So, I’ve reached some new milestones! I’ve bound a book with silk moire endpapers. I’ve bound a book in leather, even though it was still learning-quality leather, and it had been largely pared before being handed down to me (I’m working on it! leather takes so many knives, and this one just arrived today). And I’ve used heated brass tools to do some blind tooling! Just straight lines for the moment, I’m working on consistency more than anything else, and still figuring out heat/pressure/etc, but oh my god.
And…. I’ve officially bound my own writing for the first time!!! This is in honor of the anon who reached out to me last year. I wasn’t able to answer their question in the affirmative, but it made me realize I’ve done a lot of work in this arena, and it would make a lot of sense to collect as an anthology
And I haven’t given up my wicked ways, I’m just writing about exciting new blorbos at the moment. Also, as I was going back and collecting text, this writing slaps, I stand by it. So the title is very tongue in cheek, this is very good writing, but!
YEAH, BABY!
This does cover a little more ground than pure noncon, because I haven’t written all that much of that, this is supplemented with a lot of material where consent is technically given, it’s just not given in a good way. It’s a very melancholy book in some sections, but I really do think I do a good job of writing sex where neither person actually wants it to be happening, and one or both of them is using it to self-harm. Unsurprisingly, Starscream shines in this arena, and I stand by my writing for him, I proudly recommend my own archives.
I did also write a quick little intro to the anthology, just an overview of the what and why, and specifying that this is the first time I’ve put my own writing in a book. Only took me like 140 books to get around to it, haha!
The book is subdivided by fandom, approximately in chronological order. The one mcu fic would properly go in the middle of the transformers fics, but that wouldn’t have been pretty. And I wanted the starclonus series to all go together, the fic to fic flow is important. I finished a star wars fic last week, but still have a tgcf wip that would belong here, that kind of thing. The bulk of this book is homestuck and transformers, but marvel, xianxia, and star wars all show up too!
This was so rewarding. I still have a lot to learn about working with leather, but even as a sleep-deprived amateur, I’m having such a delightful time! I also have unfinished leather and dyes and knives and no adult supervision, so I have the power to make a hellacious mess next time I get restless, amd I’m so excited
So, I’ve reached some new milestones! I’ve bound a book with silk moire endpapers. I’ve bound a book in leather, even though it was still learning-quality leather, and it had been largely pared before being handed down to me (I’m working on it! leather takes so many knives, and this one just arrived today). And I’ve used heated brass tools to do some blind tooling! Just straight lines for the moment, I’m working on consistency more than anything else, and still figuring out heat/pressure/etc, but oh my god.
And…. I’ve officially bound my own writing for the first time!!! This is in honor of the anon who reached out to me last year. I wasn’t able to answer their question in the affirmative, but it made me realize I’ve done a lot of work in this arena, and it would make a lot of sense to collect as an anthology
And I haven’t given up my wicked ways, I’m just writing about exciting new blorbos at the moment. Also, as I was going back and collecting text, this writing slaps, I stand by it. So the title is very tongue in cheek, this is very good writing, but!
YEAH, BABY!
This does cover a little more ground than pure noncon, because I haven’t written all that much of that, this is supplemented with a lot of material where consent is technically given, it’s just not given in a good way. It’s a very melancholy book in some sections, but I really do think I do a good job of writing sex where neither person actually wants it to be happening, and one or both of them is using it to self-harm. Unsurprisingly, Starscream shines in this arena, and I stand by my writing for him, I proudly recommend my own archives.
I did also write a quick little intro to the anthology, just an overview of the what and why, and specifying that this is the first time I’ve put my own writing in a book. Only took me like 140 books to get around to it, haha!
The book is subdivided by fandom, approximately in chronological order. The one mcu fic would properly go in the middle of the transformers fics, but that wouldn’t have been pretty. And I wanted the starclonus series to all go together, the fic to fic flow is important. I finished a star wars fic last week, but still have a tgcf wip that would belong here, that kind of thing. The bulk of this book is homestuck and transformers, but marvel, xianxia, and star wars all show up too!
This was so rewarding. I still have a lot to learn about working with leather, but even as a sleep-deprived amateur, I’m having such a delightful time! I also have unfinished leather and dyes and knives and no adult supervision, so I have the power to make a hellacious mess next time I get restless, amd I’m so excited
Summary: Saxon Osier learns from Therrin’s letter that his little brother is alive.
CW: fantasy/medieval whump, fictional politics, referenced political prisoner, consensual sex mentions, threesome, prostitution mention, saxon ponders the nature of consent between him and Therrin, alcohol and drunkenness, problem drinking, grief and death mentions, a timid servant girl is afraid of saxon a little bit
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Saxon Osier snapped at a servant girl to leave him, feeling a small twinge of regret as she ducked out of the room like she’d been kicked.
He poured another cup of strongwine, ignoring the drops that slipped from the lip of the bottle and stained the table.
He remembered Tayla, the girl he and Therrin shared for a night, years ago now. She had shown him how to twist the bottle at the end of the pour so no wine was wasted. He’d messed it up on purpose, landing a few drops on the table so she’d roll her pretty eyes at him.
“He’s a brute,” Therrin had said, balancing his chair on its hind legs in the noisy tavern. “What’d you expect?”
“And you, Therrin?” Tayla flirted shamelessly. “Aren’t all you Muirish men uncouth beasts who take whatever they please without asking?”
Therrin’s eyes seemed to smile at her over his cup as he took a drink of his strongwine. “One way to find out.”
Summary: Saxon Osier learns from Therrin’s letter that his little brother is alive.
CW: fantasy/medieval whump, fictional politics, referenced political prisoner, consensual sex mentions, threesome, prostitution mention, saxon ponders the nature of consent between him and Therrin, alcohol and drunkenness, problem drinking, grief and death mentions, a timid servant girl is afraid of saxon a little bit
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Saxon Osier snapped at a servant girl to leave him, feeling a small twinge of regret as she ducked out of the room like she’d been kicked.
He poured another cup of strongwine, ignoring the drops that slipped from the lip of the bottle and stained the table.
He remembered Tayla, the girl he and Therrin shared for a night, years ago now. She had shown him how to twist the bottle at the end of the pour so no wine was wasted. He’d messed it up on purpose, landing a few drops on the table so she’d roll her pretty eyes at him.
“He’s a brute,” Therrin had said, balancing his chair on its hind legs in the noisy tavern. “What’d you expect?”
“And you, Therrin?” Tayla flirted shamelessly. “Aren’t all you Muirish men uncouth beasts who take whatever they please without asking?”
Therrin’s eyes seemed to smile at her over his cup as he took a drink of his strongwine. “One way to find out.”
It was then, he thought, Talya was struck with the idea of taking them both upstairs. She was brazen and self assured, and they were drawn to her like flies to honey. The two of them were used to highborn girls with their constant chaperones, or else bored prostitutes at the brothel Therrin had been whipped for their visiting.
Drunk as they were, they were rather unsubtle, and the rumor was rampant by the following morning that Saxon Osier and the northern ward had shared a tavern girl— had gone into a room together and not come back out til daylight.
It was true, of course, but Saxon’s memory of the actual act was hazy. He always wondered if that night they shared Talya made it easier, when he and Therrin finally turned to each other.
It was Therrin who had kissed him. Therrin who stopped his hand once while tending his whip-welts and brought it to the front of his breeches, holding it there.
Therrin had wanted him.
Hadn’t he?
Saxon took a healthy swig of strongwine, bitter and black. His tongue was stained with it, his lips. He would have a pounding headache in the morning, no doubt, but he was already too far down in its blessed numb depths to care about that. Morning Saxon was not his problem, and his father was no longer lucid enough to make a comment if he was visibly hungover.
Therrin was the one who wanted to play their power games so badly, feigning helplessness and calling him by his official title in bed. Saxon had gotten off on it too, like nothing else, but it was not real.
Not once had it gotten too real, he thought, staring blearily at an unopened letter on the table. It was sealed in red wax with a hand scratched B, for lack of an official royal seal yet.
There was never any force. He was not some vile Lord’s son who would use his power over a ward in such a way. Like a slave. Like a prisoner.
Did he hate you the whole time? You did your best to make it easier on him here. Did he think you wanted that in exchange? In payment? Are you really so clueless that it could be so, and you thought it love?
Or was he using you?
Saxon believed what the southerlands deserved was its sovereignty back. But he would not claim himself a King once his ailing father passed, it was not about that. Rather, he and Martin Spearly of Aepoli would form an alliance, both vowing to protect and trade with the other so new independent governments could be established in both provinces.
They would be fragile republics in their infancy, and would need to be protected against outside invasion and inside corruption both.
Most crucially, they would need a strong treaty with the King of the Muirs. An admission of their sovereignty.
There was a time Saxon would’ve been certain Therrin would support this endeavor. Would support him. They would work together to achieve this goal, pushing away from the overstretched rule of Kings.
That was before Therrin went behind his back and took the crown by force and blood. Before he declared himself King and demanded tax and tribute like some tyrant, the very thing he had ranted against the Trulys for from the time they were thirteen.
And it begged the question; if he couldn’t trust Therrin, how in the hell was he supposed to trust Martin fucking Spearly not to double cross him?
Spearly could say he was interested in this plan—almost embarrassing in its idealistic naivety at times— and all the while be shaking hands behind his back with Therrin, plotting to replace him.
Saxon took another numbing drink.
“Lord Osier?”
He turned his head slowly, so the room would not tilt. In the archway stood the girl he’d snapped at not ten minutes earlier.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but… the messenger said it was of high importance. Utmost, he said.”
“Well, if it’s utmost,” he teased. “Better get on with it.”
“It’s…a letter from the Muirlands.” She took a long envelope from behind her back as if apologizing for it. “They said to deliver it now.”
“More demands from our benevolent King,” he tried not to slur. He couldn’t tell if he had or not. He waved the girl closer. Rather offensively, she hesitated.
“Oh please. You look at me as if I’ve ever given you a reason to fear me. I’m a little bit drunk, not rabid.”
She came closer, until she was standing right in front of him. He put his boots on the table, crossing one ankle over the other. “Do you read?”
“If it please you, my Lord.”
“Open it. Read it. I don’t want to look at his handwriting. I’m still trying to enjoy my evening.”
He drank as the girl struggled to snap the seal and unfolded the letter, reading Therrin’s bold words in her soft voice.
As Saxon listened he stared at one of his dogs in the rushes, happily chewing marrow from a bone. The letter was humble, so far. More personal than the first touches had been, which were just scribe copies of tax documents.
The servant faltered, looking up at him over the top of the letter.
“You’re doing fine. Keep going.”
Her eyes were shining in open fear, her face gone pale.
“M-matteo is alive,” she read in a trembling, reluctant voice. “I have no way to soften this news… and… and though joyous, I—”
Saxon swung his legs off the table. He took the letter from her hands and placed it facedown against the table, as if pinning an unruly fish. The dog looked up from its bone, licking its teeth.
“It’s alright,” he told her. Her eyes had gone wide and her hands remained frozen where they had been holding the letter, like a statue in the gardens.
“It’s alright. But don’t repeat that. Do you understand me?”
She nodded.
Saxon took her by the chin, careful not to pinch too tight and bruise her. His strength got away from him when he was drinking, sometimes. Everything felt as if he were holding it through a glove.
“I have rarely meant anything so seriously. Do not repeat what you just read. To anyone. Do I have your word, Gisella?”
“Yes, Lord Osier,” she breathed. “I swear.”
“Go.”
She stared at him, frozen.
“Go,” he said again.
She turned and picked up her long aprons so she would not trip, nearly running from the room.
Saxon tried to calm his pounding heart.
Therrin would not lie to you about this. He wouldn’t.
Matteo… alive. Was it possible? He didn’t dare to hope. The disappointment would be too cruel.
They’d never received a body, it was true. But still… after so many months and months? Where? How?
He stayed with you as you cried beside that empty grave, that day by the sea. Therrin Blackmuir would not lie to you about Matteo.
The letter was still pinned beneath his hand. He closed his eyes. Already, a headache was gathering behind his temples.
He turned it over, and forced himself to start from the beginning.
