wrenaspun

[wrenaspun]

Just wanted to tell you that I love your writing so much — I reread “one way or another” like once a month at least. And any fic where you write from Laurent’s perspective is automatically incredible showstopping never been done before etc. in my eyes. Nobody gets the depths of his horniness for Damen quite like you :)

Anyway for the prompt, how about Laurent and Damen trying to figure out the best way to tell Auguste (alive) about their relationship

Aw anon, thank you, that's very kind!! I'm so glad you enjoy the fic(s) enough to return to them <3 For the prompt, this ficlet ended up taking place in the same 'verse as burst the sky in my head, but it should also stand alone just fine! -

“You could hire a skywriter,” Damen suggested lazily. He had one arm behind his head and was staring drowsily up at the clear Ios sky, his sun-browned skin glistening in the sunlight, looking like some artist’s wet dream of a classical painting.

Laurent scooped up a handful of sand and threw it at him.

None of it landed above his shoulder, but Damen’s face scrunched up anyway, and he brought his free hand up to brush fussily at a few nonexistent grains on his nose. Then he reached out and took Laurent’s hand and brought it to his lips. “You could have one of those parties,” he said, while Laurent tried not to melt under the combined force of the sun and Damen’s sheer charm. “With the glitter, and the announcements — what do they call them?”

“Gender reveal parties?”

“That,” said Damen. He mimed a balloon popping. “Congratulations, it’s a boyfriend.”

“That is not what Auguste would say if I burst a blue glitter balloon in his face,” said Laurent, but he spent a few minutes thinking about doing it anyway, just for the look they would get.

The problem was, there was no good way to tell one’s older brother that one was seeing his nemesis-turned-friend. More — that one was in love with said friend, wanted everything that came with that, to get married, to spend their lives together. Laurent curled his toes into the sand.

Not for the first time, he wished Auguste was a little less straightforward. But that was unfair, because he loved his brother’s unflappable straightforwardness, his easy candidness. It wasn’t really his fault that it made things difficult for Laurent, who had come out to his mother at the age of fourteen by saying well… in a delicately sceptical tone when she talked about his bringing girlfriends home. The next week she’d said the same thing but about boyfriends and he hadn’t corrected her and they’d understood each other quite perfectly ever since.

Auguste, good-natured and oblivious, would not pick up on such a hint. He was quite useless at picking up any hints at all, as a childhood full of poorly-coordinated cover stories for Laurent’s attempts at mischief would attest.

But if Laurent couldn’t hint, the only alternative then was to say it aloud: Auguste, I’m in love with Damen. I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Laurent wanted it so much that it became impossible to say. His desire was so ravenously enormous that it looped back around to being mortifying. He felt as though he had a very large, very poorly behaved dog behind him all the time, trying to get at Damen. He’d never felt like this before about anyone.

“You could hire a musician,” said Damen. And opened one deep brown eye to peek up at him, his merriment poorly disguised. “To sing it at him.”

“Will you please take this seriously,” Laurent grumbled, but even his voice was conspiring against him, refusing to sound sharp. He sounded disgustingly smitten.

Damen sat up, brushed off his torso, and then in a single graceful movement of rippling muscle he manoeuvred himself onto Laurent, pushed him down into the warm sand, pinned him bodily in place. “Believe me,” he said; Laurent’s whole body was flushed and thrilled, “I’m taking this very seriously.” He drew his nose over Laurent’s jaw, and even that minute touch sent sparks down Laurent’s spine. He turned his head and pressed a vicious kiss to Damen’s neck, applying his teeth, revelling in the laughing groan this wrung from Damen’s chest.

“Laurent,” he said breathlessly. Laurent hummed, and Damen said his name again, his smile audible. “I have another idea.”

Laurent broke reluctantly away. “Tell me.”

“Auguste texted me ten minutes ago asking where we were.”

“He what?” Alarmed.

“Well, he’s on break too,” said Damen, in an eminently reasonable tone.

“Is he coming down to join us?”

“He said something along those lines,” said Damen. “I didn’t want to interrupt your lecture on Professor Euandros’ shortcomings.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” Laurent muttered. Teaching Professor Euandros’s third-year course on classical poetry had been a nightmare that he would need the whole summer break to recover from. The man hadn’t met an organisational system he didn’t hate with a violent passion. “So Auguste — but what was your idea?”

“Oh,” said Damen. He rolled off Laurent and sat up — a poor start. Laurent said so and watched as Damen’s teeth showed in a dazzling grin. “Here, sweetheart,” Damen said, tugging Laurent closer to him. “Let him find us like this, and you won’t have to say a word. I’ll do all the talking.”

“Like this?” They were both sitting up now, leaning against each other, skin to skin. Intimate, but very innocent. Damen made an affirmative noise. Laurent hummed thoughtfully, then let himself slide down until his head was in Damen’s lap.

“Or like this,” Damen agreed, stroking his warm fingers through Laurent’s hair.

Laurent hummed again. Then, teasing, he turned his face and nuzzled in a certain direction. Damen jolted. Laurent bit down on a smile.

“Not like that,” said Damen. The beach was empty aside from them — it was small and relatively unpopular, and the vast majority of people had gone back to work last week — but there was still the little thrill of exposure. “Fucking hell, Laurent.”

“You said ten minutes ago,” said Laurent. Desire was swelling in his chest, as wild and as wide as the sea.

Damen said, “Yes,” very carefully. A man who knew exactly the kind of trap that was being sprung on him.

Laurent said, “It takes thirty to get down here from the university.”

[wrenaspun]

Capri prompt: write us some porn. (Spanking, perhaps?)

A simple request, one would think! And yet, uh, this is not very porny and only alludes to spanking. Sorry anon... their hopeless vanilla nature came through too strongly. I AM going to try and get another fill out with more porn than this for you -

Laurent was very relaxed and his defences, his usual iron self-restraint, were reliably nonexistent after Damen had wrung a single orgasm from him, let alone three. He blamed this comfortable atmosphere for the fact that he asked, “How do you discipline slaves?” and then, seeing the familiar obstructive look on Damen’s face, amended the question: “How did you discipline slaves, when you had them?”

Damen calmed and considered this. Laurent stroked his fingers through dark curls, marvelling at their loveliness. “I didn’t really… I suppose I would tell them they had done poorly, if I thought so.”

Laurent looked at him incredulously. Damen offered, “I might speak to the trainer?”

Laurent said, “Damen.”

Damen was laughing at him. “Laurent. It would hardly be their own fault! That was the whole — that’s why we’re abolishing — why are you even asking this?”

Laurent, who had not even considered that the conversation might take this turn, found himself blank of any answer. “I,” he said, then shut his mouth.

Damen, who knew him far too well, was grinning up at him impudently. “Did you want me to be your unruly, impossible slave? I’m not opposed.”

“Of course you’re not,” Laurent muttered, feeling the flush creeping over his face, “you never are.”

“You could speak very sternly to someone about my behaviour while I weep piteously in the corner,” said Damen. He was battling valiantly with a smile which wanted to emerge at the corner of his mouth. As Laurent watched, the smile won. The room brightened.

“You couldn’t weep piteously if your life depended on it,” he managed.

“Well,” said Damen. “I could try.” And then: “Perhaps if you gave me five minutes alone beforehand, with an onion —”

Laurent pushed Damen off his lap and marched from the bed, pouring himself an unnecessary glass of water to the sound of Damen’s protests.

“But really, tell me,” said Damen, having rolled onto his stomach, now watching Laurent’s progress through the room with warm eyes. “What were you thinking about to ask that?” His brown eyes were so gorgeous in the candlelight, warm and wide. Laurent’s skin felt shivery and bright, ecstatic to be looked at. He couldn’t talk. Damen took mercy on him and asked, “How do Veretians punish their pets?”

“Many ways,” said Laurent. “It depends on the employer. I — spanking. Caning.” He did not say whipping. “Chastity. Humiliation. It’s not all — I mean, some pets act out deliberately to provoke it. For fun. The only real punishment is to terminate the contract. Theoretically.” While the monetary incentive was there, plenty of pets would put up with activity they didn’t enjoy and didn’t want. It was a problem they were still trying to find a solution for.

Damen was watching him carefully. Laurent regretted getting out of bed: everything was easier to talk about when he had Damen by his side, within touching distance, but it felt somehow strange to go to him now, the timing awkward.

“Did you want,” Damen said; his tone said much more, “to try any of that?”

Laurent bit his lip. It was his own fault, he acknowledged, for starting this conversation with an imprecision to his language which left his ultimate meaning ambiguous. He’d thought Damen would appreciate that; Akielons were so fond of leaving every part of their bedplay to allusion. He had seen Makedon call for the recitation of a poem the other day about flowers that had had every grown man in the hall blushing.

“I was thinking,” pushing the words out, “you might want it the other way around,” he said. “To do to me.”

“Well, not while you look like that talking about it,” said Damen. “Come back to bed, sweetheart.”

Laurent did, too relieved even to feel self-conscious. Damen made a small noise as he tucked their bodies together again, and Laurent realised that the evening air was cool, that his body had grown chilled while they spoke.

“It’s not like that,” he said to the sheets. “Whatever I — looked like — it wasn’t because —”

Damen hummed easily when the words fell away, his body a lovely warm reassurance beside Laurent’s. It was impossible to be truly nervous in bed together, with the blankets drawn snugly over them, sharing body heat. “Why wouldn’t you want to do that to me?”

Laurent looked up at him disbelievingly. And then, when this did not seem to yield understanding, said, “I think I’ve done enough to you for one lifetime.”

Damen blinked down at him and rubbed one hand along Laurent’s tight spine. “I thought this was meant to be for fun.”

“Even in fun,” said Laurent. And then, “Don’t talk. Don’t look at me like that. Tell me you’ll think about it.”

“I’ll think about it,” Damen promised obligingly. And then he kissed Laurent so sweetly that it was impossible not to arch up into it, to press their bodies together as close as they would go, and then even closer, leaving words behind them.

[wrenaspun]

Samuel John Lamorna Birch (1869-1955) - Summer Evening, The Still Pool, Deveron, near Rothiemay

[wrenaspun]

romeo and juliet au. damen and laurent hail from warring families and fall in love unbeknownst to their loved ones. who drinks the poison and who stabs themselves? does it even get that far? or does their daring plan to fake their deaths work out in the end…

Auguste knew better than to take it seriously when a little Delphan street urchin pressed a note into his hand and mumbled from y'r brother, m'lord. The child — it was impossible to determine gender or age underneath their layers of grime — ran off before Auguste could grab them, which was hardly the act of a trustworthy source. Auguste had read the letter with the greatest scepticism and memorised the place and time of the proposed rendezvous only to think about how foolish it would be to go. His brother was dead.

He knew better. But here he was, standing at the crossroads outside Helos while the bells tolled midnight, one hand on his sword, waiting.

He had prepared himself, with a thoroughness that Laurent would be proud of, for any eventuality: a cheap blackmail scheme; an attempt on his life; a cruel joke; perhaps, most likely, for nothing to happen at all. The one thing he wasn’t prepared for was —

— Laurent, stepping out of the shadows, his expression that classically younger-brother mix of abashed and coaxing, knowing both that he had done wrong and that he would be forgiven.

Between one moment and the next, Auguste had crossed the space between them and grabbed him. They were hugging, Laurent’s grip far too tight to be anything but real. Auguste’s side, still sensitive, was starting to ache ominously under the strain. Still, he held on, half-afraid that his brother would slip away from him, again, in the middle of the night, to a place where he could not follow.

“Laurent,” he said, when he could speak again. “I — how — you —” So maybe he couldn’t speak yet.

“I missed you,” said Laurent. His expression was open and honest.

“You were dead.”

“I was,” said Laurent, “pretending.”

“Pretending,” Auguste repeated. He remembered Laurent’s cold body, its unnatural paleness, the stillness of breath. Laurent now was warm, a little flushed from the walk here, his eyes bright with good health.

“It was a potion,” said Laurent. He was holding Auguste’s hand in both of his own. “Paschal gave it to me. It wore off. I missed you.”

“You said that,” Auguste said stupidly. And then, bursting out of him: “Why? Why did you do it? Were you so opposed to marrying Torveld?”

Laurent hesitated, his face clouding a little. Just a little, but Auguste had always been able to read his younger brother. “Yes,” he said. “That is, he would have been a fine match, except — I mean —” He wrung his hands.

Now that the questions had started it was impossible to make them stop. “Where have you been living? How do you earn your keep? Do you need money —?”

“Auguste!” Laurent huffed, like they were young again and Auguste had done something to embarrass him in front of their cooing aunts. “I’m fine. I had this all planned out. I had a speech.” He looked so disgruntled that it was impossible not to laugh. “Well — look, just come with me. You’ll see.”

He walked just quickly enough that sustaining conversation became difficult. Auguste did not let that stop him. “It’s my right to worry about you,” he told Laurent’s back. And then, “Do you want to come home? We’re only an hour’s ride from Marlas. We can say — we can say —” He groped and found his mind quite blank on how they might explain Laurent’s sudden return to the world of the living. The funeral had been lavish. “Well, we can say something.” He realised he was afraid to let Laurent out of his sight again.

“No,” said Laurent. And then, “Not yet. You’ll see. I have —” The movement of his shoulders betrayed another nervous fidget. “Reasons.”

“Reasons,” Auguste repeated. They were well off the beaten path now, headed for the treeline, when he saw another figure standing in their path. A very tall, very broad figure, arms folded. The darkness shielded them, but Auguste got the feeling he was watching them intently. Another few steps, and he could make out the man’s face by the light of the moon. That familiar, highly unwelcome face. Auguste’s side began to throb.

He grabbed his brother’s elbow, dragging him to a halt. “Laurent,” he said. “Get behind me. What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into? What is this?”

A moment of silence. Auguste’s heart felt ready to beat out of his chest. He could imagine the d’Akielos family getting a hold of his innocent younger brother, of course, forcing him to participate in this scheme, for — what, in the end? To what purpose?

And then, softly, Laurent said, “I’m not in trouble, Auguste. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” Another pause. “I’m married.”

For a moment the words didn’t mean anything. It was as though Laurent had started speaking a foreign language. Then it sank in.

“You’re what?”

[wrenaspun]

Short Stories Binding

I said I've been busy!

This next project is an anthology of short stories by YellowDiamonds! So this was an entirely new kind of cover for me, and I think it turned out perfectly. The font is regular HTV, but the photoshopped picture is a direct-to-film transfer. It was so easy to put down, with a little heat it set on the cover perfectly and there was no annoying weeding or peeling or anything. Getting the HTV to line up with it was the hardest part, but even that turned out great.

More info under the cut.

So here's some of the inside pages. The stories were split into these three categories, and the idea behind the borders was that canon was the most straightforward so it got a simple line border, canon divergent started to get more complicated and then alternate universe built even further on that complication. These pages are all made with toner reactive foil--I still can't seem to get the foil to have great coverage even though I used a laminator to set it, but they're still super shiny and I think it was successful.

Endpapers are very watery to go with the ocean theme on the front cover.

And here's the back just for good measure. Nothing fancy but getting that HTV to stay straight was a bitch. It's still a little wonky if you look super close but nothing as bad as my first attempt:

You can probably only see it if you zoom in, but on the first attempt the border was way too thin and it just was a nightmare to put down (this is the same bookcloth as the other pictures by the way, the lighting is just way worse in these pics). The front cover was also kind of janky and looking at it now I don't think it's even close to straight. But the real reason this cover ended up being discarded and not used was the spine:

(ignore fuzzy monster in the corner and all the junk in the back) The spine on this one was so crooked that I couldn't in good faith give this to the author. But it's okay (I say as I cry over my ruined duo bookcloth) because it was a good learning experience and the other copies turned out much better.

So yeah! The direct-to-film transfer turned out great, and it's probably something I'll use again in the future. I really like the combination of that and the HTV, it looks so snappy.

@wrenaspun, @penult

[wrenaspun]

My current long WIP project keeps growing blithely longer every time i touch it and i would like A) distraction and B) exercises in Brevity. Which is to say: I'm opening my askbox to Capri / Lamen prompts! I might not respond to everything but hopefully we'll have fun anyway

[wrenaspun]

year 5 of capri drawings for my bestie @carryonmylovelies ' bday!! <3 <3

[wrenaspun]

Warm Welcoming - Paul Batch , n/d.

American, b. 1979 -

Oil on panel , 8 x 10 in.

[wrenaspun]

Ship's Cat Chiclet - the Mascot of the Mary A. Whalen (1938) a retired oil tanker, Brooklyn, New York

[wrenaspun]

Capri scene without context...

(I'd like to doosle some more capri scenes is this silly way 🥹)

[wrenaspun]

ranking the 12 angry men by angriness

[wrenaspun]

The face and noise I made upon seeing this is INDESCRIBABLE. The colour of the cloth, the papers, the title design with its wheat motif - GORGEOUS, perfect, a work of art. The love and care and talent that went into it is palpable!!! I love it so dearly !!!! 💖💕

Full Length of the Soul binding

So I've been a busy little bee lately! Now that all these books have reached their recipients I'll start posting them, and I want to start with one of my favorites---@wrenaspun's lovely fic, The Full Length of the Soul. I wanted to do something simple for this bind (opinions may vary on whether or not I hit that target) but this came together for me really quickly, and I'm really happy with it.

More pics and details under the cut.

So the idea was for this to be a half binding, where half of the front was bookcloth and half was marbled paper. As you can see the font of the title took up quite a bit more than that, and it became more like a three quarters binding. Will I eventually regret not putting some bookcloth on the outer edge? Maybe. It's pretty sturdy paper so I hope it'll be okay.

I used some marbled cream and gold paper for the endpapers. These are the marbled jute paper from Mulberry Papers and I have two 8x11s of almost every color in my stash. Very handy for situations like this, I was able to find something perfect without needing to order anything (unlike my other bindings...)

Here's a pic of the back.

Ugh I just love it, it's way simpler than the other books I've done lately but it really gives the marbled paper a chance to shine. That paper is Crepaldi, of course, and the bookcloth is duo (I am going to LOSE IT when I run out of my stash of duo, it's beautiful and I love it so much, I don't know what I'm going to do). All the gold, including the bands on the front and back, are HTV. I did protect the marbled paper with parchment while I was ironing it on but it did surprisingly well and the heat didn't damage the paper at all.

All in all this was a very easy bind! The guillotine didn't give me any trouble and the casing in was really easy. Even the HTV went done really nicely. I forgot to take a picture of the spine before I sent it away but it's just the title and it even went on straight and everything.

[wrenaspun]

as far as i'm concerned all "yuri" is "toxic yuri" because women are ontologically evil thanks to eve's original sin

[wrenaspun]

Red Sky at Dusk - John Moore , 2023.

American , b. 1941 -

Oil on canvas ,  59 x 69 in.       

[wrenaspun]

My dad (semi retired teacher, takes substitute jobs generally as it suits him) told us today that he's potentially got a job for a semester at [very posh private school] and my mum shrieked NOOOOOOOO and then THE POSHEST SCHOOL IN TOWN? and then wailed OH MY GOD HOW DESPERATE ARE THEY?? fhhhgjhgdsjajs

[wrenaspun]

someone should draw damen and laurent like this

[wrenaspun]

Me sexting: what would you do if you found me with my hands tied ;) My feminist bf: I Would Free You