#Jacket design software

[novatechset]

Revolutionizing Fashion Design: A Deep Dive into iDesigniBuy's Suite 

Introduction:  

In the fast-paced world of fashion, staying ahead means embracing innovative design solutions. Our Apparel Design Software is the game-changer you need to elevate your fashion game. From personalized tailoring to custom shoe, bag, and jewelry design, explore the endless possibilities that await. Dive into the future of fashion with our comprehensive suite of design tools. 

1. Tailoring Excellence with iDesigniBuy's Tailoring Software  

Uncover the artistry of bespoke tailoring as iDesigniBuy's Tailoring Software redefines precision and personalization. Learn how this tool streamlines measurements, ensuring unparalleled tailored experiences for your clients. 

2. Crafting Unique Footwear with Custom Shoe Design Software  

Step into a world of innovation where every step is a statement. Explore how iDesigniBuy's Custom Shoe Design Software allows you to craft personalized footwear, blending style and comfort seamlessly. 

3. Woman Bag Software Design: Where Chic Meets Unique  

Redesign the landscape of fashion accessories. Delve into the realm of iDesigniBuy's Woman Bag Software Design, creating exclusive handbags that speak volumes about individual style. 

4. Dazzle in Design with iDesigniBuy's Jewelry Design Software  

Transform raw materials into wearable masterpieces. Discover the intricacies of iDesigniBuy's Jewelry Design Software, where every detail contributes to crafting stunning and unique jewelry. 

5. Tailor Elegance with iDesigniBuy's Suit Design Software  

Explore the epitome of sartorial excellence. Learn how iDesigniBuy's Suit Design Software is tailored for both designers and enthusiasts, allowing every stitch to contribute to elegance. 

6. Fashion Design Software: Crafting the Future of Style  

Embark on a journey of creativity as iDesigniBuy's Fashion Design Software transforms concepts into tangible creations. Redefine your approach to fashion with intuitive design tools. 

7. Expressive Designs: Shirt Design Software Unleashed  

Tell your story through fabric and patterns. Dive into the world of expressive designs with iDesigniBuy's Shirt Design Software, where every design has a unique narrative. 

8. Crafting Style with iDesigniBuy's Jacket Design Software  

Unleash your creativity as iDesigniBuy's Jacket Design Software becomes your canvas. From classic to avant-garde, design jackets that make a statement and withstand the test of time. 

9. Blending Tradition with Abaya Design Software  

Merge tradition with modernity through iDesigniBuy's Abaya Design Software. Elevate the art of Abaya design, blending cultural richness with contemporary flair. 

10. Honoring Tradition with Thobe Design Software  

Dive into the heritage of Thobe design. iDesigniBuy's Thobe Design Software brings tradition to life, allowing you to create garments that honor cultural roots with a modern twist. 

Conclusion:  

Empower your creative journey with iDesigniBuy's suite of design tools. From conceptualization to creation, explore a world where your imagination knows no bounds. Elevate your designs, captivate your audience, and set trends that shape the future of fashion. Welcome to a new era of fashion design, where innovation meets expression. 

[millipup-posting]

was writing about.. mystuffs the other day and wnet “wowow i need to do this more often” so i AM going to draw today,,

[synity]

THERE YOU ARE, MY DEAR (Requested)

(Yoon Jeonghan x FemReader)

*Office AUn slow burn, fluff, angst, romance, slice of life, tension, emotional shift, romance, romantic-comedy, Drama, Emotional Angst, Comfort Fic, Friends-to-Lovers, Coming-of-Age Undertones, Healing*

The morning sun filtered through the massive glass windows of the high-rise, casting warm, golden beams across the sleek marble floor of the office lobby. The faint scent of fresh coffee mingled with the subtle hum of chatter and footsteps. I tightened the strap of my bag on my shoulder and took a deep breath, trying to steady the mix of excitement and anxiety swirling in my chest.

Today was my first day at the new company. A fresh start, a chance to prove myself, but also a plunge into the unknown. I couldn’t help but wonder: Would I fit in here? Would this place be as intimidating as it looked from the outside?

The elevator dinged open. I stepped in, pressing the button for the 12th floor, the place where the design team worked the team I was joining. The ride was quiet except for the soft mechanical whir of the cables. My reflection stared back from the polished metal doors: nervous but determined.

When the doors slid open again, I was greeted by the bright, bustling office space rows of desks cluttered with laptops, sticky notes, half-empty coffee mugs, and the ever-present soft glow of computer screens. The murmur of conversations blended with the clacking of keyboards and the occasional burst of laughter.

As I hesitated by the reception desk, trying to collect myself, my gaze landed on a figure leaning against the far wall near the entrance. He looked effortlessly cool a tousled mop of dark hair, a crisp suit jacket draped casually over a plain white tee, and a grin that suggested he’d just thought up a brilliant prank.

And then, like a trumpet blast in a library, he called out loud enough to catch the attention of a few nearby colleagues:

“Ah, fresh meat! You must be the new recruit.”

My eyes widened, and I whipped around to face him, a flush creeping up my cheeks. “Excuse me?”

He pushed himself off the wall and approached me with an easy confidence. “Jeonghan,” he said, extending a hand. His smile was disarmingly charming. “Senior around here. Basically the king of the design floor.”

I looked him over skeptically. “Senior, huh? You look like you just walked out of a runaway.”

He chuckled. “I might just take that as a compliment.”

“I mean, you’ve only been here a month,” I pointed out, narrowing my eyes playfully. “That’s hardly seniority.”

“Maybe,” he said, winking, “but I’ve mastered the art of being charming and annoying in equal measure. And you, newbie, are my new favorite target.”

I crossed my arms, trying to hide the smile tugging at my lips. “Favorite target? That sounds like a challenge.”

“Exactly,” Jeonghan said, leaning in with mock seriousness. “Watch out. I’m going to make your first day unforgettable.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’re a little too confident for someone who’s supposed to be ‘senior.’”

He laughed, a rich sound that made the air feel lighter. “Confidence is key. You’ll see.”

Just then, the receptionist called out, “Ms. [Your Last Name], your desk is ready.”

Jeonghan gave me one last sly grin. “See you around, newbie.”

I returned his grin, feeling a strange flutter in my stomach. “Count on it.”

As I walked toward my new desk, I couldn’t help but glance back. Somehow, I had a feeling this mischievous guy was going to make this place a lot less intimidating and a lot more interesting.

The first week at the new job flew by in a blur of onboarding meetings, software tutorials, and figuring out which hallway led to the break room and which one was the never-ending meeting vortex. My desk was tucked between two glass panels, with a modest view of the city below and an unfortunately good view of Jeonghan’s desk, diagonally across from mine.

From day one, he made sure I knew that he was watching me. Every time I looked up from my screen, there he was chin propped on his palm, eyes twinkling, grinning like a cat who'd seen a mouse fumble.

“Struggling already?” he asked on day two, watching me juggle tabs while muttering curses under my breath.

“No,” I said, defiantly not closing any of the twelve tabs I had open. “I’m multitasking.”

“Right,” he nodded, deadpan. “Multitasking your way to a system crash.”

I threw a pen at him. He caught it without flinching.

By the end of the first week, Jeonghan had casually slipped into my daily routine like a persistent notification. From sending me unnecessarily dramatic Slack messages like: “EMERGENCY" Come to the break room, I spilled coffee and emotionally can’t recover alone,”

to randomly declaring that I should “thank the office gods” for sitting close to someone so charismatic it was clear he was determined to keep me on my toes.

One afternoon, while I was waiting for a painfully slow rendering process, he peeked over our shared divider and whispered, “You know, I used to be a lone wolf around here.”

I didn’t look up. “What happened? Got tired of being dramatic in silence?”

He smirked. “Then you showed up. I sensed the chaotic energy immediately.”

“Ah, so you sensed your own reflection,” I said, sipping my coffee.

He laughed loud enough to earn a look from our manager. We both ducked instinctively, like kids in school.

Later that week, we got assigned our first team project together. Something about designing a pitch presentation for a client with a taste for futuristic minimalism. We both rolled our eyes at the brief, then locked eyes across the table and grinned.

“This could be fun,” I said, already sketching something ridiculous on the corner of the printout.

Jeonghan leaned in, inspecting the doodle. “You just drew a chair with laser beams.”

“Exactly. Minimalist... but dangerous.”

He shook his head, laughing, but I caught the spark in his eyes. “I like you,” he said suddenly.

I paused, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“I mean for work,” he backpedaled quickly. “Work me likes work you.”

“Uh huh,” I said slowly. “Definitely not going to write that on the HR form.”

And just like that, the partnership formed. Not just in the sense of teamwork but in the way we moved. Effortlessly balancing each other. His chaos met my goofiness. My eye-rolls met his smirks. And though we teased each other endlessly, our ideas clicked like puzzle pieces. We worked late some nights, arguing about fonts and spacing, laughing over bad stock photos, and bonding over convenience store snacks.

One evening, while reviewing our pitch deck in the meeting room, Jeonghan leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling.

“Can I confess something?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “If it’s about the time you unplugged my mouse to mess with me, I already know.”

He chuckled. “No, not that.”

He looked serious for a second so rare, it made me sit up straighter.

“I actually hate working with people. I get impatient. I hate when people can’t match my pace or vision.” He paused. “But with you… it’s weird. I don’t feel like I have to explain every single thing. You just… get it.”

Something warm flickered in my chest. I looked down, fiddling with the pen in my hand. “Well, you’re lucky. I usually hate working with people too.”

We sat in silence for a beat. Then I added, “Except when they unplug my mouse.”

He threw a balled-up napkin at me.

And we laughed.

That night, I went home with a strange feeling blooming in my chest. Not quite a crush. Not quite friendship. Just something... new. And terrifyingly good.

It was official. We had become those coworkers.

The ones who laughed a little too loudly during lunch breaks, who exchanged way too many inside jokes, and who the interns whispered about when they thought we weren’t listening. We weren’t exactly subtle. But we didn’t care. Or maybe we didn’t know we should care.

Every morning started the same way now: with Jeonghan stopping by my desk and plopping a drink down next to my keyboard like a ritual offering.

“You looked like a soggy sock yesterday,” he’d say casually. “So I got you the espresso with vanilla foam today. Don’t say I don’t love you.”

“Bold of you to assume I want your pity latte,” I’d reply, already sipping it.

He’d grin. “You’re welcome, my little soggy-sock gremlin.”

Most days he was chaos personified stealing pens, hiding my sticky notes, swapping my computer background with a cursed photo of himself wearing a cat filter.

But in between the teasing and banter, there were moments where time paused.

Like the time I was swamped with reports late one Friday. Everyone had left. I stayed, eyes blurry, screen flickering. At some point, Jeonghan wandered back in with two ramen cups and said, “You’re not dying alone in here.”

He sat beside me. Didn’t even say much. Just worked in silence next to me until I finished. Our shoulders bumped. Our feet rested on the same leg of the table. It was quiet. Warm.

Too warm.

I tried not to overthink it.

The turning point came during our third joint project. A big one.

A client from overseas wanted a full visual identity for their launch, and our boss wise or possibly drunk decided we should take the lead.

We were excited. Buzzing. High on creativity. We stayed late sketching logos, rewriting taglines, obsessing over colors and layouts. Jeonghan brought snacks and bad music. I brought coffee and worse playlists. We functioned like one machine. One weird, silly machine with too many feelings and no off-switch.

Then came The Argument.

It was over something stupid. A layout change. A font. I can’t even remember. But I do remember the way he looked at me serious, frustrated, raw.

“You always do this,” he snapped.

“Do what?”

“You hide behind jokes when something actually matters!”

I blinked, taken aback. “That’s rich coming from you, Mr. ‘Let’s make it funny so I don’t have to feel.’”

His jaw clenched. “This project matters, and you’re treating it like a school skit.”

“I care!” I shouted. “I care way too much, actually, and that’s the problem!”

Silence.

We stared at each other across the room. Breathing hard. The fluorescent lights buzzed above us like a bad omen.

He looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he grabbed his jacket and left.

That night, I didn’t sleep.

The next morning, Jeonghan wasn’t at his desk.

Not during lunch either.

By late afternoon, I got a text:

Still mad at you. But I brought you a blueberry muffin and left it in the drawer. You get no coffee today. Suffer.

I smiled. Tears pricked at my eyes.

I didn’t know what to do with the aching in my chest. Or the weight in my gut. I didn’t know if we were still… whatever it was that we were.

So I replied:

Fine. I’ll suffer. But I’m stealing your charger later.

He didn’t reply.

But when I got home, I found a crumpled note in my bag that read:

I’m only mad because you mean more to me than this project. Idiot.

My heart cracked open a little.

The project ended up being a massive success. The client loved it. Our manager praised us in front of everyone. But I didn’t care about any of that.

What mattered was that the moment we got back to our desks, Jeonghan passed me a post-it that said:

Truce? I’ll even let you use Comic Sans once a week.

I laughed so hard I snorted. He beamed.

Later that day, while we were reviewing files, his hand brushed mine.

And he didn’t pull away.

Neither did I.

You can feel it. That… thing.

It hovers in the air like the weight before a confession. Lurks in every look he gives you when he thinks you’re not watching. Hangs at the end of every teasing remark neither of you finishes anymore.

It used to be easy.

He’d lean against your desk, call you “gremlin,” and you’d call him “rat.” He’d steal your pens and you’d steal his hoodie on cold days. You were a joke, a bit, a comedy duo with an unspoken contract to never cross that imaginary line.

But lately?

Lately, everything felt charged.

Like now he’s showing you photos from his weekend trip, a slideshow of nonsense on his phone. And somehow, some damn how, he ends up scooting his chair next to yours, shoulder brushing yours, knee touching yours, head leaning so close you can smell the citrus in his shampoo.

And when you laugh a little too loud at a blurry picture of his friend’s dog in a tutu, his eyes aren’t on the screen. They’re on you.

Lingering.

Soft.

And when you glance at him, your laughter dies in your throat.

“…What?” you ask, suddenly breathless.

“Nothing,” he says. But he doesn’t look away.

You both pretend not to feel it. Again.

One late night, it’s just the two of you in the office. You’re not even working just eating convenience store ramen at your desks, trading dumb stories under dim lights, the hum of the AC filling the silence between your words.

Jeonghan’s sprawled out across two chairs, head tipped back, eyes half-lidded.

“You ever think about quitting?” you ask suddenly. “Like… just vanishing. Escaping.”

He hums. “Sometimes. Not often.”

“Why not?”

“…Because I’d miss this.”

You frown. “The job?”

“No. You.”

Silence. Heavy and awkward and too intimate for the plastic ramen cups between you.

He clears his throat and looks away. “I mean like the stupid chaos, you know? Your weird laugh. The way you argue with the printer. The way you try to hide snacks from me in the drawer, but I always find them.”

You try to joke. “Yeah, well, you’re like a raccoon. Of course you find them.”

But your voice is soft. So is his smile.

“I’d miss all of it,” he says.

The weirdness blooms after that.

It’s not bad weird. Not uncomfortable. Just… different.

You text more. Stay late more. Walk home together more. Start noticing things you probably shouldn’t notice.

Like the way his hand brushes yours when he passes you papers. Or the way he waits for your laugh before he laughs, like your joy is the green light to his own.

Sometimes you catch him staring. You’re starting to stare too.

But neither of you crosses the line.

Because you’re still colleagues. Still friends.

And whatever’s blooming between you is still too fragile, too terrifying, to name.

Until one evening, when you’re both walking out under the streetlights, he says:

“Hey… what if we weren’t just coworkers?”

You blink.

“What if we were, like… something else?”

You laugh nervously. “Like what? A tag team for prank wars?”

But he doesn’t laugh. He just stops walking.

You stop too.

And he looks at you like you’ve always been the punchline to his favorite joke the one he never knew was serious until now.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Just… think about it.”

And then he walks on ahead.

Leaving you in the pause. In the silence. In the maybe.

The street is too quiet after he says it.

"What if we weren’t just coworkers?"

You stare at him, mouth parted, breath caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. The city hums around you, but it all feels far away like the world suddenly stepped three feet to the left, leaving you behind.

“Jeonghan,” you say. Your voice cracks.

He doesn’t turn to face you. He just keeps walking, slow steps, waiting for you to follow.

But you don't.

You can’t.

Because you know something he doesn’t: tomorrow, you’re handing in your resignation letter. You’ve already printed it. Signed it. Folded it.

You were going to tell him next week. You didn’t expect him to say this tonight. Not when your whole life is already quietly falling apart behind the scenes.

“I… I can’t do this,” you say softly.

He stops walking.

Turns.

The expression on his face it’s not angry. Not confused.

It’s quiet devastation.

“I didn’t say anything heavy,” he says, almost too softly. “I just said… what if.”

You laugh bitter, breathless, like there’s something clawing its way out of your chest.

“That what if means everything, Jeonghan.”

Silence stretches.

You wish he’d say something. Anything.

But he doesn’t.

Because he’s always been brave in the ways that didn’t matter, and quiet in the ways that do.

You walk past him.

His fingers twitch by his sides like they want to reach for you.

But they don’t.

You whisper as you pass, “Good night, Jeonghan.”

You don’t look back.

And neither does he.

The next day, your chair is empty.

You don’t say goodbye. You leave your badge on the desk and your memories in the walls. You pack everything but the little drawing he once made of you falling asleep on your keyboard.

He kept it taped on his cubicle. You wonder if it’s still there.

Jeonghan shows up late.

Maybe he hoped it was a dream.

But when he sees your desk cold, stripped bare, the drawer that always had snacks for him now empty something inside him shifts.

The first thing he does is sit at your desk. The second is press his forehead to the surface. The third is pretend he’s just tired when the team walks by and notices the tears that won’t stop falling.

He doesn’t speak of you for days.

But people notice. How his jokes come slower. How he stops stealing pens. How he skips lunch sometimes. How the light behind his eyes has gone out.

Someone asks, “Hey, where’s your partner-in-crime?”

He smiles. Thin. Forced.

“Gone,” he says.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Like it didn’t break him to say it.

The office feels colder without you. And Jeonghan feels smaller. Like the air around him is missing something he forgot how to breathe.

He sits at his desk, eyes flickering across emails he barely reads. The world blurs. His pen rolls back and forth across his fingers, a nervous rhythm with no escape.

People ask if he’s okay. He smiles. But it doesn’t reach his eyes anymore.

The mischievous sparkle the teasing warmth that made everyone laugh has dimmed, flickering in the dark like a candle gasping for air.

Lunch breaks are quiet. He doesn’t steal snacks anymore. No more “gremlin” nicknames tossed at empty desks.

One afternoon, the team gathers in the break room, joking and chatting. Jeonghan leans against the wall, watching but not really there.

A coworker nudges him, “Jeonghan, you good?”

He shrugs, a ghost of his old smile curling on his lips. “Yeah. Just tired.”

But when he’s alone, the mask slips.

He pulls out his phone and scrolls through pictures—snapshots of moments with you: Your silly faces, your contagious laugh, the way your eyes crinkle when you smile.

His thumb hovers over your contact name.

He wants to call.

He wants to hear your voice.

But he can’t.

Because you walked away.

Because he doesn’t know how to ask you to stay.

Because maybe you’re already gone.

That night, he stays late.

The office lights dim.

Jeonghan leans back in his chair and stares at the ceiling, feeling the quiet weight of emptiness.

A whispered confession he never said out loud:

“I miss you.

You tell your friends you’re doing fine.

You smile at your new office, where everything is shinier, fancier, quieter.

You sit at your new desk, in your new seat, surrounded by strangers who know nothing about you. Who don’t know your coffee order. Who don’t call you weird names like “printer gremlin” or “paper hoarder.”

No one steals your stapler here. No one argues over what playlist to use. No one teases you for the way you hum when you focus too hard.

No one is Jeonghan.

And that… that’s the part you never expected to miss so much.

You try not to think about it.

But when you open your drawer and see a lone strawberry candy rolling in the corner, your breath catches.

Jeonghan used to sneak them into your bag.

You sit back, press your hands to your eyes, and tell yourself it’s fine.

You wanted this. A better position. A fresh start.

But why does it feel like you left something unfinished behind?

That night, you open your old work group chat.

It’s mostly memes now.

You scroll, wondering if Jeonghan’s still there.

He hasn’t sent anything in weeks.

You think of the way he looked that night the hesitation in his voice, the hope in his eyes.

"What if we weren’t just coworkers?"

Your chest tightens.

You replay your own words, how fast they came out.

“I can’t do this.”

It wasn’t a lie.

You couldn’t handle it then.

Not when you were already planning to leave. Not when you didn’t even know how you felt about yourself, let alone someone else.

But now?

Now, all you feel is the echo of him.

In your laughter that doesn’t quite come out the same. In the silence between your favorite songs. In the way you look over your shoulder when something funny happens forgetting, for a second, that he isn’t there to hear it.

You wonder if he still uses your mug.

You wonder if he still drinks that overly sweet coffee you made for him just to mess with him.

You wonder if he misses you too.

You hope he does.

"Yoon Jeonghan, you’ve been using the same Excel sheet for two hours.”

Jeonghan blinks up, startled.

Jisoo, one of the older team leads, stands beside him with a look that’s both amused and concerned. “It’s literally just the title. You haven’t written a thing.”

Jeonghan runs a hand through his hair and offers a lazy grin. “I’m brainstorming.”

“That sheet’s blank.”

“I’m... internally brainstorming.”

Jisoo narrows his eyes, then sighs, pulling up a chair beside him. “Look, I wasn’t gonna ask. But you’re acting weird, and honestly? It’s freaking everyone out. Even Seungkwan’s been quiet around you. That’s not normal.”

Jeonghan tries to laugh, but it’s weak, hollow.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

Silence stretches between them.

Jeonghan’s fingers twitch against the mouse.

“I miss her,” he says suddenly, softly, like the words have been hiding in his throat too long. “I miss her so bad it’s pathetic.”

Jisoo stays quiet, letting him speak.

“She used to argue with me about the coffee machine. About who printed the most pages. About whose playlist was better. And now the silence feels like a punishment.”

He swallows.

“She left, and I didn’t stop her. I thought maybe she needed space, or that she didn’t feel the same. She said she couldn’t do this.”

“Did you ever tell her how you felt?”

Jeonghan stares down at the keyboard. “Not really. Not like I should’ve.”

He finally looks up, eyes tired, voice breaking just slightly. “I thought I had more time.”

Jisoo places a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe you still do.”

Jeonghan shakes his head. “She walked away. That night, I- I looked like a fool. I stood there in the parking lot like some K-drama second lead getting rejected in the rain. Only it wasn’t even raining. Just me and my stupid heart.”

They both let out a breath. Jisoo half-chuckles. “Damn. That’s depressing.”

Jeonghan laughs, for real this time. It hurts, but it’s real.

“I still check the backseat of my car sometimes,” he says quietly. “She always used to leave her water bottle in there.”

Jisoo leans back. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” Jeonghan says. “I think I’m just… waiting.”

“For what?”

He doesn’t answer right away.

Then softly: “For her to miss me too.”

It arrives on a rainy Thursday. No warning. No sender name. Just a neatly wrapped box on your new desk.

“Who’s that from?” one of your new coworkers asks, half-curious, half-teasing.

You shrug, heart thumping already. Something about the handwriting on the label makes you freeze.

It’s… familiar.

You peel back the wrapping carefully. The box isn’t big, but it’s heavy with thought. Inside:

– A bag of your favorite gummy candies – A new lanyard, lavender and soft, with a tiny keychain of your favorite cartoon character dangling from it. – A small notebook with your initials written in messy cursive on the cover. – And a photo. A photo of your old desk your shared desk. A sticky note stuck to the screen in Jeonghan’s handwriting:

“Still yours. Come back whenever.”

You press your hand to your mouth before anyone sees the tears in your eyes.

Then, like it was orchestrated by fate, the office door opens.

And there he is.

Jeonghan.

Standing in the doorway, soaked from the rain, holding a bouquet of wildly chaotic flowers not the pretty kind that come from shops, but the kind that look handpicked, like he ran through a field grabbing every color he thought you’d like.

“You left before I could learn how to stop annoying you,” he says, voice softer than the storm outside.

You blink fast. “You came all the way here?”

He grins. “I told you. I’m persistent.”

“Jeonghan...”

He steps forward, setting the flowers gently on your desk.

“I know what I said that night was a lot. I don’t regret saying it, but I get it. You were leaving, and maybe I should’ve kept my feelings in my chest.” A pause. “But the truth is… I miss you... I miss your laugh. I miss the way you stole my pens and left crumbs on my keyboard and made every boring deadline feel like a cartoon episode.”

You bite your lip. “I missed you too.”

His voice dips. “I’d like to start again, if you’ll let me. Not from scratch. From where we paused.”

You stare at him, then the box, then the flowers.

Then before you can overthink you step forward, arms wrapping around his neck.

He smells like rain and paper and home.

“You didn’t have to bring all of this,” you mumble into his chest.

He smiles against your hair. “I wanted to remind you of all the things you forgot you left with me.”

Your arms are still wrapped around his neck when Jeonghan pulls back just enough to see your face.

His hands cup your cheeks like you’re made of spun sugar. His thumbs gently wipe a tear you didn’t realize had slipped.

“You really missed me?” he whispers, voice trembling at the edges, hopeful and afraid all at once.

You nod.

“I missed everything about you, Jeonghan. Even the way you put three sugars in your coffee and act like you’re above caffeine addiction.”

He huffs a watery laugh. “I told you my body is 70% iced americano.”

You both laugh half from nerves, half from sheer emotional exhaustion. But then, as the laughter fades, silence falls.

And in that silence, he leans in.

And kisses you.

Not fast. Not shy. Not afraid.

A long, deep, breathtaking kiss that feels like a promise or maybe like the end of a drought. The kind of kiss where your heart forgets how to beat normally and instead, learns the rhythm of his lips.

He kisses you like he’s making up for every day apart. Like he’s rewriting the months of ache with this single act.

And when he finally pulls back, you realize

You’re not alone.

Your coworkers are standing. Watching. Eyes wide. Some mouths agape. And then

Applause.

Loud. Joyful. Surprised, but genuine.

Someone even lets out a whistle.

You bury your face into Jeonghan’s shoulder, mortified. He just grins like he planned this.

Then your deskmate, Jina, calls out dramatically from behind you, “Finally! We were tired of her crying at her desk every day like a heartbreak drama!”

A few chuckles follow. Another coworker adds, “You better not hurt her again or the whole department’s coming for your kneecaps.”

“Too late,” Jeonghan mutters under his breath, glancing down at his still-recovering leg, then looks at you. “But honestly? Worth the risk.”

You glance up at him.

“You’re insane,” you say, voice breathless.

“And you’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he answers.

Your heart stumbles. For once, you don’t argue back.

After the kiss, the laughter, and the embarrassment that only a full-office standing ovation can bring, Jeonghan doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not once.

He keeps it wrapped snugly in his, thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles like he’s checking over and over that you’re really there. That you’re not just some dream in a pinstriped blazer.

“I have something to show you,” he says after the office starts emptying out. “Come upstairs?”

You arch a brow. “Upstairs?���

“The rooftop,” he grins. “Don’t worry, there’s no karaoke involved this time.” You still haven’t forgotten the night he sang “My Heart Will Go On” during your team retreat. Completely off-key. With interpretive dance.

You follow him up the familiar staircase, heart pounding with every step. The door creaks open and

You gasp.

It’s transformed.

The rooftop once boring and gray now glows with warm, golden fairy lights strung from corner to corner. In the center is a massive, ridiculous, wonderful blanket fort made out of mismatched sheets and chairs. Pillows are piled up inside like clouds.

A laptop and projector are set up on the wall of the rooftop water tank, the screen frozen on a paused frame: a blurry picture of you, laughing with your mouth wide open, holding a coffee cup like a trophy.

“What is this…?” you whisper.

Jeonghan looks nervous now, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s… a little something I’ve been working on.”

He clicks a button.

The screen flickers.

Then: a video begins to play.

Clips. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. All tiny moments of your life filmed from afar, or up close when you weren’t looking. You in the break room, humming while making tea. You falling asleep at your desk. You fixing your hair in the reflection of your laptop. You teasing Jeonghan, laughing, rolling your eyes, playfully throwing paper balls at him.

Then clips of you not smiling staring out the window, looking tired, looking lonely. Your resignation day. The empty desk.

All stitched together. Soft music. Gentle transitions.

Then, toward the end, his voice a voiceover.

“I used to think you were the most chaotic person I’d ever met. That you were loud, messy, all over the place. But then I realized… that chaos made sense of mine. I don’t know how to say I love you without sounding stupid. So I made this.”

When the video ends, you’re already crying.

He hands you a small box.

two handmade pearl bracelets one for you, one for him. Tiny charms attached to each: a coffee cup, and a paperclip. (Your inside joke from year one the first time you shared a coffee, and the day he untangled all your paperclips just to annoy you.)

“You did all this?” you whisper.

He nods. “I didn’t know how to say everything. So I made it.”

“And the video?”

“I’ve been filming you for years,” he admits sheepishly. “In the least creepy way possible. I swear.”

You throw your arms around him before he finishes that sentence.

Then you whisper, muffled against his hoodie, “I love you too, idiot.”

His heart stops.

Then speeds up.

He kisses your temple, your cheek, and finally your lips. Slow. Sweet. Sure.

The stars blink above you.

And for the first time in a long time… neither of you feels alone.

It started with a Post-it note on your desk.

Scrawled in Jeonghan’s messy, boyish handwriting:

“Pack a bag. We leave at 5. No questions. Trust me.”

Naturally, you had a thousand questions.

But you packed anyway.

Which is how you now find yourself in his rickety old car, barreling down a winding country road at golden hour, the sun painting his face in orange brushstrokes as he taps the steering wheel to the rhythm of your shared playlist.

“You sure this place even exists?” you ask, peeking at the dying phone signal.

“Of course!” Jeonghan says confidently, just as the car sputters.

And then clunk. pop. silence.

You both sit frozen.

“…Babe,” you say slowly, “did your car just die?”

“It’s not dead,” he protests. “It’s just… tired.”

“You didn’t check the engine before a road trip?”

He shrugs. “I was busy editing your face into a video montage, sorry.”

You stifle a laugh and sigh. “What now, Mr. Romantic?”

He grins. “We walk. It’s just 15 minutes from here.”

Thirty-five minutes, three bug bites, and one accidental encounter with a suspicious goat later… you arrive.

It’s a tiny wooden cabin nestled between two hills. Wildflowers cover the edges. Lanterns line the porch. Inside, it smells like lavender and old books.

And it’s beautiful.

Even with the power flickering and a chicken (yes, a chicken) casually perched on the windowsill like he owns the place.

Jeonghan points. “That’s Kumo. He came with the Airbnb.”

“…Of course he did.”

Later that night, after you’ve laughed yourself sore over instant noodles, forgotten utensils, and Jeonghan’s failed attempt at opening a wine bottle with a spoon (he broke it instead lol), you step outside.

It’s quiet. Too quiet.

But the sky the sky is dazzling.

Stars stretch endlessly above you, glowing like confetti, as if the universe is trying to show off.

Jeonghan steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Pretty,” he murmurs.

You turn slightly. “The sky?”

“No,” he says. “You. Right here. Like this. In the starlight.”

Your heart flutters.

You lean back into him, letting the moment stretch.

Then he whispers, almost too quietly, “I think… you’re it for me.”

You blink.

He swallows hard, tightening his grip a little. “I didn’t mean to fall. But I did. And now I can’t imagine a single boring day without you arguing with me about coffee orders or typing too loud or calling Kumo your emotional support chicken.”

“I never called him that”

“You did,” he smiles into your hair. “And I loved you for it.”

You turn around fully now, facing him.

The look in his eyes is nothing like the mischievous Jeonghan from the office. It’s raw. Open. Vulnerable.

You reach up, thumb brushing his cheek.

“I think you’re it for me too,” you whisper.

And just like that, the chaos quiets.

The teasing fades.

And for the first time, the space between you holds no jokes only truth.

Only love

@lixisoul99

[deadgiants]

How to Paint on Leather Jackets:

A Relatively beginner friendly guide.

Things you will need:

- A leather jacket.

-Card stock ($6 for 50 sheets at staples, or steal it from work)

-Xacto knife ($12 or wander around an art campus for a few minutes, and you'll find one)

- A surface to cut on (cutting mats are relatively affordable, but a flat piece of glass or ceramic will probably also work fine. The mat I use for this is a tempered glass one)

Paint markers. the main thing is to make sure you are NOT using oil-based paint. Some brands make both oil and water/acrylic based pens, and it can be hard to tell which is which at a glance.

Ok lets start!

Find an image you want to use. Once you get used to it, you can get extremely detailed results with this method, but for now we'll use a more simple example.

Ok, I don't really like the common Mischief Brew patch logo, so were using the twxt from this album instead. I'm doing this all at work, so you can also see that you don't need any fancy software for this. I'm using MS Photos for this whole process.

So crop the image close to your text

Fiddle with the settings in edit if you want, i usually think making it b&w with a higher contrast helps.

Now we're gonna cut. With stencils, start with fine details near the center of the design and work outward. This way you keep as much solid paper around your cuts as possible, which helps prevent ripping or deformation and mis-cuts. I also usualy cut in two stages, all horizontal cuts and vertical cuts.

Heres the big difference between what we're doing here and making a regular stencil. We don't care about islands. You see the empty spaces in the B, the e's, the S, etc. We arent cutting that out, we're taking the whole shape and we'll add that shit back in later.

So now we cut it out, we have something like this:

You can see how anything I came across that seemed mildly irritating to cut out, I ignored.

Thin lines connecting parts? We can draw a line. Islands? We can do the basic shape and refine it later. The point is that this stencil will put the right shapes together with the right scale and spacing.

Next we'll put it on the jacket.

Tape that shit down, you don't want if moving more than it's already going to. Next, trace the outline, that's it, then remove the stencil and burn it or something.

Should have somethong like this

Now by hand, fill in the stencil. I advise tracing the outline again as you fill. It helps prevent overflow. If you feel confident, try and build the empty space here instead of later.

So it's filled in and we have a general shape. I recommend at least two layers with 10-15 min dry time between. More layers might look a little better but also run the risk of cracking if it gets too thick (this ended up needing 3 layers).

You may have noticed that the outline looks kinda shit, here's the main thing we're gonna do here, editing.

I hit the photo limit here, so hang on for the next part.

[rieamena]

I wonder at what point in the "reboot saga" would the other cunning hares step in and help Billy? Like, on one hand you have a convenient way to stop Billy from whatever he is doing, and watching how Y/N is trying to confess without crashing him must be entertaining. On the other after crash 65 it must get worrying :/

finally!—

the first few crashes had been amusing, a source of lighthearted teasing among the group. you’d attempt to confess, and billy, ever the charismatic and responsive robot, would suddenly freeze, eyes flickering as his system struggled to process the influx of data. the scene would end with him rebooting, and the cycle would start anew. after the first couple of crashes, the laughter faded into concern

“i don’t get it,” you muttered, sprawled out on the couch in the cunning hares' common room. “why does he keep crashing? it’s just a confession.”

“he’s not built to handle that kind of emotional intensity,” nicole explained, fiddling with the handles on his jacket, metal body limp after yet another of your failed confessions. “his programming is complex, but at the core, it’s still a machine trying to process human emotions.”

“and you’re very special to him,” anby added, smiling gently. “that makes it even harder for his system to cope.”

the three of you brainstormed solutions, testing different approaches and environmental controls. they installed cooling systems, tweaked his software, and even practiced mock confessions. yet, each time you poured your heart out to billy, his system would crash and reboot, leaving you both in a loop of unfinished sentences and unspoken feelings

one night, after crash number seventy two—a number that was only devised due to your intricate logs of attempted confessions in your mini journal—the serious gravity of the situation hit everyone. billy’s constant reboots were taking a toll on his system, and the risk of permanent damage was becoming too great to ignore

“this has to stop,” nicole declared, her voice heavy with determination. “we need to find a way to get through to him without causing another crash.”

after much debate, the team devised a new strategy. it wasn’t just about cooling fans and air conditioners; it was about creating a space where billy could process his emotions without the threat of overload. they set up a room specifically for this purpose, equipped with not just temperature controls but also calming visuals and sounds designed to keep billy’s system stable

the designated spot was meticulously prepared. soft lighting filled the room, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere. the hum of air conditioners and strategically placed fans ensured the environment was cool. in the center of the room, billy sat on a cushioned chair, looking a bit puzzled but the aura he exuded was always happy

anby gave you a reassuring nod as she adjusted a fan to blow directly at billy. "remember, y/n, stick to the script and stay calm. we’re right here with you."

you took a deep breath and approached billy, your heart pounding. "hey, billy," you greeted, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach

"hey, [name]," he replied, the crescents of his eyes lighting up the room. "what’s up?"

you clutched the script tightly, glancing at the words one last time before looking up at him. "billy, there’s something i’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time. it’s been on my mind, and i need you to know."

billy’s eyes widened slightly, his full attention on you. you continued, your voice soft but clear, following the script's guidance. "you mean a lot to me, more than just a friend. whenever i’m with you, everything feels brighter and better. your laughter, your kindness, the way you always know how to make me smile. i cherish every moment we spend together."

billy blinked, processing your words. the fans hummed softly, maintaining a cool breeze. you took another deep breath, steadying yourself. "billy, i like you. a lot. more than just a friend. i care about you deeply, and i wanted you to know how i feel."

for a moment, there was silence. billy’s eyes flickered, and you held your breath, waiting for the familiar signs of a reboot, slower movement, glitched speech, loss of composure, but instead, his eyes displayed bright red hearts

"[name]," he said softly, reaching out to take your hand. "i… i like you too. more than just a friend." nicole crept over to a cooling fan close to him, cranking up its power

unfortunately, the slip of paper didn't have any more words to refer to so you had to improvise. "so does this mean we're like, dating now?"

"are we really?! we're dating now?!" billy jumped up from his seat, practically oozing excitement and happiness, "wait, but i've never had a partner before. what if i do something wrong? what if you don't like me anymore?!" he shook your shoulders, speaking a mile a minute, ranting about all the things he could do wrong and all the things that could go wrong

"also, it's really cold in here, i can almost feel my metal constricting! can we turn the thermostat up or something?"

you couldn't help but laugh. "one step at a time, billy. let's start with the thermostat."

you finally got billy kid after seventy two reboots, and boy, wasn't it rewarding.

its actually so embarassing how long this took and its not even good....

billy kid taglist

@pedrosimp137 @mary-moongood @nyxin-lynx @lemonboy011 @eisblume77

@amaryllisenvy @megan017 @astral-spacepumpkin @corrupted-tale @inkycap

@thurstonw @plapsha @lavenderthewolf @kurakusun @vitaevaaa

@sweetadonisbutbetter @cobraaah @mochiitoby @clickingchip @bardivislak

@h3r6c00k13 @cozi-cofee @apestegui-y @luvuyuuji @theitdoitnobody

@fersitaam @cathrnxxo @monkepawbz @fl1ghtl3ssdrag0n @dabislilbaby

@many-names-yuna @muffin1304 @doort @j3llycarnival @juuanna

@discipleofthem @spookylorekeep @wazkalia @miaubrebmiau @hersweetsstrawberry

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Idia Shroud - Platinum Jacket Voice Lines

When Summoned: It hits so different when the real deal's right in front of me! I can feel my power level rising just by basking in these creators' true art!!

Summon Line: Phone's switched off while in the museum. I don't gotta worry about the daily missions on my mobile games, since I've cleared them all already. 'K, time to get going.

Groooovy!!: Everyone has a weakness or two. Obviously, that includes immortal heroes, too... Heehee.

Home: 100 years, not bad...

Home Idle 1: I can basically draft up designs and blueprints of tech systems using software, but when it comes to actually doing art... Basically, I'm more of a read-only type lurker.

Home Idle 2: That sleepy looking King of Beasts painting kind of reminds me of Leona-shi. Especially how it looks like he could pounce at any moment despite looking like he's not paying any attention.

Home Idle 3: I was surprised that I could buy whatever design of postcards I wanted from the shop. I'm so used to it just being something like 3 random cards in a pack out of a possible 50 or whatever...

Home Idle - Login: Hoards of art made by top-tier artists! Seeing it live is just a whole different sensation! Time'll just fly by here... I wonder if I can see 'em all.

Home Idle - Groovy: Crazy how Silver-shi can just spam the "praise" button over and over again without any charge time needed... I got no defenses on how to deal with this sort of thing.

Home Tap 1: If everything in life could be fixed just by singing Hakuna Matata, then I'd be a bright little extrovert by now...

Home Tap 2: I thought there was some sort of sparkling statue at the entrance to the cafe, but it was just Vil-shi checking out the menu.

Home Tap 3: So, it's true, then, that Ace-shi's got super nimble fingers? Not fair at all that on top of being a smooth-talker, he's also got that kinda dexterity.

Home Tap 4: This fit... It's way to shimmery for a gloomy guy like me... Eh, it works? U-Uh huh... Okay.

Home Tap 5: What do you want? If you want to try to get in the way of my nerd out, you're just asking to get your forehead flicked! And I'll be the one who has to do the flick... I bet you feel bad now, huh?

Home Tap - Groovy: C-Can you help me carry the merch I got from the shop to the storage lockers? Th-Thx... I'll grab you a coffee later.

Duo: [IDIA]: Silver-shi, thx. [SILVER]: Aye, Idia-senpai!

Birthday Login Message: Siiiigh... As expected, I didn't win a greeting from Premo's birthday present campaign. Looks like, as always, I'm just a poor soul that'll only get birthday wishes from my family and my games... EEK!? WHEN DID YOU GET HERE!? Eh, you came to wish me a happy birthday? I-Is that so...? Well, thanks. Wheehee.

Requested by Anonymous.

[thatguythatdrawsalot]

Blake - Menagerie Design Critique.

Hiatus is over and I fricking missed making posts about RWBY’s outfits along with redesigning them so let’s hop to it! We’re coming back to talk about Blake this time around which is good since the last post about her had no redesign at all which was odd even for me, it was one of the worst outfits and I completely chose to talk bad about it than to try redesigning it.

Don’t worry I don’t like Blake’s Menagerie outfit either and there’s a redesign that I hope will suffice.

RWBY Archives

In my last post about Blake I did briefly talk about her Menagerie design as it was the basis of her Atlas design which was the topic at the time. I still stand by what I said, it was clever for the designer to hide Blake’s signature color of black with other secondary colors to represent her hiding herself. It’s not uncommon for characters who desire to not be recognized do everything in their power to hide the things that make them iconic and recognizable. 

We had Violet from Arcane in season 2 drenched in black than her signature colors of red/violet because she doesn’t want to be recognized, there was also Korra from LoK where she cuts her hair very short and wears Earthbending clothes when on the run in Book 4 to not be recognized as the Avatar. I appreciate them wanting to do something like that with Blake but the way they did it was goofy. A huge white coat on a tropical island would make anyone raise an eyebrow at her, make the excuse that aura regulates body temperatures all you want, it still looks silly. It’s not as silly as a giant purple fur coat like Ghira’s but a white jacket with large coattails is close. 

We had more background characters and actual named characters that look way more appropriate for the island than Blake did.

Hair

The switch to Maya was a change I didn’t mind, I’m aware of the animation software doing phenomenal work, it improved background sets and some of the character models for RWBY… some of the characters. 

They changed Blake’s hair a lot, she no longer has black hair, it's just completely dark gray, her hair also seems a lot more… brushed? I don’t know how to describe it but it just looks smoother than wild wisps like in her Volume 1 version. I also do not like how Blake’s cat ears are animated, I preferred if they just slapped Kali’s ears onto Blake as it looks way more realistic. 

The hair was really the first sign of Blake ditching black and being swallowed up in purple’s.

Primary Color - Black?

Blake fails in representing her color of Black simply because she’s not wearing any black at all. I extracted the colors of Blake’s model in completely flat lighting and it is solely “not dark-enough Indigo” on her. I can’t vibe with the concept anymore of Blake wearing white and purples to hide her signature color which in turn means hiding her true self anymore because she’s not wearing her true color to begin with! She doesn’t even wear her true color at all in the next volume when her running and hiding arc is over!

As she fails to represent black she also fails in honoring Yang’s color, the gold of the look is just so miniscule and it doesn’t help that it’s surrounded by purple rather than black, I felt as though it would have made the color pop. In my recolor version I don’t think I did it justice, the outfit is just that bad that not even color placement could fix it, but I am a little happy that yellow is more visible as it can look good when standing next to Sun or Yang.

Positives?

Yeah, here’s a positive, Blake without a giant stupid coat on her is chef’s kiss. The giant coat gets in her way of combat, I’m sorry but that coat is bad, not as bad as Blake’s Atlas coat but still BAD. When it’s finally gone the ‘not dark-enough Indigo” that looks like black truly pushes the concept of her no longer hiding herself. I cheered when it was gone because this was such good symbolism to show through her outfit, I just wished it was actually black than “not dark-enough Indigo” because it truly could’ve been a good outfit with that very small tweak!

Redesign

When I do my redesigns you guys know I try not to rewrite them, all I want to do is give a character a new outfit, not a complete rewrite of their story. I get Blake is on the run but there was no way for me to think of anything that can hide Blake’s true colors on a tropical island. Not to mention she does a bad job at hiding her true self as she's quick to go to her family’s mansion and right away expose her cat ears and herself to Corsac and Fennec. So, screw it, ditch the concept and let Blake wear black again. It’s not exactly combat ready, but practical enough to fight in if she either wanted a comfortable life in Menagerie to not look for trouble or to do a quick battle against a Grimm or something.

The ponytail is something I always wanted for Blake, I think it would’ve been a neat detail in paralleling her and Yang if they both wore ponytails through their Volume 4-5 journey. You can probably tell the tank top and shorts along with long boots were really meant for Blake taking inspiration from Yang as she misses her and whatnot. 

Do I think it’s too much black? Yeah, I do, I think more yellow/gold or white can help Blake not be a black blob as I don’t want her to fall into the same trap Cinder’s Atlas outfit does. I’m also reluctant if purple should have been added… I do love Blake’s color palette when it’s solely black, white, and gold but maybe I should have experimented more on color placement for this. I might do it in the future-

Conclusion

Blake’s outfit literally feels like an itch that needs to be scratched, I’ve praised the coatless version of the look when she got to Argus but the with-coat version when on the island and in Mistral looks ridiculous. I think it really could have worked if there was the slightest bit of tweaks to it. If the coat was perhaps sleeveless with no huge coattails along with actually having black than a “not dark-enough Indigo” I may have actually loved it or at the very least not mind it.

As it stands it’s just an outfit that has no black at all, isn’t practical for combat, and just a good example of what not to wear on a trip to Hawaii.

But of course it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

[celestial-sphere-press]

That National Geographic leather binding for Yellowstone is fucking Gorgeous!!! (Pardon my Language)

How long have you been binding, and what would you recommend to someone who wants to try it for themselves?

hello and thank you so much!! I worked really hard on that one (and no pardon needed haha)!

I started binding in February of 2021, which means in a few months I'll have reached 4 years. It's been an awesome journey!!

If you'd like to try it for yourself, I'd recommenda few things!

1) You can 100% try out the basics with near free or cheap materials. People typeset in Word or Google Docs or Pages. You can print on printer paper & use regular sewing thread & scavenge board from old books or notebook backs or do a limp leather binding & use no boards at all. You can make paper pamphlets. Any comments I make following this are about my preferences for best results. The most expensive part that cannot be avoided is printing. On the other hand expenses can wildly escalate if you're committing to it; once you are doing leather it becomes somewhat unavoidably expensive.

2) Check out some tutorials from SeaLemon or DAS Bookbinding on YouTube for the physical construction. SeaLemon is really clear for a beginner starting out, but then I'd move to DAS for better technique (DAS also has a beginner series though). I watched DAS Bookbinding videos for three weeks straight before I was able to start, & while that doesn't maybe work out for everyone I do think it gave me a pretty strong basis of understanding for structural techniques. DAS is *really* good at explaining why he thinks you should do something. The structure of the NatGeo bind is basically DAS's video on a rounded & backed bradel binding (but with leather & sewn on recessed cords). There is some good stuff on Tiktok/IG, but watch short-form videos/reels with caution. They move a little fast and I've seen a couple give instructions that can result in structural flaws (not that this is unique to the form, cross-referencing on instructions from any source is a good practice). They are good for if you're looking for a specific technique (particularly modern decorative ones, like cricut use, edge gilding, HTV application). There are also published books you can buy or maybe request through your library, such as Hollander's Introduction to Bookbinding. Renegade Bookbinding Guild runs a whole bunch of technique-specific in-house zoom classes annually.

3) Look to other fanbinders for tutorials on how to format the text (this is because most pro bookbinders do not do both text design & book creation! it's a pretty unique feature of fanbinding). @renegadeguild has some publically provided resources on our website here and more typesetting tutorials for a whole host of softwares (Affinity Publisher is my choice - one time purchase, fuck you very much Adobe InDesign) located in the discord server. Anyone 18+ can join the Discord. The NatGeo inspired book (text & dust jacket) was created in Affinity Publisher.

4) Join a community of fanbinders! It's really lovely. The space has exploded & there are tons of people to be friends with, trade tips, & cheer each other on. I'm part of @renegadeguild and we do a whole bunch of events throughout the year, and we have an in-person retreat every other year. I've met with over 20 different renegaders so far, in three different countries, and it's been such a blast. Definitely the community helps keep up the motivation. Renegade isn't the only community out there though! There's groups more rooted in IG/tiktok circles that have their own discords, plus a number of FB groups. I do think most people who are comfortable on tumblr enjoy Renegade's vibe.

5) While I learned most of what I do online, some things really benefit from in-person learning. If you want to do leather binding I would really recommend trying to take an in-person class. I did two attempts at a leather binding on my own before I decided to hold off until I'd had at least one in-person class. Leather binding can be extremely frustrating, especially when you can easily end up with a book that looks worse than a cloth binding at your same skill level but for double the cost. Imo this is mostly because the leather specific skills like paring, warp management, and assessing a random piece of leather for bookbinding suitability are all pretty tactile experiences, all of which are difficult to assess through a screen and can result in an unpleasantly bulky/stiff/shapeless book if ignored. For example- while this book of mine is a pretty popular post, I don't enjoy holding it and reading it, especially in contrast to the NatGeo bind. Part of this was the material I chose; part was not being able to adhere to the instructions quite well enough; part was just not knowing enough about what I was doing; part is they're different constructions. This might just be a me thing though; I'm sure others have had success with online only tutorials for leather.

6) I'm not going to get into specific tools bc that could be a whole post, but some things are necessary (printer access), some things are necessary depending on style, some things are "makes life easier but only drop the money if it's stopping you from making books out of frustration", some things are just technique-specific tools. Examples - sewing frames are often brought up but are never necessary unless sewing on cords; cricuts & cutting machines are commonly used in fanbinding circles but I don't have one (& don't intend to atm).

7) Don't be shy to offer the author a copy!! Like other fan activities, fanbinding is part of our fandom community ecosystem. Your fanbinding is in communication with the author's story. Giving a bind to the author is a great way of keeping the ecosystem going. I tend to think of binds as a combo of comment, fic rec, and fan art inspired by the fic.

8) Paper grain sounds stupid but it IS IMPORTANT! My personal hierarchy of give-a-fuck for grain: Board grain, spine card grain, endpaper grain, cover paper grain, text block grain, book cloth grain. The only thing I personally sometimes ignore is book cloth grain; but many people will not worry too much about text block paper grain.

Gonna stop there for now. If you've got specific questions or want elaboration, feel free to ask. As with all things, YMMV, this is my own opinions/experience and may not apply in all cases. There's a whole lot of different techniques out there, and it's hard to ever say something is wrong, per se - but I think it's important to understand if a method has an outcome you may want to avoid. Prioritize your goals & adapt for them - what's your goal? Longevity, readability, aesthetics? You might make different choices depending on them. My choices influence the techniques I chose to focus on, the tools I buy, and thus the final aesthetic of my binds.

[triscribeaucollection]

(Fiddling around with a new MCU time travel idea)

There are a couple of kids in Tony’s living room.

Well- there’s one bonafide child, early elementary school age, and then one teenager somewhere on the cusp of young adulthood. But Tony would bet if he put their ages together and divided by two, he’d get a number in the realm of ‘should probably still have a babysitter when the parents go out for an evening’, ergo, kids.

They’re still asleep, for the moment. Or, unconscious, rather. Not awake, at any rate, and they haven’t been since falling through a big glowing circle into his living room, teenager curled protectively around the little girl. Which is a little annoying for two reasons; first and foremost, Tony has questions, but also he’d rather not have Pepper or anyone else walk in and demand to know why there are two unconscious children lying on his sofa.

That’s just such an awkward question. Though he does at least have proof in the form of security footage that the pair arrived by means entirely beyond Tony’s control. Speaking of which; Tony flicks a finger, and JARVIS dutifully rewinds said footage to the beginning, and plays at an again-reduced speed. Ultimate slo-mo doesn’t reveal any answers, however. There’s no prior warning before the light flares, startling video-Tony into spilling his coffee as he crosses the room, and no hints to be found beyond swirling white and orange as the kids fall through. The light vanishes as soon as they’re clear, then the boy hits the floor, hard. There are honest to goodness cracks in Tony’s floor, he had JARVIS run a scan on the structure beneath his lovely thick carpeting just to check.

No cracks in the kid’s bones, though. And- okay, in all honesty, questions and unknowns and everything else aside, Tony does prefer it that way, rather than the reverse.

As far as JARVIS could tell with further scanning, neither kid bore any injuries - just some lingering traces of quantum energy, fading further with every minute. With any luck, as soon as that finishes up, there’ll be some waking up and answering of questions.

Though of course Tony couldn’t just sit around and do nothing while he waited.

The little girl is definitely wearing designer brand clothing: durable sneakers, high quality shorts and collared shirt, a lightweight jacket that wouldn’t look out of place in a magazine for children’s spring collections. Also, just to hammer home the fact she comes from money, JARVIS detected extremely sophisticated tracking beacons inside every single garment. Even the socks. Tiny devices, clearly some kind of advanced nanotech... With a mini Stark Industries logo etched onto each one.

Trouble is, Tony’s never made beacons this small and impressive before.

Her watch is a similar conundrum. It’s red and yellow, clearly meant to look like any other cheap Iron Man themed child’s decoration, except for housing what Tony would swear is the same sort of satellite connection he puts into all of his suits for JARVIS to link up with. Top of the line encryption, tiny hologram projection, more tracking software with options to send specific distress calls, and all of it bio-locked, which- which should have been a problem. Even without an AI present in the device to fight him, it should have taken Tony significant time to crack through the locks and get a good look at the watch’s internal circuitry. Instead, it- recognized him. Recognized his bio-signature, and let him in.

He’s still mulling over the implications of that one.

Now, the teenager, there lie some other mysteries. Far shabbier clothing, for one thing. The ragged shoes alone look like they’ve picked up grime walking from one side of NYC to the other and back. Jeans with a faded appearance that’s not artistic enough to be artificially crafted; sweatshirt that has some amateur stitchwork patching up the elbows; t-shirt with holes in the hem and a cartoon character Tony didn’t recognize on the chest.

Thing is, JARVIS didn’t recognize the character either. Not even after running a search through the whole dang internet. And it wasn’t an indie creation, there was very definitely a Disney logo on the shirt’s tag, where it stuck up from the back of the collar.

And then there’s what the kid’s got under his clothes.

No, Tony did not undress him, but peeking out from under the cuffs of that sweatshirt and visible in the gap between pants and shoes is a very different sort of material. Durable, flexible, extremely form-fitting to be hidden so well by regular garments. Physically rifling through the kid’s sweatshirt pockets turned up a pair of gloves and mask, too. Very Halloween-y, Tony would probably jump out of his skin if he turned around to find those big white eyes looming out of the dark. Attached to the gloves, he also found a couple of small gadgets, fairly sophisticated, capable of spitting out an atrocious substance clear across the room. A large, sticky web still occupies the far wall by his bar as proof.

Those, Tony gingerly set down next to the girl’s watch, to be considered later. When their owners are awake, and capable of telling him things like hey don’t touch that button.

In the meantime, he’s finally accepted there isn’t much left to do but wait, idly replaying the security footage over and over, less idly hoping there’s some kind of change before any company arrives.

His luck, perhaps predictably, falls through.

“Sir,” JARVIS announces into the otherwise quiet room. “Miss Potts is on her way up.”

With a long, drawn out, highly exasperated sigh, Tony sets his empty glass aside and stands to face the music.

---

“Time travel,” Pepper says flatly. That’s a very clear, Pepperish tone of you can’t be serious. But before Tony has a chance to voice his defense, she’s already sighing, and bringing up a hand to rub at the bridge of her nose. “Why do you think this is time travel?”

So he starts reviewing the data.

The cartoon character that doesn’t exist yet only earns a raised eyebrow - when Tony gets into the particulars of the girl’s watch and trackers, Pepper looks a little less unamused, a little more disconcerted. Pointing out the boy’s suit and gadgets and drawing her attention to the web still occupying his wall even earns two whole startled blinks. “That’s... Tony.”

“Yeah.”

“Tony.”

“Yeah,” he repeats, fully in agreement. “But it’s either time travel, or R&D has been doing some serious overtime tinkering without letting either of us know!”

Pepper rubs a hand over her face, sighing again. When she pulls it away, her gaze goes to the pair of kids, girl still held in the boy’s arms, both of them laying on their sides where Tony managed to haul them up onto his sofa when the whole bizarre event began. “What do we do, then?”

“Not much we can do, besides haul them down to the infirmary and try injecting things to induce an early wake-up call.” Even as he says it, Tony swipes up and enlarges the holo-window with the energy reading and its total dissipation countdown. T-minus eight hundred and seventy-three seconds. “Otherwise, wait to see if anything happens in about fifteen minutes.”

Pepper let loose her third sigh, and went to get a glass of wine.

[transistor-rhythm-909]

One last full-on piece for the month, and its the whole kit-and-caboodle; pencil sketch, inks, marker colouring, graphic design nonsense that frankly took far too long.

The general concept here is that it's an advertisement poster for one of my character Siltmat's in-universe albums, technic//TECHNIQUE. I'd originally intended to put together a hypothetical playlist to demonstrate roughly what the album might sound like, but I'm running on fumes at time of posting lol. Maybe I'll do it later. The release date is a partial reference to the IRL release date of the Scratch Perverts' Fabriclive mix- 12th of July 2005- as that group's DJing work is both a) really fucking good and b) a big influence on what at least some of Silt's in-universe tunes might sound like. The design on the back of her jacket is a reference to the little... mascot(?) guy that adorned the covers/manuals/some in-software graphics of Jester Interactive's MUSIC™ software, solely and purely cos it's a cool design for a character and the thought of doing That, But It's Siltmat was appealing.

Also included the original sketch, and the unedited full colour image for comparison.

EDIT: wound up putting a hypothetical 'tracklist' for what technic//TECHNIQUE might sound like. obviously its not one-for-one + these are all real songs by real people whom you should support BEYOND my extreme self indulgence, but for the sake of fun:

[arcandoria]

Hi! Can I ask if you perhaps have a tip for refitting sleeves (or trousers or similar stuff) to Cyberpunk? 😭 I want to port a jacket but trying to refit the sleeves (that are higher positioned and straight, which is like, so far off from cp77) is giving me actual nightmares 😭 Please halp

Oh anon I feel you so bad LOL From what I understand you're trying to refit is what we usually call "T pose", CP2077 uses "A pose" (... but in a very different position than most A pose models you'll find online)

I'll be honest that I usually avoid that type of project myself as it requires lots of patience, most of my ports are done with Marvelous Designer combined with a Cyberpunk Model which allows the software to mostly refit it for me.

What you're gonna need is indeed some patience, and moving things around with the scale/rotation/moving tool whilst having Proportional Editing on (if you're in Blender).

@pinkyjulien has way more practice doing that type of manual fitting between these rigs so I'm gonna tag him, as he's offered to add some proper guidance/visuals to help out! <3

[spotforme]

what if the uniform changes to Rimmer's projection are just software updates JMC made that are just now reaching the returning Red Dwarf? like they make minor changes/ improvements to all holographic projections, for weird corporate reasons, and some of them happen to include a new look. it would explain why he changes outfits when he experiences regressions becase for once they're clearly not trying to pretend like the current uniform has always been. i thought it could work like the post pods, though i'm not certan about the logistics, point is the updates arrives late.

i just need some reason for the ever changing uniform so this is it for now. it's because JMC, or whoever they brought their holo equipment, is doing re-designs to everything they can effect, this could mean Rimmer is sporting the trendiest 3 million year old clothes or that they're trying to convey a new brand image with each or they're just A B testing things, which would explain the red/blue puffer jacket and the green/red shiny uniform, but those can also be explained by easness of re-design vs colour change, so who's to say.

[8-rae-rae-8]

hallo,,,, im hoping requests are open, if they are, could i request an agere fic with little!connor and cg!markus?? only if you wanna, of course :] thank you

Absolutely!!

490 words <3

Written at 4am half asleep, I hope it's good I don't know /silly

Connor designed his own software add-on, something to ease the strenuous task of being alive. In Markus’ group, it could occasionally only get more stressful. Being the “deviant Hunter” after all… A little fix, something quick was what he needed on rough days.

Coding that included quite a few ranges of childhood. Infant, baby, toddler, kid, teen… He swore he needed it. And whenever he really did need it, his systems would take note of the stress and autonomously pick an age range, and ease Connor into regressing.

Markus knew; of course he did. Nothing was a secret with them, once they passed the Amanda situation… explaining that alone was a challenge. The change was something he was on board for, something that would help Connor not bluescreen or freeze sounded like a dream.

On the days when Markus was busy with what he deemed work, he'd always have a sleepy kiddo waiting for him on the couch. And though android's couldn't gain anything from things like blankets, Connor always tucked himself up in the most comfortable one. Fuzzy, light blue and covered in soft yellow stars. Today being no different.

The apartment they'd been loaned was dim with the light of a single lamp in the living space, and the blue light of the TV screen. A kids show playing just as it did every night.

As the door creaked open, Connor perked up. His flushed blue cheeks and pacifier bobbing from his lips ever so noticable. Adorable.

“Hey, love bug…” Markus whispered to him as his stuff was set down carefully. Jacket places delicately on a hook.

“Baba…” Connor looked so very sleepy. He babbled quietly, his head leaned on the arm of the couch.

“Baba’s back, how about we go for some cuddles?” He proposed, walking towards the couch where he softly brushed a hand through Connor’s hair. A few knots were picked out, but Connor didn't seem to mind at all.

“Carry…” Connor whined up at him. Who was he to say no?

Carefully, Connor was scooped into Markus’ arms. His blanket tucked around him. Although androids didn't need sleep, this was a large part of Connor regressing smaller. It gave him a happy place to go into stasis to recharge. That was just like sleeping for him.

“Comfy.. there we go.” A soft kiss was placed on Connor's forehead, happily being carried to their bedroom. Quiet coos and babbles fell sleepily from his lips.

“Yeah, little guy?” Markus chuckled along with him. His shoes were kicked off carefully as he slipped into their bed. A little messy, but neither of them seemed to have minded much lately.

“Baba homeee…” Connor deliriously mumbled. He laid against Markus, looking up at him with the sweetest eyes.

“I'll always come home for my baby, hm?” Markus cooed back to the little one. He'd always come home, home to see his little one so happily waiting for him.

[uinferno]

TF2 updated so I'm taking this post out of drafts:

The TF2 Mercs are a part of the internet equivalent of the commedia dell'arte stock characters. Being automatically included in Source derivative software such as SFM and GMod, they're very easily available as premade rigs for amateur animators to use in their works. The simple, cartoony, and discernible designs make them very easy to read at any angle, which although originally used to be easily read in a competitive gaming environment, translates well to comedy skits. Unlike similar games such as Overwatch, where they're practically over-designed in a very definite artstyle, TF2 characters are lacking in accessories as a default. Generally wearing simple single color jackets, t-shirts and pants. In fact, the varied nature of TF2's cosmetic system makes them perfect as dress-up dolls, making it very easy to reuse the same base model and differentiate between them.

That brings me to their characterization. Even though most if not all have pretty well defined backstories and narratives, outlined in the supplementary media of comics and Meet the Videos, their baseline personalities can be easily transplanted into various skits and narratives with minimal introduction. Scout is a cocky jackass. Soldier is a dimwitted, overly patriotic American. Heavy is simultaneously soft-spoken and boisterous Russian who revels in violence. These simple yet understood personalities mean you can bypass proper character introductions by identifying who's in what role from the start, similar to the archetypes from the aforementioned commedia dell'arte.

You don't even have to be a fan of tf2 to grasp these roles. The ubiquity of SFM as free 3d animation software is a self supporting introduction. If you are unfamiliar with tf2's narrative, simply consuming a handful of these animations can get you up to speed.

Simultaneously, TF2's narrative is just as batshit as the fan animations that are inspired by it. You could certainly use other valve properties for similar reasons regarding animation accessibility, but TF2 embracing comedy from the start and the simple insanity of its characters means you can transport them to a wider array off stories while asking for a much smaller suspension of disbelief.

A Half Life animation is far more likely to be about Half Life than any given TF2 animation is about TF2. Many of them are, but way more are simply not.

TF2 as a property has a lot of staying power. 16 years now and even with minimal support from valve, it still soldiers on (pun intended) as a significant part of internet meme culture. I find it's notoriety akin to Hatsune Miku, where they're given a second life outside of the purpose of their original creation. They're less FPS characters, and more little dolls novice animators smack together for the entertainment of others.

And at the end of the day that's almost all it really takes. A significant slice of media engagement and fan works for the internet at large could not care less about Canon or the main narrative, even if its well regarded, because the biggest draw for many is simply taking strong personalities and putting them in funny situations. It's why incorrect quotes are absolutely everywhere despite the fact that a good 80% of them do not fit the original characters one bit. Meanwhile, TF2 as a property actively encourages it.

The following are all fan animations that have jack shit to do with each other or the original canon--be it in game, the original animations, or expanded comics--and yet they're still ultimately cohesive as these little shorts that play with the cast as archetypes, with their own recognizable appearances and roles. (Tucked behind Keep Reading to save space)

[wordsandrobots]

It's not quite accurate to say I have 60,000 consecutive words on Akatsuki's Big Adventure now, given various vagueries of word-counts in different pieces of software, but it's close enough and I'm 10 chapters from the end now, so hey, milestone.

This is despite being hit out of nowhere with a nasty cold/flu thing this week that has left me quite shattered.

I do hope this is going to be fun to read when I'm done. I'm currently entering the 'shock reveal cavalcade' stretch of proceedings, which should be quite enjoyable to get sorted out (start a chapter with one reveal, end it on the left-field twist, then continue in this vein for a couple more). I do however need to solve the problem of how to have somebody stow away aboard a mobile suit in a relatively believable fashion. Such is life.

Here are some character descriptions by way of teasers, and the fact I have yet to find the will to do costume design sketches like I want.

------

They're too far to make out the details of their faces. She notes how they tense up, though, Lab Coat stepping forward and nodding to whoever's approaching, who she can't see from this angle until they've nearly reached the welcoming committee. Three more men, two in business sits, the sharper of the pair at the front, going to shake Lab Coat's hand, and someone in a more military-looking jacket, dark maroon, with black pants and heavy boots. He – or, actually, it's just the impression of the build that makes her think that – has a helmet that covers more of their head, leaving only the clean-shaven jaw and a hint of hair visible above the jacket's collar. A soldier's helmet, definitely. Surplus Gjallarhorn equipment? Steel silver, a cluster of sensor apertures on the front, otherwise smooth and blank.

------

I don't know how much of an idea I'd formed of what she looked like under [her helmet]. Enough to be surprised. She's taller than me and with the harsh voice, I think I expected her to be older. Her black hair is cut close, although not so much she doesn't have to smooth it down. She has narrow, elegant eyebrows and a pointy nose, and her skin is a rich bronze tone that does nothing to hide the acne scars on her cheeks.

A perfectly normal-looking girl, maybe my age, maybe a year or two more.

“Got something on my face?” she asks, not quite smiling, not quite sneering.

------

Number Seven, meanwhile, looks like he's somebody's grandpa. Half-moon spectacles perched on his long nose, a neat black waistcoat, thin eyebrows under a lank grey fringe. Except, you can see the corded muscle exposed by his rolled-up shirtsleeves and the tattoos stretching down to the backs of his broad hands, and also the cable stretched from the roof to his spine, disappearing through custom-made gaps in his clothes. An Alaya-Vijnana system. Got to be. You can't help staring for a few seconds, unsure what to think. Have you ever seen one used outside of a cockpit? Why would anyone need to?

“Is that mask recording?” the man asks, snapping you out of it.

The woman asked the same thing. The bar-fly didn't. “Yeah.”

------

From one angle, everything about Jove is made up. His name, the inky black of his hair, his bright suits and neatly-pointed goatee, each as deliberately crafted as the Tournament itself. The fighters pretend, putting on an act in the ring, and Jove at the top puts on the biggest of all, selling them body and soul. He'll say whatever he needs to, do whatever he has to, to draw in the crowd's money.

But there's the trick. He makes himself up to chase a single goal, and that isn't hidden in the slightest. It's as naked as a wad of meria bills.

------

We spend a few more minutes searching the supermarket for the makings of a decent meal. It's not badly stocked, overall. Everything you could hope for, far as nutrition goes. Oh, I am definitely being a snob. Mom'd be telling me off and Kudelia would be seriously disappointed. The people shopping here aren't going to have a say in what's on offer, are they? They'll be able to make the best of it, just the same as I hopefully can. Even those living off Mr Sunshine's Spectacular Savoury Sensations don't deserve some Martian punk looking down on them.

Also a smart man, looking up at his host and sole protector when he's astronomical units from home, wouldn't want to insult her by being a huge dick over her living conditions.

------

You clocked them the moment they rose from their seats. Three people in military uniforms – in Gjallarhorn uniforms, or the remains of them. The sleeves have been cut off the men's olive green tunics and the badges on the front are gone, a blank space where the shield and seven stars was once displayed. The woman standing between them wears her officer's coat unbuttoned and without the belt, showing off the ruffled white blouse underneath and the big silver medallion hung around her neck. She's easily as tall as Jove and has a tumbling mass of curly brown hair, contrasting sharply with a complexion almost as pale as her shirt.

“Good morning.” Natural authority rings through her voice. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

------

Should she stay locked inside Räum? Sit here, safely armoured, ready to go if everything nosedives.

Yeah. She knows that's a dumb idea even before Pinky's pilot floats over to beckon her out. So she pulls her jacket from the right-side storage compartment and digs in the left for mag-strips to fasten on the bottom of her boots.

“Jaén, was it?” The woman waiting outside is averagely tall, built broad and curvy enough for it to show from under her rose-coloured normal-suit. She's got a pile of dark, frizzy hair tied up on her head – and a smile pretty as a razor. “I'm Gabriela Turbine.”

Grunted acknowledgement is the safest response when Jaén's head is suddenly full of several competing kinds of warning bells.

------

(*points* Do you see the structural conceit this time around? Isn't it shiny??)

[eyesofshan-if]

random but what would the ros be like in a modern au?

answered this before but i'll do it with the new ROs as well!! + ???'s personality has changed a little

hansol: middle school p.e teacher, social worker or firefighter. hansol would prefer a job that allows him to interact with and help others, but also lets him use his athleticism in the process. would be the eye candy of all the old ladies in his neighbourhood

yongsun: art/history museum curator, specifically one that is involved in preserving fading cultures and heritages. that or a fashion designer. probably would be a polyglot who has an irrational hatred of duolingo.

wooyoung: freelance photographer. loves living as and how he likes, according to his own schedule, meeting new people. he enjoys capturing happy moments for others, whether it be weddings, festivals, events. would run a travel social media on the side with a pretty large following (for both his content and personality)

raon: something in STEM. a pharmacologist, software engineer or data scientist. she's a logical person by nature, and leans towards jobs that reduce direct interaction with people. drinks three coffees a day (no, it's not an addiction)

no-eul: competitive martial artist, sportsperson or bodyguard. no-eul needs a job with risk and a constant change in environment to stimulate them. legendary for displaying bad sportsmanship on live television and being completely proud about it

????: lawyer. that or a veterinarian for dangerous animals (like steve irwin without the wholesomeness). they'd excel at debate and arguments, and with their stone cold demeanour they'd be pretty excellent at winning them too. wouldn't mind using underhanded methods to win. has a thing for leather jackets