoulder. In fact, the rest of the party had gathered around the table to see what was going on. Well, everyone except the blonde haired, red eyed vampire.

“It has to be. This is the only marked page.”

“Well, it seems to be in celestial. Can you decipher it?” You cock your eyebrow and turn to Iida.

“Is that a question?”

“Hey, less flirting, more reading,” Kaminari spoke.

“That wasn’t flirting, but not like you would know.” He jolts back at the sudden attack, feigning a hurt look. Small chuckles could be heard around the room, but they died down as everyone anticipated your analysis.

“It’s a ritual with both alchemic and abjuration magic,” your eyes continue down the page, trying to make sense of all the scribbles, “but it looks like there’s only one ingredient.”

“Let me guess, a sacrifice.” Red eyes bore deep into your figure as Katsuki spoke.

“...yeah.”

“And where the fuck are you going to find some ‘great magical being’?” His teeth are showing as he scowls once more. It may have been years since he’s seen you, but he knows what you’re thinking.

The knuckles on your hands start to turn white from the frustration that was building in your chest. You weren’t intending on telling everyone how you were going to let yourself be sacrificed in the name of Great Ones. You wanted to keep it a secret from them, but Katsuki could see right through you.

“I don’t know.”

“FUCKING LIAR!” He crosses the room with lightning speed and wraps his hands around your neck, crushing you into a nearby bookcase. Your vision is white for a split second, but returns to see a face with nothing but disgust across its features. Gasping for air, you attempt to pry his hands off of you, but it wasn’t worth trying as you knew the kind of strength Katsuki possesses. “I know what you’re planning to do! You want to kill yourself because some old ass supernaturals want you to, but I’m not gonna let that fucking happen.” He slams you into the bookcase once more after seeing your eyes start to drift off. “Do you hear me?!”

“Bakugou, get your hands off her now!” Iida, Todoroki, Kaminari, Kirishima and Midoriya run over to the scene and start to restrain Katsuki. They struggle to pull him back, but after a few seconds of letting you go, your whole body drops to the floor and your lungs start to gasp for oxygen. While you are coughing, Mina and Uraraka latch onto your sides and help you up. Now sitting down, you cough trying to catch your breath.

“What the hell were you thinking dude?! You didn’t even let (Y/N) fucking speak?!” Kirishima’s speech was a low growl, his eyes turning from the normal black color into a more yellow, dog-like eye.

“I’m not going to let her fucking die because she thinks she is self righteous. She’s not more important than any of us, and if she thinks so I’ll kill her myself.”

“How do you know that?! How do you know that she wants to sacrifice herself?! How do you know that she thinks she’s better?!” Kiri stops, waiting for an answer. When none presents itself, he continues his rant. “You don’t know what is going in her head! So stop assuming you know stuff that we don’t!”

“Kiri, stop before you make a fool of yourself.” Gently, you put your hand on the shoulder of the raging werewolf. His eyes fade into the black abyss they once were. All eyes were now on you, “Katsuki’s right. I was going to sacrifice myself…” several gasps were audible in the thick silence, “but not because I think I’m better than anyone here. We all are powerful in our own regard, but I’ve been alive for twelve hundred years. If anyone of us is going down, it’s going to be me.” Scoffing, Katsuki barges out of the room, unable to deal with the level of bullshit he just heard. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe he was powerful, or anyone else in the room (he wouldn’t say it outloud), but he couldn’t believe that you were willing to give up on yourself to save the world. Did you not see how important you are? Whether you knew it or not, he cared about you and he didn’t plan on letting you die anytime soon.

The tension built itself around the room as the still airwaves remained unchanged. Not even breathing could be heard. Standing up from the table, you put the chair back into place and made a grab for the book, but someone stopped you. 

“No,” green eyes bore into your own, “you’re not taking it. We’re locking it up. There has to be a different solution.”

“There isn’t! We’ve talked to everyone we possibly could have and no one else thought of anything! For fucks sake Midoriya, I had to talk to some ancient beings to get a hold of this spell and almost died because of it! I’m taking what’s mine!” With both hands, you yank it from his grasp.

“I said no (Y/N). We’ll find another way. There has to be another way-”

“There’s not! What is so hard to understand! The clock is ticking and it’s only a matter of time before it all turns to shit, might as well fix it now and get it over with!”

“(Y/N), just give me the grimoire. Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be. No one here wants you to die, and we’re not going to let you! Just pass it over.” Conflicted, your white knuckles loosen on the rough leather and place it down on the table. Without looking at anyone, you make your way to a spare room and sit on a bed, thinking about what else there was to do.

Hours passed as you thought about the end of it all. There is no other way for this to end. The fucking Old Ones said that this way the only way possible, so it has to be right? We exhausted all other resources: the scripts from Alexandria, my personal collection, Izuku’s personal collection and the harpies. None of us had anything. Your foot was tapping against the floor anxiously. If I could just get the pages from the book and get back to my place then it could all be over. None of them would have to worry anymore. It’s been a couple of hours… maybe they’re asleep. If I take it now and make a run for it, I’d have at least a couple hour head start. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about someone trying to stop me…

With a gameplan in mind, you stealthily make your way out of the room, creeping around as silently as possible. Passing a few other rooms, the snores of several companions reassure your suspicion. Now was the time to strike. Trying your damnedest not to make the floor creak, you tiptoe through the house to the library. You’re assuming it’s still there, but they could’ve removed it. Too busy focusing on trying to make a sound, you didn’t realize the pair of blood red eyes that closely follow.

Upon reaching the library, your eyes land on the old leather cover that lies exactly where you last remember. Swiftly taking it from its place and reaching for its key, you took the latch off and ripped the single page from its binding. As you did so, a knocking noise was heard from the entrance, but looking at it didn’t give you an answer. Everything was where you left it, but the uneasy feeling of eyes on you causes a thought to cross your mind. Am I being followed? Shoving the spell into your pocket, you glanced around one more time to make sure no one was there. 

“O custos revelare,” voice barely above a whisper and clutching the necklace of the triple goddess, the knowledge of Katsuki’s watchful eyes on you entered your consciousness. Great, just what I needed. How the fuck am I supposed to leave now? Maybe if I trapped him somewhere that he can’t be heard, or if I place a silencing spell? No, he’ll still be able to get someone’s attention. Best shot I got is to lure him out of earshot from the others and place a trapping spell, but that requires time… Fuck! What the hell am I supposed to do?!

Quickly trying to recover from the stream of thoughts, you make your way to the attic. This should be far enough from the others. If he screams up here they shouldn’t hear him, especially with all the fabric. Now how do I get the circle in place? ...goddamnit why the hell can’t my brain think of something? Abjuration? No, that’s later. Conjuration? No. Divination? No. Evocation? No. Necromancy? What the hell, no! Transmutation is a no go as well. That leaves alchemy, enchantments and illusions. Alchemy takes too long, so that’s out of the question, and Katsuki can easily overpower my enchantments. So illusions it is.

Katsuki watches as you stumble your way up a couple flights of stairs, trying so hard not to alarm anyone of your presence. He couldn’t help but feel amused at your little act. You just look so cute acting like a rogue trying to steal their first jewels. On the other hand, he couldn’t believe that after the outburst he had and Deku’s own freakout you still were going through with your plan. Do you not care about him? Do you seriously not realize just how important you are? Of course he’s gonna stop you; the minute you stormed off he knew there was a plan being formulated.

Shattering glass littered the stairwell as the nearest window blew inward. Immediately, Katsuki checks for intruders and looks down the stairwell to see that the other windows have been broken in as well. Peering up, he doesn’t see your figure any more and begins to panic. With his enhanced speed he runs downstairs and starts to sniff out anything suspicious.

Leaving the crystals in their place to keep the illusion going as long as possible, you could care less about making much noise. Bolting up to the attic, you shut the door behind you and took out a pocket knife, working on a trap, or abjuration, spell. The intricate carvings were taking longer than you thought, and the panic of being caught was causing you to slip up.

“Shit! Fuck!” There’s no time left! Once again grabbing the necklace of the goddess, you start reciting a simple fire spell and start to burn the lines into the wood floor, being careful not to burn the house down.

“Adolebitque imperium.” A small flame danced around the floor, as if following a line of gasoline. It wasn’t even a flame, but looked like the end of a stick of incense. The small embers made their way around the room, carving out sigils and words. Trapping a vampire was tough enough, but with Katsuki’s strength and will it was going to be even worse.

Back downstairs, Katsuki stalks the main floor, careful not to alarm something that could be in the house. His nose isn’t picking up on anything out of the ordinary, but he got the feeling that it was all a ruse. Looking around more only confirms his suspicion as he noticed no other windows were broken, and when he got back to the stairs those windows were put back.

“That sneaky little-” his feet pound on the ground as he makes his way to your location. “I can’t believe she- what a little- UGH!” He fells dumb. He knows your magic, but he couldn’t even figure it out on first glance - not like he used too, that is.

Reaching the top of the stairs and closing the door, he tries the doorknob, but to no avail. 

“(Y/N) open the door.” No response. He waits a few seconds until he tries again. “I swear to fucking God (Y/N), open the goddamn door or I will break it down.” Pressing an ear to the door, he listened to double check he was in the right area. After hearing some shuffling on the other side, his fists pound against the door. “I can fucking hear you, you know!” When no response came, again, he grabbed the door knob and snapped it off like it was a candy cane. “I’m coming in so don’t fucking attack me!”

You stand by an opened window, wind softly blowing through your hair and the moonlight highlighting your face in all the right ways. If only someone had a camera, this shot could make “Time” magazine. Katsuki’s breath was taken away at the scene; you looked so serene and just as beautiful as the day he met you. Although his heart wasn’t supposed to be beating, he felt as though it might leap out of his chest and run into your arms. You turn slowly, to face him with the ripped pages gently folded between your fingers.

“Hand it over. We both know I’m not letting this happen.” He inches closer in the room, about a foot away from the carvings on the floor. You just need to provoke him further, but the look in his eyes was killing you. They weren’t like anything you’d ever seen come out of Katsuki; even in the most intimate of moments. They screamed desperation but remain firm.

“It’s the only way, and you know it.” Eye contact hasn’t broken once since he bust the door open, but it only intensified as you speak.

“I don’t fucking care if it’s the only way. You are not dying for this, for these people! We both know what kind of shit the world puts us through and you want to put your life on the line for them. For those BASTARDS!” Screaming, he moves another few inches forward, eyes pleading for you to give in. “WHAT HAS THE WORLD EVER DONE FOR YOU?! BESIDES PUT YOU DOWN AND BEAT YOU TO THE CURB?!”

“It showed me you. Didn’t it?” The question startles him. You were the calm to his storm, the yin to his yang and yet… he didn’t want to admit that the world actually did him good.

“No. I gave myself to you. I wanted to be with you. I loved you. I still love you. Can’t you see this is fucking killing me?! Can’t you see that I just want to be with you?! CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I WANT YOU BACK?! THAT I WANT TO WAKE UP TO YOU WITH ME EVERYDAY?! WHY THE FUCK CAN’T YOU-” He didn’t realize he had closed his eyes with rage, and that you had made your way across the room to him. In the middle of his rant, you placed your soft hand on his cheek, caressing his face. Instinctually, he presses his cheek further into your touch, opening his eyes to meet yours. It felt like he had just had a sip of water after a centuries-long drought; this was something he didn’t acknowledge that he needed so badly, but now that it was happening he only wanted more.

“That day that you left, I was broken. For years I was only half the person I once was, and it was because I didn’t have you. I thought that you hated me, and never wanted to see me again…” 

“I could never hate you,” he grabbed your wrist, “not after everything we’ve been through. Not after our sleepless nights of talking, the years of moving around and the fact that you’re the only person I’ve ever been myself around.” He sighs, the whole ordeal becoming emotionally taxing. Not once did he ever open himself up to anyone; not after you. It was hard enough for you to crack him, but once you two were through, he built up walls of steel. “I never stopped loving you. You are the only one for me. You’re the only person willing to put up with my bullshit and able to control my temper. Even if you are a damn witch, you’re my damn witch.”

Tears start to haze both of your visions, but you give in, letting them cascade down your cheek. Heart clenched, ready to burst, you enveloped yourself in his scent, embracing him like your life depended on it. He quickly returns the gesture and places his head in the crook of your neck. The two of you stayed like this for a moment before gently rocking back and forth. Slowly, you inch him closer to the abjuration spell.

Goddess, what have I done to deserve this? Why do I have to be the one fucking person he loves but also the one person that can save everyone from certain doom? Why am I just getting him back now, right before the end? Crying harder, you push yourself further into his chest. He didn’t take this as “out of the normal” because he thought you were still crying over him; that’s not saying you weren’t, but other thoughts were on your mind. Your body still moves closer to the circle, pulling Katsuki with you. What the fuck (Y/N). You could’ve just placed the circle and left, but no. You had to stick around and make everything 1000 times harder.

The sound of wood burning turns Katsuki’s attention to the ground, where he sees the sigils recarve themselves into the floor. He was flabbergasted, the breath knocked right out of him.

“(Y/N)...?” His voice was weak as he spoke, as if pleading for this to be a dream and not the hell he was about to go through.

“I’m so sorry. I wish there was another way but there isn’t and I just-” He releases your hug, his body going rigid as he starts to piece it together.

“You tricked me… after everything I said and did, you trapped me. You’re gonna fucking kill yourself and you trapped me here so I can’t stop you.”

“There’s no other way. The Greats said that it had to be a powerful magic user, and we both know Izuku, Iida, Todoroki and Uraraka don’t make the cut. The harpies don’t have anyone as powerful as me either and it doesn’t look like we’ll be finding anyone powerful within the next couple of days. I can end this now. The panic, the worry; it could all be over with tonight.” You step out of the circle, grabbing the instructions from your pocket and holding them to your chest.

“You decided that instead of staying with me, you’d rather die. Am I hearing this correctly? YOU WOULD RATHER NOT EXIST THAN BE WITH ME?!” He ran up to you, but the invisible barrier holds him from reaching your body.

“Don’t. Don’t make this about you. This is about more than just us and it is definitely about more than what we had forever ago. I’m fucking sorry neither of us got our acts together in time, but the balance of nature needs to be set anew. If I had known that you still loved me, that you still cared for me, then yeah, this whole situation might’ve turned out differently. But the fact that it took us almost 1000 years to get our shit together and talk to each other says a little something. Maybe we’re both too headstrong to be in a relationship. Hell, that’s how the last one ended! So don’t you dare make this about you, because there are so many other people that I love and want to look out for than just you. The world is counting on me because if I don’t do this, then the world as we know it won’t be in existence within the next few days.” You turn to the window, taking a deep breath and slowing your rapid heart rate.

As you approach the window, you mutter “revertetur in terram suam” and the forest around the house transforms into the inside of your bedroom. Once more, you took a deep breath to ease the pain of leaving everyone behind.

“Tell them I love them, and I did it for the best.” You walk over to Katsuki and rip off your triple goddess necklace, offering it to him. “I know you’re not religious, but it’s a piece of me. So you don’t forget.” Reluctantly, he reaches out and takes it, examining it with a furrowed brow.

“I would never fucking forget…” it was barely audible, but it made your heart flutter.

“I love you, Katsuki. Even if it seems like I’m betraying you, I want you to know that I hope you find someone who loves you and can crack that barrier over your heart.” Walking over to the portal, you utter one last sentence, “Please take care of yourself,” and then you’re gone.

[copperbadge]

Hey, Sam! And librarians! I've discovered my strengths lie in the tinier side of art; while I could produce palm-sized books, I got to wondering how they could be shelved in a library. Your printer likely takes on technical bits, but what's physically ideal for a not-pamphlet book? Spine? Extra page?

I'm not sure I'm quite following your question, Anon, but I'll take a swing and also open it up to the public -- publishers and librarians, thoughts? (Remember to reblog or comment; please don't send an ask in response to this ask.)

I know that when we had odd-sized objects at the library I worked for in college -- super small, super large, or irregularly shaped (like with a 3-D cover) the object was actually "shelved" behind the circulation desk or in storage. Instead of the object itself, a "dummy" book, a block of wood with the object's catalogue number on it, would be shelved in its place. The person who wanted the object would either come directly to us with the catalogue number (if they knew we had it) or go to the shelf, find the "dummy", and use the instructions glued to the side of the dummy to come find us and get the object.

In terms of the best way to bind a small book, which I think you may also be asking, the minimum page count for most print-on-demand books to have a spine is I believe still 42 pages, so I always try to hit that minimum. If it's less than 42 pages and you want to make sure it's visible on a shelf, I'd go with a spiral wire binding like a school notebook has, which adds bulk to the book. I know spiral and staple-bound books in libraries usually have the catalogue number attached to the lower left corner of the front cover, so that you just have to pull it out a little bit to see it.

[happeninghippo]

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