#Maybe map() and reduce() are. But filter()

[tired-and-unjellied]

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[thirtysomethingloser92]

Chapter 5: Camouflage So You Can Feed The Lie That You're Composed

Summary: For five grueling years, Taskforce X was both your lifeline and your torment. Mission after mission, you faced impossible odds with the dangling promise of a reduced sentence. Now, at last, you’re free—no more Belle Reve, no more danger. You’ve put that chapter behind you, determined to leave it locked away in the recesses of your mind.

But Amanda Waller has other plans. When she appears back in your life, she brings a new mission—and a new team. This time, you’re working alongside Rick Flag Sr., the father of your former team leader, and the members of Taskforce M. As the stakes rise, so do unexpected emotions. Tensions give way to an undeniable connection between you and Rick, a bond that deepens with every mission and threatens to pull you back into a world you thought you’d left behind forever. Warning: Slow-Burn, Age Gap, Violence, Swearing, Smut. Pairings: Rick Flag Sr/Reader Masterlist

The room was cloaked in darkness, the kind that pressed heavy against your eyes until they adjusted, turning the pitch black into faint silhouettes and shadows. The faint hum of an air conditioning unit filled the silence, a low, steady rhythm that threatened to lull someone less focused than you into a false sense of security.

You sat on the edge of your bed, the cheap mattress creaking faintly under your weight, and rummaged through your bag by touch alone. Your fingers brushed against various items—your phone, a folded map, a half-empty pack of gum—until they found the familiar texture of the gloves. Black, rubber, thin.

You pulled them out, the material catching slightly on the zipper of your bag, and rolled them between your fingers. They were simple tattoo gloves, nothing special. A box of 140 for $3.99 on eBay. Cheap, effective, and disposable. Perfect for nights like this.

Your thumb absently traced the edge of one glove as you glanced over your shoulder at the door. It was still closed, the faint outline of the frame visible in the dim light filtering in from the tiny crack beneath. You listened for a moment, your head tilted slightly, straining to catch any sound from the hallway beyond.

Nothing.

Satisfied, you turned back around, the gloves still in hand.

You weren’t stupid. You knew the risks. If anyone caught you walking around at 2:01 a.m., especially a certain General whose eyes had been on you more than you liked during dinner, there would be questions. And not the kind you could easily talk your way out of.

That’s why you had a contingency.

Sliding the gloves down the front of your pants, you adjusted them until they were snug against your waistband. If someone searched you, they’d be hidden well enough that no immediate questions would arise. And if someone asked what you were doing wandering the halls at this hour? Well, you’d drunk enough water at dinner to make your excuse believable.

Still, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Rick Flag wasn’t an idiot, and if he—or anyone else—caught you skulking around the halls, chances were they’d follow you. Stand outside the bathroom door, maybe even listen in.

You smirked faintly to yourself in the dark. That’s why you planned ahead.

You were good at this—watching people, reading them, anticipating their moves before they made them. It was second nature to you. And tonight, between charming the President and actively avoiding Rick’s sharp gaze, you’d been listening.

Bride had spent most of the evening talking to the head of security. You hadn’t just noticed—it was impossible not to. The way her voice dropped, the way the man leaned in closer, hanging on her every word. And while their conversation was too low to catch outright, you didn’t need to hear the words to pick up on the details.

Bride’s target was clear, and so was yours.

You knew where the head of security’s quarters were. You knew he carried a simple handgun, likely a standard issue. And based on his height, weight, and the way he’d shifted uncomfortably in his chair during dinner, the way he piled food into his mouth like a starving man. That meant he was most likely a deep, heavy sleeper as well. Good for you, not so much for him.

You didn’t bother slipping on shoes. Bare feet were quieter, and the less noise you made, the better. With one last glance at your door, you slipped out into the hall, closing it carefully behind you.

The soft click of the latch echoed faintly in the stillness, but nothing stirred. Across the hall, Rick’s door loomed like a quiet threat.

Earlier, when you’d joked about the proximity of your rooms—“Oh boss, any closer and we’d be sharing. I really wouldn’t mind. I’d even let you have the side near the door.”—you’d earned yourself one of his signature scolding looks. The kind that made you grin even wider just to see the muscle in his jaw twitch. He’d slammed the door in your face after that, muttering something under his breath you hadn’t quite caught, but you didn’t need to.

And now, as you stood there in the dark, you let yourself glance at his door again. For just a moment.

Focus.

The hallway stretched out before you, long and quiet, the faintest sliver of moonlight spilling through a window at the far end. The house was eerily silent, the kind of silence that wasn’t just empty but expectant, like it was holding its breath.

You padded forward, each step slow and deliberate, your bare feet brushing against the cool hardwood floor. The faint sound of alarms from outside drifted in through the walls, muffled but persistent. Probably perimeter alarms, meant to ward off intruders.

You passed the first door on your left—a guest bathroom, if you remembered correctly. The second door on the right was a linen closet. Your mind cataloged them automatically, your thoughts sharp and focused as you moved deeper into the house.

Every step felt heavier than it should have, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath your weight setting your nerves on edge. You paused at one point, holding your breath as you listened for any signs of movement.

Nothing.

The head of security’s quarters were further down, near the back of the house. You remembered the layout Bride had mentioned in passing, her voice light and casual as though she wasn’t feeding you valuable intel.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, the shadows growing longer with each step. A grandfather clock stood against the wall, its ornate frame barely visible in the dim light. You counted the seconds as you passed it, the faint tick-tock echoing in your ears.

The door to the head of security’s room was just ahead, slightly ajar. Your pulse quickened as you approached, your breath steady but shallow.

This was the moment that mattered.

You stopped just outside the door, your hand brushing against the frame as you angled your head to listen. The faint, steady rhythm of his breathing filled the room, deep and even, like a metronome keeping perfect time. He was asleep, just as you’d hoped.

Now came the hard part.

With one last glance down the empty hallway behind you, you slipped inside, the door easing shut behind you with a soft click. The sound felt deafening in the stillness, but no footsteps came running. No shouts.

The room smelled stale, a mix of old cigarette smoke and cheap cologne that clung to the air like a bad memory. It was dark, save for the faint sliver of moonlight spilling through the heavy curtains, casting a soft gleam across the bed.

And there he was.

Bang smack in the middle of the mattress, sprawled out like he didn’t have a care in the world. The head of security. The President’s most trusted enforcer. A man who was supposed to be the last line of defense.

God, you almost felt embarrassed for him.

Your eyes flicked to the bedside table, and there it was: his handgun. Exactly where you thought it would be, sitting neatly next to a half-empty glass of whiskey and a crumpled pack of Marlboros.

This was too easy.

Where was the challenge? The thrill? The danger? You’d expected more from the President’s top man. Hell, you’d hoped for more. But this? It felt like a bad joke.

Rolling your eyes, you stepped forward, your bare feet making no sound against the worn carpet. The faint creak of the floor beneath you made you pause, but the man didn’t stir. His snores continued, deep and rhythmic.

You reached the bedside table, bending slightly to pull the gloves from your waistband. You slipped them on, the rubber snapping softly against your wrists as you flexed your fingers.

The gun was cold and heavy in your hand when you picked it up, the weight of it familiar and comforting. You thumbed the safety off with practiced ease, the faint click sending a small rush of adrenaline through your veins.

You turned, pointing the gun directly at him, aiming low.

Right at his junk.

The grin that spread across your face was involuntary, sharp and wicked.

You let out a sharp whistle, the sound slicing through the silence like a knife.

He jolted awake instantly, his body twitching as his hand instinctively reached for the weapon that was no longer there. His fingers groped at the empty space on the bedside table, his breaths quick and shallow as panic set in.

“Looking for this?” you asked, your voice low and amused as you waggled the gun slightly.

His wide eyes snapped to you, the whites stark against the darkness of the room. He froze, his hand still hovering in the air.

“G-General Flag,” he stammered, his voice thick with fear and sleep.

You scoffed, your grin growing wider. “Oh, please. Do I look like Flag to you? I’m not here to kill you.”

You tilted your head, your gaze flicking deliberately down to the gun in your hand. “Although I do have this pointed at your most valuable assets, so maybe don’t test me, huh?”

The man swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His hands slowly rose in surrender, his breathing uneven as his eyes darted between your face and the gun.

“Good,” you said, nodding approvingly. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. We’re gonna have a little chat, and then you’re gonna take a nice, quiet walk with me. Sound good?”

“I-I don’t—” he started, his voice trembling.

You cut him off with a roll of your eyes, shifting the gun slightly to remind him who was in control. “No, no, no. We’re not doing this. You’re gonna skip over the part where you pretend not to know what I’m talking about. You’re going to show me where the president’s office is. Not the one we all know, but his other one. His personal one. You know, the one with all the President’s dirty little secrets.” You grinned down at him, your tone dripping with mock sweetness. “You do know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

The man’s face paled, his eyes darting toward the door as though he was weighing his chances of escape. You could practically see the wheels turning in his head, the panic fighting with the instinct to survive.

He shook his head quickly, his hands still raised. “Someone will see you,” he said, his voice shaking.

You laughed, the sound soft but sharp, and leaned forward slightly, lowering yourself to sit on the edge of the bed beside him. The mattress shifted under your weight, and the man flinched.

“And that’s where you come in, baby,” you said, your grin widening. “You’re gonna be my escort. After all, I can’t walk around this place on my own without raising a few eyebrows, can I? General’s orders, remember?”

His mouth opened, then closed, his breath coming in short bursts as he stared at you.

“C’mon,” you said, tilting your head at him. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. You walk me to the computer, I get what I need, and we both pretend this never happened. You don’t lose your job and probably get executed by the man you’re meant to be protecting; and I don’t get pushed out of a plane on the way home because my boss got pissed off. Easy, right?”

The man hesitated, his hands lowering slightly. “I... I can’t...”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Buddy, let me make this really simple for you,” you leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, “either you take me to the computer, or I wake this entire house up with a bang. And trust me, you don’t want them to find us like this, do you?”

His eyes widened further, and you saw the exact moment he broke. His shoulders slumped, his hands dropping to his lap in defeat, “fine,” he muttered, his voice barely audible.

“Atta boy,” you said, patting his shoulder with exaggerated cheerfulness. “Now, get up. We’ve got work to do.”

He moved slowly, his legs swinging over the side of the bed as he stood. You kept the gun trained on him, your grin never faltering.

“Lead the way,” you said, gesturing toward the door with the barrel of the gun.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, but your face remained calm, collected. This was what you were good at—control, manipulation, pressure. And as you followed the trembling man out of the room, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction.

The hard part was just beginning.

The man shuffled toward the door, his movements slow and deliberate, every step radiating reluctance. You kept the gun steady, tracking his every move, but your mind was already racing ahead. You’d visualized this moment over and over again before stepping out of your room—every scenario, every possible variable. But now, standing here with him in front of you, your adrenaline was humming at a frequency that neither planning nor practice could replicate.

The room was suffocatingly quiet except for the faint creak of the floorboards beneath the man’s weight. You could hear his breathing, ragged and uneven, as he reached the door and hesitated, his hand hovering near the doorknob.

“Don’t even think about it,” you whispered sharply, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade.

He froze, his shoulders stiff. “I… I wasn’t,” he mumbled, but the quiver in his voice gave him away.

“Sure you weren’t,” you replied dryly, gesturing with the gun. “Open the door. Slowly. And remember, I’m still aiming at your favorite bits, so don’t get any ideas.”

The knob turned with an agonizing slowness, the faint click of the latch releasing sounding far louder than it should have. He eased the door open, just a crack, before glancing back at you, his eyes wide and pleading.

You raised an eyebrow. “What? You waiting for an engraved invitation? Move.”

He stepped into the hallway, his footsteps hesitant, his shoulders hunched like a man walking to his own execution. You followed close behind, your bare feet soundless against the cool floor. The hallway was just as dark and quiet as you’d left it, the faint hum of the alarms outside still the only sound breaking the stillness.

The tension between the two of you was palpable, a thread pulled so tight you half-expected it to snap at any moment. Your senses were on high alert, your ears straining for the faintest sound of movement, your eyes darting to every shadow, every corner.

The man turned his head slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you doing this?”

You didn’t answer immediately, letting the question hang in the air as you scanned the hallway ahead.

“Because I can,” you said finally, your tone light but laced with a dangerous edge. “And because your boss has secrets I’m very interested in.”

He swallowed hard, his adam’s apple bobbing visibly in the dim light.

You nudged him lightly with the barrel of the gun. “Eyes forward. You’re not really in a position to ask questions.”

The two of you moved down the hallway, the quiet broken only by the faint creak of the floor beneath his weight. Your heart was pounding in your chest, the rush of adrenaline sharp and electric, but your expression remained calm, collected. You couldn’t afford to let him see any cracks in your composure.

You passed Rick’s door, and for a fleeting moment, your heart stuttered.

If he were to open that door right now…

The thought twisted in your gut, but you forced yourself to keep moving. Focus. The job wasn’t done yet.

“Left,” the man muttered as you reached the end of the hallway, his voice barely audible.

You gestured for him to keep moving, your grip on the gun firm. He led you down a narrow stairwell, the steps creaking under his weight. The air grew cooler as you descended, the faint scent of damp stone mingling with the ever-present cigarette smoke that clung to him like a second skin.

The office was almost pitch black, the only light coming from a faint, flickering glow at the far end of the room. You could hear the faint hum of machinery, the steady thrum of servers running somewhere nearby.

“Stop,” you ordered, your voice low but firm.

He froze at the base of the stairs, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

“Where is it?” you asked, your tone sharp.

He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at you. “I… I don’t know what you’re—”

You didn’t let him finish.

“Don’t play dumb with me,” you snapped, stepping closer, the barrel of the gun pressing lightly against his lower back. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. The mainframe. The server. Where all the files are kept. Now.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought he might try to lie again. But then he nodded slowly, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

“It’s… it’s through there,” he muttered, nodding toward the faint glow at the end of the room.

“Good boy,” you said, your voice dripping with mock approval. “Now, keep moving.”

He shuffled forward, his steps hesitant and uneven. You followed closely, your eyes scanning the room for any signs of movement. The office was quiet, eerily so, the hum of the servers the only sound breaking the silence.

As you approached the glow, the faint outline of a door came into view. It was reinforced steel, with a keypad mounted on the wall beside it. The man stopped abruptly, his body stiff.

“It’s locked,” he said, his voice shaking. “I can’t—”

You pressed the gun harder into his back, cutting him off, “I’m not fucking stupid. You’re going to open it, because I know you can” you said coldly. “Or I’m going to start getting very creative with where I aim this thing.”

He nodded quickly, his hands fumbling as he reached for the keypad. His fingers shook as he punched in a series of numbers, the faint beep of each button echoing in the quiet room.

The lock clicked, and the door eased open, revealing a small room filled with blinking lights and glowing screens. The hum of the servers grew louder, a steady, almost soothing rhythm.

You stepped inside, your eyes scanning the room. Rows of monitors displayed various feeds—security cameras, floor plans, encrypted files.

“Sit,” you ordered, gesturing to the chair in front of the main terminal.

The man hesitated, glancing back at you.

“I said sit,” you repeated, your voice icy.

He obeyed, lowering himself into the chair with a shaky breath.

“Now,” you said, stepping closer, the gun still trained on him. “Let’s see what your boss has been hiding.”

The man sat frozen in the chair, his back stiff, his hands hovering over the keyboard like they didn’t belong to him. The glow of the monitors bathed his face in harsh light, highlighting the sweat beading on his forehead. You leaned against the desk, the gun still steady in your hand, your lips curling into a faint smirk.

“Relax,” you said dryly, tilting your head. “You look like I asked you to defuse a bomb. It’s just a computer. Even you can handle this, right?”

He swallowed hard but didn’t move. His hands twitched slightly, his fingers curling and uncurling like he was trying to psych himself up.

“Any day now,” you said, your voice light but sharp. “I mean, I don’t have anywhere to be, but you? You’re one wrong move away from singing soprano.” You gave the gun a little wave to emphasize your point, aiming it lower for good measure.

That got him moving.

His hands darted to the keyboard, his fingers clumsy but quick as he logged in. You watched over his shoulder, your eyes flicking across the screens as one by one, the security layers fell away.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you teased, leaning in slightly. “Now, let’s get to the good stuff. I want the dirt. The juicy secrets. You know, the kind of things that make world leaders sweat through their suits. Where’s the President’s private stash?”

The man hesitated, his fingers pausing mid-typing. He glanced up at one of the monitors, then back at you, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, his voice barely audible.

You raised an eyebrow, your smirk widening. “Oh, buddy, come on. Don’t insult me. You’ve already unlocked the door. You’re halfway to being my favorite hostage of the week. Don’t ruin it now.”

“I swear,” he started, but you cut him off with a sigh, stepping around the chair so you were directly in front of him.

“Look,” you said, crouching slightly so you were at eye level. The gun dangled loosely in your hand, but the threat in your gaze was unmistakable. “I get it. You’re scared. You think if you help me, the President’s gonna put your head on a spike or whatever it is he does to people who disappoint him. And you’re probably right.”

His eyes widened, and you shrugged, the smirk never leaving your face.

“But here’s the thing,” you continued, your tone dropping to something colder. “Right now, the only person you need to worry about disappointing is me. And trust me, I can make your life a hell of a lot worse than the President ever could. So why don’t you save us both some time and tell me what I want to know?”

The man’s chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath coming in shallow pants as he stared at you. The silence stretched for a moment, heavy and suffocating, before he finally nodded.

“There’s… there’s an encrypted folder,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “On the central drive. It’s where the classified files are kept. But it’s triple-locked. Even I don’t have the access codes.”

You straightened up, your smirk turning into a grin. “Triple-locked? Ooh, fancy. Guess the President does have a few brain cells after all.”

You gestured toward the keyboard with the gun. “Alright, let’s see this folder. Bring it up.”

The man hesitated again, but a pointed look from you sent his fingers flying across the keyboard. Within moments, a new window appeared on the central monitor, a sleek black interface with a single blinking cursor.

“There,” he said, his voice trembling. “That’s it. But like I said, I can’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, you can’t access it, blah blah,” you interrupted, waving him off. “Don’t worry. I didn’t come all this way to let a few pesky access codes stop me.”

You reached into your waistband with your free hand, pulling out a small USB stick. You twirled it between your fingers like a magician showing off a trick before leaning over and plugging it into the terminal.

“See, the thing about people like your boss is they think they’re untouchable,” you said conversationally, your eyes on the monitor as the USB drive’s program began to run. “They build all these walls and locks and security systems, thinking it makes them safe. But all it takes is one person—just one—with the right tools and a questionable moral compass, and poof.” You snapped your fingers for effect. “Everything comes crashing down.”

The man watched in stunned silence as the program worked its magic, bypassing the first layer of encryption in seconds.

“You’re insane,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

You grinned at him. “Probably. But hey, insane gets results.”

The second lock fell, and the tension in the room grew thicker. You could feel the man’s fear radiating off him like heat, but you ignored it, your focus entirely on the monitor.

Finally, the third lock broke, and the folder opened, revealing a list of files with names that practically screamed classified.

“Bingo,” you murmured, your grin widening.

The man shifted nervously in his chair, his eyes darting to the door. “You… you can’t take those. If anyone finds out—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you said, cutting him off as you began transferring the files to the USB. “No one’s gonna find out. Unless, of course, you decide to grow a spine and tell someone. But we both know you’re not that stupid, right?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw tightening as he stared at the screen.

“Good talk,” you said, patting his shoulder lightly.

As the files finished transferring, you leaned back against the desk, twirling the USB stick between your fingers once more.

“Well,” you said, your tone light and almost cheerful. “This has been fun. But I think it’s time for me to go before your boss realizes his top security guy folded like a bad poker hand.”

The man glared at you, but the fear in his eyes dulled the effect.

You stepped behind him, the gun still in hand. “Now, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna sit here for the next ten minutes and pretend this never happened. You don’t move, you don’t make a sound, and you definitely don’t think about following me. Got it?”

He nodded stiffly, his hands gripping the edges of the chair.

“Good boy,” you said with a smirk, tapping the back of his head lightly with the barrel of the gun. “Remember, I’m watching. See you at breakfast baby.”

With that, you turned and slipped out of the room, the USB drive secure in your pocket and your grin firmly in place. The hard part was over.

Now came the fun part.

The hallway swallowed you whole as you stepped back into its dark, silent embrace. The door to the hidden office clicked softly behind you, a sound so faint it was almost lost in the low hum of the house’s systems. But to you, it rang loud in your ears. For a moment, you stood still, letting the adrenaline settle just enough to keep your hands steady, the USB drive a reassuring weight in your pocket.

The hard part was over—or so you told yourself. But if there was one thing you’d learned in this line of work, it was never to celebrate too soon. The real danger wasn’t in getting the files—it was in getting out with them.

You started moving, your bare feet whispering against the cold floor. Every step was calculated, deliberate. You didn’t need to look back to know the head of security was still sitting in that chair, too terrified to do anything but obey. You’d read him right—soft under the bluster, more loyal to his own survival than to the President.

Still, you didn’t trust the silence. It felt heavier now, like the house itself was holding its breath, waiting for you to slip up.

As you passed the staircase, you paused for a moment, your head tilting slightly as you listened. The faintest creak echoed from somewhere above. It could’ve been the old wood settling, or it could’ve been someone moving. Either way, you weren’t about to take any chances.

You exhaled slowly, forcing your heartbeat to steady itself. Stay sharp. Stay quiet.

You continued down the hallway, retracing your steps toward your room. Each shadow seemed deeper now, each corner a potential ambush. The alarms outside were still humming faintly, their rhythm steady and unchanging. No one knew yet.

But you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching.

Rick.

You could almost feel his presence, like a ghost at your back. His room wasn’t far—just a few steps from yours. You’d passed it once already tonight, and now the thought of it sent a ripple of unease through you.

Rick Flag wasn’t like the head of security. He wasn’t soft. He wouldn’t freeze or stammer or fold under pressure. If he caught you now, there’d be no bluffing your way out of it. He’d see right through you—he always did, or at least he came damn close.

The image of him standing in the hallway flashed in your mind, arms crossed, his eyes narrowed in that way that made you feel like he was peeling back your skin and looking straight at your bones.

You swallowed hard, shaking the thought away.

Focus.

You reached your door and paused, your hand hovering over the knob. For a moment, you just stood there, listening. The hallway was still. Quiet.

Too quiet.

Your hand tightened on the knob, and you turned it slowly, easing the door open just enough to slip inside. The room was exactly as you’d left it—dark, unassuming, the faint scent of your soap lingering in the air.

You shut the door behind you, the soft click of the latch sending a small pang of relief through your chest. You leaned against it for a moment, your head tilting back, eyes closing briefly as you let out a slow breath.

The USB drive felt heavier now, its presence a constant reminder of what you’d just done. You reached into your pocket and pulled it out, holding it up to the faint light filtering through the curtains.

Such a small thing. So unassuming. And yet, it held enough information to burn the President’s empire to the ground. You smiled faintly, the thrill of victory creeping back in.

But the moment didn’t last.

A faint knock on the door shattered the stillness, and your stomach dropped.

You froze, your heart hammering against your ribs. For a second, you thought you’d imagined it. But then it came again—soft, deliberate, and far too polite to be anything but intentional, “fuck,” you breathed.

It had to be him.

You slipped the USB drive into the lining of your pillowcase, your movements quick but precise, and straightened up. Your mind raced as you tried to come up with an excuse, an explanation, anything that would get you out of this.

The knock came a third time, sharper now.

“Open up,” his voice called, low and firm.

There it was. That tone. The one that left no room for argument.

You swallowed hard and crossed the room, your hand hesitating on the doorknob for just a second before you pulled it open.

Rick stood on the other side, his expression unreadable. His arms were crossed over his chest, his sharp eyes scanning you like he was cataloging every detail—your bare feet, the very faint flush of your cheeks.

“What, Flag?” you said, leaning lazily against the doorframe, forcing a smirk onto your face. “Couldn’t sleep without saying goodnight? Or are you going to finally take me up on that offer of sleeping in here with me?”

His eyes narrowed slightly, his jaw tightening. “Funny. I was about to ask why you’re awake at this hour.”

You shrugged, keeping your posture relaxed even as your pulse raced. “Bathroom break. You know me—tiny bladder loads of water at dinner.”

Rick didn’t respond immediately. He just stared at you, his gaze heavy, unrelenting. “you’ve been busy,” he said finally, his tone low and even.

Your stomach tightened, but you kept the smirk in place. “Not sure what you’re talking about, boss.”

He stepped closer, his presence filling the doorway, “Your cheeks are flushed, you’re breathing is laboured.” Mother fucker. Your breathing was barely laboured and you know for a fucking fact that your cheeks weren’t even flushed. This fucking asshole was trying to get you to talk.

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “What can I say? The space between my room and the bathroom is long and I really don’t like walking around in the dark, so I did that weird long step half run thing. Would you also like to know how long I was in there for or is that where we’re drawing a line?”

Rick didn’t laugh. Of course he didn’t. Instead, he took another step forward, his eyes narrowing further. “You want to know what I think?”

“Not really,” you shot back, your voice light and teasing.

“I think you’re hiding something,” he said, his voice dropping to a near growl.

The tension between you was suffocating, thick and alive, like static electricity building in a storm cloud just before the lightning strikes. The air felt heavy, charged, like your next breath might ignite it. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and unrelenting, the kind of gaze that stripped away pretense and left nowhere to hide.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The silence stretched, taut as a wire, each second dragging like hours.

Your heart was pounding, too loud in your ears, but you forced it down. Forced the adrenaline into a tight, controlled coil, and did what you did best—deflected.

You laughed, light and mocking, shaking your head as if this was all some big joke. “Boss, if you wanted to spend the night together, all you had to do was ask.” You leaned casually against the doorframe, your grin widening. “I do love my men older, after all. And hey, I still remember how much you like to fuck on the job.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle in his cheek twitching as his eyes narrowed further. You could tell you’d hit a nerve, but you weren’t done yet.

“Bride, wasn’t it?” you added, your grin sharpening, cutting. “Am I close? Or was it someone else this time? You do have those quiet, brooding vibes—bet it works wonders in a broom closet.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in the air shifted, a subtle drop in temperature that made your skin prickle. “I’d be real careful right now,” he said quietly, his voice low and dangerous, the calm before the storm.

Your grin faltered for half a second—barely long enough for him to notice, but long enough for you to feel the weight of his words settle in your chest.

“You can play this game all you want,” he continued, stepping just a fraction closer. His voice was steady, unnervingly so, and it sent a chill down your spine. “But I’ll figure out what you’re up to. And when I do…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to.

The unspoken threat hung between you, heavy and suffocating, its edges razor-sharp.

You held his gaze, refusing to flinch, even as your pulse thundered in your ears. Every muscle in your body was coiled tight, ready to spring, but you forced yourself to stay still, to hold your ground.

“Goodnight, Rick,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

Your tone was light, dismissive, like he was just another obstacle to step over. But the way his eyes darkened told you he wasn’t buying it.

For a moment, you thought he might push further—step closer, say something, demand answers. But then he nodded once, sharply, like he was filing this moment away for later. He stepped back, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer before he turned and walked away.

The sound of his footsteps faded down the hall, but you didn’t move. Not yet.

When you finally shut the door, the click of the latch felt deafening. You leaned back against the wood, your breath coming faster now, each inhale sharp and shallow.

Your heart was racing, your chest tight with the effort of keeping it all together. The confidence you’d worn like armor just moments ago was gone, stripped away the second the door closed.

Rick Flag was dangerous. Not because he was smarter than you (though he was sharp, you’d give him that), but because he knew you. Or at least, he thought he did. He saw through the surface-level bullshit, saw the cracks you tried to hide, and that made him unpredictable.

You pressed your palms against the door, grounding yourself as you tried to slow your breathing.

You’d gotten away with it—for now. But the way he’d looked at you, the way he’d spoken, made it clear that he wasn’t letting this go.

The hard part wasn’t over.

It had only just begun.

You glanced toward the pillow where you’d hidden the USB drive, its presence a quiet reminder of everything that was at stake. You’d gotten what you came for, but the real danger wasn’t behind you. It was ahead.

Rick wasn’t going to stop. You knew that. And if you weren’t careful, he’d unravel everything.

You pushed off the door, your hands still trembling slightly as you crossed the room. The shadows felt deeper now, the silence heavier, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that every move you made was being watched.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, your elbows on your knees, your head in your hands. “I swear to god Waller better give me something good for this,” You mumbled as you ran your hands through your hair and looked at the door. <><><><><><><><><> Rick sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tight in front of him. His knuckles were white, his grip firm, like he was holding himself together by force. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the thin curtains. The silence pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating, but his mind was louder than ever.

He knew you were hiding something. He’d known it before tonight—hell, he’d known it from the moment Waller had dropped you into his lap with some bullshit excuse about ‘consulting.’ Because Waller never planted anyone unless they were doing something for her specifically. But tonight confirmed it.

Rick’s jaw tightened as the pieces fell into place, one by one, like a puzzle he didn’t want to complete but couldn’t ignore.

The way you were with the President over dinner, all smooth charm and sharp wit, weaving your words like a damn artist. You didn’t miss a beat, didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. You had the table eating out of your hand, even the ones who didn’t trust you. Especially the ones who didn’t trust you.

And now? Now you’d been sneaking back to your room at almost 3 a.m., your movements just a little too careful, your expression just a little too composed. Rick had the subtle rise and fall of your chest like you’d been running—or, more likely, doing something you weren’t supposed to.

He didn’t want to think it, didn’t want his mind to go there, but it did anyway.

What the hell were you doing?

Because there was no other explanation. It wasn’t like you’d suddenly developed a fondness for late-night jogs or insomnia-induced pacing. And you sure as hell weren’t stupid enough to be doing anything reckless for no reason.

No, this was deliberate.

Rick let out a slow, controlled breath, his hands unclasping just long enough to rake a palm over his face. His gut was screaming at him, that familiar pull in his chest that had saved his life more times than he could count. Something was off, and his gut was rarely wrong.

He couldn’t ignore the signs anymore—the way you’d been acting, the way you seemed to slip in and out of situations like a shadow, always leaving just enough doubt to keep anyone from calling you out directly.

And then there was your skillset.

Rick’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw flexing as he thought about your file. It was burned into his mind, every word, every detail. You weren’t just good at what you did, you were the best. A spy, an infiltrator, an assassin—you were built to dismantle, to steal, to kill. Waller hadn’t just handed him a consultant. She’d handed him a damn weapon, and one that didn’t come with an instruction manual or a safety switch.

And yet…

It wasn’t just your skillset that had him on edge. It was you.

The way you carried yourself, the way you always seemed to know exactly where the line was and how to dance right up to it without crossing over. The way you could charm your way out of anything, or piss someone off just enough to throw them off their game.

And, of course, the way you managed to claw your way under his skin, digging in deep and rubbing his nerves raw every damn time you opened your mouth.

Rick leaned back slightly, his hands unclasping and falling to his thighs. His fingers drummed against the fabric of his sweatpants, his mind replaying the conversation you’d just had, each word sharper than the last.

It was always the comments with you. Always.

“Boss, if you wanted to spend the night together, all you had to do was ask.”

He could still hear the way your voice had lilted, playful and mocking, like you didn’t have a care in the world. Like you weren’t standing there at 3 a.m., caught red-handed in something you couldn’t explain.

“I do love my men older, and I still remember that you like to fuck on the job.”

His jaw clenched just thinking about it. You knew exactly what to say to get under his skin, and God, did you enjoy doing it.

And then you’d gone for the kill, your grin razor-sharp, your voice dripping with that signature mix of venom and charm: “It was Bride, wasn’t it? Am I close?”

Rick had felt his blood run hot, a flash of anger sparking in his chest before he’d shoved it down. He’d clenched his jaw, narrowed his eyes, and stared you down, refusing to give you the satisfaction of a reaction.

But you’d known.

You’d always known.

Rick exhaled sharply, leaning forward again, his elbows resting on his knees. His hands clasped together once more, his fingers tightening as he tried to focus.

The worst part wasn’t the comments, though. The worst part was that you were hiding something, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that whatever it was, it was going to bite them all in the ass.

You weren’t just some loose cannon. You were a guided missile, aimed at something—or someone—and Rick hated the fact that he didn’t know what your target was.

He stared at the floor, his mind racing.

He didn’t trust Walle, and that made this whole situation even worse. Because she had put you here, had used his sons trust in you to manipulate him into agreeing to it; but you weren’t here out of the kindness of your heart, you were here because you needed something, and Waller needed something. He didn’t give a fuck about what you needed, all he gave a shit about was that you were playing something off the books and he had no idea what.

Rick leaned back against the headboard of his bed, the faint creak of the old frame barely registering in his ears. His hands fell to his lap, fingers twitching slightly in a show of restrained frustration. The room was still dark, the faint glow of moonlight spilling across the floor, but it didn’t offer him any comfort. He let out another slow exhale, dragging his palms down his face like the motion might somehow wipe the thoughts from his mind. It didn’t.

His head was stuck on the way you’d looked at him when you said goodnight. Too calm. Too collected. Smirking like you’d already won some game he hadn’t agreed to play.

Rick hated games.

And you? You lived for them.

That grin on your face, sharp and mocking, had been the same one you always wore when you were baiting him—when you were pushing just enough to get a reaction, but not enough to cross a line. It was infuriating in its precision, the way you could make every word, every look, feel like a jab. Like you were testing the limits of how far you could go.

Rick clenched his jaw, the muscle in his cheek flexing as his mind raced. He couldn’t shake the image of you standing there in the dim hallway, all cocky confidence and thinly-veiled defiance. You’d practically dared him to call you out, and that was what had him grinding his teeth now. You knew exactly what you were doing, and you were too damn good at it.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, the word slipping out like a quiet promise. His voice was low and steady, but there was a sharp edge to it, a determination that cut through the stillness of the room. “You want to play? Fine.”

His jaw tightened further as he stared at the door, his eyes narrowing like he could see straight through it—straight to you, sitting on the other side. He could imagine it perfectly: you, lounging somewhere in your room, probably still wearing that same smug expression. Maybe you were already planning your next move, working out how to stay one step ahead of him.

He could practically feel it, that tension between you, the unspoken challenge that had been building ever since Waller had assigned you to his team.

“I’ll figure you out,” Rick said quietly, his voice a low rumble in the dark. “One way or another.”

Because he would. He always did.

His gut told him you were trouble, and Rick Flag trusted his gut.

But the real question wasn’t whether or not you were hiding something—he already knew you were. The question was what he was going to do about it.

Rick’s eyes flicked back to the door, his mind running through the possibilities.

He could toss your bag. Go through every inch of your belongings, tear apart whatever little sanctuary you’d built for yourself in that room until he found what he was looking for. He could force your hand, strip away the privacy you clung to so tightly and see what you did when your back was against the wall.

But you’d probably make a game out of that too.

You’d laugh it off, crack some joke about him being obsessed with you, and somehow twist the entire situation to make it seem like he was the one overstepping. That was the thing about you—you always found a way to turn the tables, to make everything seem like it was going exactly the way you wanted it to.

Rick’s lips pressed into a thin line as he considered his next option.

He could corner you. Force you to give up whatever it was you were doing. Call your bluff, act like he already knew, and see how you reacted. Maybe that would finally throw you off your game, make you slip and let something real show through that carefully constructed mask you wore.

But even with that idea, he hesitated.

You weren’t stupid. If he pushed too hard, too fast, you’d just dig in your heels. You’d double down, spin some story, and make it harder for him to get the truth.

Rick leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers lacing together tightly as he stared at the floor.

He could force you to stay by his side at all times. Make his bed on your floor, shadow your every move, and make it impossible for you to so much as breathe without him noticing.

But that wouldn’t work either.

You’d find a way to turn it into another game. Another opportunity to needle him, to push his buttons until he was too irritated to think straight. That was your specialty—keeping everyone around you off balance while you stayed perfectly composed.

Rick let out another frustrated sigh, his fingers tightening around each other. His eyes flicked back to the door again, his jaw tightening further. He didn’t need to see you to know you were trouble.

Because it wasn’t just your skills that had him on edge—it was you.

The way you carried yourself, the way you always seemed to have the upper hand, like you were two steps ahead of everyone else in the room. The way you managed to get under his skin with just a few words, digging in deep and leaving a mark that lingered long after you were gone. “Alright,” he muttered again, his voice firmer this time, like he was solidifying the thought in his mind.

He wasn’t going to let this go. Not until he figured you out. Not until he knew exactly what game you were playing—and how to beat you at it.

Because Rick Flag trusted his gut.

And his gut told him you weren’t just trouble.

You were a goddamn storm waiting to break.

[anzuhan]

ANZUUUUUUU PALLETTE REVEAL PLEASE, MY LIFE IS YOURS😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

(im trying to learn ur artstyle cus it looks so cute😞😞)

good luck with it !

dont really know how to explain this or what you're even asking for ... if its color picking, anzu always picks all colors manually by eye. there are some filters applied (gradation maps at the end of the process) but most of the time its not that big of a change (see below, first is unfiltered and 2nd is after the gradation map applied)

also dont really go that much off refs for colors and always tend to edit them accordingly to what anzu feels like it fits for the current piece at hand. art above is kaneko lumi (vtuber in first pic below) dressed as mayfair from the upcoming phantom brave game (woman in second pic below);

the colors anzu picked for either lumi or the outfit dont match 1:1 with the refs, because anzu prefers to keep a reduced color palette for most pieces (here its black & those blues for the darker ones and red to peachy yellow foe the light ones); given the warm colors were dominant, picked a blue for the bg as well to contrast the chara silhouette.

dont know what else to say, anzu just sort of does all this stuff 'automatically' by now ^^; so hope maybe it helped in the slightest

[soophia-studies]

100 days of code - day 17

01.11.23

Objects

Today, I read an article about JS objects, that are associative arrays with key: value, like hash_maps. The key will be basically be treated as a string and the value can be of any type, including another object. They are declared inside { ... } like so:

The values can be accessed in two ways, dot notation and square bracket notation :

The first one is simple but, the second one is more versatile, and can accept variables as input, like so:

Arrays

Also, I studied some Array methods, they were, filter, map, sort, reduce;

All these methods use a feature that I kinda had fear, callback functions, that is passing functions as parameters ☠️. I have used something similar in C, and it looked like dark magic, but in JS it is as simple as passing a normal variable as parameter.

And the syntax with arrow functions can look a little messy in the beginning, but when you get used to it, it kinda looks pretty.

Well, these array methods that take callback functions will iterate through each array index and call the callback function with the value of this index.

I think that the .map method is the simplest to understand, it will call the function on each value as I said and return a new array with the return from all the callback function.

The map can also be called like this, with arrow function:

Output:

That's it 😵‍💫, today I wrote a lot 😅

Again, this was supposed to be posted yesterday, but I was sooo sleepy that I couldn't even think.

Also, I was thinking about trying to write these posts in the morning rather than at night, of course I'll write about what I did in the day before, but maybe I'll continue to use terms like "today I did" instead of "yesterday I did", because I think it fits better.

[snappydragon14]

Part Three

Next Page~

Previous page~

Fail. Fail. Fail.

Ever since the group stirred from their slumber that morning, Mictlan had made no effort to mask his new obsession. No waiting for the perfect strike, no stalking in silence—just blunt, brutal, relentless attempts.

Stab. Miss. Lunge. Parry. Swipe. Sidestep.

Fail.

Ike trailed behind, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing nervously at every rustle in the trees. Whatever strange haze had dulled his senses the day before was long gone now—fear had a way of sharpening things.

Itzquemitl, by contrast, floated lazily just above the path, wings flapping in half-hearted bursts of motion. "Why thy move on so early?" the gargoyle grumbled, arms crossed and stone-like brows furrowed. "Thee place is not going anywhere!"

Another metallic clang rang through the quiet woods—Mictlan’s blade scraping harmlessly against the stone behind Soar as she stepped aside at the last second, not even glancing back. Her gaze stayed forward, tracking something unseen, maybe imagined. Or worse—known.

She didn’t even flinch.

Not a taunt. Not a sigh. Not even a roll of the eyes.

Just long, measured strides.

Unbothered.

Ike hissed under his breath and moved closer to the edge of the trail. “Should we, uh... say something?”

Itzquemitl gave a low hum, talons clicking together. “Nay. Let the fool tire himself. A kitten may swat at stars, but ‘tis the moon that chooses when to fall.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that saying goes.”

“‘Tis now.”

Up ahead, Mictlan snarled in frustration as another strike was met with a simple tilt of the wing—her feathers bristling just enough to deflect his blow and throw off his balance.

He landed hard, dirt puffing up beneath him.

No reaction. No gloating. Just that same forward gaze.

It was starting to get under his skin in a different way now.

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. His fingers curled around the hilt again, but slower this time.

Because now, he was thinking. She hadn’t spoken a word all morning. No provocation. No retorts. Just movement. Silent, graceful, impossible to catch.

Divine.

And somehow, that pissed him off more than anything she’d ever said.

The jungle thickened with every mile, the towering trees pressing inward until the sky itself was reduced to a patchwork of shadowy green. Above, the canopy formed a seamless ceiling of broad, damp leaves, filtering sunlight into faint, trembling beams that struggled to reach the forest floor. The air grew heavier, thick with the scents of loamy earth, crushed moss, and the faint, cloying sweetness of unseen blooms hidden among the vines.

By midday, the oppressive heat had wrung the party’s energy dry. Conversation dwindled to strained murmurs, the rhythmic scuff of boots against twisted roots the only constant sound. Occasionally, Itzquemitl let out a low, disgruntled grumble, his iridescent form flickering like a torch struggling against the weight of humidity.

At the head of the group, Soar moved like a phantom, her expression an unreadable mask. Without map or markers, she wove through the labyrinth of growth with unnerving certainty, parting veils of vines and ducking beneath gnarled branches that loomed like skeletal arms.

Then—abruptly—the jungle fell away.

The thick press of greenery peeled back into a clearing bathed in an eerie, muted glow. Ancient stone columns jutted from the earth like the ribs of some long-dead leviathan, their surfaces smothered in creeping moss and trailing ivy. Between them, arches crumbled and twisted, the architecture half-devoured by time. Faintly, beneath the grime and verdant overgrowth, runes pulsed—a slow, steady heartbeat of pale cerulean energy, whispering of old power.

“Elzehitlan,” Soar breathed, her voice breaking the heavy silence like a pebble shattering glass. Though quiet, her tone was absolute.

Mictlan’s hand drifted to his sword again, knuckles whitening. His patience had been scraped raw on this journey. Here, amidst these bones of gods and forgotten magics, perhaps he would finally be allowed to draw blood and satisfy the burning in his veins.

He stepped forward—but Soar’s wing flicked outward, stopping him dead.

“Hold,” she commanded, sharper now.

Ike stumbled into Mictlan’s back with a muffled curse, catching himself on a nearby vine. “What? What is it? Did you see something?”

The world answered for her.

The very air changed—not colder, nor hotter—but thicker, charged with a silken tension that curled over the skin like invisible fingertips. A slow, syrupy laughter rolled through the clearing, its source unseen, but its intention unmistakable: Welcome, little moths.

Music shimmered into being, the thrumming purr of low drums and the delicate weeping of unseen stringed instruments. Torchlight sprang to life beyond one of the twisted archways, golden and dancing, illuminating slivers of movement—graceful bodies that swayed and laughed and whispered just out of sight.

Mictlan's eyes narrowed, distrust sharpening his features into hard lines. “This isn’t right.”

“Oh, absolutely not,” Itzquemitl muttered, rising higher into the humid air, the faint flicker of his wings a nervous tick. “This place reeks of... indulgence. And not thy usual delightful, blood-spattered variety.”

From the depths of the ruins, a figure stepped into view.

She moved like a living dream—wrapped in gossamer silks that floated around her like smoke. Her skin gleamed with a faint, unnatural sheen, and from her forehead curled two elegant horns, polished black as a moonless night. Jewelry, strung with shards of starstone and bone, clinked softly with each measured step. Her eyes, twin pools of molten gold, caught the torchlight and magnified it, making her smile seem almost too bright.

“Well, well,” she purred, voice as thick and sweet as spiced wine. “What do we have here? More travelers lost to temptation?”

Behind her, the ruins had transformed.

Where once there had been only crumbled stone and strangling vines, now there sprawled a decadent courtyard. Tables heaped with exotic fruits—some glistening with juices that steamed in the humid air—lined the paths. Alcoves carved into the stone walls oozed shadows and whispered promises, veiled figures reclining within, laughter bubbling up like champagne. Succubi lounged languidly on plush cushions, sipping from goblets filled with liquids that shimmered like captured galaxies, each smile a blade hidden beneath velvet.

Above the grand archway, flickering into being with a lazy sparkle of magic, a sign proclaimed in flowing, sensual script:

Welcome to The Winking Flame—Ruins & Refreshments.

Soar’s wings tightened against her back, the barest flicker of unease betraying her otherwise rigid control.

Ike gawked, slack-jawed. “Is this seriously... a succubus bar?! In the middle of ancient jungle ruins?!”

Mictlan exhaled sharply through his nose, sliding his sword back into its sheath with a soft, deliberate click. Not out of surrender—never surrender—but rather a recognition that this battlefield would demand a very different kind of weapon.

One not forged of steel. No clean kill awaited here.

Not when the very air tasted of perfume and slow, purring danger.

"Little So-so? Ike? Is that you?"

The voice rolled across the ruin like a purr, light and teasing. Draped in a spill of silk sheets and tangled limbs, a succubus slowly rose from her lounging nest of sisters.

Ysflare was a vision of decadent danger—her skin a smooth, molten crimson that caught the dim light and threw it back in a hundred soft glows. Shimmering heatwaves rippled subtly around her as she stretched, a slow, luxurious movement that sent the pile of silk slithering down her curves. Every inch of her seemed honed for temptation and confidence: long legs, narrow waist, and wickedly sharp collarbones dusted with faint freckles like spilled stardust.

Her wings unfurled behind her with a languid flick—broad, batlike, and lined with iridescent veins that pulsed with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. In motion, the membrane caught flashes of deep crimson and rose gold, like an endless sunset trapped in skin.

Thick hair, a wild tumble of gleaming copper and black, framed her sharp features. She wore it loose, cascading around her shoulders and back like an untamed mane. Tiny golden rings pierced through the tips of her pointed ears, catching the light whenever she moved her head. Her lips, full and slick with a faint gloss, curled into a teasing smirk that promised mischief at best—and ruin at worst.

As she strolled forward, bare feet whispering against the cracked stone floor, her tail swayed lazily behind her—a long, sinuous ribbon tipped with a delicate, heart-shaped barb that flicked every so often with playful menace. A gossamer-thin slip of violet silk barely clung to her body, more suggestion than clothing, the fabric seemingly enchanted to shift and flutter with her every breath.

Soar paused. Shoulders tensed, wings briefly tightening against her back.

"It's good to see you too, Ysflare," she said, softly. Sheepish. Uncharacteristically meek.

Mictlan blinked, taken aback—not by the succubus, but by Soar’s tone.

Ysflare only laughed, rich and melodic, before suddenly lifting into the air with a powerful snap of her wings. Her movements were a dance: elegant, predatory, familiar. In a heartbeat, she hovered before Soar, cupping the sides of her mask with a tenderness that made the others bristle.

"Look at you! You've grown up so much!"

She practically squealed, ignoring the thick, uncomfortable silence blanketing the group.

Soar tried to lean back, subtly, but Ysflare held firm, wings fluttering excitedly. "Even back then you were always the shy one."

Ike coughed awkwardly behind Mictlan, who stared with open suspicion. “Back... then?”

Ysflare turned with a wicked, toothy smile, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Oh, yes. We go way back."

"Ysflare—" Soar tried, her voice low with warning.

"Oh, hush." The succubus waved her off and turned toward Ike, pointing a long, lazy finger tipped in gleaming black lacquer. "And you, little wormy Ike! You still twitch when someone touches your shoulders?"

Ike visibly twitched. “No!”

“Still cute.”

Itzquemitl, arms crossed midair, raised a stone brow. “Should one of thus be stopping this? Or...?”

Mictlan’s gaze was sharp. Calculating. “No. Let it play out.”

Because this—this—was fascinating.

Soar, usually unshakable, looked like she wanted to fold her wings over her head and vanish into the floor.

Ysflare clapped her hands once, a sharp, delighted sound that echoed in the ruined halls. “So! What brings the little divine dropouts and their grumpy swordsman to my little oasis?”

Soar’s wings twitched again, a dead giveaway. Mictlan didn’t answer.

Ysflare’s grin widened, flashing fangs. “Oooh. I love tension.”

Ysflare circled Soar with the lazy, decadent beat of her wings, each slow sweep stirring the heavy jungle air into thick, humid eddies. The scent she trailed behind her—sharp spices tangled with the low, smoldering bite of woodsmoke—clung to the skin and sank into the bones, a memory resurrected from the ashes of some long-extinguished fire. It was the kind of scent that whispered of old temples and older betrayals, of blood offerings and silk-wrapped promises gone to rot.

Her nails, long and wickedly pointed like the talons of some mythic beast, tapped against her chin in a slow, deliberate rhythm. Each sharp click broke the hush of the clearing like a stone dropped into still water, each beat a countdown none dared interrupt.

The clearing itself seemed to recoil around her. The ruin, a crumbled memory of some grand forgotten court, sagged beneath the strangling embrace of vines and moss. Stone faces worn smooth by time stared sightlessly from broken walls, their hollow eyes bearing silent witness to the drama unfolding.

Ysflare’s gaze roamed from Soar’s battered hooves—still stained dark with dust and blood—to the delicate, shivering tips of her tucked wings. She drank her in unabashedly, savoring every brittle inch of her like a connoisseur savoring the last mouthful of a rare vintage. The molten-gold glow of her eyes flared brighter with every heartbeat, tugging and picking at the seams of Soar’s carefully constructed mask until the threads frayed under her stare.

A sigh slipped from Ysflare’s lips, soft and wistful, thick with the kind of nostalgia that smelled of burnt sugar and ruined dreams.

"You know," she drawled at last, her voice syrupy and slow, sticky with the weight of memory, "it's funny seeing you like this. Playing the stoic traveler. Hiding behind that fancy little act. As if we don't all know exactly who you really are."

The words fell into the clearing like iron shards, sinking deep into the charged stillness. A single jungle bird, startled by the sudden drop in temperature, gave a sharp, dissonant cry before falling silent again.

Soar didn’t flinch. She didn’t even blink. But the air around her tightened, stretching taut with an invisible strain, brittle as a blade drawn too fine.

Mictlan caught it immediately. His sharp eyes narrowed, his weight shifting ever so slightly onto the balls of his feet, one hand loosening near the hilt of his blade with the practiced ease of a seasoned killer. He didn't move yet—but the tension coiled through him like a drawn bowstring.

Behind him, Ike executed a textbook-perfect disappearing act, doing his best impression of a moss-covered statue. He coughed awkwardly into his sleeve, his gaze fixed with desperate intensity on a nearby crumbling pillar, his whole posture screaming: I am not part of this. I have nothing to offer. Look away from me, O gods.

Ysflare floated another lazy orbit around Soar, her violet silks blooming and furling around her like the petals of some poisonous, night-blooming flower. Her laughter bubbled up again, low and knowing, a dark, velvety sound that curled along the edges of the gathering storm.

"Back in the old days," she sang, twirling idly on a pointed toe before lifting effortlessly back into the humid, golden-dappled air, "you weren't always Soar, were you?"

Itzquemitl drifted closer, arms folded across his broad chest, the slight quirk of his mouth betraying a sliver of amused curiosity. "Eh? Different name, perchance?" he mused aloud, his voice rough as stone dragged against stone. "Thy self hath changed, I reckon?"

Ysflare clicked her tongue, an indulgent, feline sound, before tipping backward until she hung suspended upside down in the air, her copper-and-black hair trailing like the tangled roots of some ancient carnivorous tree.

"Mmm-hmm," she purred.

She let herself drift closer to Mictlan now, folding her arms behind her head, a lazy arch of casual menace. Her voice dropped into a conspiratorial whisper, thick with wicked delight—yet every syllable rang out clearly, impossibly, in the heavy air.

"Sorren."

The name slammed into the earth like a battle standard planted in conquered soil.

The jungle seemed to reel back, the buzzing of insects cutting out, the shifting of branches freezing in mid-motion. Even the ruins themselves, those worn and crumbling remnants of gods long abandoned, seemed to hold their breath.

Soar didn’t so much as blink. But Mictlan—trained, merciless, unerringly observant—saw it: the minute flex of her fingers curling tighter against her sides, the faint but undeniable dimming of the light that normally spilled unchecked from the fine-boned architecture of her wings. The barely perceptible pull inward, a contraction, a silent bracing against some old, remembered blow.

Sorren.

Among the divine, a name was not simply a label. It was a history carved into the marrow, a litany of debts, bonds, betrayals. Changing it was no light matter. It was the act of a fugitive tearing off the last shreds of their old skin. It was an act of survival—or surrender.

What had she been running from?

Ysflare hovered down, her golden eyes half-lidded, a slow, slicing grin blooming across her mouth like a rose of knives. She floated level with Mictlan, speaking now not just to him, but to everyone.

"Little Sorren," she crooned, drawing out the name as if tasting it for the first time in centuries. "Always so eager to soar above it all."

The firelight, guttering in the stone bowls scattered across the ruin, caught the edge of Soar’s mask as she turned her head just slightly, casting a blade of shadow across her jaw and mouth. It cleaved her face into two halves: light and dark, seen and unseen.

When she spoke, her voice came without ornament, stripped of all pretense and artifice. It was calm the way winter is calm before the ice cracks and devours the unwary.

"Ysflare," she said, her tone slicing cleanly through the heavy air, "enough."

For a heartbeat, Ysflare seemed ready to push—ready to sink her claws in, to drag out the inevitable confession with that terrible, predatory grace of hers.

But something in Soar’s voice—or in the brittle, fraying edge of the world itself—stayed her hand.

With a soft, regretful sigh, Ysflare lifted her hands in a slow, theatrical gesture of surrender. The wickedness bled from her smile until it was something almost mournful. Almost... tender.

"Fine, fine," she relented, the mischievous light in her golden eyes dimming to a low, embered glow. "Your secrets are safe with me... for now."

From the heart of the ruined temple, the slow, sensuous thrum of drums began to rise. Strings slid in after them, their sound sinuous and mournful, weaving a thick tapestry of longing and memory that curled around the gathering like smoke.

Ysflare spun once midair, her silks flowering around her in a slow, hypnotic spiral. When she touched down, it was with a feline grace, her bare toes barely whispering against the vine-cracked stones. She gestured lazily toward a massive stone table, half-swallowed by vines and draped with the decaying remnants of forgotten feasts—heaped fruits turned luscious and overripe, carved meats still steaming, dark wines that bled like jewels under the candlelight.

"Now," she said, voice brightening with false casualness, "why don't you stay a while? For old times' sake."

Her smile sharpened again—not a blade this time, but a needle, fine and precise enough to pierce bone without breaking the skin.

"You must be famished."

The word hung heavy between them, rich with layered meanings—hunger not merely of the body, but of the heart, the spirit, the past itself clawing its way back to the surface.

Mictlan didn’t move. Didn’t speak. But his fingers brushed the hilt of his blade again, a silent promise written in steel and blood.

And Soar—Sorren—stood alone at the center of it all, her silence a wall, a wound, a prayer unanswered.

For a long, brittle moment, no one moved.

The heavy drumbeat thrumming from deeper in the ruins seemed to pulse directly against the bone, each beat another tug toward inevitability.

Soar’s jaw worked once—tight, reluctant. Her wings shifted slightly, scraping against the humid air as if itching to simply turn and bolt. But then, very slowly, she gave the smallest nod.

"Just for a bit," she said, voice clipped and cool.

Ysflare’s smile widened, victorious but not mocking—at least, not yet. She gave a playful clap of her hands, the bangles on her wrists chiming softly.

"Wonderful!" she trilled, spinning backward midair, her hair flaring around her like a comet’s tail. "Boys! Girls! Treat our guests properly, hmm? And try not to break the grumpy one."

At her command, From behind collapsed columns and draped silks, a stream of incubus and succubi emerged—each one as languidly gorgeous as a fever dream, their eyes half-lidded with amusement, curiosity, and a slow-burning hunger.

They moved like smoke and silk, some with wings of velvet black, others with twisting, curling horns, all of them draped in fine cloth that barely served as clothing. Jewelry glittered against warm skin; laughter, soft and sly, threaded between them.

Mictlan stiffened automatically, his hand falling to the hilt of his sword again—but the nearest incubus, tall and silver-haired with a wicked glint in his amber eyes, just gave him a disarming, lazy smile.

"Relax, warrior," he purred, stepping close enough that Mictlan could feel the radiant heat of him. "You’ve fought enough battles. Tonight... we serve."

And before Mictlan could properly object, a second one—a shorter, dark-skinned incubus with a crown of curling horns—stepped up behind him and draped a light, embroidered cloth over his shoulders like a royal mantle.

Another gently tugged the sword from his back—not to disarm, but to set it reverently on a low table, as if it were an honored relic.

Mictlan bristled on instinct—but then he caught the looks on the faces around him: not mocking, not predatory—respectful. Almost... deferent.

And perhaps, just perhaps, after days of brutal travel, ceaseless tension, and dust clinging to every inch of him—perhaps it wasn’t such a crime to accept a little power.

Slowly, Mictlan eased his grip. The smallest flicker of wariness remained in his eyes, but he allowed himself to be guided to a reclining seat near the head of the table.

A goblet—carved from obsidian and banded in gold—was pressed into his hand, filled with something dark and heady that steamed faintly in the jungle air.

The silver-haired incubus knelt by his side, refilling his drink without being asked, while the horned one draped himself nearby, idly fanning Mictlan with a large feathered fan that smelled faintly of crushed violets and rain.

Across the clearing, Ike stared in open, horrified disbelief.

"Are—are you seeing this?" he hissed to Itzquemitl.

The stone spirit only shrugged, drifting lazily overhead. "One who hath earned reverence should accept it. Even the mighty weary in time."

Mictlan gave Ike a look that could only be described as smug. A slow, satisfied exhale escaped him as he leaned a little further back into the plush cushions being subtly arranged behind him.

If vigilance was required later, he would rise to it. But for now?

He intended to enjoy this.

Ysflare, gliding by with a languid, knowing smile, paused just long enough to wink at Soar.

"See?" she whispered, laughing. "I told you he'd loosen up."

Soar said nothing, but the sharp, resigned pinch of her mouth beneath her mask spoke volumes. She settled stiffly at the far end of the table, wings tucked in tight and wary.

Whatever comfort was offered here, Soar would not take it.

But Mictlan?

Mictlan was beginning to think this might just be the best decision they’d made all week.

[la-mamelle]

Burgundian Rail Throughout History

In 1835, the first railroad in continental Europe was built in Brussels. It used an early steam locomotive imported from England. The railroad just connected Brussels to Leuven, but over the years expanded, connecting to Antwerp, Ghent and beyond. As centuries passed railroads continued to expand, connecting the entire country together. In 1913, sensing the beginning of the World War, Duchess Mary IV would use royal funds to purchase many railroads throughout Burgandy from the private companies who owned them. This would prove influential during the war as it allowed for the effective movement of troops and supplies for French, English, and American Forces. After the war, the Duchess gave the railroads to the state, and established the Burgundian National Railroad Network, with the aim of providing that same effective transportation to the people of Burgundy. In the late 1960s, advancements in technology and engineering gave birth to the idea of High Speed Rail. In cooperation with French engineers, the first high speed rail line in europe was built, connecting Paris to Dijon. Reducing the trip from hours to mere minutes. Eventually High Speed Rail lines connected all major cities within Burgandy.

This is a remake of a map I made a few years ago (which for some reason was removed by reddit’s spam filters??? No idea what that’s about) which you can find here: Railroad Map of Burgundy : r/imaginarymaps. I have many Burgandy map ideas that I want to make, assuming I ever find the time, like a map of it’s involvement during the world war, and the German Crisis of 1939, and maybe a map of all the Metro lines. This map was made completely in Inkscape, no GIS like the previous version. Also, French ain’t my first language, so I am ready to be flogged for any spelling errors made.

Also, I swear the QR code is not a Rick Roll.

[canarysage]

Selective Color For Dummies <3

— as written by a dummy.

hello and welcome back to photopea for dummies, the series in which eos attempts to explain photopea while still being a dummy himself. today, we’re going to talk about an old favorite of the adjustment layers—selective color!

the above is an extreme example of what can be done with selective color—every page has been reduced to the individual color. this isn’t usually what i do, but! it’s a good way to take a first look at selective color.

now! selective color layers are made up of seven pages and four sliders on each page. don’t be intimidated! it’s actually pretty easy to understand.

the four sliders are cyan, magenta, yellow, and black. they all go from -100 to 100, -100 being the minimum of that color, and 100 being the maximum. the sliders increase or decrease the amount of that color there is in the color your page is on—and black is essentially a contrast slider.

there is no right way to use selective color, and honestly everyone makes psds differently, so it’s best to just dick around and see what works. for example, if you wanted a psd that focuses on yellow, you don’t just have to crank all the yellow sliders up—you can mess around and make your cyans purple, or your greens into orange, or anything your heart desires.

it’s good to bear in mind what the inverse of a color makes. a lack of cyan in red and yellow makes the colors brighter, while a lack of cyan in blue and cyan makes them more purple. a lack of magenta makes everything more green. a lack of yellow in red and yellow makes them more purple, and deepens the blues of cyan and blue.

onto pages! the pages of selective color are: red, yellow, green, cyan, blue, magenta, white, neutral, and black. doing something in one page does not inherently effect another—if you want them all to be mirrored, you have to do it yourself. you can completely fuck over cyan and leave blue untouched, or you can leave everything else alone and hone in on neutral. in my psds, i try to do something to every page, but you don’t have to do what i do. half the time i don’t even do what i do.

— author’s note: a cool trick i like to use is to make several layers where every slider in the black page is increased to 100. it essentially creates a poor man’s threshold, which works if you find threshold a little intimidating, creating the shadows more naturally.

also good to keep in mind is the only limit on your number of layers is how long until your browser crashes. you can -100 your yellows in one layer and 50 your yellows in the next. most of what i did in the psd used for this blog (which, as you can see, is very yellow) was reduce my yellows, and add them back in other ways (photo filter or gradient maps!) so selective color can work in weird ass ways

honestly i have, no idea how to explain this adjustment layer without outright giving you a full blown psd tutorial which is for another time. it’s best to just see what works for you personally—maybe take a look at other people’s published psds to see what they do (though don’t outright duplicate layers) and just see what you think looks good. everyone’s taste is subjective.

in short—slide the slideys and throw random bullshit until it works.

sincerely, eos

[blubberquark]

Wish List For A Game Profiler

I want a profiler for game development. No existing profiler currently collects the data I need. No existing profiler displays it in the format I want. No existing profiler filters and aggregates profiling data for games specifically.

I want to know what makes my game lag. Sure, I also care about certain operations taking longer than usual, or about inefficient resource usage in the worker thread. The most important question that no current profiler answers is: In the frames that currently do lag, what is the critical path that makes them take too long? Which function should I optimise first to reduce lag the most?

I know that, with the right profiler, these questions could be answered automatically.

Hybrid Sampling Profiler

My dream profiler would be a hybrid sampling/instrumenting design. It would be a sampling profiler like Austin (https://github.com/P403n1x87/austin), but a handful of key functions would be instrumented in addition to the sampling: Displaying a new frame/waiting for vsync, reading inputs, draw calls to the GPU, spawning threads, opening files and sockets, and similar operations should always be tracked. Even if displaying a frame is not a heavy operation, it is still important to measure exactly when it happens, if not how long it takes. If a draw call returns right away, and the real work on the GPU begins immediately, it’s still useful to know when the GPU started working. Without knowing exactly when inputs are read, and when a frame is displayed, it is difficult to know if a frame is lagging. Especially when those operations are fast, they are likely to be missed by a sampling debugger.

Tracking Other Resources

It would be a good idea to collect CPU core utilisation, GPU utilisation, and memory allocation/usage as well. What does it mean when one thread spends all of its time in that function? Is it idling? Is it busy-waiting? Is it waiting for another thread? Which one?

It would also be nice to know if a thread is waiting for IO. This is probably a “heavy” operation and would slow the game down.

There are many different vendor-specific tools for GPU debugging, some old ones that worked well for OpenGL but are no longer developed, open-source tools that require source code changes in your game, and the newest ones directly from GPU manufacturers that only support DirectX 12 or Vulkan, but no OpenGL or graphics card that was built before 2018. It would probably be better to err on the side of collecting less data and supporting more hardware and graphics APIs.

The profiler should collect enough data to answer questions like: Why is my game lagging even though the CPU is utilised at 60% and the GPU is utilised at 30%? During that function call in the main thread, was the GPU doing something, and were the other cores idling?

Engine/Framework/Scripting Aware

The profiler knows which samples/stack frames are inside gameplay or engine code, native or interpreted code, project-specific or third-party code.

In my experience, it’s not particularly useful to know that the code spent 50% of the time in ceval.c, or 40% of the time in SDL_LowerBlit, but that’s the level of granularity provided by many profilers.

Instead, the profiler should record interpreted code, and allow the game to set a hint if the game is in turn interpreting code. For example, if there is a dialogue engine, that engine could set a global “interpreting dialogue” flag and a “current conversation file and line” variable based on source maps, and the profiler would record those, instead of stopping at the dialogue interpreter-loop function.

Of course, this feature requires some cooperation from the game engine or scripting language.

Catching Common Performance Mistakes

With a hybrid sampling/instrumenting profiler that knows about frames or game state update steps, it is possible to instrument many or most “heavy“ functions. Maybe this functionality should be turned off by default. If most “heavy functions“, for example “parsing a TTF file to create a font object“, are instrumented, the profiler can automatically highlight a mistake when the programmer loads a font from disk during every frame, a hundred frames in a row.

This would not be part of the sampling stage, but part of the visualisation/analysis stage.

Filtering for User Experience

If the profiler knows how long a frame takes, and how much time is spent waiting during each frame, we can safely disregard those frames that complete quickly, with some time to spare. The frames that concern us are those that lag, or those that are dropped. For example, imagine a game spends 30% of its CPU time on culling, and 10% on collision detection. You would think to optimise the culling. What if the collision detection takes 1 ms during most frames, culling always takes 8 ms, but whenever the player fires a bullet, the collision detection causes a lag spike. The time spent on culling is not the problem here.

This would probably not be part of the sampling stage, but part of the visualisation/analysis stage. Still, you could use this information to discard “fast enough“ frames and re-use the memory, and only focus on keeping profiling information from the worst cases.

Aggregating By Code Paths

This is easier when you don’t use an engine, but it can probably also be done if the profiler is “engine-aware”. It would require some per-engine custom code though. Instead of saying “The game spent 30% of the time doing vector addition“, or smarter “The game spent 10% of the frames that lagged most in the MobAIRebuildMesh function“, I want the game to distinguish between game states like “inventory menu“, “spell targeting (first person)“ or “switching to adjacent area“. If the game does not use a data-driven engine, but multiple hand-written game loops, these states can easily be distinguished (but perhaps not labelled) by comparing call stacks: Different states with different game loops call the code to update the screen from different places – and different code paths could have completely different performance characteristics, so it makes sense to evaluate them separately.

Because the hypothetical hybrid profiler instruments key functions, enough call stack information to distinguish different code paths is usually available, and the profiler might be able to automatically distinguish between the loading screen, the main menu, and the game world, without any need for the code to give hints to the profiler.

This could also help to keep the memory usage of the profiler down without discarding too much interesting information, by only keeping the 100 worst frames per code path. This way, the profiler can collect performance data on the gameplay without running out of RAM during the loading screen.

In a data-driven engine like Unity, I’d expect everything to happen all the time, on the same, well-optimised code path. But this is not a wish list for a Unity profiler. This is a wish list for a profiler for your own custom game engine, glue code, and dialogue trees.

All I need is a profiler that is a little smarter, that is aware of SDL, OpenGL, Vulkan, and YarnSpinner or Ink. Ideally, I would need somebody else to write it for me.

[jennyblogss]

Top Features to Include in Your Multi-Restaurant Delivery Platform

If you’re anything like me, you’ve probably looked at apps like Uber Eats or Zomato and thought, “I could launch something just as amazing — maybe even better!” The truth is, starting your own Multi Restaurant Online Food Delivery App isn’t just a dream anymore — it’s a smart business move. But to make it work (and to make it profitable), your platform needs the right features.

Having worked on building delivery platforms and explored the multi vendor food ordering system space, I’ve seen firsthand what makes an app stand out. So, let me walk you through the top features I’d recommend including if you’re building a Multi Restaurant Food Delivery Solution.

1. Easy Restaurant Onboarding

If I were starting from scratch, the first thing I’d want is a super simple restaurant registration system. Restaurants should be able to join your Multi Restaurant Aggregator App with just a few clicks, upload their menus, and set their hours. Make it easy for them, and they’ll love you for it.

2. Dynamic Menu Management

A static menu just doesn’t cut it anymore. I’d want to give restaurant partners full control over their menus — from updating prices to adding limited-time offers. That’s the flexibility that keeps things fresh (literally and figuratively).

3. Order Tracking in Real Time

I always say: “If customers can track their pizza on a map, they should be able to track their biryani too.” Real-time GPS tracking has become a must-have in any Multi Restaurant Food Delivery Solution. It builds trust and makes customers feel in control.

4. Multiple Payment Options

If I were a customer (and hey, I am!), I’d expect to pay however I like — card, UPI, wallet, or even cash. Integrating various payment gateways is key for any multi vendor food ordering system to reduce cart abandonment.

5. Smart Search & Filters

When I’m hungry, I don’t want to scroll endlessly. I’d want filters like cuisine type, delivery time, or even dietary preferences. The smarter your search, the faster your customers order — and the happier they’ll be.

6. Ratings & Reviews

This one’s personal. If I had a bad experience, I’d want to share it. And if I loved a restaurant, I’d want to rave about it. Giving users the ability to rate and review not only helps other customers but keeps restaurants on their toes.

7. Marketing & Loyalty Tools

If I were building a long-term user base, I’d need tools for promotions, coupons, and loyalty points built right into the admin panel. Trust me — small restaurants love this, and it helps boost retention for your Multi Restaurant Online Food Delivery App.

8. Admin Dashboard & Analytics

I geek out over data. A good admin dashboard helps track everything — from order volume to peak hours to customer behavior. This feature gives you the insights to scale your Multi Restaurant Aggregator App with confidence.

Wrapping Up

Launching a successful food delivery platform isn’t just about creating an app — it’s about building an ecosystem where restaurants, customers, and delivery partners can thrive. With the right features in place, your Multi Restaurant Food Delivery Solution can become the go-to app in your city (or even beyond).

If you're planning to launch your own multi vendor food ordering system, I’d love to hear about your ideas — or better yet, help you bring them to life.

[malaza17]

Find Your Perfect Escape: Discovering Hotel Suites Near Me with Last-Minute Hotel Deals

Have you ever felt that sudden urge to get away — even if it’s just for a night or two? Maybe after a long week at work, a stressful situation at home, or simply because you deserve a little luxury? The good news is you don’t have to plan months in advance or travel far to experience a refreshing change of scenery. Thanks to the internet and travel apps, it’s easier than ever to find hotel suites near me and score incredible last-minute hotel deals at the same time.

Whether you’re looking for a cozy local staycation, a romantic weekend, or a spontaneous solo retreat, the options are endless. In this blog, we’ll dive into how you can track down gorgeous hotel suites nearby, seize last-minute discounts, and turn ordinary days into memorable mini-vacations.

Why Choose a Local Getaway?

You don’t always need to hop on a plane to feel like you’re on vacation. Sometimes, the best escapes are waiting just a few miles away. Booking hotel suites near me is an excellent way to break the routine without the stress of long-distance travel. It’s perfect for those moments when you need a quick recharge, want to celebrate a special occasion, or simply want to enjoy a night of luxury without leaving your city or town.

The best part? Local hotels often release their unsold premium suites at discounted rates to fill rooms fast. That’s where last-minute hotel deals come in — giving savvy travelers access to upscale accommodations for a fraction of the price.

How to Find Hotel Suites Near Me at a Great Price

You might be surprised by how many beautiful hotel suites are hiding in your own backyard. Here’s how to uncover them:

Use location-based travel apps: Apps like HotelTonight, Booking.com, and Google Maps make it easy to search for hotel suites near me, showing real-time availability and pricing.

Filter for last-minute deals: Many booking platforms feature a “last-minute” or “tonight’s deals” section where you can find substantial discounts on same-day or next-day stays.

Check hotel websites directly: Sometimes, hotels offer exclusive discounts on their official sites that aren’t listed on third-party apps.

Join loyalty programs: Frequent guests can score perks like free upgrades or early access to last-minute hotel deals.

By combining both location searches and last-minute filters, you’ll unlock hidden gems and upscale stays that you might not have considered otherwise.

The Perks of Booking a Suite Instead of a Standard Room

While any hotel stay can be a treat, opting for a suite turns your overnight stay into a full-on experience. Suites typically offer more space, luxurious amenities, and thoughtful extras like spa bathtubs, panoramic views, or even private terraces. They’re ideal for romantic weekends, self-care retreats, or special celebrations like anniversaries and birthdays.

And thanks to last-minute hotel deals, indulging in a suite doesn’t have to come with a hefty price tag. Hotels prefer to fill empty premium rooms at a discounted rate rather than leave them vacant, which works out perfectly for spontaneous travelers.

When Is the Best Time to Book Last-Minute Deals?

Timing is everything when it comes to snagging last-minute hotel deals. While you can occasionally find bargains during peak travel times, the real savings often appear midweek or during off-peak seasons. Here’s a quick guide:

Tuesday to Thursday: These days typically have lower occupancy rates, making it easier to find unsold hotel suites near me at reduced prices.

After 4 PM: Hotels often drop their rates in the late afternoon as they try to fill empty rooms for the night.

Off-season months: Booking during quieter times of the year often means deeper discounts and better availability on suites.

Spontaneous Staycations: The New Travel Trend

One trend that’s gained popularity in recent years is the rise of the local staycation. More people are choosing to explore their own cities in new ways, booking hotel suites near me for a weekend of luxury, spa treatments, or poolside relaxation.

It’s an affordable, convenient alternative to long-distance travel, and thanks to last-minute hotel deals, you can enjoy upscale experiences on a budget. Whether you spend your day visiting local attractions you’ve never had time for, dining at that fancy restaurant you’ve been eyeing, or simply lounging in your suite with room service, a staycation can feel just as indulgent as a vacation abroad.

Top Tips for Making the Most of Your Last-Minute Suite Stay

Want to turn your impromptu hotel booking into an unforgettable escape? Here are a few insider tips:

Ask for an upgrade: If you’re booking last minute, there’s a good chance the hotel has empty premium suites. It never hurts to politely ask about upgrade options when you check in.

Make it an experience: Order room service, book a spa treatment, or check out the hotel’s amenities like rooftop bars, pools, or in-house restaurants.

Check for package deals: Some hotels offer last-minute packages that bundle breakfast, parking, or late checkout with your room — adding extra value to your stay.

Final Thoughts: Luxury at Your Fingertips

Who says luxury travel needs months of planning? With today’s technology and a bit of flexibility, finding hotel suites near me and booking them at incredible rates is easier than ever. Whether you need a quick escape, a romantic evening, or a spontaneous adventure, last-minute hotel deals give you the freedom to treat yourself without stretching your budget.

So next time you feel the itch for a getaway, open your favorite travel app or check out nearby hotel websites. You might be just a few clicks away from sipping wine in a rooftop suite, soaking in a spa tub, or waking up to a skyline view — all without leaving your city.

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

possibly a personified glow in the dark star

so I was feeling anxious and hating it because anxiety

has a way of distracting you from everything real

you're just in a loop of colorful thoughts spiraling around you

too quick to grasp even if you try to

emotional motion sickness to the point of nausea

it's like I try to tell myself not to be anxious

and then I'm anxious because no matter how many times

I try to freaking convince myself

I can't stop being anxious and stay anxious

luckily I am not normally anxious to this point

or I find a way to release the excess energy

so I can clearly analyze why such big emotions

were triggered in my blood with such intensity

I like to think that if I am hysterical it is likely

historical and I'm being given a chance to see

how I felt and how strongly I felt

in a past situation that seems a lot like this

when I think this way it helps me make space

to make a thoughtful choice that will help me

and may help others too because a lamp

lit for your friend is a lamp lit for yourself

I like to keep a lot of lamps lit with an entire lab of

imagination based alchemy with all the elements

and sensational data that flows fully into my system

and is filtered out with what I don't need

I am not just listening to you

I am making a mental file on you and draw a map

where to find it in the mind palace

energy is expressed efficiently with dancing or singing

or creative expression of any kind that produces joy

maybe a walk in the yard where I really look at everything

and focus on how I think the wind looks in my mind

a endless rainbow of thread and color

the friend who warms me after a long winter

with a blanket he says are the color of my eyes

it's so soft and I don't know how to accept

this safety and tenderness and care

especially if I'm not doing something

to make up for my difficult habits and sensitivity

Zephyrus plays with my hair and sings me songs

and I realize how long it's been since I last

laid in the grass and let the sun shine on me

and focus on nothing but that warm energy

and how it lights up my body like the stars

I had to pay $20 for the apartment management to remove

but when it got dark the kids were surrounded by glowing light

I need to go out and get more sun for this earth body

my anxiety melted and I felt myself relax

I'll likely go do it again

interesting fact that a black light

lights up a glow in the dark star

way faster and brighter than the sun

kind of a fun thing to learn

I get anxious before singing and it's kinda hard to manage

but it is reducing in intensity which means

it'll keep following that pattern

until it's a relaxing practice of a talent

I enjoy being seen for in small doses

small steps

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing xv. | m

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: oral (m receiving), jk and oc in their feelings :c, fluff n cuteness tbh

words: 7, 816

summary: a series of drabbles where you’re confused and jungkook’s confusing

a/n:

im so sorry for the late update but it's finally here!!! it's been a hectic few weeks w my exam preparation coming right around the corner too :c

anyway!!!! we've got some smut after a while 👀so for visual purposes pls imagine jk from the butter mv, specifically his hair and eyebrow piercing ...

i hope you enjoy this chapter !!!

Safety was a very important aspect of your life. Everything that you did, you always weighed the realistic possibilities of you regretting your decision; mind running at one hundred miles per hour while you drew a mental mind map of every possible outcome you could possibly predict. It was exhausting to have your mind immediately come up with worst-case scenarios where the risk was realistically a meagre five per cent against the other ninety-five, but you were a chronic overthinker by nature.

You steered far from doing things that would end up causing more harm to you and your environment because you knew that there was no actual reason why you could justify getting completely wasted at a party. If it was for fun—surely, you’d vehemently oppose that the next morning.

Your friends, or even anyone who knew of you; always lamented you for your tendency to remain in your bubble. You knew that overall, you were an overthinker and that most of the time—nothing of what you conjured would actually happen purely because, well—your friends are still alive, and so were you. You just missed out on ‘fun’.

But old habits died hard. Maybe that was why the most reckless and impulsive thing that you did—was with Jungkook.

Out of all your friends, Jungkook was the one person that really did whatever he could get his hands, feet or body to do.

He was very determined by nature and a natural daredevil at that. You remember on multiple occasions where he and his family went on a family vacation, and he came back with stories of his adventures swinging from the top of a cliff upside down, getting a snake to wrap itself around his neck—and by far the most impulsive one, returning with a small tattoo of said snake on the back of his neck.

Jungkook was so unpredictable that neither of your friends could ever tell what he’d do next. And you supposed that added to his charm, but it didn’t take away from the five stages of absolute shock that you’d go through when you witness another one of his unpredictable tendencies.

Like right now.

“Please say something,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck while you can only gape at him.

“Purple.” You blurt.

He blinks before his eyes dart upwards as his finger twiddles a few strands of hair between them.

“Yeah,” he hums, “It looks a little blue in some lights, though.”

You nod your head slowly, still processing what is probably the lesser surprising one between the two things that have you double-taking at his figure when you first greeted him at your door.

“That’s … not all,” you say slowly.

Jungkook offers you a lopsided grin that stirs something in your belly, and you don’t know if it’s his hair, or the fact that he’s starting to wear shorter sleeves as the weather begins to get hotter; his tattoos on display as it trails upon his arm—or if it was because of the—

“Eyebrow piercing?” He raises a brow, particularly the one with the eyebrow piercing as it glints under the natural sunlight that filters in the hallway, “So. Do you like it?” He asks, smile still small as he leans in for you to get a better look.

Your breath hitches when his face gets closer, but not enough for it to be insinuative in any way. It was just you and your weak-willed nature whenever it came to Jungkook. You hoped that he wasn’t able to see the way that your ears undoubtedly redden under the proximity.

“What matters is if you like it, Jungkook,” you remind him softly, shyly looking down to your feet.

He sighs, resting an arm against your doorway in a way that makes him look as large as the width of your door. His gaze is still calm and steady, lips curled ever so slightly as he rests his eyes on you.

“I know. But I care if you like it or not,” he retorts.

You scoff, waving him off, but a small grin still threatens itself onto your face.

“Well you shouldn’t,” you huff.

“Why not?” He hums as he cards a hand through his hair. Even if it’s a bright colour and you’re sure that it required copious amounts of bleach and hours at the salon to get the final result—it still looks soft when he swifts through the locks.

“Because,” you lull, “My opinion doesn’t matter. If you like it and you think it’s pretty then that’s more than enough.”

He clicks his tongue against his cheek before his eyes dart down. You’re still avoiding his gaze because you weren’t ready to have your senses assaulted with the way he’s crowding you in the doorway of your own home.

“You’re trying really hard not to compliment me right now,” he teases.

“I am not!” You splutter, ears turning red. Your eyes dart to your feet. “… but if it matters then … I like it. It’s pretty.”

Jungkook’s grin is nothing short of wide when his head reaches out to smooth your hair out of your face that forces you to look up at him. You attempt to keep your heart beat at bay, even if the way he looks pleased with your futile trial of complimenting him. In reality, you thought it looked more than just pretty. Jungkook looked … hot. He was already attractive as he was, and his confident yet quiet nature made him exponentially hotter—but his long, purple hair and the new eyebrow piercing just made him even sexier.

“It matters.” He smiles, cocking his head to the side as you bashfully step aside to allow him to enter your apartment.

He settles in like he’s the missing piece to the lonely nights you spend on your dining table studying away for a test or an exam. And you suppose that Jungkook’s always fit right in, wherever you were. He was a comfortable presence in your life, even when the two of you were in high school and he’d come over for tutoring lessons. Or when it’d be just you and him in your mother’s car while you taught him how to drive.

Jungkook’s somehow always filled in the other seat in your life when there called for two. Even when you note that he still sits on one foot while the other hangs off the couch, a habit he’s had since he was young, or the way that he’s still stupidly polite not to sprawl himself across your couch like Jimin and Taehyung did whenever they were over. Jungkook’s always been there and you were always there to see.

“So … what’s up?” His voice interrupts the daydream that got you a little more soft than you’d like. You shake your head as you shut the door behind you, turning around to fully face Jungkook.

“The ceiling?” You reply lamely, a soft chuckle escaping your lips when you see him roll his eyes.

“Ha ha,” he mocks, “I meant if there was anything you wanted to talk about. You know—since you texted me to come over.” He finishes with a raise of his brow.

You still as your brain processes his words. You did text him first. You had just finished a lengthy meeting with the student union and didn’t feel like studying just yet—and you just so happened to have been thinking about Jungkook when you caught a glimpse of your phone (when were you not).

You didn’t have a reason, even if your conscience would argue that you did and it was because you missed him. Even if you were the one that needed time. Your heart and mind wanted two different things, but they both revolved around Jungkook. So, you compromised and settled for a simple text.

“I don’t know,” you mumble, shuffling towards your couch as you plop in the loveseat across from him.

He ogles the way that you chose a seat that wasn’t the one that he was sat on. He doesn’t point it out, though. Instead, a firm line settles on his lips before he leans back to your couch, eyes still trained on your figure.

“You don’t need to sound so shy,” he says, “I’ll always come if you’re the one that’s asking.”

Your eyes widen when your head darts up. When you look at him, you swear that you’d melt because he was looking at you with mirth dancing in his eyes. The somewhat dim lighting of your living room made him look so … cosy. He looked more comfortable, probably knowing that you weren’t going to nag at him for manspreading at the way you can only stare. You don’t know if it’s on purpose but you’re sure it is—but Jungkook’s eyebrow piercing is strategically exposed when he raises a brow, flicking his bangs aside. Your brain short-circuits.

“It’s not—I’m not—I’m not …” You stutter when he catches you looking like a deer caught in headlights. But all he does is let out a deep chuckle before reaching an arm out.

You stare at the arm that extends itself, eyes trailing up the limb as you gawk at his tattoos. He wasn’t one to flaunt, even though he didn’t pretend like he didn’t have any. So even your friends didn’t catch much of his tattoos unless he was at the gym or changing during practices with the way he practically lived in long sleeves. But now, it was just you and him, in your living room while he practically invites you over with his smile and doe eyes.

“Come ere’,” he mumbles as you continue to stare, “Next to me, please.”

You blink a few times when you realise that he’s beckoning you over with the arm that’s extended. You buffer for a second when he continues to smile at you with that easy grin of his, the one that’s both able to calm you and reduce you into a mess of nerves. But after a few beats, your limbs start moving at their own accord as you push yourself off the couch, slowly inching towards Jungkook and the empty spot next to him where you plop down into.

“Here?” You ask softly.

He laughs, and it’s a nice sound. Your mind had been muffled ever since he first showed up with that new hairstyle of his and that Godforsaken eyebrow piercing, and now when he looks at you like you were the only thing that he’s ever wanted—your heart can’t take it.

“Closer.” He encourages with a tilt of his head. Then, he delivers the final blow. “Just wanna hold you.”

You freeze, hands stilling on the plush of your couch as you were about to shift closer. The words are still processing in your mind even if you knew exactly what he said and what he meant. The heat on your face was definitely proof of that.

“Oh my God, don’t just say that!” You cry, burying your head into the back of the couch when you turn away from him.

Jungkook’s still laughing at you, hands clutching his stomach instead of trying to reach out for you as you whine into the fabric. He was killing you and your poor heart, and he was doing a damn good job at it. He didn’t need to do much because his presence was always enough to reduce you to absolutely nothing and a pile of mush.

It was this ambiguous back and forth that you’ve settled into with Jungkook after your last serious conversation that had your heart weaker and softer than ever. Every moment you spent with him, even in the crowd of your friends—you knew what you wanted. But there was still an irrational (and insecure) part of you that wanted to wait. To see if he actually meant his confession or was he driven by desperation to keep a friend close.

You should’ve had faith in Jungkook the way he blindly and willingly put in you. Even if you were the more unstable one between the two of you. But your mind worked endlessly to remind you of what the two of you shared, and who you had to share him with—and how she was everything that you weren’t.

“I’m sorry!” He laughs, and you feel a hand reach around your waist to tug you upwards as you squeak at his show of strength. “Was that too much?” He asks softly when you’re facing him, face definitely still flushed as you avoid his face and opt to stare at the chain around his neck.

Even that was making your insides feel funny.

“No …” You mumble, leaning forward until your forehead is pressed against his chest as his fingers drum against your waist. “I’m just shy.”

He chuckles.

“You don’t have to be shy.” He tells you, “It’s just me.”

You blink up and narrow your eyes at him.

“That’s not fair! You can’t just turn up to my house looking like—that—and expect me to be fine!” You huff, gesturing towards his entire frame as he simply listens with an amused raise of his brow.

He tilts his head to the side and even has the audacity to look confused when he smirks at you.

“Me? What did I do? It’s just hair dye and a piercing.”

You huff.

“It’s just hair dye and a piercing,” you repeat in a low voice, clearly meant to represent him as his face scrunches adorably at your impression of him.

“That’s not how I sound like.” He deadpans.

You stick your chin up snootily with a satisfied smile.

“You so do. You sound that dumb with what you just said.” You retort petulantly.

Jungkook stares at you for one long second before he’s pulling you flush against his chest with a wide grin on his face as he attempts to smother you with his arm. You squeal when you feel his fingers around your waist as he squeezes the flesh. He manoeuvres his way around your body until you’re perched on his lap, hands reaching out against his chest so that you could establish some distance (which you fail miserably at).

The room is filled with your gasps and Jungkook’s cackles, and with the way he’s crowding your body with his own—all you can smell is Jungkook. He smells fresh, as always. Especially since he chooses to opt-out of cologne and pays favourable attention to the type of laundry detergent, body wash and shampoo that he uses that gives him the boyish, clean and charming natural scent that he has. And it drives you insane.

So when you look up at him through your lashes in a break when Jungkook’s heaving at how he’s attempted to tickle you, and all you can see is how good he looks with his purple hair paired with the way he unconsciously licks at his lips to wet them; and the eyebrow piercing and tattoos. You melt—and so does your filter.

“Can I suck your dick?”

Granted, that isn’t a question you pose after he’s just tickled you in good faith while giggling away with his doe-eyes, or even the way his hands are placed at a respectful distance away from your bum. And it definitely isn’t a question that Jungkook’s expecting because his eyes shoot wide open, while his foot kicks up hard enough that it crashes against your coffee table.

“W-What?!” He cries, hands gripping your shoulder to push you away so that he can get a proper look at your face.

And it’s on fire.

But you can’t take back your words, especially when Jungkook’s looking like he demands some sort of explanation.

“I—I …” You stutter but your body is lax in his, and your thighs are still straddling Jungkook’s. You aren’t stupid or that naive, so you definitely know the firmness that presses against your inner thigh is a sign that he’s not opposed to your proposition.

Before you can say anything with how your mouth fails you, Jungkook snaps up until your foreheads nearly crash against each other as he presses his palms against your cheeks, staring you intently in the eye until you’re squirming under the scrutiny.

“I don’t hate it.” He assures you softly, but his eyebrows are furrowed. “But I need to hear it from you that you know what you’re saying.”

You blink at him and all Jungkook does is wait for you patiently. What were you saying? That you wanted to suck his dick? You did. You wanted to do a lot of things to and with Jungkook. Curse him for turning up looking the way he did and meddling with your restraint on needing time. But there was a brewing feeling of need in your chest that wants to please Jungkook, that wants to see him quiver under your tongue the way he has had you before. They weren’t all pleasant memories, purely because your poor heart has had to fight to disassociate your feelings from pleasure when you couldn’t do it.

But you’ve never made Jungkook feel good, at least in the way he was able to do for you.

“I-I—” you mumble, eyes darting everywhere but Jungkook’s gaze doesn’t waver at all. You take a deep breath, nibbling on your lips as your eyes dart up to the ceiling before they return to his face. He’s still waiting. “I want to. I really do.” You assure him, your own hands reaching out to clutch at his collar.

Jungkook’s cock twitches in his pants, and you feel it. You give an experimental swivel of your hips because you know it must feel good for Jungkook. And it does with the way his breath hitches, but his hands leave your face to grab at your hips to stop your motions. Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, but all Jungkook does is sigh.

“You don’t have to …” he whispers, “I—you said you needed time and I don’t want to ruin this. What we have.”

You purse your lips.

“I know I said I needed time but I want to, Jungkook,” you tell him seriously, “What happened before was a product of our miscommunication but it’s different now,” your eyes are firm when they stare into his, your face leaning forward for emphasis, “Unless you don’t want me to—”

“Baby, no,” he reaches out to pull you closer to his chest, “I do. God—I can’t think of anything else but … I don’t want to fuck this up.” His eyes flutter shut as he rests his forehead against your breast bone. It’s not sexual at all, and you can hear the genuine frustration that laces Jungkook’s voice.

“You won’t,” you say softly, reaching a hand through his hair, “I want to learn. I want to learn how to make you feel good too.” You whisper.

Jungkook releases a low groan that makes your stomach clench in desire. You realise that throughout the escapades that the two of you have engaged in, you were the vocal one purely in the sense that you were whining, moaning and sobbing in pleasure at Jungkook’s doing. But Jungkook was vocal in the way he spoke to you. Even if it was mean and you found yourself crying after it happened because he pretended that you didn’t exist—there was something about the way he guides you through your highs in that raspy voice of his that made you cum harder each time.

“You’re serious?” He asks, finally looking up to confirm with you.

You nod your head.

“Dead.”

He nibbles on his lips, as his eyebrows scrunch in focus. He was heavily contemplating your offer and even if you never propositioned any male to suck his dick before, you’ve never heard of a case where they’d be hesitant to receive one. But you and Jungkook were different. You knew what you felt for him, and he knew what he felt for you—and somehow that made your odd request all the more important for the both of you.

“We’ll be okay, right?” He asks hesitantly, afraid. Your eyes soften as you nod.

“I want this, Jungkook.” You tell him again, and you’d repeat it as much as you can for him to know.

He sighs deeply.

“If at any point you feel … overwhelmed … just say the word and we’ll stop, okay?” He says, holding you by the shoulder while he hardens his eyes at you in seriousness. You nod your head as you scramble off his lap in a motion fast enough that Jungkook can’t process it.

Before the both of you know it, you’re on your knees, settled in between his legs as you peer up at him. Your heart was thundering in your chest because you had no idea what the fuck you were doing, but you wanted to do this. All because of that damn hair and piercing of his.

“Your knees,” he murmurs, attempting to tug you up but you’re stubborn when you stay rooted in position, eyebrows furrowed in determination as your jaw ticks.

“Isn’t this how it goes?”

“They’re going to hurt,” he points out.

You roll your eyes before narrowing them at him.

“Do you usually complain this much before you get your dick sucked or what?” You snap, patience wearing awfully thin.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your blunt statement, especially when you reach out to rest your palms on his thighs.

“I don’t mean …” he mumbles, hands gripping the couch because he’s too afraid to touch you, “It’s not like that and you know it.”

You sigh, leaning your cheek against his kneecap and he feels his heart go into overdrive. It was different, with you. This wasn’t just another girl that wanted to suck his dick for his approval or whatever—this was the girl of his dreams, readily waiting to learn how he liked it. Though he’d argue that he’d like anything you do to him because his love-glasses blinded him that way. But there was still fear ebbing away at his heart, terrified at screwing it up even if you were the proposer in this case.

“Jungkook, I’m not going to disappear on you after this,” you say softly, still peering up at him, “I want this.”

Your heart tightens when he hesitantly reaches out to rest a hand between strands of your hair as he tilts your head upwards. Something about just sitting between his legs as they sprawl out wider to accommodate your body seems do domestic and intimate. Even the context of the situation makes you tingle from your fingertips all the way to your toes—you were here to learn, from Jungkook; on what he liked and didn’t.

You didn’t plan this. Admittedly you and Yena have talked on more than one occasion about how you really wanted to sleep with Jungkook—you didn’t have a timeline for it. It felt weird to put a date to it so you shoved the thoughts aside even if they popped up every once in a while. This just so happened to be one of those moments where your mind ventures into a more explicit territory whenever you were with Jungkook.

“I know you need time but …” his eyes flutter shut before he leans his head back into the seat—eyes staring up at the ceiling as if he was searching for answers that he didn’t have with himself. You wait because you suppose that’s the least you could do when you made him wait for you while you attempted to deal with your own feelings. When he looks down, his eyes are gentle yet resolute, “You know I love you, right?”

He sounds nervous even if he’s said it before. But the words don’t fail to make you flush or evoke the tremble in your ribcage—a signal from your body that tells you that it’s only Jeon Jungkook that could ever make you feel this way.

“God,” you huff, but the corners of your lip twitch and that’s enough to tell Jungkook that you did. You knew. “Can you teach me? Please?”

You’re pressing forward again, eagerly shifting on your knees as Jungkook takes one long look at you as if he was memorising this image to eternity. When he decides he’s satisfied, he rests into the seat before gently coaxing your hands away from his thighs and towards his—

“Start here,” he guides with a low voice, large palm encasing your smaller ones as you feel the metal of his zipper come into contact with your skin.

You blush, but you were an overachiever for a reason. The potential embarrassment of fumbling is tucked away in your mind, your only concern and fascination lie with the fact that Jungkook’s already hard that you feel him brush against your wrist.

“Don’t you need to get hard?” You ask softly.

Jungkook blinks before he’s giving you that devastating smile of his, the one where only one corner of his lips turn up into an amused grin while you tilt your head at him in an inquisitive manner.

“I’m really hard right now,” he assures you; and to prove his point, his hand guides yours over the outline of his cock. You gasp because it’s the first time you’ve felt anything but your own intimates in your grasp.

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs together, appreciating the way that Jungkook’s beginning to bite on his lips while he focuses his attention purely on you. You knew just from feeling alone that Jungkook was not your averagely-sized male.

“O-Oh,” you breathe when your hands begin to work at their own accord—slowly unbuttoning his jeans, working your way down the zipper. The entire time, you’re occasionally looking up for any signs of approval from Jungkook, the resolved student in you needing appraisal from your teacher. And he picks up on your prompts, smiling at you gently even as his breath begins to turn uneven at the way you’re still gently pulling his pants down.

“You’re doing great,” his hand cards through your hair until his thumb reaches your cheek, rubbing a gentle motion to be paired with his words.

You smile to yourself, feeling more confident to tug his jeans down his thighs. You knew that Jungkook was well-built, it was a fact given that he was an athlete who frequented the gym more than any place on campus. He had impeccable stamina, even before he took football seriously—but the way that his thighs clench under your clammy hands only prove your point. But all you can really focus on is the outline of his cock from his boxers.

“Can I …?” You ask hesitantly, reaching out to tug at the hem of his boxers.

Before you can do anything, his hand stops your wrist as you immediately pause in your ministrations. Your eyes widen, fully ready to pull away in case you did something wrong. What if he didn’t like it? What if he changed his mind or that you were bad—?

“Stop thinking,” he chides, “I want this. I love your hands, anything that you do,” he whispers in reassurance as you swallow. “How about you feel me first? Over the boxers. Baby steps.”

You exhale, nodding your head as your hand reaches to cup his length in your hand. You gasp in tandem with Jungkook, feeling the heat radiate from his dick as you give an experimental squeeze. You look up to gauge his reaction, and you suppose it’s good with the way his breath hitches. He doesn’t say anything and you take that as your cue to continue, your hand squeezing tighter upwards, right before your thumb rubs over what you think is the tip.

“It’s wet,” you blurt.

You’re about to hastily apologise because who the hell points that out before giving someone a blowjob?

“Yeah,” he releases a shaky breath, “I’m so hard right now you have no idea.” He laughs, throwing his head back.

You don’t say anything else, but you continue to work your way up and down his length over the cloth—and for some reason, you feel like it never ends. The heat from his cock, the stirring in your belly or the wetness that begins to accumulate between your own thighs. His hand rests in your hair in a gentle way, simply remaining there as he allows you to have your way on his cock.

That realisation makes you feel the need to go further, so you do. You squeeze until you reach the base of his cock, and you feel the outline of his balls. You briefly read online that some guys liked it when you squeezed—so you did. And Jungkook nearly lurches forward and knees you in the face when you do.

“Fuck, baby,” he chokes in a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, but your heart isn’t there when you grin in satisfaction to yourself. The term of endearment doesn’t fall onto deaf ears either, and it shoots straight to your core.

Deciding that you weren’t happy with just fondling him above his boxers, in one swift motion; said fabric now drapes over his thighs and you’re welcomed with the sight of Jungkook’s engorged cock staring you straight in the face.

You assume it’s bad taste to just stare at someone’s intimates as if you were dissecting the anatomy right as you were about to get down to business. But you couldn’t help it. Jungkook had such a … pretty looking cock. You don’t know if penises could look aesthetic nor were you going to be superficial and say that penises should look a certain way. But he had such a pretty cock and it only made you want to shove it all the way down your throat. But your inexperience tells you to relax because you weren’t about to embarrass yourself like that.

“Do you … hate it?” Jungkook asks tentatively.

He wasn’t particularly an insecure person. He knew he was good looking and had a great body—he worked hard for it! But that’s because he never cared about anyone and what they had to say enough for it to affect his self-confidence. But you were the one person that he’s sought for validation ever since he was just a teenage boy, before the muscles and the confidence he’s developed over the years.

Especially when he was so hard that he thinks he’s going to bust a nut the second your mouth touches his cock—the way that you’re staring only makes him anxious.

“You’re really big,” you tell him, eyes peering up, “And pretty.”

Jungkook blushes. He can’t believe it but the fact that he’s the one that’s flustered when you were the ‘inexperienced’ one only goes to show how whipped he was. He almost laughs, but your hand is touching his bare cock and he nearly chokes at the firm grip you immediately take. He really almost laughs, because even now—you were a quick learner, an observant student who already probably knew what he liked.

Your hands twist upwards when you jerk him off, and Jungkook tries his best to keep his hips at bay even if he’s letting out low groans the tighter you squeeze. Your eyes occasionally dart up to observe his reactions, and you’re pleased to see that his mouth is slightly agape whenever his breathless pants leave them. You didn’t know that pleasuring someone else could feel this fulfilling for yourself—but you liked it. You liked the way he felt in your hand, the precum that oozes out from his tip that taints your fingers—and you especially liked the way his head is thrown back while the grip in your hair tightens simultaneously.

“You could spit on it,” his shaky voice interrupts your mental dialogue as you look up at him. He cocks his chin towards his cock as you were hyper-focused on his length. You note that you barely could wrap your fists around him and that you needed the help of both hands.

“Would you like that?” You ask.

He nods.

“It chafes when it’s dry,” he points out.

You open your mouth in acknowledgement as you nod your head slowly. You remember when he had spit on your pussy, and even if it was in the heat of the moment and you were already wet enough—you liked it. But you also note that the way you’re jerking him off his dry so you rev the spit up in the back of your throat before you lean forward, allowing the glob of spit to drop down his cock.

The breathless groan that he lets out immediately shoots to your core as you peer up at him. He’s already looking at you do, and you feel compelled to shoot him a small smile. And when you do, he groans even if your hands have momentarily stilled as you raise a brow at his reaction.

“How are you still so cute,” he huffs.

You blink.

“Are you really calling me cute right before I’m about to suck your dick?” You deadpan.

He sighs, but his hand rubs a gentle circle on your head.

“It’s a good thing,” he promises, “Can’t you feel how hard I am right now? You could breathe near my dick and I’d probably nut.”

You snort, even if the compliment is super boyish and very Jungkook—you feel your heart swell. You’re both terrified and how you’re reacting to his simple words, but the cheesy grin he sends you from above only makes your stomach feel lighter and your heart soar higher.

“So how do you like it?” You ask.

It’s a little too odd to be having this conversation as your hand continues to work lazily on Jungkook’s cock. He seems to not mind, especially when his hips occasionally buck upwards to chase the feeling. He blinks in an attempt to focus on your query and not how good your hand feels around him, even if it’s in a rest.

“How about you just start with the tip?” He suggests.

You nod your head before you lean forward, and you don’t know if Jungkook feels it—but your heartbeat is beating rapidly against your chest. You’re not … scared, but you’re also a little scared. Mostly because it’s a foreign territory and you’re unsure how it’d taste (even if Yena warned you from having high hopes). But Jungkook ate relatively healthy and drank a lot of water; and worked out regularly.

You finally kiss the tip, and Jungkook just about melts, cock twitching at the contact as you stick your tongue out to take a tentative lick of the precum that oozes out from his hip. It’s not pleasant, nor is it anything to puke over. You’re partial to it, mostly because you’re super turned on and you like the way that Jungkook seems to be eagerly waiting while his other fist that isn’t in your hair grabs at the couch in anticipation.

You don’t intend to be that erotic, but you don’t break eye contact even when you envelop the tip into your mouth. It’s the widest part of Jungkook, and it’s already a pleasant stretch to your lips when you run your tongue on the underside of his cockhead.

“Y-You sure you n-need me to—ah—teach you?” He asks breathlessly when you use your free hand to jerk the base of his cock.

You hum around his length, and Jungkook groans in tandem, hips jerking upwards in response as you feel his cock briefly drag against the roof of your mouth. He’s about to apologise, especially when he leans forward, but you briefly release him to shake your head.

“I’m a big girl,” you tell him with a grin.

Jungkook chuckles before resting back. He can’t quite believe that you’re on your knees right in front of him, sucking his dick like an obedient student. It’s eerily similar to many of his high school wet dreams, and it probably exceeds them with the way you’re sucking him back into your mouth; slowly inching your way further until you’re halfway down.

Your mouth is hot, and in fact—a dream. It’s probably the fact that it’s you that Jungkook feels all his senses be elevated in a way he’s never felt before. It was the way that his heart soars in his chest while his stomach caves in when he feels your tongue swipe under his shaft.

“You’re doing so good, baby,” he croons, hand carding tenderly through your hair, “Be careful of your teeth.” He adds on when he feels the scrape of them against his cock.

He didn’t hate it, but he rather enjoys the softness of your mouth without the fear of you chewing his dick off.

You look up at him apologetically, but he only returns it with a half-hearted smile—purely because your hand is working its way on what you can’t fit into your mouth just yet. You’re an impeccable learner, and Jungkook thinks that he didn’t need to guide you at all with the way you’re doing everything just right. Or maybe it’s his love-sick mind that makes everything feel infinitely better. Maybe other guys wouldn’t like it—but his heart only drops when the thought arrives. He wanted to be the only person that could feel your mouth this way.

Your tongue is working hard when it continues to slobber against his cock. And he doesn’t know if you’re doing it on purpose, but you’re messy when you vacuum your cheeks—spit pooling at the sides of your mouth when you bob your head up and down. All Jungkook can feel is your mouth, and beads of sweat are already accumulating at his hairline while his breathing turns uneven with the only things escaping his lips are moans and groans.

You’re enjoying the way that Jungkook looks like he’s slowly losing control of himself and his tongue. All he’s doing is moaning, even the grip in your hair tightens when he unconsciously pushes your head further down on his cock. You realised that sucking dick wasn’t that theoretical as you thought it was. You were simply observant, gauged what made Jungkook’s breath hitch, what he didn’t react much to—and you knew for a fact that he appreciated the slobber.

And the spit. And the squelches of your lips meeting his cock. You did, too. It’s almost embarrassing to admit, but you were drenched just by observing Jungkook’s reactions. That only spurs you on further when you work harder, hand reaching down to cup his balls as you hear Jungkook release a breathy whimper. The sound immediately shoots to your core as you let out a moan of your own.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “You’re fucking evil.”

He’s breathlessly laughing, but you don’t let it hinder your actions. If anything, his words drive you further when you push his cock further into the cavern of your mouth, the gasp leaving his lips a sign that he probably didn’t expect that. You feel his stomach clench when you continue to bob your head up and down, and you’re giving yourself a mental pat on the back at the way you’re able to labour your own breathing through your nose. You were a natural if you did say so yourself.

“M’ gonna cum,” he mumbles through a moan, hand tightening around your hair as you take that as a sign to squeeze his balls harder. His hips jerk, hitting the back of your throat that has you briefly gagging around his cock. The visual and the sound sends Jungkook into overdrive, his balls feeling heavier by the second and in desperate need of release. He wants to apologise, but you don’t seem to mind with the way you continue to hollow your cheeks and function around his length.

“Where can I—fuck—where can I cum?” He rushes his words out, shallowly thrusting into your mouth as you hum around his cock.

He pulls out by pushing you back with a firm palm on your shoulder as your eyes widen, and when he’s shooting ropes of cum onto your face as it drips down your neck. You weren’t sure if he was supposed to cum that much, but it keeps on coming as you sit there obediently with your mouth open, in case it lands anywhere else. Jungkook’s groaning above you as he jerks himself off through the last bits of his orgasm, his hazy eyes darkening further when he spots the white that paints your face.

“I thought guys liked it if we swallowed?” You tilt your head to the side and Jungkook thinks he’s about to die.

“You’re actually going to kill me if you do that. So no. Not today.” He snorts, relaxing back into the couch as his post-nut clarity starts to hit him. He stares at the ceiling, feeling immensely satiated.

“This is like a facial at the spa,” you mention off-handedly as you climb up between his thighs, cum still staining your face. And Jungkook can’t believe it, but he thinks you look so cute painted with his cum. It’s a primal instinct the way that his eyes linger longer, feeling territorial with the way that he’s the only one that gets to see you like this.

“You’re so weird,” he snickers but you pout at him. And you do the next thing that gives Jungkook a heart attack.

Your tongue swipes over your lips where some cum remains, and even if his cock is flaccid—he feels it twitch in interest.

“Not bad. A little salty but overall … meh,” you shrug your shoulders as Jungkook gawks at you.

“You …” he trails off, “God.”

You smile up at him, all innocent as if you didn’t just give him the suck of his life—as your first time sucking dick.

“So? How was it?” You ask eagerly, leaning into his chest. He wants to ask about the cum that’s drying on your face, but you don’t seem to mind. You were so weird, but that only makes his heart grow fonder.

“Do you conduct feedback sessions after every blowjob?” He asks sarcastically.

You roll your eyes, “Do you want me to? I mean—I could offer my services elsewhere—”

Jungkook pinches your hip in retaliation, the insinuation making him growl as you snicker. He can only stare at you in amusement, especially when you’re still grinning up at him. Gone was the shy girl that proposed this, even if he noticed the flush on your cheeks and on the tip of your ears. It was insane how you took a one-eighty, but Jungkook appreciated it. He appreciated you.

“Ten out of ten. Magnificent. Absolutely life-changing. Thought I saw the gates of heaven for a second.” He teases.

You roll your eyes but a small smile appears on your face as you glance down to fiddle with your fingers. Jungkook can only stare at you, and he can’t fully describe this feeling but his heart feels so … full. So completed, even if you sucked his dick. He’s always felt this way, but there was something about you being wrapped in his arms after you had his dick in your mouth that made Jungkook go crazy. Crazy enough for him to blurt out the next thing on his mind.

“I want to be with you.” He blurts.

Your eyes dart up in shock as they widen. But Jungkook is as resolute as ever, a dopey grin still on his face.

“W-What?” You stutter.

He reaches for your hand, still slightly sticky with the slick from his cock but he doesn’t care. Not when you intertwine your fingers with his so seamlessly, so easily like you were meant to do so.

“I want to be with you. In whatever way you want to have me.” He murmurs, peering straight into your eyes.

Your heart stutters in your chest as you try to find the words to respond with. But you can’t. Your mind is still recovering from what you just did, and your heart is soaring. But there’s a part of you that’s hesitant. You knew it was unfair, for making Jungkook wait—but you were still scared. You were scared that he’d get bored of you, or what the two of you share one day. He may be ready to leave it all behind, but you don’t think you could deal with having to say goodbye to Jungkook in that way.

And it’s as if he can read your hesitation, he brings your intertwined hands to his lips before pressing a kiss to your knuckles, eyes still soft when they remain on your frozen state,

“I’ll wait,” he says softly, “For as long as you need me to. Until you’re ready.”

“J-Jungkook …” you mumble, flustered when you look away.

He nudges his nose against your cheek, pressing a smile to your jaw as you hum in embarrassment.

“I fucked up.” He says. You’re about to interrupt but he seems to have his own things to say. “I said things that hurt you. I did things that hurt you and I can’t ever forgive myself for that. I know you’re not punishing me and I never once thought that way. Even if that isn’t the case, the least I can do is wait. Not only because of what I did but because no matter what—I want to do this right this time.”

He looks up to you and his gaze is so earnest that it makes the words get trapped in your throat while you stare at him.

He smiles, soft and gentle when he rubs a thumb across your cheek.

“I’m serious about this. About you. Even if you decide that you don’t want this or that your feelings have changed … I’ll still be here.”

Jungkook takes your breath away as you gape at him. The silence he leaves you with only makes you reaffirm your stance on how you feel for him. Yet, you can’t give him an answer now. Not when your mind still remains hesitant, and Jungkook didn’t deserve hesitant. Even if he’s hurt you—he didn’t deserve your confusion. Neither of you did.

You lean into him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. It’s intimate this way, the way that his cum dries on your face and that his dick is still out. It’s almost funny, but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way. He’d wait—for as long as he had to. And he’d do it over and over again, for you.

[logophilescriptor]

Remembering your teenage days is such a conflict, remembering your teenage days is like, I love how proudly you wear your hearts on your sleeve but I also worry how easily you let it get carried away, it's like as an adult I don't have the courage that you did while being honest about your love, but I also have the courage to speak up about things you were too afraid to acknowledge, I love how you embrace your vulnerability but I also loathe how impulsive you were.

Remembering your teenage self is like, I love how you wrote letters to your friends but I hate how you failed to recognise that you should've written some to yourself as well, it's like I love how bravely you wear the compliments and but I hate how foolishly you reduce your worth based on other's conception of you, I love how easily you believed people but I also hate how you couldn't see the fine line between believing and being manipulated, I love how you trusted people and have faith on others but I hate how easy it was for you, and how you didn't have faith in yourself.

Remembering your teenage self is like, oh my sweet summer child you didn't deserve to go through all that but why didn't you see the signs my love? It's like, if I could I would embrace you and protect you from all the things that are to come, but maybe sometimes I'm this close to putting a dagger through your heart. It's like smiling at how you were so vocal about your feelings but also frowning on how you filtered the things that actually mattered, it's like oh dear child you should've lived life a little more before you lost your teenage days, but it's also why were you so adamant on growing up, look how it destroyed you.

Remembering your teenage self is like, I want to, I really want to forgive you for taking the wrong decisions, for trusting the wrong people, for choosing the wrong road but how do I forgive you if I keep seeing the consequences even to this day? It's like, I really want to hold you and tell you it was not your fault, how the world perceived you was beyond your control, but I know there were mistakes of yours that maybe you could've prevented from happening.

I guess it all comes to what Taylor Swift and Phoebe Bridgers said, "I know someday I'm gonna meet her, it's a fever dream, The kind of radiance you only have at 17" because my teenage self, that radiance of 17, I wish you basked in that warmth before trying to kill it too soon, "She'll know the way, and then she'll say she got the map from me, I'll say I'm happy for her, then I'll cry myself to sleep" because if I meet you I would smile at your naivety before crying for the hell you were going to endure.

Remembering my teenage self is like, for whatever's worth you survived, for whatever's worth you know who you are, who you want to be, who meant what to you, for whatever's worth, I'm proud of you that you stayed, that you didn't give up, that you are alive.

[daniclaytcn]

would you ever consider doing a colouring tutorial?

hi! i really don't have the time to do a tutorial of my current process (and plus i keep changing it all the time anyway so i'm not sure how useful it would be) but i did this tutorial (pls view on web) almost a year back that covers the basics. i can give you some more pointers under the cut!

so as is probably obvious, i don't use the same coloring style as i did in that tutorial anymore, but i think its still a good guide to get you started, and plus the steps i've mentioned, here are some of the things i like to do:

i now use two curve layers instead of one; i duplicate the original curves layer and reduce the opacity as needed, just to keep the gif as bright as possible.

gradient maps. these aren't just useful for giving your gif a splash of color, i now use one or two gradient maps in most sets - one layer set to black and white at soft light and one layer set to grey and white at soft light. i keep the opacities of these layers low; preferably around 50% and keep lowering them depending on if the scene is already dark. this is a great way to add contrast, make your gif look sharper and less pixelated, and the grey to white layer really enhances the whites!

photo filters. these are also really a great way to give your gif a more unique look! i like to have a photo filter layer to some cool color - blue or purple - and then i lower the opacity to around 50% again and set it to hue blending mode. then, sometimes i duplicate the layer, lower the opacity even more - maybe to about 30% - and then set it to screen (note: if you followed my tip on having multiple curve layers, don't add the second photo filter layer - instead, try moving your second curve layer directly above the first photo filter). you can see examples of me using this technique here and here.

selective color layers. depending on what colors are present in the gif (while giffing 911, for example, blue is a very prevalent color), i like to have multiple selective color layers to enhance the colors that are already there and make them look as vibrant as possible; layers for cyan and blue; yellow and green; majenta, and so on. also be sure to use plenty of selective colors on red to balance out skin tones of the characters - especially poc!

i think that's about it! if you have any questions, feel free to ask and i'll do my best to help you out! 💕

[druck-in-love]

Okeyy here it is!! I decided to put together a step by step (gif) coloring tutorial where i list the layers i use and how i've so far made them work for me.

I've been giffing for 2 years now (i'm using PS CC2019, the example pics are in finnish but icons and placements should be the same) but it's an ongoing learning process.

My coloring style is quite natural, i don't do fancy stuff often and i mostly just want the colors to look as true to real as possible but better than originally. And for this kind of style i've found the steps below working for me.

I also don't have any base psds or anything that i'd often use. I always start the coloring for each set from the scratch because, to me, it's the most fun part of giffing. I have 6 layers I use every time and then some random additional ones that i often add too. None of this is me saying what you should do, this all just me explaining what i do and hopefully this can be helpful to someone.

Ok ok time to get to the point so:

1. Curves

I always, like literally always, start with this layer

Sometimes i just drag the line upwards to brighten the gif but very often i use the eyedropper tool

Choose the white tool, pick the whitest (but not 100% white coz then it won't do anything) spot and it will make that the whitest part of the gif. It also works great at correcting the colors, sometimes you need to try multiple different spots to get the best result

The black dropper tool works the same way, only opposite, so clicking on the darkest spot you make that the blackest part of the gif

If the effect is good but a bit too much, you can lower the opacity of the layer, or the other way, so if it did well but not enough then duplicate the layer

Example: the difference between the left and right photo is 2 clicks and this, my dudes, is why i worship curves. I chose the white eyedropper tool and clicked on that light spot visible in the water, then i chose the black eyedropper and clicked on fatou’s hair and that’s it. Needs more work, but that’s a pretty allright (and easy!!) start (zoom to see better)

2. Levels

I drag the left and right sliders a bit to the center to get contrast (left ~5-20, right ~240)

The eyedroppers work on this layer pretty much the same way as in curves, but i'm more used to using them only with curves

3. Black and white gradient map

I set the blending mode to soft light and lower the opacity to ~10-30 %, this brings some depth to the colors imo

4. Vibrance

I usually add ~20-60, it really varies tho and you can just wing it most times

5. Exposure

I set the top one (exposure) to 0,1 - 0,2 and bottom one (gamma) to 0,97 - 0,90. This is an effective layer so better not do too much

6. Color balance

Owing my life to this layer

I add this layer at around this point of coloring but i drag it to be the bottom layer, since when it's under the rest of the layers it's more effective

In the midtones, i always drag the bottom slider towards blue, something as small as +2 might work, sometimes you need to go +15 or so. I might drag the middle slider slightly to the left to reduce the green tones, and the top one on either side depending on the tone of the gif

Example: this one doesn’t have any of those other 5 coloring layers i always use so it needs more work but also it shows how effective color balance is. I added more blue than normally, at least with one layer, but this one needed it imo. Love to see the green go whoosh

At this point the coloring might be done (jk it likely isn’t) but if it needs some more work then i might try one or some/all of these:

7. Photofilter

I mostly use either warm orange filter to bring some warmness to the colors or cold blue filter to correct yellow/green/red tones

8. Hue/saturation

I choose red and drag the middle slider (saturation) to -5 to -20, this helps to reduce the orange/unnatural skintones

Example:

9. Selective color

Playing around with whichever color i want to add or reduce, if i feel like the gif needs more contrast i choose neutral and/or black and drag the bottom (black) color to the right.

If sometimes the whites are too blinding, i choose white and then the bottom option (black) and drag it to the right ~10 -20.

If the skintones are too yellowish, i choose yellow and go -40 / -40 / -80 and leave the blacks at 0. If it does too much, i lower the opacity of the layer, or in case i want it to be more, i duplicate the layer

Example: (zoom and cry happy tears over the ugley yellowness being gone)

10. Gradient map

For example blue-white gradient to get to colder tones, yellow-white to brighten/soften the colors or smth like pink-blue if you want to get fancier (the options are limitless tbh)

I set these to soft light and lower the opacity, usually to less than 40%

If i want the color to strongly affect the entire gif, then i leave the blending mode to normal or choose color

11. Brightness

Adding this if some more brightness is needed (i don't use the contrast option here but go to levels instead, if needed)

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Tips with poc!!

Some things i've found to be helpful when wanting to bring color back to the skintone after brightening or other adjustments have taken some of it away:

a. Check the points 8 & 9

In selective coloring choosing neutral or black and then black in them and dragging it to the right helps to darken the skintone

Try choosing red or yellow and then yellows or blacks in them and dragging the slider either to the left or right, depending if you want to add or reduce the yellow/red tone

Honestly the best advice i can give with selective coloring is to just simply play around, choose a color, drag them sliders to the left 'n right and see what happens

b. Go to channel mixer and add a little bit of red (+101-105)

c. Add levels or contrast or vibrance layer

d. Choose a warm colored photo filter

e. Be careful with exposure and too much brightness

_________

Soooo yeah, these are the layers i use, sometimes you can't do everything with the same layer so for example i might add one or two more curves to get brightness, or multiple selective coloring layers or add another color balance etc.

Generally i like to do small changes with one layer and not everything all at once.

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As for when saving the gif for web, these are my settings. I translated the one’s that aren’t obvious but everything else i’m assuming doesn’t need translating since this view always looks the same.

I use diffusion 90% the time, but when it doesn’t look quite right i try pattern. And sometimes when the gif has been really dark originally (😩) and has needed tons of brightening layers, noise might be the best option.

At the bottom i have the quality set as “bicubic”.

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So that’s it! If you made it this far, thank you, ily <3 Lots of stuff i’ve learned along the way and lots of stuff to be learned. Hoping that maybe you got to learn something from my way of coloring, too. And if not, thanks for reading anyway 😌✌🏻