#public domain was a mistake
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They didn't waste a second...
#public domain was a mistake#y'all ain't do NOTHING fun with it#Disney#Mickey Mouse#Steamboat Willie#Animation#horror#creepypasta parody#meme#shitpost#screenshot#why is it always quick cashgrab horror ripoff that isn't even scary#do you have any idea how many cool things you can do with this domain#yall had Winnie The freaking Pooh in public domain and there was NOTHING but dumb horror
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genuinely devastated that the quinton reviews beverly hillbillies video had to get taken down, ive been watching in 2-3hr chunks and im only about 20 hours in but i fucking adore this video it's so so interesting and funny and russ is just unbelievably delightful to listen to
i really hope that when they reedit it, it isn't too much of a hardship and that they have as good as time making it as they did the first time around
#i hope quinton isnt beating himself up about the copyright stuff#its supremely fucked up of them to copystrike him for stuff thats been public domain for decades#and when it comes to the stuff thats not public domain..#shit happens ppl make mistakes. but also i fully believe a lot of that commentary was transformative so he shouldnt be too hard on himself#and i just really reallyhope russ is taking it ok#personal#quinton reviews
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This trend of transforming Winnie the Pooh into a horrendous beast of nightmare (with Blood & Honey and Winnie's Hole) is so similar to the idea of "making Superman evil"; not only it's repetitive and uncreative, but also disrespectful to the original creators who have actually bothered to put effort, love and care into their creations.
Now, I'm not saying Winnie the Pooh should be exclusively for children; what I'm trying to say is that your idea should have some substance to it, or else it's just yet another scam to get rich under some oversaturated fad.
You're not being quirky or cool, you're just some pretentious edgelord.
#a. a. milne and christopher robin did not die for this.#why couldn't there be a winnie the pooh story that tackles on deflorestation?#or a trans allegory story (because winnie was based on a FEMALE bear)?#those ideas could've been more interesting really!#public domain was a mistake.
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Rolled a 1.
Both the robot and the subject of the image.
Prompt: a woman holding a bat, in the style of lady gaga, uniformly staged images, the blue rider, penelope rosemont, hip-hop style, leather/hide, body extensions :: a dark neon colored painting of a woman, in the style of comic book style action, conceptual digital art, jason edmiston, dance, shiny, ivanovich pimenov, groovy
Doing mixing of /described prompts from wildly different images as an experiment.
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Don't Make a Silly Mistake
Steamboat Willie is now in public domain.
Mickey Mouse?
That's a Trademark.
If you think that the Disney lawyers who specialize in trademark have not been preparing for this, you may be making an expensive mistake.
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Gojo Being Too Dense to Realize Your Feelings
Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader
Tags: fluff, crushes, flirting, confessions, kissing, friends to lovers, blind to love
A/N: I would smack him over the head with a sign if needed.
Dense!Gojo is so used to people flirting with him that he doesn't see when you're doing it in order to date him. It's always mostly teasing for him so there's not a lot you can do on that front that he hasn't already seen and written off. No matter what you try he smiles at you every time, giving you that flutter in your chest, which goes nowhere because he doesn't flirt back.
Dense!Gojo starts to wonder why you're speding so much time around him when you could be focused on other things. He noticed that when he's around your focus seems to shift in his direction at random times, which can be bad in a fight. Figuring that he's the problem he tries not to get in your way as much as possible, but that only makes you look for him more.
Dense!Gojo actually likes spending time with you too, but it's hard for him to realize that all those get together can be seen as almost dates. When you confront him about avoiding you he offers to take you out to lunch as an apology, failing to see how it sounds when he also tells you not to worry your pretty head about what happened because he really likes to spend time alone with you.
Dense!Gojo doesn't think twice about throwing his arm around you when he greets you. He's a naturally touchy person, he's like that with so many of his friends, especially the ones annoyed by it. Your blush is taken as embarrassment or being flustered that he did that in public. One time he tried it when you were alone and you almost had a heart attack.
Dense!Gojo will gladly eat any food you bring him without question. When he accepts it he will lift his blindfold and wink at you before wolfing down the food, singing your praises while he eats. Seeing how much he enjoys the food you begin to pack extra just for him, a fact everyone else picks up on but you.
Dense!Gojo greets you at the door half naked and tells you to get inside, not even slightly frying to cover himself up. You on the other hand are freaking out about seeing him like this and having him so close to you. He thinks you're impressed by him so he tells you that you can touch him whenever you want, once again failing to realize how that would sound out of context.
Dense!Gojo is stunned when you kiss his cheek for the first time. It shouldn't have been a big deal, just a farewell kiss after a mission, no different then when he would greet you at a big event. He spent the entirety of the next day thinking about it, which normally didn't happen for him. This feeling wasn't unfamiliar to him, but the sheer intensity was. Usually he would get a crush slowly over time, not have this sudden wave of affection and desire crashing over him.
Dense!Gojo talks to his friends about this and is shocked when they point out all the things that you've been doing and hasn't caught onto. He has a blindfold but he's not blind to you, he always notices you, he always laughs when you laugh, he's always worried about you, he's always looking forward to seeing you the next day... oh. Maybe his eyes aren't as good as he thought.
Dense!Gojo feels like an idiot for the fact that he needed his friends to help him realize his mistake. He decides to confront you about his mistake, and by that he means confess his feelings for you as well. A little intimidating because he looks so damn serious about it too, at first. Then he laughs about his own stupidity and tells you about what he realized in the past few days. It's a lot to hear, your own feelings being reflected back at you after so long.
Dense!Gojo takes off his blindfold when he kisses you. For a brief moment you feel like you're in his Domain. When you blink again you're back in reality, his eyes closed because his wide grin. A little bit on the smug side too cause he's finally figured it out. It may have taken him a bit but now he's ready to be the best boyfriend in the whole world.
#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#gojo x reader#jujutsu kaisen imagine#jujutsu kaisen headcanon#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk imagine#jjk headcanons#jjk fluff#gojo imagine#gojo headcanon#gojo fluff#x female reader#jjk#gojo satoru#jujtsu kaisen
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bells will be ringing
crush!Steve Harrington x fem!Reader x fwb!Eddie Munson
The annual Harrington Christmas Party is an elegant affair, complete with decorations, fancy food and flowing libations. But when your friend-slash-fuck buddy Eddie tires of you and Steve dancing around your burgeoning feelings for one another…he offers a creative solution. 8k 18+, MDNI
cw: MMF, allusions to poverty and implied family strife, light alcohol and weed use, kinda mean/crass Eddie, semi-public fingering/oral (fem receiving), r’s hair gets pulled once.
The Harrington’s were white light people.
There wasn’t a single inch of their stately home not adorned in festive finery for their annual Christmas party. It was all silver candlesticks with cream-colored tapers, deep red ribbons tied into bows and hung at perfectly spaced intervals, long garlands of rich greenery draped along the banisters—real as shit and smelling like a goddamn pine forest.
It was a far cry from what you and Eddie knew growing up next door to one another way on the other side of town. For you two, it was scrawny and half-dead trees purchased at a discount as close to Christmas as possible when their vendors were just trying to unload them, covered in a hodgepodge of homemade ornaments and faded multicolored lights, only about half of which worked half the time. When your families could afford a tree, that was.
The Harringtons’ own stood at the far end of the house, glowing bright as a nuclear reactor with seemingly endless strands of bright white lights wound around its branches. It was methodically decorated with matching red, silver and gold baubles, each one hung precisely in place and polished to gleaming perfection.
Elegant. Proper. Pristine.
The party was already well underway by the time you arrived, Steve nowhere to be found in the sea of people. They all stood together in clumps, exchanging jovial smiles that pushed up rosy cheeks, the women cooing over each other's outfits and jewelry while the men swapped stories about their quarterly earnings. Weaving through the throngs, cater waiters floated past carrying trays loaded with hors d’oeuvres and tall glasses of shimmery, bubbly liquid.
It made you and Eddie glance around, furtive and unsure as you skulked into the foyer. The two of you might as well have been invisible for all the attention anyone paid you.
“See Steve anywhere?” you asked, peering deeper inside the house.
The former stud of Hawkins High had always been easy to spot in the hallways of his former domain, seemingly towering over everyone even after he stopped sporting that gravity-defying bouffant hairstyle. Those days were long gone now, but an occasional glimmer of his old self would still shine through, reminding you of when King Steve reigned supreme.
“Nope, nowhere,” Eddie grumbled. “I told you this was a mistake.”
His warm breath on your ear as he leaned in to whisper in it had your head snapping to the side. Some of the snow that had just started to fall outside dusted his dark, unruly curls and he still had his hands stuffed in the pockets of his leather jacket, as though he wanted to be ready to turn heel and run at the first opportunity. You’d seen him look more relaxed about to shoplift.
“What do you mean?”
“Look around, sweetheart. See if you can spot what doesn’t belong.”
It was kind of irritating how right he was. Everyone else in attendance tonight looked perfectly at home in this pretty picture. It was all business partners and their wives, clients who probably made more in a year than you or Eddie would hope to see in your entire lifetime, other miscellaneous friends and fellow members of the Hawkins upper echelon.
To call you fish out of water would be putting it lightly. You were like fish on a space station.
“What were we supposed to do?” you whispered back. “We had to come.”
That was debatable. Steve had invited you, yes, but he also practically tripped over himself to assure you it was totally fine if you couldn’t make it. He’d sat on the edge of Eddie’s sofa running through all his most blatant tells—hands pushing through his hair, thumb and forefinger pinching the bridge of his nose, foot jiggling non-stop—as he told you about the party.
“It’s all my parents' friends, so it might be kind of lame. But I’m allowed to invite people if you guys want to come. It’d be really great to see you.”
He’d worked himself up into such a state, it almost felt cruel to say no. You weren’t sure what it was—something about the earnestness with which he asked, and the way his eyes shone so hopefully when you smiled and told him you thought it sounded like fun.
Eddie’s gruff voice sounded in your ear again.
“Think we’re just here to piss off daddy?”
You followed his eyeline to the living room, gaze promptly drawn to the imposing frame of John Harrington as he reached out to grip the hand of someone important. Or at least someone who seemed to think they were. Even never having seen or met him before, he was easy to pick out as Steve’s father. They had the same square jaw, the same perfectly angled nose and rich, light brown hair. Although, John’s was cut shorter and tamed into a much more manageable style than his son’s long locks that lived in a near-constant state of tousled messiness.
“Steve wouldn’t do that,” you said firmly. “He asked us to come because we’re his friends.”
The words still felt strange to say. It made you wonder, yet again, if it would ever stop feeling so surreal that you now hung out with Steve “The Hair” Harrington on an almost daily basis.
When you were in school together, you never even landed on his radar. Eddie had some notoriety as the town’s supposed demon summoner, but you were just…around. A plain face that blended into the crowd; a background extra with no lines in the scene; wallpaper and set dressing for the popular kids who were living out their exemplary lives.
If this was only a few years prior, he probably would be spending this evening sneaking drinks with Tommy H. and Carol, or parading around with Nancy Wheeler on his arm to show her off to all his dad’s colleagues and brag about her getting into Emerson. Instead, his falling out with all of them and his subsequent fall from his high-school throne had led him here—to an unlikely friendship with The Freak and The Invisible Girl.
Whenever he came over to Eddie’s to smoke, or you three piled into his car to go to the movies or drive the winding back roads that snaked along the edge of town, it almost felt natural. And the more time you spent with him, the harder and harder it became to remember why he’d always seemed so…untouchable.
“So, what should we do?” You wondered aloud as you glanced around again, still hoping Steve might materialize somehow. Behind you, Eddie’s head shook and his shoulders shrugged.
“How should I know? You were the one begging to come tonight.”
“I wasn’t begging.”
“Oh, really?” He scoffed as he leaned in close again, raising the pitch of his voice in an overly breathy imitation of you. “Please, Eddie? Please, can we go to the party? I’ll let you eat me out from the back if you—”
“Stifle,” you hissed, jamming your elbow into his stomach.
He grunted at the sharp jab, but his lips remained curled in a sly smirk. “What’s wrong? Worried your little crush will find out what I’ve been doing to you after he goes home?”
“I don’t care if he knows,” you sniped. It’s almost convincing, but the flash of alarm in your eyes told a different story. Not that it mattered, Eddie didn’t buy it for a second anyway.
“Well, that’s good,” he tutted. “Because he already knows we’ve fucked.”
“Wait, what?” You whirled around fully now. “How?”
“He, ahh…” Eddie fought to contain his grin as he scratched at the short stubble on his cheek. “He saw that picture you let me take.”
Your eyes went wide, both horrified and enraged as you shoved his shoulder—hard.
“You showed it to him?”
“No, he found it,” Eddie hissed. “We were looking around for some weed I had stashed and he happened to open the drawer it was in.”
Your whole body—your very being—surged with white hot shame. If it wouldn’t have given Eddie so much satisfaction, you might have run straight out of the party right then and there. The thought of Steve seeing you like that…
It was almost unbearable.
The details of you and Eddie’s attachment had always been strictly under wraps. You weren’t exactly keeping it a secret, per se, but most people weren’t super accepting of the idea and you’d learned to play it close to the vest. And with how much time the two of you had started spending with Steve, you didn’t want to risk making him uncomfortable.
It had been going on for ages. Pausing, albeit briefly, if one of you found yourself in a relationship, and picking right back up when said relationship inevitably fizzled or if it tipped into the dangerous territory of getting too serious. He was one of the few people in your life you trusted intrinsically, and it wasn’t like guys were banging down your door as it was.
The picture was a one-time thing—a polaroid you’d let Eddie snap as a belated birthday present because you’d been too busy to find him something real. You had made him swear upon pain of death it was for his eyes only. And now he’d shown it to the last person on earth you wanted to see it? Oh, you were going to garrotte him with tinsel in his sleep.
Also, Steve wasn’t your crush. He was…a preoccupation. A distraction. A vague interest.
You couldn’t even say for sure when it had begun. All you knew was just last spring, there was a month of Friday evenings where you found yourself back in the Hawkins High parking lot pulled in alongside Steve’s distinctive maroon beemer. He was leaning on the hood, waiting for Hellfire to let out so he could drive home his little horde of nuggets, and you had shown up acting as Eddie’s ride while his van was out of commission.
And that night, for the first time ever, you had a real conversation with Steve Harrington.
A fairly illuminating one, at that.
There was a sweetness to him you never would have guessed was there. And a dorkiness that brought light to his eyes when he did his elaborate handshake with Dustin Henderson, or the way he exalted along with the kids when the group burst through the double doors leading out of the school, whooping and cheering from a successful campaign. It warmed your whole body from the inside out, the feeling only growing stronger the more time you shared.
And now he’d seen your bare tits covered in Eddies cum. Perfect, just perfect.
“You’re such an asshole,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “That’s so humiliating.”
“I don’t know,” Eddie said, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I think he kinda liked it.”
“He…he did?”
“I mean, he was staring at it pretty hard. I think he needed some alone time with it.”
You rolled your eyes and gave his shoulder another shove for good measure, muttering a you're disgusting at him under your breath, hoping it would hide the nerves creeping across your face. Unfortunately, it only seemed to add fuel to Eddie’s fire. He leaned in one last time, his voice a gritty rasp in your ear that made shivers run down your spine.
“So you don’t wanna know what he said, then?”
Tension seized your shoulders as you glared at him, jaw clenched, ready to spit back a vicious comment—or maybe just spit—only to stop short at the sound of a familiar voice.
“Hey, guys! I’m so glad you made it!”
Steve was beaming as he came over, his bright hazel eyes shining, the golden flecks in them brought out by the color of his sweater. He drew you into his embrace, his strong arms curling securely around your body and his gourmand scent filling your nose as you breathed him in.
Your hands smoothed over the planes of his back, relishing in the softness of the knit he wore and the solidity of his broad chest pressed against yours. Your pulse quickened, blood pounding in your ears as you did your level best to force what Eddie had just told you out of your head.
“I’m the coat check tonight,” Steve explained, tipping an imaginary cap. “There’s a guest room upstairs we can put them in.”
“I gotta take a leak,” Eddie said, already shrugging off his leather jacket and pushing it into your arms. “Take care of that for me, will you sweetheart?”
You narrowed your eyes at him, but Eddie just grinned back at you with a suggestive bounce of his brows behind his curled bangs. Steve pointed him in the direction of the bathroom and then turned straight back to you as he tilted his head upstairs.
“Shall we?” he asked.
The sounds of the party became distant and muffled as Steve led you upstairs to the designated dumping ground for all the furs and wraps of the numerous guests. It was dark inside, lit only by the moonlight that streamed through the window and the warm glow of the lights strung on the outside of the house that cast across the heap of coats on the bed.
You laid Eddie’s jacket down on a chair in the corner before you began to undo the belt of your own tied around your waist. As the thick, gray poly-blend slid off your shoulders, you shivered at the cool air hitting your heated skin for the first time that night.
When you turned back around, Steve was much closer than you remembered.
His eyes studied you with a kind of reverence that made your body tingle with excitement in a way you didn’t dare to name. The way he looked at you sometimes…whether it through a haze of pot smoke in Eddie’s trailer, or in the flickering light of a screen at the multiplex, or beneath the harsh amber wash of a single streetlight in an empty parking lot…
It made you wonder.
“You look really nice,” he finally said, his voice as soft as his eyes.
The dress you’d worn was fairly simple, made of maroon velour with a burnout pattern of leaves you thought looked a bit like holly. It was loose and flowy, but had laces in the back you had pulled tight so it cinched in your waist and pushed up your chest, not unlike a corset. The neckline was just low enough to flirt with impropriety and it nicely complimented the length of the pendant that sat in the center of your clavicle.
A dainty (fake) gold snowflake you thought was festive.
“Thanks,” you replied, your voice even softer than his as you folded your arms in front of your stomach. “I hope it’s okay. I don’t have a lot of nice outfits.”
Steve shook his head, captivated eyes still scanning over you. They landed briefly on your legs, the black stockings you’d worn in an attempt to stave off the cold now prickling warm on your skin as if it was his hands running over them instead of just his gaze.
“You always look perfect,” he said.
It’s not just the words that made you falter, but the plainness with which he states them. As if it’s something obvious. As though he thinks it all the time and he just happened to say it this time. It makes your stomach twirl and all at once, you feel like an empty-headed teenager standing at her locker, dizzy from being complimented by the cutest boy in school.
“So, this is quite a spectacle,” you chuckled, glad for the dimness of the room that somewhat hid your reaction to him. “Are there any poinsettias left in Hawkins?”
Steve smirked and took a careful step forward. There was only about a foot of space between you now, if that. “I think if there were, my mom would already have a guy on it,” he said.
Your eyes met his and you shared a soft laugh. “Well, it’s really beautiful,” you sighed. “It must have taken her ages to do all this.”
“Not really,” Steve chuckled. “She has, like, a whole team that comes in and puts it all together.”
“Oh, right. Of course.” Your gaze dropped and you gave a regretful shake of your head. Rich people stuff, you thought a bit bitterly. No wonder that hadn’t occurred to you. “But…you must decorate the tree together, at least. Right?”
“No, they do that too. I’ve, uh…I’ve never actually never decorated a tree for Christmas. I kind of thought that was just something they did in movies.”
He huffed out a laugh, trying to hide the sadness that had started to pollute his smile, and rubbed the back of his head, tugging at the hair there that curled along the nape of his neck.
All you could do was stare.
You thought about that gleaming, twelve-foot behemoth downstairs with its dazzling lights and ornaments all spaced and hung so perfectly. It was stunning—looked like something straight out of a magazine. But now it was tinged with something hollow and unsatisfactory.
Cold. Fake. Empty.
It was you who stepped closer this time, the muscles in your arm tensing as if fighting against your brain’s instructions to reach out and touch him. He was close enough now you could feel the warmth coming off his body and smell the spice of his cologne and the clove cigarette he must have smoked. Your lips trembled, parted slightly, still searching for what to say.
But words refused to come.
“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” Steve soothed, flashing you that easy and charming smile you’d grown to love and loathe in equal measure. “I just meant, like, Christmas really isn’t a big deal to me. And neither is this party, honestly, but…”
He fell silent as his hand reached out to squeeze your elbow, the soft pad of his thumb rubbing gently across your forearm. You stared mutely at his hand where it rested, already dreading how cold it would feel there when he let go of you. Except he didn’t.
“I’m really happy you’re here, though,” he said.
Steve’s chest rose with a sharp inhale and the tip of his tongue swiped along his bottom lip to wet it. His head tilted towards you, a few stray pieces of hair falling into his eyes that were bright and shiny with the string lights around the window reflecting in them.
It made your own breath catch, praying you weren’t imagining it as he started to lean in.
“Sorry to interrupt.”
You and Steve flew apart like shrapnel, both of you too wrapped up in the steady draw of your bodies together to notice the heavy thump of Eddie’s footsteps in the hall. Steve’s hand came up automatically to run through his hair, dragging up the bottom of his sweater and flashing the briefest glimpse of torso as his arm lifted. It made your mouth dry as a bone.
“I just realized I forgot about my hostess gift,” Eddie said.
His brow cocked at you and yet another little smirk curved along his lips as he brushed past, nudging you ever so subtly back in Steve’s direction. He then started to rifle through the inside pockets of his leather jacket until he exhumed a plastic bag with a few joints inside.
“Got it!” he chimed, holding it up triumphantly. “Merry Christmas, Stevie.”
The little baggie sailed through the air, crinkling when it hit Steve in the center of his chest.
“Oh! Thanks, man,” he chuckled, fumbling to catch it. “That’s great.”
Turning it over in his hands, he paused, mulling in silence as he stared down at the joints and glanced over his shoulder at the open doorway. From downstairs, you could now hear the faint tinkling of a piano being played and Eddie noticeably winced at the first few warbled notes of an unrecognizable carol being sung by a particularly drunk chorus.
“You know,” Steve said slowly. “We could bail on the party. Take this out to the pool house?”
As soon as he asked, his eyes darted up to meet yours—interrupting your intense study of the side of his face. Round and hopeful, they shone with his earnestness and you felt dizzy all over again. It made your brain scramble, trying to act like you weren’t just consumed by thoughts of what might or might not have been about to happen. You smiled.
“What are we waiting for?”
Steve left the lights off in the pool house, not wanting to draw too much attention if someone wandered onto the patio for some fresh air. The three of you made your way out in shifts—you with a plate of decadent treats you’d filled from the long table of desserts, Eddie with one loaded with food he’d swiped from the circulating trays, and Steve with a bottle of champagne he’d snuck out of the kitchen while the caterers were distracted.
The satisfying pop of its opening bounced off the walls that were mostly windows, sounding all the more illicit and clandestine in the darkness. The contents of the bottle fizzed as he held it out, offering you the first swig, and you took it with a nimble grasp.
Bubbly liquid splashed on your tongue and the dry, almost acidic, taste of it surely would have impressed someone with a more refined palette. But it made you wrinkle your nose as you squinted to read the French name scrawled in a loopy script on the shield shaped label.
“Gross, right?” Steve chuckled as you handed the bottle back. “But it gets the job done.”
He took a deep swig, head tipping back and giving you a long, long moment to study his neck as the muscles flexed with his swallow. You stared shamelessly, transfixed by the pairs of moles that sat along the line of his strong jaw, your head empty of thoughts except how much better that champagne would taste if you were licking it from his lips.
Eddie coughed, all loud and fake, drawing both of your eyes to him where he sat on a rattan sofa in the center of the room. He stared at you expectantly as he slouched down further in his seat, his knees spread wide and his arms draped across the back. He’d wasted no time making himself more comfortable, loosening the evergreen tie you’d made him wear and rolling up the sleeves of the dress shirt he normally only broke out for funerals or the odd court appearance.
“Don’t I get some of that?” he asked with a wry smirk.
Steve hurried to offer him the champagne, wiping away a little dribble of it that had started to trickle down his chin. You followed behind and slotted into a chair adjacent to Eddie’s as Steve handed off the bottle, making your brain short circuit when you saw the way his wide grasp nearly engulfed the entire bottom. It didn’t restart until he settled in the seat next to you.
After taking his sip, Eddie sparked up one of the joints and started it in a rotation along with the champagne. After only a few pulls from each you started to feel the effects, your head getting all light and floaty, your body warming from the blood pumping through you, your skin buzzing from the way your fingers kept brushing Steve’s whenever you passed him the joint or the bottle.
Or maybe it was from the way his eyes lingered on yours when you did.
Eventually, you dropped out of the rotation and sank back in your chair to gaze up at the house. The whole thing seemed to glow with the warmth of the party within, its windows bright yellow, the lights twinkling on the eaves. And the snowfall had remained soft and steady, dusting everything with a fine layer of white like powdered sugar.
The picture was immaculate, like a life-size snow globe. If Steve’s mother had somehow managed to pay Mother Nature as a decorator, it wouldn’t surprise you in the slightest.
“Seriously, Harrington,” Eddie snorted, evidently sharing in your bewilderment. “If all this is just the weekend before, I’m scared to ask what your family does for the main event.”
A deep chuckle bubbled out of his chest as he took a long swig of the rapidly draining bottle. He’d said it mostly as a joke, but Steve’s reaction revealed a nerve had been struck. He began to cough, sputtering out his words as he pulled the smoldering joint from between his lips.
“Oh no, it’s not—they aren’t, uh…they won’t be here.”
His eyes darted to the floor as he shook his head and stammered out his non-answer, wearing that same look on his face you’d seen in the guest room. Half-sad and trying to hide it.
“What do you mean?” Eddie asked. Steve just shrugged.
“They always go away for Christmas. I think it’s St. Barts this year. Maybe Turks and Caicos? Their flight is sometime tomorrow night.”
“Wait, so…they just leave you here?” you asked. “By yourself?”
Steve shrugged and shook his head again, the move almost reflexive, like flinching away from the sting of alcohol cleaning a fresh wound. “A nanny would stay with me when I was little. But from the time I was old enough…yeah, pretty much.”
You and Eddie’s eyes met, the same unthinkable thought seemingly crossing your minds. You actually felt bad—not just bad, but sad—for Steve Harrington.
“It’s not so bad, seriously,” he said, all flustered trying to salvage the mood. “I just hang out and watch movies and eat pizza. It’s fun. Honest.”
Despite his attempts, you can’t help but frown as you think what Steve’s Christmas will look like. His big house that was bursting at the seams with people right now being cold and desolate; him sitting all alone at a long dining room table eating leftover appetizers for every meal.
The thought tugged at something buried deep inside you. Something you’d packed away long ago and shoved into the furthest recesses of your mind. A box wrapped and taped and stapled and tied shut and then shoved behind a closet door. It made you turn to look at Eddie and he nodded knowingly, needing no words to know what you wanted him to say.
“You should come over,” he said, speaking so suddenly it came out loud in the tense quiet.
Steve’s head lifted. “What?”
“To me and Wayne’s,” Eddie supplied. “For Christmas Eve. We have dinner together and watch old movies and play games and shit. With this one.”
He jerked his thumb at you and you smiled as Steve’s eyes flitted over to meet your gaze.
“Only because they can’t cook to save their lives,” you said, shooting him a wink that made the corners of his mouth curl upwards.
“It’s not gonna be like this,” Eddie assured. “But it’s something, you know?”
“That, um…” Steve looked down at his lap, his long lashes fluttering as he tried to blink back the beginnings of tears. “That sounds really nice.”
Your hand moved without permission, reaching out to close around his wrist and squeeze. Steve’s head turned, staring at it like he thought he was dreaming. And as your brain suddenly caught up with the action and your body flooded with embarrassment, you started to pull it back only to feel the warmth of his palm covering your hand to hold it in place.
The only sound in the room was yours and Steve’s soft breathing and you swore you could feel the way both of your pulses were racing in time. His eyes lifted to meet yours and you became entranced all over again by his handsome face, the freckles that dotted his tanned skin, hazel eyes that shimmered as he scanned your expression, the deepness of his cupid's bow.
“I, um…I should check in with my mom real quick. You guys, uh…sit tight.”
Steve sputtered out his words as he rose to his feet, leaving your skin cold as he pulled his hands from yours. He looked around, his eyes searching to land on anything besides you or Eddie as he turned and stumbled towards the door. Eddie watched you watch Steve leave, an expression on his face as bemused as it was mocking.
“Jesus Christ, you two are exhausting.”
He shook his head, laughing to himself as he stuffed the last of the appetizers in his mouth. You glared back at him as he chewed and tried not to think about how your hand still burned where the ghost of Steve’s warmth remained.
“What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on. If I knew I was gonna have to watch you make googly-eyes at each other all night, I could have stayed home. I get enough of that as it is.”
“We’re not—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Eddie scoffed. “You are. He is. Just make a move, already.”
It was actually painful rolling your eyes as hard as you did. “Right. Sure. And what kind of move am I supposed to make? Considering how he ran out of here just because I touched his arm?”
“You’re not serious, are you? You’re pulling my dick, right?”
Eddie hunched forward as you deadpanned him, answering with a slow blink of your eyes and humorless expression until he threw his head back in a loud laugh.
“He had a fucking boner, smartass!” he cackled.
It’s not only your cheeks that warm now, but your whole body igniting like a bonfire. The feeling grips your shoulders, it’s talons digging into your flesh, threatening to pierce it to the bone.
“Bullshit,” you whispered, your mind reeling.
“You think I don’t know Steve well enough to know when he goes from six to midnight? It happens literally any time you touch him.”
Eddie was still snickering to himself as he took a final puff of the joint that had been smoked down to a nub. You stared at your hands in your lap, thoughts going into overdrive. Because this wasn’t just some random guy at the Hideout or an ex-classmate hitting on you at a house party. This wouldn’t be just a fumbled touch, grabby hands groping blindly in a dark closet that you would recount to Eddie before he gave you the orgasm you’d sorely been denied.
This was Steve. This would be something. Wouldn’t it?
“Only one way to find out,” Eddie said, as though he could hear the question you were asking yourself. “Anything’s gotta be better than this.”
“But what if he—”
The rattle of the doorknob cut you off, your eyes darted to the door just as Steve pushed it open to slip back inside. Eddie’s dark curls fell forward, sliding off his shoulders as he leaned in.
“Just follow my lead,” he whispered.
Your eyes bulged in your skull, but before you could retort or argue, Steve had plopped back down in the chair next to you and your lips were effectively sealed.
“So the singing is still going on,” he chuckled. “But I think everyone will head home soon. We aren’t missing much.”
“That’s okay.” Eddie groaned softly into a stretch as he settled back into his reclined position. “I’m sure we can think of something to do.”
Heat flooded your core at his insinuating tone and you sat up a little straighter. He let his head loll to the side, his eyes finding yours automatically, dark irises glinting in the scant light.
“Hey…c’mere, doll.”
Eddie shifted down in his seat, rubbing his ringed hand across his thigh as an invitation. Maybe it was the weed. Maybe it was the fancy, and surely expensive, champagne you’d been sipping all night. Maybe it was the way Steve’s gaze followed you so intently as you stood and walked over to where Eddie sat on the wicker sofa. Whatever it was, it was working.
You laid your hands on his shoulders to steady yourself as you kneeled on the cushion next to him and went to straddle his lap. But his hands came up to grip your waist and stopped you.
“Uh-uh,” he said, motioning his index finger in a circle. “Other way.”
You hesitated, glancing from your crouched position over at Steve. His eyes smoldered in the darkness as he watched you—leaning forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees, his long fingers laced in front of him. With a hard swallow, you stood and turned.
Eddie jerked you back against him, roughly pulling you flush with his chest. His knees pushed between your own and he spread them wide so your legs were held open, draped over the tops of his thighs. It made the skirt of your dress glide upwards, hem skimming the tops of your stockings, threatening to reveal the strips of bare skin between them and your panties.
His words from earlier still rang in your head. Follow my lead.
Well-worn hands splayed wide across your stomach, squeezing at the softness of your waist. Beneath you, his hips began to shift and the beginnings of his hard-on pressed insistently into the fat of your ass. It made you shiver all over, a gasp falling from your lips.
“So well behaved,” Eddie hummed, tracing the line of your jaw with his fingertips, suddenly gripping your chin in his hand to turn your face towards him. “She’s such a good girl, Stevie… and we have so much fun together…”
The words and the deep timbre of his voice sent more shivers down your spine as he bumped the tip of your nose with his own. He pecked lightly at your lips until they opened up for him, his tongue probing the warm cavern of your mouth until you were moaning into his kiss.
It was lazy, but punishing. He nipped gently at your top lip, his own feathering with a tiny snarl as he revered back to his conversation with Steve.
“Why don’t you tell her about that photo you found?” he asked, hot breath fanning across your cheek. “Tell her what you thought about it.”
Your gaze flashed to Steve’s and you wondered if there was more light in here whether you’d be able to see a rush of scarlet covering his cheeks. His eyes had gone round with nervous energy, but they remained locked onto yours as he spoke.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” he rasped, his voice almost cracking his throat was so tight. “I wish I could see it again, I…I wish it was me she’d done that for.”
The pit of your belly burned at his words, a breathy sigh fluttering in your chest and an exquisite ache now radiating between your legs. Eddie’s fingers trailed along the center of your body, over your sternum, tracing the dip of your navel through your dress until it quivered under his touch.
Slowly, he drew up the bottom of your dress like a curtain to reveal your core and the black lace your arousal had begun to seep through. The tips of his fingers stroked your entrance, mercilessly teasing your second set of lips.
“You wouldn’t believe how good she feels, Steve,” Eddie husked, his fingers holding their pace, making you grind into his lap. “Way better than that prissy cheerleader pussy you’re used to.”
The room filled with the sound of your breath and the wet schlick of Eddie’s fingers in your folds.
“Oh, sorry,” Eddie snickered. “I should say honor society pussy.”
Steve’s nostrils suddenly flared, his gaze tearing away from you and your body as if coming out of a trance. You looked back over your shoulder with a horrified look.
“Eddie—”
“Shush,” he snapped, cutting you off by plunging his fingers inside of you. They hooked upwards and your back bowed at the sudden stretch, a broken moan slipping past your lips. Steve’s eyes were drawn to your face at the sound, Eddie’s mention of his ex flying right out of his head.
“You want a taste, Harrington?” he asked, all dark and leading.
A little whimper escaped you at the thought and Eddie grinned wickedly. He smiled as he kissed the back of your neck, his teeth flashing as he nipped at your racing pulse.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, sweetheart? You’d like his tongue?”
“Y-yes,” you gasped, your eyes darting to find Steve’s. “Please.”
At your plaintive mewl, the very moment you asked, Steve instantly rose to his feet and hurried to kneel between yours and Eddie’s spread legs. His long fingers wrapped around the gusset of your underwear and he wrenched them to the side to reveal your dripping core.
He licked his lips as he stared at it, practically salivating. Your own lips trembled, fighting back the urge to cry out for him as you let your head fall back to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.
The wet heat of his tongue met your pussy in long, languid swipes. He nodded his head with each motion, dragging it through your folds as he inhaled deep and needy breaths of your scent like you were his air. His eyes burned with lust as he looked up from between your thighs, gauging your every reaction in the way you fluttered around his tongue.
With a trembling hand, you reached out and brushed your fingertips along his brow, skimming the stray pieces of hair that had fallen forward into his eyes. The intensity of his stare, the depth of his gaze, made you glow brighter even than that behemoth of a tree inside.
He sped up his movements, working you up, the tip of his tongue pointed to swirl in a pattern as magical as it was maddening, flicking it teasingly over your clit and making you clench with each too-quick pass. At the same time, you felt Eddie’s hand creep up between your shoulder blades, fingers weaving into your hair to grasp it at the root. He gave it a firm tug and pulled your head back, bringing his lips to your ear so he could whisper to you—deep and rough and just loud enough for Steve to hear.
“Why don’t you tell him how long you’ve wanted this, huh?”
Another pitiful whimper left your lips as Eddie’s other hand squeezed a little more intensely at your chest, tweaking your nipple through your dress, loving how it made you tremble.
“Si-since Junior year,” you panted. “When he w-won the state swim meet…”
Just the thought of that day nearly has you flooding Eddie’s lap and Steve’s mouth. Your mind filled with the memories of it—visions of him in a Speedo that confirmed just about every rumor you’d ever overheard in the girl’s locker room; his arm and back muscles rippling as he pushed himself out of the pool; water spilling over freckled skin, droplets collecting on his shoulders and running down, down, down to where the small of his back met the fullness of his ass.
You had sat in the stands, thighs pressing together, feeling almost perverted staring while he celebrated with his teammates and whipped off his swim cap, his wild hair exploding out of it and making you wonder how he’d even managed to fit it all underneath in the first place.
The mere mention of his glory days seemed to have a similar effect on Steve. The movements of his tongue and lips turned more fervent, more determined to unspool you as he moaned like he’d never tasted anything as good as you.
Tremors began to roll through your body, making your thighs twitch and spasm.
“Tell him how good it feels,” Eddie husked, hips now punching up to create some friction against his own cock as it strained inside his dress pants. “Tell him how much you like it.”
“Yes, Steve, fuck—I love it so much,” you whined. “Keep going, I need it.”
The pretty lilt and waver of your voice had Steve unraveling before your very eyes. Another low groan rumbled from deep in his chest and he buried his face further, more eagerly, in your heat.
“God, you taste so fucking good, honey,” he moaned. “I could do this all night.”
The thought of having his mouth on you all night is enthralling, but there was no way you would last. You were barely going to make it another minute as it was. Steve was too good.
Every flick, every swipe, every swirl of his tongue you could feel in your entire body. Pleasure rushed across you in waves, a torturous winding upwards, that burning feeling deep in your gut coiling tighter, tighter. Your breaths grew shallow and your pulse raced until you were shaking in Eddie’s lap, fighting so hard to keep your legs spread apart that they shook from the effort.
Steve’s hands came up to grasp at your thighs, his fingers squeezing at the meat of them as he kept you pried open for him to ravish. Like a man possessed, he lapped and sucked and kissed at your entrance, his whole body seeming to move along with the motions of his tongue and lips. Beneath you, the wicker couch suddenly slid backwards and you realized it was because he had tried to grind against it—desperate to feel something, anything, against his cock.
Wishing it was you.
“C-close, close, I’m so close. Steve, I’m co—oohhh—”
Your orgasm rushed in, plowing through your body, making you lose all sense. You squirmed wildly in Eddie’s lap, almost having forgotten he was there until he reached around to give both of your nipples one last pinch—knowing how it always pushed you further over the edge.
Steve’s lips never left your clit and his eyes never left your face as he ushered you into your climax. He stared up at you, his eyes all glassy and round, searching for your reassurance as he rose from between your legs. His face hovered in front of yours and he lifted a hand to cup your jaw, his massive palm warm on your flushed skin as you panted to regain your breath.
“Good?” he asked. Hushed, like a prayer.
“So good,” you exhaled, chest still heaving. Your voice wobbled as you spoke, so overwhelmed with all your buried feelings being dredged to the surface. “Steve, that was—”
“Steven, honey? Are you out here?”
Every hair on Steve’s head went flying as he whipped his head around hearing his mother’s voice. Through the sheer curtains, he could see her as she stepped outside onto the porch, peering into the darkness, wrapping a fur stole tighter around her elegant cocktail attire.
Panic struck his face like lightning, his mouth hanging open, his lips and chin still shiny with your spend. He looked back at you, his cheeks nearly as deep red as the velvet ribbons hung all over his house. You scrambled off Eddie’s lap to stand, frantically straightening your dress and hair, nervously wiping at your lips that were swollen from biting down when you came.
“I, um…the party’s probably over,” Steve said. “I just have to say goodbye to some people.”
He ran his hands through his hair a few more times as he strode towards the door, even though any damage you’d done grabbing it must have been righted by now. You looked over at Eddie, your own eyes swirling with questions you were terrified to hear the answers to.
His shoulders bounced, standing to tuck his shirttail back into his dress pants.
“Well, that’s one way to do it.”.
Steve was waiting in the foyer with you and Eddie’s coats when you snuck in from outside. His parents, thankfully, were too occupied giving the caterers instructions for clean-up to exchange any pleasantries at the door. You could only imagine how that would go…
Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. I’m the girl your son made come all over his face in your pool house. What a lovely party, thank you so much for inviting us.
There was still a smile on Steve’s face, though it felt almost pasted on now compared to his expression when you first arrived, sort of forced in an attempt to look more normal than he felt. He handed off Eddie’s leather jacket and then held yours open, his eyes remaining glued to you as you turned and pushed your arms through the sleeves. His fingertips trailed along the nape of your neck as he helped straighten the coat on your shoulders, his index tracing its curve all the way to your hairline in a way that felt so intentional it made your skin buzz.
With your ears pounding from your heartbeat thundering in them, you spun around to face him, your lips parted to speak only for no words to come. Because what was there for you to say? Or for him to do? Kiss you? He hadn’t even done that during, would he do it now to say goodbye?
Steve’s handsome face was as conflicted and contorted as your own. A faint blush still dusted along his cheeks and his eyes shone bright from the candlelight coming off the tapers that had burned almost all the way out. At last he drew a breath, and you felt your heart stutter.
“Thank you for coming,” he said softly.
Eddie could barely contain the snort that burst out of him, even as he slapped a hand over his crooked smile and your eyes shot daggers straight into his chest.
You couldn’t get out the door fast enough.
There was only silence as the pair of you trudged along the driveway to the street where Eddie had parked his van, the snow on the ground having melted into slush mottled with gray where it mixed with excess oil on the road. Without the glow of the Christmas lights coming off the rest of the houses in the neighborhood, the darkness of Steve’s street now felt oppressive.
It made you walk a little quicker to the van, your hand curled tight around the passenger side door handle waiting for Eddie to unlock it. As the two of you climbed inside the cab, he cranked the engine and flipped open the air vents for the heat to blast, finally breaking his silence as you yanked your door shut behind you with a sharp tug.
“Look, I’m sorry. Okay? I thought I was helping,” Eddie muttered, his hands gripping tight around the steering wheel. “You were being so fucking obvious, I thought you needed a push.”
His chunky rings glinted in the street light as he busied himself messing with the radio, static scratching in your ears as he searched for something besides Christmas music.
“Are you really mad?” he asked, still fiddling with the dial, barely able to look at you.
You shook your head.
“I just…I don’t know, I feel like it’s weird now.” You let your face fall into your hands and shook your head furiously. “I mean, was that totally fucked up? To do that?”
“Nah, that wasn’t fucked up,” Eddie said assuredly.
He sounded confident enough that you let your shoulders actually relax and finally expelled the breath you were holding. The relief was short-lived though, when Eddie piped up again.
“I’ll tell you what might be, though.”
With a heavy sigh, you looked over at him warily. “What?” you asked.
Eddie sighed as he slumped back against the seat. His foot rested on the gas pedal and he pressed it down lightly, barely revving the engine to get some hot air flowing from the vents.
“When he comes over for Christmas Eve.”
Thank you so much for reading, I appreciate any time taken to read/comment endlessly ♥️
Started on this last year in December so that should tell you everything you need to know about my writing process. Enjoy some Christmas in whatever-month-you’re-reading-this. 😉
#steve harrington#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington smut#steve harrington one shot#steve harrington fanfiction#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson smut#eddie munson one shot#eddie stranger things#eddie munson x female reader#eddie munson fanfic
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People on Twitter will see me one bad Winnie the Pooh adaption and start claiming that the Public Domain was a mistake.
#people are getting way to comfortable with unjust intellectual property laws#public domain#winnie the pooh#disney#intellectual property
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Цветы корицы, аромат сливы by Анна Коростелева.
This novella was originally posted in 2009 and has been available for free ever since. It was bound as a birthday gift for a friend.
Blossoms of cinnamon, aroma of plum (which is the title) is a story about a Chinese student that comes to Moscow via an exchange program, seemingly by mistake, and unexpectedly uncovers some of his family’s secrets. It’s very witty and funny, and has a mystical twist. The title is supposed to be a saying that means “being something other than what you appear to be”.
So, I decided to combine classic Chinese design elements with interesting twists. So, I have a good luck knot with a tassel for a bookmark, but the colors used in the design are very modern ones (and also are favorites of the birthday girl). This is a regular Bradel binding, but it has an imitation of the classic Chinese stab binding on the spine.
The title spread features a public domain print by Hu Zhen-Yang.
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If not for the 3 paged book, what details on the image itself gave it away?
Let's look at it! For those who missed it, this is the image in question:
we already have a bad habit of disconnecting this sort of over the top high fantasy work from its creators (Angus McBride, Dave Mattingly, etc), which makes it easy to pass around in a memetic manner and kind of forget it's art in the first place. We tend to think of it almost as clipart, something generic, thomas kincade for people who play d&d. this makes it easily replicable and ripe for misuse, because people are less likely to seek out the source for something that already feels familiar and ubiquitous-- surely this is just public domain stuff, right?
Well, of course not. These days its easier than ever to just slap in a prompt that gives you something ALMOST familiar but not able to be meaningfully reverse searched, and that's how you end up with the current crisis on print sites and sellers like craggyscorner dot com, from where this image comes.
So how can you tell the familiar from the outright false? Some of the other images on the site this is from have better examples, but I'll stick with this one. Here are a few things to spot!
1.) I'll get the meaty, weird hand out of the way first. Hands aren't a reliable tell every time, but the fucked-up little thumb makes this one nice and obvious for us.
2.) There is hair randomly visible despite his being hooded; the ripples of the fabric and the hair also seem to merge.
3.) The columns do not match in pattern or width, nor do the capitals on them make any sense. The brickwork also follows no pattern-- mistakes not made by someone of this ostensible rendering skill.
4.) His knees extend way, way far out from his body and he appears to have three of them.
5.) This is a big one: AI struggles with defining edges on things, and often contours edges of background items to warp and match ones in the foreground-- think of how edited instagram photos warp bricks behind the subject. The visual is similar to that. This can be seen to a lesser degree in many places on the image, such as the book by the hand, or the bricks along his backside.
6.) Escher architecture. Again, not a professional mistake.
7.) ?????? He does not appear to have feet. The image politely fudges itself behind the text.
8.) Lastly, the robes are just a mess. AI doesn't really understand seams, or layers, or really how clothes work at all, which is how he ends up with what appears to be two hoods and a chiffon wrap around his waist. The folds and shadows are busy enough to be believable at a glance but they hide that nothing appears to look.... correct.
Also just for fun I tried to do my most charitable drawover of his anatomy. Yeah.
Can you spot more problems? You probably can.
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another book that was a christmas gift for my friend benney! i cannot show off the interior much, because this book is not public domain stuff, it's fanfiction, and i'm still working on a second copy as a surprise gift to the author (>w<) so if you somehow recognize the text, shhhh! don't tell!!
anyway, the margins on the cover board got a little wonky on this copy, because i was still learning to trim pages when i did this and did not do the most even/level job of it. ah, well. its a mistake to learn from i suppose
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I haven't posted in a while cause I liked doing big posts on Tumblr.
Been working on a new series of proxies using updated versions of an older frame of mine and a public-domain/stock-owned trained generator. The idea is focusing on what I am actually good at which is graphic design and art editing. Personally, I like the results. We have an Art Nouveau-inspired set, we got a Kaiju 80's anime set...
Hell we even got a set of lands inspired by the gameboy! So, this is *not* real pixel art. This is the part of the card I find interesting, the most. It is the result of a pretty complex script I wrote for Photoshop that takes a (rather poorly done) AI pixel art (in full 32 colors) that is about 8 times the size of this, uses an algorithm to try to correct for common pixel art errors, then resizes it (dithering patterned) to the right size for the GB (but a bit wider), rescales it again (NN) to 4x size, applies color filtering to the GB 4 colors, then adds in a faux pixel gird (its not perfect). I edit it before the grid for mistakes/errors. That image (below) is filtered onto the screen of the token PSD. The land as a whole was made in Illustrator, and Photoshop, and used Firefly (I have a commercial license) for the stock image pixel art.
Also doing some tokens :) Been a busy last two months of work. This shouldn't be a surprise but most AI "art" is really poorly composed and riddled with errors. A lot of them I can edit, paint over, etc, but there's a lot I simply cannot. But it is also obvious which stuff I did earlier and which I did recently; as Ive gone at it It has gotten so much easier to do larger re-paints and edits. So I'm hopeful.
#magicthegathering#graphicdesign#mtg#art#edh#tcg#mtgtokens#magic the gathering#Magic Proxies#mtg proxy#technology#adobe photoshop
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Mariner's Rinds
3.6k words | Wriothesley/Neuvillette
tags: sexual content, dubious consent, dom/sub undertones
Happy birthday to my dearest @denimecho, my sweet cheese. My good time boy. This is fic based on his beautiful Wriollette artwork.
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The Fortress of Meriopode: the imposing stronghold in abyssal drink, a long-standing and lone custodian. The principle of such a being meant protection for those of the outside world or a cautionary tale. Thus, the wonders of the institution were unknown to the general public and untouched by the hand of the judicial court. Insofar as it involved the affairs of the underground, it was Wriothesley’s domain. Except the Iudex stood at the threshold of his office, looking as discrepant in all his glory as he always did.
“Well,” Wriothesley said with raised brow, “this is a surprise.”
"Hello," Neuvillette stepped forward like a haze, slow and uninterrupted.
“Hello?" Wriothesley smiled, "I welcome you with open arms, make no mistake, but there was no prior notice of your arrival.” He set his teacup down, “call it a hunch, but aren’t you usually very proper with such things?”
He slots his fingers in the space between Neuvillette’s neck and jaw, cold like ice, smooth like leather, and watches the way his head tilts back against Wriothesley’s shoulder in consequence. Silence. It makes the roaring in his ears sound like discomforted static and his own breathing, laboured, rolls out in sharp intervals.
He feels Neuvillette’s heartbeat, slow, stilted, irregular, through the membrane of his own.
“I must apologise. My arrival was sudden, even to me." Neuvillette said, his voice at once cutting and balming, “I do recognise the disruption my presence here may entail, and I assure you, my stay won't be long.” Not a single hair out of place. Noble, and immaculate.
“Nonsense. My doors are always open to you. As a matter of fact, I feel as though I’m always the one asking you to stay, only to meet with your insistent departures. Please,” he gestured to the seat by his desk. “But really, this is quite peculiar. Have you come to chide me?”
“I cannot imagine what for.”
The quiet stretched and Wriothesley replied with a mild, “neither can I.”
Neuvillette said, “In truth, my duties required me nearby, though matters were resolved quite… efficiently, to say the least. I daresay my presence was not needed.”
“Ah, the reconstitution meetings, is it? You had to oversee that?”
Neuvillette nodded.
“The council is ruthless.” Wriothesley chuckled despite himself. By natural inclination, Neuvillette remained the highest authority of Fontaine but the nobility would always be the first to bow down to it, and simultaneously undermine it.
“If I had known the gravity of their cases, I would have scheduled our times accordingly. I’m not suggesting their concerns should be disregarded, however for the time being, I believe Imena to be capable on her lonesome.” He paused, as though reliving the brunt of insipid chatter, but whatever bitterness Wriothesley was searching for showed no trace. “Nevertheless, I had a great deal of time on my hands, and since my visit to Qiaoying Village, I confess I’ve made a habit of, as one would say, ‘loitering.’ As of late.”
Wriothesley looked up. “Oh?” So the observer has abdicated.
“Before I knew it,” Neuvillette said, “I found myself here.”
Neuvillette’s eyes are hidden behind grey tresses but Wriothesley imagines the slits dilating, darkening. Then he imagines hardly anything. The column of Neuvillette’s neck is submerged by a faint red, giving the appearance of having drunk too much liquor. Its contrast is slight, but drastic on Neuvillette's flesh; he finds it brings him down to physicality and in Wriothesley's handling.
He grabs Neuvillette’s wrists, holds them up and the colour travels to his ears, which Wriothesley traces with fervour.
“Aha, how quaint. I imagine it is nothing short of a spectacle for the folk to see you out and about.”
Neuvillette looked hesitant, but Wriothesley was patient. “Regardless, I wished to ask: does your invitation for tea have an expiration date?”
“Course not, Monsieur Neuvillette.” The smile on Wriothesley’s face was unreserved, stretching easy on his face. “I’m way ahead of you.”
The room is warm, warm - his steel ice office has never been so humid. Neuvillette’s skin is jumping under his touch, pulling him in: teasing him out.
The tea he poured was a hearty homage to Neuvillette’s new ventures. Liyue’s specialty was herbal and demure, best suited for night, just as one was on his last ream of paperwork. Wriothesley watched with no obstacle as the mug pressed red into Neuvillette’s white palms.
“I am not disrupting your duties, am I?”
“No, no, you came at the perfect time. ” Wriothesley waved, “what is this I’m hearing about loitering?”
“Well, it is still quite rare that I do. My duties still occupy me for the majority of the day, and I have a sense that my workload will double in the near future. However,” Neuvillette said, a frown twisting the corner of his lips, “it has come to my attention that it may prove worthwhile.”
“And what are your findings?”
“That remains to be seen, I’m afraid.” Neuvillette lowered his gaze. The corners of his eyes and lips rounded, becoming softer, more malleable. Those features were best blessed under the night sky, and Wriothesley’s office was kept dim for a reason. Regardless, the light from the outside was not inclined to penetrate through to the ocean floor.
He is clinically, accurately precise when he wants to be, but finds that its never what he wants, with Neuvillette. He can’t help but shove him into book cases, bend him over desks, pin him against limestone. Now, to the thrum of frenzy, his palm splayed on the small of Neuvillette’s back forces an arch too bowed to be painless.
For a brief moment, the intensity of his own stare was not known to him and when he came to, he almost startled. He considered winding up the gramophone but stopped himself; Neuvillette at his most serene was in the quiet.
“It’s a good look on you.” He said, voice ahead of mind.
“Do you think so?”
Wriothesley cast his eyes away and to the far corner of his office, on a cabinet closest to the doors. It was crowned by a legal codex. He jerked his thumb in the direction of it.
“How else would this trophy of mine get to me?”
Neuvillette took a long sip of his tea, staring at the structure with bemusement. “Is it wise to have it on display like this?”
“Absolutely,” Wriothesley said, “not.” He flashed the Iudex a smile. “It’s home is in the storage room, as promised. I just like taking it out sometimes.”
“That is peculiar. For what reason?”
“Of course, it reminds me…
His hunger feels like it will never be quelled. It’s been there since his creation, merely dormant. Suppressed. Deactivated. A sigh escapes Neuvillette, quiet and like a song, and Wriothesley reconsiders.
“…of my appreciation of you. Our connection if you will,”
Some part of him knows his touch is audacious, that he's treating Neuvillette too lightly, as if he were an object. As if he were a thing Wriothesley owns. But his hands are made to be on Neuvillette’s body, and he grips his shoulder, his hip, and Neuvillette stills under it. Neuvillette stays where Wriothesley puts him.
“-and the code that I must dutifully live by.”
Wriothesley clenches his jaw, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple as he reminds himself: be gentle, be gentle. He shapes his consciousness back into its automated material and concentrates, until he doesn’t, and then he does what he likes. He grips Neuvillette’s hardened thigh, the tips of his fingers tracing the thin skin of the inside.
Neuvillette stared.
“And, of course, I had to have Clorinde bear witness to my earnings.”
Neuvillette gave a slow nod. “I hope it satisfied her expectations.”
“Oh, she was very impressed by the craftsmanship.” Wriothesley rose from his seat, and moved towards the slab of stone. He picked it up with tenderness, stroked a thumb over the engraving with a fond eye. “In fact, I, myself, have started to segue into a great fondness for the arts. Finally, a fitting citizen of this country, no?”
Neuvillette disagreed, “I highly doubt it deserves this calibre of praise. Please remember, it was conceived merely in jest.”
“Even your jokes are pristine, then.”
“I do not know what to say to that.”
Wriothesley let out an amused breath.
Once more, he used the moment to reassess the situation; Neuvillette, Chief Justice of Fontaine, sitting in his office, having tea. He would appreciate the absurdity of it all if the man himself weren’t such a distracting contrast amongst his belongings. Timeless and stoic, unbound by teacups and velvet settees.
“Now, Monsieur Neuvillette,” Wriothesley crossed his arms, lax against his chair. “I must say, I do not hate engaging in pleasantries with you. However, it also stands that I have not yet known you to involve yourself.”
“You are right; I was, and am, unfamiliar to the need. This a first attempt of sorts.”
“You’ve been doing a lot of those recently… oh, let me refill that. ‘Scuse me.”
Neuvillette reached out for the pot but Wriothesley, steeled by reflex, grabbed his wrist before he could intervene. Not unkindly. A beat, and Neuvillette’s arm went lax in Wriothesley's hold, and he grabbed the pot himself. The kettle on his worktable was the only household appliance in his office, filling the office with a muted hum.
Neuvillette is sturdy, solid and damp, and letting out a breath as a strong grip kneads the meat of his breast. The curve of Neuvillette’s neck lies bare as his hair slips before his shoulders, and his steady exhales becomes the symphony of the evening.
Neuvillette holds himself up where Wriothesley places him, always. Idle where Wriothesley mouths at the mound of his neck and shoulder, going easily when shoved. Wriothesley pushes in and there’s a solid thump of a fist, green veins protruding from Neuvillette's pale forearms.
He pulls him closer, pushes him back. He guides the ancient entity forward so his forearms presses into book spines as Wriothesley violates him again and again.
Wriothesley places a grip on the back of Neuvillette’s neck, perhaps to tame if he thrashes, but he is still, so still. A monument that stands solid through the passage of time, purely and painfully ornamental.
Neuvillette eventually said, “it seems to have become a curiosity of mine.”
“Oh? Very well, then.” Wriothesley switched the kettle on and gave him a nod, “take the reins.”
Neuvillette’s lips worked around words that were silent, and then stopped moving altogether.
The articulation of those lips had been embedded in Wriothesley’s wiring the moment they delivered his verdict. When he spoke, motion was minimum, the cadence of his voice a soft imprint against ego: at once, nullifying and devastating. But if Neuvillette was careless, then call Wriothesley naive. The entity’s biggest crimes were his scarcity and fortitude.
“The process of reconstruction has posed significant challenges.” Neuvillette said after pause. The same low timbre from twenty years ago. “As you know, the termination of the Oratrice means the ease of this transition is my priority. I would like to know where you stand in all of this.”
Wriothesley laughed, “Ah, it has become work-related again. But that’s okay. I won’t be surprised when the shock dissipates and we find ourselves swamped down here too. People have already started to notice the state we’re in. You’ve read my reports, haven’t you? We are at the cusp of an interim.”
“I indeed have. It provided great clarification.”
Neuvillette's warmth all around him, a suffocation and a vice that promises to sever but Wriothesley yanks the tail of his coat out of the way and kicks his legs apart. And then takes him again. Raises him higher, higher, until Neuvillette is searching for better purchase. A grunt leaves his throat, thrust out with how hard Wriothesley’s muscles flex and then strain, and further ripples through his skin.
“And I’ve read your proposal. I stand by it.”
“I am grateful to hear that,” Neuvillette said, though the corner of his lips creased. “Fontaine has never been without an Archon. It seems I’ve misunderstood the effects of such a phenomenon.”
“This is not really a commonplace thing…”
“That much is irrefutable. As it stands, I have been faced with a series of novelties I may not be equipped to deal with.”
“You’re worried?”
“I would only like to enact what is best for Fontaine,” Neuvillette explained, and Wriothesley was once again reminded of a sorrowful form of a man barred of its features, staring down at him from a high throne. “It is not my capability per se, but my status that may destabilise the prospect of moderation. I am not asking for reassurance, rather, it is in that line of thinking that calls for perspectives outside of my own.”
Wriothesley hummed, pouring the tea with mechanical tenderness. “So that’s what this is about. You’ve seen the movements, haven’t you?” I thought I took care of that.
“It would be arrogant to assume there would not be any to resent my state of being.”
“Sure,” Wriothesley said, “If you ask me, it’ll be some time before it becomes an issue. Any semblance of visibility or violence right now is scoured by the loss of Focalors, and those who carry these sentiments lack the manpower and the influence. Trust me on this.”
Neuvillette spent a long time digging into his irises. Then he placed his tea back on the table. “I see now that it was reckless of me to have left.”
“You, reckless? Why, that’s not in your dictionary,” Wriothesley’s grim smile was concealed by his teacup, but Neuvillette caught onto details far faster than formalities anyway. “Though I actually think it best to lay low just as you are. No one is better suited for this than you.”
His other hand plants over Neuvillette’s stomach as he forces the man back against him, the muscles tensing hard under his palm, and a shaky inhale wanes as soon as it starts. Neuvillette’s hands find Wriothesley’s wrists; all else is insufficient in holding him up. Neuvillette is — cold and tight and addictive.
He peels back layer by layer, smoothing hands over skin, until he finds him raw and pink and ripened.
“Why do you say that?”
“The people here have grown accustomed to its idols. They are used to performance and machinations. I’m assuming you don’t intend to pick up where Miss Furina left off?”
Neuvillette blinked. “Of course not.”
“I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds with my opinion. You, as a public figure, are not defined by archaic concepts such as ‘justice,’” Wriothesley jerked his chin, “but duty. In you, people see the vision already, and they will see that things will not be returning to the status quo. In fact, your transparency is what the nation needs right now, so give them that.” He paused, and shrugged, “or don’t. They’ve already had their sweethearts.”
“I see your point, Your Grace.” Neuvillette murmured, chin in hand. “I… will not pretend to comprehend the dynamics of human relationships. Despite my efforts to understand, each time I feel I’ve gained insight, a new facet eludes me." He looked troubled. "I’d initially hoped to salvage this with contributions. Gifts. Though it appears that those around me have emphasized the significance of my departure, instead. Needless to say, your advice has been highly valuable."
His palms drag heavy over Neuvillette’s hips to the back of a firm, thick thigh. He can feel Neuvillette brace himself when he forces his leg up in a firm hold, and the closeness presses him deeper inside. He’s a machine running on the fumes of Neuvillette’s wreckage. He’s a nexus of unstable energy contained by the wet clasp of Neuvillette, who remains untainted by mortal devices.
The thick expanse of a shoulder so regal, so close to him, and Wriothesley sinks his teeth into it as his vision spots.
“You do better than you think.” Wriothesley said with a small smirk, “and you’ll have to tell me more about Liyue some time.”
“Very well.” Neuvillette said. “I’ll have a detailed review for you at a later date. Perhaps I’ll squeeze in another visit before we next meet.”
"You do that." Wriothesley hummed, scratching the side of his head, “still, though. To think a day would come where the overworld and the underworld would find a middle ground.”
The tendency to believe punishment started in Meriopode will never stop being a point of focus for him. It was as deeply amusing as Neuvillette's antics. There was a short pause where Neuvillette studied his face.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” Wriothesley smiled. He grabbed Neuvillette’s cup, refilling it. “Up there resembles down here with each passing day, is all I’m saying.”
The wrinkles that appeared when Neuvillette furrowed his brow were also decorative, an adaptation of warm blood. His scrutiny never failed to thrill Wriothesley because it reduced the entity into somewhat of a reflection, laying the groundwork to be scrutinised in the same manner. Here, it wouldn’t surprise him had Neuvillette taken his leave, appeased with their exchange. Instead, Neuvillette followed him.
“No more performances, I believe, is what you mean?”
“Everything is a performance,” Wriothesley said, offering Neuvillette’s teacup when the man leaned in close. He let the cold air stagnate around him, hindered only by Neuvillette’s breath. Except you. He let go of the cup. Neuvillette lingered, fingers secured around it.
He watched Neuvillette indulge himself in another sip, exhaling, and the sound sliced the silence into thick slivers. It encased the room like fog, like condensation, and Wriothesley’s palms tingled and his throat went dry.
Wriothesley forces parts of himself deep inside him. They shudder in unison, Wriothesley gasping, chasing for breath. He folds Neuvillette over, draping over him like second skin with his forehead pressed against the damp back of a strong, noble shoulder.
“It’s good,” Neuvillette murmured, and the world started spinning again.
It rushes into a geyser of a memory; nails against skin, the pulse of his throat, the feeling like hurtling liberation and abandonment, before Neuvillette can button himself back up and wash it away. A phantom of the fragment of solidity Wriothesley can mould him into, when he was under his hands.
“Now that’s a compliment indeed, coming from you.”
“Please. Your discernment in matters of tea surpasses mine. When you brew it…” Neuvillette trailed off, perhaps scanning Wriothesley in his entirety. It was always a breathless thing to have the Iudex’s full attention. “When you are the one brewing it, I have complete confidence in its quality.”
“Is that a fact?” Wriothesley said, pleased as day.
"Do you know me as one to lie?”
“Point taken. Have you lied once in the past millennium?”
“I must have, statistically, but put on the spot like that, it is a challenge to recall.”
“Doesn’t count. Omission doesn’t count, either. Oh, and that was a rhetorical question, by the way.”
“I… see.” Neuvillette cast him an unreadable look. “If you’ll allow me to say, the amount of lies you’ve told is sufficient for both our lifetimes.”
Wriothesley grasped his own chest. “Why, Iudex Neuvillette! You’re really getting the hang of things, aren’t you?”
The gentle clink of fine china, the notes of Neuvillette’s quiet tones, the submergence of a glass bottle under the sea. The tea was starting to grow cold. The better part of an hour he had kept the Chief Justice locked in his hollow underwater. A free spirit made tangible, like picking up water with the sole equipment of one’s hands. The sentiment settled into his palms and fingers like a desperate ache.
“This was pleasant, Duke Wriothesley. You have my thanks in accommodating me tonight.” Neuvillette folded his hands atop his knee. “As a token of my appreciation, please allow for our next meeting to be in my office. Though I do not hold a candle to your tea-making, it would be my honour to prepare the refreshments."
“Well, if you insist. Perhaps I shall.”
He waits for Neuvillette to say something. Anything.
The doors were too loud when they screeched open. Wriothesley had half a mind to fix that later. “Our next tea party aside, might one hope for your presence more often down here, considering the circumstances?”
Neuvillette fixed his eyes on him, considering. “That may be a likelier thing. Nevertheless, this was an unusual deviation that I do not foresee becoming a regular occurrence. Unfortunately my responsibilities remain unchanged.”
“Unchanged,” Wriothesley echoed, pausing. “That’s an interesting word to use in this climate of events. To think you may inspire unrest among the people here; would you not consider my own appearances to yield the same result? This place is my foundation, but this does not mean anything to new faces.”
He said quietly, "Wriothesley."
And there were a lot of new faces, though the number was not privy to Neuvillette. Wriothesley’s eyes were intent, and he took care not to slip a bit of himself outside, “it is the next chapter, dear Iudex. I am but an authority, just like you.”
Neuvillette’s face remained unchanged, though a long sigh escaped silently through the nose. His fingers twitched, imperceptible if Wriothesley was not so attuned to his movements. “Yes, I… you are not wrong. I will take it into consideration." And then short and swift, "I bid you goodnight.”
Nothing. Everything.
The door swung closed with an echo that resonated deep within his chambers. Wriothesley settled back in his seat, his fingers coiling together as he rested his chin.
Neuvillette leaves in silence, his pristine coat flowing behind him.
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Team Dark Week: Secret
Summary: Rouge is not envious of Shadow’s position. For @teamdarkweek.
500 words, no content warnings
---
People loved to talk about themselves. Rouge learned this in her very first days in the business. There was a lot you could learn by simply turning someone’s question back at them and letting them ramble on for a while. This was much preferable to the alternative.
She would’ve been mortified if she was in Shadow’s position. Everything about him was practically public domain, within the GUN headquarters, anyway. So maybe she’d done a little (a lot) of research on him during the days when he’d just escaped his stasis tube. So maybe she’d read a little (a lot) about the most horrific memory of his life from stale GUN records and put two and two together when she heard Shadow screaming in the middle of the night. Not her fault- she hadn’t expected to befriend him after all was said and done, let alone live with him.
The two aforementioned points above were why everything went sideways when Shadow asked an innocent little question.
“Do you have a family, Rouge?”
She paused the TV. That was her first mistake. If she’d left it on, she could’ve said that she didn’t hear him, which would likely scare him off from the question at all.
“Huh?” She tried anyway.
“Do you have a family?”
She glanced at him. That was her second mistake. He knew that she’d heard him now, and waited for her answer. The phrase “not really, what about you?” danced against her lips, but she caught herself before she actually said it. She hummed to give herself more time to think.
She settled on a reply. “Of course, but I’m not really in touch with them anymore. Too busy these days.”
“You could call them. Or text them, with the technology these days. It would be quick.”
Damn Shadow and his inability to pick up on context cues. “Oh, you know how it is.”
“I don’t. They’re your family. How could you not keep in touch with them?”
“You tell me.”
“Is there a reason you’re not in touch with them?”
“Look, how about we talk about this later? You’re making me miss my show.”
“You told me that this program on the television isn’t on a broadcast channel.” Shadow pointed to the Netflix logo in the corner of the pause screen.
“Why are you being so nosy all of the sudden?”
“Because I want to meet your family, if you have any.”
She’d been expecting a lot of reasons from him, but that wasn’t one of them.
“Unless there’s a reason I shouldn’t.” Shadow added to fill the silence.
It seemed that the edgelord finally caught the clue. “Perhaps.”
“I see.”
Shadow looked away. Rouge took the opportunity to hit ‘play’ on the remote. The characters onscreen started acting out their little sob stories again. Something about a cheating scandal. Rouge wasn’t paying much attention.
“You’re being unfair.” Shadow said.
“Life’s not fair, sweetheart. A girl can keep her secrets if she likes.”
“How fortunate.”
#teamdarkweek#shadow the hedgehog#rouge the bat#exploring the dynamic between these two just a touch more
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Got a bit of a different bookbinding post today. @renegadeguild got an ask from a new binder saying they were intimidated by everyone's gorgeous binds (me too, actually, some of you guys are scary good), and so they've asked people to share their first binds. And I realized I'd never even taken photos of my first one, so here it is, warts and all:
This is E.M. Forster's The Machine Stops, a public domain scifi short story that you can read for free at the link. The first reason I chose it was that it's an interesting story, and I'd bought a print-on-demand copy a few years previously that was just terrible. Baffling cover choices, basic errors in the typeset (like quotes that face the wrong way), weird size that didn't fit on my shelf; just not a good product. I couldn't do it with more indifference than the PoD people. The second reason was that I was too intimidated by the thought of asking a fic writer if I could bind their story and then producing something with a thousand sloppy beginner mistakes, and then they'd want to see photos and I'd have to show them this and it would have been mortifying, but Forster has been dead since 1970 so I could not disappoint him. It was very freeing. I bound it in 2021 as an experiment, to see if I liked this hobby enough to stick to it. The cover is green cardstock and faux leather scrapbook paper that I bought at... probably Hobby Lobby. I added the title later, as a practice project when I first got my Cricut; for the first two years of its existence it had a blank cover.
There are more photos under the cut!
In this photo we can see:
--Too much glue when attaching the leather-print paper, so it oozed out onto the cover.
--Cricut font too thin and too much heat/too long of a press, so the letters have gaps and the glue also oozed out here. It's a continuing theme with this bind.
--I tried to use a bone folder to give it a sharper hinge crease and accidentally pressed too hard and tore a hole in the paper; you can see this in the little white vertical line near the top of the hinge
The fore edge is not square. I actually don't remember why this happened. I may have eyeballed the board position when I made the case, or the paper may have slipped while the glue was wet, or I cut it crooked and didn't notice till later. Either way it's bad enough that the book doesn't stand on its own. There was a crooked man/who walked a crooked mile/and found a crooked sixpence/against a crooked stile./He bought a crooked cat/which caught a crooked mouse/and they all loved together in a little crooked house, and I bet they read this little crooked book from their little crooked library.
Top view, you can see that the case is too big and the text block doesn't sit straight in it. It has no endbands or bookmark, and it's hard to see in this photo but there's glue on the top of it, at the spine. This still happens to me but I know how to trim books now so this bit gets cut off. You can also see that the scrapbook paper has some cracks where its white core is visible. This is why I do cloth or actual faux leather on the spines now. Endpaper shows uneven trim (did I not use a ruler for this??), too much glue causing major seepage, and it doesn't sit evenly in the case. I'm not sure if this is because of the case itself being crooked, a badly-trimmed endpaper, or if the text block is also crooked. Or it may be a combination of all these factors. Unclear.
Typeset photos! Here we see:
--Title page has a page number on it. This is a pet peeve of mine and I fixed it after this book.
--There is no half title, summary, or metadata. All my later binds have these things.
--It's typeset in Times New Roman. Unlike many I don't actually hate this font but reading it reminds me of being in high school so this is the only book I used it for. Baskerville is my beloved now. The font is also much bigger than it should be. It's not huge but it's like a large print book so it feels weird for me to read it.
--Lol what are margins
--Lol what are page headers
--Actually I think I left the headers out so it wouldn't have a header on the first page of each chapter, because I knew about page breaks but not section breaks at this time.
--It's on regular-ass lightweight printer paper. There's nothing wrong with this but I switched to heavier weight paper shortly after to help with bleed-through and the light stuff feels so flimsy now.
--I didn't understand how Word's book fold worked at this time, so when I had to set the sheets per booklet and it had an option for 4, I chose that thinking it would give me 4 sheets of paper (16 numbered pages) per sig. It did not do this. It gave me 4 numbered pages per sig. So every signature is 1 sheet of paper. Every page is its own signature. I am still mad about this but it sure drove home how the setting works and also how to make kettle stitches since you make one after every sig. A book of 48 pages has 12 signatures which is just ludicrous.
--There's no photo of this but it has a piece of printer paper on the spine because I didn't have mull. I did use PVA though. Lots and lots of PVA.
--It's stitched with regular sewing thread, which means it doesn't have much swell for a book with that many sigs, but it's less sturdy and more likely to tear the paper.
And that's that! It probably sounds a bit like I was tearing it to shreds but I actually love this book quite a lot. I learned so many things that I applied to my next binds, it was an invaluable experience. It let me fall in love with the hobby so I could make the awesome things I make now. I've got those all posted on my main blog under the tag #snek makes books, or you can see them all on my side blog @papersnakepress. For a first book it's functional and readable, and still better than the PoD copy I had before. I've been thinking of doing a rebind as a sort of progress gauge, actually. Maybe next year.
#bookbinding#snek makes books#the machine stops#it's not winning any beauty contests#or technical skill contests either#but it's mine and i love it#first bind
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