#ITS THE FONT!!! I HATE COPYING FONTS!!!!

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

oohh my goodness would you look at that. its the tristamp version! at last!! ill admit- this has been all but finished for uuhhh weeks! its been weeks. the only thing ive needed to do is the ampersand. that lil "&" that you see? thats the only thing i needed to do. i just didnt want to.

BUT ITS DONE!! its done and if you want heres the links to the tri98 version and the trimax version

[space-station-nursery]

◜ ❗𓂃 Space Station Reports ‧ ❕ ◞

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DO NOT INTERACT WITH @KODASWRLD

now that that's out of the way, we will be discussing NSFW briefly in this post, please make sure you are reading when in a safe mindset. All moots will be tagged at the end for further reach, i apologize to anyone i ping who does not like to be pinged[/g] however this is a serious topic to me and i want this to reach as far as possible

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Beforehand:

Hello kiddos, this is a more in-depth report from the one we made [here] about the up and growing agere creator Kodaswrld. I found their[i cant remember their pronouns rn] blog a few months ago, and absolutely fell in love. I loved their dividers, their text posts, and all the freestyling on their blog!

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September:

On september 10th, 2024, we created a post called "Agere Backpack ideas"! The next day [Sep 11th, 24], while scrolling through a creator i also thoroughly enjoy, i saw a post they had reblogged.... It was our backpack ideas, but it wasnt written by me... in fact, it was re-uploaded by someone who i thought created interesting content. I commented under the original post to take it down as we did not consent to our work getting re-uploaded. They deleted our comment. A few days later after fd calmed me from my panic attack, we sent an ask to take down our post as we did not consent to our content being reposted. At the start of our blog, i did have "do not rewrite" on our blog, however because nothing ever happened, i took it away when we changed into the space station nursery. They deleted our ask. a week or more later [unfortunately i dont remember at this point anymore] They closed asks under the guise of "getting hate"

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Current:

After everything happened, fd scoured around to create a blacklist. At this time, i had finally calmed down, and was ready to blacklist. Before we got to it tho, i saw a post created by another agere creator in which Koda had stolen from. This creator asks that all followers or people interacting report if their content was being reposted, as koda had taken one of their posts, and it got SIGNIFICANTLY more notes, as well as Koda copying their DNI banner, just changing the font and small images on the side:

Original post that Koda stole, at the time, post had at max 200 notes, minimum 150. OP name and pfp covered for privacy

Copied post made by Koda. Notice the amount of notes it has [if you check] 740 notes

---

This is not the only instance of this happening with Koda, and no "but they add credits" is not a viable defense here. We did not tell them they could do this, and they did not ask, by the looks of all posts, they didnt ask ANYONE to use their posts. The little credits at the bottom is also hard to see, especially by those who are visually impaired. I had an almost blind friend check out their post, and that friend couldnt even see the credits without us zooming in and circling it for the friend to see. Thats a problem. And people who see it but dont think much of it [like me] will not click the credits. I didnt. and i apologize to those whom i contributed to as apart of the problem

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So what else needs to be discussed?

Well, before we get to the NSFW they interact with, lets go with the tracing and stealing. Thank you to the person that sent us this [will not name for the safey of the individual but they are free to comment and let you guys know! They sent a non anonymous ask but still, yknow?]

So-.... Proof?

This is a screenshot sent to us that shows a user by the name of @/b4bybear_ , crediting their BF and CG @/SEABUNE for creating an image we all know and love, and have MOST LIKELY SEEN amongst agere intros [all blue markings have been made by me]

As you can see in the second image, the user is written on the bottom, exactly how its written on the twitter post. This image is widely available, and many many individuals use it..... However, Koda didnt seem to care

As you can see, Koda NOT ONLY traced, changed a singular item, and erased the original creators credits, they then wrote their own name on the bottom and claimed this post as their own. And no, changing one thing on an art post while still tracing everything else is not "creating your own content" or "taking inspo" This is blatant copying. This is further than just stealing text posts, they are stealing

ART from other sources [nsfw below]

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And now, the NSFW....

Kodaswrld does have their following open, meaning that littles, middles, and anyone visiting their blog can see who they interact with. These are some of the blogs they currently follow, and content they post/reblog:

@/slvttyfied

@/firstladyofjuicycouture12

Whilst being 18+, there is nothing wrong with interacting and following NSFW content and blogs. However if you are running a blog with a minor following [not small amount of people, minors. people 17 and under] you should not have your follows seen if you are interacting with this kind of content. Minors are curious, and you are exposing them to things they do not yet need to see or know about. Especially when kinks/hard kinds are involved. I am 21 and fd is 22. We will NEVER, allow nsfw blogs or rebloggers to interact with our content

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Final thoughts:

Through our mini blacklist, we have found out that koda knows what they are doing, and are actively avoiding discussing it. We also learned that they ship real people [called rps or "real people shipping"], and for having almost 800 followers, do not deserve it. Please, spread this far and wide, show your friends, you moots, reblog it even if it doesnt fit your aesthetic. This person NEEDS to be stopped.

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Our moots: @oftlunarialmoon @nostalgic-woodwind , @zimswife , @deesblanketfort , @angel-bunnie @aprilsmabelmaple , @diaryofalittlestar , @h3ll0everybby1 , @xx-raines-space-kindergarten-xx [hi raaaaine]

[hollyhomburg]

Before I Leave You (Pt.58)

(Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your nightmares are a troubling development but the pack won't let you drown. They have different ideas on how to help you. Some more damaging than others.

Tags: Angst, Hurt/comfort, Fluff, Cuddling, scent marking, Nightmares, graphic depiction of fake character death, Discussions of past rape, No explicit depictions of past rape/sexual assault, past domestic-abuse, flashbacks, safe-wording during sex (Sorta), unpleasant sexual encounters, under-negotiated kink, mentioned sex toys, crying during sex, Sad blow jobs, small dick jungkook, allusions to past eating disorders, anxiety, implied self-hate, self-esteem issues, non-verbal main character.

W/c: 12.9k

A/N: this chapter was originally supposed to be a lot longer- but i got too in depth with it and had to split it up. This is easily one of the more heavy chapters of bily (and that's saying something), so please be mindful of the tags! For anyone wanting to skip the super triggering parts in the next chapter i've highlighted a sentence in red font both after the first triggering section and before the very triggering ending.

Special thanks to @imperiussexrex for helping me with jk's part <3 they're the bestest <3

Previous Chapter- Masterlist

"Sleep well, my lovely little spy."

Jin’s eyes flutter open, looking up at the beta who's watching him with a gentle but noticeably tense smile. Jin’s mouth is dry, he could pretend he didn’t hear anything but there would be no use. The truth wouldn’t change.

"Holy shit.” Jin’s whole body is ridged. Ready to run. In panic mode. But Yoongi’s hand settles on his shoulder. It’s the same touch as always and just as gentle and kind as it was both this mourning and 6 years ago. Yoongi has always been a kind soul, regardless of every secret Jin's ever learned to love about him.

Letting himself be known in return feels a little bit more perilous. Jin’s heart thuds against his fingertips. He swallows hard.

Yoongi hums, agreeing with Jin’s assessment. He runs a hand gently through Jin’s hair. Tugging away loose a knot. “Holy shit indeed.”

Everything is fine. In the wake of the dead body, everything in the pack is absolutely fine.

(That’s a lie, everything is definitely not fine, everything is in fact- falling apart. Like a butterfly larva worming its way to crystalize. Carving its way towards both womb and tomb. Something that changes you or destroys you.)

Jin and Yoongi can only hope.

It’s only hope after all. How much damage can it really do?

~-~

Your unraveling starts with the Nightmares.

Tonight, it’s a dark tangle of half-forgotten moments. A movie with all of the scariest scenes copied and pasted. Bright punctures of feelings like blood dripping down your chin and the tang of it in your mouth. Geumjae’s scent in your nose as he shoves your mouth against his skin. All of it. Every unhappy memory that your psyche has locked away for later drags you down like the tide would drag a stone to a watery grave.

Until the moments condense like a figure rising through fog and you’re sitting in that house again. The one with the yellow brocade curtains pulled closed across the windows so that no one sees what happens inside.

You're sitting with Geumjae at the dining room table. The elaborate meal in front of you rises with steam and smells divine calling you like a moth to honey. The cutlery is polished so clean that you can see your reflection in it. A million dancing tiny versions of you stare back with vacant doll-like eyes.

You remember this meal; you remember what happened to you on this morning. The soreness between your legs reminds you of that horror. You remember how hard you worked after he left in the morning after leaving you in a bloody heap on the bathroom floor. You remember hoping that if you did everything you absolutely could to prepare this meal, He’d be satisfied and he wouldn’t hurt you again.

But avoiding rape is never quite so easy.

It was foolish to hope back then. Geumjae was a man of routine and he required your body every morning and evening without fail. But hoping is so hard to avoid, like an itch under your skin that demands biting nails, a furious sort of wanting. Hope is nothing more than a chain that drags you through the sludge when you think it might be your buoy.

In this nightmare, the other chairs at the table aren’t empty like they usually are. It’s not just you here.

He must have taken a needle and stitched your mouth shut (like he always threatened) because you feel powerless to scream at Namjoon to get away to stay back. You can do nothing more than watch as he leans over and says something to Geumjae that makes him smile. His smile makes him look like Yoongi; who sits at the head of the table and nurses a glass of wine while scowling.

Jin is on Namjoon's other side, hair combed back from his face in a way that makes Seokjin look absurdly pretty. The picture of delicate omega composure. Each of them eats like they haven't in days, shoveling food into their mouths like it’s their last meal.

Jungkook is by your side and asks if you’re going to eat your dinner roll. Puffy and crusty bread that he never would be able to eat in real life. You watch powerlessly as he scarfs it down like he hasn’t ever eaten anything more delicious. Licking his fingers from the crumbs when he finishes.

Tae is dressed in your jewels this time, not Jimin's. The necklace Geumjae gave you for your second anniversary digs into her collar bones as if it was pinned there. Like a butterfly on a piece of cardboard. Glittering with more diamonds than seem possible. Like one of those Instagram filters, every reflection mark turned glittery. Jimin’s suit is like something out of vogue.

One moment you’re looking at the perfectly edible food and the next you’re watching it rot before your very eyes. The meat greying and melting. The salad wilts gooey and spoiled. The fancy porcelain plates writhing with worms and maggots and creepy crawlies that slither out of nowhere. A spider inches its way up your fork.

No one notices. No one realizes that the bites they bring to their lips are poison. Jin licks his lips, the skin already greying and cracking.

Geumjae looks up at you from his plate, grinning all the while. Collar starched white. You haven’t heard his voice in so long but your mind remembers the exact cadence of it in perfect detail.

“What’s wrong princess? Aren’t you going to eat up?

When you look back at them it's already too late. Namjoon’s slumped in his chair staring blankly forward with bloody eyes. When you look Jin’s got his head half gone. Cut away. Wriggly things curl behind what's left of his eye.

Tae’s collarbones are bleeding where the diamond collar sits. Ribbons drip down her bodice. Jimin’s white shirt is slowly blooming red too. Bullet wounds pepper his chest. One on his shoulder and a cluster of them over his heart.

Jungkook slumps over his plate seizing until he’s still. Still the way that dolls are. Dead. Looking at you with wide vacant eyes that go grey with congealing blood.

Yoongi's hands are burning, fire licking up his clothes and he does nothing to put it out. Burning and bubbling and boiling. Skin peeling up like paint beneath the flames.

Hoseok is the only one not at the table.

Across from you, Geumjae smiles again. Baring his teeth in that animal way of his. “What’s wrong princess? I thought you said you loved them- aren’t you going to try and stop it?”

One moment he’s across the table and the next he’s leaning over you, back in that bedroom that was your hellhole less than a year ago. Pulling you by your hips to the end of the bed when you try to twist away. He fumbles with his belt buckle.

The sheets burn against your skin like its rug burn and although you weakly push at his chest. It feels like you're moving in slow motion. Your strength is nothing compared to his. It never was enough in real life anyway.

“No- no I don’t want- please don’t,” you choke. Trying to get him off of you, when he opens his mouth there are maggots there too.

You never did find out what they did with Geumjae’s body. But now you know as the rotting corpse of your dead husband assaults you. Boney hands grab your wrists as the worms drip out, dangle, and wriggle, falling onto your face and-

One of the terrible things about the big nest upstairs is that it’s really easy to get trapped in the middle with no easy way out.

Hobi finds himself in that position when he wakes. It’s the middle of the night, nearly 3 am probably when he’s roused by the familiar ache in his stomach that tells him he needs to pee.

The shades are pulled across the windows keeping the light out, and what little slips through is kept out by a thin curtain that sections off the nest from the rest of the room. Shielding the familiar lumps of packmates buried beneath the nest slumbering away.

It feels good to have all of you sleeping in one space, the instinctual pleasure flutters and builds on the edge of Hobi’s consciousness as he lifts his head. Barely opening his eyes. It feels homey in the way that Namjoon's rut nest hadn't. It's a true nest, Smelling thick and cakey sweet all of your scents drench it now after a few days of you all sleeping here. After finding the dead body, the decision had been unanimous. No more sleeping separately. No more splitting up between the upstairs nest and the remnants of yours downstairs.

Even though it's a new space some things never change. Jimin still sleeps at the edge near the bottom, guarding the nest from the most logical point of vulnerability. Although that might be because of last week.

The pack has made a few other adjustments in terms of safety since you and Hobi found the dead body. Many a moment has hobi walked into a room with Jin and Yoongi only to have them fall silent. But he doesn't have to ask what new precautions they've agreed upon.

They’ve fallen back into the habit of letting each other know when they get to work safely and when they leave, and when to expect them home (the same habit they had just after yoongi left actually) Phone locations are perpetually turned on just in case. But Hobi knows the only time any of them feel truly settled is when they’re all up here.

The nest is big. Big enough for all of you to sleep comfortably, even all sprawled out. But as thoughtful as Yoongi was when he constructed the space he certainly did not think about how hard it would be to leave for a midnight bathroom break given the walls that close in on three sides.

Now, Hobi is trapped and bound by blankets and fancy pillows and the gently sleeping bodies of his pack all around him. The border is high and fluffed. It’s in an alpha's nature to be careful around his packmates and it goes against something very basic in Hobi to even think about disturbing the carefully placed pillows and blankets, the general purposeful disarray of such a cozy nest. Alphas simply don’t fuck with omega nests.

But on the other hand, he’s seriously stuck.

Namjoon, Jimin, and Jin are at the bottom blocking off the most logical point of egress. Jin’s head rests on Jimin's shoulder, dark hair fanning. Yoongi is tangled up with Tae (her hair in these little puffy rollers). And Jungkook’s star fished and spread out by the top edge, right where Hobi was. His fingers rest under his shirt like he’s been rubbing at his stomach. Snoring softly.

Hobi’s heart swells just looking at them.

The only safe avenue of exit where Hobi won’t be climbing over two people is near the bottom left, close to Jin and Namjoon, where you lie on your side, cheek pillowed. Chest rising up and down a little rapidly in the darkness. It’s so dark that Hobi doesn’t see it at first.

Hobi’s so half-asleep that he doesn’t even realize right away that you’re not as undisturbed as the others. That you occasionally twitch like a puppy.

Hobi is no stranger to maneuvering his lithe body around sleeping packmates, muscles straining as he very gently pulls himself over you. Depressing the mattress by your side. His baggy sleep shirt momentarily brushes your face as he shifts over you.

Your reaction is instinctual, one moment asleep and the next awake. Your scent going sour all at once. Exploding in a rush. You push out with your arms, still in the nightmare.

One second Hobi’s on the bed the next he’s stumbling out of it, Barely keeping himself from falling face-first onto the floor. Bare feet slide on the polished wood when he gets them under him. Cursing out a brief “What the fuck?” looking back, ready to be angry at being shoved.

But then he sees that you're sitting up, trembling so hard that your hands can't grip the blanket to get it off of you. Eyes wide and glassy with panic. You blink and blink, lower lip wobbling.

There is a single moment where he just looks at you, but then you let out a small (and admittedly pathetic) chirp.

There is nothing like a chirp that tugs on an alpha’s hindbrain, that drags Hobi's instincts to the forefront like a hook in a fish's mouth. He's honestly surprised that the sound doesn't wake anyone else. Maybe because it's so quiet, so small.

It’s just a dream, just a very bad dream, and your pack is sleeping softly around you. The next thing you feel is Hobi gently crushing you to his chest. Smelling like caramel and boy. Tenderly whipping back your hair from your face. His warm fingertips press against your tender temples dislodging the last bit of you that can't tell if this is real yet.

“Pup? What’s wrong- what happened?"

Hobi looks about as different from Geumjae as anyone possibly could, his jaw slender where Geumjae was wide, eyes bright where his went dark and hooded. Unthreatening and normal brown in the glow.

But just like the dream, you can’t fucking speak.

“Fuck- it was just a dream, whatever it was- it’s not real- I’m-”

You’re shaking and crying and you can’t respond. Your throat is all tight. All of you that is usually happy and gentle is reduced small and scared and quiet. You can't tell where the shadows end and where reality begins. You can only feel his hands. That's the only thing that feels real beyond the terror.

You can't look around; you can't look around at the others- too scared that they'll be dead.

Thank God for the physical nature of Hobi’s job. Herking bags of soil and 30-gallon trees has honestly done him good because it means he can carry you downstairs with a little effort.

Real panic circles his head like a bunch of buzzards, threatening to pick his heart clean. "Hang on- here we go." He turns on each of the lights one by one by leaning into them. Shoulder hitting the plastic, the two of you safer with each click. "See- there isn't anything to be scared of! There's no one here but us."

Hobi is right, Hobi would never lie to you. This kitchen is not the same one from your nightmares. The blinds are blinds and not curtains, drawn to keep out the streetlights not any prying eyes. The old rickety table where the pack has their meals isn't piled with food at all. Only some tangerines in a wooden bowl in the center.

You’re small and shaky in an extra big shirt of Namjoon’s that pools on your thighs when he places you on gently the countertop with a small 'oof'. You're already a little more lucid, eyes darting from the light to the shadows and still trembling faintly. Hobi knows instantly from the stillness that you’re nonverbal. Mouth uncooperative. Your brain is a mix of misplaced adrenaline and cortisol. You smell terrified.

“It’s okay, it’s just a dream, here-” Hobi fills up a yellow plastic cup with water and tips it against your lips. The cold soothes your throat but not to the point that you can speak. You’re unwilling to detangle yourself from him. Real and warm and there now that you’ve got him. hand tangled in the front of his shirt, clinging to him.

He hums as he dabs a cold dishcloth across on your hot cheeks. “You’re okay- I’ve got you.” You lean into his hands, legs parted so that he can stand between them. You look so sad and so small that Hobi’s heart hurts.

You don’t want to speak, really don’t want to but you force yourself anyways. “Don’t remember them- usually- Or wake up in the middle- sorry- M' sorry.”

Your eyes itch, and your face feels all puffy as he continues to dab at it. The cloth is rough and Cold, but hobi's warm where his skin touches yours.

Alive and safe. you barely want to blink incase you miss it.

“Don’t apologize, it’s okay.” Hobi continues to dab at your cheeks, “You get them often?” You shake your head instead of responding and Hobi’s scent goes thick with upset, burning sugar ever so slightly smokey. You sniffle still sort of crying and Hobi does the only thing he can think of.

Maybe it’s just that he’s half asleep himself, or an expression of his alpha protectiveness. The ringing in his ears says protect packmate, provide for packmate, soothe.

Hobi’s scent gland brushes against yours with an electric zing. Pushing you from shaky to boneless nearly instantaneously. He drags his throat and chin across your left shoulder, and then your right.

it takes real effort for him to keep his palms pressed flat against the kitchen counter while he does it but at least it has the desired effect of banishing the last bit of sogginess from your cakey scent. Your instincts purr alphas here, alphas going to keep you safe, keep the shadows at bay.

Your scent goes sweeter and your half-asleep body goes mailable as you lean into him. Resting your cheek on his shoulder, Hobi huffs a soft laugh. It feels sort of nice, having you close like this. He knows how omega's get, Jungkook goes sleepy puppet soft when he's scent marked this close to sleep too.

Yoongi would want Hobi to do this right? Yoongi would want Hobi to comfort his mate. He’d do it himself if he was awake. Hobi’s just being a good packmate. Right?

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end as he pulls away. Is it just your imagination or is he a little reluctant?

A startled chirp bursts from your lips, and you clamp your hand back over your mouth. but hobi's laugh echoes loud off the high ceilings, "It's alright pup." You try to speak again but Hobi shushes you, there’s no need for you to push yourself. Not with him. Not right now.

The slant of the light across Hoseok’s face isn’t right. Too grey and yellow from the light in the hall. It’s too late for it to be morning yet and too dark for you to quiet your heartbeat. Hobi can feel it, jackrabbit fast against his throat.

If he's here, that means the nightmare really was only that. A nightmare. Hobi wouldn't be wrapped around you if the rest of the pack were dead. You don't need to go back upstairs and double-check.

Now if you could only stop crying.

“Here,” Hobi starts to pull away and you make a panicked sound, fingers tangling in his shirt. “I’m not going anywhere, let me just get my bag-” You shake while he’s gone, sitting on the countertop, stumbling when you get off of it, knees weak. Holding the edge until he comes and gets you with an arm under your shoulders, transferring you effortlessly to the couch.

When did Hobi get so good at this? You’d be inclined to think this was just another dream (one of those shameful ones that you don’t even mention to Yoongi) but you’re not sure you could have dreamed this up.

“Lights off or on?” You shiver so he goes one by one turning on the overhead lights and then the lamps, the ones under the cabinets in the kitchen too. There’s not a hint of shadow here, no monster that he couldn’t guard you from.

You can still see the light behind your eyes when you close them. Blinking slowly like a cat would. Hobi has his headphones in his hand, not his usual earbuds but the dilapidated black over-the-ear headphones with peeling stickers on the sides that have been his almost as long as Yoongi has (they might have been stolen from the record store- back when Yoongi's rebellious streak ran a little wider).

The second they go around your ears the world dampens and your heartbeat slows.

“I’ve got you.” Hobi mouths, reaching to pull your head to lie against his shoulder, the blue light flicker of his phone screen hurts your eyes as he scrolls through some songs and puts one on. It’s slow and soft, mostly instrumental except for faint vocals. You can’t hear what Hobi says but he pulls you to rest against his side. Settling.

He doesn’t make you talk about the nightmare. Doesn’t make you talk at all. You melt, pressing your face into his shoulder as hard as you can, your shaking relaxing with every word. Every soft hum. It’s working, your trembling is only skin-deep now. In a few minutes, you won't be shaking at all.

“Go to bed,” he asks, even though you can't hear him. Pillowed against him. The songs shift quietly. Your hand somehow gets under Hobi’s shirt and presses against the skin of his hip. Holding it softly so that he doesn’t go anywhere, it feels like a bit of a thank you.

You cling to him and he lets you. You probably can’t hear him but he still repeats, “I’ve got you.”

I’ve got you.

~-~

Yoongi’s never shot up faster in his life, leaving part of himself in the dream. He can feel the panic down the bond as he stumbles. The nest is too empty. Yoongi’s sleep-sluggish brain counts the number of bodies and he goes cold when he counts five and not seven. Pure shuddering terror bleeding down his back like he's just been doused with cold water.

Where are you? Where is Hobi? There is something wrong- something seriously wrong. Yoongi can feel it on the back of his tongue, the taste of your despair acidic. Once a familiar feeling, now lashing him like lightning.

Communicating directly through the mating mark isn’t something that happens often anymore for the two of you. It did when the bond was fresher, but now that it’s settled the connection has dulled. In the way that clothes go worn and comfortable. It’s not usually a stabbing pain like this. Such a visceral feeling that it wakes Yoongi up from it.

Yoongi stumbles to the door following your scent like a man possessed. The way it shifts from the nest. Panicked to not alone. Hobi’s panic too saturates the air. Yours is rainy wet and Hobi’s is burnt and over-sweet, faintly medicinal.

There are sounds on the stairs. Footsteps rouse Hobi just as he’s finally fallen asleep. His neck aches from how he’s been leaned back against the couch And he winces as it cracks.

“Hobi?” Yoongi calls cautiously. At his waist, your fingers tangle loosely in his shirt holding onto him like he’s a lighthouse in a storm, clinging to him even as you sleep. Hobi realizes he’s got a bit of your hair stuck to his lips. Spitting it out.

“Over here.“ Hobi’s jaw pops when he yawns. Yoongi stumbles to you because he can’t stay away when you’re like this. When you need him. You don’t rouse when Yoongi touches you, cupping your cheeks. Eyes feasting on the crusty salt around your eyes, the faint silvery shimmer of dried tear tracks across your cheeks.

“She had a nightmare- couldn’t sleep with the lights off so- thank god you're here I have to pee like so fucking bad-” Hobi says quietly.

Yoongi definitely does not eye the way that your hand stays loosely knotted in the front of his shirt, or note verbally the way that you smell like him. Drenched in hobi's scent and clinging to him.

“Daisy,” Yoongi says, sounding a bit surprised and alot in love, tucking his Hobi’s hair behind his ear. Standing over the two of you looking a little shaken. Yoongi is an expert at moving you softly detangling your hand from Hobi's shirt without waking you and freeing Hobi from his self-imposed prison.

He's still shaken when Hobi comes back from the bathroom. Hobi can’t blame him. You don’t really have the best track record when it comes to disappearing together. First the car crash last month, and now the dead body. It’s understandable why Yoongi’s panicked a bit.

But now he just looks at Hobi. Eyes scanning his face, a small smile beveling the edge of his lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Hobi says. The faint murmur of music is barely there, you're still asleep with his headphones on. Hobi had panic made a playlist on his phone after you’d fallen asleep. Putting only the most gentle instrumentals on it.

So what if he’d saved it with a cat emoji and a purple heart? Yoongi can’t possibly know that just by looking at him.

Yoongi doesn’t respond and Hobi tucks his chin, looking down at you, sleeping soundly still. The nightmare must have really tired you out because you're out like a light. His voice goes softer, like the emotion in his throat is constraining his vocal cords.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her panic? That wouldn’t have been kind.”

Yoongi's hand falls onto Hobi's head, rubbing through his hair. the touch feels like a reward. Hobi's not sure what for. “No- it wouldn’t have been Daisy.”

“Like it when you call me that,” Hobi says. Eyelashes flutter as yoongi scratched at the nape of his neck, head bowed. and he can hear the laugh in Yoongi’s voice. Hobi’s not really awake either.

“You don’t have to worry,” Hobi says “I’m not gonna like- freak out and run away if she needs something, like the first time.”

Hobi feels embarrassed about that when he thinks about it. Embarrassed and a little bit fond of the memory every time he sees the train ticket still in his wallet. The top edge is so chewed up that you can hardly tell it’s a ticket anymore.

“Sure,” Yoongi says and Hobi knows he hasn't fooled anyone, least of all your mate. hobi stands up properly, and when his hand falls, yoongi just tugs at his wrist, the callouses on his hands comfortably rough against hobi's skin. “Come on.”

You wake bleary for a handful of seconds when Yoongi puppets you, moving to sprawl out while Hobi discards the back cushions. Yoongi slips Hobi’s headphones off your ears and puts them safely to the side. wordless and publish while yoongi gets one of the blankets to tug it over your form.

Yoongi tuts and doesn't let hobi avoid the same predicament. although it's Infinitely more comfortable than his prior half-crunched position. If Yoongi’s being honest, it sort of looked like Hobi was guarding you. body curled over in a protective stance.

Alpha's are so funny.

Hobi ends up face-to-face with you. His flannel pj set un-buttoned to the middle tugged loose from your tugging earlier. the triangle of his bare chest presses against the bare skin of your collarbone as he shuffles away from the edge of the couch. Your own pj set pulled off one shoulder. Yoongi’s sitting up, his thigh warm against the top of Hobi’s head.

You’re running a fever maybe, worming your way closer to Hobi like you need it. Your nose presses into Hobi’s chest, a little cold at the tip and ticklish. Hobi squirms and Yoongi huffs. Overly fond.

“She does that to me in her sleep too sometimes. Means she likes your scent.” Hobi feels warm, and it’s no secret that his scent fluffs up sweeter, as if encouraging you to enjoy it. You re-settle. falling asleep with your nose tucked into Hobi's sternum.

Fuck you’re both so cute, your hair mixing colors on the pillow- sharing the same one because even being that far apart is too much. Hobi falls asleep with Yoongi combing gentle touches down his back. His favorite way to fall asleep- being touched so casually and consistently. You breathe against his skin, cradled to his chest. Sleeping soundly. Finally soothed.

Hobi watches you until sleep takes him.

~-~

Unfortunately, that’s not the last time you’re woken by a nightmare in the coming weeks

Over the next few days, it seems like more often than not Yoongi and Hobi wake to the scent of your terror in the air. Quieting your little sobs with soothing touches in the bathroom. Blankets are brought into the space so that you can curl up in the bathtub, darkness kept at bay by the overhead lights, its lingering shadow curling underneath the doorway trying to drag you down.

They don’t mind, at least they tell you they don’t mind when it eventually comes time to wake in the morning and your words are barely intact. Soft and rough in a way they haven’t been in months.

For you, it feels infuriating. Your non-verbalness might only be a temporary state but that doesn’t mean that overcoming it isn’t tiring. It’s frustrating. Working so hard each day to speak only to have it wrenched away again at night.

Always.

Always you wake up from your nightmares non-verbal. Guided to somewhere light by Hobi so that your fear of the dark won't rouse the rest of the pack. Soothed back to sleep by his music and some scenting. Waking up sometime after sunrise, struggling but better. A routine.

As for the pack…

“It feels like she’s going backward,” you hear Jin confess one morning while he brushes his teeth in the upstairs bathroom. he sounds afraid (he is afraid after waking up to you gone from the nest yet again for the 5th time this week- and it's only thursday). It's obvious Jin doesn't know you're within earshot but the double doors that lead to the bathroom are wide open.

Hobi sends you a fraught look. You’ve just come back upstairs after spending a few hours in the Living Room. You're only able to risk a few more hours of sleep because the sun is turning the sky all grey-blue.

“Do you think-” What he says next is jumbled by the sound of someone turning on the shower, Jungkook or jimin maybe (the upstairs shower is large enough that honestly- all eight of you might be able to fit given you where willing to risk any soap related injuries).

Namjoon’s answering hum is all dark thunder. jin's proposed solution a mystery. “No, I don’t think that would help.”

Sometimes it’s not just Hobi and Yoongi who wake up with you.

Sometimes it’s Jimin. Holding your shoulder with that firm touch looking like he’s about to snap his teeth at any incoming shadows. Sometimes you wake and he’s already sitting at the edge of the bed watching the stairs and the windows. Shirtless, legs splayed with his handgun balanced across his knees.

Or is it just your imagination? Is that just another dream because you certainly don’t see any weapons when he and Hobi pull you from the bed a few seconds later?

They take shifts. Jin and Namjoon blanket you on both sides, soft rumbles soothing you, their quiet banter a welcome melody in your private nest downstairs. Jungkook the next night- who admittedly just wraps his body around you and goes back to sleep so quick it makes you jealous, curled around your spine while you listen to Tae read you a late-night story.

Tae’s delicate murmur does all the character's voices just right. Her lips are both mystery and familiarity. She always seems to crack open the world with the first line.

“Look, I didn’t want to be a half-blood.”

They never make you speak; never treat you like they’re too tired even though you know they are. You can see it on their faces, on Hobi’s eyebags getting greyer by the day. Hobi’s the only one who's there every time a nightmare drags you awake. Even Yoongi doesn’t wake up every time.

(Although you confess it's more because you develop a routine. You and Hobi sleep by the side of the nesting nook, where it’s easy to get out without moving around too much. Close enough to each other that he often wakes smelling like you and you always wake smelling like him).

You try to talk with him about it. Guilt makes your heart feel all stuffy. Is it possible to get a heart cold?

“You know, you could just leave your headphones out-"

“No- don’t worry about it, I’ll just make it up later.”

Always. Always Hobi wakes and plops his headphones on your ears. Sometimes he seems awfully lively, grinning and cracking jokes when you burrow into his chest and wipe your tears on his shirt.

“I am like- among the top 10 worst sponges in history you know?”

Sometimes he wakes you from the nightmares before you’ve had the chance to jerk awake. He recognizes the tell-tale stillness, the quick breaths. He never lets you suffer for long. Waking you with a hand on your shoulder. Allowing you to shove him just a little because he knows you're just reacting to your dream and him bleeding together.

"It's just me- you're okay, I've got you."

Sometimes, you wonder if you’re not the only one who can’t sleep lately.

During the day you spend a lot of time in the nesting pod, catching up on sleep while it's still light outside. dreading the afternoons and evenings when the shadows linger like a looming storm. Alone and safe and quiet.

Occasionally you're joined by noodle, purring up against your stomach. Meowing at you until you lift your arm and he can cuddle close. Sometimes you feel like he knows you’re sadder than you say you are. That when the others aren’t there to watch you, you’re stiller, less mobile than normal. You don't even click away at your phone, half the time you forget to charge it anyway.

Hobi would never tell you- but a few afternoons ago he’d come home to Noodle waiting for him on the front step. He’d lead Hobi inside, little kitty face glaring back at him every few steps. Circling his curled form and yowling when he dared to take a second to take his shoes. off. Panicked and nervous, all but biting on his ankles before he led Hobi into the sunroom. His bushy tail held high.

There he’d meowed woefully at your nesting pod where you slept soundly. So loud that Hobi was worried it would wake you. As if he was trying to say “Aren’t you going to do something?”

Hobi had just quieted the cat with a soft shush and picked him up. Closing the door behind both of them. “Let her sleep nu,” he’d gotten nothing but a tearful meow in response. Some squirming, but no claws. “What do you expect me to do? I’m trying my hardest.”

Noodle keeps his secrets. Hobi’s question goes unanswered by the cat- who’d simply squirmed out of his hold and gone to wait by the door to be let back in. Glaring at Hobi’s retreating figure like he’d been betrayed.

Noodle seems to know something that the pack doesn't. He's sat in your lap during dinner and breakfast every single night this week, especially on the days you’ve slept more.

Hobi continues to try his hardest. He brings home flowers from the shop. He says they’re for Jin but puts them by the nesting pod and no one even bothers to tease him. He makes sure that you don’t fall out of the habit of going on late-night drives. Even though you don’t go back to the beach again quite yet. The memories there are too prescient.

Hobi takes you to the winding mountain road again. Drag racing one night with Jimin, because what good is trying to squeeze in a few hours of sleep before sunrise when you’ll just wake anyway? You might as do something fun until you’d wake up normally.

You leave that night a little more wobbly-legged than Hobi will admit to Namjoon when he asks later. "I'm never getting into a car with you again Minnie- what the fuck."

But sometimes the alphas do use the sunroom when you’re there.

It’s kind of nice to hear them on the other edge of your senses. When you’re dozing and Tae and Jimin want to play video games. their shouts of happiness and false outrage better than their screams of terror.

When Hobi and Jungkook want to do some stretching before they take an afternoon run, their giggles push out the memories of cruel words that ring in your ears. Yoga mats all stretched out and noodle perched on the edge of Hobi's multicolored one. Watching you, tail flicking back and forth.

They'll never know how much they help just by being there.

Or when they work on rearranging Hobi’s plants around. Fitting them into different spots like a jigsaw puzzle and moving them from room to room. He doesn’t mean to be indecisive about it, he’s just trying to find the best home for each of them.

They take the big banana tree upstairs to put it in the nesting room because that honestly has really good light and Hobi’s baby can’t be compromised. They move the monstera there too and switch the string of pearls for three big ferns hanging above your nesting nook. Shifting A big fig tree that honestly looks kinda pretty from the entryway to the corner, hanging part of the way over the small sectional.

A leggy orchid that someone bought Namjoon as a “thank you for not letting me go braindead” present is the wimpiest and smallest of the bunch. Hobi's in the process of rehabilitating it. For now, it sits on the window sill growing a single pathetic leaf.

Hobi tries to spend a lot of time nearby when you’re trying to sleep, he always seems to show up when you're having the hardest time ignoring your thoughts.

They're getting tired of you being a goddamn mess every time. Why can't you just get better? It's pathetic, Hobi is fine. Why are making such a big deal over this? But deep down you know it's not just the dead body that caused all of this.

Things are slow at the flower shop in the fall with only the occasional wedding until the Christmas season starts up. Hobi talks to you about it while he waters his plants and trims up some leaves that are dying. He’s definitely not looking forward to making bows for the whole month of December and wrestling with wreaths. He’d much rather talk to you about his ferns. The big stag leaf one that’s in the corner by the tv. And the big fluffy ones that hang above the nesting pod.

“I know they're messy but If I overwinter them we can hang them back on the porch next year, They looked so nice!”

You hum from the pod, turning your cheek to look up at him. he's got his flannel rolled up to his elbows, a shirt underneath that looks homey and warm. Hobi’s scent grows sweet. “They did look really cool this year, kind of like big green soot sprites.”

“We should watch spirited away again.”

“We should.”

You stretch out in the nesting pod while he fiddles with one of the fronds, pulling off the dead leaves with a crumple. You stretch your curled-up legs, toes brushing the ratan sides of the pod.

“If I was a plant where would you put me?”

“Probably where it’s sunniest.”

You can hear his smile on the words, you hum and go back to sleep while he works. Hobi checks your breathing every few minutes, just to make sure you don’t need to be woken up again.

Hobi never talks about the nightmares and never asks what they’re about. Which is something you’re thankful for as the days go on and they get worse and worse. You don’t know how many more nights you can wake up gasping without telling them what you're dreaming about. That it's the idea of them dying that has you so panicked. not to mention the nightly revision of the worst parts of your abuse.

Yoongi doesn't always let you escape without a bit of interrogation. Badgering you until you tell him that he needs to stop.

Jin’s just as bad, constantly hovering. You found your sleep schedule, an estimated hours of sleep you’ve gotten scrawled on the edge of a newspaper in Namjoon's handwriting. He's a little generous with his calculation- You know you haven't slept 13 hours in the last 4 days. You’d crumpled up the page and thrown it in the garbage.

In the morning you find out their motive behind it. Blinking down at your cereal and at the red raspberries bobbing in the milk. You can't help but get defensive about this; because really when you go non-verbal so often about this- what good would talking do?

“Jin, I’m not going to therapy.”

Jin looks a little bit less like his usually put-together form, button-up shirt a little looser than it might have been a few weeks back. Yoongi rubs down his shoulders as he passes. Work has been keeping Jin later and later- anytime someone asks he says something about a problem child at the home for forgotten pups that needs Jin's full attention.

It's so very like him to suggest therapy.

He pulls his fingers through his hair, trying to comb it into something orderly. Abandoning his usual routine of gel and mouse. “I’m not saying you have to go consistently- just once or twice, you went through something-“ he breaks off when Yoongi taps his hip, shaking his head.

You’re twisting your hands over your lap, again and again. But the word lands even though it was unsaid. Whereas before you and Hobi had a smart retort- now- the word feels less hollow, more heavy.

And Jin's not just talking about the body.

Jin doesn’t want to be frank, but you don’t look the best. Maybe it’s because you’d been so steadily getting better that they hardly remembered what sadness looks like on you. But now it looks like this; you sitting at the island counter, looking at your food, too nauseous to eat. Actually worried you're going to vomit if you try.

Any other morning, Jin would sit by you and coach you through it, would sit and wait for you and move you somewhere safe, somewhere softer to prod. He'd chase this worry with gentle touches. maybe he'd give you a gentle settling if you were feeling like you needed to reach that happy hazy head space to eat.

Any other morning Jin wouldn’t leave you.

But this morning, the clock says that Jin has exactly 20 minutes before he has to leave for work or else he’ll be late and miss the debriefing on the latest string of murders and drug-related reports. including a very well worded anonymous tip. it's important that jin's there for that.

It’s not enough time to drag you to some corner of the house and scent you happy. Or better- scruff you down into omegaspace where you’d be mailable and more agreeable under his touch.

Yoongi's eyes say, go I've got this, and Jin has never been more thankful for lovely enemies and a partner in crime.

But Jin simply does not have enough time to love you as he should. If Jin has to choose between making you feel loved and making you more physically safe he'll choose the latter every single time.

Baby steps. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and criminal empires won’t fall that quickly either.

“They’ll go away, I know they’ll go away because they did last time,” you reaffirm, only half believing it. You and Yoongi don’t talk about when you first moved into this house, but the truth is these nightmares aren’t really anything new for either of you.

At least this time they don’t come with you hurling your guts up every night. At least this time your words return in the middle of the day. At least you feel somewhat human right now.

Jin sends a fraught look in Hoseok ’s direction. Clearly requesting backup. He holds his hands up, straw in his mouth and ice coffee in his hand. “I’ll go if she goes.” Is all he says backing away. Clearly not ready to take Jin’s side with this. Late for work himself.

Jin almost misses when you guys were adversarial, rather than banded together as a unified front.

I never expected the pups to unionize

He sends Namjoon in a text a few hours later, After no less than 3 separate meetings that have him feeling more than a little tired himself.

Joonie (1:18): Really? I’d thought you would have been ready, no plans to destabilize the monarchy up your sleeve?

Jin can’t stop his smile, he’s conscious of who might be watching, so he hides it with his palm. Flirting on the FBI’s time has never felt so good.

What would you recommend?

Joonie (1:23): Spanking and sweets probably.

That at least had made Jin feel a little bit more at ease. But he knows what Namjoon really means, that he’s saying they should talk about this later face to face. Or worse there isn’t an easy solution. Namjoon had warned him that a request for therapy, however gentle and well-worded it was, might not go over well.

But what else can you do when someone won’t accept your concern? When love falls short? For the first time ever Jin is unsure what you need.

Over the next few weeks, you can tell that they’re being overly gentle with you. Treating you with velvet gloves.

Namjoon barks an order at Jungkook and Hobi when they rough house too close to you. jostling you where you stand unsteady in the bathroom. Tae lets loose a sleepy growl when Jungkook back hugs you one morning- something ordinarily innocuous but now makes you flinch hard. hand pressed over your heart to stop its thundering. Both times Jungkook tucks his tail smelling sour at being scolded even though it's really not his fault.

Everyone's instincts are running on high. Your scent is so off these days. Something about it muted and only getting duller. Jin didn't realize until the other day when he tried to find a pillow that smelled like you while nesting and couldn't.

The head of the FBI's largest organized crime task force, brought to sniffles over not being able to find the right pillow. What would Jin's enemies think?

Yoongi had only sighed, and relinquished his shirt to Jin's nesting. At least that was the next best thing.

but it's not only the little things that they're holding off from; it's sex too. You can clearly tell that they want to instigate something when you come upstairs one night after spending a few minutes with Tae in the library room.

Jungkook sat's tight across Namjoon’s lap. Moving his hips in a way that's sensual clinging to the pack alphas bare chest and licking into his mouth like an omega starved.

You know what they want to do- christen the nest in a way, truly break it in and make it smell like the pack.

But they'd stilled at your appearance and you'd made yourself scarce, clearly not ready to be asked to stay (or scarier- asked to leave). When you'd come back after showering the room had smelled of sour unhappy arousal and Jungkook had been pouting on the other side of the nest from Jin and Namjoon.

You hadn't heard the whispered argument. "You're treating her the exact same way you treated me when my seizures went bad."

"That was a different circumstance Koo and you know it."

"Still- it doesn't change the fact that you're making the decision for her instead of making a place that's safe enough for her to decide what she wants."

The idea that Jungkook and the others are holding off for your sake has you feeling even more guilty.

Even Tae- once insatiable, now hardly lifts her head from her computer when you walk into the library room wearing next to nothing. You know it’s just that. Just busyness that she's been spending every available second writing her new story.

But you can’t help but feel odd about it. Half guilty and half extra. Unwelcome.

Neglected isn’t the right word. Neglected is the word that Hobi would use for his orchid or the cactus that he accidentally forgot about outside. Two plants that are equally as finicky, opposites but maybe not in terms of difficulty. One praised for being beautiful, the other coveted for being hard to take care of.

It feels like that a lot of the time, that you're just hard to take care of. you're an adult you shouldn't even need to be taken care of at all.

That night- you toss and turn in the bed. Unable to sleep because you can't help but think about it, your thoughts a rushing torrent of you're such a bother. Maybe they're just trying to let you down easily. Maybe all of the love is a lie. You should try harder, if you try harder to overcome this then maybe they won't ask you to leave.

Sadness has rotted your brain a little, you don't know how to get back, how to stop the spiral. Until your hands are so tight that your nails dig into your palms. Leaving bloody little crescents.

The next day you try to catch up on sleep. In the nesting pod. A dark spot. Out of sight and out of mind, where all broken things go when it's clear they can't be fixed in a way that makes them useful. But it feels like you've only slept a few minutes when you're roused- not from a nightmare, but because someone gets into your nesting pod with you.

You smile in your sleep at the scent of honey, rich and golden. So nice and sweet that it makes you get goosebumps. Jungkook noses at them, dragging his cheek along the hair on your arms, soft and pleasant in that sensory sort of way.

Even though the nesting pod was a gift from Namjoon you'd been clear to Jungkook and Jin that they could use it whenever they wanted to. They're always a little bit more inclined to nest upstairs.

You sleepily hold out your arms for Jungkook, only cracking your eyes a little. You're not prepared for the sight of him in a crop top. blinking as you register it. Your pulse climbing higher. Jungkook doesn't say anything, doesn't say anything at all as he pulls his body along yours, settling mostly on top of you. quiet until you query "Kookie?"

He smells a little like the gym, but more like he'd showered there and then come home. You don't remember what day it is, what his schedule was. But the house is quiet around you, it must be one of his early days then?

His nose rubs smooth little circles along your neck, and when you pull back his eyes are a little glassy. "I miss you," he says, voice cracking a tiny bit. You don't have to ask why he misses you when you're right here. You know and your heart clenches painfully.

you laugh, "you just saw me this morning." but his lower lip wobbles, and you know thats not what he meant. it's frightfully easy to knot your fingers in his hair and pull him down to eye level. "c'm here."

You can tell by the way that Jungkook kisses you that he wants you, his arousal burning skin deep as his tongue laves against your lower lip and his hand slides down your chin to cup your scent gland, fingers pressing over the sensitive skin delicately.

You're so fucking tired.

Jungkook’s sex drive is honestly the highest in the pack, and you know that they usually keep him well tended to. But you also know that because of your predicament, no one’s tended to his needs in the last few days. You can smell it on the edge of his scent. Sweet but overly sweet, like a hovering cloud of settling perfume, unable to settle. Just getting stronger.

It’s not your job, and it shouldn’t be anyone’s job per se, but the idea of turning him down is so displeasing that you won’t even if you’re not really in the mood right now. You're so fucking tired. There isn't room for anything else. you don't have the energy to want this, you don't have the energy to want anything but sleep.

You kiss back, a little gentler than he wants, the soft needy noise he makes against the seam of your mouth tells you just how welcome it is. Your arms are sluggish as they go around his shoulders. He grins happy, and you grin too- because Jungkook’s joy is honestly so infectious. You let him tug you up, tug you out of the nesting pod even though your heart lurches.

This is your use to the pack, isn't it? The youngest omega, the lowest one in the hierarchy. You shouldn't say no and deny Jungkook what he wants. This is the way that he feels free, the way that he makes himself better.

After the pack's sleeping quarters had changed, there’d been a whole debate over where exactly to put the pack's sex toy collection and what to do with their old bedroom on the first floor. The side closet is no longer big enough or in use.

Installing some shelves in the bedroom had been the easiest solution. now they frame either side of the windows, holding Tae's overspill of books at the top and a few display cases. You remember the first day you'd wandered in here in search of your mate and found some suspicious-looking brackets installed along the ceiling studs, sawdust piles sweeper up on the floor.

“It’s totally not a sex dungeon.”

“Babe, you’re making a display for Jungkook’s dildo collection with a built-in sex bench.” At least you can still tease your mate when you're sad like this. Every little semi-normal comment you make feels like seeing the sun during a break from the storm. Even Yoongi's pout is half a smile.

“Just because I want there to be a bench doesn’t mean It’s a sex bench. It could be for like- watching tiktok and stuff. You know Hobi likes to find a spot where he won't bother us.”

“It’s totally a sex bench.”

“Is not.”

Yoongi is too fun to rile up. You'd watched him blush as you and Jungkook had playfully grabbed and swung on the ropes Yoongi was hanging, the heavy thick cotton ones soft to the touch that won’t irritate his loves sensitive skin. testing out the brackets meant for suspension.

Jungkook’s just as giggly and happy when he drags you there now, and your smile is very real pressed to his shoulder. The farthest thing from fake. it might be the first time you've smiled today. Jungkook always makes you feel this way; a little younger, a little bit like you’re sneaking around. That at least feels right.

You're very good at concentrating on the parts of sex that feel good, the parts that you want and not the ones that you don't.

(This morning the others had talked about it with Jungkook. Jimin and Tae had cuddled close to brainstorm. The way they often talk about sex things and pack things. Jimin's snorted honesty still stings.

"I don't know if Yoongi could literally fuck the sadness out of her, but at least it's a suggestion."

Jungkook had felt petulant and whiney, "But why doesn't he just try- if anyone's got a magic just right dick it's him-" Tae had chased Jungkook's disappointment with a kiss.

The truth is; the pack is mostly at a loss with how to help you this time. The most they can do is just stay close and make sure you have everything you need. But lately, not even that has felt like enough. Tae had scrapped her nails down Jungkook's abs, soothing him, with a bit of tingly pain pleasure.

"You're the only one whose bad mood can literally be cured with a good fuck bunny.”)

Yes, Jungkook is trying to make you feel lighter in the only way he knows how right now. But there are different medicines for different hurts for a reason.

Jungkook guides you down to the sex bench, tugging at your shirt a little. Still kissing you. Up close you realize it's actually more of a daybed, styled very attractively with a few throw pillows. One that's more memory foam and sturdy for propping bodies up.

It's no secret how sweet turned on happy Jungkook smells from just a little kissing, just the bare minimum. Jungkook moans- a crocked needy sound, scent pulsing richer in the air. He squirms a little bit, reaching over to one of those shelves. Rummaging in one of the frosted acrylic buckets.

“I’ve had this idea for weeks now that you've taken Joonie’s- fuck- I just- I didn’t know when you’d want to try it but I saw this video online with two omegas and Jin said no but- ha! Here it is!”

You gulp.

The big purple thing is a veritable monster, glittery and double-ended, ridged not like a regular dildo but more like a tentacle. It's about as thick around as your wrist. Namjoon’s a little thicker but still-

it makes fear trickle down your spine, warm and almost bleeding.

Jungkook reads your expression. And the disappointment crests his cheeks, his bunny smile falls, and you feel like you’ve failed already.

At the thought of being filled right now. You feel like you might want to vomit. You try not to have any sort of expression, just a small smile- but fall abysmally short. You’re too tired, too sore, too tight to properly enjoy that.

The idea that your sadness is enough to get in the way of this, what Jungkook so clearly needs is suddenly too much for you to bare. Jungkook needs sex, doesn't he? He needs it to make the seizures feel not quite so damning. He'd told you once- how much he required sex to feel loved. It's his love language right? Isn't this what people always say when they want physical touch?

Who are you to say that your needs are more important than his? You certainly do not love yourself as much as you love him.

Jungkook’s frown is heartbreaking and you easily kiss it away. Making your kisses more eager. You’re a good kisser and a good actor. Your kisses make Jungkook feel all fluttery and hot in the chest, quickly forgetting about the dildo and whatever plans he might have had.

"Just want you- don't want-" words get in the way of kissing, sucking, you mouth at Jungkook's lower lip, making him groan.

Jungkook’s scent gland is a semi-swollen little lump under your teeth as you nibble on it, making him part his legs, grinding up into nothing and letting out a breathless whine. You set yourself across his lap and his big hands quickly fist on your waist pulling you snugly.

You don’t mind this, you really don’t.

It's too routine for you, the first thing that you reach for to avoid saying no. His belt buckle is warm against your palm as you shift so that you can slide to the floor. Pulling your body away from him. he lets out a needy bereft sound. stopping you as you start to tugg at his waistband.

his cheeks are pink, lips red from kisses when you pull back. "I-"

"Let me kiss you here Koo." Let me at least do something. Let me stop feeling so guilty, I know how to fix the guilt even if you don't.

Jungkook catches your chin before you sink to the floor. Jungkook has a hickey on his abs glimmering there just along his hipline. The crop top pulled up to right under his pectorals in a way you know would have the alphas growling and mouthing at his stomach. That's probably how he got the hickey in the first place.

“But you don’t like it.” He says, not quite understanding. Catching your hand as you slide it across his knee.

“I want to try.” You lie, "I-I feel like I’ve lost practice, need to be taught how-” You bat your eyes, looking down and away like you're embarrassed. Just let me do this and make you cum. Just let me get this over with so that we can go back to cuddling and I can feel safer. Jungkook always gets especially cuddly after he's cum too. “I don’t- I don’t do it for the alphas like at all." Your stuttering isn't all faked. You’ve lost practice in a lot of things, but lying clearly isn’t one of them.

“Or Yoongi” Jungkook notes. A little too quickly.

Your heart pulses, Bruised a bit at that. You've never explicitly discussed the abuse you underwent with anyone but Yoongi and Namjoon. You didn't think anyone really noticed how much you don't like giving blowjobs. It's not that you don't want to reciprocate or touch- it's just that once with Geumjae, the choice to reciprocate was taken away from you. The choice to get anything at all was always taken away. It's hard to forget that, to want it again.

You remember his words. He'd always been violent with words before he'd ever gotten violent physically with you. Coercion doesn't feel like it has the same weight compared to that (Hobi would probably argue with you- but his case was different wasn't it?)

"You're so fucking selfish, you could help me in like- 10 minutes but you're choosing not too. We could go back to having a normal fucking evening. I do so much for you and even now when I can't fucking sleep you won't just do this one fucking thing- it's not like I'm asking for much. You're too young, I should have known you wouldn't know how normal relationships function."

It's foolish of you to think that you could be selfish forever. You should get used to this with Jungkook so that it's not so bad with the others later. In case they ever realize how selfish you've been.

“Yeah,” you swallow back a lump in your throat. “But can I? I want to-” You make your eyes wide, biting your tongue hard so that your scent doesn’t go sour.

Jungkook looks like he’s warring with himself for a second but then the hornyness wins out. He pulls his pants down his thighs and you help him, big and muscular as he stands, you on the floor before him. It feels right in a twisted way. See I know my place, see I'm not trying to get away with anything.

Jungkook almost trips when he moves to get a pillow for your knees because he’s not a monster. Namjoon and Jin have taught him well.

Jungkook is not a monster.

If you said no, if you said that you wanted to stop you know he wouldn’t hold it against you. At least not at first, at least not this time. After the 4th or 5th or 10th attempt you know that wouldn't be the case.

Jungkook doesn't even have large enough of a cock for it to feel like a real blowjob. His bunny eyes are wide and eager as you give it a first little kiss. Tentative. You kiss the head again, focusing, dragging your lips up the sides and nuzzling into the skin of his hip, indulging in his scent because at least Jungkook smells nice, smells clean, before you take him into your mouth

Geumjae always smelled a bit like piss. Tasted like it too. At least Jungkook's not like that.

He can be forgiven maybe, for not noticing right away. For not asking if you want this twice. A muted curse falls from his lips instead and he carefully cradles your head. A little startled.

"Fuck- ah-" The muscles of his abdomen tense beneath your touch, startled by the sudden influx of pleasure and the wet tight hot heat of your mouth. "I don't think you need any practice- fuck-"

Omega cock tastes less bitter than alpha cock does. And Jungkook’s dick is honestly so small you can’t even choke on it properly. He doesn’t hit the back of your throat when he rocks it into your mouth. Eking pleasure from the tight seam of your lips.

He doesn’t even hit the back of your throat or engage your gag reflex. So, you wonder why your eyes start watering. One of his hands fists (albeit a little bit too sloppy to be totally gentle) in your hair, using it to keep you stationary while he fucks your mouth. Little rolls of his hips that end in cute, "ah-ah-ah" sounds leaving his lips.

Good, you're doing good. Your nose is buried in his skin. With the little tuft of hair there, Jungkook must have showered at the gym because it doesn't smell like anything. Just breathe.

You know Jungkook doesn't get stimulation to his cock often. The others much prefer to fuck his hole rather than pay attention to it and that works in your favor now because Jungkook's so sensitive. You feel his cock jerk a little, tensing as his abdomen does, flexing up against the pallet of your mouth. Especially when your tongue teases at the head. Finding the ridge of his frenulum and pressing up.

Your lungs sting but you keep your tongue flat, lapping up at the underside, keeping your mouth wet and messy and not swallowing yet. Jungkook's precum tastes a little salty, not as salty as alpha cum would taste like but still not bad. Just a little bit like sweat and a little bit like honey.

Jungkook looks down at you, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead his lips falling slack in pleasure. Hips twitching up, looking debauched and lovely from it already. Pride swells, even as you have to fight back the urge to gag. Quieting the revulsion in your stomach through force of will alone.

You can do this, you don't have to make a big deal over it-

Jungkook tips his head back, closing his eyes, and you're free to shudder unwatched. "Fuck- just like that- you're so good at it, fuck-" You wonder if you get this same wide-eyed subspace look when you’re sad if that’s why he doesn't notice. Your knees burn, hands tighten. One on his hips the other digging into your thigh.

You hear someone outside in the hall and before you have the chance to even think about pulling off they're opening the door. Jimin almost trips, Clearly not expecting to see you on your knees or Jungkook with his legs splayed and shirt rucked up to show his tummy.

You pop off Jungkook’s cock easily, jaw aching already (you really are out of practice) Jimin’s look is all predatory, alpha pheromones bubbling up. One second startled, the next prowling in your direction like a jungle cat.

“Ah pups, getting into trouble? Pups having a treat?”

Jungkook giggles, spreading his knees wider, fingers stroking down your cheek as you catch your breath. Wiping the spit from your lips. “We’re not done yet,” he huffs. You blink up at Jimin and the touch he drops on your head is everything. Soothing your frantic panting. You push up into it, eager for a casually loving touch.

"Wanna make some trouble with us?"

“maybe, think i'd much rather watch" He teases, jutting his chin at Jungkook and settling down next to him, leaning on his chin to watch you as you're urged back to it. You kiss Jungkook's cock again as the alpha guides him into a kiss. Settling his happy-turned-on pheromones into a thick bubble that bursts.

You lap at Jungkook’s cock head, making it messy. Watching the two of them get distracted by kissing, licking into each other’s mouths. Jungkook's hand falls from your hair in favor of cupping Jimin's thigh.

And you below them, an afterthought.

You ignore the longing in your chest and go back to sucking Jungkook off. After a minute or two, Jimin's hand returns to your head, his knuckles rub against your cheek in lazy circles.

It would feel loving any other time but not right now. Not when you're trying to ignore the voice that whispers in the back of your mind that this is all you're good for. On your knees, mouth open. Finally useful. Finally worth the bother of loving. A voice that doesn’t come from any of them but sounds suspiciously like Geumjae's occupying your thoughts.

Jimin's hands are on your head too, rubbing against your cheek. Wiping away a little bit of spit on the corner of your lips. He clearly thinks you're deep in omegaspace. Interpreting your quiet softness for that sweetness and not this devastation. there is always a moment of quiet before a disaster, an intake of breath where everyone braces for impact.

“My good little princess, making your packmate happy, look at you pup,” Jimin croons. Clearly enjoying the pretty picture that you and Jungkook paint.

If anything, it's hearing that old pet name that makes you break. You're fine until you're not.

You're just so tired.

There is wetness on your face and it’s not spit or slobber or cum just tears. Little sniffles. your first one goes un-noticed by them, but not the second or the third. Jungkook freezes. And suddenly the fingers on your cheeks aren’t pulling you closer to Jungkook’s hips but off. Tilting your face. Jimin's hands quickly push Jungkooks away.

Jimin has stoney eyes, his mouth hard and discerning, lips parting. “Pup?” Jungkook’s already got his hand on your arm bunny eyes the soft opposite to Jimin’s. Jimin effortlessly transfers you from the floor to the couch. "Oh pup."

You wipe at your tears stubbornly. “Just one second, just give me a second and then I can keep going I promise, I’m fine- I’m fine” you keep repeating it, keep saying it but you smell so sour-sad. Your pout wobbles hot tears welling up threatening to spill over renewed.

But in what world would they ever let you cry during sex without pre-negotiating? In what world would they let you cry without comforting you?

“I don’t even know why I’m crying but I can't stop-”

No sooner have the words slipped past your lips are they pulling you up from the floor and into their laps, manhandled and small. You fight it a little. but Jimin crushes you to his chest and you sag. t

Jungkook has never gotten less turned on quicker, a packmate's distress takes so much precedence over this. Pulling up his pants. His pleasure isn't even a thought in the back of his mind. You take precedent.

Jungkook thought you knew that.

He feels helpless, helpless as you scrub angrily at your mouth, he uses his sweatshirt sleeve to wipe the saliva and spit from your mouth, then your tears from your cheeks. "Oh fuck- I'm so sorry- fuck I-"

And oh, you're crying into Jimin's chest now, real tears. Sobbing harder.

Jimin glances up and for a second he looks a little angry. He has every right to be angry at Jungkook for this. He's barely been here for like, a minute and a half. But the anger isn't welcome, you're too close to Jimin's scent gland, flinching when he starts to smell sour. Pulling back, so so so terrified, quivering in his lap.

"I'm sorry alpha, just give me a second and I'll get to you too-"

Now Jimin's angry for a whole new reason, angry at people he can't punish, people who are already dead. Jimin feels his anger in his hands. Struggling to stay gentle on you.

Oh fuck that.

Jimin’s fingers pinch at the back of your neck, scruffing you until your scent mellows out a little. "None of that now." He snaps, sharp shifting from concerned packmate to commanding dom effortlessly. "You'll do no such thing. You're going to stay right here until I tell you I'm done holding you."

Jimin's firmness is exactly what you need. You feel his power in his arms, crushing you, restraining you. Jungkook is not a dom, and that has never been clearer than right now. if he was than you would have never gotten into this predicament. "Can't you be good and do what Alpha asks?"

"Yes Alpha" you sob.

Jungkook looks at you guilty, eyes swimming with tears too. He's always been a sympathetic crier but he doesn’t let them spill. Even if Jimin spies them. His lower lip wobbles as he looks at you. Reaching out to hold you too and then snatching his hands back at the last second. If Jimin's touch is your remedy then Jungkook's is surely poison. “Why didn’t you-”

“I just- I just didn’t want to be bad.” You know what they’re about to say, that saying no wouldn’t have been bad but your brain is all terrified of it.

“M’sorry” Jungkook wants to say that there’s nothing you’ve got to apologize for that it’s him that should, but it’s difficult. It’s so difficult when you’re crying so hard it kinda feels like you might pass out. hyperventilating a little. He can do little more than loop his arms around Jimin's waist and trap you between the two of them, sandwiching you. Applying pressure. Holding you tight. In a way that has you instantly plummeting. Down past subspace, past omegaspace, where everything is dark and bland and nothing. Where you're nothing.

“M’sorry Koo-” He doesn’t trust his wobbly voice to speak as you sob out, “Don’t tell them, don’t tell Namjoon and Jin or Yoongi please- don't want them to worry. It’s not Koo's fault it's mine. I’m fine. m' just feeling off. I’ll be better alpha I promise.”

Luckily there is no one home. No one is home to hear any of this. Jimin has always been perilously unable to deny his girls their silly wishes. And if the idea of Namjoon or Jin knowing has you panicking anew then Jimin will take this secret to the grave.

Jimin soothes you with a happy alpha rumble, feeling exactly the opposite- wishing there was Namjoon or Jin to call for backup. This is clearly not normal crying. Jungkook surely couldn't have put you into subspace but somehow you're dropping. Leaning in to every word that graces Jimin's lips like you need the absolution he brings.

“But you’re already so good for us pup- already so good for saying no even though it was hard. Here. Lie out so we can hold you. Here.” It's what you wanted from the beginning someone close by enough to touch enough to cuddle.

Only this time it feels even less like you deserve it.

You make yourself as small as you can. Jungkook and Jimin alternate, kissing off your cheeks. Until you stop crying and fall asleep. Crying yourself back to sleep. You really were just sleep-deprived.

Jimin's got one arm around your waist, another cradling the back of your head. And only once he's absolutely sure that you are completely asleep does he hiss over the top of your head.

"Jungkook What the hell-"

"I asked, you know I asked. She said she was okay I swear-"

A whispered argument ensues, drawn out until the others come home. Their anger quieting at the sound of them, Yoongi softly calls your name. Mindful of the fact you could be sleeping.

When you wake up around dinner time you're non-verbal and pupish. There are too many people around for Jungkook to be able to pull you to the side and ask, to just talk this out. He watches you close at dinner, watches and waits for a chance to talk to you that won't come. You'll pretend you're asleep tomorrow when he wakes, just to avoid it for a little while longer.

If the others notice anything strange with you at dinner time no one broaches it. Of course, you don't speak at all. Answering their questions with shaken heads and careful nuzzles under Tae’s chin where you sit side by side with her. Your chairs pulled together so that they’re more of a bench. She smells so good- so Rosey that you press your face into her shoulder to avoid the other's eyes.

Never mind the fact that you don't smell like anything at all. Maybe you're dissociating too bad to smell like anything. So disconnected from your emotions that you can't feel them let alone smell like them.

After dinner you take an extra long in the shower so that by the time you exit the bathroom Jin has already scruffed Jungkook sleepy. He looks cute too. Pouting in his sleep, restless.

There's an extra soft nesting space carved out just beside him that he made special for you with a few pillows and his favorite nesting things. It will go unused.

That night, you don't bother trying to sleep.

~-~

Please Like, Comment, and Reblog <3 every word helps motivate me to write the next chapter!

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Come tell me what you liked about this chapter!

Upstairs floor plan:

Chapter playlist:

Noah Kahan - Call your mom

Coldplay - Sparks

nick cave and the bad seeds - O' children

Pine Grove- Need too

[ditizygirl]

Editblr is a breeding ground for idolatry, ableism, racism and so much more all for a community about putting images together.

I've been here for only a year but I feel like I've seen it all, and the excuses oh my god the excuses. You are all 15-19, you should not have the mental capacity of a 8 year old. Your common sense is non existent and almost all of you guys are so fucking stupid it's pissing me off more than any god can understand. You are old enough to have logical thinking skills, you may have a disorder and it may be a reason but not an excuse.

Alot of you have forgotten the saying "Think Before You Talk" and I've sure as hell done alot of thinking. This is my deep dive into editblr.

Ableism

Typing quirks are a way of personal expression but why do so much of you hate to add plain text. I can understand to extent because plain text hates my head because of how long it can be but I'm not gonna act like a little bitch about it. I'm gonna add my typing quirk or even fonts itself to it.

I'm gonna ask someone to help me, or to do it for me. Stopping making excuses for ableism. Alongside with the typing quirks, your psds are ugly and eyestrainy. Psds also fall under racism because I have no idea why you guys are ignoring the fact some make dark skin characters lighter but in the case of ableism most of them are really bright and makes it hard to see.

Orange and brown? Green and yellow? Blue and brown? Why are you putting colours that can be so much eyesore together? And won't even tag as eyestrain and when someone does ask you only do it for one post.

Romanticization

This one is weird as fuck and I see no one mentioning it. Editblr highkey has a ddlg problem, this "little girl" aesthetic you guys have going on borderlines ddlg alot and its icky. The baby talk typing quirk is disgusting, stop it.

I'm not one to judge how someone copes with their trauma but what I DO judge is how you act when majority says its uncomfortable. Now this section I'm a bit unsure how to phrase it, gotta love dyslexia, but that isn't going to stop me.

There's alot of very uncomfortable romanticization of stalking which I've seen so much of alongside abusive relationships and the justification of these things.

Racism

Really can't escape this one unfortunately. Many of you are like kpop idols, you're too dyslexic towards the difference between appropriation and appreciation. Incase you forgot let me remind you.

You can not gift japanese names. Gifting names is a native practice therefore you can only gift native names. Also I've noticed you weirdos befriending people just to use their cultural names. I can't even say it east asian fetishization because its only Japanese.

Also for the love of God can you guys stop saying nonmem and non women especially when referring to sexualities. It's not hard to simply say "queer attraction to women" and "queer attraction to men".

Coming back to the "gifting" names thing, I think it's interesting how all of you conveniently have a Japanese friend who "gifted" you the name of a cute pink anime girl. Maybe I'll do a post later on how much of a bad liar you guys are.

Closed symbols is also another big problem you all have. No matter how much times you're told you can't use something you always cry "but my friend from xyz culture said it was ok!" One person can't speak for a whole culture. You're nothing but a coloinzer in disguise hiding behind the idea of aesthetic. If you want to know if a symbol is closed just use this site.

Goddess Personas

Yea this one is getting a whole section of its own. Like any people I am uncomfortable with goddess personas, especially being someone with biblical sources. Now the idea that a teenager on the internet is making people call them a goddess is strange isn't it?

In my opinion, they're all annoying, copy and paste, and I think not a lot of people talk about how the really bad ones get. You all love to indulge them, make them think they have power over them. You put them on a pedestal and praise them and get surprised when it all goes to their head?

Stop giving 14 years old power, stop indulging in their habits and letting it go their head. Forcing people to refer to you as their goddess? Their Lord and saviour? Their idol? Someone they must listen to? It creates a power inbalance which always leads to the weirdest of manipulation. Also all the engagekiss copiers are so obvious why would you want to copy the identity of a groomer? It says alot of about yourself if that's what you think is ideal.

Callout Posts

Now, personally, I believe that the only reason a callout post happens is because someone was affected, does it not? Very rarely would a callout post would be a fake one, especially if someone has more then one. If you defend someone who has more than one call out post that's on you and you're gonna end up making one some day I can genuine you that. People don't make them for no reason.

This is all I have to say for now. I hope you guys really consider what I have written here, or not, considering the fact you guys have shown multiple times you lack reading comprehension

@starriesse @dollicous @doveinne @firstgf @kiochisato @lamboll @cherryshh @narcbf @lavendergalactic @npditary @sprinkleoverdose @necroangelz @eskeys

[snek-panini]

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.

[celestialspritz]

this is just a lil bit of a follow up to that one post @sicksadsim made which really hit the nail on the head for me about the community

i notice SO MUCH of the time that people will make artwork / cc / sims story etc that they put so much time into and really outdid themselves, and it'll get practically zero engagement because 'not everybody else is reblogging it/it's not popular, why should i?'.

mind you it is just simblr and it's probably not that big of a deal but how can we be a sims community if we're not uniting together and uplifting each other? why is it reblog the big blogs and sit on the smaller blogs? the answer to that is the community is just a big high school cafeteria and you have to walk on eggshells to sit at their lunch table.

i hate the fact that nowadays people will create things JUST for notes. i miss seeing people posting their stuff they're so proud of and super passionate about. people being frightened to post their cc preview because it's not as good as others or they used the same font as somebody, or the same editing program as another user. a similar sim style. "oh she used true mm hairs/colourful hairs she's defo copying this person" get a grip!!! who cares, why does a community for the sims of all things have to be so cliquey/gatekeeping all of a sudden?

(for the record i dont care about notes lol, i just care about making sure people, esp the lesser known blogs, know that others appreciate their contributions to the community. i know im rambling here and nothing makes sense LOL but what im trying to say is that this whole climbing the popularity ladder in sims comm is ridic. ive literally seen ppl be friends with randos just so their blog can attract more ppl. its so weird like this is NOT a business yk)

there's ppl i know who have been around probably longer than i've been alive and their stuff doesn't get much praise, and the newer, and in my experience gen z members of the community refer to them as "hags", think their style is ugly and dated, laugh at them and constantly trash them; it's hilarious considering at the same time they'll use sims veterans creations as bases for their own. it's the older simmers around us today that have kept the game/its community alive for all this time, if it wasn't for them, we wouldn't have younger fans like myself today.

all in all i just think that there is a creepy weird hierarchy in this community. it's great to uplift our favourites/most popular in the community, but don't forget the ones that started way back in 04 and the ones who are just starting out today.

we all have one thing in common and that's (hopefully) the love and joy we have out of creating our stuff. if you're feeling threatened by someone's work and you're going to be spiteful about it, then it's defo a you problem. stop the gatekeeping, the hierarchy, the cliques. it's so unnecessary and makes you look so fucking ridiculous

[nunyabiz45]

LONG POST‼️‼️‼️ BE WARNED‼️‼️

i LOVE video game manuals that have charm to them.

L.A. Noire's manual? chef's kiss, someone cooked and i'm eating every SCRAP

AND PROTOTYPE 2'S MANUAL???

i am in LOVE, AND THE RADNET ACCESS COSE PAGE???? GKSHFHDOS I LOVE THINGS LIKE THIS

Example of what i hate in a game manual is, unfortunately, the portal 2 manual

SO BLANDDD, LIKE YOU COULDNT EVEN MAKE THE PAPER LOOK AGED OR SOMWTHING?? THE FACILITY HAS BEEN ABANDONED AND ROTTINF FOR GOD KNOWS HOW LONG PLEASE IT WOULS MAKE MORE SENSE IF IT WAS FOR PORTAL ONE BUT NOT PORTAL TWO GJFKFFJF

the mirror's edge manual is kinda neat, ig

i'd say the most unique thing about it is the font but yk

but for the worst of all.

CALL OF DUTY.

genuinely try to guess which cod this is for. NO markings, the most generic shit you could copy and paste to basically any fps game. ITS FOR BO1. COME ON.

i would show cod ghost's manual but i dont think the copy i bought secondhand came with one.. probably would be the same tho

while looking through my 360 games i found another cod manual. PLEASE guess.

MW3. ITS FOR MW3. ITS ALMOST IDENTICAL IM GOING CRAZT GHFHFOSLAUF

does anyone else care about this? no. do i care? hell no. this infuriates me and i NEED to share. just like how i am very vocal about how little customization we have in almost anything anymore.

[l0velylecter]

i vowed I would always be yours ( cause we survived the great war ) — captain john price / f!reader

— "my hand was the one you reached for, all throughout the great war"

BOUND BY HISTORY, from the redwood forests during the age of kings to the trenches of world war ii, your family has served his family for generations. And so the story repeats itself. Yet the small part of you that dared to hope had wondered if it would always stay this way. Deep in your bones, you know this longing: forbidden yet tethering on the edge of your control, waiting to reach out, to explode, ran deeper than ancient oaths. You were a product of a hundred years worth of longing, and if Price keeps standing this close to you — drowning you with the stench of bergamot and tobacco, you will snap.

summary : where the reader and price's families have fought alongside one another as kings and knights, and now as his sniper, you can't help but ache to be more. pairing : captain jonathan price / f!reader | codename : angel  fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii rating : m for mature and suggestive themes, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, cursing, brief descriptions of sex tags : military!reader, afab!reader, female parts, references to knights and kings, price's family being kings, and yours being knights,”where you go, i follow”  +“ she fell first but he fell harder” trope, brief themes of magical realism, scent kink lol, mentions of unrequited love, angst, hurt and comfort, first times, loss of virginity, mirror sex(ish), female masturbation word count : 4.5k note : font is normal sized under the cut ! song used for inspiration : the great war, taylor swift 

" Bravo six, state your position. Over."

The creek beside you trickled down the stones, whistling past the grass. Static crept up your ear, competing with the heavy, ringing sound of silence.

" Angel to Bravo six, state your position. Do you copy? Over."

Your breath hitched at the absence of a reply. Switching off your night vision and flipping the goggles up, you let the night breeze kiss your eyelids: your vision straining as it tried to adjust to the darkness. Across you, the shadows stretched past the pine trees and eventually into nothing, the wind stilling with the bristle of leaves to hold its breath with you.

" Price ?”

 You tried again, voice slightly wavering, " John ?"

" I'm here."

You quickly spun, arms raised as if to defend yourself. Yet his hands flew to steady your shoulders: clothed thumbs digging into your shoulder bone — " Easy there, Angel."

Sighing, you took a step back, briefly noting that you had been chest to chest. You looked to the right, focusing on the pine cones littered across the moss-covered ground to ignore the heady stench of cedar and amber; noticing how you scrunched your face, Price let out a chuckle, " Don't tell me you also hate this aftershave too."

" I never hated any of it," You quickly replied. Clearing your throat before fixing the sentence, " I don't hate it, sir."

" It's just the two of us now, (name). Comms are down. The forest's too dense to pick up anything, and a storm is brewing." He gestured to the sky, and although the clouds blurred together with the night, the wind pick up its pace: the chill sinking past your mask and jacket. " We should head back."

You nodded, adjusting the rifle against your back — the sound of your name instead of your call sign falling from his lips caused you to ease your shoulders, jaws unclenching as the tension slipped off your body like a coat. He let out a small smile, "Walk with me."

The silence was immediately interrupted by the flicker of the lighter against the cigar (already hanging between Price's teeth.) And as if you've done the motion a hundred —  a thousand times, you reached out to cup your hands around his to block the wind. As always, he'd pull away with a thank you, leaving you to flex your fingers quietly as if to preserve the skin-to-skin contact, trapping the warmth to savor the brief moment.

Occasionally Price would comment on the weather or make small talk, but aside from that, it was just the sound of your boots crunching the thin sheen of snow — the branches above a shelter of extended limbs, your steps guided by the pale, gentle light. Your shoulders, brushing.

" We need to address the elephant in the room."

You bristled, steps faltering. 

" What do you mean?"

Your breathing quickened. Despite years and years of training, when you're around Price, you can never help yourself. Bound by history, from the redwood forests during the age of kings to the trenches of world war ii, your family has served his family for generations. And so the story repeats itself. Yet the small part of you that dared to hope had wondered if it would always stay this way. Deep in your bones, you know this longing: forbidden yet tethering on the edge of your control, waiting to reach out, to explode, ran deeper than ancient oaths. You were a product of a hundred years worth of longing, and if Price keeps standing this close to you — drowning you with the stench of bergamot and tobacco, you will snap.

He leaned forward to your ear, chest grazing your back, " You're hiding something from me."

This close, you can practically taste him; whiskey, cedar — the scent crowded you from all sides. If he didn't choose that moment to slip his hand into your pocket to fish out the paper-wrapped object, you would have grabbed him by the face and —

" Care to explain ?"

You exhaled shakily, gesturing to the gift with your chin and mumbling lamely, " Happy birthday."

He searched your expression, leaning against a bark to unwrap it, ignoring the oncoming rumbling of thunder ahead; cigar nearly falling from how wide he smiled.

" A hat ?"

" You'll be heading to the midlands next week."

A bird perched on one of the branches above. Snow lightly dusted his hair.

" You shouldn't have, kid."

" That's what you say every year."

You suddenly feel an ache within your chest, a slow, dull pull that reminds you of what's to come: while it wouldn't be the first time you'd separate from each other, it will be the first time since you enlisted in the army that you'd be apart. And he was the reason you joined in the first place: to make up for the times you weren't there with him, starting from when you were too young to play football with the high schooler next door. You were both ships passing in the night, and now that you were both anchored to each other, the tides have come to drift you apart. It hardly seems fair.

It won't take longer than a year. He promised. If I'm lucky, I'll visit.

You tried to take his word for it, but it didn't remove the dread pouring off you — always observant, Price walked closer.

" Chin up. I'll come back."

The moon was beautiful that night, and so was the rain: it started with a drop on your forehead, followed by another, another, and soon you were caught under a deluge, pouring over the two of you. Yet you both stood your ground as if trying to savor this moment. Price only moved to unclip his cape to drape it over you, pulling the hood over your head before walking away to get a head start, ignoring your protests.

Looking back, you would have given anything to know what he was thinking that night, his eyes young, hopeful, and electric blue past the mist.

When you saw him again, his eyes were grey — sure, they were still blue, but under the streetlamp and peeking through the hat, they burned silver like steel: steady and sharp, burdened by hardship. So when his voice drops almost fondly, softly, to greet you, a familiar ache bloomed in your chest.

“ It’s good to see you again, kid.”

The words caught in your throat, the sentence you practiced in your head for years, dissolving into one stiff nod. And when he crossed the distance, the men behind him stood their ground to watch. 

A heartbeat passed before he gestured to your — well, his cloak, " That old shabby thing can't possibly do you any good, sergeant."

He was right, you thought. Despite your best attempts at preserving it, the fabric was worn and old and falling apart by the seams, barely protecting you from snow, wind, or rain. Yet how do you tell him that it still faintly smells of the earth, of gunpowder, of him? And it didn't matter how many times you washed it: the faint, sweet fragrance still lingers; a phantom trick that keeps the yearning at bay. So you settled with a curt: " It gets the job done, sir."

You gripped the strap of your rifle, subtly resting the fist above your heart in a poor attempt to soothe it, and his gaze followed your subtle movements: eying the family crest. Realizing that he would probably want the heirloom back, you started to unclip it from your neck.

“ Don’t,” He ordered, and you obeyed. Fingers pausing.

“ Keep it. It looks better on you.”

You wanted to say so many things: to tell him that the beard suits him, that you still couldn’t believe this was real, that you’ve missed him to the point where your bones ached. With him towering over you with only a footstep away from being chest to chest, the saccharine smell hit you square in the stomach. This time you didn’t need to imagine him.

Rumors were questions going about you and Price. And only during rare moments like these did the questions begin to materialize in the air like clouds, heavy and unsaid, suspicion gathered like precipitation: waiting to pour out of everyone's mouths like rain. Throughout the entire interrogation, you stood by the entrance, quietly observing the scene unfold, not wanting to interfere. You only moved once the captor opened his mouth to spit on Price's face. Immediately, you pressed yourself to the front, ignoring your teammate's protests to hold the edge of your blade against his adam's apple, only lowering the weapon when Price placed a hand on your shoulder. An amused smile crept up the informant's face: thinking, suspecting, plotting.

" I'm impressed that you keep your dogs on a tight leash, Captain. Can't you do the same for your bitch ?"

You didn't know who shouted for Price to stop: it must've been either Gaz or Ghost, both men hauling him off the prisoner: the cracking of bone echoing down the walls. Kate had every right to be angry — He has diplomatic immunity, John! What the fuck were you thinking? 

Next to you, Ghost crossed his arms together, taking shelter under the rooftop from the pouring rain, " Bastard would have died if we didn't cut a hole in his neck. A bloody nose makes it hard to bloody breathe, don't you agree, sergeant?"

His eyes narrowed as if to ask. No, as if he already knows and maybe even understands. Not knowing what to say, you chose instead to watch as blood: fresh and wet, trickled down Price's knuckles, slowly washed away by the downpour. ( You weren't worried, it wasn’t his blood.)

“ What’s his name?”

Almost immediately, Fahrah tucked the picture back into her pocket. Alert, her hand reached for her gun, only to relax once she saw you. Outside, the desert was tame under the full moon, breathing with each howl of wind rolling down the hills. That was her habit: when it seemed as if no one was looking, Fahrah would sit by the corner to rest her head against the wall, gaze zoning into the man by the very end of the group polaroid almost longingly.

“ Alex.”

“ My condolences.” 

You shifted in place.

“ Do you miss him?”

She pursed her lips as if to think, but you knew it was because she didn't want to hear how easily the admission would slip past her lips as if his name was something she feared.

“ I do.”

On serene nights like this, when there wasn’t a single cloud to block out the moonshine, you were compelled to seek comfort in the presence of one of the only women on the team. And on the rare occasions where the noise fades with the rest of the battlefield, Fahrah lets you.

Resting her chin atop her knees, she put her novel aside: A Collection of Urzikstan Fables. 

“ Do you believe in fairytales ?”

You let the words mull, sparing a few seconds to think, “ Sometimes I do.”

The comms were stagnant, quiet: a few stories wouldn't hurt, Fahrah suggested. And so you told her a story — the only story you had chosen to believe in: weaving a tale of kings and knights, where oaths are sacred, and crowns are heavy. 

“ And did the knight love his king?”

You pictured a knight cradling her majesty's body on the forest floor, unmoving and ruined by grief. You imagined a trooper limping past the minefields with his captain on his back, body: broken yet persevering through the pain. You thought of Price bleeding out in your arms, eyes blue and blood red.

“ Very much.”

“ But did the king love her back?”

You laughed as if the answer was obvious, “ No.”

“ Why not?”

“ They say kings were often needed elsewhere, and sometimes, they were needed in places where knights can’t follow.”

" Well that's hardly fair, isn't it?"

Her voice was sad, sorry even. You tugged the cloak closer to around your body.

" No, it’s not."

Once Gaz had asked you how to tell if Price was angry. You told him it was easy: if he starts cursing and throwing chairs, he's angry. But if he stays quiet, then he’s furious. You’ve seen Price make threats and shove tables in retaliation, but you’ve never quite seen him like this — jaws clenched and eyes burning. Silent throughout the car ride back to base. He couldn't even bring himself to look at you.

" I told you to take the shot."

He spat through gritted teeth. 

" I could have hit you.” You reasoned, “It was too risky, sir."

" Don't fucking sir me, (name)! Not now! " His fist collided with the metal table as he pushed himself off the chair, the table dragging against the stone floor. " I trusted you to take out the enemy, no matter the cost."

Your frown grew deeper as you looked back on the last few hours. You could still feel the wind against your ears, rushing past you as you supported your elbows against the ledge. With a finger against the trigger, you shouted against the comms for someone — anyone, to come and pry the captain away from the enemy. Yet no one came, and Price was directly in front of the target's body, looking straight into the crosshairs and ordering you to shoot.

" I can't."

" Can't or won't?" He challenged, stalking forward to crowd you against the wall, "Answer me !"

" I won’t hurt you! "

His eyes flickered to the fresh cut across your cheek, dripping blood down your chin. The consequence of your reluctance: an opposing sniper had aimed his rifle right at you. His copper bullet zoomed past your temple and knocked you backward. And Price was shouting from afar when Soap had come to collect you back inside the chopper; From below, it looked like a headshot. 

" And because of that, you could have...people could have been hurt tonight. You let him go, and he will kill civilians — children! "

" I..." You struggled to find the right words. While there hadn't been any reports of casualties, civilians within a fifty-mile radius were currently under evacuation, the sound of helicopters in the distance creeping past the windows.

The corners of your eyes burned.

" I'm sorry."

He tore himself away from you, a hand wiping down his tired face: crestfallen, his voice was low and angry. 

" Don't make yourself a liability on my fucking behalf because if it was up to me and you were down there, you bet your arse, I would have pulled. that bloody. trigger. Do I make myself clear?"

When you gave no reply, Price stormed out of the room, and only an hour later did you finally find the strength to follow suit.

The helicopter rocked sideways, dipping past the clouds before catching itself. You already have your arm extended, reaching for Price. Yet his expression told you to stay put because the fire was growing by the minute. But you were crying: nearly hysterical the moment Gaz placed an arm over your waist to hold you in place. You thrashed and kicked and begged him to let you go after the captain on the other side, feet tangled in one of the seatbelts.

The chopper won't hold. There wasn't enough time.

When he finally cut himself free, the helicopter was already plummeting, and in the small timeframe where he could've leaped to grab your arm, his hands slipped past the tips of your fingers. Within seconds, he had plunged past the smoke and into the waters — your screams swallowed by the blaring alarms.

By the time you pry your eyes open, you were already gripping someone’s forearm, bracing yourself to hurl and cough the water out of your lungs. A set of familiar hands pulled your hair back, running down your nape in a shaky, soothing motion, “ You broken?”

You didn’t need to lift your head to know it was him, “ N-no sir.”

With your vision still blurred, you can’t see past the haze, and sensing this, Price moved his hand against your face to swipe his thumb over your eyelashes. In the background, the engine from the helicopter exploded, sending debris into the ocean. The tides might have been causing havoc underneath you, rattling the metal beams, but for now, above the oil rig: you were both safe. By the time you were fully conscious, the enemy plane was already sinking halfway down the Atlantic, allowing Price to lift your body against his chest to carry you inside.

Seizing the moment, you began to sob, tears pouring down your cheek because you knew the seawater would wash it away: salt and smoke, burning the small incision. 

Similar to the hull of a ship, the room creaked and faintly rocked sideways with the tides, the storm above barely letting in any light. None of you spoke, yet you could sense it: you just wished you knew what he was thinking. 

After three hours and a half, with rolls of gauze scattered everywhere, you snipped the fourth and last wound. Price let out a curse, the sharp hiss ringing down the hallway and nearly causing him to drop his cigar. You spared one last look at the old scars littered across his torso, a pang of guilt ringing in between your chest. He pushed himself to sit up.

" You couldn't have done -"

" I could have saved you," You interrupted.

" If I had known sooner, I would have come for you."

You pictured Price, beaten and bleeding all over the dank and dirty prison cell, enduring weeks and months of torture. The regret was wrung out of your heart and into your words, " They shouldn't have separated us."

Thunder rumbled overhead, the wind howling and spraying against the glass. When his gaze softened, the silver in his eyes melted into cobalt. No longer angry, his eyes burned softly instead: warm and apologetic.

" Why are you here, kid?"

" I...I want to be with you."

There was no use in lying. Yet Price remained unconvinced, slipping a hand against your jaw to lift your chin. Still kneeling beneath him, you inhaled sharply at the sight of Price looking down.

" Because of some bedtime story your parents used to tell you before bed? Fuck tradition, love. I doubt this is what it's all about."

" Why are you here?" He repeated.

Again, you not knowing what to say, you stayed quiet with his face dangerously close to yours. Even with the soot and salt on his skin, you can still smell him : tobacco earth oppressing you, speeding up your heartbeat.

" Because you're my friend, John."

" Aye. That I am," He whispered, voice dropping and breath warm against your cheek. You shivered, hands clutching his shoulders to keep yourself upright when he pulled you against his chest: bodies flushed. “ But when I ask you a question, sergeant.”

There was a weight in the pit of your stomach, a growing heat that fluttered — pulsed.

“ I expect a proper answer.”

Everything moved so quickly, his hands, his mouth — and you should really tell him to slow down, but not when he has you against the wall, an arm next to your head while a hand angled your face to him: lips warm and feverish against yours. Only when he pushed his tongue past your teeth did you still, making him pull away.  The aroma of bergamot grew stronger around you. Price's brows knitted before it dawned on him. 

" Is this your first time?"

With his knee pressed against your crotch, your nipples hardened against his chest, and the thin cotton fabric of your t-shirt did nothing to hide the heat, the want. For a minute, Price did nothing, and from your peripheral, you can sense him staring. You braced for him to leave, but instead, he trailed his lips up your neck, a hand against your throat — thumb skimming your pulse.

" Bloody. Tell me to stop, and I will."

With that, he went back to kissing you, slower this time. Each move was calculated and deliberate. All those nights you spent wondering, yearning, craving leading up to this very moment. His fingers tugged your hair, and you sighed, overwhelmed by emotions and pure fucking pleasure. You pulled away to breathe, letting him pepper kisses against your collarbone while you moaned. 

" Have you been imagining this ?" He whispered: voice dangerously low.

You imagined all those times you stood on the sidelines to observe — standing beside him, yet always at arm's length. " Did you ever touch yourself thinking about me, love?"

Your cunt clenched at that, not knowing how to tell him that the night after he gave you his cloak, you had laid in bed with your legs spread open: fingers experimentally probing, pushing past the wetness. You had wrapped yourself in nothing but the fabric and fucked yourself til morning, hands sore and body vaguely reeking of palm leaf the next day.

As if hearing your thoughts, he pulled you down by the waist to the flat surface of his knee, the friction from your jeans causing you to whine.

" Answer me."

" I- I did."

He maneuvered you onto the steel bench, and across you was the locker room's long, full-body-length mirror. With your back against his chest, he spread your legs apart, helping you peel back your clothes. He lazily ran his hand down your side, prying your arms away when you subconsciously covered your chest, the other finding its way across your neck to tilt your head up.

" Then show me."

Without thinking, you brought one hand to the cleft between your thighs, using an index finger to part the folds. You slid a finger in slowly, and Price watched, digits finding your clit before rubbing it in circles. You closed your eyes, cheeks wet with tears: body tense and mouth open to let out a high-pitched whine.

" Always so obedient. Always so good. You've been saving yourself for me, haven't you, sweetheart?" 

All you did was give him a nod, making some kind of needy sound at the back of your throat. “Please, John.”

Price cursed under his breath when he watched your second finger slowly disappear inside your hole. Not able to resist, he pushed his finger inside, causing you to unconsciously grind your hips: feeling a little ashamed when you sensed his digit curl inside to slowly massage the roof of your — " Jonathan, please."

Hearing him groan against your ear made you shiver, the warmth further spreading throughout your stomach. 

“ Patience, love. Patience.”

You found it ironic that he was telling you to wait. After more than a decade’s worth of silent pining, you were more than entitled to have him bend you over the chair, but you know he wouldn’t do that. He’d take his time to stretch you open, exploring, savoring, and by the time you opened your eyes to look in the mirror: blue, clouded eyes that were akin to diving into a storm stared back.

“ Look at you, always taking care of me. And who takes care of you, eh?”

He was touching you everywhere, the stimulus too much for you to handle: you understand it now. This was raw and unbridled desire pouring out of a man tired of holding himself back. And when you trapped his wrist between your thighs, body seizing and clamping down, Price grabbed one of your nipples and pinched it with his free hand, making you arch back. With a grunt, he tried to ease you off the orgasm, whispering words of encouragement against your nape.

“ Don’t worry. I got you. I got you.”

The rain was starting to lull, the clouds dispersing to make way for the moon. And in the darkness, you adjusted your eyes to make out his silhouette. With your body propped up against your elbows, you were entranced, unable to look away as he undid his belt in one fluid motion. To have him kiss up your thigh had you moaning into your arm. Even from this position, he still oozed control, his eyes alight and electric. Nails clipped short and digging against your hips.

And when he had eased himself inside of you, slowly, gently, with so much restraint as not to hurt you, tears were still coming out of your eyes. Your fingers dragged down his back as you fluttered around his cock.

" Shhh, easy now," He groaned. And as you inhaled the smell of sex and musk and him, your body ached for more — even when he buried himself at the hilt.

And somewhere in the midst of him pistoning in and out of you, you had confessed: urgently, desperately, the words crashing down along with your high; bodies, sliding against each other.

" I..." He trailed off, still panting as he pulled you close, heartbeat pounding against your back, " I’ve always known.”

He held you close, nose buried into your shoulder, " That night... I didn’t mean what I said. Fuck, love, I thought I nearly lost you."

" Me too," You sobbed, threading your fingers down his hair, " Earlier today...John, don't go where I can't follow. Please."

His grip around you tightened. Under the shadows, your breathing was loud, fighting with the blood rushing past your ears. Yet the moment he nodded, you immediately relaxed against the sheets, relief interweaving itself between the serene silence of the room.

By morning, his touch still lingered down your spine: one of the many reminders of last night. And when you found the space next to you empty, a shot of panic had woken you, followed by a wave of sadness. Just as it was about to melt into pain, the door swung open to reveal him: already dressed with two cups of coffee in his hand.

Past the window, the sunrays drenched the room gold. The ocean was clear and bright in the distance.

“ Bravo six, to Angel, are you in position? Over.”

You adjusted the earpiece before repositioning yourself over the brick ledge, pulling back the hood of your cape to allow for better aim.

“ In position, sir. Over.”

“ You have my back, sergeant?”

You let a faint smile creep up your lips.

“ Always, sir.”

a/n : to be fair, i believe i can do better with this : it was rushed and it has been sitting in my drafts for ages so i apologise if the plot is too quick and somewhat disorganised, i suck at making long fics 🤣 but i just have to go through with this idea because it has been scratching my brain for ages ! i hope you all still enjoyed it, and i hope he wasn’t ooc or misread as a character in this piece <3 notes : → the great war by taylor swift has so many other lines / verses that fits specifically to this fic i highly recommend everyone to listen to it while reading this ! → in medieval times, knights will receive a form of token from their kings or queens to carry as a blessing. It could be a piece of clothing, which in this case, is the cape gifted from price to you. → yes, alex was fahrah’s knight 🥺  → the folklore i read usually also describe knights as hunters/trackers, hence the strong sense of smell. Price assumed you hated how he smells like based on your strong reactions. False, you were incredibly confused and turned on every time. this is also for the bestie @nfr89s​ because you’re daddy price’s & taylor’s number one fan  😻☝🏻

[neonfretra]

oughhhh oumblr post machine broke... i have made a post so long and dense that i can no longer even BREATHE her way without getting errors for inability to process post... i can edit other posts fine. i can post posts fine. i asked someone else, different account and device, to try it and its BROKEEEEE. epic highs and lows of text transcriptions of a 15 slide long portion of an essay <3 BTW the full slideshow is 52 mb . of 8 slideshows total. my madness <3

villain monologue below the cut <3

if you ever want to HATE a text editor try managing, editing, writing long form text in it <3 never a more infuriating experience in my LIFE i SWEAR!

a minor infatuation of mine is how tumblr rich text editor will handle different elements (ex. paragraph/regular, header 1, bulleted lists) where if you switch between them in a post frequently you might notice it is incredibly weird (compared to other rich text editors i use)!

when you create a new text block (excluding regular text) and then hit enter, it creates another line of text in the style of the previous text block (excluding headers). but when you hit backspace, instead of reverting to regular text, it deletes the entire line of text. if you want to revert to regular text you actually need to hit enter AGAIN. which i mean is fine but my muscle memory has ISSUE with it LOL

not to mention the fact that you cant layer multiple elements (ex. you cant have a bulleted list embedded into indented text). exception of fonts maybe, i dont use fonts at all, i have them disabled, i cant read them LMAO. i have not used ummm quotes as well

AND it breaks copy+pasting. tumblr disagrees with copy+pasting any text in any formatting besides regular LOL. if you use lists or indented text, you cannot paste anything from the block ANYWHERE within the post. you also cant drag and drop text on desktop and i dont like doing posts on mobile devices so yall on your own in that world. (did yall know the google applications i use dont let you right click -> copy/cut/paste? i dont. i dont know what they broke but they broke it)

AND this isnt even mentioning the fact that sometimes the tumblr text post editor just. lies. LOL? call her HTML the way white space (ex. spaces, blank paragraphs) does NOT matter. i put spaces between bullet points and they are gone. there are inconsistent spacings between text blocks because i copy+paste them and use the different text elements . and then they are gone. i somehow have indented bullet lists??? that i cannot recreate??? and also dont even show up in the public facing post???

AND this is also not even mentionin the fact that its very prone to breaking. like i cannot type into certain lines of text under fairly recreatable situations (IIRC, indented text block, press enter at the start of the text block to make a new block above the existing one, type a character and then delete it to make the new block blank. cant type into it again unless i click off and on again!) or the fact that i straight up cannot edit a post anymore. or the fact that its really common for me to run into errors where it refuses to save at all? or maybe im just stress testin it, im not actually sure how much im puttin into this poor thing? TBF this isnt a 30 image long monstrosity THIS time (which is the image limit on desktop, its 10 on mobile) so it breaks a lot less ^_^ for a copy and paste project. we living it up scrapbook style.

maybe neonfretra is hollerin about nothin. that post is absolutely broke as hell though. ^o^

[hms-tardimpala]

Ficbinding: Matryoshka Dolls

I got out of my reading slump long enough to read Matryoshka Dolls by Applecrumbledore, and I enjoyed it so much I bound it.

The fic: Supernatural, Dean/John, rated E, 24k I don't read a lot of Dean/John, but this fic was an excellent surprise. Its tough subject is very well-handled. Sam has a place in it too, and it explores grief and guilt really well. Also it's hot (I can't find the scenes between Dean and John titillating, but there are others).

The bind: I try to match the story's tone with the materials and colors I use. I almost bound this in black pleather on account of how dark it is, but at the last moment I chose brown, as a callback to John's leather jacket. I used green for the headbands and bookmark to mimic Dean's eyes. That way, the color representing John surrounds the one representing Dean, to call to mind John's control over his son.

The jacket in question is worn by Dean in early seasons, it was John's and he gave it to him (and even at 26 it looks too big on him 🥺). You can see it in this happy family photo:

What I like about this one:

The typesetting: it's quite sober (to fit the story), but I spent some time on it. I downloaded 20+ fonts before I settled on one. The Impala looks hella good. The drop caps are nice: they're frames instead of decorations, which is neat when the two characters in your story are deadlocked in a situation they love/hate and can't escape. It's also why I chose two parallel lines to highlight the years breaks. They're not much, but they felt more fitting than a single decoration.

The trim: I'm slowly taming my guillotine. This is the first project I used pieces of board as "cushions" when trimming the text block, so it's even despite the sewn spine being thicker, and it worked a treat! Sure, I'll have more grey board waste, but I was so fed up with uneven cuts and warped textblocks that I was about to sell my guillotine and give up on trimming. Look at this beauty. The edges are so smooth, even after rounding the spine.

The margins: they're perfect. I didn't cut too much or not enough.

The rounded spine: that's really my thing. I'm always disappointed when I do a straight spine, it makes the book look boxy, so I'm honing my craft on round spines. This one turned out great.

What I like less:

The cover material: it's not the first time this comes up in this section, because this material is from my stock of too-thick pleather that's not made for bookbinding. It made the corners too thick, but otherwise it behaved well. I can't afford not to use this material I already have, so I knew what to expect and I don't regret choosing it for this project. It's fine.

The endpapers: they're pretty enough by themselves, but I couldn't find ones that truly fit the story or would add meaning. Truth is, I have a very hard time finding endpapers. If someone knows of a site to buy some (accessible from France and not crazy expensive), I take suggestions.

Characteristics: Fonts: The Blackmore (title), Act of Rejection (author name), ZT Gatha semibold (text) Materials: fake leather, 80g/m² copy paper, pre-made headband and synthetic ribbon.

Feel free to ask me more about materials and fonts, it won’t bother me at all to tell you what I used, but I’m too lazy rn to write it in this post that’s long enough already.

[letmeliveinelfhame]

Read/see how my Holly Black collection grew in the space of a year!! Apologies for the long ass post 😂

June 2023 - Read the main trilogy + The Lost Sisters on my Kindle for the first time. Fell in love and bought physical copies of the trilogy and How the King of Elfhame Learned to Hate Stories as a bundle from Amazon (I need The Lost Sisters to be released as a physical 🙏)

22nd June 2023 - a pin I ordered was dispatched

19th July 2023 - the Jurdan bookmark I bought was dispatched

August 2023 - Bought The Stolen Heir and Book of Night (still haven't read it yet, though) from The Works

1st November 2023 - Ordered Tithe from Waterstones

5th December - First photo shared to one of my Instagram accounts (the collection was so small back then 🥺)

25th December 2023 - Received Illumicrate replica of Jude's sword, FairyLoot playing cards and Cardan trinket dish and US collector's edition of The Cruel Prince as Christmas gifts

17th February 2024 - Waterstones order including Valiant and Ironside arrived

20th February 2024 - Elfhame candle I ordered was dispatched

4th March 2024 - Entered the Bonnier Books UK sprayed edge duology (1 winner), Wren quote bookmark and The Prisoner's Throne sticker sheet (350 winners) giveaway by sending my proof of preorder of the book from Waterstones. Only 350 would be selected, but I was outside the 350 entries so I didn't think I'd win anything

8th March 2024 - Finished reading The Prisoner's Throne and added it to the little collection

10th March 2024 - I moved the collection to the mini bookcase behind my bed so it could have its own shelf

3rd April 2024 - I typed up, printed and tea-stained copies of Cardan's letters to Jude. To use the exact font, I had to use my college Microsoft account instead of my personal one as the font was a premium feature

8th April 2024 - Received the Wren quote bookmark and The Prisoner's Throne sticker sheet that I didn't think I'd win

May 2024 - I moved the collection back to my main bookcase, giving it a larger shelf

17th June 2024 - I received the Illumicrate editions of The Stolen Heir and The Prisoner's Throne from a reseller on eBay

29th June 2024 - Illumicrate edition of Book of Night arrived from a reseller on Vinted

9th August 2024 - I received the FairyLoot edition of The Prisoner's Throne as a birthday gift

Current collection:

I'm waiting for The Darkest Part of the Forest and 4 items to add to this 🙈

[prof-peach]

Hello! I love the website for your electus comic it’s so clean and easy to follow! I was wondering if you host it on a website or make it from scratch? A lot of webcomic sites don’t have any information on how they were made and I certainly don’t want to copy anyones design, I would like to start posting a webcomic online one day though. Are there any tips you could give to someone new to website creation. Right direction to start in for example?

Ah im glad its easy to navigate, but I will be honest with you, I date a graphic designer who handled the whole build for me, because I so much as look at a computer wrong and it freezes up on me :')

The good news however is I watched them make it, it seemed very intuative and simple, and they were able to teach even me the back end, so adding pages is super simple. It is hosted on SquareSpace, and it comes with templates, easy to use tools, and because its so widely known and paid for, theres SO many tutorials! It's very easy to do with a small amount of effort to wacth some videos.

You can pay varying ammounts per year (and month I believe) to host, which I do, to make it available to all who want to view it without costs to them. Its not for everyone, and is from what I recall, roughly £160/$200 a year for the domain I use, though there are varying packages and prices. Many creators choose to use comic sites like tapastic or the likes, as its a free version, but due to legalities, artists have been veering away from that to protect their creations.

Honestly, I think theres a lot to be said for youtube tutorials, people have been swearing by squarepsace for yeaaaars now, and the interface is very simple and easy compared to other web building options (wordpress im looking at you, youre terrible)

While we did not use templates or preset fonts (partner made it all custom to make it unique) the site offers SO many good options that can be edited to suit your needs, so no need for complex processes if its an option you choose to go for.

Sorry I couldnt be more help, im a huge technophobe, anything electrical seems to hate me haha

At least you have some names for things and can dig further from here, good luck bud! you got this.

[mejomonster]

Okay so hello friends I discovered this site today, when trying to find an app/place to write with low distractions:

So its got: dark mode, light mode, you can set a timer (good for a writing sprint), you can set a word goal, it shows just your writing and word count at the bottom, it has a tool to export your writing as a txt file when done. Its features appear the same on laptop or phone, useful if you're like me and sometimes type on the phone.

Of particular note: you can only backspace through a word, not further. I'd suggest trying to write for a while before deciding how you feel about it. I was initially annoyed, since I couldn't delete a sentence I disliked and could only really fix small scale initial typos. But I just started typing // when I didn't like a prior line so I could just go delete it later in editing, then I continued writing the sentence I'd want instead. After the first several minutes, I decided I kind of like this feature. Why? Because it got me to WRITE. I couldn't really second guess myself much, because re-reading and editing wasn't an option during writing. It will be an option LATER, but not during this writing sprint. Justwrite as another feature, doesn't really let you scroll up. Annoying to me, somewhat, since I couldn't scroll up and double check I was remembering certain details right. But it makes up for it again in getting me TO WRITE. I wrote 3000 words an hour in Justwrite. Just because I HAD to move forward and just tell the fucking story. A lot of what I wrote was good stuff! And I left myself little // to find and fix bits I wanted to work on more. And maybe useful in a story sense, I found my scenes felt they were flowing in pacing better. Possibly because I had to write them timely enough to remember what I was writing ToT (I don't have the best detail memory) so scenes couldn't dawdle long enough to get super stuck or linger on something for an amount of time that would start getting a reader lost or bored. In summary: the particular quirks of not allowing much backspacing and not much upscrolling? Make for faster writing, and a bit more of an incentive to keep a writing flow going while its fresh in your mind.

Anyway I wrote 7000 words today thanks to this site (and the app version on my tablet).

I really appreciate Low Distraction writing tools since seeing even just words underlined or editing tabs above a document quickly gets me distracted. Some current favorites: justwrite (site and app), https://novellla.web.app/ (I like this but I prefer the computer version as the phone version has no night mode), Writer Lite (a phone app I love for organizing writing as it works very minimal distraction but lets me change fonts and organize chapters and notes and projects and check word counts by project/chapter/entire directory - in that app I've written 192,000 words this year, it backs up to google drive and I have not explored exporting options yet but its definitely my favorite phone app for writing project organizing), notepad (when Im om my computer Im not kidding - the lower the distractions the more likely I'm going to use the tool), and honorable mention app.gethermit.com (its a useful site for sharing writing to someone to look at with password protection, and its also got projects/chapters organization, I both appreciate that it includes spellcheck and also hate that it's spell check means I NEVER write on the site I just use it to quickly store a copy paste writing backup online so I can open it up on another device).

[insipid-drivel]

Buddy, its not that serious. Youre the reason people hate tumblr 😅 im just a person that said one comment that clearly tickled you. Youre role playing an argument that no ones having. You just made stuff up to be mad about. Strange behavior.

Since you needed to tag me, im here to say im not biting that troll post. Also notice im not on anonymous sending threats?

Seek help. Step back from the key board. Its not that serious, its tumblr.

You're free to leave tumblr at any time if it makes you happy, because something I said clearly tickled you enough for you to show your ass up in my askbox. I like it here, been here for 11 years, and you're not gonna spook me by showing up in my asks like a creepy jack-in-the-box just to tell me "I didn't read shiiiiiit!"

I know you didn't read shit, because you wouldn't say you're not a racist on your blog while defending a system that was created to perpetuate religious and racial segregation if you actually had.

You're going through an awful lot of effort to let me know that you didn't read what I replied for someone who didn't actually read what I replied with. The "it's not that serious" retort in an attempt to minimize my response to you is a very transparent "I don't have a very good response for having my highly-inflammatory commentary publicly lampooned with a single Wikipedia page." If it's not that serious, then why do you feel the need to message me? Are you trying to flex in front of your followers or something? Because clearly you must be new here.

I didn't even know you replied until a few minutes ago because I was watering my apple trees and checking them for aphids. I'm hoping natural populations of ladybugs will keep them away, but I may have to spend some of my disability money on a box of ladybugs to set free on 'em since I haven't seen many this year. The only push notifications I get from trees are usually when the wind kicks up and a branch smacks me in the head, but that's between me and the tree, so I didn't see your ask until I got back inside. I don't blame my neighbors and have them fined for erratic tree motion endangering my hair, but you sound like the kind of neighbor that does.

And "You're role playing an argument that no one's having"? I wasn't the first person that spoke up against you? 3 other people just on the version that I saw reblogged to my dashboard had already replied to you with their well-founded arguments! I was just the first one that highlighted the racist side of the subject and how catastrophically negative the ramifications of them have been over the past century and how you can't be pro-HOA and anti-bigotry at the same time!

All that was in my reply were direct quotes from the Wikipedia page about HOAs and the "History" section, with the text copy+pasted over with its associated links to sources and citations for any users that may require tools like text-to-speech to read small fonts and blocks of text and look at the citations themselves straight from the comment. Did I intentionally antagonize you in my summaries after each paragraph because you were bragging about how you manipulate and control your neighbors using a historically-racist system? You're damned sure I did, because I don't like you and I'm not gonna bend over backwards to pretend to tolerate you or show you the slightest hospitality.

You are the skinhead that walked into my bar, and I'm the bartender telling you to get the fuck out so none of your friends that share your opinions ever think that my space is a hospitable place to revisit. You are sending an ask to someone that firmly believes that every human being on this planet, including you, deserves housing, food, water, a living wage regardless of employment or salary, and medical care given to them as basic rights and dignities. I'd sooner allow OceanGate to fly me into Venus than give you even the slightest inkling that approaching me at all with your ill-informed and discriminatory "opinions" already aired for me to see is something I will tolerate in silence, while I still recognize that you are a fellow human being. All you care about is having an expensive house - you don't give a shit about "community". You don't even seem to know what "community" really means. Your idea of "community" is more apt for the definition of a Potemkin Village.

HOAs were built on racist policies that white Americans couldn't stand to let go with the end of the Jim Crow era, and I am not about making friends with anybody that uses that kind of garbage to manipulate and control the people that are stuck with them as neighbors because "waaaah my property values!" The fact that you aren't incensed about how much religious, queer, and ethnic minority groups get fucked over by HOAs? Means you are not my ally. You are part of a centuries-old problem that I want to see fixed.

I own a home with my family. I pray all the time that my house's value fucking tanks, so that way my property taxes go down and saves me and my family more money every year. I want and hope to live in my home for the rest of my natural life so long as I can help it, and if enshittifying it to the sensibilities of property evaluators to save money works? Great! If you're aiming to keep the cost of your property sky high? Then you're already setting up to be somebody's asshole landlord, and if you love tumblr so much, you probably know how a lot of users feel about landlords these days.

Your beliefs about HOAs, are, in fact, discriminatory toward the real human people that have to put up with them, including you, and you're doing your part in carrying on the legacy of bigotry that HOAs were always intended to carry on. It's interesting how much good you seem to think you're doing while simultaneously treating your neighbors like they're beholden to you and your real estate advisor; that yours is the only property that matters, and they're just slow on the uptake that they have a new idol to genuflect to in order to maintain tranquility in their lives.

See, I don't give ground to bigots like you who use outrageously outdated and viciously discriminatory policies borne out of the Jim Crow era that favor you in order to exert your personal mandates and beliefs over your neighbors and their property when they're doing nothing to put you, your home, or your loved ones in actual danger or risk (and no, honey, lowering your property values because the neighbor isn't mowing their lawn to the right height or is working on a car within your line of sight does not count as putting you in danger).

Just like you can't touch anything related to Harry Potter due to JK Rowling using it as her platform and primary source of funding for her transphobic campaigns, HOAs by their very nature and origin cannot be used "for the greater good" without simultaneously perpetuating the generational violence and hate that it's based on.

I already know that multiple people made extremely good and insightful arguments against your beliefs that HOAs exist for the greater good for your property values just by looking at the notes and comments of the original post after you added your thoughts without even mentioning how HOAs are rooted in racism and bigotry, so I know that the real person here itching for a fight is actually you, because you could've chosen after the 2nd person replied negatively to you to just let the subject drop and let the replies under yours be nothing but an echo chamber for people like me you don't agree with and laugh while you disappear into the horizon with no one the wiser.

Instead, you waited less than 30 minutes after I posted my reply building on theirs with actual cited sources and further information about the actual, factual history of the subject to start getting defensive and in my face while also bragging about not reading any of what I said. It's just nonsensical dumbassery on your part to say "lol I don't read troll posts" on top of bothering to engage with me at all. So, I guess, thank you for being my human prompt for continuing to expand on the subject of Why HOAs Are Bad? Anyway.

See my askbox? You're free to be anonymous on my blog. You're free to send me hate anons if it makes you happy, because there is nothing you can do or say to me, anonymous or not, that will genuinely cow me into behaving the way you want me to, which is why your only recourse is to block me and move on, per tumblr basic etiquette, or just don't engage at all. What are you trying to achieve here by even responding to me? An "I'm sowwy I pointed out that the system you love for keeping your house value sky high and manipulating your neighbors for the sake of your own self-interests is entirely rooted in bigotry and hate because you Sent Me A Message Without Anon Status?" I don't give a fuck about you, @glutenfree-rootbeer! I wouldn't spit in your ass if your guts were on fire! It's your ideals that I take exception to and bothered to engage with.

Your original comment already had plenty of backlash aimed at you specifically well before I chimed in. Tagging you directly only helped me see that you really are looking to die on the HOA hill and need yourself people to try to laugh at and punch down on - so much so that you're the one that can't step back from the keyboard and realize that you're 100% in favor of employing policies that enable racist, sinophobic, transphobic, homophobic, and antisemitic segregation policies and housing restrictions. I didn't even dip my toes into the subject of Redlining, either.

By the by, I actually edited out the multiple times I tagged you directly in my reply, but missed one or two tags by mistake, because I did take a bit to think and went, "Yeah, actually, maybe tagging them personally is taking it a little far. I'll post up my comment, but keep it vague who I'm specifically responding to," But you've been such a regular Johnny-on-the-Spot with getting back to me personally that I have a funny feeling you'd still be here pissing in my ear anyway.

To digress back to a topic that actually matters, you cannot defend HOAs and also claim in public that you are not a bigot or, at the very least, an absolute blight on anyone unfortunate enough to have you as a neighbor that dares to do anything on their property that offends you. You are espousing the use of associations that have only ever been used for the sake of keeping "undesirable" people out of your community or otherwise being beholden to you and what you think is the proper way to upkeep your neighborhood.

If you can't handle having your uninformed and ignorant views that you took actual time to detail under someone ELSE'S post, so stop acting like you're the OP when you're just another commenter like I was, then you're gonna have a bad time when someone like me shows up with more information than you're prepared to respond to.

If my followers, mutuals, or anyone who is fully welcome to reblog this and share with their own circle that are curious about how horrific the history of HOAs and their absolutely nightmarish ramifications on our housing market, national economy, racial relations between white and BIPOC communities, John Oliver did an entire 26-minute segment about it that covers even more than I did:

@glutenfree-rootbeer, you may wanna just go to lastsqueaktonight.com to watch the Chuck-E-Cheese episode as a special treat if you managed to read this far.

For those who may want to see what started this whole thing, you can see the original post with @glutenfree-rootbeer's take on how HOAs are good along with my and other users' response to how they aren't Here.

And rootbeer? Don't even try to edit it. I took screencaps. They're under the cut ;)

This is word-for-word an exact screenshot of what you touted for posterity, because you strike me as the kind of person that would try to panic-edit and cover their tracks for the sake of plausible deniability if things got too uncomfortable for you <3

[justplainwhump]

Just A Fling: Invite

Written for the Peyton / Dany "Just A Fling"-AU. Peyton belongs to @wildfaewhump.

References this and this.

[Just A Fling Masterlist]

Content warnings: implied past assault (partly within a relationship), gaslighting, victim blaming; Peyton is an asshole.

The invitation card Dany can't stop staring at is settled right on top of a stack of other mail.

Business correspondence, all of that, she's sifted through it already; a signed copy of their collaboration agreement with a major freight airline, offerings from consultancies, the preprint of the upcoming issue of a logistics magazine featuring her in its cover story about their new automated container terminal. All items that should demand her attention.

All items that have ceased to exist in the instant she pulled the card from it's heavy white envelope, and all she can feel is dread pooling in her stomach.

It's a carefully designed layout, maritime imagery, golden letters in an elegant yet fancy font, all set around a photo of Peyton Montgomery looking casually stunning.

Just like Peyton had looked casually stunning leaning in the doorway of his house the last time she'd seen him, when he had shrugged and rolled his eyes at her and told her nothing she remembered was real. I think you need to take some time to figure yourself out, he'd said, and closed the door.

She hasn't even managed to get herself to hate him.

If anything, she hates herself. For accepting her defeaf, for allowing him, them, to be in control. Control of the narrative. Control of her.

It takes all of her effort to reach out for the card. It trembles slightly in her hand, as she turns it around to read its back.

The details are printed in golden letters. Party of the year. Peyton Montgomery's 30th birthday. His yacht, Davenport Marina. Next month.

It's not even a clerical error that she's receive one, not his office sending out a bunch of impersonal invites to an anonymous mailing list. No. It's personal. Dany, is handwritten on top of the card with an undoubtedly expensive fountain pen, and it makes her stomach turn how easily she recognises Peyton's handwriting from dozens of notes he's sneaked into her pockets during the few months of their affair.

Dany,. Nothing else.

It's a punch in the gut.

As if nothing happened.

No. As if what happened didn't matter.

The number next to the RSVP isn't his. She knows it from one glance, easily, because she knows too horribly much about that man.

Before she can think it through, she hits call on her phone, and his intitals light up on the display, over a photo of his hand holding a drink. Just a guy with no face. Just a casual fling. That's what they were always supposed to be. Not more.

Not less.

"Dany," Peyton answers, almost cheerfully. Dany. Just like on the fucking card. Just like she hears his voice say in her nightmares.

"What the actual fuck, Peyton?"

She hears someone talk in the background, and his voice muffled when he replies something, about wine coolers and ice cubes and tables, before he's back with her.

"Sorry, Party stuff. Event planner keeping me on my toes. You know how it is. So, what's up? Did you get the invite?"

She focuses on her hands, forces herself to stay steady. "Peyton," she presses through clenched teeth. "Are you even fucking aware of what happened at the last party we went to together? Hint, that was the one where you let your best friend spike my drink so that the two of you could have your way with me, and I wouldn't even remember."

His tone sounds like he's rolling his eyes. "Please, that didn't happen. Don't come if you're going to be a bad sport, but i thought you'd be over that ridiculous story by now, c'mon."

"Oh yeah?" Dany's fingers clench the phone, while she tries to control her breathing. To let the anger win, not whatever else it is she's feeling. "Pretty sure even Geoff remembers that different from you. Or Valerian. They - I -" She closes her eyes, trying to ban the images from her memory. Tears are stinging in the corners of her eyes. "That night," she starts again, "the two of you shattered me to fucking pieces. Nothing, nothing's been the same. I can't sleep. I can't feel safe. You took that from me. And now you expect me to rsvp to your fucking birthday party?"

The other end of the line goes quiet, the event planner shooed away.

"Fine." Peyton's voice is chilling, suddenly. "Consider your invitation rescinded. And I'll let my security know, so please don't show up and cause a scene. I really thought you'd be more mature about this, Dany. We had fun that night. You got drunk and high and scared yourself, and you've been on a crusade to blame me ever since. Don't call me again."

"Fuck you," she hisses. "I've kept fucking quiet about this everywhere, Peyton, because Geoff and you made sure your fucking lies are airtight. A crusade? That's the fucking opposite of this."

"You're lucky you're so fuckable," he sneers. "Because I certainly wasn't seeing you for your personality. Goodbye, Dany. You'll hear from my lawyers if you try to contact me again."

Dany stares at the phone for minutes, after he disconnected.

Slowly, there's something icy settling inside her and she allows it to grow; a cold rage gathering under her skin, a barrier settling over the dread and heartbreak and self loathing.

She's going to call her own lawyers, too.

But before that, she's going to make another call.

Her gaze flicks to the birthday card again. His yacht. Peyton's fucking proud of that thing, as proud as he is of his mind blowing parties.

She won't ever go on a crusade against him publicly, they both know that.

But there's one thing he doesn't know.

Her company doesn't just own commercial harbours.

She presses the button that connects her to her assistant. "I need to talk to the head of operations of Davenport Marina. About an event next month. The matter is confidential."

She'll never get back what Peyton took from her that night. He's won. But at least, he's given her opportunity to take something of his, something that signifies more to him than she ever did.

It's petty, it's small, it's beneath her; but at least it's something she can do.

She's going to take his party.

[degenderates]

ok fuck it. ranking covers of a home at the end of the world by michael cunningham because guys some of these covers slap and some of them are the ugliest shit i've ever seen. this is the kind of post i would have used to make back in my tiktok days but there's no way im opening that app by my own will again. so mutuals read this post.

last place/ugliest cover first.

the stock photo. literally what is going on here. the font is practically unreadable and makes no sense. the image itself looks like someone pulled it right off shutterstock. its giving my middle school vsco account. why are there three women on the front? the story is primarily about two guys and one girl. i mean there is a second female pov but she's not part of the polycule. font is clean but ugly. bye.

the movie poster one. i have so much beef with this cover, even as a movie poster. they literally took three screenshots of the movie and overlayed them into a weird collage type thingy. why is colin farrell standing like that?? why is the character jonathan in the back?? it's giving disney channel. it's giving early 00s--in a bad way. no rights at all. 🍅🍅🍅

the perks of being a wallflower one. i guess there was a craze for late 90s books to have typewriter font in the middle of a minimalistic cover?? i hate minimalistic, abstract covers. you could choose to tell us something about the book but no. here is an orange circle and a black circle. okay.

the modern cover (i assume). i like the watercolor and how it's not too busy but there's still a discernable image (unlike a CERTAIN cover i just discussed...🙄). the font kind of fucks up the whole thing though. it doesn't match the vibes of the book at all. it's very new-adult-romance and just feels off. because yeah technically the book is about new adults and their relationship drama but it's not this...cute.

the uk cover (?). the quality of this image sucks but i literally could only find it on abebooks.co.uk so. it's not bad, just really busy. the font has a shadow so it can be readable but that makes it feel even more cluttered. i like how the angel statue makes an appearance, but all the colors and how bright it is just makes it feel like a little too much.

the color burned one. honestly while i like the vibes i'm not quite sure who this lady is supposed to be. that looks like a wing so she's probably the white angel statue, but she looks too human. and angels aren't different colors like that. i like how this is simple and black, very classy. but ultimately it doesn't really make a lot of sense.

the grey one. this is simple, but nice. it's dark but with light shining behind the house--a nice balance of hardships but also hope, which fits the story. there's a swingset, which makes sense given the story is about growing up, in a sense. and there might have been a swingset at the actual house in the book. can't remember. the font is clean. a little sci-fi/futuristic for my taste but that's alright i guess. this is the cover i have. i guess i should be lucky it's not one of the previous ones but i really wish i had the next one...

the first edition. look it's classy. it's gothic. the angel is there. the sky looks like it could be ohio or nyc. there's powerlines. the font is stylish but not over the top. it's not too bright. it's slaying. one of my favorite things about this cover is how it emphasizes the angel, because the book itself was written around michael cunningham's seminal short story "white angel" which i have talked about a lot on this blog. it also is in a similar pose to the actual angel statue it was based on, the black angel of iowa city (shown below). i'm a fan. i wish i had this cover soooo bad<333

~~~

overall thoughts: most of these covers are kind of shitty lol. this book deserves better</3 if one of y'all live in the US, dont care much about covers, and want a free copy of this book i'll send my copy (the grey cover) to you for free just so i can buy the top ranked one on ebay lol. anyways if u got to the end and found this at all entertaining, tell me so. this was fun to do except when tumblr deleted the whole thing and i had to remake the entire post!!! lol!!!! and y'all should read this book because it's very good and very messy queer and i adore it deeply. <3