#glas - material

[rwpohl]

king of the children, chen kaige 1987

[craft2eu]

Nicolas Muller – Mit der Zeit: Genf (CH) bis 22.08.2024

Nicolas Muller (Frankreich / Schweiz, 1983) interessiert sich für die Ränder, die Zwischenräume, die Rückseite des Dekors. In dieser Carte blanche, die dem Künstler von Musée Ariana angeboten wurde, erinnert er mithilfe der Techniken, die ihm eigen sind oder die er bei dieser Gelegenheit entwickelt hat, an die Natur und die greifbare Realität von Sammlung aus Keramik und Glas. In den Lagerräumen…

[poa2]

[hexjulia]

"The Embroidered Computer is an exploration into using historic gold embroidery materials and knowledge to craft a programmable 8 bit computer.

Solely built from a variety of metal threads, magnetic, glas and metal beads, and being inspired by traditional crafting routines and patterns, the piece questions the appearance of current digital and electronic technologies surrounding us, as well as our interaction with them.

Technically, the piece consists of (textile) relays, similar to early computers before the invention of semiconductors. Visually, the gold materials, here used for their conductive properties, arranged into specific patterns to fulfill electronic functions, dominate the work. Traditionally purely decorative, their pattern here defines they function. They lay bare core digital routines usually hidden in black boxes. Users are invited to interact with the piece in programming the textile to compute for them."

[xalygatorx]

Back into a Pumpkin | Alastor x Shameless!Fiona!Reader

Requested by @skyfuldreamer (Tumblr's not letting me tag in the usual way for some reason, so I hope this works)

Also on AO3

Summary: On the day you're supposed to secure yourself to Alastor in unholy matrimony, an unexpected and unwelcome guest arrives to dredge up the past you've tried to hide from him.

Warnings: Shame (ironic?), language, reader has a past of drugs and prostitution and a heart of gold, parental abuse (verbal, brief physical in the current story but a past of physical while the reader and said parent were alive) and neglect, Alastor feels moderately inconvenienced that you won't let him kill your cruddy mom LOL, AFAB reader, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff

A/N: It might be apparent idk but I've yet to watch Shameless, so this is a quick character research job. :') I do have an ongoing crush on Emmy Rossum though, so that's helped me power through. Hope you enjoy. x

You'd made your peace a long time ago about never telling Alastor the full breadth of the life you led topside. The life you led before you'd died, fallen into Hell, and were actually given license to live for yourself the first time…dead.

You've had a complicated existence at best.

But that's all behind you now. Today, you're getting married.

Let's get one thing clear, you weren't surprised to end up in Hell after dying. You were surprised it existed at all, to be honest, but you weren't surprised that was where you were tossed after being rejected at the pearly gates. You'd done a lot in life to accrue your fair share of sins and, apparently but also not surprisingly, the "why" behind those sins didn't factor in.

You weren't kind to your body, but neither was anyone else. You smoked, you drank, you hit harder drugs to cope for a while, and then got painstakingly clean, remaining so by the skin of your teeth—whatever that saying meant. Your body was riddled with poison by the time you went.

Not only that, but you let other people use you the way you used drugs. For a price. A price that wasn't quite respectable, but it was enough to make sure your little brothers and sisters had lunches to take to school, new backpacks that wouldn't fall apart in the middle of the hall like yours had in fifth grade, and a shot at life you weren't given.

You weren't ashamed for doing what you had to in order to give them that. For the rest, yes—you still carried that shame with you everywhere you went. Including up the hill to the Hazbin Hotel, where you'd checked in as a resident when being out in Hell's general population with every available narcotic imaginable nearly caused you to relapse.

You'd met the Princess of Hell there—Charlie Morningstar. She'd welcomed you with open arms and a glowing smile. You'd also met her partner, the rest of her staff, and the other guests.

One member of management had been late to the scene of your arrival—he'd been mid-broadcast at the time—and had instead scared the afterlife out of you by materializing right outside your door as you were leaving to go downstairs for dinner. He'd apologized (laughingly), but to this day you were sure he'd done it on purpose.

Back then, you would've never guessed that your heartstopping introduction to the Radio Demon would become anything else. Much less an actual, real relationship. Something you'd never really had for any length of time while you were alive. You'd either not had the bandwidth to handle a relationship, your "side hustles," your legal work, and your kids (siblings) or the men you'd tried dating hadn't had the wherewithal to stick around for you after they learned about your past.

After you'd died, that past was something you'd wanted to leave buried with you on Earth. So you started completely over with a fresh slate and you never told anyone about the life you'd led before. Not even Alastor.

And now, on your wedding day, it's all you can think of.

Maybe because, if you'd done this while alive, your family would be here. You were glad the kids weren't here, of course—they'd have to be dead to attend this ceremony. But, if you were alive, you'd get to have your family around you to celebrate. The family you'd pulled from the gutter yourself. The one you wished every day that you had some way to check on.

You just hoped they were okay. That was the only thing you wanted.

Then again, there were perks to this not taking place while you were still alive. Because with every nice family experience comes the not-nice ones. And there was a reason you'd had to go to such lengths to provide for your siblings—you'd called that reason "Mom" up until you were probably fifteen or sixteen.

Up until she left on benders and only came back when there was a check to cash in. Up until your youngest siblings started calling you "Mom" because they'd hardly been around their birthmother as they grew and developed personalities of their own. Up until you stopped wishing that she'd step up so you could have a shot at a life of your own, at picking goals that didn't just pertain to keeping food in the fridge and the electricity on, and instead just wished she'd stay away once and for all.

You shake off the feeling and it disrupts Vaggie's careful lacing of your corset-style dress from Rosie's. "Sorry," you quickly murmur.

"It's fine, I'm almost done," she tells you and, true to her word, she finishes off her work with a neat little bow and steps back. "There!"

You do an experimental wiggle that she laughs at you for and turn to look at yourself in the mirror nearby. She's done a great job—so did Rosie when she designed this dress. You would've worn a potato sack if it meant you could marry Alastor, but he'd insisted that you have something special for the big day.

You also weren't entirely sure that Rosie would've ever forgiven him had he not allowed her to pitch in and had a sneaking suspicion that had been additional motivation to task her with your dress.

The second she'd had an inch, she'd taken a mile—flowers, decorations for the small Cannibal Town "chapel" venue, a sinner-flesh-free cake, she'd ensured you had it all while still remaining open and attentive to what you wanted when you found it in you to voice it. She was just excited for you both. In a lot of ways, she'd shown you these past months what it would've been like to have an actual mom.

Speak of the devil (or the angel, you'd argue), Rosie's quick rapping at the door precedes her entry and she immediately gushes over how you look.

"Oh my stars, honey! Look at ya!" she half-squeals, spinning one clawed finger in the air as she requests, "Do a li'l turn for me, will ya?"

You indulge her and blush as she literally applauds your appearance, showering you with affectionate praise. Vaggie stands by, just watching the scene unfold with a soft look in her eyes. You know she's thinking back to her own wedding with Charlie and it warms your heart more than words can describe.

"Alright, come on, girls!" Rosie crows, gesturing for you both to proceed out of her parlor, where you've been getting ready for the past couple of hours. "Just about everyone should be settled in their seats 'n' I know Al's all done up and ready, too."

"How's he doing?" you ask as you step out of the room with Rosie and Vaggie, following them to the front of the Emporium to make the short walk to the chapel.

"Oh, he's on Cloud Nine, honey, don't even worry 'bout him," Rosie waves you off with a tittering laugh against a gloved hand. Quietly, she adds just to you, "I get the feelin' that he might be a little somber underneath the happiness though since he's finally gettin' hitched and his mama's, obviously, not here to see it."

Your brow crumples and you nod. "Of course," you murmur back. "Thank you, Rosie. For looking out for him and for me."

"It's my favorite sport, honey," Rosie ribs you as the three of you get into place at the chapel entrance.

The doors are open to ventilate the inside, just like a chapel in the overworld may have been for both your and Alastor's southern hometowns. It hits you with unexpected nostalgia. The tiny chapel is almost comically full of both folks from the hotel and other sinners you and Alastor know separately, not to mention almost the entirety of Cannibal Town. Even Susan's present and behaving…so far.

"Wow, is the entire Pentagram in there?" Vaggie wonders offhand. "Maybe it just looks like it because the building's so small."

"Well, Al wanted to do an announcement in the paper, so I guess that brought a few more people in," you muse to her, your eyes landing on the man himself at the other end of the chapel aisle as you speak.

The second your eyes meet, what little anxiety you'd accrued at the sight of the bustling chapel fades into the background. Despite everything, it's just you and him right now. And that sounds just about perfect.

It's the downward twitch of his smile that makes you realize you're so zoned into your daydreamy state, that you've entirely missed a new "guest" approaching. And then it's Vaggie backing into you, shielding you with her smaller form until you finally turn your head and you hone in on someone shoving past the petite fallen angel to get to you.

Who it is only becomes apparent after they start speaking.

"—believe my own daughter wouldn't invite me to her goddamn wedding," the sinner was ranting. Her words make you pale. "Had to see it in the papers of all places!"

Shocked into vulnerability, you mumble for the first time in decades, "M-Mom?" You're positively dumbstruck. You hadn't even known she'd died.

"Well, obviously!" she snaps at you. Rosie's still standing behind you, not sure what to do or how far this might go. But she doesn't know your mother. She doesn't feel the impending disaster like you do. "But no, not an invite in the mail, not a call, nothing! Ungrateful as ever, Hell hasn't changed you a bit."

You're understandably taken aback on multiple levels. That she's called you "ungrateful." That she's acting as though this is your typical behavior. That she's not even upset to discover through this wedding announcement that not only is her daughter getting married, but that her daughter is dead. And that's not what she cares about.

Hell hasn't changed her a bit either.

Your lips twist in a snarl and you snap back, "I'm interested to hear what I have to be grateful to you for."

Her hand cracks across your cheek before you can blink. Like she was waiting for a reason to do it. Knowing her, she probably was.

Stunned, you hold your face and bare your teeth at her, old habits rousing from years of "living." Vaggie tries to get back in between you and your mom, but you wave her off as your mother continues to yell horrible things in your face and you take it with a stalwart sort of internalized rage. It's familiar. It's unwelcome. But it protects you.

Distantly, as if through a long tunnel, you hear Rosie shout back at your mother, something she's said setting Rosie off and making her abandon her attempt to allow you to handle the situation how you see fit.

And, when you snap back at your mom again and she raises her fist to you this time, you see the red and black-gloved hand of your fiance snatch her wrist in mid-air.

It feels like someone's blessedly (or not) removed the cotton from your ears as sound floods back in and you hear in full all the horrendous things your mother is shouting at you, at Rosie, and now at Alastor, too, for intervening.

"Get your fuckin' hands off me!" she shouts up into his face, either having no idea who she's speaking to right now or simply not caring.

The only reason he hasn't wiped the road with her is because he's put two and two together that she's your mother. That said, he'll first want the go-ahead from you to do so. It's only polite.

"Oh-ho! Au contraire," Alastor tuts down at her as he places himself firmly between you two. You rest your hands against his back to remind him you're there and maybe ground him enough to not cannibalize your disgrace of a mother before the wedding. After is to be determined at this point. "It's you who must learn to keep your hands to yourself, it seems."

"She's my daughter!" your mom fires back, yanking her wrist out of Alastor's grip and only because he allows it.

"And, had you not interrupted proceedings," Alastor counters smoothly, wiping the hand that restrained your mother's wrist against his jacket with no shortage of disdain, "she would be my wife."

"Listen, before I'm anyone's anything, I'm mine, alright?" you butt in, the streams of "my, my, my" making you feel like you've lost your agency all over again, if in small doses.

Your mother, unsurprisingly, ignores you, but you see Alastor's ears flatten a little with chagrin as he flashes you an apologetic look over his shoulder. You offer him a smile that immediately fades into horror as your mom speaks up again. One more damning time.

"Surprised anyone would want her after everything she did," your mom huffs with superiority, sneering at you past Alastor's arm. Don't, is all you can think even as she undoes all your good work to start over in the span of a sentence. "You know you're just the end of the parade of men she's had in her bed, right? You're just the first one she's opened her legs for without a fee."

Horrified, you feel numb as you whisper, "That's… That's not—"

"Unless you're loaded, then I get why she's tricked you into this," your mom continues to muse, sizing Alastor up with a glance before looking at you again. "How long do you think this'll last, kid? We both know what you're like."

"What I'm like?" you repeat, your hollow voice gaining fervor as your demonic form threatens to tear through you. "What I'm like?!"

"You're nothing but a selfish, flea-bitten little whore who spent the best years—the only years—of your life high or with a dick in your mouth," she snarls, trying to get past Alastor to face off with you again. He holds an arm out to stop her, but he's not looked at you since she started in on you again.

You're sure it's over. Just like that. And then the world starts to feel like it's caving in. So what more do you have to lose?

"You know what," you grit out with a harsh laugh. "You're right. I got into drugs and I sold myself on street corners. That's why I'm here. And you know what else?" Your voice becomes throatier as your eyes ignite red and your canines lengthen into fangs, your form barely restrained in your anger. "All of it happened because you were a shit mother with shit priorities who didn't take care of your fucking kids!"

"You shut your wh—"

"No!" you cried, furious as you felt hot tears starting to bead at the corners of your eyes. "I'm not going to! Everything I did at least started because I had to raise myself and then my siblings, too! I went to school, worked, did every side job I could find—every side job—and somehow found ways in the middle of all that to figure out how to be a mom! And you have no idea how much that fucked me up! I didn't even know until I died because that was the first free minute I'd had in years to think about myself!

"I 'whored around' because your kids needed lunch money. They needed new folders for school. A new set of kneepads for volleyball practice," you say, losing steam and wanting to get away from the source of your abuse before she sees you cry. Because you know her still and you know from a tender age that she sees tears as a sign of victory.

To Alastor, you choke out a whispered, "I'm sorry," and hurry past Vaggie and Rosie.

As you pass Rosie, she slips you the Emporium key to let yourself in and catch your breath, fix yourself back up, whatever you need. You flash her a grateful, wobbly smile and head straight there, trusting the others to smooth things over with the attendees. You honestly aren't sure what you'll come back to—maybe some of them will linger and the ceremony will go on as planned.

Or, more likely now that he knows how filthy you are, Alastor will have changed his mind and proceed to send them all home.

That's the thought that finally sends you over the edge and you're able to at least close the Emporium door behind you before you burst into tears.

As you walk back to the parlor you prepped in, you stifle sobs against your hands, eyes wide with something close to panic. As you shoulder open the parlor door and close it behind you, twisting the lock, you wonder at the unbearable weight in your chest—back again after so long without it.

You aren't ashamed of taking care of your brothers and sisters—your kids in the end—however you needed to at the time. Whatever you had to do, you did, and you're glad that—at least when you'd left the world of the living—they'd all been surer-footed and doing okay. You prayed every day to a God you knew at least no longer believed in you that they would continue to lead full, happy lives.

However, hearing those accusations spouted in front of all the folks you've come to know in the Pentagram, who you've come to love and have come to love the you they know down here—in front of the man you've come to adore and who'd adored you in turn—

Well, now you feel shame, pure and thick as shame could be, pooling like slow-acting poison in your belly.

You step over to the vanity Rosie brought in just for you to get ready today and collapse onto the velvet stool.

After a doubtful look at your reflection, you're pretty sure you have all the aesthetic qualities of a raccoon without the inherent "awww" factor. You swallow against a raw sensation in your throat as you locate one of the face wipes Vaggie used on you earlier and start trying to clear away the smudges around your eyes.

There's a quick knock at the door and you're not clear-headed enough to guess who it might be. Rosie, you imagine, as you think back to her pitying expression as you left the chapel entryway with her store key. You try to stomach her pity as something kind and not fall deeper into shame for having seen it, as much as you may want to.

Whoever it is knocks again and you sigh. "Yes?" you ask, grimacing at the rough sound of your voice.

"May I come in?"

Alastor's voice, usually something that inspires warmth from your crown to your toes, makes you curl in on yourself a little. He's surely here to call it off. He could've just left, you know that, but he's a gentleman through and through. He wanted to carry out your relationship properly and that's how he'll likely want to end it as well.

You steel yourself for what you consider the inevitable. Might as well get it over with. You surely can't feel any worse than you do now.

That's a lie though. You can and you're sure you will once it's official.

"Okay," you say, continuing your cleanup before you remember that you locked the door upon entry.

Before you can stand, Alastor's shadow weaves in through the cracks and flips the latch. The man, himself, is soon to follow. Alastor steps through the door he opens just enough to come inside, replacing the door and the lock once he joins you. You find it difficult to look at him, knowing what's coming, so you go back to smearing away teary streaks of cosmetics from your skin.

He's silent as he walks further into the room, stopping behind your perch in front of the vanity. The mirror is angled in such a way that you see most of him, but the top edge cuts off right at his bowtie, so his expression remains—for better or worse—a mystery to you.

Well, you're sure he's smiling certainly. But whatever accompanies that smile or lays beneath it remains unknown for now.

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice uncharacteristically careful.

You sniffle a little and shrug. "I'm…not really sure yet," you admit, deciding to be honest. "I'm kind of shaken up. I was angry, but that's kind of on the backburner now."

"You've every right to be," he murmurs and you can hear in his quiet storm of a tone that he's angry, too. You're not yet sure at whom though. There's a long pause that hangs between you before he gestures to the armchair nearby. "May I?"

"You need to ask?" you wonder, implying your permission.

He hums and adjusts the chair's position to angle toward the vanity before he seats himself. You sneak a furtive look his way, wary of what expression you'll see on his face, but needing to know at the same time what sort of conversation this will be. You barely handled the whiplash of seeing your mom again. The whiplash of a similar conversation with Alastor might do you in.

As ever, he's difficult to read. His smile is thin and perfunctory. He's settled himself in the armchair with one elbow resting against the arm nearest you as he leans his jaw into his palm. The metal tips of his gloves drum lightly against his cheekbone as he thinks, staring down momentarily at his lap before his carmine gaze casts up to you.

It's reassuring that his features immediately soften upon looking at you, but you keep yourself from getting too hopeful that things can go back to how they were. Maybe he just feels sorry for you.

Alastor clears his throat and your stomach sinks. "I am, admittedly, not the best at issuing comfort," he tells you, an early apology woven into his tone. "However, I would try. For you." He tilts his head slightly. "What can I do?"

"You're not—," you find yourself stuttering, almost numb with shock. "…You're not upset with me?"

His eyes widen and his smile wobbles, nearly wiped clean by bewilderment. "Darling, why on earth would I be upset with you?" he asks, and even in your anxiety-ridden, self-doubting mind, there's no doubt he's genuine.

"Because I—" You pause when your voice cracks to try and gather yourself, your hands falling into your lap and still clutching the mascara-smudged makeup wipe. Alastor shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I didn't tell you." A deep, long-suffering sigh falls past your lips as your head hangs. "I couldn't. Not because of you, but I…"

You force your shoulders to square up and it's an old habit that comes back with minimal effort even when you feel like falling apart.

"Everything I did, I did for my family. Not her, but my brothers and sisters. They may as well have been my kids, but I started taking care of them when I was still a kid, myself," you mumble as you run a hand over your ruddy cheek. "I don't regret that. But… I know how it seems, even without the reasons behind it. It's taboo in my time, let alone yours, and I just…" You wince and curl in on yourself just a little more. "I just wanted you to see��me. I never got to be me while I was alive. There was too much else to worry about.

"But I shouldn't have hidden my past from you," you finally admit. "It's basically lying, isn't it? And no matter what reasons I had, I was being selfish when I decided not to bring it up. So… I'm sorry. And I understand if you've changed your mind about marrying me because of it."

Alastor studies you through your explanation, noting the shame he'd never seen before pinching your features and sorely wanting to go back outside and turn the sinner who'd reduced you to this to a pulp. However, knowing you as he did, he'd abstained and let Rosie and Vaggie handle her while he went to the Emporium after you.

He's still holding out some measure of hope though that you'll let him off her in some way, shape, or form. Call it a wedding present to you both.

Tsking at your closing statements, Alastor declares, "Whacky nonsense. You've nothing to apologize for and, with your permission, of course, I still very much intend to marry you."

Shocked, you meet his eyes again. "But…," you stammer.

"But nothing," Alastor says with an almost boyish tilt to his smile.

You're sure he still doesn't get it though, so you say, "B-But, I'm… I'm filthy!"

Alastor scoffs a little and hooks his fingers along the underside of the armchair to pull it with him as he scoots closer to you. As he plucks a fresh makeup wipe from the box on the vanity, he says, "It's just a few smears of makeup, dear, no need to be dramatic."

"That's not what I mean and you know it," you mumble even as you let him take your chin and angle your head to start cleaning the streaks you missed from your eyelids and cheeks. It's all you can do not to collapse into him and weep, the sheer amazement and relief you feel from the absence of his rejection overtaking you as strongly as your previous grief.

"Well, it's the only bit of 'filth' I see," he murmurs as he sets the wipe aside and tugs your makeup bag closer to him instead, unzipping it and rifling around. "It's not even filth. And neither is your past, my dear."

Alastor pulls out the products he wants from the bag and arranges them in a line on the vanity before dutifully beginning to replace what you cried off. He's personally content either way, makeup or not, but he knows you'll feel better if you return to the chapel looking put back together. So he does it.

You just stare at him in awe and surprise for a moment or two before finally commenting offhand, "I didn't know you knew how to do this," as he carefully lines your eyes.

"What, you think I simply wake up like this?" he teases you.

"Implying you sleep at all," you clap back, but it's with an adoring smile.

"Mm, touché," Alastor murmurs, using one of his claws to ensure he draws you the crispest wings possible before capping the cosmetic and swapping it for mascara. "Now, darling, you always look ravishing, but you look exceptionally so today. But if you wouldn't mind, I'd very much like to marry you before the day is out. Is that agreeable?"

You laugh softly at his theatrics. "I suppose so," you agree with a playful, put-on sigh.

"You suppose so, do you?" he chuckles, tidying up the vanity before holding out his hands to help you up. You let him and he tugs you into an embrace, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. "I suppose I'll take it."

"Thanks, Al," you murmur against his chest, wanting to burrow into his arms but also not wanting to both undo his fine work on your makeup or get any on his suit. You still feel like a hot mess, but you guess if he can look at you and see something to cherish, maybe you can try and see it from his point of view. "I love you."

You can practically feel the warmth radiate down from the smile he gives you. "And I, you, sweetheart," he says softly, keeping you close to his side as he escorts you from the parlor. "I'll love you even more if you let me paint you a heart with that wretched woman's entrails."

And suddenly things are blessedly back to your (favorite) version of normal.

[tessa-liam]

Marabelle

Marabelle Series

Unspoken Words...

Chapter –16-

Choices – The Royal Romance, AU – (cross-over with Rules of Engagement)

Series Premise – An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobility, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret?

Marabelle Series Masterlist My Complete Masterlist

Main Pairing – Crown Prince Liam Rys x F!OC Lady Sophia (Sophie) Taylor

Other Pairings – Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel (from NYC), Drake Walker x F!OC Melanie Smithson

Most characters belong to Choices/Pixelberry Studios

Series Rating - M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, drinking, crude language & innuendo, gun violence, terrorism.

Many thanks to @selina012 for pre-reading.

Category – Alternate universe/on-going series/angst/fluff/cross-over with Choices Rules of Engagement with sprinkles of Canon

Chapter Summary – After Liam addresses the citizens of Cordonia, a message from Sophie sets his world back on its axis. Liam discovers Sophie’s secret. Hana Lee arrives to attend the ill-fated graduation.

A/N1: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the U.S. and is Barthelemy Beaumont’s second wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) is Bertrand’s mother.

Music & Title Inspiration:

Unspoken Words - James Malikey

Words - Bee Gees

Tell Him – Celine Dion; Barbra Streisand

A/N2: ‘Social Season’ in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in Balls, dinner parties and charity events.

A/N3: Heartfelt thanks to @Selina012 for joining me in writing ideas and with dialogue/content for this chapter and series.

A/N4: Thank you @/artbyainna for your talents! Commission of Liam & Sophie⤵️

University of Cordonia, Capital

Liam’s POV:

“Sir, Lady Sophia has left you a message.” Bastien looked delighted as he held my phone up for me to grasp.

My head spun with a surge of conflicting emotions and energy. Fear and anticipation gripped my heart in an iron fist. Hope was winning out, but only barely. It was a good thing too; otherwise, I could've leapt for joy at those five seemingly innocent words. ‘...has left you a message.’ Bastien knew how desperately I needed to hear those words from him.

I tried to steady my racing heart.

I had to remember how to breathe.

It was impossible for me to think straight knowing Sophie was out there somewhere. It was agony trying to focus on anything else. She has always been brave and resourceful, but she is also no superhero. Anything could have happened to her. I do not want to imagine a world without her, especially if something had happened while I was unable to be by her side. I tried to keep positive and hope for the best, but I wasn't convinced I'd ever get her message. Still, I would have to have patience. I would have to have hope.

Everything in my heart and mind was screaming for Sophie. My soul was empty without her. It is amazing how a little text message, something that took seconds, could instantly bring the world back into focus. Suddenly, everything mattered again.

Her message was beautiful. Even without saying my name, I could see how much she loved me, and how she understood how worried I was. It was clear from her message that she was not upset with me for being gone. She understood my duties to Cordonia. With her simple but thoughtful message, she managed to soothe my aching soul and fill it with love and hope.

"...Don't worry about me. Just focus on what's needed right in front of you. I love you and look forward to seeing you soon."

A shaky laugh escaped my throat. A tear leaked from my eye as I continued staring at Sophie's beautiful message on my phone. My guards glanced at me and kept their distance, knowing me well enough to give me my privacy. Her words had the desired effect that settled me like nothing else would have. It gave me the focus I needed to deal with the mess left behind on the steps of the auditorium.

But I needed to feel her; to reassure myself of her safety.

Malic Motor Hotel/Emergency Safehouse

Liam, followed closely by Bastien and Drake, pushed the hotel doors open, the crisp ding of the door's bell brought all conversation to a halt. The employees and guests of the hotel suddenly stared, but quickly dropped to curtsy and/or bow in respect.

A brief time later, outside the Malic hotel, the sleek royal motorcade stopped at the entrance, under the vigilant gaze of Cordonian Police officers and local onlookers. When the SUV door was pushed open and Liam stepped out, everyone on the street was completely stunned. The paparazzi quickly moved forward in an attempt to capture the rare scene, but the Royal guard moved quickly to keep them at a distance, ensuring Liam's safety and privacy.

For the residents of the area, they know Liam is here for the tragedy, but most of them would never expect that a real royalty would come over at this hour to inquire about the injured. This shows just how concerned and generous the crown prince of Cordonia was for their welfare. It warmed their hearts to see him walking in the direction of the hotel, leaving behind a strong, imposing, and admiring aura.

After being escorted by the hotel concierge, Liam stood in front of the door for room 302. Bastien lifted his hand and rapped on the wooden frame. The hollow sound at once reverberated in the corridor, sounding just like his heart, beating like a drum now, Liam thought to himself.

The lock clicked open, and the handle was turned. Liam could not wait another moment. The moment the door opened, and he saw her, a moment of freezing, timelessness and perfect clarity overtook him. Sophie stood before him in the hotel room. Sophie, with her natural, soft beauty. She looked a bit tired and out of sorts, but she was whole, and in that instant, all was right in the world. His Sophie, alive and safe, stood before him.

In an instant, he knew what needed to be said. What she needed. All other things faded away, the guests in the hall, his security, Drake, Bastien; it was only the two of them.

He looked at her intensely; so profoundly, he could not breathe. With a soft smile, he simply said, "My Love..." and wrapped her tightly in his strong embrace. She could feel every inch of his toned body and feel the tremble of relief and suppressed tears of joy from his soul. His emotions were exposed for her alone, but still, he does not want her to see him cry. Her mind emptied itself of the chaos of the night before and was overwhelmed by the happiness and relief of reunion with Liam. She pressed her face into his firm chest and took a deep breath, letting the intoxicating masculine and his familiar cologne calm her even more. Nothing was said, nothing was needed. The unspoken words between them were loud and clear.

“Never again, Sophie. Never again, do I ever want to be away from you!” Liam’s breath rustled her hair, as he pulled back to gently cradle Sophie’s head in his hands. He brushed his thumbs over her cheeks to wipe the tears away that were now falling rapidly as she cried in relief.

He gently pulled away from her just a bit. Lifting her chin up slightly with his finger, he looked into her deep blue eyes and uttered the words his soul had longed to say, "I love you." The intensity in his eyes was palpable; the raw passion and the deep feeling of utter truthfulness clear.

"I love you too." Sophie’s eyes sparkled as the words softly rolled off her tongue, watching his lips. Liam ran his thumb gently over her bottom lip as his crystal blue eyes swept over hers; the corners of her eyes had a moment of wetness and sadness. The grief and terror of the previous night struck Sophie once again, and more tears slipped down from her eyes. Without hesitation, Liam reached out, and wiped her tears and held her in his strong arms until the quivering and shivers came to stop. His tender look, his warmth and breath comforted Sophie, immediately easing her burden and allowed her to have another moment of calm.

Gently, she finally extricated herself from his arms and the warmth of his body, to allow him into her room. Liam crossed the threshold, stepping forward in a fluid stride, followed closely by Bastien and Drake, never breaking contact with Sophie by lacing her fingers with his.

"Oh!" Sophie started a bit when she realized Hana was sitting on the sofa. "Liam, this is my roommate, Hana. Hana, you have not officially met Liam, this is-"

"...Just Liam. Hello Hana. It is a pleasure to meet you." Liam nodded and smiled.

"It is an honor to meet you, Liam." The words tumbled out of Hana’s mouth as the reality of the situation hit her. The atmosphere and awkward silence were broken swiftly by Drake.

"Hello, Hana." His voice sounded brusque, his brow a bit wrinkled as he sat in the chair furthest from everyone. His eyes traveled over her as he said, "you seem familiar ... but not."

"No! I'm definitely a newcomer." She smiled, a bit embarrassed, but friendly. She noticed that he had looked at her with more than casual interest. Sophie watched them with an air of bewilderment, unaware that Liam noticed the twinkle in his old friend's eye and made a mental note to ask Drake about it later.

"Taylor, it's fantastic that you found a friend. I'm glad you didn't have to spend last night by yourself."

"I just got lucky, Drake; I suppose. Hana was kind and generous enough to help me."

Sophie started telling the story of how Hana helped her and how she was instrumental in getting outside information about the attack with her cell phone. The next several minutes were dedicated to relaying all that had happened at the graduation. When she had finally finished, there was silence in the room. Sophie looked from one person to another.

"What? What is it? Tell me." Sophie asked apprehensively.

"I'm relieved," said Liam, finally, not knowing if she realized the extent of the attack. "It is all we can do at the moment. In the coming days and weeks, the details are going to start trickling in, and we will figure out who, the why and the what happened."

He crossed the floor to the hotel room window and drew the curtains aside. Sophie went over, leaning slightly toward him to catch a view of the sun peeking its way out of the clouds above. The sunlight shone down like a gentle kiss on their faces, reminding them there was hope, even on days such as these. Liam took her hand in his and interlaced their fingers, and for the second time, the only sound they could hear was the reassuring sound of their breathing and the soothing comfort of their touch.

Hana, Drake and Bastien quietly watched their interactions, keeping themselves on quiet standby. Hana was touched and astounded that the crown prince was not shy to openly express his affection for her. Bastien, as King Constantine’s personal guard, had seen Liam as a child and his entire adolescence. He was proud of the man he had become; a thoughtful leader with a profound compassion and loving nature. In the time he had been assigned his bodyguard, he had never seen him care so deeply about a lady as he did about Sophie.

After an extended moment, Liam gently caressed his thumb across her knuckles.

"I'm glad you are safe, my love. However, it is time we got back to work. We need to gather information, plan the next course of action and do our best to make sure something like this never happens again."

"Okay," Sophie replied calmly, feeling a small jolt of reality hitting her.

"But first,” Liam squeezed her hand, looking deep into her eyes. The reddened skin of her injury on her forehead as a reminder. "You need to have the royal doctor examine you. Let's get you some medical attention."

Street level, outside the Malic Hotel

As Sophie walked alongside Liam, her nerves began to settle slightly. She was not looking forward to being poked and prodded by strangers, but she knew, however, that Liam wanted to make sure she had not sustained any serious injuries. Having convinced her new friend to join her, Hana accepted the offer to get checked out as well.

Liam and his security team escorted Sophie and Hana to the waiting royal cars. Sophie had never been driven around like a real member of the royal family, but at the moment, she didn't really care. She was far too preoccupied. Liam was with her now, and that was all she cared about.

As the Royal motorcade drove off, Bastien tapped Drake on the shoulder and pointed him to a few police officers in the area. "There, --some of the Cordonian National Guard are among the officers investigating this attack. See if you can gather any intelligence from them and determine if Maxwell or anyone else needs urgent medical attention."

Drake gave a small smile and nodded, "on it." He went over and approached a tall police officer with his Cordonia-issued badge on display. He flashed a smile and clapped the officer's back. "Excuse me, buddy, I heard you were leading the investigation here. I'd like to get your help to search for my missing friend. His name is Maxwell Beaumont. I want to make sure he's alright."

"Yes," the police officer answered succinctly, a bit intimidated to be standing beside someone who seemed so close with the royal guards. Quickly tapping the name into the database, he answered, "room 419.”

The walk along the endless corridor that took Drake, and the officer seemed long. When the police officer wracked his knuckles a on the door. After a few moments, the police officer glanced at Drake. "This is it. Shall I call a paramedic to check on his condition?"

Drake did not hesitate and called out, "Maxwell? Open the door." No answer. Drake raised his voice, "Maxwell? Max, it's me." Still, no sound. Drake turned back to the officer, "Open it now." The officer produced a key card and slid it through the scanner. A series of sounds came from the scanner, then a beep, and the green light lit up and the door clicked, "it's unlocked now." Drake thanked him briefly, then took hold of the metal handle and pushed it open.

"Max?" He called out as soon as he walked in. There was no response. He did a thorough search of the suite but could not find Maxwell or Daniel anywhere.

The officer, waiting patiently in the hallway, "is your friend not in there, sir?" Drake did not have any more time or patience to exchange small talk. He stormed out the door in an intimidating manner as the officer said, "I'll check the CCTV right away. Let's go and I'll show you."

“No need!” Drake answered brusquely. Before that, Drake had snapped up a small sheet of paper that was left in the corner of the coffee table. Written clearly in his friend's familiar handwriting:

'"Danny, going for food. BRB" love, Max.'

***

When the cars arrived at the hospital, the security team ushered Liam and his entourage to a V.I.P. entrance at the back of the hospital. Hana was at once handed off to a couple of doctors, as Sophie watched her hand slip out of Liam's grasp as a man and woman pulled her away. As much as Sophie trusted them to do what was best for her, it was still upsetting to be taken away from Liam. After a few minutes, however, she became very focused on the details of the examination before her.

The doctor led her through some basic questions about how she was feeling. Once Sophie assured them that she had not suffered any lasting damage, the doctors set to checking her for any other concerns. While they ran an ultrasound, an EKG and an entire range of other tests that seemed far too extensive, the nurse called the doctor's attention to Sophie's back. The bruising from her altercation with Neville a few days ago was slowly fading but perked the attention of the nurse and doctor.

She turned to Sophie, who was sitting on top of the examination table. "Dear, this looks like..." she muttered, inspecting it closer.

"It's from a couple days ago. I got a little clobbered during a polo match."

The doctor made a noncommittal sound before glancing over at her colleague. They exchanged a knowing nod, and Sophie could tell that they did not believe her, but thankfully, they decided not to pursue it further.... until they did.

"How did this happen," the doctor finally asked.

Sophie did not give an immediate response; but knew she was not going to tell them that she was attacked. Especially not since she was certain it would probably get back to Liam.

"Just the result of a hard collision. Nothing out of the ordinary in polo," Sophie lied, knowing they must have noticed the bruising on her back and side.

"Does this hurt when I press on it?" the doctor asked, pressing a cold stethoscope on her back. Sophie cringed and had to bite down a yelp of pain as the stethoscope was pressed right onto a deep bruise. "Hm." The doctor made another noncommittal sound and gently prodded a little lower on her back, much to Sophie's distress.

"Oh, oh no ... that hurts," she whimpered. The doctors noted that one of her vertebrae was a bit tender and her muscles seemed pretty knotted up. Sophie could almost cry from the agony of the touch.

The doctors left the room and a moment later the nurse returned to escort Sophie into a private recovery room. After closing the door the nurse left her alone in the room. Sophie closed her eyes and breathed a deep sigh. Although she had not sustained any real physical damage from her experience at the university attack, the memory of the encounter with Neville and being apart from Liam drained her energy entirely. For the time being, she should rest and heal her wounded psyche. The wait ended suddenly, and the doctor poked her head in to explain she would talk to Liam, after all, and then a quick wink before disappearing again.

After the doctor left, Sophie closed her eyes for what seemed like only a minute but was likely much longer. She awoke to find Liam in the recovery room with her, holding her hand. He sat beside her and listened intently while she relayed every excruciating detail of what had happened after the polo match. As her story reached its dark crescendo, her emotions got the better of her, and tears threatened to fall. That is when he took her in his arms, and she rested her head on his chest.

It was just the two of them, and the outside world had faded away. Every inch of the worry and fear was exposed, and the next flood of relief swept over each of them with a deep sense of cathartic comfort. Liam caressed her arm, "thank you for sharing this with me, Sophie."

In his mind, Liam wondered why she did not tell him about Neville's attack earlier at the Beaumont estate. But instead of asking directly, he chose to guide her in a more gentle way.

Her statement is calm, reasonable and meant as an explanation, not an apology. Liam stared at her a moment, remembering the conversation.

"I was planning to ... but couldn’t find the right moment. That night, you were asking me to marry you and ... and then ... then that was the farthest thing from my mind.” She said bluntly, watching his reaction carefully.

Remembering the pure joy on her face in their special spot by the river, remembering how elated she had looked while her words saying "yes" rang through his heart.

He hung his head and let his hands rub along her arms and finally joined around her shoulders to pull her in.

"Yeah, you should have," she quipped. There was a hint of playfulness and teasing in her tone, trying to ease the heaviness in the room.

"I should have taken you to Italy with me," he whispered. His voice full of remorse and regret.

A smile curled around Sophie's lips.

Liam laughed heartily, shaking his head. “My cheeky little monkey.”

He wrapped his arms tighter around her as Sophie breathed him in, overwhelmed by the rich smell of his cologne. How it clung to his skin and radiated from his very essence.

"But seriously, Liam. I was able to fight him off and he fled.” Liam contemplated, stoically, how to react. He had the overwhelming urge to protect her. How could he not punish someone who had hurt her? Neville had it out for her ... to attack her in broad daylight and risk harming her in such an egregious manner? But then he paused, thinking about Sophie's perspective. She was a stranger in a foreign land, thinking that she had no recourse or rights. As far as she was concerned, no justice would come.

Sophie extended a hand toward Liam. Their eyes locked and he swallowed hard. His blood began to boil. His intense expression caused a look of concern on her face. The image of Neville attacking her was burned into his brain. A dozen things that he could have done to make sure this would not have happened flashed through his mind.

Liam placed a calming hand atop hers, saying, "That can't happen. You should know that you can come to me for anything. I am always available for you and there will always be a means of communication. Just for you. If you are in distress, please come to me right away. I can't promise what we would do at once, but I would ensure we investigate and take every necessary precaution to avoid it happening ever again. Especially not to the future queen of Cordonia. It is an insult to me and to the Crown."

His words lingered a moment in silence as he locked eyes with Sophie and held her chin up in his gentle touch. He was proud and thankful she told him everything and grateful for her strength to fight. At the same time, it deeply troubled and rattled him knowing how bad and in danger she had been. From someone in his court, nonetheless.

"In my mind, it makes sense, as the future queen of Cordonia ... You need to be protected from any sort of harm. So, I have decided to assign a personal bodyguard as well as putting you under the protection of the crown," he stated, sounding protective and determined.

Sophie didn't respond right away. Her first instinct was to reject the offer, but she paused and let his words sink in. "I suppose it wouldn't be a bad idea to have someone watching out for me. Someone who could be on my side who I could trust.r"

"Trust me, Sophie. Your new guard will be the best choice for you," smiling at her fondly. "With their expertise, they can ensure your safety at all times. And ... it wouldn't hurt for you to get to know them and learn from them too."

Liam wrapped her in his arms, hugging her tightly. "Especially if I can't be there to personally be your bodyguard." He winked and grinned suggestively.

She smiled at his teasing and hugged him back, "thank you for everything, Liam. Thank you for rescuing me, for your unwavering support and for believing in me."

He gave her a soft, lingering kiss on her forehead. "There is nothing to thank me for, it is the least I can do. Being able to have a true, loving partner by my side, in sickness and health, to love, honor and cherish above myself. It is my pleasure. I'm only trying to hold up my end of the bargain and you're the woman I want to have a future with ... only you."

Gazing lovingly at each other, Liam drew her toward him, as she nestled against his chest. His hand on her hair, twirling his fingers through a tendril, sending shivers through her. Their faces tilted to face each other again and he cupped her chin in his hand, his eyes flickering between her lips and her eyes, Sophie leaned in toward him and their lips met in the perfect balance between longing, passion and desire. It was just enough and yet not ... in perfect unison.

They did not pull away until the nurse had entered to announce that the Royal doctor was coming to discuss the test results, after which Sophie was all set to go home. Then they exchanged another glance of admiration. Liam tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and caressed the side of her face, letting his fingers wander to her chin where he raised her gaze to meet his.

"I need you to always feel safe and remember, you will always come first to me, and there will never be anything, or anyone, more important," Liam placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist and rested a palm on her cheek, stroking her smooth skin with his thumb.

"I love you so much," she whispered, drawing his lips to hers for another brief kiss. She kept her eyes closed for a moment afterwards, resting in the blissfulness of their private moment together. Then her eyelashes fluttered open, and she was greeted by a pair of blue eyes as bright and brilliant as a winter sky. Liam's hand stroked her cheek softly, brushing away a tendril of hair that had gotten loose in the tumult of the day.

Sophie giggled as the nurse wheeled the EMG (electromyography) machine into her room, breaking their embrace. She frowned, unsure why Liam didn't seem like he'd heard the sound. As she turned, Liam mouthed the words again.

"I love you."

She smiled at him fondly, shaking her head. Everything felt like it was finally returning to normal and now it was just them, taking everything at their own pace.

She couldn't hear the nurse or the doctor's soft comments. It all seemed like white noise to her. It didn't even faze her when the doctor jokingly swatted Liam's hand from her own before they began hooking Sophie up to some more equipment for the nerve conduction study.

All Sophie could focus on was Liam. The fact that he was smiling down at her, the way his hand fell on hers as he absently squeezed and let go in a calming rhythm. Everything was all about him, his presence. Sophie could no longer imagine her life without him. Liam seemed to agree. Everything in his expression was pure bliss. The sight warmed her from within, a warmth that radiated in her core, even stronger than that of the adoration, or perhaps, something more.

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[sethsclearwater]

request: “Please could you write something for Paul x Seth x imprint where imprint is in subspace and feeling totally floaty for a while afterwards, and the boys are trying to coax her round? Maybe Seth is worried bc he hasn’t see her like that before but Paul knows what to do”

warnings: smutty themes

word count: 1.38k

…

despite having been dating paul and seth for almost a year now, seth had never seen you get pushed into the subspace. he was always the more gentle of the two, always loving praising and having soft sex with you so there wasn’t really ever a reason he would’ve seen you like that.

paul on the other hand, loved pushing you into the subspace. so when the three of you had recently started focusing your relationship on threesomes, seth had finally gotten to see you in the subspace.

“daddy-” you whimpered, bottom lip warbling as he got up and got his sweatpants on. seth was watching you from the foot of the bed wearily, always knowing how clingy you were after sex but the tears were new.

“hey princess,” paul murmured when he finished getting his sweatpants on, “‘s not daddy anymore, jus’ paul,” he cooed before adding, “‘m right here,” he reassured stepping over to cup your face in his hands and lean down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

you shook your head, whimpering as you slid your hands down to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging at the material there in a weak attempt to show him you wanted to be good for him, “i know kitten,” paul chuckled, not needing to hear you to know what you were doing, “you did so good for us, yea?” he mused and you looked up at him, eyes softening as you took in his words.

“good?” you whispered, not used to hearing praise from him after being so heavily degraded by him all night.

paul let out a soft chuckle, nodding, “such a good girl.” paul reassured, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, “now let me go get you some water, yea?” he asked softly and you shook your head, fists tightening on the thin band of his sweatpants.

paul teasingly rolled his eyes, easily prying your hands off his sweatpants, “seth’ll lay with you, yea? gonna be good for him?” he asked softly and you nodded, eager to please either one of you doms in the subby state they’d pushed you into.

“hey pretty girl,” seth murmured, coming to sit down next to you on the bed and chuckling when you quickly curled into his side, allowing him to wrap his arms around you and hold you close to his chest.

paul got up, stretching his arms over his head. seth watched him wearily, still not totally sure what was going on, “why’s she-” he started but paul cut him off, already knowing what he was going to ask.

“subspace.” he quickly explained, “just hold her and talk to her, yea? she’ll listen to you.” he said before adding, “i’ll be right back.” he explained and seth nodded, figuring that was easy enough as paul headed into the kitchen to get you a class of water.

you smiled, humming a bit to yourself as you nuzzled seth’s chest, just happy to have him with you, “did so good tonight pretty girl,” seth murmured and you smiled again, beaming up at him when you processed his words, “made us feel so good, yea?” he asked and you giggled, nodding as you reached around for his free hand, quickly lacing your fingers together when you found it.

seth let out a breathy chuckle at your actions, smiling softly at you, “you feeling okay?” he asked softly, running his free hand up and down your back as he patiently waited for your response.

you nodded, pressing a soft kiss to his chest, “‘m okay.” you murmured, sitting up and running your hands down his chest, gently tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants in another weak attempt to show him what you wanted.

seth just let out a breathy chuckle, gently tugging you back down to his chest, “no more pretty girl,” he murmured, letting out a heavy sigh when he saw your eyes water and bottom lip immediately start to warble at his words.

lucky for him, paul was quick to come back, setting the glass of water down on the end table before climbing back in bed with you, “hey princess,” he cooed, picking you up from seth’s chest and pulling you into his lap, helping you wrap your legs around his waist as you buried your face in his shoulder, “you’re all good, promise.” he murmured, “such a good girl tonight.” he reassured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.

you sniffled, peeking up at him, “i missed you,” you whimpered, “and now i feel all fuzzy.” you murmured and he let out a breathy chuckle, nodding.

“i know princess,” he murmured, “drink some water for me, yea? promise it’ll make your head feel better.” he reassured as he grabbed the glass of water from the side table, holding it up to your lips so you could take a few sips.

seth was watching you, eyes softening as he saw how fuzzy you were from everything. he opted not to say anything, instead just ran his hand up and down your back soothingly as you worked at finishing the glass of water paul had you drinking.

“good girl,” paul praised when you finished the glass of water, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek before setting the glass back to the side and allowing you to lay down back on his chest, content with laying on your dom for the rest of the night.

“paul?” you whispered after a moment and he smiled, happy to know you were slowly coming back to him and hummed in response, “i love you.” you murmured and he let out a breathy chuckle.

“i love you too princess.” he cooed as you turned your head so you could peek at your other boyfriend who was wearing a soft smile as always.

“seth?” you whispered and he chuckled, already knowing what you were going to say, “i love you too.” you giggled and he nodded, leaning over to press a quick kiss to your lips.

“i love you too pretty girl.” he reassured, smiling at you before you curled back up against paul.

paul smiled, pressing his lips to your hair, “you gonna get some sleep kitten?” he asked softly as you yawned and nodded, content with falling asleep on him.

both boys nodded, happy to see you slowly coming out of the subspace enough to safely get some sleep. while you drifted off, seth turned his attention to paul, a bespeckled look on his face, “what was that about?” he murmured, both boys careful not to disturb your sleep.

“jus’ means we did a good job,” paul explained, gently stroking his fingers up and down your back soothingly, “you just gotta make sure you bring her back a little bit before she goes to sleep or else she’ll be a nightmare to deal with in the morning.” he explained, both boys a little too familiar with paul’s memory of letting you fall asleep while still in the subspace and having to deal with your highly emotional self the next morning. 

seth nodded, “why does she only do that with you?” he asked, reaching his hand over to gently rub at your lower back, knowing how much you loved that.

“you’re too soft with her,” paul teased, both boys letting out breathy laughs at his comment, “she’ll do it if you put her in her place.” he explained and seth nodded, humming in response.

“interesting.” seth mused, chuckling softly when you stirred in paul’s lap, reaching around with your free hand until you found seth’s hand, quickly lacing your fingers together as your eyes fluttered open to look at your other dom.

“wanna cuddle,” you whispered and seth nodded, both boys letting out breathy laughs as they laid down, helping you get situated between them so paul was spooning you and you were curled into seth’s chest, happy to have both boys with you before drifting back off.

[cowgurrrl]

Shrapnel

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: “Sometimes we expect more from others because we would be willing to do that much for them.” — Lois Lowry, The Giver aka a person from your past finds their way back [2.3k]

Warnings: pregnancy, a problematic ex, jealousy, talks of Jane, ✨feminine rage✨, language, threats of canonical violence

You're holding Joel's hand while walking through Jackson when it happens. He's not usually one for PDA, but since you found out you're pregnant, he almost always has a hand on you. He squeezes you when a voice calls out to you. You have a doctor's appointment later in the day and got through your unremarkable early morning patrol shift. You're much more interested in debating baby names with Joel than talking to anyone else, but the shouting gets more persistent. At first, it's just your first name, but as the sound gets closer, your maiden name gets tacked on. Nobody's called you by your maiden name in years. It's enough to make you turn with furrowed brows and frustration building in your chest.

It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the person in front of you, but once they do, you're stunned into silence. He's aged— wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, gray at his temples, and a slight limp in his gait. He's definitely not the teenage boy you once knew. You subconsciously drop Joel's hand and take a step back to fully process the man in front of you.

"Matt?" You breathe, and he smiles.

"Hey," he says. "I can't believe you're… here and alive."

"Yeah, I could say the same to you. What are you doing in Jackson?"

"My group trades out here sometimes. I've never seen you here before, though." He says. How the fuck could Maria not tell you about the smuggler who looks a scary amount like the little girl in the photo on your desk? Maybe she didn't know. Jane never had his last name. There's no way she would've known. "What are you doing here?" He turns the question around.

"We live here." You say and raise your hand to rub Joel's back. His shoulders are tense under your touch, but you each relax at the familiar affection. Matt looks between you two, and you recognize the slight puffing of his chest. Matt's body has changed with the apocalypse, muscles and scars peeking from his sleeves, but Joel is broader and a good head taller than him. Joel doesn't even blink at the peacocking.

"You gonna introduce us?" Matt asks, gesturing to Joel.

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, this is my husband, Joel," You look up at Joel and nearly choke on your next words. "Joel, this is Matt, Jane's dad." Joel's face falls at the sudden connection. You can see him scrambling for something to say, but a light tap on your shoulder stops him. Like the patron saint of horrible timing, Ellie appears at your right. Matt looks over her in awe, and you immediately want to tuck her away from sight. "Joel, can you take her home?"

He stares at you, a protective glint passing through his eyes, and you give him a minuscule nod. He clears his throat and jerks his head at Ellie. The unspoken communication is understood, and she falls back enough for your blood pressure to drop to a reasonable level. He pecks your lips before holding a hand out to Matt.

"Nice to meet you, man." He says, and Matt meets him halfway, grimacing slightly at Joel's grip.

"Likewise," Matt says. Joel gives you one last look as he walks away. You watch him and Ellie bump shoulders and get further and further away from you and Nugget, Joel's nickname for the baby still developing under your heart. When you pry your eyes from your family and look at Matt, he smiles politely. "Should we talk?" You don't trust yourself to open your mouth and speak, but you nod and lead the way to the Tipsy Bison.

The Tipsy Bison is emptier than usual, something you're silently grateful for. Town gossip didn't end with Cordyceps— something you and Joel are more than familiar with— and you don't want to give anyone material for rumors. Matt gets a plate of food while you grab a glass of water and snag a table towards the back of the room. Once he settles across from you with his plate, you're not sure what to say or do. What do you say to the father of the kid you had at sixteen? The kid he abandoned?

"What've you been up to?" He asks, breaking the ice and making you chuckle at the absurdity of it all. "Besides getting married." There's enough bitterness in his voice for you to hear it and roll your eyes.

"That's normally what happens when you don't see someone for over twenty years."

"C'mon, let's not do that."

"Do what?" You snap, and he gestures vaguely between you.

"Fight. I'm not gonna ask you for anything," I'm not gonna ask for her back. "I'm just happy you're alive and safe. I wanna know how you got here and what's been going on with you guys. Can you just, I don't know… let me in?"

Something stupid, vulnerable, and fifteen in you wants to give in and tell him everything. Something else screams at you to run him out of town. You take a deep breath and a sip of water.

"I was a smuggler in the QZ back home for a few years before moving to Boston. That's where I met Joel." You say, and he nods, grateful for the information.

"Joel seems like a good guy."

"He is," you say. He takes a bite of food, and uncomfortable silence falls over you. You wonder if he can spot your barely there bump under your thick jacket and if he would even say anything if he did. He barely gave you any attention when you were pregnant with Jane. You doubt he'd see anything now. "How long have you been smuggling?"

"About ten years. I used to do the FEDRA jobs before I met the people in my group. It's better money, and I get to travel with them."

"What QZ did you end up at?" You ask. He gives you the name of another QZ about a six-hour drive from your hometown. He tells you he was visiting a friend when Outbreak Day happened and never made it back. Why would he? He didn't have anything he cared enough to come back for. You tell him about getting to the local QZ and staying there, conveniently leaving out details about Adam, hit jobs, and midnight star gazing. Once you're done, he stares down at his plate, moving food around with his fork as he thinks.

"That girl," he starts, and your heart clenches. "Was she-"

"No," you cut him off, shaking your head. "No, she's not. Her name is Ellie. Joel and I adopted her a few years ago."

"So, where's Jane? She's… how old is she?" He asks. Your hand instinctually lands on your small bump under the table, a nervous habit you picked up from your first pregnancy.

"Twenty-five."

"I can't believe that. What's she like?"

"Matt…"

"I know I don't have the right to ask or even be here, but I wanna know about her. If you don't want me to meet her, that's fine. I won't argue with you. I just wanna know if she's happy. Well-adjusted, especially after everything. That's all." His words are too little, too late. How dare he act like you kept her from him when he never came around in the first place. Like suddenly he's Father of the Year, and you're the bitch baby mama who never gave him a chance.

"She's dead." It stings as it leaves your mouth, and you watch the weight of the words smack him in the face. His fork falls from his hand, and his eyes search your face like he's trying to determine if you're lying or playing a mean joke on him. You don't know what he finds in your expression, but it's enough for all his breath to leave him.

"W… what? What happened? When?"

You give him bits and pieces. You tell him about Mrs. Carmichael and the school, but you don't tell him how far you were from the QZ or why you couldn't return to your original, much closer trading post. You tell him you buried her but not where. You tell him you went after the Fireflies who detonated the bomb but not how you bled information from them until you were shaking from rage and grief. By the end of it, he's pale and wide-eyed, but his hands are steady.

"I should've been there," he says, and you want to agree, but then he keeps talking. "I could've protected her better or kept her safe or, I don't know. Maybe things would be different." Protected her better. What the fuck could he have done that you didn't? How would he have kept her safe? By keeping her from her peers, learning, and the sliver of hope embedded in her favorite books? By locking her away and controlling her every move like he tried with you?

"What would've been different, Matt?" You ask, decades of anger and annoyance bubbling up to the surface. "You? Us? Give me a fucking break. There's nothing you would've done to protect her. You weren't ready to be anyone's father, let alone hers."

"But you think you were?"

"The second I saw those positive tests, I knew I could. For ten years, I was ready to give her anything and everything. For ten years, I took the shitty jobs and overdrew my bank account, and lost sleep trying to keep her alive. And what were you doing when I got kicked out of my mom's house and had nowhere to go? What were you doing when she had colic and couldn't stop crying? What were you doing when she needed someone to walk her into school every morning for a month because she was so scared?"

"I was a kid." He tries, and you laugh, dangerous and low.

"And I wasn't? I was Ellie's age when I had her. Joel was twenty-two when he had his daughter, and he was scared but still stepped up for her." At the mere mention of Joel, he rolls his eyes and pushes away from the table.

"We're talking about us and our daughter, not him."

"Oh, it's our daughter now? Now that she's dead, you want some kinda claim?" You ask. "You don't get to come into my town, ambush me, and then act like I'm the bad guy," he tries to open his mouth to argue, but you put a hand up to stop him. "And if you say anything else about my husband, I'll tie you to the back of my horse and drag you out of town. Do you understand me?" You ask, and he pauses like he's trying to figure out if you're serious, nodding when he realizes you are.

"Here's what's gonna happen: you and your group are gonna trade whatever you need to trade for, and then you're going to leave my town. You're not gonna say anything about this conversation to anyone, most of all my daughter, and if I catch you so much as looking at her again, I'll break your fucking neck. You can keep smuggling here but never speak to or about my family ever again. If I find out you're spreading lies about Jane or Ellie or even Joel, I'll-"

"Careful, you might run out of big, scary threats there, sweetheart." The unmistakable sound of you cocking your gun under the table clicks in the air. It's a miracle he's survived this long with that big fucking mouth and no observational skills. He swallows hard as you press the barrel of your gun into his kneecap.

"You wanna cut me off again, or do you need to learn a lesson?" You ask. He shakes his head, suddenly enthralled by whatever you could have to say. "Get the fuck out of Jackson." You push your gun against his bone hard, hard enough to make him hiss in pain, before removing it completely.

Then, silently and with his tail between his legs, he does what he does best. Turns his back and leaves. You're privy to the fact that this is similar to the first time he left. You were pregnant, he was pissed, and neither of you were necessarily happy with the situation. Except this time, you hold all the power. This time, instead of going back to a home you'd be kicked out of, you're going home to your husband and child. This time, your baby already has a father who loves them so much, and you still have six months until they're born. This time, you're not worried about the future because you have people who support and love you, no matter what.

And what is he returning to? A sleeping bag and the knowledge that he fucked up and probably will continue to fuck up until he gets it together or dies, whichever comes first. For the first time since he yelled at you and left you to fumble with the pieces at sixteen, you feel a sense of closure or, at least, victory.

Did you see that, Janey girl? You think when you walk outside and look up at the gray March sky. Do you see how I'm still protecting you? Do you see how much I still love you? Do you still feel it? A single, strong kick to your side seems as good an answer as any. You laugh and rub your hand over where you felt the tiny foot. For a moment, you realize you're the only bridge between Jane and this baby, that whatever cells Jane left behind in you are mixing with these new ones. And you're not religious, haven't been for a long time, but you pray they're able to know each other through you. You pray you're strong enough to do that for them. You pray one day you'll see Jane again, and she'll tell you how she was with you every step of the way.

Not yet, sweet girl, you think. Not quite yet.

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Opening Night » TJ Hammond

Pairings: Bi!TJ Hammond x Reader

Summary: Y/N wears something interesting to opening night at TJ’s club that catches TJ’s interest.

Warnings: Smut (18+), language, alcohol, dirty talk, kissing, hickeys, fingering, unprotected sex, public sex, riding, praise kink, pet names (cutie, princess, baby)

Written on my phone. I’m sorry for any mistakes and typos.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Credit goes to the creators.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!🔞

“TJ, for the millionth time, I’ll be there.” You say into the phone.

“Promise?” TJ asks with a pout.

You giggle to yourself, knowing that he has that cute little pout on his face.

“I promise.” You say.

“When will you get here?” He asks.

“Well, I have to find an outfit and get dressed first.” You say, looking through your closet that’s filled with clothes.

“Wear something hot.” TJ says and bites his lower lip, already imagining what you’re going to wear.

“TJ!” You say with a small giggle.

“Alright, alright.” He laughs. “I’ll let you go so you can get dressed. See you soon, cutie.” He says.

“See you soon, TJ.” You say with a smile.

You ended the call and put your phone on your dresser. You stood in the middle of your closet with your hands on your hips, trying to look for something cute to wear to the opening night of TJ’s new club. You groaned to yourself when you couldn’t find anything to wear.

“I have nothing to wear!” You groaned to yourself.

That’s when you came across a white button up shirt that belongs to TJ. You smiled to yourself and took it off of the hanger, already knowing what you’re going to pair it with. You opened one of your dresser drawers and grabbed a plain black skirt. You put the skirt and shirt on. You buttoned up the shirt, leaving the top buttons unbuttoned to show off your cleavage. You put on a pair of shoes that matched the outfit and sprayed some perfume on. You looked in the mirror, rubbing your hands down your body to smooth out your outfit. You grabbed your phone and texted TJ.

On my way🥰

See you in a little bit, cutie🩵

—————

Loud music was playing as soon as you walked inside TJ’s club. You looked around the club for TJ. You spotted him at the bar with a drink in his hand. You walked to the bar and tapped on his shoulder. He turned around and smiled widely.

“You made it!” TJ says excitedly and hugs you.

“I told you that I was coming!” You giggled.

TJ took a step back, his eyes looking over your outfit. He licked his lips, loving what he’s looking at.

“Is that my shirt?” He asks as he stares at your cleavage.

“I don’t know. Maybe.” You say, acting like you didn’t know what he was talking about.

“Keep it. It looks hotter on you.” He says, biting his lower lip.

You couldn’t help but blush at his compliment.

“Do you want a drink?” He asks.

“Yes please.” You say with a smile.

TJ ordered your drink for you and gave it to you.

“Follow me.” TJ whispers in your ear.

He took your hand in his, taking you to a booth in the corner of the club.

“I’m proud of you, TJ. I’m happy that you were able to make this happen.” You say.

“Thank you, cutie. That means a lot.” TJ says with a smile.

TJ placed a hand on your knee, his thumb rubbing across your skin. Shivers went through your body. He noticed and smirked.

“You know…” His hand moves up to your thigh. “You look incredibly hot in that outfit.” He says, biting his bottom lip.

Your breathing got heavy when his hand reached the bottom of your skirt. His fingers toyed with the material. TJ downed the rest of his drink before pulling you onto his lap, your legs on either side of his hips.

“TJ!” You squeaked in surprise.

TJ chuckles at your surprised state. His hand disappears underneath your skirt, rubbing your clit through your lacy panties.

“We’re in public!” You say, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Everyone here is too drunk to function to know what we’re doing.” His fingers applying more pressure to your clit. “Let me make you feel good, cutie.” He says.

You reached for the glass of alcohol on the table, downing the rest of your drink as a smirk grew on TJ’s lips. Before you knew it, TJ’s lips were on yours, kissing you hungrily. He moved your panties to the side, rubbing his fingers in between your wet folds. Your lips parted as a gasp left your lips. TJ took the opportunity to slide his tongue in your mouth. Your tongue fought with his for dominance, but he overpowered you. His fingers found your wet entrance, circling it causing you to whine against his lips. He slid two fingers in your pussy while his thumb rubbed your clit in circles causing you to pull away from his lips and moan. TJ kissed along your already exposed chest. You gasped when his teeth lightly grazed your skin, biting down hard enough for hickeys. Your hands found their way to his head, your fingers tugging at his hair as your head tilted back.

“How do you feel, baby?” TJ asks.

“Fucking amazing!” You moaned. “Don’t stop!” You say.

“Don’t worry, princess. I won’t.” He says, speeding up his fingers.

You were glad that the music was loud so no one heard your moans. You leaned your head down, placing your lips on TJ’s neck and began to suck hickeys on his skin. Groans left his lips. Your hand blindly felt for his bulge, giving it a squeeze.

“Shit, cutie!” TJ moans.

You managed to unbuckled his belt with one hand and got to work on his jeans. You slide your hand inside of his jeans, feeling how hard his cock is through his boxers. Your hand slid past his waistband and wrapped your hand around his cock. You rubbed your thumb over his tip, using his precum as a lubricant so you can move your hand up and down on his cock. TJ couldn’t take it anymore. He slid his fingers out of your pussy making you whine at the empty feeling.

“I need to be inside of this pussy now.” TJ says, taking your hand out of his jeans.

He lifted his hips to pull down his pants enough for his cock to spring out. You lifted yourself up as TJ lined himself up at your entrance. You slowly sank down on his cock, gasping at his size. When he was balls deep inside of you, he gave you a moment to adjust to his size. You placed your hands on his shoulders and rose yourself up so only his tip was left in your pussy. You sank back down and continued to move up and down at a steady pace. TJ’s hands disappeared underneath your skirt, placing them on your hips and gripped them firmly.

“So fucking tight.” TJ moans, tilting his head back.

One of TJ’s hands left your hip and began to rub circles on your clit causing your cunt to clench around his cock.

“TJ!” You moaned.

“Yes, baby? Tell me what you want.” He says.

“I—” A moan left your lips.

You didn’t even know what you were going to say. You were just enjoying the feeling of his cock inside of you. His hand left your hip and went to your ass, giving your asscheek a squeeze causing you to gasp. You rolled your hips against his.

“Fuck!” You moaned when his tip hit that one spot inside of you. “Right there!” You tell him.

TJ helped you move up and down on his cock. His tip continued to hit that one spot inside of you causing your cunt to squeeze his cock.

“If you— oh fuck! If you keep doing that, I’m gonna cum.” He says with a groan.

His fingers increased their rubbing pace on your clit. You tilted your head back when you felt your orgasm building up. TJ leaned forward, placing his lips on the column of your throat and placed kisses on it.

“TJ, I’m—” A moan left your lips before you could finish your sentence.

“Gonna cum?” TJ asks.

“Mhmm!” You moaned, biting your lower lip.

“Cum for me, princess. I’m right behind you.” He says panting.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came. TJ thrusted his hips upwards, fucking you through your orgasm. He came inside of you after a few thrusts. Your bouncing and his thrusts came to a halt. You placed your lips on his, kissing him sloppy. You two pulled away from each other, looking deep into each other’s eyes while panting.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?” TJ asks while panting.

“I don’t know.” You breathed. “But I’m glad we did it.” You say.

“Me too.” He smiles, kissing you again.

You lifted yourself up, his cock slipping out of your cum filled pussy. TJ tucked himself back into his boxers and buttoned and zipped his jeans and buckled his belt. He helped you put your panties back in place before kissing you again.

“Do you want to dance?” TJ asks.

“I would if my legs didn’t feel like jelly.” You say with a giggle making him laugh.

“How about a drink?” He suggests, rubbing his hands up and down your thighs.

“Sounds good to me.” You say with a smile.

TJ smile and gently moved you off of his lap to the seat next to him.

“I’ll be right back, cutie.” He says, kissing your cheek.

You watched as he walked to the bar and order your guys’ drinks. He sent a couple winks your way making you blush. He came back with two drinks, handing one of them to you and sat down next to you.

“We’re so doing that again when we get home later.” TJ whispers in your ear, sending shivers through your body.

🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶🩶

-Bucky’s Doll

[dynafire]

Everything I Found from House Of Leaves Appendix B: "Bits"

Going through this book has been a nightmare I never want to wake up from. At the point where we read Appendix B during Holloway's (his name sounds so much like hallway) rampage, I read the appendices as embedded, and I've made some interesting discoveries about the lines included in Appendix B no one's pointed out, including historical and architectural knowledge. Disclaimer, I'm no expert, just a girl who loves this book.

I will go in order by date. Some of these will be obvious, others not so much.

Jan 18, 1955

"Art with a capital A" could refer to Arthur D Simmons, an army special forces colonel that trained recruits at an air force base during the time period, and likely could've trained Zampamó.

Aug 29, 1960

Joseph Kittinger, Command Pilot, set the world record for highest skydive from a service plane at that time.

Apr 29, 1975

Operation Frequent Wind was a mass evacuation via airlift in Saigon, Vietnam, signaled over radio to begin by the song White Christmas. From April 29th to April 30th. STOP is telegram formatting.

Mar 18, 1989

M.A could reference Military Assistance Command Vietnam, usually MACV, a joint army, navy, and airforce service in Vietnam.

Oct 11, 1990

Günter Nitschke is an author on East Asian architecture. See author bio here. Norberg-Schulz is an architect who wrote architectural theory and is also quoted at the start of chapter six. Glas is a book by French Philosopher Jacques Derrida, which MZD once worked on a documentary about. 1974 is year of original publication. John P Leavey Junior and Richard Rand are English translators of the book. Z seems upset he cannot get the original French edition.

May 26, 1991

According to the House of Leaves forum this translates to "What are you watching?" "Nothing, sir.". Thread includes speculation on what this could mean. Thank you sutrix.

Apr 9, 1996

Parlipomena means "things omitted from a work and added as a supplement".

Oct 2, 1996

The Seven Lamps of Architecture is an essay by John Ruskin, listing demands for architecture to be considered "good", many of which fit thematically with House of Leaves.

Sacrifice: Architecture should be done to please God.

Truth: Refers to honesty (in book in reference to materials and structure).

Power: "Buildings should be thought of in terms of their massing and reach towards the sublimity of nature by the action of the human mind upon them and the organization of physical effort in constructing buildings."

Beauty: Aspiration towards God

Life: "Buildings should be made by human hands."

Memory: "Buildings should respect the culture from which they have developed"

Obedience: Pre-existing English architectural values should be followed.

The lamps have a clear connection to the House, but lamp number seven is fascinating in context with colonialism and the war Z was fighting in when he wrote this.

Dec 18, 1996

James D Redwood is a Vietnam vet who wrote Love Beneath the Napalm, stories about the war and it's after effects. Z probably had contact with him during the war.

Interesting stuff. As for any other mysteries in Bits, I have no idea. Hopefully this can be of help to someone getting through HOL.

[rwpohl]

zamok, aleksey balabanov 1994

[silentmagi]

Rising Star

Welcome friends, I hope you are all well. I hope you are still enjoying the story and welcome you to let me know what you are thinking about how it’s working so far. Also, I hope that you’ll share this story with those you think will enjoy it. Last week we all voted for what came next, and to my surprise we came to:

3. Maybe she could go over a few of the books, just to start.

Time to see what knowledge lays inside those bound pages.

After storing the provisions in the room they’d been granted, Star decided to tend to Edmund for Luna. Guiding the horse to the inn’s attached stables, she found a pair of young boys wearing leathers with the inn’s symbol waiting for her. They hopped to, and she could see the relation to the bartender in their faces.

“We’ll take care of your horse ma’am, and your cart can be stored in the next stall with a lock if you want,” the elder of the two offered while the younger tentatively reached for the reins. “It’s all a part of the rooms here.”

“Thank you, his name is Edmund, and if the bard in the square asks, she’s his owner and sharing the room with me,” she explained while handing over the reins and going to help the other brother wheel the cart into the stall.

While the brothers gave the horse a thorough brush down and clean up, she felt the old temptation growing inside of her. Surely just a few wouldn’t hurt to peek at, get some preliminary work done.

It was still hours before sunset, she could maybe check through two or three of them. Looking at the boys tending Edmund, she decided that she’d been through enough and treating herself to a glass of wine and reading some research sounded just the thing to reward herself. There was that well worn tome, that one that had a dozen or so bookmarks, and maybe she could get through that one with the dark leather cover as well.

Lifting the cover on the cart, she pulled out the three books she’d thought of. Checking to ensure that the cart was covered again, she hugged the three thick books to her chest and left the stall, taking the key from the elder son who locked the gate behind her. Heading through the bar, she waved to the barkeep who nodded in response, tending to a few patrons that were in for an early nip.

Not that she could blame them, but she figured she’d wait until after supper for her wine. Instead, she went up the stairs and found the warm room waiting for her. Settling in on the comfortable bed with her back against the wall, she picked the first book to read. It was the bookmarked one, since that was probably heavily referenced.

What she found was… oh… Oh this would be useful in another way. This was the wizard’s spell creation journal. Each bookmark a new spell that the wizard had been working on.

She was tempted to not share this with the university until she restored magic and copied over every detail she could. It was a bit of a selfish thought, and she really shouldn’t entertain it, but seeing that one on improvements to the psionic servant spell was enough to flare up her greedy side. Oh, so much power awaiting her victory.

Going over a few of the notes that she would be copying later, she sighed as she realized it would have to wait until she could get the paper and ink supplies of the school in Castledale. Next came the well worn book and…

Oh… well…

That would be some private reading material for later… Didn’t know that the old man was into this type of reading, but she couldn’t fault him. Yes, deep and intense study with a gla- no a bottle of wine and some privacy would very much be in order for this

Mmm yes, she would find this very edifying.

That just left the dark leather bound book. It was very old judging by the binding and the state of the paper inside, however it looked like it was handled with care and respect. Slowly and carefully opening the cover, she found a wall of promising text, but the language was not one she had studied properly in a while. It would take time to translate it, but she could pick out a few details… should she focus on this one, or get another from the stables?

[chokrihizem]

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[poa2]

[zhalfirin-binds]

Making paper backed cloth for bookbinding

I tried my hand recently on making my own book cloth, not because I can’t get any, but because there are so many fun patterns and colours around. To be honest, I expect bought book cloth to be superior for all the ways it’s finished to be more resilient towards dirt and and such, but that doesn’t say self made cloth is bad at all! There are different ways to achieve a paper backing, I went for the backing with paper and starch paste because a) if I mess up I can always do it over no harm done, no material lost b) I have my doubts about the durabilty of heat activated glues and their durability c) using paste is just so much cheaper

So first up was cooking starch paste. I don’t have a ratio for that. I put a spoon of starch into a pot, add some water to get rid of any lumps and let it soak a few minutes (usually just long enough to get some water boiling), then I slowly pour over the boiling water while stirring the starch and at some point it turns from white to translucent and lumpy and I stop when there’s a certain thickness. When the paste has cooled it press it through a mesh and add some more water as needed. (It’s usually rather thick at that point.)

(and yes, my mesh is a nylon sock. I don’t own a fancy horeshair sieve and this stores much easier) Then I prepared my cloth and the paper I was going to use for backing. The final sheets have the warp and the grain direction run parallel for better usage and less warping (at least that’s the theory, I have yet to use that selfmade cloth to find out). The limiting factor here was the width of the web of tissue paper I used. Because I also need the paper to be 2,5cm -5cm larger than the piece of fabric in order to get a smooth sheet of book cloth. Having around 5cm for an edge makes it far easier to get the paper on the cloth even if there is a little skew.

I moistened the pre-washed, but un-ironed fabric (I have some cotton and synthetic fabric, none of them are elastic) and smoothed it down to a flat surface that won’t be needed for a couple of hours (preferably over night). Glas would be best but I didn’t have that, so I picked two work benches for that. I used plenty of water, which was a good thing, I’d say because even when smoothed down, a bit more water made the synthetic fabric wrinkly again. 

I sprayed the later front side, turned the cloth around and sprayed the backside. Brushed the water in with a clean brush until the fabric clung smooth to the surface.

Then I spread the paste on the paper and put it on top of the backside of the fabric, brushed down the paper on top of the cloth with a clean and dry brush to get rid of any airbubbles. Starting in the middle of the fabric and brushing along the long side to the sides to push out the air. Then I gave it a brush down along the short side too. (the slightly brighter stretches of paper on the left are where the air is still caught under the paper, on the right is the paper all smoothed down)

Sometimes I had to lift the edfe of the paper carefully to let out some air or get rid of a too large wrinkle that was building up in the paper.

I weighed the cloth and paper down with blotting paper and blotting board as well as some wooden boards, but only to make them dry faster. In consideration of the table surface I cut only one corner loose after the coth had dried and loosened the rest by running a very flat bone folder all around the edges.

I had great success with the cotton fabric. only minimal bleed through of paste at the edges and a slight smudge in the middle of one sheet.

the synthetic fiber...   not so much. While others before that one had taken well to the paste, the one with those shades of blue and purple did not. it was a mess to smooth down and apparently not smooth enough. when I pried it loose it was all bubbly and a lot of fabric was not adhered to the paper backing.

I scrapped that one, I pulled the paper off, washed it out again and this time pressed it while drying, so it would be smooth before the next attempt.

Cleaning up the surface was easy by the way. It was all plastered with dried starch paste, but I simply sprayed it with water, let it sit for a bit and wiped it off. No scrubbing needed at all.

[cloudbattrolls]

Frankenstein's Nonsense

Ullane Wistim | Wellspring Clinic | Present Night

Note: The surgery mentioned is being developed for the sake of @contrastparadoxx's Tertet Virrus.

It was past the middle of the night, and the clinic was closed to visitors - its medic needed to do some preliminary work for a surgery she wanted to propose. Before she did, she needed a meticulously planned order of operations, list of materials, warnings of the risks involved - everything a troll required before any major surgery, plus a few extras. This was a custom job, after all.

The clinic was brightly lit, recently cleaned, and Ullane Wistim was getting to work.

She looked critically at the body on her operating table, its exposed muscles and organs constructed to mimic a specific living yellowblood’s, but it was all for show. Structurally speaking, the thing was more like a plant than anything, its cells living off light rather than food. It had a face blank of features, a head lacking a brain or even bones.

It spoke anyway.

“So, how’s it going?”

“I told you not to talk.” She said, voice slightly muffled behind her surgical mask as she adjusted her forceps’ grip on the layers of skin at the bottom of the mock ports they’d implanted in the arms and neck.

“I’m the one being cut into! I think I get to have an opinion.”

The body’s voice was cheerful, enthusiastic even. Ullane rolled her eyes behind her medical goggles.

“Can have opinion silently.” She grumbled, peering at where the connective biowire she’d used to approximate Tertet’s setup melded with Arty’s skin, muscle, and bone.

A short, blessed period of quiet ensued as she took notes on the elasticity of the wire and the nerve clusters it was most directly linked to. 

Unfortunately, Arty’s fake body couldn’t feel pain, even though it had imitation nerves, as the shell lacked a brain. So she couldn’t experiment with anesthetic or anything like that. 

It would immoral to ask it to feel pain for her, but it was a shame she couldn’t test as extensively as she’d like. Glas would never let her hear the end of it even if Arty agreed, most likely.

“I’m both impressed by how far ports have come and how invasive they still are.” Arty remarked. 

“I mean, honestly - you’d think in the last four hundred and sixty sweeps someone would’ve worked on that to make installation easier if nothing else. But no, still right into the bone, even if they are better with conductive efficiency these nights.”

“It’s a grounding technique.” Ullane said absentmindedly as she put her tablet down again (paper was no good when a stray blood splatter or fluid leak might get on it) and went back to examining the connections.

“Imagine if they only went as far as the muscle. It would be a much higher risk of frying the tissue if there was an excess of psiionic feedback. Bone is semi-conductive. Some currents, flowing in the correct direction, can pass through it safely, yes? Of course, also makes ports harder to remove.” She added, deadpan. “And more expensive.”

“Not to mention it complicates your job here.” Arty said with amusement. “You’re going to have his nerves spread out like spaghetti to make sure none of your repairs unsettle other existing damage while they’re in process.”

“Yes, thank you, Arty.” She grunted, plucking out some of its fake nerves and spreading them over a small board for examination.

Getting her assistant to make the body hadn’t been too hard, especially with her powers to assist it.

Now she had to simulate the damage done to Tertet’s nerves as well. She had the scans she’d done of the other yellowblood to help her, but it would still require a delicate touch with her powers and tools.

She took a deep breath, warm moisture filling the inside of her face masks, and projected a 3D model of the internal damage in the air as a reference for herself.

Her eyes sparked reddish pink as she withered and ‘burned’ the nerves as well as she could - not pushing so hard they were impossible to operate on, or so delicate they’d break apart. 

Then she intentionally disconnected some from the others and from the ports they had been tied to, further mimicking the upset done by the wrongly installed ones Tertet had once had. Fortunately, he had better ones now - that would definitely make things easier than if she’d had to work around the ruined set. 

Her model wasn’t perfect, but it was close enough. She knew anything she did wouldn’t be an exact re-creation; it wasn’t necessary anyway. This was about testing techniques ahead of time, to create the most efficient and minimally invasive surgery possible. 

Tertet deserved nothing less, after all.

Ullane respected him - a peer in the field, intelligent, and very much entitled to a better lot than what he had. 

She would have done her best even for a patient she did not like, but it felt especially important for a fellow, one suffering in a way that could have been so easily avoided.

Helming did not have to be painful.

It was not a popular opinion among other lowbloods, and Ullane understood why, rarely voicing it around any who had suffered as generators or were at risk to. They wanted to avoid the column completely, prioritizing that goal whether it hurt or not. 

Yet helming was not going away any time soon, and it could be far better of an experience than it currently was for all except the lucky few.

“What are you thinking about?” Arty said, curious.

“What do you think?” She muttered. “This is needless. Shouldn’t have to do this surgery at all. If only she’d been given proper ports the first time! Her psiionic type isn’t even rare, not hard to deal with. What were they thinking?”

“They don’t care, Ullane.” Arty said quietly. “You know what the answer is. Disposability. Machine, helm - we are both easily discarded. Or, if we are too valuable, we are never given any freedom.”

Then it laughed softly, the noise slightly static as it wasn’t speaking from a throat.

“But look at you, forceps like a sword of justice! Come on, see what you can do for me. Repair your work, Maledict.”

Ullane set down the forceps and took out a syringe, light gleaming off it as she held it in one medically gloved hand.

“Let’s see if Thrixe can do anything for this.” She murmured. “Diluted, of course.”

She’d been gone from crown clinic for a while now, but fortunately the Varzim signmates were happy to keep her supplied with regenerative serum regardless. She did miss Friday’s nanotech; she suspected Arty used some, but knew trying to ask for a sample probably wouldn’t go well.

Regeneration wouldn’t solve every problem here. The damage still had to be repaired with manual tools and her own psiionics, as the serum only regrew things as they had once been; it did not make any intentionally needed changes. Giving Tertet too many nerves would be an even worse issue than she currently had.

However, it might give her a little new growth to divide up and use to fix the damaged or missing parts, without having to worry about shortening them too much or her nervous system rejecting any implants.

She released a few translucent drops onto Arty’s damaged nerves, watching carefully. The dosage had been adjusted in mind of the patient’s psiionics, existing damage, calculated to not spread and regrow any other tissue that wasn’t needed.

Ullane grinned behind her surgical mask as the nerves began regrowing themselves, shedding dead matter she’d clean away later - yes, just as she’d thought; she’d still have to adjust the port interfaces and account for the misplaced clusters, but this would ensure she didn’t need to use any foreign matter to repair them! Rejection wouldn’t be an issue.

“Aaah, that feels nice.” Arty commented, confirming her satisfaction. “The power of growth, working its way through me.”

The entire nerve spread wiggled a bit, and Ullane scowled.

“Hold still.” She scolded.

“Oh, don’t fuss; I didn’t dislodge anything.”

She grunted because that was true, but she didn’t want to admit it; she’d see its smug expression later when it had a face again.

“We have more to do.” She said curtly, but without any real bite. Her movements as she took notes again were full of barely restrained excitement - a theory proven, a methodology paying off.

“We always have more to do, doctor, but I want a break, fun as this is.”

Ullane sighed, but put her tablet away and went to clean her instruments off, slightly disappointed but not minding too much. 

She turned around to see Arty weaving its nerves back into its body, growing a face out of the blank features the mock-up body had. Mouth, nose, and eyes built themselves, bone structure pushing forth from what had been smooth flatness.

She blinked, but it hardly bothered her anymore. Arty patched itself up with freshly grafted skin and stretched out its newly whole limbs before shaking its head and tossing its hair.

“That was nice.” It said, pleasant. “But I want to check on Wiggles.”

It threw a simple dress on and pranced off to visit its pet tiger shrimp in his tank near the entrance of the clinic. 

She shook her head, ears flicking in amusement. Such an oddly wholesome hobby for an entity like that. It really loved the bluish crustacean, fussing over his food, tank water and enrichment. 

Ullane looked at her notes and tools, dripping water after being freshly cleaned.

Hm. She should go find her lusus. Give him some attention. She’d made good progress; she could work more later.

The yellowblood discarded her surgical mask, walking off in search of her porcupine-firefly father to give him the scritches he loved so much.