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bitchlessdino · 2 years ago

Note

hello! 🤍 can i request a bad boy type wonwoo having a soft spot for also a cold type reader?

like they always acting so cold towards other people and even both of them acting like they hate each other.

and people are like "oh there is no way they can date", but wonwoo is only kind to reader and viceversa even without them noticing

Oh, and they dont even realized their feelings until reader feels jealous when they saw wonwoo with someone else and thats when they realized about it, but are afraid to said something since reader doesnt know how wonwoo will react

Kinda angst maybe, but fluff at the end

take your time btw! 🤍 it is also totally okay if is not possible, hope you are having an excellent day 🌸

Pairing: wonwoox gn!reader Genre: slight angst, fluff, slice of life Word count: 6.3k tags: mentions alcohol, childhood au, biker!wonu, frienemy!wonwoo, possible love triangle, reader called a bitch, presence of violence and imminent danger, analogy using car wrecks, mc and wonwoo stilling living with their parents as adults because that's normal ok, kinda messy, intimates kisses Summary: Hard to maintain a good acquaintanceship if it started off on the wrong foot, but Wonwoo tries to do just that, no matter how much you resent him from childhood. Now reunited as adults, you're questioning whether your negative impression of him has stuck since being away or have you grown up just enough to realize how much between the two you have changed? author note: this was collecting dust but finally she is here. just in time for wonwoo to be in my bias list 🙂

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @goblinvern @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch

You will never willingly be associated with Jeon Wonwoo.

His mom had just happened to be someone your mom knew. Someone that she hadn’t talked to or seen in a long time. Long enough to have built their own families and have their kids without realizing it. It was as if they fell back into place. A long-time childhood friendship that quickly rekindled in a grocery store one day. From that day on, your families were inseparable. As long as they were still friends, you’d see each other every day.

“Why would I babysit some weirdo kid? I have better things to do.”

The problem was he wanted nothing to do with you.

When you met him the first time, you were a child barely getting around to a bike without training wheels, and Wonwoo was meeting the first stages of fungal acne. He was a bit older than you were then and his mom had given him the duty to look after you, the neighbor’s kid. The neighbor’s weirdo kid.

His mom bragged to yours about how good of an older brother he was to his younger brother, Seonwoo, but that seemed that seems to be his limit. Having freshly turned a teen, it all made sense. Wonwoo didn’t know you, and all of a sudden in his growing years he’s stuck taking care of a kid he knows by association. Understandably, he’d have that teen angst.

You didn't mean to overhear. You just happened to eavesdrop behind a pillar that day in their obnoxiously nice house when you came across him and his mother talking privately. Admittedly, you hadn’t made the best impression, but you were any kid in their single digits: annoying, talkative, maybe skeptical. But you were a kid. A kid that got their feelings easily hurt.

Despite saying such hurtful words, Wonwoo listened. He treated you with care–consideration almost–following his mother's orders, but you didn't make it easy for him. Every group breakfast, every dinner, every ride to school. You became relentless. You knew how he really felt about your situation after all. Your mind was made up at that point.

If he wanted nothing to do with you, you wanted nothing to do with him.

“Keep walking.”

Your eyes barely glaze over at the unfamiliar figure before waving off your hand as if dismissing a nuisance, which in this case was accurate. The unsolicited stranger scoffs, getting up from his unwelcome seat, hacking and spitting on the spot on the floor next to your chair. “I don’t fuck with bitches anyway.”

You roll your eyes as you shoo him away with the flick of your wrist again, then feel another unwanted presence join you in your once peaceful solitude. You tightly shut your eyes in frustration before taking a deep exhale, finding silence impossible under your circumstances. “I don’t want to hear it, Jeon.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” you hear Wonwoo arrogantly chuckle, shrugging off the thick leather off his shoulders and setting them on his lap as he takes a seat.

With your back turned to him, you imagine the pristinely lit smile on his face he gives when he’s amused, a rarity in these parts with the exception of you, someone he’s known long enough to recount every blemish that once appeared on your face. He watches you finish the rest of your drink, the bob of your throat shifting before you pull the glass away from your lips. Your resting bitch face is still intact after all these years.

“Good, keep it that way.”

Wonwoo could have chosen to keep the peace as he said he would, but it was just too easy with you. Even after you’ve left for college and come back, he acts as if nothing has changed. In his eyes, you were still that same angsty kid who always has something snarky to say when he’s around. And man, did he always have just as smart a rebuttal. “It’s just, that was the fifth guy you’ve scared off—course, the guy was a moron—but you like dying alone, Frosty?”

Frosty. The Snowman. Much unlike the jolly creature, however, you were given that name being somewhat of a cold character, particularly to Wonwoo and anything he witnesses face the wrath of your harsh but honest judgment.

You begin getting up from your seat, scowling at the abhorred nickname, the prediction of this dinner a mistake an accurate calculation. “Should’ve known you’d run your mouth. Tell mom I’m heading to the store across the street.”

Your mother was so proud to have you back home for a period before you’d find a new place again, and she insisted on holding a small intimate gathering at bar type restaurant. That meant sharing the space with other patrons, the Jeons, and unfortunately Wonwoo, who only grew more irritating than you last remember.

“I’ll tell her, but I’m coming with.”

The caretaker role he was bestowed upon so long ago seems to resonate with him still, insisting on trailing behind you with nonchalance. To which you answer with a brash:

“Fuck off.”

Your eyes go to the back of your skull the nth time tonight before you’re off on your stroll, noticing the annoying scrap of Wonwoo’s heel following behind you after he waves your mom and the rest of the party farewell. You ignore him, darting towards the antique shop that warms your stomach with nostalgia, hearing the wind chimes clang when you enter with a cool musk breeze to follow.

“That all you have to say to me? Even if you hate me, there has to be some…sentiment.”

You finger through the old hardcovers, eyes scanning over the aged wood of the shelves until they move on to the glossy wood of the cuckoo clocks on the walls. “Not even a little bit, Jeon.”

There’s the breathiness of his scoff that lingers in the musk air. He crosses your arms, the leather rubs loudly against itself. “Well, that’s sad to hear,” he responds, not sounding sad at all.

“Don’t you have an actual sibling to bother? Why are you being a nuisance to me?”

He simply shrugs. “Seonwoo isn’t back from his work-study just yet. Plus he’d be happy to know I kept you company.”

Unlike Wonwoo, Seonwoo was actually tolerable, pleasant even. If you were envious of Wonwoo for anything, it was having a nice little brother like Seonwoo. You weren’t exactly close but he was a nice kid, a lot nicer than Wonwoo anyway, and not at all that annoying kind of nice that chirps every two seconds.

You sigh. “Now that’s actually sad to hear.”

“I knew you’d say that. You always liked him better than me.”

Only because you never liked me in the first place.

“Mmhmm.”

“Oh my god, Wonwoo?”

A shrill voice beckons from the store entrance, an older version of a girl from your adolescence runs towards you both. “I thought I heard your gorgeous voice. Gorgeous face as well as always, how are you?”

Gina also grew up in the same neighborhood you both did and was typically nice, but around Wonwoo, she seemed to lose all train of thought since all her eyes could train on was him. She bats her eyelashes the same flirtatious way several years ago, and instinctively her body is drawn to him like mosquitos to blood, drinking in masculine appearance for all its worth.

If you were anything like her, you’d get it. Wonwoo is an attractive man by society's standards, but the truth of the matter is you can’t stand him. And you know deep down he can’t stand you. His fake politeness isn’t fooling anybody. Okay, that is a lie. His fake politeness doesn’t fool you, but his limitless charm made everyone else weak in the knees.

“Good, good.” He nods cordially, a smile drained from his face only leaving a straight stare, eyes only landing on Gina momentarily before they return to you.

Gina finds his gaze’s target before the light is slightly dimmed from her initially bright eyes. “And you too. Oh gosh, you must’ve got back too. Can you believe we’ve both graduated from college?”

You wonder if she does, considering you did graduate from the same university.

“Yeah, it’s…crazy.” You answer, sounding unintentionally sarcastic.

Gina awkwardly chuckles, eyes back on Wonwoo as if they never left. “All we need is Seonwoo and it’s like the musketeers again, huh?”

Hardly the musketeers when she only ever stalked Wonwoo the entire time. You’re surprised you didn’t find she didn’t follow him all the way to the bathroom too.

Wonwoo’s cold expression is a steel cage that lacks interest. He blindly nods, mumbling “sure,” and not giving any other sign of continuing the conversation.

“Well, you guys should totally make it to my housewarming party. I’m inviting all the other guys from the neighborhood. Invite Seonwoo too! It’ll be a nice way to catch up.”

“We’ll think about it,” Wonwoo answers, giving her another curt nod.

“I’ll be really, really grateful if you did.”

There are stars in her eyes, like a treat is dangling in front of it, that treat being a six-foot body of steel and perfect Wonwoo.

“Right,” he grunts.

She finally waves you both goodbye before making it past the glass doors with a quirk in her step.

You continue to peruse the rest of the store, picking up that one wooden statue that’s never been sold, or if it has, it keeps getting returned. It makes you wonder if it’s cursed. “Just reject her already and let her move on. Even I feel sorry for her.”

“I’m not ready for the aftermath of all that.”

You really have to unlearn that eye roll of yours. You could tell it’s giving you a headache. “Of course you aren’t.”

“You’re not going, are you? The thing she mentioned?”

“This the first time you met me? Of course, I’m not going. You are?”

He shrugs. “A party never hurt anybody.”

“Without an address?”

He pulls out his phone with a notification as clear as day, Gina’s Instagram handle ushering him with details of where the party whereabouts. “Who said I didn’t have an address?”

“She really needs to find a hobby.”

Wonwoo chuckles, tucking the phone back in his front pocket. “Ready to head back now? Unless you want to look through the store a second time.”

You groan. “Stop policing me. I’m going home.”

“I’ll take you.”

You raise your brow. “On your fucking death trap? No thanks.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms, the leather of his jacket speaking out of turn again. “You say that as if people aren’t begging to the back of my Harley.”

“Only people with a death wish.”

That goes on for some time until you make yourself walk the mile before your feet give out. Wonwoo obviously is the first with a smile on his face before he forces you to get the rest of the couple miles on the back of his bike, which was admittedly prettier in person than the photos your mom showed you.

There’s a bitter taste in your mouth as you get on—no doubt regret—questioning the proximity. “Hold on,” he says, to which you answer, “fat fucking chance.”

Your spiteful words are wasted as you find yourself tugging on him as you speed off on the vehicle from hell on the freeway.

“You’re an asshole!” You scream from your lungs.

“And I told you to hold on!” He screams back, a wide smile on his face you have no way of seeing.

You desperately wrap your arms around his torso, your life flashing before your eyes like a movie. All you hear is the wind in your ears while the traffic lights are hardly visible through your tightly shut eyes. You feel your soul leave your body, thinking nothing but the idea of an afterlife. If there was one good thing about the predicament you’re in, it’d be that he can’t see the terror in your eyes. He doesn’t know how much you want to scream bloody murder.

Before you know it, you arrive home safe and sound, the gas stopping at the curb of your house. He abruptly uses the bike break and you crash against broad shoulders, and you exude bumbling idiocy as you cling to him like a baby with separation anxiety. Oxygen finally enters your brain and you recognize your compromised position, forcing your grip off of him. You unbuckle and shove his helmet into his lap as you get off, a permanent scowl on your face.

“Fuck you.”

“Glad to see you haven’t changed, Frosty.”

You don’t forget that encounter back then and you never get a chance to with your mom finding any excuse to see the Jeons day after day since your arrival. If that perfect apartment with affordable rent were to drop at your feet at a perfect time just when you so desperately needed it, it’d be now.

“Bring that in over next door. The Jeons will be thrilled to see their fridge stocked. And remember I’ll be gone until the morning.”

“We just gave them homemade wine yesterday. Mom, just because they live next door doesn’t mean we always have to plan to meet. We see them anyway.” You grab the cumbersome container of whatever it was anyway and hold it to your side like like a football, a strained expression on your face.

“You need to understand the value of lasting relationships. That’s why you’re still single, honey.”

You roll your eyes, groaning as you trod off, not wanting to start up another one of lectures why you're in your mid-twenties room with hardly any men in your books let alone in your court. Better off facing Jeon Wonwoo again than that, you guess.

You knock on their familiar white door, awaiting an answer from the other side. Soon enough you hear a masculine voice, but a voice that isn’t quite Wonwoo’s. The boy's fresh face on the receiving end piques your interest, an expression telling of a life of light and ease. Seonwoo stares back at you with a smile before politely waving. “It’s good seeing you! Been a minute.”

You find yourself returning a gesture, relaxing your arms. “It has. Mom wanted to send things over. Again.”

“Of course. Come in.”

You leave the box of goods in their fridge, feeling the presence of the younger Jeon follow behind you like a benevolent puppy. “Did you get in yesterday?”

“This morning. Early flight.”

You grin. “Singapore doing you good, I see.”

“Nothing like home though.”

You softly chuckle, “Yeah, there isn’t.”

Your conversation is cut short with another family coming down the stairs, one that looks ready to leave. They meet your eyes in amusement and his steps begin to falter in turn. “I saw you yesterday.”

“Don’t you dare make a joke about me missing you. It wasn’t funny any of the first five times.”

He’s smug as expected, entertained by the fact you’ve kept count. “I won’t, but it won’t make it any less true.”

You scoff. “Live in reality for once in your life, Wonwoo.”

“I will when you do.” He comes to the kitchen—briefly passing by you to do so and grazing your forearm—to fill a glass of water and downs it, his signature jacket thrown over his shoulders. He let out a refreshed sigh in your direction and put it away as soon as he finished. “I’m leaving now. When you change your mind about missing me, I’ll be at Gina’s party. Might actually find some fun there while you’re at it.”

The door closes behind him dramatically and your attention is right back on Seonwoo, the successful bystander. “Your brother is annoying.”

The young man smiles, finding the nostalgia in that small event. “Reminds me of the good old times.”

“Well, I should get going.”

“You’re going to the party too?”

You shake your head. “Not the slightest bit interested. Just trying to keep myself busy while I’m still in town.”

“Plan on leaving already? You just got here.”

“I can’t live on my parents forever. Need to make a living of my own you know.”

He softly laughs, a warm light enveloping his presence. He always seems to emit pure joy. Like there was nothing that could ruin this kid's day. “Nice to see you haven’t changed. Still self-reliant.”

You can’t help but smile back, “… Wouldn't be me if I wasn’t. I'll see you later, kid.”

You walk back home and go on with the rest of your afternoon by carrying on the duties of a college graduate with no job: endless job hunting. You let yourself go on that way for an hour, already bored by rereading your applicant details and sending in copies and copies of cover letters and documents. Your eyes have started to see stars shooting from either corner, warning signs of mental fatigue.

Shaking the numbing feeling, you shut off your laptop and notice the time on the clock. In the back of your mind, you’re remembering that party Wonwoo ended up going to. These parties weren’t by any means rare, but it had been some time since you let yourself give into environments as such. You said you wouldn't go but in dire situations of weary silences, perhaps it would hurt to take a second in a new subsubspace. Something to take off the edge of the weight of your undetermined future.

Against your initial better judgment, you force yourself out of that house to enter that very party you said you wouldn't go to. So like Gina to make an event over a normal thing like this. You don’t put much thought into what you wear and leave the house and when you arrive late as you were, you are unsurprised by the huge turnout. Five seconds in, you’re already regretting the 10 bucks you paid via UBER to get there.

The house was so Gina. As expected of one of the daughters of the wealthiest families in town. As you enter, all you hear is music, loud and rambunctious voices and laughter, and shouts of barely adults chugging whatever concoction in those house party solo cups. It all quickly reminds you of college and high school, times in your life you were relieved to know were over.

Why did you decide to come again if you knew this was going to happen?

You try ignoring the voices that seem to recognize you, evading and walking through the place for a potential drink to buzz you out of self-consciousness. If you were going to be in a place like this, a drink was warranted by all means.

“Wonwoo, come on!”

Gina’s voice, easily distinguishable, resonates from the other end of the room and sees how her presence bounces like a kite in the wind. You look in the direction of her gaze to find the person she seeks, ultimately having Wonwoo being dragged by the wrist, his hair sweeping the swift breeze of her force. You were a bit relieved to see him, someone who is more similar to you in ways you’d never willingly admit.

You feel the urge to approach, curious how he’ll handle this one, but intentions all change of a brisk move, changing setting immediately. One second Gina looks up at him with doe eyes that speak longing and ache, another second her arms are looped around his neck and she pulls his lips against hers, massaging against them naturally as if rehearsed. Your feet stop, watching the unsightly scene like it’s a car crash as if in slow motion, taking you only a second to realize he hasn't yet let go.

Slowly then quickly, your chest pulls up like a marionette doll before it drops in a lump, repeating until the sound of your heart is rapidly pounding into your skull. You don’t understand it, but you don’t want to either. Swiftly, you duck back and turn your head in the other direction, having seen enough.

Then panic ensues.

People are harder to brush through than you realize. Colliding each one was like speed bumps in your way of a smooth departure. You were bound to have one person take a drunken offense to your rash movement and there it was: a subtle push that led to a spilled drink that stains the shirt of a man big enough to frighten children if he approached.

“Watch the fuckkk ya goin’!”

You don’t bother with the importance of apologizing or even acknowledging him. You realize it too late when he pulls at your collar back towards him, strangling you at the throat.

“S…stupid bitch can’t even see…fucking ruin my—hic—deink”

Your hands come around his grip, attempting to pry him off. “L-let me go. The fuck?”

“The fuck you say to me piece of shi—ah!”

He finally releases you when Wonwoo appears from behind him, tossing him out like an old ragdoll with no weight. The drunkard comes crashing down to the hardwood floor and before he realizes the cause of it, said cause whisks you away with his gril looping around your wrist.

“You’re going home right the fuck now,” Wonwoo grumbles, dragging you out of other guests' way and right out of the door, once again leading you to his motorcycle. “Bike now.”

“Wonwoo, what the fuck—“

“You aren’t an idiot. You knew what was gonna happen if I hadn’t stepped in. Now get on before fee fi fo fum finds out we left.”

“I’m not getting on that death trap again!”

His glare pierces right through you. “I know you'd rather be at home than here. Especially with the probability of becoming a statistic. Get on.”

He is right for the most part and even you’re seeing through your nonsensical defiance. Reluctantly, you follow his lead, knowing he’s left you with no other choice. You endure another near death experience, this time clutching on to him less resistantly unlike last time all the way back home. It is when you’re at the foot of your door you only realize the keys that were supposed to be in your pocket but left on the kitchen counter instead.

“Shit.”

Wonwoo quickly puts the pieces together. “No key?”

You shake your head, embarrassed slightly over your feeble appearance. “No, and mom won’t be back until the morning so I’m screwed.”

“Alright. You’re sleeping over.”

You scoff looking back at him, wondering whether he’s in the right state of mind to make that call. “You’re kidding.”

“Not unless you’re okay slumbering at the footstep of your door.”

Another choice made of your hands. You discouragingly follow after him as he unlocks the door across the street. Seonwoo was evidently still home with his loafers by the foot of the door but dead asleep upstairs in bed.

“You take my bed. I’ll take the couch,” he offers nodding in the direction of the living room.

“No thanks, I’ll take the couch.”

He groans, giving that irritated look. “Don’t be difficult and just sleep in the damn bed.”

You huff, strutting over towards the couch. “Sleep in your own damn bed, Jeon. Stop treating me like you’re my babysitter.”

He follows after you, crossing his arms like an annoyed mother, “You’re really gonna be like this?”

“I’m not being like anything.”

“You know what?” He grabs the throw pillow off the couch, “Fine. We’ll share the couch.”

“Excuse me?” Your eyes narrow back at him.

The smug smile on his face says it all, knowing there was no rebuttal to follow. “Neither of us will take the bed, we’ll both will take the couch.”

Before you can argue, he ascends the stairs for more bedding and comes back to toss you a blanket and pillow. He keeps one of each for himself, sprawling on the other end of the massive couch, gesturing you to do the exact same. Cautiously, you mirrored his image, crawling under your borrowed blanket. Despite your feet not touching, you couldn’t help but feel suffocated by the close proximity, forcing you to crunch up your legs and bring your knees close to your chest.

Wonwoo’s eyes drop in place, nuzzling into his thick blanket. “Good night.”

“Whatever.”

He softly scoffs with a smile, basking in the silence. Meanwhile, there was you, wondering why you listened to his instructions so willingly. You sigh, your eyes glued to the ceiling counting every bump and curve of its textured surface.

“This is stupid it’s literally 10 pm”

“Sounds like bedtime.”

You peek back at him, his eyes still closed. “You did not go to a party to plan on sleeping at 10 pm.”

“You don’t know what my plans are. Sleep now.”

“I could’ve handled it, you know,” you argue.

“I bet you could’ve,” he responds dryly. “Wasn’t gonna take that risk though.”

“I’m serious…you didn’t have to, especially since…”

“What?”

“You know,” you take a moment to form the words, “whatever that was with Gina.”

You hear him scoff, shifting on his side of the couch. “Nothing was happening with Gina.”

You let out a parched laugh, in disbelief of the words leaving his lips. “Wow, that lie comes so easy, does it?”

“Believe what you want. It’s not what you think anyway.”

“You’re so…obnoxious,” you sputter.

“Thank you.”

“So when did that happen? You and Gina?”

He huffs hot air out of his nose.“There’s no me and Gina. I don’t know what you saw, but…it’s nothing.”

“You were kissing.”

“You could call it that.”

“For a while,” You add.

“Just enough for her to find closure.”

“And did she?”

“Saved your ass before I could find out.”

You have no response to that and you let the silence take over for a few minutes. After those few minutes, Wonwoo was the one to break the peace.

“You asleep yet.”

“No, it’s not even 11,” you answer exasperatedly.

“Well, I'm tired.”

“Go to sleep then.”

“You should sleep before I do.”

“Why?”

He shrugs, “I'm supposed to take care of you. It’s what your mom would want.”

“Why? I'm a grown adult.”

“I don’t think an explanation is needed.”

“Ever heard of personal space?”

“Make some smart decisions and I’ll consider it.”

“You’re such a dick,” you grunt, turning away from view.

“I’m only trying to protect you.”

This shit again. You pushed yourself up from the couch to sit up, fuming in his direction. “Because your mom asked. Okay, I get it, but you’re not obligated to anymore because I’m your mom's friend’s kid. Just stop.”

“That’s not why–”

“Stop lying–”

“I’m not fucking lying,” he says matching your stance. His gaze meets yours in anguish, urging you to drop it.

You scoff, lying back down in a sleeping position with your back turned towards him. “Whatever.”

“...Despite popular belief, I’m actually concerned about you sometimes.”

“I guess…I don't entirely find that hard to believe.”

“Thank you. It’s not like I hate you.”

“Sure,” you answer, voice basted in sarcasm.

“I don’t.” You hear his body shift back down on the couch, finding comfort between the leather cushions.

“Then why are you such a dick.”

He sighs. “Sorry.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“...Sorry.”

You ponder to yourself, wanting to turn back the clock to the earlier conversation for unknown reasons. You turn your body, seeing how his body mimics your body seconds ago, back turned, eyes closed, and facing the couch. “So if not Gina–”

“There’s no one,” he cuts off, “I mean, I'm not seeing anyone.”

It reassures you. Not that it should’ve. “Okay. I believe you.”

“Okay.”

You’re unsure when you drifted off, you only remember it being mid-conversation that your vision started to blur, followed by darkness and soon the light of the following morning. You wake up in Wonwoo’s house unexpectedly alone, quiet enough to hear the sound of a pin dropping. You enter the kitchen, parched, and you find a plate of food. You approach cautiously, catching a glimpse of the note, immediately catching on to why it was so damn empty.

Went to get stuff done. Keep yourself entertained for a bit. - Wonwoo and Seonwoo

With an impish grin, you quickly run your fork over and over into the balanced meal and nourish your body, but slow down as your subconscious reminds you of last night's events. It wanders to your impulse to attend a party out of sheer boredom, stumbling upon an unexpected scene, before immediately trying to escape it before you are caught. The kiss becomes a scene stuck on replay, playing the image like a broken record. You did not black out, though you wish you had, considering your uncalled-for badgering of Wonwoo’s relationship status you shouldn’t have cared less about. Yet do.

You try bruising it off if you can help it, quick to leave, and relieved to find your mom home to let you in. Your day begins a new, and with a new day, she already has stuff for you to do. You’d be annoyed if you weren’t so grateful to be let back in home, remembering to grab your keys this time as you left the house again following her request for grocery shopping.

You drink in the town for the first time since being back, questioning yourself why you hadn’t done it earlier. The block isn’t that different since you left, perhaps more greenery and flowers, but otherwise everything looked the same. Same old town, same old stores, the only thing difference was the people. Fine lines got deeper, toddlers now taller, and you now a stranger. Even the grocery store has changed managers, one adolescent bag boy at a time.

Even long finished with grocery shopping, you’re still wandering the center of town, circling in steps of the alternating tiles of the ground. For a moment, you free yourself from your thoughts, your worries, your ambitions, and live in the moment. It had been so long since you felt like this. You expected the feeling to emerge in college but that had been just another thing on your plate and suddenly you’re reminded of Wonwoo. Knowing him, he’d like this sight of you, proud to see you experience another emotion for a change.

Then your eyes flit back to the scene several meters from you. He reappears in your vision just as he has in your thoughts, only now Gina embracing him, squeezing the life out of him just as the life is squeezed out of your chest. He meets your eyes, his pupils expanding, before lightly pushing the poor girl off of him, but not in enough time to stop you from trying to escape again.

“Hey!”

You ignore him, letting your feet take you where it guides you. You’re blind to the incoming obstacles, brushing past pedestrians, shoulder everybody you meet, and you barely register the busy road before your feet make an unexpected halt. You hear the blaring honks until you’re pulled out, face crashing into their shoulder, arms coming around your in strong enclosure.

“Are you stupid? Why are you running into oncoming traffic?”

You shove him off, heart beating louder in your chest than any bike ride he’s taken you on has, and you’re seething in an emotion that you never expected to be in. Never in this lifetime at least. “Wonwoo just stop. Please.”

“I’m not doing anything. I don’t get why you’re trying to push me away.”

“I’m just sick of this. Of you. I can’t do this.”

“Why? Why? What do you think this is?”

“Just, leave me alone, Wonwoo.”

He sees you trying to walk out on him again and he doesn’t let you. Taking you by your arm, he pulls you towards him, leaving only the width of your forearm as his gaze pierces right through you, brimming with a mix of concern and utter anger. Frustration. Impatience.

If there was one thing about Wonwoo, he may have looked like he came from an anger management class, but he did manage it well. When he didn’t, your feet would feel glued to the concrete, frozen in the fire of his eyes, for once fearing what the man had to say.

“You know what? No. I’m not letting you do this? I don’t understand what’s going on or why you hate me so much–”

“God,” you groan, “it would be so easy if I just hated you.”

“Then what is it? You don’t hate me. You don’t like me. What? I’m wracking my brain trying to understand you–”

You don’t let him finish. You aren't sure what was in the breakfast you had today but you find yourself pulling him by the collar to meet his lips only to push him away in that instant, barely a whisper of his presence in your mouth. You clamp your hand over your mouth before finally treading away shocked by your actions, scurrying away.

He doesn’t follow you and you don’t blame him. You retrieve your once-abandoned groceries from the intersection to then find your way home. Rain is close to follow, drenching from head to toe. As if things couldn’t get any worse.

When you get home, you’re alone once again. The door shuts with a clang and you’re left in your self wallow, regret burning the back of your throat. Your back slid against the wood, a deep exhale expelling from your lungs. “So that’s what’s wrong with me.”

Like clockwork, you feel a knock erupt from the same door. Conceding to whatever was on the other side, you brush yourself up from the ground and turn the knob, only to be taken aback. Wonwoo, wet like made from glass with his locks swept over his head, stands before you panting. On either hand is a bundle of flowers barely protected in the cellophane it came with when he bought them and his cell phone he’s death gripping in his hand, no doubt damaged by the rain.

You blink back at him, lips parting in confusion. “Wonwoo…You’re wet.”

“Likewise.” He invites himself in and sets the flowers on a table nearby, not even for a second letting his gaze stray from yours. “You left me hanging there. Kiss a guy and walk away like he means nothing?”

You shake your head in disbelief, processing this, him. “Why are you here…with flowers?”

“I really do have to spell out everything for you, don’t I?” he responds smiling.

The squelch of his shoes trod in your direction, the invisible string connecting you two shortening. Preventing your evasion, you feel the palm of his hand against your back and your lips crash in a lingering reunion. The squeak of his slippery leather doesn't make it past your ears, distracted by the heat of his lips in the clash of the coolness of his rain-stained skin.

Your hand crawls up his neck to press him closer, feeling the strength of his arms wrap around you tighter before shutting the front door effortlessly with his foot. He lets you pin him against the door, lips tight bound to yours, and relief settles in his stomach as you show no sign of pulling away. He finds himself whispering a word of gratitude in every language, smiling against your lips. “No more excuses…I’m not letting anyone get in the way. Not even you.”

You finally break out in a smile, brushing it against his lips before reclaiming them, not minding the wet leather.

You spend the rest of the day in each other’s company. You put away the groceries before the room temperature worked against their favor and got yourselves changed out of your rain-dampened clothes, throwing them in the dryer. Even if he lived right next door, you allow him to wear your most oversized shirt after he insisted he should, watching the cotton fabric cling to his broad shoulders with the hem just hitting him at his hip bone.

Man, he’s a large man.

“Kinda snug.”

You scoff, crossing your arms in an attempt to hold yourself back. “You can get clothes next door. You’re just a few steps away.”

He grins, approaching you. “It’s raining…I could get sick.” His long arms land on either of your shoulders, reminding you of that cat that knew too much in a childhood cartoon. “You don’t want me sick…”

“You wouldn’t get sick taking two long strides to your house, Jeon,” you respond, rolling your eyes, unable to meet his.

“But you’d take care of me if I was, right?”

You roll your eyes, accepting his advances of a hug and feeling his chin fit in the crook of your neck. “Kiss a guy two times too many and he follows you around like a stray cat.”

He grins. “You like it. Don’t act like you don’t. You probably even like my bike and you’re not telling me.”

“Okay well, no. Those are two separate matters.”

His arms wrap around you tighter before reuniting your lips, such tenderness and sweetness in his gaze as he thumbs over the curve of your cheek. “You don’t deny that other thing.”

“I thought was already point blank. You know, when I didn’t push you away, kicking and screaming.”

“Yeah, but,” he shrugs, his cheekbones only getting higher. “Hard to come by something nice from you. I want to hear it.”

You sigh, giving in. “Fine.”

Your head fit between the divide of his chest, hearing a quickened pulse underneath it. You close your eyes as your hand strokes against his back. “I have… feelings for you. Maybe for once good feelings. Just don’t get cocky about it.”

Overwashed with calm joy, he takes you tighter, inhaling the soap in your hair. “Too late.”

#svthub #wonwoo #wonwoo angst #seventeen wonwoo #seventeen #jeon wonwoo angst #seventeen fanfic #wonwoo fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #jwon wonwoo fluff #jeon wonwoo #wonwoo fanfic #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo x you #wonwoo x y/n #jeon wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x you #jeon wonwoo x y/n

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reveluving · 1 year ago

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can i go rabid in your inbox…not a request just imagine billy x reader x kessler…🥴 the contrast of billy being rough but ultimately wanting you to feel good and finish, and kessler being faux sympathetic ‘aww, you poor thing :(((‘ and keeping it just out of reach…hell yeah

- the benny/rick puffing out chests anon (i still go back and read that! 🩵)

me: *sighing, opening the kessler gdoc I already had and scrolling to the bottom because you know damn well I’d elaborate on this. and a girl’s gotta eat too!!*

addict ; billy butcher x reader x joe kessler

includes: s~mut obv (minors DNI!)

a/n: okay but HOLY SHIT, BENNY/RICK CHEST PUFFING ANON??? IT’S BEEN WHAT, TWO YEARS SINCE THAT ASK? bless you, hun! I sincerely hope you’re doing well, please know I giggled and kicked my feet in my bed to this, and the fact that you still come back to the rick series!! 😭❤️

fancy reading something new? check out my full m.list!

smut includes: mm4f, size kink, ‘softer’!dom butcher & slightly meaner!dom kessler are equally nasty, petnames, dirty talking, cunnilingus, edging, overstimulation, sq~uirting, voyeurism & exhibitionism, spanking (once), brief mentions of age gap (legal & consenting!!), bj & unprotected s~ex (p in v), butcher & kessler are absolutely obsessed over you!!

Butcher had an obsession with the way you moaned in his ear as he had you on your back. His large frame concealed yours as his hips moved, his thrusts deep but his pace torturously slow. Like Kessler, he loved how your voice pitched higher each time he bottomed out into you, begging him to let you cum in incoherent murmurs. Seeing his team’s pretty little ace writhing underneath his old buddy was almost as exhilarating as any combined operation he had ever faced.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Butcher cooed condescendingly, tilting your head up by your jaw so Kessler, who was lazily pumping his cock as he sat on the chair he had dragged beside the bed could see your tears. If your eyes weren’t brimming with tears, blocking both your vision and mind, you would’ve tried to avert your gaze from Kessler’s heated ones.

“Billy, please…” You sobbed.

Butcher was dying to have you when it all started, and he would’ve had you first but he wanted to drag your orgasm. Make you yearn for release, only to cry out in frustration ever so cutely each time he slowed his pace, and despite what one would believe, he would’ve surrendered to your cries much quicker, giving you what you, or at the very least, teasing you just a little bit longer before giving you what you needed then and there. Offering you sweet kisses and even sweeter reassurance as he kissed your neck.

But Kessler wanted to put your limitations to the test, and you knew you were in for a wild ride when he suggested it with a playful glint in his eye.

Even so, he took great consideration for your well-being, immediately asking Butcher for the safeword and both of them reminding you to use it if you ever needed to stop at any point. A calm before the storm, before he pushed you onto the bed and restrained you with his arms on your thighs, then latched his lips onto your sensitive clit.

When Kessler had you on your back, flicking his tongue along your lips and grumbling into your pussy, causing your legs to tense and tremble, Butcher sat by your head. Leaning in to kiss wherever his lips could reach, praising you with zero filter while his hands alternated between roaming your luscious body to holding your hands to your head each time Kessler’s tongue had you particularly jumpy.

“Y'hear that?” Kessler lightly slapped your pussy, his fingers covered in your slick and his saliva the more he patted your sensitive bud. He and Butcher shared a chuckle, and you would’ve attempted to shut your legs if not for Kessler’s adamant grip.

Butcher needed in, so he sat behind you, pulling you onto his lap so he could be with you as physically close as possible.

With Kessler’s fingers glistening with your juices, he offered his digits to your lips.

“Go on,” Butcher rasped in your ear as brushed his beard along your shoulder, “Taste y’self, so you’ll know why I love tongue fuckin’ you just as much as he does.”

And one thing led to another, after Kessler edged you for a while, topped with the way Butcher squeezed your tits and had the audacity to tell you not to cum just yet, you were already mush in their arms. It wasn't until you looked up at Butcher with your glossy, puppy dog eyes that he convinced Kessler to spare you the torture.

But with how long they refused your orgasm, you couldn’t control the spurt that had the men who worshipped you the way America did with their golden boy laughing and cheering for your release.

“‘Atta girl,” Kessler praised, swiping and stimulating your sensitive folds to force the very last droplets of your juices into his mouth and chin, “Atta girl.”

You were practically melting in Butcher’s arms, letting him kiss your cheek, jaw and neck before turning your head to press his lips onto yours.

Kessler’s stubble tickled your thighs and hipbone, his calloused hands slowly sliding up your body before reaching for your hand. You felt his lips against the pads of your fingers before bringing them in between your legs. You felt Butcher smile against your lips when you whined at the embarrassing squelch, but they perked up at the noise.

“Up.” Butcher murmured as soon as he pulled away. You blinked sluggishly, seeing his eyes dart to your fingers. You brought your hand to his face and he immediately wrapped his lips around your fingers, unabashed with the sounds of suckling and groaning that mingled with Kessler’s. You were practically clenching around nothing, and before you could voice out your frustration, Butcher captured your lips with his once more, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Feels nice, right?” Kessler smiled when you practically jerked at his knuckle nudging at your clit. You weren’t even sure if he was asking you or Butcher, “Just gotta tough it out, bud.”

“Shut it.” Butcher scoffed, but God, did he need you and he needed you now.

Butcher shot Kessler a glare when the latter playfully slapped your ass, though they both knew Butcher didn’t mind it one bit. Not when you let out an irresistible yelp, a reaction they hoped to hear more when they switched places, with Butcher already in Kessler’s place, but not before removing his pants while Kessler decided to sit back. As much as he wanted to feel you once more, he didn’t want to miss any of your reactions if he were to ever lose himself in his own pleasure.

He knew he’d have just as much fun watching you front row seats, plus, he already had more plans for you soon. Whether he was going to have you once Butcher had his fill of you or if he would be impatient enough that he’d stand or kneel next to you so he could feel your perfect lips around his cock was uncertain.

But with how addictive you were, he and Butcher knew none of them could wait to have you whole.

a/n: I hope y’all enjoyed this little piece of our two hunks. it’s pwp ‘cause do we REALLY need a reason to go to town with them? SHIT I wanna hear more about them or at least kessler 😩 pls don’t forget to leave some sugar! ;; gorgeous rose divider by @firefly-graphics ♡

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blackthewolf17 · 9 months ago

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😭Today i tasted the heaven, and it tastes like glory

For a long time I wanted to try this program called Realistic Paint Studio Because if you hadn't noticed I LOVE traditional oil art, so I'm obsessed with anything that can mimic the effect of traditional painting in digital.

The only negative thing I find (from the little I was able to try with the test period) is that the stabilizer makes you make somewhat strange movements, sometimes. And and it is somewhat limited in brushes, you have 52 which is actually a considerable amount but for an addict like me they are few

Aside from those two details, it felt amazing, very intuitive with a 3D brush box and a little winged gif showing how they paint. It lets you use different types of canvas and what I love most, the color palette can be with the digital method or with an imitation of real tubes. And the option to import the image into a realistic 3D scenario to create the illusion that it was really made in traditional ways is simply magnificent. Now I just need $50 dollars to buy it, which I will definitely do.

#sketch #drawing #digital painting

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quantumlogician · 2 months ago

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[Tease] — Teasing and left hanging. [@spilled-energon]

It was a serene evening. Another one of those back-and-forth late nights where Soundwave combs over his slender digits on a shoulder plate, trailing along the charge cable on Shockwave's bearing arm. Seldom did he respond with anything other than a twitch of his antennae or a flicker of his dorsal wings, let it be known it was appreciated.

He didn't respond in kind, outside the fanning of his field blanketing the two of them into a secure bind, interlinking their fields into one. It was the best he could do with his limited capabilities.

At some point, a stray cable draws along the indents of his spinal strut, enticing several stray sparks down the length of it; wings shivering in response. Though, somewhere along the way, he felt those prongs slip along the deep-purple biolights sketched into sensitive protometal. Caressing, if he had to place a description to it, from the shape of his chassis down towards a hip.

All of him tightened in anticipation —— only for it to slip away. For ' it ' to walk away so innocently without any consideration.

Somewhere all that formidable patience vanished and in its place left an indignant Shockwave. " Where do you think you're going? " he demanded in both tone and gesture, a wide palm capturing the svelte waist and anchoring that mech back before he had a chance to escape.

" Do you really think this is fair? "

#✧ ic — shockwave #✧ PARTICLE SHIFT [ TFP ]#✧ ask #spilledenergon #cw suggestive

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payblogs · 8 months ago

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mitigatedchaos · 1 month ago

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I've been doing some conceptual sketching over the last several weeks, chewing on the limited technology zones idea that I've been working on. (It's not just an excuse for fictional detectives.)

Rather than proposing a single solution, this post covers some of that thinking, to provide you with concepts to chew on.

The Medieval1900/1960s/1990s/2010s/+ tech zone poll was based on a general sense regarding the speed of movement and the speed of information, and noticing that in the year 2000, "the Internet" was still a place you went to (by sitting down at your computer), and not a cyberspace layer that surrounds the planet.

But what, exactly, would "1990s/Y2K computer limits" cash out to? 800x600 pixel resolutions? 800MHz processors?

Just what was this mysterious "it factor" we would be trying to bring back by making computers slower and less advanced?

From my notes:

One way to view virtual reality is that the VR environment has extremely low weight, and is therefore extremely mutable. Any physical good, such as a sports car, can be simulated, and in almost any number, which raises a question: why buy a real sports car when we can simulate them? People are at risk of getting lost in virtual reality, with simulations becoming more satisfying to them than real life, leading them to underinvest in their real life. We can think of technology as altering the ratio of effort to environment change. High effort is required to move dirt with a shovel. Low effort is required to move the same volume of dirt with a bulldozer.

The assumption behind the zones-by-tech-level question is that beyond a certain point, except for medical technology, additional high-tech development is superfluous, because virtual reality means that nearly arbitrary sensory experiences can be generated relative to an agent's sense limits.

Demand results when the expected value of a change in the environment loops back through the agent, resulting in a potential change in behavior.

The point of video games is to produce a high stimulus feedback relative to the amount of effort. (I read that in an article on GamaSutra once years ago, and it really stuck.)

In a virtual reality environment, reward signals can become disconnected from agent well-being.

Movies, television, and books appear to be less addictive than video games and social media. What separates them? Interactivity appears to be the primary difference.

With this in mind, I was then able to work backwards and develop an intermediate regulatory concept: interaction frames.

With a book, the content is static the entire time. With a DVD, you press a button and then the DVD may play to completion. You might skip back to a previous scene, but there is no need for further interaction.

A paged website is static until you update the page. With continuous-scroll social media, new content is always being added, and at any moment you may receive a notification to get into an argument or that someone liked your post. Video games in general tend to have continuous interaction.

This model does not adequately address the situation, and, importantly, cannot distinguish between a video game and a spreadsheet program like Microsoft Excel.

We can adapt a concept from gambling: human beings seek mastery or identification of patterns, and the randomness of gambling prevents mastery of the pattern from being achieved. A spreadsheet is very much not random, while loot drops in many video games are quite random!

We could at least measure commands to produce random numbers, or require registration of pseudorandom number generators.

However, this is still insufficiently general. Simulator games may generate complex behavior from simple rules. Are we stuck regulating "game-like elements" by committee? That doesn't sound right.

Still, people do get bored of single-player games, either by mastering the gameplay, or when they get used to the story elements of the game. A visual novel is more like a spreadsheet or a book than like a slot machine.

Also, not all social media seems to be equally addictive. Why were chatrooms seemingly less dangerous than twitter?

There is an anticipation of information gain (informative tweets). There is an anticipation of exciting experiences (someone shows up to fight!). Also, from the user's perspective, it's somewhat random.

In a chatroom, there are fewer people, and they stay for longer. This means that (1) you have more information about them and their positions, (2) you have more incentive to be cordial, and (3) because there is a limit to how much they can have gotten up to while you weren't looking, there is a limit on the anticipated amount of new social information.

On Twitter, there is an endless stream of new people to argue with, and they can show up at any time. You can post about some chalupas you made yesterday, and some lunatic will show up to fight you. Thus, there is always the background anticipation of an (emotionally stimulating) attack.

In a chatroom, if someone would attack you over chalupas, you already know him as the chalupa guy. In real life, an argument is limited by space and time - the chalupa argument ends by default when the bar closes and the chalupa guy is no longer within earshot, and you cannot reopen it until you see him again.

Tumblr is slower-paced, but things like "likes" are continuous, so there is always the incentive to check in to see how your post is doing.

This allows us to get into a model based on food.

There is a dieting strategy involving not buying junk food at the store, so that it is not at your house when you get a craving for it.

This implies that the craving is a temporary impulse or peak, and that it just has to be outlasted. If the craving were uniform, the strategy wouldn't work, because the dieter would just buy the junk food at the store.

(This suggests that the baseline craving for drugs is higher, because drug addicts are willing to take much more extreme actions to feed their addictions, over a longer time period, and that the symptoms for withdrawal (a more constant negative stimulus) are worse.)

So is control in the hands of the agent, or is it in the environment? Is there choice, or not? The dieting strategy appears to split the difference - removing junk food from the cupboard is a kind of prosthetic self-control and willpower shifting. Willpower exists and can be exercised, but is limited, and reserves vary over time. Altering the environment at a point of high willpower can reduce willpower requirements in later contexts, until they are within the window of reliable feasibility.

This suggests a strategy of altering the digital environment to enable users to act on meta-preferences for prosthetic self-control.

For social media services, this suggests regulations imposing new usage modes. For example, it might be required to provide access to third-party user interfaces, which might do things like hide the number of likes. Alternatively, a user might receive all the tweets from a specific set of accounts as a daily summary. Since social media companies require revenue, this access might be a paid service based on average foregone ad revenue. It's a matter that would require a good deal more consideration.

For other items, as part of a broader social movement, we might imagine users being able to buy dedicated hardware. Attempting to control interactivity via software requires a great deal more regulation and is easier to bypass. By contrast, we might imagine a hardware module that writes to a virtual canvas at some rate. The user could then scroll the canvas without receiving updates until the next refresh.

The user could buy an appliance device with built-in limits, similar to not bringing junk food home from the store.

Regarding welfare...

If social media makes people insane, then refraining from social media is pro-social, but suffers from a coordination problem.

However, that's more speculative. More broadly, this is about the liberal concern of consent under capitalism, and what it means to consent to technology. There are two considerations, in tension.

If you have to either use a technology or be homeless, then can you really have been said to have "consented" to the technology?

On the other hand, why should everyone else be expected to subsidize some guy using a horse and buggy?

Maximization of pattern efficiency is likely to be hostile to the continued existence of the human species, not that differently from how hard drugs distort and kill people. On the other hand, insufficient pattern efficiency means reduced production, which may mean making hard moral choices and having wasteful suffering that could have been avoided.

(Regulated capitalism is actually pretty good about consent relative to production levels, compared to say, feudalism or command economies.)

The conventional liberal response is a universal basic income - this neatly ties up many questions of consent by removing the greatest point of leverage - but this is problematic, as it involves redistributing labor to able people who may not be working at all. I've been working on an alternative based on "universal basic land," but I'm not satisfied with it yet. The essential idea is that land and materials are scarce, while labor (directed effort) and capital (configurations of materials) are variable. If life support (sunshine, air, food, water) is guaranteed, then trade is a net benefit (rather than resulting in potential gradual loss of life support due to lack of leverage).

#writing_tag #worldbuilding #mitigated future #flagpost #the invisible fist #digital limits considerations

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emeraldotter · 5 months ago

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2024 art summary! Some detailed thoughts and considerations on another year of drawing every day under the cut.

I feel like I had some big improvements with backgrounds and color choices. I like painting backgrounds; they're probably my favorite things to paint. I pushed myself on figure drawing more, too, but framing and posing has never come naturally to me. I made the plunge into drawing predominantly on single layer and just treating most digital paintings like I'm using acrylics. I think it's led to some more fluidity in my art, though it's definitely had its associated growing pains. It's so hard not to make things look muddy, but that's a problem I've always had with acrylics as well.

I admit, I'm very embarrassed by what I have to show this year and a lot that has to do with the subjects I painted. I'm trying very hard to push back against that negativity, though. Deku's a comforting character to me, so drawing him always makes me feel better. I should allow that sort of outlet for myself, I think. I feel better for it, anyways. Plus, the MHA manga had such talented people illustrating for it and its art evolution really inspired me—there's so much expressiveness there, and I love hands! MHA is the hand manga, haha.

I've also noticed that I get really nervous that people will think my art is bad if I post it online, so I've been interrogating that. I've definitely posted more duds than good stuff over the years, but I'm not a natural or talented artist. I'm just a guy who draws! And that's okay, I think. Not every athlete is meant for the world championships. But then I think: Do I think this way when I see other people's art? And the answer is no. I'm always happy to see art. I'm always happy to see people making art. I'm much more focused on the subject of the art, on how it makes me feel, than if it's "good enough." What does that even mean? Obviously, there are objective skill sets associated with drawing and painting, but it's a sliding scale of competency. I don't think it's as black and white as "good" and "bad" so much as "well developed" and "less developed." And art on both ends of that spectrum have spoken to me enormously over the years.

It's hard, sometimes, to make art that feels fulfilling or pushes you when you have a running daily queue. I've been doing this for over a decade. Kind of crazy, right? Whenever I draw something, I think, "Can I post this? Is this postable?" I've tried to move away from that. Making a lot of hours-long paintings that I don't show anybody has helped that, maybe. All the same, every time I'm working on a painting that isn't a commission or for this blog, I can't help but think, "You're using up your body's stamina and your limited time to make something that can't be used. You're going to have to set aside even more time to work on usable art." I've done a lot to push aside that guilt. If I can't paint for myself, then painting serves nothing for me. I already work a pretty demanding job; I cannot have everything I do turn into survival. Hobbies are so important.

Another thing that happened is that I got really into learning how to seriously make stickers, this year! I bought a printer on sale and everything. I hand-cut each sticker and apply a protective layer over it, usually with a holographic effect. Who doesn't love holographic stickers?

#yearly improvement #doodle #crappy art #this is more for me than for any of you #i'm trying to be more open and less ashamed about everything

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wha-archive · 3 months ago

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Archive Admin Update 23/02/25

Last update (23/01/25): here

These seem to work to keep my brain on track! Many things have not changed since last month as it's been very busy offline for me, but here's where things are:

Tasks not started/still in the same place as last update:

Volume 8 (French Ltd. Ed.) Artbook internals fully edited and uploaded. Covers still require edits.

Volume 13 (French Ltd. Ed.) Artbook still to be scanned

Colouring Book (Japanese) partially scanned. Much more labour intensive than the last one as it dimensions are >A4 so there's a lot of page edits that I'm working out a better process for.

Pika Editions Artbook to be scanned. This is a MASSIVE book though it is a compilation of images we mostly have, so I'll be prioritising new/larger versions of images that don't exist digitally or with clean scans elsewhere. It will also not be shared for some time to encourage purchase of the original.

Tasks in progress:

Creating a streamlined, HQ repository of Volume covers, complete with scan & edit credit list in new Index upload. Currently there are incomplete collections of various languages, but this represents minimal variation. I will be keeping my offline collection of these, but aim to replace it with the following:

Standard edition dust jackets* - editions 7-13 have been scanned, edited & uploaded this week. Volumes 1-6 in progress.

Limited edition dust jackets* - editions 11-13 scanned, 12 complete & uploaded.

Special edition dust jackets* (e.g. PIKA Ed. alternate covers) - Volumes 7-13 scanned and mid-edit, Volumes 1-6 in progress. These take a considerable amount of time because of the intricate design elements that do not scan well, and I'd like to make them as pristine as I can. I'm... somewhat considering digital remasters where the cover images are available digitally (most of them are!) which might actually be faster lol. We'll see!

Under-dust-jacket covers (with Ltd Ed. colours where available) - this collection is complete and uploaded, though I would like to replace the covers with standard edition colours where I can.

Placeholder covers (e.g. German temporary cover designs) - all HQ versions I'm aware of I already had & have been updating, to be uploaded once renamed.

Title pages (internal) - I'm replacing scans I have of these so I can make cleaner edits. Volume 1-4 available from digital copies.

Contents pages (internal) - They have unique danglies! Again, need to make replacement scans.

Chapter covers (textless) - This is where things have fallen significantly behind. Again I will be keeping versions with text in an offline archive, but want to move the chapter covers to this folder and get text-less edits where ever I can.

*where a dust jacket isn't available or needs scanning in HQ, providing a version of at least the front cover & back cover in the standard edition (ENG) for each volume, or a placeholder scan which may or may not be fully edited.

Here's the current state of my tracker for reference. Ew!!

This is where I'm not certain what to do - the "chapter end cap/stubs" (as I've been calling them - they're the little illustrations between chapters in each volume that currently have their own folder) technically belong with all the other Volume art, but they're also mostly illustrations of specific characters who have a spot in the Illustrations folder. I'm not sure if it'd be best to slot them into the former or the latter. But they're living happily where they are, for now, and I may do some rescan/edits after comparing print quality between volumes (some publishers have blurrier prints than others aha)

Apologies for the long post! I've been blazing through the volume reorg this week and wanted to share! I'm uploading as I go, and leaving everything that hasn't been replaced in situ. I've taken a lot of care to edit out creases and scanner dust from the volume covers I've completed so far so please check them out!!

Here's a little comparison of the before (right) and after (left) of an edit. I want the white backgrounds to be bright and the colours vibrant! And this was one of the easier creases to remove from the backgrounds (Volume 13 and Volume 8 my NIGHTMARES)

#long post #admin update

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charlottesbookclub · 4 months ago

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time after time – chapter seven (part one) (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: Hux's expectations are altered, but he takes the opportunity to spend more time with you

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; descriptions of eating; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 5364

Author’s Note: as I mentioned in my notes on chapter six, that was the chapter that convinced me I needed to take the story in a little bit of a new direction. chapter seven is where I start doing that! this was a really fun one to write, and I hope it will be equally as fun to read! 🥰

Hux awoke slowly this time, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sight that met him was not the dark, clinical ceiling of medical, but rather the cheery surroundings of your quarters. He must have woken up before the cycle switched. He scrambled for his datapad. A thick, cold feeling slid down his throat and settled in his stomach. The digital display dispassionately informed him that it was already the next cycle. He should have felt relieved – he had finally broken through whatever strange curse had held him trapped for the past week. But those feelings were overshadowed by the idea that he didn’t get to try this again. All the thoughts of practicing and perfecting himself slid through his hands. You would remember, you would know. Every awkward question and ungainly phrase, every foolish thing he had done and said. His hands were shaking as he turned off the datapad and returned to the couch feeling dazed.

He needed some kind of warning, some sort of preparation. What he needed was a new plan. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all – you had asked him to stay, hadn’t you? You wouldn’t have done that if he had made himself completely abhorrent to you. He scrubbed his hands across his face as though in an effort to jumpstart his thoughts. They came to him in rush. Kriff – he had responsibilities again! He couldn’t just write off his work knowing it would all be reset. In a flurry he reached for his datapad once more. He couldn’t even remember what he was supposed to be doing today. He pulled up his packed schedule and breathed a small sigh of relief upon seeing one large block of color filling up most of the cycle. It was labeled ‘Project Starkiller Planetary Inspection.’ He relaxed against the couch, closing his eyes and counting out a few breaths to calm his racing pulse.

The project on Ilum was just in its beginning stages – Hux simply needed to visit the planet and see what progress was being made on updating the old Imperial infrastructure. Compared to many of his other responsibilities, it was relatively easy. It was quiet. His eyes snapped open. The thought echoed again: it was quiet – almost private. He could take you. Excitement bubbled up in his chest. He felt like a silly child, but even that thought couldn’t dampen his sudden good spirits. Maneuvering easily through a series of highly confidential access portals, he cleared your schedule and granted you the required permissions to visit the base. Only a select few knew of the actual plans for the planet, but he reasoned you didn’t need to know that restricted information to simply tour the base with him. Plenty of personnel staffed the limited facilities there without knowing the true purpose of the planet.

Nearly bursting with newfound energy, Hux found he could no longer sit still, even though it was still quite early in the cycle. As quietly as he could, he collected his fresh uniform, thanking the stars that he had thought to request one, and slipped into the refresher. Not even chancing a glance in the mirror while still in his sleep clothes, he pulled on his uniform, adjusting it to perfection. Then there was the considerable problem of his hair. He felt wrong using any of your products, but he had to do something with the orange mess that had grown even more unruly with sleep. He cast about the small room, looking for anything he might use. A tidy stack of little black boxes in the corner caught his eye: your unused First Order-issued products. Knowing instinctively which one contained the necessary gel, he carefully took just as much as he needed before meticulously replacing everything as he had found it. After a couple passes of his gelled hands through his hair, he finally looked in the mirror. Given the stark contrast from the night before, he was reasonably pleased with how he had turned himself out. He hoped you would be too.

Sitting back on your couch, your blankets now neatly folded beside him, Hux waited for you to awaken. He responded to messages, filed reports, and signed documents, trying to get ahead on as much as possible. He had never thought to try and give himself free time before, but if it meant he could spend it with you, then he was willing to at least make an attempt.

Faintly, he heard the chime of an alarm followed by shuffling footsteps. He tried to keep himself focused on his work and not think about how you might look right now, completely unguarded and disheveled from sleep. If he woke up next to you, he would know. That sudden thought, a blaster shot from the darkness, sent him reeling. He tried to swallow the idea, but it lingered as he listened to you move quietly about your quarters, just out of his view.

Eventually, you emerged into the main space, dressed in your uniform, appearance meeting and exceeding regulation. The only thing out of place on the perfect model of a First Order officer was the warm smile that you offered him. But he wouldn’t have changed that for all the core worlds. It didn’t seem fair that just looking at you would rob him of his breath, yet he found himself returning your smile despite his difficulties with moving air through his lungs.

“Good morning, General,” you snapped him a little salute, but the lilt in your voice and the teasing smile that you seemed unable – or unwilling – to chase from your lips made the whole greeting seem much less martial and much more congenial. Was Hux smiling again? The corners of his mouth felt a little odd, like they weren’t used to making that shape as often as you seemed to be able to bring it out of him.

“Good morning, Captain,” he returned your salute happily. You beamed.

“I’m afraid all I have to offer you this morning are nutrition bars,” you revealed your other hand, which held two of the wrapped bars, and handed one to him.

“Not to worry – these are my usual fare after all,” Hux received the bar and began to unwrap it. You moved as though to sit. Expecting you to take up the same place on the floor that you had occupied last night, Hux nearly dropped his bar as you rounded the table and perched on the corner of it. The toes of your polished boots were almost touching his. He swallowed his bite of the bar thickly and attempted to divert his attention from the fractional space that separated you from him. You planted your elbows on your knees casually as you unwrapped your own bar. This was such a different version of you than what he had seen in his first glimpses in the dining hall with your back straight and shoulders upright. It was so different from everything he had ever known, but he found he preferred this version by far. You made things feel easy, light.

“I see there’s been a change to my schedule,” you mused as you ate, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye.

“Yes, I’m realizing now that I should have asked you first…” In his haste to spend more time with you, Hux had failed to plan for a scenario where you didn’t want to go with him. Or perhaps he didn’t even want to consider that such a scenario was possible. You waved away his concerns and he breathed a private sigh of relief.

“Not at all – anything that gets me off bridge duty is more than welcome.” Your tone was joking, but he could tell there was a heft of sincerity behind your words. He recalled your interactions with Ernstead, momentarily allowing the memory to make him clench his fist. He’d need to address that. But not now.

“I thought I could use your expertise from the field,” he measured his words as he monitored your reaction, one of your brows raising in interest, “seeing as I’ll be going planetside to make an inspection of a new base.” Your whole face lit up. Hux felt his chest fill with warmth.

“I’m far from an expert,” you responded, excitement inflecting each of your words, “but I’ll do the best I can.” You pushed yourself up from the table, a motion that Hux echoed.

“I fear I won’t be able to tell you much – the project is classified,” he apologized as he collected his greatcoat and swung it onto his shoulders.

“Not a problem,” you confirmed happily as the two of you made your way to the door. During the short walk, Hux watched as you subtly adjusted your posture – straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, stiffening your limbs, dimming your smile. By the time you were walking side by side in the hallways, you were perfectly at attention. The posture was so natural to him, but watching the process on you, lamenting what it had taken from you, he began to wonder: had he ever not been at attention?

You both slipped into a vacant turbolift. Hux selected the level for the proper flight bay and switched on private mode; it was a considerable trip to the ship you would be using, and he would rather not have anyone interrupt. Your lips quirked up in a little smile as he did so.

“You know, General, I have it on good authority that many officers aboard this ship abuse the privilege of private lifts,” you informed him, a glimmer of a laugh in your voice.

“Unfortunately I am aware of this,” he responded ruefully, wondering what had caused the amusement in your voice, “I have heard a number of reports of officers using private mode simply to go on caf runs during their off shifts.”

“Oh!” You let out the exclamation as though you were expecting him to say something else entirely. “That’s quite tame compared to the stories I’ve heard.” You both stood professionally facing the doors of the lift, but Hux was watching you intently from his periphery. The small smile did not leave your lips. What had you heard?

“And these stories involved…” he prompted as he watched your mouth work slightly as though you were debating how best to phrase your response.

“Usually a pair of officers engaged in… shall we say… highly unprofessional interpersonal contact.”

Hux’s entire body stiffened as he froze in place at your words. Heat seeped up the back of his neck.

“Primarily kissing, I’m told,” you continued, the bemused lilt in your voice never fading, “I doubt the average length of a lift ride leaves time for anything… further.”

Despite the fact that he was still standing as still as if he were carved from stone, he was utterly flustered. He swallowed and tried to remind himself to breathe. He had fixed his eyes completely on the polished black doors in front of him, but he still thought he saw you chance a glance at him. Kriff, he hoped you didn’t notice the incriminating blush that was blossoming onto his face. Certain images were taking shape in his mind. He thought of your cheek under his hand, the warmth of your body as he pulled you close to him, the press of your lips— He cleared his throat and tried to banish these thoughts, but was less successful than he had hoped.

“Right, well…” he cleared his throat a second time when his words came out thickly and slightly strangled on the first go. “I shall have someone look into these reports.” Kriff, he needed to change the subject before he abused the privilege of a private lift in just the manner that you had described.

“Captain, I assume you are able to pilot a vessel?” He tried to keep his words as professional as possible while still fighting with the images his mind had conjured for him. If you were surprised at the abrupt change of subject, you didn’t show it.

“Absolutely, General. I graduated the academy with top marks in all my flight classes.” Hux could still hear the smile in your voice.

“Excellent, since I have opted to forgo an assigned pilot for this trip. I thought it would allow us more…” his words faded as he noticed that you had turned slightly to face him. Your expression was frustratingly unreadable, though he thought you might be puzzling through something internally.

“Is that… alright?” He asked, suddenly nervous that he had presumed too much. “If you are uncomfortable with that arrangement, I’m happy to make the necessary adjustments—”

“No, no – that’s completely fine,” your smile had returned as you reassured him, “in fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

Hux was about to respond when the lift pinged to indicate that the selected floor had been reached. As though on cue, your smile flattened into a neutral mask, and the doors slid open to reveal a flight bay bustling with well-ordered activity. Hux strode out of the lift with you just a pace behind him. After conferring with the flight coordinators, you both made your way to your assigned ship. Hux was hyperconscious of your presence beside him, watching the faces of the passing personnel for any indication that they could sense his desire to be near you, but most of them barely looked up. Of course it was completely natural that a captain might accompany him on an off-ship mission, but what they didn’t know was that it wasn’t just any captain, it was you.

“I’ll make sure everything in the cockpit is in order, General,” you stated as a flight coordinator accosted him to confirm the last-minute details of the trip. Hux had difficulty paying attention to the coordinator as he watched you confidently board the ship and disappear from his view. What he gleaned from the conversation was that a small squad of stormtroopers would accompany the two of you on the trip – Hux knew it would be too much of a risk to go completely alone – but they would travel in the transport section of the ship, near the back. You and Hux would be alone in the cockpit. He reaffirmed the planned departure and arrival times, ensuring that the ship would be expected on both ends. When everything had been satisfactorily arranged, he dismissed the coordinator with a salute and tried not to hurry too obviously to join you in the ship.

He found you sitting in the chief pilot’s chair of the two-seated cockpit, adjusting some of the settings and checking the pre-flight read-outs that were being displayed on the screens. Not wanting to disrupt your work, Hux tried to slip into the neighboring seat quietly, but you still threw him a small smile as he entered. Travel through the Unknown Regions was hardly safe or predictable, and as he watched you make the necessary adjustments, your concentration totally focused on the task in front of you, Hux was captivated. Your movements were sure and precise, despite the relaxed casualness he knew you were capable of. You were fast and responsive, reacting to the read-outs, the ship’s internal systems, and the chatter on the coms channels all at once. Buckling himself into the seat, he didn’t dare to interrupt, but he couldn’t help but notice the way the red and blue lights played over your features, setting your profile off against the banks of buttons and blinking lights. Finally, you flipped one last switch and addressed him.

“Thank you for your patience, General. I think we’re ready for takeoff if you are.” Your words were professional, but you didn’t bother to hide the excitement on your face when it was just the two of you in the small cockpit.

“Of course, Captain. You have my approval to launch the flight.” You answered his words with one flash of a smile before switching on your headset and requesting permission for takeoff. You exchanged words with the controllers, making some more adjustments on the ship’s flight array. Your attention was once again completely absorbed with piloting the craft as you gained permission to leave the hanger and maneuvered expertly out of the busy flight bay. Hux didn’t mind at all; he was fascinated with watching you work. There was an impressive professionalism about you, but not the self-conscious kind that he noticed when you were walking the halls or on the bridge. Here, you seemed to be in your element, engaged and confident. You made a few more communications to the Finalizer’s controllers as the ship zoomed from the hangar and into the vast field of space beyond. Eventually, you were able to set the auto-pilot feature and replace your headset on its stand, easily within arm’s reach in case of an emergency. Shifting to a more comfortable position in your seat, you looked over at him.

“What?” you half-laughed, almost embarrassed. Kriff, you had caught him staring. Hux quickly fixed his gaze out into the net of stars outside the ship.

“Nothing – it’s just…”

“What?” You repeated your question again, almost nervously, like you weren’t sure if you had done something wrong. Hux spoke as quickly as he could to disabuse you of that notion; you had done everything perfectly.

“You seem more… comfortable here. Than you do on the Finalizer, that is.” You shrugged lightly. Hux wanted to know more. “Did you do a lot of flying when you were in the field?”

“Some,” you responded, looking over at him. He took this as permission to return his gaze to you as well. “Why are you asking?” You seemed guarded suddenly, and the thought that he had said something wrong made Hux’s stomach churn. You seemed to value honesty – you had proven that to him last cycle. Maybe it would be better to just ask? Something about being there alone with you was making him feel brave. He sighed, changing his tone slightly, lowering his voice.

“I know – well, I’ve heard – that you’ve been struggling with transitioning to the Finalizer from field work.” You reaction was instant. You returned your gaze out of the large viewport, your posture stiffened, and your grip tightened on the controls, even though you weren’t actively flying the ship. You swallowed, possibly trying to keep down tears.

“It’s that obvious?” Your voice carried none of its usual brightness. Hux’s chest seized.

“No – it’s not – not to me. I just—”

“But it is to others.” Somehow it felt like the statement was meant to be a question, but instead you uttered it as a dismal fact. Your eyes were still fixed far beyond the ship. How had he made such a mess of this? He couldn’t even help you when he truly wanted to. He longed to place a comforting hand on your arm, but his many calculations came back confused, and he couldn’t determine how you would receive the gesture. His arms remained stiffly situated on the armrests.

“I promise you, I don’t mean this as any kind of judgement of you or your performance. I want…” Hux wanted a lot of things, a lot more things than he felt he should want when it came to you. He voiced just one of those desires: “I want to help you.” You let out a deep sigh and slumped back slightly in your chair. After a beat of silence, you turned to him, a half-smile on your face.

“Thank you, Armitage.” Your use of his first name in this professional space caught him off-guard, momentarily stealing his breath. Despite the shock, he found he liked it. It seemed… intimate. There was that word again. A welcoming warmth buzzed in his chest.

“Actually, it’s sort of funny that you should offer,” you continued, “since you’re actually the first person who has helped me.” You took one look at his suddenly blank face, and he knew that you knew that he had no idea what you meant. You let out a small laugh, as though it was obvious how he had helped you. It wasn’t obvious to him. It wasn’t obvious at all. You had caught him when he nearly passed out, opened your quarters to him, cooked him food, let him stay with you, and never thought less of him despite his many failures. Clearly, you had been doing all the helping.

“You were nice to me – you are nice to me,” you said at last when it must have become clear that Hux truly didn’t know what you were talking about. “Nobody else has really done that. Well, except Lieutenant Mitaka I guess, but I already knew him, so that’s different. But like I said last cycle, you didn’t judge me for all my weird shit— sorry, stuff,” you quickly corrected yourself with a little laugh, and Hux couldn’t help but find himself smiling along at the small slip, “and you listened to me.” You fixed him in the weight of your gaze then, serious once more. Hux found himself entirely entranced by your eyes, probably lingering a moment too long before speaking.

“I’d like to do some more listening – if you’d let me.” Your lips lifted up at the corners at his words; not a full smile yet, but he was getting there.

“Sure – what would you like to know?” You made a sweeping gesture with your hand to indicate the expansive nature of the questions you were allowing him to ask. Hux wanted to know everything, but he desperately did not want to abuse the privilege. He started simple.

“You worked recruitment in the field, right?”

“Did you look me up, General?” A small, teasing smile fluttered its way onto your face.

“Lieutenant Mitaka told me,” he responded, knowing full well that he had looked you up. But Mitaka truly was the first to tell him about your previous assignment, so it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Right – that makes sense.” You hummed thoughtfully a cast your eyes back outside the cockpit, this time though, it felt less like you were avoiding him and more like you were thinking. Hux didn’t press as he watched the faint starlight flicker over your features. He half wished the ship never had to land. After a long moment, you turned to him again, your answer ready.

“Technically, yes, I fell under field recruitment for the navy, but I feel that what I did was more like ‘building community trust’ – not that that would ever pass as a First Order department name,” you snorted and Hux found himself unable to keep from chuckling a little himself. You seemed to notice this, pausing momentarily before continuing, your expression brightening a little at his evident amusement. “I didn’t directly conscript any personnel – I worked primarily with local leaders who held sway in the areas where I was stationed. I found that I made a lot more headway by explaining what we’re trying to do rather than just… I don’t know, shoving recruitment papers down people’s throats like some of my colleagues seemed content to do.” You rolled your eyes at some past memory, and Hux had to keep from laughing again at the endearing expression of annoyance. He wanted you to keep talking forever. Kriff, he was ready to promote you to the top of recruitment immediately. “There are just so many planets and systems and people who are disadvantaged by the New Republic’s policies, and when you’re able to walk them through why they’re experiencing resource deficits or economic downturn or whatever else, they tend to listen.”

You concluded your remarks with a little gesture that seemed to indicate that everything you just said should be obvious. It was obvious to Hux. He was a hair’s breadth of his self-control away from unbuckling himself from his seat and kissing you until he couldn’t breathe. You were kind and capable and you could see his vision perfectly. It took every ounce of energy in his body to remain sitting where he was, fingers nearly making dents in the armrests from the force it took to contain himself. He hoped that his enthusiastic nods of agreement would assure you of his complete support of your ideas. He didn’t stop thinking about kissing you though.

Just when he thought he could finally speak relatively calmly, your headset buzzed. You snapped it up instantly, confirming with the controller on the other end that you understood the message. After switching a few more toggles and adjusting the flight path slightly, you signed off with the controller and clicked the headset back into place.

“Potential for asteroids in the area,” you said by way of explanation, “we have our early warning systems on though, so if any get close, we’ll know.” You paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m so sorry, General – what were we discussing?”

“Your work in the field,” Hux considered leaving it there, but he was still wrestling with his self-control and let his unusual impulsivity go further: “your excellent understanding of the First Order’s mission and your admirable trust-building efforts.”

“Ah yes, thank you!” Hux was hyperaware of the way you bit your lip a little in embarrassment, eyes angled back toward the control panel and away from his admiring gaze. “You’re very kind to say that.” Hux merely hummed in response, another question floating through his mind.

“May I ask you something else, Captain? Something unrelated?”

“Of course,” you returned your focus to him, watching him with expectation to see what he would ask. Hux himself was wondering how best to frame his inquiry so it came off as casual.

“Our scheduled meeting from last cycle – when Lieutenant and Captain Mitaka proposed that and set it up, how did they frame it to you? What did they call it?” You seemed to suddenly find the control panels in front of you very interesting, despite a lack of new alerts.

“Oh, just that: a meeting or a meet-up or something of that sort.” Your words felt intentionally nonchalant, almost too much so. “Why do you ask? Did they frame it differently for you?” You cast a furtive glance in his direction before returning your attention to the flight array. There was something in the look that Hux couldn’t quite read, but he thought it might be a flicker of hope, though he wasn’t sure. He stayed the course and kept to the safe answer.

“Oh no, something very similar: meeting, meet-up, rendezvous, something of that nature,” he lied, also trying to keep his tone light and casual. He recalled Mitaka’s increasingly complex and obscure names for the meeting after Hux had steadfastly refused the term ‘date.’ You nodded at his response, your flash of nervousness seemingly fading upon hearing his answer. You flicked your gaze to him again. Kriff, would there ever be a time when just your eyes on him wouldn’t make the skin under his collar start to heat up?

“Why did you want to know?”

“I was just hoping that after my unfortunate incident last cycle which disrupted said meeting, that you would be gracious enough to allow me to consider this an extension of that initial appointment. I fear it will be something of a working meeting – my schedule can’t be helped – but perhaps it could still serve a similar function?” Hux intentionally left the proposed ‘function’ vague, hoping you might interpret it in a more generous manner.

“Of course, General.” Hux felt you might have been about to use his first name again, but then opted against it. How he wished you had. “I’m so grateful that you’re willing to spend this time with me. I can only imagine how full you schedule is.” Kriff, if you only knew he wished he had all the time in the galaxy to spend with you. Any attempt at endeavoring to somehow compress that thought into words that he could actually utter to you was interrupted by a notification on the control panel. Your hands flitted over the array of buttons and screens, flipping switches and adjusting toggles as you responded to the blinking lights. Then you leaned back again.

“The autopilot notified me that we’re close to coming in for a landing. I’ve set the flight path accordingly. There shouldn’t be any issues, but I might have to take the controls if things get… bumpy.”

Indeed, Hux could see Ilum coming into view through the large windows of the cockpit, the greyish planet growing larger as the ship angled in preparation for landing. The two of you sat in companionable silence then, Hux watching as you continued to make minute adjustments to the controls every so often. He couldn’t help but think about how nice it would be to just be with you like this. Doing work late in his quarters or sitting on the couch with you just there, comfortably beside him. He clenched his teeth slightly as the exquisite softness of the thought slowly pressed the air from his lungs. After a while, you spoke again, your eyes still fixed outside of the ship.

“I hope this doesn’t come off as impertinent,” you seemed to take a deep breath before continuing, “but you’re very different than I thought you would be.” You flicked one nervous glance at him as the word ‘different’ fell from your lips. The sentence was barely above a whisper, as though you hadn’t decided whether you should say it aloud or not. Hux’s body stiffened instinctively, heat growing from his chest and rising toward his ears. A slight queasiness began to build in his stomach.

“What—” he cleared his throat when the word came out thin and reedy, “what do you mean by that?”

“It’s just— well, Lieutenant Mitaka praised you very highly. He lauded your commitment to the First Order. He said you were loyal and intelligent and responsible – that you were someone he looked up to.”

Mitaka had said those things about him? Hux sat in stunned silence, puzzling through how your experience differed from the way the lieutenant had described him. Did you not find him to be those things? Did you not find him praise-worthy? The sick feeling in his stomach intensified, but you weren’t done.

“But he also told me to be careful.” You sighed deeply, almost as though you had decided something within yourself. You turned fully to look at him then, and Hux had significant difficulty breathing under the soft but weighty intensity of your gaze. “He said you could be… prickly. Hard to get to know. That you don’t… trust others easily.” Hux was completely pinned. He knew the words were true. He had a thousand reasons for this, of course – betrayals and humiliation and more uncertainty that he could stand. He was trying to stammer out some excuse to this effect when he realized you still hadn’t finished. “But I don’t find that to be true at all.”

You looked down for a minute, then back at him, your eyes so warm he thought he was going to melt right there. You didn’t find it true at all. Your words reverberated through his suddenly thoughtless mind, causing a gentle hum to rise in his chest and spread in little shivers throughout his body. He didn’t recall even deciding speak when the words stumbled their way out of his mouth:

“You make it easy.” His voice was hoarse and the phrase was inelegant, but when he saw your face light up like a sun, he didn’t care at all.

“Thank you, Armitage,” you beamed at him, the sound of his name on your lips rendering him even more nonfunctional than he already was, “I only hope I can be worthy of such high praise.” With that, you needed to turn your attention back to the ship, flipping off the autopilot as the planet’s atmosphere neared and taking the controls into your hands. Hux sat dazed, basking in the glow of you and trying to figure out how he was ever going to force himself to leave that cockpit and conduct a professional inspection of the base.

#charlotte writes #time after time (hux x reader)#armitage hux x reader #general hux x reader #hux x reader #general hux fanfic #general hux fanfiction #armitage hux x you #general hux x you

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acapelladitty · 1 year ago

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hello hello ditty, I have a lil prompt with ZY!Riddler (And A transmasc reader :3) Him using his partner in a Free Use context while they are playing a video game or just doing something. He just comes, fucks, and go as his partner stays (Mostly) unbothered by it :3

ZY Riddler/Reader - Free Use

Summary: Tied to a bed, you find your role in Edward's life very clear as he considers you a free use distraction.

The first time Edward paid you a visit was more of a test of your resolve than anything else.

You only realised his presence when the squeaking springs at the other end of the bed announced his weight and your mind quickly went into overdrive as you wondered exactly what he had in store for you. Hands bound to your ankles as your neck remained collared to the bedframe, the positioning left all of your holes free for his use and the anticipation of which he would choose made your engorged clit throb.

A gasp escaped you as his heavy hand had landed on your inner thigh, teasing the skin there with obvious consideration before his fingers settled on ghosting gently along your slit. Cool digits on heated skin, his touch had been electric and uou moaned into the sheets as you moved against him without thought.

Arousal pooled for only a moment before the fingers pulled away and were replaced with a harsh slap - the sharp sting making you yank against the collar as you gave a low yelp.

Another two slaps are quick to follow the first and the hot discomfort only serves to make your cunt wetter as you writhe against the sheets. But, nothing else was to come, and you again felt the springs release their tension as Edward stood and left the room wordlessly.

The second time was different.

One hand holding one of his many small, off-the-grid cellphones, his other hand was determined in its positioning as it wrapped around your head and pulled your attention away from the vague nap which you were attempting to pass time with.

He didn't hesitate in slipping his cock between your lips and his assured voice as he berated whatever fool had irritated him over the phone, didn't break once - not even when you swallowed the tip of his cock down your throat. Your practised tongue massaged his length, movement limited by the collar and his eyes never once dropped to offer you anything above a mild inhale as you worked his cock over the way he liked.

He came quickly this time, a muffled grunt announcing his orgasm a split second before your mouth flooded with his release, every drop greedily licked free of his cock as you cleaned him diligently.

The third visit was more of a preparation.

Your legs trembled as he spread your ass and pressed the blunted end of a thick chrome plug to the rim of your asshole. A thick coat of some lubricant felt cold against your skin and it helped to ease the passage of the plug as it slowly stretched out your pliant ass - Edward's fingers holding the plug at its widest point to maximise the discomfort before allowing it to be swallowed by your clenching hole.

Fuller than ever, you could feel that this plug was one of the largest you'd taken yet and only the collar which held your neck strict to the lower beframe prevented you from looking around to see if there were any attachment hanging proudly from your ass. Neglected, your cunt felt swollen and desperate - dripping arousal to the sheets as your fingers clawed at your ankles.

He finally fucked you on the fourth appearance.

Borderline asleep, you were startled to alertness by the sudden pull of the chrome plug from your ass, the stretch at the widest point drawing another low groan from you as you stuttered out the discomfort in a sleepy haze, but it popped free with a obscene noise and was quickly dropped to the sheets.

The blunt head of Edward's cock replaced it in an instant as his lube-soaked cock thrust itself into your loosened ass without too much struggle. On his end at least, on your end it felt like being fucked by a fire hydrant as his thick cock stretched the rim of your hole until it burned. Whimpering in pleasurable discomfort, you spread your knees as far as possible and tilted your cheek against the sheets, accepting everything he had to offer as you had agreed.

He had been utterly silent towards you so far, his only noises coming from a soft exhale as he first thrust himself into your ass so it catches you off-guard when he suddenly speaks in a roughened tone.

"Enjoying your role as little more than a warm hole for me to enjoy, handsome? A depository for me to breed as I see fit?"

"Yes, sir." You reply with a grunt as his balls slap heavily against your cunt, your nipples aching for a little stimulation as they remain neglected. "Only yours."

It's an answer that pleases him and you can tell from the way that his hips rut against your ass, burying his cock as deeply as possible as he rumbles out his approval.

"Excellent, pet. One more hour and I'll let you free to use the bathroom. So try not to make a mess before then."

#he's a nasty little beastie. fond of him lmaooo #zero year riddler #edward nygma #riddler #riddler x reader #edward nygma x reader #edward nigma #edward nigma x reader #zy riddler #riddler smut

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mspaesthetic · 2 years ago

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Tidbit: The “Posterization” Effect of Panels Due to the Consequences of GIF Color Quantization (and Increased Contrast (And Also The Tangential Matter of Dithering))

There’s this misconception that the color banding and patterned dithering found in panels is an entirely deliberate, calculated effect Hussie manipulated the image into looking with some specific filter, but this isn’t the case, exactly. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision he took but rather an unavoidable consequence of the medium he partook in: digital art in an age where bandwidth and storage was at a premium.

Not to delve too deeply into the history and technicalities of it, but the long and the short of it is back in the early nineties to late aughts (and even a bit further into the 10s), transferring and storing data over the web was not as fast, plentiful, and affordable as it is now. Filesize was a much more important consideration than the fidelity of an image when displaying it on the web. Especially so when you’re a hobbyist on a budget and paying for your own webhosting, or using a free service with a modest upload limit (even per file!). Besides, what good would it be to post your images online if it takes ages to load them over people's dial-up Internet? Don't even get me STARTED on the meager memory and power the average iGPU had to work with, too.

The original comic strip's resolution was a little more than halved and saved as a GIF rather than a large PNG. That's about an 82.13% reduction in filesize!

So in the early days it was very common for people to take their scans, photographs, and digital drawings and scale them down and publish them as smaller lossily compressed JPEGs or lossless GIFs, the latter of which came at the cost of color range. But it had a wider range of browser support and the feature to be used for animations compared to its successor format, PNG ("PNG's not GIF").

You'd've been hard-pressed to find Hussie use any PNGs himself then. In fact, I think literally the only times he's ever personally employed them and not delegate the artwork to a member of the art team were some of the tiny shrunken down text of a character talking far in the distance and a few select little icons.

PNGs support semi-transparency unlike GIFs, which is why Hussie used them to preserve the anti-aliasing on the text without having to add an opaque background color.

While PNGs can utilize over 16 million colors in a single image, GIFs have a hard limit of 256 colors per frame. For reference, this small image alone has 604 colors:

For those who can't do the math, 256 is a pretty damn small number.

Smaller still were the palettes in a great deal of MSPA's panels early on in its run. Amazingly, a GIF such as this only uses 7 colors (8 if you count the alpha (which it is)).

Not that they were always strictly so low; occasionally some in the later acts of Homestuck had pretty high counts. This panel uses all 256 spots available, in fact.

If he had lowered the number any smaller, the quality would have been god-awful.

To the untrained eye, these bands of color below may seem to be the result of a posterization filter (an effect that reduces smooth areas of color into fewer harsh solid regions), but it's really because the image was exported as a GIF with no dithering applied.

Dithering, to the uninitiated, is how these colors are arranged together to compensate for the paltry palette, producing illusory additional colors. There are three algorithms in Photoshop for this: Diffusion, Pattern, and Noise.

Above is the original image and below is the image reduced to a completely binary 1-bit black and white color palette, to make the effect of each dithering algorithm more obvious.

Diffusion seemingly displaces the pixels around randomly, but it uses error diffusion to calculate what color each pixel should be. In other words, math bullshit. The Floyd-Steinberg algorithm is one such implementation of it, and is usually what this type of error diffusion dithering is called in other software, or some misnomer-ed variation thereof.

The usage of Pattern may hearken back to retro video game graphics for you, as older consoles also suffered from color palette limitations. Sometimes called Ordered dithering because of the orderly patterns it produces. At least, I assumed so. Its etymological roots probably stem from more math bullshit again.

True to its name, Noise is noisy. It’s visually similar to Diffusion dithering, except much more random looking. At least, when binarized like this. Truth be told, I can’t tell the difference between the two at all when using a fuller color table on an image with a lot of detail. It was mainly intended to be used when exporting individual slices of an image that was to be “stitched” back together on a webpage, to mitigate visible seams in the dithering around the edges.

To sate your curiosity, here's how the image looks with no dithering at all:

People easily confuse an undithered gif as being the result of posterization, and you couldn't fault them for thinking so. They look almost entirely the same!

Although I was already aware of this fact when I was much younger, I'm guilty of posterizing myself while editing images back then. Figured I may as well reduce the color count beforehand to help keep the exported GIF looking as intended. I view this as a complete waste of time now, though, and amateurish. Takes away a bit of the authenticity of MSPA art, how the colors and details are so variable between panels. As for WHY they were so variable to begin with, choosing the settings to save the image as requires a judicious examination on a case-by-case basis. In other words, just playing around with the settings until it looks decent.

It's the process of striking a fine balance between an acceptable file size and a "meh, good enough" visual quality that I mentioned earlier. How many colors can you take away until it starts to look shit? Which dithering algorithm helps make it look not as shit while not totally ruining the compression efficacy?

Take, for example, this panel from Problem Sleuth. It has 16 colors, an average amount for the comic, and uses Diffusion dithering. Filesize: 34.5 KB.

Then there's this panel right afterwards. It has 8 colors (again, technically 7 + alpha channel since it's an animated gif), and uses Noise dithering this time. Filesize: 34.0 KB.

The more colors and animation frames there are, and the more complicated dithering there is, the bigger the file size is going to be. Despite the second panel having half the color count of the first, the heavily noisy dithering alone was enough to inflate the file size back up. On top of that, there's extra image information layered in for the animation, leaving only a mere 0.5 kilobyte difference between the two panels.

So why would Hussie pick the algorithm that compresses worse than the other? The answer: diffusion causes the dithering to jitter around between frames of animation. Recall its description from before, how it functions on nerd shit like math calculations. The way it calculates what each pixel's color will be is decided by the pixels' colors surrounding it, to put it simply. Any difference in the placement of pixels will cause these cascading changes in the dithering like the butterfly effect.

Diffusion dithering, 16 colors. Filesize: 25.2 KB

This isn't the case with Noise or Pattern dithering, since their algorithms use either a texture or a definite array of numbers (more boring nerd shit).

Noise dithering, 16 colors. Filesize: 31.9 KB

Pattern dithering, 16 colors. Filesize: 23.1 KB

There's a lot more I'd like to talk about, like the different color reduction algorithms, which dither algorithms generally compress better in what cases, and the upward and downward trends of each one’s use over the course of a comic, but since this isn’t a deep dive on GIF optimization, I might save that for another time. This post is already reaching further past the original scope it was meant to cover, and less than 10 images can be uploaded before hitting the limit, which is NOWHERE near enough for me. I should really reevaluate my definition of the word “tidbit”… Anyway, just know that this post suffers from sample selection bias, so while the panels above came from an early section of Problem Sleuth that generally had static panels with diffusion dithering and animated panels with noise dithering, there certainly were animated panels with diffusion later on despite the dither-jittering.

Alright, time to shotgun through the rest of this post, screw segueing. Increasing the contrast almost entirely with “Use Legacy” enabled spreads the tones of the image out evenly, causing the shadows and highlights to clip into pure black and white. The midtones become purely saturated colors. Using the Levels adjustment filter instead, moving both shadow and highlight input level sliders towards the middle also accomplishes the same thing, because, you know, linear readjustment. I'm really resisting the urge to go off on another tangent about color channels and the RGB additive color model.

Anyway, there aren't any examples in MSPA that are quite this extreme (at least in color, but I'll save that for a later post), but an image sufficiently high in contrast can be mistaken for being posterized at a glance. Hence the Guy Fieri banner. In preparation for this post, I was attempting to make a pixel-perfect recreation of that panel but hit a wall trying to figure out which and how many filters were used and what each one's settings were, so I sought the wisdom of those in the official Photoshop Discord server. The very first suggestion I got was a posterization filter, by someone who was a supposed senior professional and server moderator, no less. Fucking dipshit, there's too much detail preserved for it to be posterization. Dude totally dissed me and my efforts too, so fuck that moron. I spit on his name and curse his children, and his children's children. The philistines I have to put up with...

In the end, the bloody Guy Fieri recreation proved to be too much for me to get right. I got sort of close at times, but no cigar. These were some of the closest I could manage:

You might be left befuddled after all this, struggling to remember what the point of the blogpost even was. I had meant for it to be a clarification of GIFs and an argument against using the posterization filter, thinking it was never used in MSPA, but while gathering reference images, I found a panel from the Felt intermission that actually WAS posterized! So I’ll eat crow on this one... Whatever, it’s literally the ONE TIME ever.

I can tell it's posterization and not gif color quantization because of the pattern dithering and decently preserved details on the bomb and bull penis cane. There would have had to have been no dithering and way fewer colors than the 32, most of which were allotted to the bomb and cane. You can't really selectively choose what gets dithered or more colors like this otherwise.

Thank you for reading if you've gotten this far. That all might have been a lot to take in at once, so if you're still unclear about something, please don't hesitate to leave a question! And as always, here are the PSDs used in this post that are free to peruse.

#tidbit #homestuck #problem sleuth #gif #dithering #posterization

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