#but pasting the palette in a layer and pulling from there it was actually the right color

[pearl-kite]

the way you're using these palettes is sooo stunning and making me want to paint too 👀 would you perhaps indulge me with a kai ken in hunter eyes? 👉👈

Oooh man I love brindle coats, they're so cool (★‿★)

[hyunebunx]

DENI!!! i've been a little bit out of here 😣😣 but i received the notif of your post......... the soft thought ( more like domestic details, which i love ) is painting hyune's nails. you do not know how to properly do it, because the nail polish always lands on the skin surrounding the nail, and even if you try to do a desing, like a little flower w a couple of points, it ends up all messed up. imagine a quiet afternoon, after watching some tv show, all cozy and warm, and he offers you his nails to practise a little bit. even if you mess it up again, he might actually paint yours and try to follow the same messed up pattern to go matching 🥺

⁺ 𖹭 . genre: fluff and even more fluff!!

⁺ 𖹭 . a/n: MARS!! i wrote this in one go, istg this is the cutest idea ever :( thank you for helping me and letting me write soft hyune fluff, this fixed me fr. i hope you enjoy, my love <333

“Can I do it?” You ask, eyeing his clean nails as Hyunjin reaches up to fix his face mask before doing the same with yours, making sure neither of your headbands fell too low on your foreheads.

“Hm?” He hums, smoothing the thin layer of the sheet mask on your already smooth skin, smiling once your eyes meet. “Do what?”

“Your nails.” You nod towards them, catching one of his hands and bringing it to your lips to peck the back of it, much to his displeasure as the action moves the mask around your face awkwardly. Even so, he was so close to you on the tiny couch that you could feel his heart beating wildly, betraying his true feelings.

Hyunjin tries not to smile too brightly as he nods, fondness clear as day in brown eyes even in the dim light of the living room. “Knock yourself out, baby.” He was never one to reject you, no matter how silly or out of pocket your requests were. Hyunjin would move mountains for you, after all, if that meant you’d be happy forever and keep smiling for him until the day he took his last breath.

The tv ran idly in the background, a rerun of one of your favorite shows as you got to work, gently placing both of your boyfriend’s hands in your lap. His small collection of nail polish was laid before you on the coffee table, accompanied by a file, a bag of cotton pads and nail polish remover. Just in case, you know.

Gently taking one of his hands, you subconsciously intertwine your fingers together as you look over the bottles, brainstorming. Hyunjin takes this moment of silence as an opportunity to reach over and turn on one of lamps by the couch, providing you with more light.

“What are you thinking?” His voice is low, not wanting to disturb you, softly pulling his hand away to massage your palm instead.

“Ladybug nails.”

“What?” He laughs, scooting closer.

You nod, reaching for the bottle of red nail polish. Not like you had many options to begin with, Hyunjin’s palette was limited – something you’d never thought you’d say.

“Your nails are always so dark, I was thinking of doing a cute design for a change.”

He arches a dark brow. “You could use white.”

You pause, tearing your gaze from the bottle to stare at him blankly. “Ladybugs aren’t white.”

The laugh that escapes him has your heart double in size, feeling all warm and fuzzy as he throws his head back in genuine amusement, finding you even more endearing than usual. “Alright, ladybug, do whatever you please. I’ll stop interfering.”

And he keeps his promise, quiet as a mouse as you begin painting his nails, attention stolen by the tv and the snacks you’ve prepared for your weekly movie night. Hyunjin has mastered the art of eating with a face mask on, no crumb landing anywhere near and messing it up. There was nothing he couldn’t do, it seemed.

You’re almost done with his one hand when he slowly reaches to remove your face mask, joining his on a napkin on the table. Usually, he’d also massage the remaining serum into your skin but you could tell he didn’t want to bother you from your new favorite past time. A past time you weren’t particularly skilled in, the nail polish getting everywhere around his nail and even on your clothes, staining the material.

“Uh…” Hyunjin turns to you, wondering why you were sounding so disheartened. “I think I messed up.”

Bringing his hand to eye level, Hyunjin studies your work curiously, analyzing every brush stroke and the big, blotchy black spots that were supposed to be polka dots. The colors were everywhere, on his cuticles and even further down to his knuckles. You’ve mostly stuck to the area around the nail so he couldn’t understand how a black spot managed to go that far.

“Baby, are the ladybugs trying to escape?” He smiles, holding back laughter.

You pout and he leans over to plant smooches on both of your cheeks, trying to make you feel better. “Don’t make fun of me, I tried my best.”

Hyunjin nods, grabbing the black polish from your hand. “I can see that.” Without warning, he starts applying it down his index finger in a strange pattern, causing your mouth to fall open in shock. “And it looks great, love.”

You knew he was lying to try and make you feel better, there was no way he actually thought that.

Biting down on his plush bottom lip, he eventually puts the brush away and gets a hold of your hand before pressing the back of his onto yours, squeezing lightly. You’re so confused that no words escape you, wondering if this was his way of getting back at you for messing up his nails and getting his hand all dirty.

“Done!” He beams, looking so much younger with his hair all pushed back and bare face, cozy and cuddly in his soft pajamas. “Now we match.”

Looking down, you realize the pattern he drew on himself was now on your hand too, tiny lines and spots resembling even tinier footsteps. A ladybug’s footsteps. Or tracks, actually.

Forget beating, your heart almost bursts out of your chest and latches onto him, first his cheek and then plump lips, smooching the area before intertwining with his own and running away together like two forbidden lovers. Hyunjin brought so much needed light into your life, you could barely believe he was real and not a fragment of your rich imagination.

“The ladybug that ran away from my nail has found its way home to you.” He finally laughs, eyes two crescent moons. “It’s silly, please forgive me.”

“Silly?” You blurt out, dragging him by the hand just so he can fall into your waiting arms, hugging him tightly. “It’s only silly if you don’t actually draw a cute ladybug on my hand now.” His arms sneak around your middle, face hiding in your chest as yours move over his shoulders, breathing in the scent of him.

“Only if you do my other hand.” He murmurs, placing a linger kiss right above your beating heart.

You can’t help but grin, thankful for having such a kind person by your side. “Deal!”

[benjaminthewolf]

Internal Glow (Vore Story)

HAPPY VORE DAY!

I'm probably not coming back because I'm moving into my college dorms in a little over a week and then it's back to school. But I am here with you now to celebrate this special day!

I can't wait to see all your interpretations of this piece!

      The feral, beastly winds of the winter sink a snap of icy fangs into the twitching fingers of your tiny body whilst you grasp, in rigid agony, the curved surface of the screw’s head. A surface caked wholly in a layer of snow and ice, searing the stinging burn of their bitter frigidity deep into the skin of your palm, and down your forearm.

     Forcing an acceptance of the pain’s presence in order to wrench the frozen screw counterclockwise, you close your eyes and grunt whilst gathering your remaining energy into the tingling forearm. The screw makes a sort of metallic scraping sound as it grinds around within its socket.

    Reality roars into both your numbed, solid ears, while flurries of snow-and-ice-packed winds surge onto your being from the left. As if intent on hauling you up and among them, carrying your defeated, spasming form to the drift it would settle to die.

      You yank out the now sufficiently loosened screw, and drop it into the snow where it would meet with its three companions. The cover of the air duct clangs to the ground, the tunnel now open to you.

     You’re instantly pushed by your instincts to shove your quivering body inside, causing the external screams of the wind to give way to the jolt of an internal, tightening warmth. 

***

     Cautiously sliding your hand sideways through the leftmost slit of this new air duct cover, which stood between you and the house’s interior, your still chilled, yet better dexterous fingers tap their tips onto the screw head. The final one to unscrew, no less. You extend your arm further past the cover, in order to firmly grasp the metallic hemisphere. Twisting your wrist counterclockwise, you can feel the screw rising out of place, before pulling it out the remainder of the way. Finally, the screw falls to the carpet, and you slide your arm and hand back through the slit.          

     This duct cover makes a far softer landing onto the dark purple shag carpet, before you enter at last into the room. 

     It appears to be space and alien themed, with a color palette of dark purple, black, and bright green. The blanket on the bed, and many posters on the walls, contain the classic symbol of an alien head: bright green, and guitar-pick shaped, with black, almond-shaped eyes.

     You take a few steps forwards, pondering as to what, exactly, you’re going to do now.

     *THWACK*

     “Wh-ah-.....” the owner of the room stammers in sudden bewilderment, standing in front of the newly wide open door. You know he’s the owner, as the very same alien symbol is present on his black t-shirt. 

     As the stand-off continues, you take the opportunity to vehemently scrutinize the man’s appearance, as to add him to your records of the people you have encountered over the years.

     A purple striped long-sleeved shirt lies underneath his black t-shirt, and he wears a pair of glasses with purple rims and red lenses. His skin is pure white, his teeth are sharp and jagged; and his upwards pointing, somewhat spiky, jet-black hair has hot pink dyed tips. 

     His yellow eyes with black sclera narrow in building rage. 

     Your body stands unable to respond.

     “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK ARE YOU DOING IN MY ROOM?”

     Your eyes dart around in their sockets, searching vigorously for a good place to hide. In doing so, you note the sign taped onto the now-visible front of the door, telling you that, whoever this man is, his name is, (or at least he calls himself), “MJ 182”.

     “YOU…YOU! No. Nah. You know what?”

     MJ 182’s abrupt drop in volume sends a jostle of terror through your nerves.

     “GET’CH’YO ASS OVER HERE YOU PUNY LITTLE SHIT!”

     And thus, your body chooses flight.

     Jerking down onto all fours, your limbs propel you past MJ 182 and into the white carpeted hallway, following the sprinting motions of a wild mouse. Thrusting your arms outwards as your legs finish launching you forth, the slight amount of airtime you experience gives you the moments you need to haul your arms back towards your chest.

     “HEY! GET BACK HERE!” 

     You sense MJ 182 calling out behind you before heavy, rushing footsteps pound out the door. With them progressively gaining volume as time continues, it then becomes apparent that running away is no longer an option.

     Heaving your head upwards, your peripheral vision examines the states of the wooden doors on both sides of you. A slight crack in one door on the left lurches your attention to it, dragging your form behind as a result.

     Skidding to a halt on the dark red striped carpet once hidden behind the door’s shape, you soon hear MJ 182 sprinting past. Thus, you spend a few seconds hunched over, hands on your knees, simply catching your breath. Until the door creaks open and a looming shadow shrouds your field of view.

     Your body chooses freeze, and you find yourself unable to breathe. A pure white hand wraps its fingers around you to hoist you up off the floor. Your being gives a spasm as you brace to meet MJ 182’s furious, poignant face.

     A face bearing a tender, sympathetic gaze meets your frail form instead.

     “...who are you?” the face asks, with a smooth, soft, and gentle tone of voice. 

     “...why are you so cold?” it continues, with discernible rising concern.

     The face bears a pair of round, pink glasses, and a large purple hat with two long strips of cloth at each side. Two yellow strings dangle at the end of each strip, and atop the hat are two yellow horns. A light blue stripe lies upon the hat’s brim, under which hangs strands of jet-black hair.

     “Hey…I’m KC Glow.” The man eventually introduces himself. His other hand, retreated inside the long sleeve of his dark red striped hoodie-sweater which he wore backwards, rises up to give you a cautious stroke. “You were probably caught out in the winter storm…here, I’ll try to warm you up.”

     With that, KC Glow begins blowing humid air onto you from his dark purple mouth, before his sweater-covered palm delicately rubs itself over your body. With each huff, the steamy mist sinks deeper into your skin, ensconcing you within its breadth.

     A wavering exhale shivers out of your lungs, the tension in your muscles releasing.

     “KC GLOW? DID YOU SEE ANYTHING ENTER YOUR ROOM?”

     In the following moments, KC Glow’s instincts take over. With his eyes and sense of time both dilating in tandem, the palm that holds your being flies forwards, flinging you en route to his widened mouth. The instant a heavy weight lands on his tongue, his jaws click together.

     Suddenly, you are consciously aware of your situation. Gazing silently upon the rough ridges on KC Glow’s hard palate, while sprawled out on your back in immobilizing shock, you eventually turn your head to the right. Resting it upon the heated, squishy, dark purple tongue, you start becoming more attentive to the natural heat within the fleshy chamber. A voice then calls from outside.

     “KC GLOW?” MJ 182’s voice, lowered in both volume and intensity, repeats the man’s name. The door squeaks open as he enters the room.

     “Uh…eauh…no…I didt ee aythin…” KC Glow stammers in response, doing his best to not move his tongue or open his lips significantly.

     You press your back deep into the warm, pillowy muscle.

     “...what?” MJ 182 responds with genuine confusion.

     KC Glow’s jaws internally stretch as far as they can before his tongue swings to the right, dropping you into his right cheek. The slick, malleable pocket of dark purple muscle bulges outwards. KC Glow immediately attempts to suck in his cheek as close to his jaws as is comfortable for you.

     “I said I didn’t see anything!”

     You attempt to stand up as straight as possible in the curved pouch, your feet stabilizing you against KC Glow’s lower gum line. 

     MJ 182 raises an eyebrow just slightly. The sudden enlargement of the cheek hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. “Hey, what’s that in your cheek?”

     “What?” KC Glow asks in palpable discomfort.

     “Yeah, I saw that happen!” MJ 182’s voice raises in a subtle, accusatory tone. “What was that?”

     “...........air.”

     MJ 182’s eyebrows drop to his narrowed eyes. “Really, now?”

     With MJ 182 making his suspicions very obvious, reality slugs you in the face. You won’t be able to hide in here for much longer. The second KC Glow’s mouth was pried opened, it would be all over, probably for the both of you. 

     Left with literally no other option, your eyes begin to shift towards KC Glow’s dark purple pharynx.

     “Say aaaaah.”

     Thus, it became your turn for time to dilate around you.

     Crouching down and leaping through the gap between KC Glow’s jaws, your body rebounds upon the springy, sleek surface of the tongue. Swiveling around midair towards the back of KC Glow’s throat, the subsequent bounce launches your momentum forwards, resulting in a collision with the man’s bulbous, dangling, dark purple uvula. Gravity drags you to the ground near the root of the tongue, the uvula swinging frantically above you, where you’re able to gaze into KC Glow’s laryngopharynx below. The front of your face can just barely detect the short, heavy breaths heaving in and out the man’s lungs through his larynx. His vocal cords almost appear tightened from inability to respond to MJ 182.

     Shoving your arms up underneath your chest, you push the weight of your being forwards, and watch as the epiglottis flops over the laryngeal inlet whilst the pharyngeal constrictor muscles slip you past the upper esophageal sphincter.

     And then, everything was over.

     “Come on, buddy. Open up. You don’t have anything to hide in there, do you?”

     “No!”

     “Then open up!”

     That's when KC Glow became aware that you’re no longer inside his mouth. Yet, with his top priority at the moment being getting MJ 182 off his case, he opens it up. Any and all thoughts and emotions about this fact would have to wait until later.

     MJ 182 shoves his face right up to the thing, to find… nothing. Eyes narrowing in instantaneous disbelief, he steps back to angle his view towards KC Glow’s left cheek pouch. Empty. Then his right cheek pouch. Empty as well.

     “Push your tongue all the way out.” he orders. 

     KC Glow obliges.

     Glaring zealously down at KC Glow’s pharynx, his tonsils, larynx, and epiglottis all on full display, MJ 182 spends twenty-three seconds strenuously examining the area. Only to come up empty, again.

     Steadily pulling back his mellowed, yet flabbergasted face, he merely stands still for a few seconds, dumbfounded to his very core.

     “Dang. I…guess I was wrong.”

     Within the resulting silence, KC Glow detects something relatively large and bulky squelching its way down his esophagus.

     “I uh…wow. Sorry about that, man.” MJ 182 continues. Realizing seconds later that KC Glow is still in shock from the whole situation, he turns towards the door, instead of waiting for a response. “I’m just gonna leave you alone now.” he concludes before turning the doorknob, walking out, and closing the door behind him.

     Halfway down KC Glow’s esophagus, you realize you are finally safe.

     Your body huffs out a shudder whilst the esophageal muscles behind you contract. The muscles in front of you simultaneously relax, squeezing you further down towards KC Glow’s stomach.

     And yet, that fact doesn’t scare you at all.

     Why would it?

     KC Glow on the outside, meanwhile, finally processes the situation.

     “Uh………are you ok in there?” he pulls himself together sufficiently enough to ask.

     It’s a little difficult to hear him since you’ve slipped into his chest region by now, causing his heart rate to boom through your form, but you nonetheless attempt to assure him that you feel perfectly safe at the moment.

     “Great! Should I get you out now?” There is a rising undertone of panic present in his voice.

     In an effort to quench this panic, you assure KC Glow with full confidence that you’re going to be perfectly fine.

     The instant your words hit KC Glow’s brain, he jostles in a horrified stun, his brain crackling and staggering in error as it fails to process your words. His nervous system frazzles with confusion and uncertainty. Instinct, intuition, and rationality all come to the same consensus. He inhales a labored breath in an attempt to say something about the danger you’re in, semi-voluntarily lifting a finger as he does. Only to realize after that he has absolutely no idea what to say. Or how to say it.

      Deep inside KC Glow’s dark purple esophagus, a subtle grin of comfort forms on your face as you soak in the tactile sensation of the cushiony esophageal walls which squeeze in against your being before releasing. The rhythmic squelching presses the walls’ natural heat and glossy texture against your skin. Though of course, you know it’s only a matter of time before the esophagus would drop you to your ultimate destination.

     A deep, echoey gurgle releases somewhere below you, and you give a nod of acknowledgment that that time is soon approaching. 

     KC Glow, meanwhile, remains locked in incapacity to wrap his head around your current behavior. Your profound, unwavering confidence in your safety. Any possible logic, any possible interpretation, anything that would make it all make sense. He simply can’t find it.

     “But…how?! How are you so sure you’ll be ok?!” he eventually yelps out, the tension and worry even stronger in his voice. He sits himself down upon the edge of his light red blanketed bed, just in case his sense of balance fails him.

     You almost feel sorry that KC Glow doesn’t know. But you know. You always know. Unable to provide him the full answer, you simply insist he trust you on this. 

     KC Glow senses a twinge in his heart. For a while, the muscle beats at allegro. His vocal cords quiver with well foreseen inarticulacy. What to do in this situation is something entirely lost to him.

     Eventually, however, he resigns himself to silence as he scoots himself into the wall which his bed lies against. He places a sweater-covered hand over his abdominal region, and braces himself for the worst. His heart settles back to moderato. 

     Grounded upon this slow, steady tempo, the low-tone stomach below provides a rumbling melody. Improvised solos of growls and gurgles periodically interject. Occasionally, a high-pitched note is reached, before the peak gives way to the valley once more.

     At last, the lower esophageal sphincter enters your view. The instant your head is squeezed out, you can see that KC Glow’s stomach walls, like the rest of his digestive system, are colored dark purple. Finally, the rest of your body slips beyond the esophagus, and you plunge into the juices below.

     KC Glow convulses as he senses the resulting splash. His stomach begins sloshing and churning more actively, and gives an audible growl from the outside.

     “I-” KC Glow’s eyes begin to well up as the reality of the situation fully kicks in. “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! ARE YOU ALIVE?” tears begin to stream down his cheeks as the prospect of receiving no answer ruthlessly overwhelms his mind and senses.

     “Yeah I’m alive!” you respond. 

     Why wouldn’t you be?

     Standing within the pool of harmless stomach juices, you begin to wade your way over to the stomach walls.

     “B-But aren’t you questioning why the liquids aren’t digesting you? ‘Cause I am! Why is it not digesting you? How-how is this working? WHY? HOW?” KC Glow cries with a strained, shaky voice.

     Sealed within KC Glow’s stomach, you are only able to shrug your shoulders. 

     You knew how it worked. You just never questioned why it worked. Why would you question it? What would the point even be?

     You tell KC Glow that there’s no point in questioning it, as you lie yourself down against the squishy, cushiony walls.

     “.....so you’re going to be ok?” a wholly defeated KC Glow squeaks out.

     Snuggling up against the goopy, churning walls of his stomach, you assure KC Glow that you’re both perfectly fine, and extremely comfortable.

     You nuzzle your head into the warm, pillowy, shifting smooth muscles, before rubbing them over with your hands, hoping this will help him calm down. 

     “...I don’t understand how you can just…accept it. Even if you don’t get hurt.” KC Glow speaks up again. “Don’t you want to know why, and how this is happening? This goes against…everything we know, and you act like it’s completely normal! Like everyone knows that, how, and why this works! You should be getting scientists to do a case study on you! You could be famous! You could take partial credit for any scientific advances that happen from the scientific community understanding what’s happening right now!”

     With the gurgles echoing around your ears, and the stomach’s internal heat ensconcing your skin, you attempt to dissapear into the surrounding ambiance.

     “I was terrified for your life, and you acted like you expected me to act the same as you! Don’t you understand how-” KC Glow’s speech halts. 

     “No…no…that’s enough from me. That’s more than enough.” you can sense deep regret in his voice.

     “Please forget I said anything at all! You just wanted to get comfortable after getting through a life-or-death situation, and now I’m just…” a silent, steady flow of tears trickles from KC Glow’s tear ducts and onto the body of his sweater over his abdominal region. He places his two sweater-sleeve covered hands on top of the area.

     “I’m sorry…I’m so sorry!” he sobs audibly before his head falls straight into his chest. “This wasn’t supposed to happen! It wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

     Sinking deeper into KC Glow’s rumbling, cushiony stomach walls, you ponder what you could possibly say to make the poor man feel better.

[avery-gilman-scp-operative]

Shattered Remnants

Summary: Recollection of one of Avery's past missions, present in dream/flashback format. Focus: SCP 3004 and the Cétlaidí.

----

Any complaints from their exploration party by the early hour in which they are travelling are silenced by the understanding that this is a privileged sort of expedition. Few souls know of anything deeper than the surface layer of this file, and fewer still are permitted to interact with manifestations. ‘Avery’ is well aware of these facts as he lets the dread and excitement wash over him, fiddling with the pencils in their pocket to keep steady.

“Radios on,” The TL announces, pulling her mask on and motioning for the rest to copy. “Masks up.”

The old forest is beautiful, the traces of the historical fires and destruction only adding to the resplendence.Trees too thick and crowded for vehicles, canopies blocking out swathes of light like blackout curtains, traces of that sort of power linger, washing the scene in a surreal palette of colors. 

Deep breath, separate the sentiments from the rendering, he has to remind himself, taking out the color he can best pinpoint the sky to be at when it’s oscillating with a shimmer that suggests less true cognitohazard and more of a powerful aftermath of something so desperate to be perceived that the husk is still noticeable centuries later. Somewhere between light blue and lilac.

It isn’t silent, not with the thousands, tens of thousands, of cicadas, but it’s an unnatural pattern for them to be singing in, one that waxes and wanes so there are moments of perfect silence, broken by the synchronized screaming. The group’s steps noticeably lack this harmony.

“Freaky,” one of the Green Stags mutters. “They always do that?”

“Scared of a few bugs for keeping count?” another member taunts back. “Damn, Tanner, I didn’t figure you to be such a wimp.”

“Fuck off!”

“Eat shit.”

“Quiet on comms,” their lead snaps, visibly rolling her eyes. Avery is inclined to agree. “That’s just how it’s been for a while around here, right?” Her left hand pitches towards one of the doctors nearer to her, as though prompting to explain.

“Correct,” a new voice joins them on the frequency, “although it is unclear why, the cicadas of this forest have been confirmed to hold a nearly perfect unified song during prime-numbered years.”

“Any significance to that?”

“Not to the best of our knowledge, Agent Snipesoil, but it does not appear to be an indicator of danger.”

“Leftovers of the dying deity,” Tanner mutters.

“Neutralized deity, remember?” the taunter adds sardonically, “Officially speaking, Three-oh-oh-four is as gone as it can be.”

“Brannings, if you actually believe that shit,  I’m not even going to bother with hitting your funeral,” Tanner replies at the same time as the lead says “Quiet on snark, Brannings, Tanner.”

“Copy that, TL,” both say in response, even as Avery sees peripherally how they switch to making rude gestures at one another instead.

Another thirty minutes pass of walking, mostly silent on the radio. Members close enough to one another to whisper do so, and the few times Avery finds themselves needing to speak with the MTF, sign suffices. The gradually lightening sky is more of a guide to him than the clock for how long they’ve been moving.  

“Forty paces ahead,” TL tells them when above is almost periwinkle-pink, adding, “Gilman, you’re gonna be needed up front soon.” Avery nods, hopping over the irregular dirt floor and weaving around several agents to catch up. Times like these, the job doesn’t feel like it’s about the Foundation, just the discovery, the recording of it. The artistic merit of the work, so to speak.

“Remember,” one of the researchers, shorter by a good head, adds, “The goal is not total recording, it is a sufficiently broad sample that we can bring back. Keep it to portable sizes.”

He gives a thumbs up before remembering the darkness of the forest and replying “Confirmed,” to be safe. Odd to remember how for most people, the pre-dawn light is insufficient, while Avery is still wearing their tinted glasses. 

As they reach the clearing, the traces begin to present themselves. Trees with rectangular indentations in them, emptied or damaged by previous personnel’s hands. Scatterings of light that line up exactly, no overlaps to speak of. Were they more paranoid, Avery would suggest that perhaps 3004 existed on both a separate plane and in their current one, simply beneath the Earth. For once, however, the paranoia is easily recognizable as absurd. If 3004 manifested again, after all, it would be far greater than the dying deity Father Clark’s report suggested.

“Just beyond the zig-zagging tree,” Snipesoil tells the group through the radio, followed shortly by the collective gasps and awed murmurs.

There’s no good descriptor in English, Avery realizes, having to settle on ones like ‘mesmerizing’ ‘resplendent’ ‘scintillating’ when he’ll have to write up his reports. It feels too monumentous to take in, surreal and almost alive.

The details stick out first in times like these for him, he’s learned, little bits of clarity against a smudged background in their memory. The sheer scale of the window takes second place to the level of detail put into each piece. 

Cicadas, dozens, hundreds, beautifully put together from glass, the long-extinct Cicadetta luculenta brought back to a new life in these depictions. Simplified for the medium, yes, but with clearly distinct eyes, wing patterns, details of the body, contrasted to the triangle that he suspects was intended to subtly pull at the idea of a halo-like effect. Each one the size of a human head, the remnants of a serpentine wall stacking well above them.

“Monumental,” someone next to him whispers, but Avery can’t bother to register their presence, pencil flying over paper frantically. He knows their own hands well enough to know that it’ll take a good six messy sketches before they’ll be able to draw the precise smooth lines that this will demand.

“I’ve seen it twice before and it still takes my breath away for a moment.” The TL’s voice now, level like an academic’s behind a lectern. “The dating varies piece by piece, as each separate unit was placed by a different set of hands.”

His hands are still shaking starting on the second sketch. A different voice asks “What’s the estimated date range?”

“Barring anomalous interference with our testing, the remnants we’ve found go from the early fifteenth century to the late nineteenth.” The wing is crooked. No time to fix, no time, paper almost tearing in his haste to capture the careful spots.

“Despite the Singers only having been here from the late-fifteenth century onwards?” The voice is skeptic, muffled somewhat by approaching steps of a new speaker.

“The sects have always existed, Doctor, you have to remember that. They travel, spread word, and bring over past traditions that evolve into then-contemporary ones.” Deeper, baritone, presumably Dr. Kehan. The curve of the wall now, messy, ruines, jagged edges of its cleaner breaks, pencil jumping with each breath.

“How was the century-long range even possible, then?”

“Within Singer society, a child’s transition into adulthood was signified by the loss of milk teeth. These, judging by the traces of human touch we’ve been able to isolate, appear to be commemorations of the process. Like a bat mitzvah, or a debutante ball, the transitional youth would render the cicada in glass, choose colors which held significance to them or their family perhaps, and then add their piece of the story to existing ones.” Pause. Messy, poor shading on the wall fragments. The TL’s bootfalls suggest she’s moving to the perimeter. “The really interesting thing is that analysis shows the glass itself to be non-anomalous, but there isn’t copper foil or lead binding it together. The binding is done instead by hair, skin, crushed up teeth -presumably those lost by the youth in question-, and their blood.”

“Fascinating.” The pencil snaps. Avery, without looking, shoves it into the empty pocket and pulls a replacement out of his other. The other voice sounds excited.

“Oh, you should see the other parts. There’s spots before they began to join the tokens together, where they would put the final work into a tree and let the tree weave around it.”

“Wouldn’t it cover the cicada?”

“That’s the thing! No, it doesn’t. It’s fascinating, really, but the influence of 3004 was strong enough to even hold sway over the trees themselves!”

A heavy sigh. “That’s not a good thing, you realize.”

“But it is incredible.”

“Fair.” Approaching footsteps, a hand put on his shoulder, moving in a way that he can track its path by the shadows. “Gilman, conjectures?”

He pulls himself out of the borderline-hypnotic thoughts about the stained glass itself. Their pencil jumps off the page.

“Currently nothing that registers as a memetic, thaumaturgical, cognitohazard, or any other sort of mental control that would not require in-person rituals or consent. There are lingering traces of draw and attraction within the remains, but that is moreso of an artistic compulsion, not an innately manipulative one. It can be studied, just pick people who are not art specialists for your composite analysis tests.”

“Noted. Any historical context?”

He doesn’t recall working with Dr. Galloway before.

“Yes, but I do not guarantee perfect accuracy. My studies were on practical application over pure academia, and I do not hail from this culture.”

“Noted. Give it a shot anyway?” If she insists. He’s done due diligence on warning her. 

“Stained glass was used as poor man’s Bible, a way of teaching parables to the illiterate. Conjecture that this was a symbolic test of both faith to their god -rendering an illustration consecrated by pain and human material-  and a canonization of the individual and their family as members of the community. A historical marker, so to speak. Several colors hold symbolic significance in Christian canon when found in stained glass, indicating mercy, hope, suffering, repentance, rebirth, and other ideas. This may indicate a more personalized relationship to the deity, either direct or indirect.”

“Clarify?”

“Perhaps they were given visions, or unique trials and rituals, similar to how certain offshoots of Christianity today assign saints to a child. Perhaps the abstract relationship between one worshiper and the deity was encouraged and allowed to personalize.”

“You’re judging by the colors used?”

“Yes. Different shades of the same color indicate variety and choice, while the colors themselves could suggest the individual’s feelings towards the manifestation.”

“Theories on the usage of human byproducts in the works?” 

At that, he has to look away from the rendering.

“You are aware I do not specialize in theology or medicine.”

“Yes, but extraneous ideas rarely hurt.” Dr. Galloway is still looking at him, so Avery swallows down the urge to point out that bad data is a greater harm than no data. Few benefits from arguing with Level 4 personnel.

“I would presume  a connection to the idea of Christ giving flesh and blood in the communion, possibly tied to Avrám and the mandate of sacrifice as it was interpreted in Christian canon, with the idea of blind faith and a reward for the risk. Alternatively, providing degrading material of the human body, items which can be replenished or lived without but still requiring at least some pain, would be the analogy, and potentially tie into ideas of sin and repentance.”

“Would that affect the proportions of each item, in your opinion?”

“Possibly. Again, not a theologist, merely-”

“We know, Gilman, but we’re asking for a reason.”

“If yes, then there could be a correlation in either relation to sin, proportion of pain, or proportion of permanent damage done to the body. Hair may correspond to vanity, or could be a punishment which took a long time but did not permanently defore, while adult teeth could have been used to represent envy and greed or indicate a significant violation, to be worn as a functional mark of Cain. Milk teeth could be indicative of the transition, or a sacrificial offering, similar to the principle of repayment for a martyr.” Avery’s hands itch to work, to draw, not speak on shit they don’t really understand to a doctor several degrees more advanced than him. Galloway seems to take the hint.

“Noted. Thank you.”

“Of course. May I-” motioning to the sketchbook again seems to suffice in lieu of words.

“Go ahead. Alert immediately if you see something out of the ordinary.”

What about this is ordinary, he refrains from asking, settling for a nod and a clean page. The time for quick, simple sketches is over. These renderings will require precise, careful lines if he aims to make the final result accurate. 

Kehan returns, speaking to Galloway behind Avery’s back as the grid starts appearing on the paper.

“Were photographs impossible to take, Dr. Kehan?”

“Damaged results each time. We suspect any medium involving electronics will suffer interference in environments 3004 has affected.”

“Shame.”

“Indeed. But this is an acceptable compromise.”

“Speaking of, should we go over to check how Gamma-4 are doing on setting up the portable lab?”

“Probably a good idea. Give me a hand with the sample we’ve managed to secure?”

The chatter slides in and out of Avery’s mind, snippets filed away as relevant, to be examined in a later moment. Right now, the world has narrowed down to him, the sketch, and the wall. The wall is grand and impossible, a good fifteen-sixteen heads in total height on the most intact sections, snaking through like it had stretched with hundreds, thousands of lives given to its radiance. Compared to that, other thoughts glide like water over a pane of glass, comprehensible but not to be too deep until a time later when he could go over them in detail.

He lets it wash over him, remembering the testimonials left by Lutterman, by Clark, the idea of the Cétiladí’s ties to the being and how little it must have understood. Or, rather, how much of that which it understood had been miscommunicated due to metaphor, abstraction, accident.

But those are the concerns of theologists and thaumaturges, not of an operative whose duty is to record and preserve the anomaly before him on paper. It will be a shame to see this all destroyed in the name of secrecy, and it is Avery’s duty to ensure at least some traces of this beauty remain, even if only as a warning and not the beautiful, breathing thing that this wall is.

[pixiemage]

I'll preface this by saying that I love Monty Gator. He's a HELLA cool character whose presence as an angry puppy dog in Ruin gave me way too much joy, and his boss battle in SB proper was SUPER fun! (I do wish Steel Wool had stuck with the stealing-Monty's-legs plotline rather than his claws, mostly for the sake of consistency but also so the excuse for his leg upgrade could've been so he could do some sick dance moves during shows - but I digress.)

I say this because I'm about to say something some folks might disagree with, but every time I see someone argue that Monty couldn't possibly have decommissioned Bonnie, the arguments they use sometimes make me want to just - throttle people for their lack of logic and their willingness to cling to anything that might help prove their point. There are some really well-thought-out arguments in there too sometimes (Bonnie being decommissioned pre-Monty's-claw-upgrade comes to mind, though I always wonder if the reason that was fucked up was due to the switchover from Monty's legs to his claws, and people assuming his lack of upgraded claws means he couldn't hurt a fellow animatronic without them, even though Moon seems more than capable of ripping apart Staffbots and the Staffbots are capable of wrecking Freddy in the Vanny endings - anyway) and I'm always down to see what alternate concepts folks have come up with! But sometimes - sometimes, not always - when I do watch those Monty-Was-Innocent videos, the folks making them are pulling in proof that feels more like they're grasping at straws, which unfortunately weakens the argument they're trying to make.

The popular one as of late is "the green paint around the claw marks on Bonnie's chest are definitely not from Monty's hands, and it's obviously an older coat of paint that we see because the blue layer was scratched away" which...I mean...good concept in theory, but. No?

Bonnie has never been associated with green. In the Pizzaplex, the Glamrock characters have set color palettes that are associated with their respective brands and merchandise. Bonnie's color set is blue, purple, and red, both in his Glamrock form and his Bonnie Bowl design. In all past games, he's been blue or purple. Even factoring in Springtrap, no version of Bonnie has ever been green, not even as an accent color. So why in the world would Glamrock Bonnie have an undercoat of green paint?

And even if he WAS green at one point, then wouldn't it have shown through in - I don't know - any of the other horribly cracked pieces of his chassis, rather than only being centralized around the claw marks cutting into his chest cavity? Every other crack or bit of damage outside of that chest wound is lined in either black or a darker shade of the surface color, not green. It's an extremely specific design choice on Steel Wool's part and I'm more inclined to believe they designed Bonnie's coloring that way on purpose.

Now don't get me wrong, when someone gives me an actual theory detail where something else left green residue behind, I'll give 'em kudos for thinking outside the box (especially when they're on to something solid). I love when people are able to put together clear puzzle pieces with enough proof to back 'em up. But the "old paint" bit feels so much more like Monty fans grasping for straws and I really wanna see people think harder than that. I want to see something concrete, because I get excited when someone finds something I haven't seen before!

In the Ruin DLC, Steel Wool dumped details in our laps to expand on the breadcrumbs they'd already left behind. They had a neon Bonnie sign be the thing that electrocuted Monty, the carpet Bonnie's body is on matches the carpeting in Monty Golf, and they went out of their way to line the claw marks with green. (And that's not even counting stuff that was hinted at in the base game). I'm all for theorizing alternate possibilities, but if someone wants to form a legitimate argument against Monty being the killer, then at least come up with something strong enough to counter what's in the games.

In truth, a few people have put out some really well-thought-out videos rallying for Monty's innocence, and I respect them for the work they've put into it. They've managed to really make me think! I just want to see more folks like that, people who think about what they're saying before positing their thoughts in a twenty-minute YT video trying to save their favorite boy.

Because let's be real, Monty is a fantastic character. I love seeing people who are passionate enough to fight for him. For me, I still lean heavily into the "Vanny made him do it" camp because people aren't wrong, Monty wouldn't have done something like that to Bonnie of his own free will...but the evidence Steel Wool set out for us to find is a bit too damning for me to think Monty was completely uninvolved. I'm just hoping we get some damn clarity from Steel Wool soon because I think, between Who Killed Bonnie and the disagreements over which ending Ruin takes place after, some minor wars and disputes are starting to break out across the fanbase that I reeaaally want to avoid lmao. Give us a hand here, SW! If you're gonna keep us guessing with everything else, then at least give us the answers to something!

[damianacottos5]

Week 3

Artworks + Reflection:

•Title: Woooaaah!

•Year: 2025

•Medium: Spray paint on A3

I used a sponge soaked with copious amounts of purple spray paint to create a sense of movement within the piece. By varying the direction and speed of the sponge application, I aimed to mimic a spiralling flow, like different winds pushing and pulling through the canvas.

Looking back, I can see the movement clearly—my eyes naturally follow the purple as it travels across the work, much like a journey by car where you notice different sights along the way, such as the stencilled characters scattered throughout. This movement gives the piece the feeling of a water vortex, pulling in all the characters’ "emotions" and leaving behind a chaotic, jumbled aftermath where nothing fits neatly into place—like the swirling faces caught in the current.

There’s a connection for me to the idea of “going with the flow,” being one with the river. The work captures the chaotic, uneasy nature of that process, but also a sense of stillness and acceptance—of not fighting against the current, but instead moving with it, finding a kind of Zen in surrender.

I layered the smiley faces using a negative stencil, confident in the colour harmony based on previous experiments and my inspiration from the LAKERS jersey palette. So in a way, this piece draws from both past experiments and visual influences I’ve absorbed over time.

After this, I revisited the canvas to see if I could pull off a blend between one of my own characters and a spray-painted background. I wasn’t too fussy about which character to draw, nor was I overly concerned with how the character should look or feel—I simply wanted to see if I could mimic a character I’d previously created onto this new canvas.

Now that the piece is finished, I feel satisfied with the result. I think I’ve successfully managed to transfer the character without altering too much of the background. From the start, I knew I didn’t want the character to feel “plastered” on top with no relationship to the rest of the image. So, I decided to include a lyric from Kendrick Lamar’s song A.D.H.D.—a line that felt both impactful and relevant.

Rather than placing the lyric in a thought bubble, I wanted it to appear as though the character was speaking directly. Above the character’s head, I drew pill-like shapes and filled them with symbols: dollar signs, hashtags, and a single horizontal line meant to resemble an actual tablet. By positioning these forms directly above the character, I wanted to suggest that they are made up of—or consumed by—these elements: pills, money, and social media.

There’s a subtle commentary here on modern society, but it also speaks to something more personal—a traumatic period of my life, marked by medication. The combination of the character, the symbols, and the text creates an ironic, comedic, yet serious undertone. The line “Got a high tolerance when your age don’t exist,” placed just to the side of the figure, unexpectedly formed a strong relationship with the imagery. It wasn’t pre-planned—I just heard the lyric while working and decided to include it because it felt powerful in the moment.

To me, this piece emits a sense of falseness—fake happiness, fake smiles, and even fake consumption. At the same time, it feels like a reflection on my personal experience with ADHD medication, and how it was used to regulate emotions, thoughts, and behavior.

Artists:

SEEN

SEEN. (2023). NYC 1980 (Grey), original painting on canvas, 2023 [Spray paint and stencil on canvas/ 61 × 46.4 × 2.5 cm]. Gallery Art, Aventura, Florida, U.S.A. https://www.artsy.net/artwork/seen-nyc-1980-grey-original-painting-on-canvas

Title: NYC 1980 (Grey)

Year: 2023

Medium: Original painting on canvas (61 × 46.4 × 2.5 cm)

I like that the artist utilises all the raw qualities of spray paint—drips, overspray, colour gradients, varying line thicknesses. These elements give the work texture and depth, providing me, as a viewer, with insight into what the artist might be trying to convey or feeling in the moment.

The layering in SEEN's work has also informed my own process, helping me understand how overspray can be used intentionally as an artistic decision rather than something accidental. It’s given me a clearer visual sense of how layers function—how each one adds complexity and narrative to the piece.

By using his name as the central feature of many works, SEEN transforms his identity into a brand or a defining mark of presence. But beyond that, I also see time embedded in his pieces. It’s as if the artwork becomes a collection of past and present expressions occupying the same space—like witnessing the continuous buildup of history on a single wall. It reminds me of a surface covered with posters and stickers, never stripped down, only layered over—an accumulation of moments, eras, and voices.

Daru

Daru. (2025). Saved by God[Acrylic and Spray Paint on Wood / 83 × 60 cm]. Signature Fine Art, Celebration, Florida, U.S.A. https://www.artsy.net/artwork/daru-saved-by-god

Title: Saved by God

Year: 2025

Medium: Acrylic and spray paint on Wood (83 × 60 cm)

Similarly to my own practice, the artist utilises childlike imagery to explore complex adult issues such as identity, societal pressure, and mental health. The repetition of motifs suggests an emotional state caught in a loop, almost like a visual mantra reflecting overthinking or overstimulation.

What I particularly connect with is the use of humour—there’s a clear comedic tone that allows emotionally charged ideas to be introduced in a more subtle or disarming way. This balance between playfulness and seriousness adds depth and keeps the viewer engaged.

You instantly recognise the piece as a scene—there’s movement, energy, and life within the composition. Meaning emerges through accumulation, with the layers of symbols and textures building up an emotionally raw surface. This contrast between innocence and chaos is what makes the work resonate—it feels honest, expressive, and unpredictable.

Research:

Kelly, K. (n.d.). ADHD and creativity. Understood.

i liked reading this article as it provided me i guess relatable insight into ADHD and creativity, it allowed me to reevaluate things like time management

rather than viewing it as a roadblock in the creative process, flip the perspective on it and use it to my own advantage by enabling myself to create in this flow state uninterrupted by external factors

Zimmer, L. (2017). Art of Spray Paint : Inspirations and Techniques from Masters of Aerosol. New York: Quarto Publishing Group USA.

This book provided insight into how spray paint has evolved from a tool of rebellion to a respected medium in contemporary art, emphasising its role in both public spaces and formal art institutions.

Additionally, it introduced me to new possibilities for stencil-making and broadened my understanding of spray paint as a material. Spray paint enables artists to focus on mark-making — the painter is always in control, just a finger press away from applying too much or too little. At the same time, it introduces challenges such as splattering from inconsistent flow.

I'm beginning to realise that spray paint as a medium is deeply intuitive. It relies on the artist’s capacity to understand and respond to the material. Unlike traditional painting, where the brush acts as an intermediary between the artist and the surface, spray paint creates a kind of direct unison — a seamless extension of gesture. This connection between artist and surface is what makes the work so immediate and impactful.

The book provided me with deeper insight into how artists working with spray paint typically develop their own unique style through a deep understanding of the material. I also realised there’s a physicality to the medium that I had previously overlooked — it’s not just about applying paint but about movement, control, and experience. You can see this physical engagement clearly in the compositions: the energy of the spray, the movement and direction of paint specks, and the rhythm created by how the paint lands on the surface. This rhythm emerges from the artist’s intuition and knowledge of how different techniques and gestures produce varying effects, which underscores how mastering spray paint requires both skill and practice.

[kycken]

"Oi, Inupi, we're going out." Koko called over his shoulder as he went through his clothes to decide what he wanted to wear. "Ditch the uniform, we're civilians for tonight." (Just for u)

Seishu always woke up hours ahead of Hajime, barring the times when he stayed out until the early hours of the morning participating in inter-gang tours. Those days were long gone, it seemed.

He barely had anything to really do for their Boss day to day, but the blonde saw merit in keeping a consistent schedule. He knew better than most, how important that was- Inui was forced to watch and stay silent as his best friend and savior slowly deteriorated in terms of health. Koko's foundation was often applied like a layer of wet cement over a bare wall, to hide the dark circles beneath his vulpine eyes, smearing on thick moisturizing creams like spackling paste and gently patting vitamin-C boosting serums into his forehead and cheeks to return the youthful elasticity to his fair skin.

Inui didn't used to pay attention to actual morning and night skin care regimens until Koko insisted, lavishing him expensive products that (admittedly) smelled quite nice and made his own easily burned flesh far softer to the touch- Supple, accentuating his facial features via color-correction palettes and subtle contouring perfectly blended into his natural skin tone. The lip gloss took some time getting used to, he always seemed to subconsciously mess with it or ruined it entirely after eating.

It was in moments like those that he left himself in the hands of Hajime's skillful knowledge and expertise- What had began as a merely begrudging indulgence soon evolved into an earnest willingness to model products for Koko, often testing out various shades of lipstick, nail lacquers, and different types of eye shadow (he preferred the portability and ease of application gained from using cream-based over powders, personally).

The few times Inupi was confident enough to try out his own look, it had pretty disastrous results... Koko was never mean nor cruel about it, but Seishu could tell that his own tastes and preference for highly saturated hues (or straight-up neon) probably would have been popular, say... around twenty-ish years ago.

Inui perks his head up slightly, his normally sleepy and quietly observant expression shifting to something openly questioning.

"Where are we going?" he asks, having bothered to even iron his toppuku earlier and actually make it look somewhat decent (mostly because their Boss had made it a point for him to improve upon).

He isn't complaining, exactly- He's more than happy to ditch the borderline-military fetish cosplay and start fishing through his various 'doom piles' of clean and folded laundry he'd long forgotten about in the back of his side of the shared closet.

His usual street style tended to be combining basic wear (oversized single-colored tanks or t-shirts) by KIHON with matching jersey sets in eye-searing pinks or purples- anything flashy with a wider collar was the absolute best in Seishu's opinion. Strappy and point-toed women's pumps that resembled 90s pin-heel slingbacks popular with delinquents in that time were his obvious go-tos, even if others often pointed out his fashion sense was 'quite retro' (from more polite commentators), but probably should have stayed back in the Showa era.

A fond smile spreads over the blonde's face as he pulls on a large pink and black leopard-print sukajan, an authentic customized piece embroidered in the First Shokai storefront that used to exist on Dobuita Street. It was a rare find he'd managed to dig out of a Kinji secondhand store, didn't even have to pay full price for it, which was honestly akin to if Koko had managed to walk out of Givenchy with a limited run garment.

[beantrust-coffeebar]

Fall in Love with Beantrust Coffeebar’s Fall Seasonal Menu

When you think of fall, what comes to mind? Pumpkin patches, hay rides, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and more are all staples of the season. In the Massachusetts North Shore, residents know how to celebrate this season in a less traditional way–through flavorful coffee. Beantrust Coffeebar at 151 ½ Hale Street in Beverly is a quaint and cozy coffee shop that serves up a collection of fantastic drinks and pastries. Founder Erik Modahl has spent almost three decades in the coffee industry, working in every step from the bean to the final drink. Wanting to step away from the sales aspect, he founded Beantrust in 2016 with the storefront opening in 2020. 

In the store, the welcoming and knowledgeable baristas have a lot of control over the menu. They are the ones who combine the dozens of flavor syrups and drink parts into seasonal menu recipes. These pre-decided orders are a great way for new customers to try a fun drink. Long-time Beantrust fans know that if they enjoy a seasonal recipe, you can actually order it all year round. Each small latte comes with two shots of espresso and costs around $5-$7. As I am a fan of sweet coffees, these specialty drinks were perfect to pull me into the season. Being a New Englander, I often order these as iced lattes regardless of the weather, but the flavors can be iced or hot. Although the lattes I am reviewing are designed to be fall creations, you can visit Beantrust Coffeebar any time to try these out yourself. 

Pumpkin Spice Latte

Winter has hot chocolate, summer has lemonade, but fall’s iconic drink has become the famous, or infamous depending on who you ask, PSL–Pumpkin Spice Latte. Popularized by the millennial generation’s obsession with the drink, chains like Starbucks and Dunkin started rolling out this drink earlier every year. One might assume that a Pumpkin Spice Latte from any coffee shop would taste the same. However, Beantrust’s focus on curating a diverse collection of flavorful coffee beans from around the world means the coffee flavor shines through. In my past experience with a Starbucks PSL, artificially colored orange pumpkin syrup is the overwhelming flavor. With Beantrust’s iteration, the pumpkin has a softer flavor, which balances out with the coffee taste. The sprinkle of cinnamon on top creates a wonderful aroma as you're sipping the drink. If you like a super sweet drink, this might not be the order for you. But if you want to appreciate the flavor of international coffee with a touch of fall, a classic Pumpkin Spice Latte is the way to go.

Chocolate Covered Strawberry Latte

As someone who usually drinks a light coffee with a lot of milk, I was terrified when the baristas first handed me this drink. In that split second, I forgot I had ordered a chocolate-based drink, which darkened the tone of the coffee. The Chocolate Covered Strawberry latte uses hot chocolate mix and strawberry syrup to create a coffee version of the fruity dessert. I thought the balance between chocolate and strawberry was done very well, with a stronger chocolate flavor the strawberry was not overpoweringly sweet. Although this was a great drink, I didn’t find myself reaching for it often as I prefer a more classic fall flavor palette–maple, pumpkin, cinnamon, etc. However, I recommend ordering this in February when the Valentine’s Day season is in full swing. 

Mocha Pumpkin Latte

Continuing with a chocolate theme, the Mocha Pumpkin latte has become my favorite order for the season. Contrary to the Pumpkin Spice Latte, this is a very sweet drink. Imagine a brownie with a layer of pumpkin pie on top and that is exactly what this latte tastes like. The first time I tried the drink, I splurged an extra $1 to get cold foam, what I describe as a thinner version of whipped cream that sits on the top of an iced coffee drink. However, this was bordering on too sweet of a drink, even for me. From now on, I order just the Mocha Pumpkin latte and add the cold foam to an iced PSL for an extra dash of sweetness.

Sugar Bear Latte

Finally, a Beantrust classic–the Sugar Bear latte. This drink consists of maple, cinnamon, and brown sugar. Although I get this iced, the coziness of the fall flavors feels like a warm teddy bear hug. You can see the sparkles of cinnamon swirling throughout the drink. Real maple syrup is used for the flavoring, something I appreciate as I call myself a “syrup snob.” This is a combination of classic flavors that make it feel like I am drinking a sweet pastry. The Sugar Bear latte has become my go-to recommendation for new customers at Beantrust.

Of the hundreds of possible drink orders at Beantrust, I believe the baristas have done a good job of curating a fall specialty menu that is true to the classic seasonal flavors that everyone expects. With a limited budget compared to a billion-dollar corporation like Starbucks or Dunkin, I think they do a fantastic job of providing variety in the combination of flavors to diversify their menu with a few key ingredients. The consistent flavor notes throughout the menu make the drinks predictable enough to encourage the investment to try a new order, but the quality of coffee and service make the drink better than one could expect.

[zorilleerrant]

a couple simple things to do to make your comics seem neater when you're looking at the finished piece:

pick a size so you can make sure all your pages are uniform, and get used to working in one layout. while a lot of people are used to working on a canvas that's 8.5 x 11 or 9 x 12, comics don't tend to be laid out that way. they're 11 x 14 (manga) or 11 x 17 (comic books) in traditional, altho a digital canvas can be any size you want. you can also use a variety of other standardized styles, like the comic strip (horizontal), the webcomic strip (vertical), or the 4 panel comic (which can be laid out in a variety of formats). you can experiment for sure, but if it looks wrong to you it might be the shape that's throwing you off

draw your panel borders with a ruler (in traditional) or shape tools (in digital) to make sure they're sharp and even. if you're working in traditional, wait to ink them until you're done drawing everything else, or clean them up digitally after. if you're working digitally, remember to save a separate layer with just the frames so you can put it on top of the finished image (and cut out anything past the borders from the layer below) to make it crisp

save in png or gimp (or a proprietary layers format). jpg is going to look fuzzy where you don't intend it because that's what it's for. good for previews, but not good for printing from. if you don't have an art program with layers I recommend paint dot net which is basically old school MS Paint with a lot of the improved tools added so it's easier to use than actual MS Paint. scan traditional art in as high resolution as you can manage and then adjust it afterward to share with people

use the eyedropper tool liberally. mixing new colors from the colors you've already selected will make the palette seem more uniform. in traditional, use base colors to mix the rest of them - I usually start with an accent color that comes straight from the paint set, and then mix from that one, because it's easy to add a little bit more of that color once you're done to pull it together more. you do want to stick to one brand of paint for colors if you can, but white and black for tinting can be anything

movement/focus is a big thing people talk about in laying out comics pages, in basically all books on how to create comics, but I find that film advice is easier to understand. it's basically the same ideas, and static and dynamic visual forms aren't as different as most people treat them. the same rules apply for reading flow, like how often and how much you can change viewing angles, and how cohesive a scene needs to be (a scene is one page or a pair of pages, wrt comics). the only thing specific to a page is reading order in English is left to right, top to bottom (and to some degree diagonal along that same line), but that applies a lot more in film than you'd think it would at first glance

irt 2 someone’s tags on the comic— comic-making is something that i, while tangentially interested in for a while, have no knowledge in. no professional training, no serious experience, nada. i know absolutely nothing abt panel layouts or text sizing that i have not awkwardly gleaned myself from the few comics ive read over the years.

to that end, if u have advice for comic-making or see something i’ve posted and think “hmm that could maybe be better if you did xyz” PLEASE tell me if youre so inclined! really! i’m doing this for fun, yes, but i would love to get better. as long as you’re polite about it, im basically always accepting advice/critique on my artworks, especially areas im less experienced in like comics, 3d art, and so forth

[schvmacher47]

Rumour Has It (Pedri x artist! protagonist)

part 1!

view part 2 here ;)

read rumour has it on wattpad!

summary: Being dragged along to the studio of Sira's favourite artist, Pedri never thought he would find himself falling in love with this place or even the owner... He quickly found himself looking forward to hearing about the process of the commission his friend placed, dropping by after practice to pick up Ferran's commission and place his own, just to get another reason to see Ana again. [...]

It was a warm, bright day in early February, the clock was about to hit four in the afternoon. Ana's pants and the sleeves of her sweatshirt were covered in old, dried-off paint. She stared at the blank canvas in front of her, twisting the big paint brush between her fingers. The white canvas slowly but surely blurred with the curtained window front of her studio.

Ana sat with her back to the front door. It was a quiet day, not many people found their way into one of Barcelona's many, narrow, secluded alleys. And if they did, it was only with a certain goal in mind.Whether it was to take photos of the picturesque alleys, to go to one of the cosy cafés, restaurants or bars, or to visit her studio.

But it wasn't one of those days. And that was okay. She found the peace and quiet extremely pleasant. A welcome change from the stressful city and university life.

Sighing, Ana dipped the brush into the brown acrylic paint diluted with water. The liquid paint dripped onto the floor when she applied the brush to the canvas and spread the paint over a large area.

The former white of the canvas disappeared, the canvas was now tinted in a light brown colour. Satisfied with the new starting position, Ana reached for the magazines beside her and tore up article after article. She dipped another brush into the container filled with glue and began to randomly paste the torn articles on the canvas.

She did what she did best, let her creativity run wild. The randomly placed newspaper articles created a new depth to the canvas, creating the perfect starting point for an abstract portrait.

Even though art was a passion that required patience, patience was exactly what Ana never had when it came to waiting. Spending hours working out details on paintings? No problem. Waiting for the thin layer of paint and glue to dry? Big problem. That's why she always had a hairdryer at hand, in most cases she didn't want to deal with her impatience - The hairdryer thus became her little helper, speeding up the drying process in no time. She loved it, so she didn't lose any time and could start almost immediately with the actual sketch.

Lost in her thoughts, Ana let her pencil run over the canvas, and the initially confused lines quickly formed the shape of a female face. Carelessly, she dropped the pencil back into the bowl on her cart, which she now pulled towards her. The three-tier Ikea trolley looked like one big mess - or even a battlefield. The once white paint was adorned with colourful blobs of paint - oil and acrylic - apart from the new aluminium foil on the top surface - a kind of improvised colour palette. The lower two floors were crammed with paint tubes, sorted by oil and acrylic paint despite the chaos, containers of thinner for the oil paints and all the brushes.

Soft music accompanied the calm atmosphere in her studio as she mixed different acrylic colours and diluted them with water. The paint dripped again, on the floor, trousers, sleeves, as she spread the liquid paint with a soft brush along her sketch and on the newspaper articles.

Without a precise idea, she taped random spots on the canvas and exchanged her soft brush for a large spatula, which she generously covered with white and red acrylic paint and dragged it across the canvas.

The clock was about to hit five in the afternoon when Ana reached for the hairdryer again to dry the acrylic paint faster when she heard the door to her studio open. She rolled up her sleeves and fixed her hair before rising and walking towards the two young men that had just entered the studio.

»How can I help you?« she asked with a friendly smile on her lips. The taller of the two began to speak. »I would like to commission a painting.« – »Sure, would you like to sit down over there to discuss the details?« He nodded in agreement and dragged his buddy with him to the table in the corner.

»What do you have in mind?« she asked as she also sat down at the table and crossed her legs. She pulled a sketchpad and pencil from a drawer, placing the utensils on the table in front of her. »The whole thing is supposed to be a gift for my girlfriend, I brought you some pictures to use as templates...« He told her, spreading out some printed photos on the table. The photos showed a young woman with her horse.

»Sira adores your work! She's been talking non stop about wanting a painting of yours for ages...« he finally continued. »Oh, I'm glad to hear that.... Looking at these photos, I think we have two options here, option one would be, we keep it completely realistic, no frills, just a realistic oil painting. Option two would be a mixed media version...« She explained, meanwhile feeling the interested gaze of the other man, who had remained quiet until now, on her. »Mixed media is what?«, the aforementioned man inquired. »Mixed media is, as the name suggests, a work of art made from many different media.«

»Well, if you're saying that Sira loves her art style, then this 'mixed media' thing would probably be the best choice, right?« – »Gee, you do have brains, Pedri. Who would have thought.« – »You obviously didn't think of it yourself. At least one of us can think straight...« Ana grinned in amusement as she overheard the conversation. »I think your friend is right.« – »Ferran.« – »I think he's right, Ferran. I'd go for the mixed media version too.... Especially if she likes the style as much,« Ana said with a grin.

»I'd trust the female advice if I were you, Ferran« – »Are you questioning my decision-making ability when it comes to gifts for my girlfriend right now?« – »No, I'm just saying that you should trust the female intuition, I guess she knows what she's recommending,« Pedri gestured wildly to clarify his statement. »I can also just make a sketch and then you can still decide...« – »That sounds great, let's do it that way.«

Ana picked up her pencil, immediately starting a sketch of one of the photos that Ferran brought along. Whilst her main focus was now on the sketch, she still continued her questions regarding the painting. »How big do you want the canvas to be?« – »There's literally no need to ask Ferran that, out of all the people I know, he's the one with the worst spatial imagination.« Ana raised her head, the sketch suddenly not as important anymore. Pedri looked at his friend from the side, a wry grin on his face. Ferran just shook his head. »That's so not true!« »Oh yeah? May I remind you of the Christmas tree which was way too tall for your apartment? Or the wardrobe, which didn't fit through the front door?« – »There was literally no need to bring that up.« Ana grinned as she overheard the conversation.

She continued to run the pencil in her hand across the piece of paper, the lines slowly forming an image of the reference photo. »Sounds like a problem we can solve in no time...How about we finish setting up the order portfolio and then look at different canvases with different dimensions?« Both young men nodded in agreement, leaving Ana satisfied working on the final touches of the sketch.

»You know, this is just insane, right?« – »What?« – »This!«, he pointed at the sketch. »You did this in what? Barely five minutes.« Ana just shrugged. »It's my job, it would be very inconvenient if I wasn't able to sketch this quickly.« she mumbled and quickly put her pencil away, being satisfied with the outcome of the sketch. »So I'm right in thinking, that I'm doing a painting based on this sketch?« Ferran simply nodded, being at a loss of words.

Ana took a folder from the shelf behind her. Rummaging in her drawer, she took a ballpoint pen and started filling out her portfolio template. »Since we already have the sketch and reference photos, I'd only need your name and the date by which you need the painting. We'll discuss the price later, once we've decided on the size of the canvas.«, Ferran nodded in agreement, still having a surprised look on his face.

»It'd be great if I could pick the painting up by the end of March.« »Should we agree on the 29th?« – »That's perfect.« Ana nodded and noted the date down. »For how long have you been doing this?« »What?« – »Painting. When did you start?« – »There are photos of me painting at just the age of two, so probably even long before I could really talk. My parents told me that I'd always wanted to destroy the house... As far as I know they had to paint at least a few walls white again after I've decided to paint on them..« – »Sounds a lot like us, don't you think Ferran?« – »The destroying the house part definitely!« A wide grin spread across his face. »Care to explain?« »You don't know?« Both young men looked surprised at her. »Am I supposed to?« – »Given the fact that you live here in Barcelona, I'd say yes. At least the majority of women around your age would definitely know who we are.«, Ferran explained. »That sounds very...cocky.« – »Believe me, I wish it was different...« Pedri shook his head. »You can't have it all I guess..« – »Well I think there are a lot of guys who would enjoy all the female attention you apparently get.« – »I know, but that's just not the point of being a professional footballer...« – »Oh yeah right, I think I know who you are... At least if you're the guys my sister's boyfriend keeps talking about. And that one guy that looks like he could still be in highschool, supposedly forming the new greatest duo of all time with you, just like Xavi and Iniesta once were... I'm not much of a football fan though. Actually I’m one of those who just watches it when it's the Euros or the World Cup, so it's just what I picked up from my soon to be brother in law.« She explained, remembering how Catalina and Carlos had dragged her along to the group stage matches of the Spanish national team in Seville.

Ana just shook her head, twisting her ballpoint pen between her index and middle finger. She indeed never has been really into football, just then recognising the two young men that have found their way into her studio from all the billboards. »So your full name is?« – »Ferran Torres García.« – »Alright, we’re all set. I’d say we can have a look at the canvases now.« Ana quickly tidied up her desk, putting the order portfolio neatly away into her drawer, before she stood up and indicated them to follow her.

»I would probably opt for a rectangular format, as it kind of stretches out the painting rather than compromising it. Which is great in this case, as a square format would just compress it, it wouldn’t look great.« Ana explained, while she led the two men to her hidden storage room. »Now coming back to the spatial imagination, do you have an idea of how much wallspace you want to cover?« she asked, while she already picked out a few canvases she in general always recommended to clients. »I took a photo, we have this wall in our hallway, pretty empty so I figured we could put it there.« said Ferran, unlocking his phone to show Ana the photo he took of his hallway. She had a quick look at it, immediately getting a feeling for the space that should be covered. »How about something like this?« she grabbed a canvas from her storage shelf, putting it on her spare easel. »This is 1,40 metres wide and 1,20 metres tall. Normal wall height is at least 2,50 metres, so it’s not taking up too much space, while still covering up the empty space without being too bulky. « »Sounds… great?« – »I told you he has literally no idea!«, exclaimed Pedri from the other end of the small storage room. He had subconsciously moved off to the other hand and found himself looking at paintings which Ana had stored for her next exhibition. Still amazed by the works of art he’d just seen, he slowly returned, slightly shaking his head in disbelief.

»This is just insane…«

[lokiondisneyplus]

Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

"My agent got a general call-out looking for a composer on a Marvel project," she tells SYFY WIRE during a conversation over Zoom. "So, I didn’t know what it was. It was [described as] spacey and quite epic ... I sent in my show reel and then got an interview and got sent the script and then I realized what it was for. I was like, ‘Oh my god!’ It was amazing ... Loki was already one of my favorite characters, so I was really stoked to get to give him a theme and flesh him out in this way."

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

Imbued with glorious purpose, Holt knew the score had to match the show's gonzo premise about the Time Variance Authority, an organization that secretly watches over and manages every single timeline across the Marvel multiverse. The proposition of such an out-there sci-fi concept inspired the composer to bring in uniquely strange sounds, courtesy of synthesizers and a theremin.

"I got my friend, Charlie Draper, to play the theremin on my pitch that I had to do," she recalls. "They gave me a scene to score, which I’m sure they gave to loads of other composers. It was the Time Theater sequence in Episode 1. The bit from where he goes up the elevator and then into the Time Theater ... I just went to town on it and I wanted to impress them and win the job and put as many unusual sounds in there and make it as unique as possible."

The end result was a weird, borderline unnatural sound that wouldn't have felt out of place in a 1950s sci-fi B-movie about big-headed alien invaders. Rather than being turned off by Holt's avant garde ideas, Marvel Studios head honcho Kevin Feige embraced them, only giving the composer a single piece of feedback: "Push it further."

Holt admits that she was slightly influenced by Thor: Ragnarok ("I loved the score for it and everything"), which wasn't afraid to lean into the wild, Jack Kirby-created ideas floating around Marvel's cosmic locales. Director Taika Waititi's colorful and bombastic set pieces were perfectly complimented by an '80s-inspired score concocted by Devo co-founder, Mark Mothersbaugh.

"To be honest, I tried not to listen to it on its own," Holt says of the Ragnarok soundtrack. "I didn’t want to be too influenced by it. I watched the film a couple of times a few years ago, so yeah, I don’t think I was heavily referencing it. But I definitely had a memory of it in my mind."

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme — a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

She describes it as an "over-the-top grand theme with these ornate flourishes" that plays nicely with Loki's Shakespearean aura. "I wanted those ornaments and grand gestures in what I was doing. Then I also wanted to reflect that slightly analog world of the TVA where everything has lots of knobs and buttons ... [I wanted to] give it that slightly grainy, faded [and] vintage-y sci-fi sound as well."

"I just wanted it to feel like it had this might and weight — like there was something almost like a requiem about it," Holt continues. "These chords that are really powerful and strident and then they’ve got this blinking [sound] over the top. I just came up with that when I was walking down the street and I hummed it into my phone. There’s a video where you can just see up my nose and I’m humming [the theme]. I came home and I played it."

As a classically-trained musician, Holt drew on her love of Mahler, Dvořák, Beethoven, Mozart, and most importantly, Wagner. A rather fitting decision, given that an actual Valkyrie (played by Tessa Thompson) exists within the confines of the MCU.

"I would say those flourishes over the top of the Loki theme are very much Wagner," Holt says. "They’re like 'Ride of the Valkyries.’ I wanted people to kind of recall those big, classical, bombastic pieces and I wanted to give that weight to Loki’s character. That was very much a conscious decision to root it in classical harmony and classical writing ... There’s a touch of the divine to the TVA. It’s in charge of everything, so that’s why those big powerful chords [are there]. I wanted people almost to be knocked off their socks when they heard it."

With the main theme in place, Holt could then play around with it in different styles, depending on the show's different narrative needs. Two prime examples are on display in the very first episode during Miss Minutes' introductory video and the flashback that reveals Loki to be the elusive D.B. Cooper.

"What was really fun was [with] each episode, I got to pull it away and do a samba version of the theme or do a kind of ‘50s sci-fi version of the theme," she explains. "I can’t say other versions of the theme because they’re in Episode 5 and 6…or like when Mobius is pruned, I did this really heartfelt and very emotional [take on the theme] when you see Loki tearing up as he’s going down in slow motion down that corridor. It was cool to have the opportunity to try out so many different styles and genres. And it was big enough to take it all. It was a big enough story."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

"I went to a concert in London three years ago and I heard these Norwegian musicians playing in this group called the Lodestar Trio," Holt recalls. "They do a take on Bach, where they’re kind of giving it a folk-y twist … [They use] a nyckelharpa and a Hardanger fiddle — they’re two historic Norwegian folk instruments. I just remembered that sound and I was like, ‘Oh, I have to use those guys in our score.’ It seemed like the perfect thing. I was like, ‘Yes, the North/Norwegian folk instruments.’ It just felt like it was the perfect thing for his mother and Asgard and his origins."

That folk-inspired sound also helped shape the music for Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino), a female variant of Loki with a rather tragic past. "Obviously, we’ve seen in Episode 4 what happened to her as a child," Holt says. "I just feel like she’s so dark. She’s basically grown up living in apocalypses, so she has that Norwegian folk violin sound, but her theme is incredibly dark and menacing and also, you don’t see her. She’s just this dark figure who’s murdering people for a while."

And then there were all the core members of the TVA to contend with. As Holt mentioned above, fans recently lost Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), may he rest in prune. We mean peace. What? Too soon? During a recent interview with SYFY WIRE, Loki head writer Michael Waldron said that he based Mobius off of Tom Hanks's dogged FBI agent Carl Hanratty in 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

"There’s this thing that he loves jet ski magazines," Holt says. "I had this character in my head and then when I saw Owen Wilson’s performance, I was like, ‘Oh, he’s actually a lot lighter and he plays it in a different way from how I’d imagined.’ But I was listening to Bon Jovi and those slightly rock-y anthemic things. ‘90s rock music for some reason was my Mobius sound palette."

Mobius is pruned on the orders of his longtime friend, Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), after learning that everyone who works for the TVA is a variant who was unceremoniously plucked out of their original timelines. A high-ranking member of the quantum-based agency, Renslayer has a theme that "is quite tied in with Mobius and it’s like a high organ," Holt adds. "It doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. But yeah, we’ll have to see what happens with that one."

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

"Hunter B-15 has this moment in Episode 4 where Sylvie shows her her past, her memories. I thought that was a really powerful moment for her," Holt says. I feel like she’s such a fighter and when she comes into the Time-Keepers and she makes that decision, like, ‘I’m switching sides,’ so her theme is more like a drum rhythm. I actually kind of sampled my voice and you can hear that with the drums. I did loads of layers of it, just like this horrible sliding sound with this driving rhythm underneath it. So, that was B-15 and then her softer side when she has her memory given back to her."

Speaking of the Time-Keepers, we finally got to meet the creators of the Sacred Timeline...or at least we thought we did. Loki and Sylvie are shocked to learn that the red-eyed guardians of reality are nothing but a trio of high-end animatronics (ones that could probably be taken out by a raging Nicolas Cage). Even before Sylvie manages to behead one of them, something definitely feels off with the Time-Keepers, which meant Holt could underscore the uncanny valley feeling in the score.

"When they walked in for their audience with the Time-Keepers, it was like this huge gravitas," she says. "But you look up and there’s something a bit wrong about them. I don’t know if you felt that or if you just totally believed. You were like, ‘Oh, this is so strange.’ I just felt like there was something a little bit off and musically, it was fun to play around with that."

Holt is only the second solo female composer to work on an MCU project, following in the footsteps of Captain Marvel's Pinar Toprak. Her involvement with Loki represents the studio's growing commitment to diversity, both in front of and behind the camera. This Friday will see the wide release of Black Widow, the first Marvel film to be helmed solely by a woman (Cate Shortland). Four months after that, Chloé Zhao's Eternals will introduce the MCU's first openly gay character into the MCU.

"I just feel like it’s an honor and a privilege to have had that chance to be the second woman to score a thing in the MCU and to be in the same league as those incredible composers like Mothersbaugh and Alan Silvestri. They're just legends," Holt says. "Another distinctive thing about [the show] is that all the heads of department are pretty much women. Marvel are showing themselves to be really progressive and supportive and encouraging. I applaud [them]. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working and people seem to be liking it as well, so that’s awesome."

Holt's score for Vol. 1 of Loki (aka Episodes 1-3) are now streaming on every music-based platform you could think of. Episodes 1-4 are available to watch on Disney+ for subscribers. Episode 5 (the show's penultimate installment) debuts on the platform this coming Wednesday, July 7.

Natalie isn't able to give up any plot spoilers for the next two episodes (no surprise there), but does tease "the use of a big choir" in one of them. "Episode 6, I’m excited for people to hear it," she concludes. "That’s all I can say."

[hops-hunny]

Distance Makes the Heart Grow

CHAPTER 8

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Mafia Boss!Neville Longbottom x Reader

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 4k

Summary: (Y/n) lives a normal life. But that’s the issue, it’s normal, it’s plain, and it’s growing boring. Everyday she wishes for something, anything to spice up her life. But, when her old school friend (and crush) shows up at her bakery with a new look (and what looks like a new life), what will it bring for her? Will their puppy love grow? Will his big secret lead to the end of them or will it spark a new beginning?

Warnings: none!

A/N: sorry it took me so long. The rest of the date will be in chapter 9! 

(Y/n) huffed, crossing her arms across her chest at the mess Twyla had made. Originally, she had thought asking her to help her get ready for her date was a good idea. The two of them hadn’t spent as much time together as she had liked too and she knew how much Twyla adored fashion. But now, as her various designer dresses and shoes were scattered around the floor along with makeup palettes that had been tossed aimlessly, her patience was wearing thin.

“Was this mess really necessary? I hope you know I’m not cleaning this.” she said, causing the girl to turn around. She tossed a dress on the bed beside the girl before continuing to sift through the manmade jungle she had caused.

“I know. Neither am I, that’s what the maids are for!” she turned, watching as her friend bit at her lip nervously, picking with the skin around the bed of her fingernails. “You know for someone going on her first date, I seem more excited than you do!” when she didn’t get a response she looked over at her shoulder giving her a concerned look.

“I-it’s not that I’m not excited! Trust me, I am. I’ve been waiting for this date for over 7 years. It’s just..” she sighed, looking away from her as her cheeks heated up in embarrassment. “What do you even do on a date? O-or say? What am I supposed to wear?!”

“A good date will flow naturally no matter what you’re doing. And you said Nev was taking you to some fancy restaurant but also on a gondola ride, right? Pick out a dress that’s fancy but also gives you flexibility. Hold up, lemme look I think I saw the perfect dress.” Twyla dove back into the pile of clothes, causing her to giggle at the sight. She continued to lift and throw things until she popped up letting out a loud ‘A-ha!’ she watched as the dress was tossed on the bed along with a pretty pair of strappy white sandals and a purse in the same shade of white. Once she picked the items up, Twyla began to shove her towards the bathroom with the items.

(Y/n) looked in the mirror, letting out a shaky breath. She felt beautiful, undeniably so. Twyla had already taken the liberty of styling her hair and doing her makeup. They had gone for a natural but ethereal makeup look. Dewy foundation, subtle but glowly highlight, a thick layer of gloss along with some individual lashes to make her eyes pop. She felt like a fairy, a princess even. Reaching a jittery hand towards the doorknob, she opened it peaking her head out. Twyla looked up smiling before her jaw dropped at the sight of her friend’s full appearance. Squealing she walked up to her, twirling her around to admire the full look. Sure, she had seen her in a dress before, and even makeup. But this outfit, this look, was much more like her. Yet Twyla couldn’t help but feel as though something was missing.

“Hmm.” she trailed, eyes gazing across the room. Her eyes lit up at the sight of what it was. The diamond encrusted crown lay gently on top of a velvet pillow along with the diamond necklace and earrings. She handed the earrings to (Y/n) to put on before placing the crown on top of her head. Turning her around towards the vanity, she unclasped the priceless necklace before placing it around her neck. “Oh my…(Y/n) you look so beautiful! Like a, like a princess.” she felt her ears tingle from her kind words, smiling as she admired her appearance in the mirror.

“Now, let’s talk lingerie.”

----------------------------

“Didn’t peg you for the nervous type, boss.” Blaise piped up, chuckling as Neville fiddled with his tie for what seemed like the thousandth time. He glared at the man through the mirror, grumbling under his breath. Blaise wasn’t wrong, he rarely was. The bigger problem at hand was that he was nervous and he didn’t know how to handle it. Neville had punched some of the most powerful men in the face, made people gravel and beg for their lives, hell, he had even killed men and throughout all of that, he had not an ounce of nervousness in his system. But now, when he was taking the little baker girl who he had been madly in love with since they met in school all those years ago, nervous was the main thing he felt. He was excited, sure, plenty, but in actuality he had never been on a real date with someone he had feelings for.

“Do you even know what to do on a date? You were quite the playboy before she came back into your life.” Ron added, mixing around the scotch in his glass, pouring some for Neville who instantly downed it, not even wincing at the taste.

“ ‘S not true!” he said, turning his head some to glare at him. Seamus cackled, wiping the invisible tears in his eyes as he slapped his knee.

“Please boss, you went through more women than George does bullets on a mission, which is a fuck ton.” he said, causing everyone else to agree. The guys had all gathered in the spare room to help him get ready, calming his nerves and even giving him a few pointers. Although a lot of the advice was useless, he was able to make sense out of some of it.

“Okay, well, suppose I am nervous. How should I...what should I do on a date?” he asked, coughing over the last part to cover it up. They all heard loud and clear though, starting to overlap one another before Blaise whistled, causing everyone to silence. Neville gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

“Well, did you buy her flowers?” Draco asked, breaking the silence. He scoffed at the ridiculous question.

“Of course I got her flowers! Did you really ask me of all people that? I picked and charmed a bouquet for her the other night. Each flower was handpicked from my garden with intention behind every single one of them.” he rolled up one of his sleeves, seeing if he preferred them rolled or down. Pondering it he decided to roll them down.

“Well combine that with what we’ve taught you and you’re all set.” Harry said, shrugging some as he looked up from his newspaper. Neville gawked at the men. Taught? The only thing they had taught him was that he needed better friends!

“Taught me?” he let out an exasperated laugh, walking towards them. “Taught me? You haven’t taught me shit! I’d have half the mind to-” a knock on the door caused his breath to hitch. The boys all gave each other knowing smirks but their jaws dropped as the door opened revealing the (h/c) girl in all her glory.

There she stood, skin glowing in the soft streams of sunlight that came from the evening Italian sun. The soft lace and tulle draped across her skin delicately, bits of sparkles from the fabric shining brightly. What caught his eye the most was the crown on her head. Even though he had saw it on her yesterday, it was having the same effect on him today. 

“Holy shit.” Seamus whispered, forcing his mouth closed. Not a single pair of eyes weren’t on her.

“Listen, if Nev fucks his date up tonight…” Blaise trailed, causing the girl to giggle, looking at the ground shyly. She glanced up at him through thick lashes, watching as he made his way over to her. He bowed, pressing a kiss to her knuckles causing her to giggle some. As he looked up at her, a soft barely there smile graced his face.

“I don’t think that’ll be happening.” he said as he stood up, grabbing the bouquet of flowers from behind him before handing them to her. “What are you doing here, petal? I said I’d come get you from the room.”

“Twyla was really adamant about you seeing me as soon as possible.” she smiled at the scene that had taken place a few moments beforehand. “She said that I looked too good to be kept waiting.”

“You know, that girl’s always speaking nonsense but for once I’ve gotta say I agree.” Neville said, stroking her cheek gently as he leaned down, placing a soft peck on her lips. “Ready to go?” he asked. She nodded eagerly, wrapping her arms around his arm, waving before exiting the room with him. Seamus watched as they left before standing up, wiping his hands on his pants.

“Where are you going, Finnigan?” Harry asked, quirking a brow at him. Seamus smiled, winking some.

“Launching operation ‘make sure the date goes well’. You didn’t think I was gonna miss out on this did you?” Draco eyed him suspiciously as the vein in his forehead began to throb.

“Twyla set you up to this, didn’t she?” Seamus turned once he got to the doorway, flashing him a smile.

“ ‘Course she did!”

------------------------------

“Woah! I’ve never seen a car like this in person before.” (Y/n) said, in awe as she walked up to the vintage car. Neville smiled some as the driver came over, bowing as he opened up the door. He slid the driver a large bill, thanking him in italian.

“Yeah, you like it?” she nodded, looking back at him as he climbed in the back of the convertible with her. He pulled her into his side, pulling his Dior sunglasses over his eyes to protect from the evening sun. “It’s mine. Should I have it imported back to England?” her eyes widened. Although Neville had a lot of nice things, she never failed to be surprised when he had something new to show her. She leaned into his side, pulling her legs up onto the seat as the car began to move.

“It’s pretty. I think you should leave it here though. You know, as a memory of tonight.” She looked up at him, smiling some. Neville felt his heart race as he looked down at her. He felt breathless. Whatever he had done in the past years to have the angel of his dreams sitting next to him, going on a date, he’d do it all over again just to see the smile she was giving him. He leaned down, capturing her lips into a passionate yet loving kiss. Their lips locked till they were practically breathless, pulling away. (Y/n) let out a breathless giggle. 

Neville pulled out another large bill, leaning forward to hand it to the driver. “Guida piano, sì?” the driver looked at him through the visor mirror, giving him a nod along with a knowing smirk. He sighed to himself as Neville turned back to the girl, laughing at something she had said.

“Ah, giovane amore.”

--------------------------------

Neville opened the door for the girl, holding her hand as she stepped out of the car. He decided first that they could get dinner. It’d be an easy way to set the tone for tonight and give him another opportunity to spoil her yet again. He made sure to pick the best restaurant money could buy but even then, she deserved more. More than money could buy. He smiled as they reached the reception desk, clearing his throat to catch the attention of the man behind the desk.

“Welcome sir, name?” he asked, looking up at the man cluelessly. A few others in the restaurant were noticeably tense, but continued to work.

“Longbottom.” he stated, watching as the man looked through the reservation book. He sucked on his teeth, giving Neville a fake look of sympathy.

“Sorry, it looks like you’re about 5 minutes late! I’m sure if you come back tommo-”

“Did you hear what I said? You might wanna listen closer this time. I’m Neville Longbotom.” the man behind the desk blinked at him blankly before his eyes shot up in a sudden realization. He began to scramble, trying to form some sort of apology. Neville slammed his fist on the desk, leaning forward as he began to speak through gritted teeth. “Just get me my fucking table, yeah? My lady should never be kept waiting and if she has to stand here for one more god damn-”

“Yes, yes! Right this way sir.” he said, grabbing the menus. At some point he dropped them but continued to walk, leading them to a private table near a large window. (Y/n) gasped, leaning against the window to look at the breathtaking view. Below her was the ocean, the sunlight cascading across it as seagulls flew around freely. While she was distracted, Neville took the opportunity to pour two glasses of wine before tapping her shoulder. She turned around, smiling at him.

“You seem to be enjoying the view. I take it the table choice is fine?” he asked, pulling her chair out for her. He pushed her chair up before taking a seat in the one across from her. 

“It’s beautiful, I haven't seen anything like it. Last time I saw views this beautiful was Hogwarts.” she tensed slightly as he reached across intertwining their fingers, before relaxing. Her heart was racing wildly, a million different thoughts running through her head. Her and Neville had spent many moments together, far more intimate than this. But there was something so nerve wracking about being with him in public where anyone could see them. (Y/n) found herself growing self conscious about the pressure of it all, but decided to push it aside. She had been waiting for this for years and she wasn’t going to ruin it with a few negative thoughts.

“Yeah? If you like this, you’re gonna love what I have planned for after this.” he smiled at her. After this? He had more than this planned for them? Her wonderings of what it was didn’t last long when the bread was brought out, causing her eyes to light up. As soon as the basket was placed on the table she reached for a slice of the expensive bread, layering butter on it.

“Th-they’ve got the good bread! With the butter that’s all smooth.” she muttered with her mouth full. Neville bit his lip to contain his laughter at her childish display. “Y’know what I’m sayin,?”

He smiled at her, grabbing a piece of his own. “Somehow I do.”

--------------------------------------

After 30 minutes of good conversation and 3 bread baskets later, the two were finally ready to order. (Y/n) opened up the menu, gaping at it in confusion. There was so many elaborate names with descriptions even more confusing. Neville noticed this, pulling her menu down to look at her a bit.

“You alright, pretty girl?” he asked, ignoring the impatient waiter that was supposed to take their order. 

“I’m alright it’s just...there’s so much confusion. All I wanted was chicken alfredo and I don’t even see it on the menu.” her eyes continued to scan the menu, becoming more perplexed as the names grew longer. Her eyes followed the tattooed finger as it pointed to a name that she didn’t even wanna think about pronouncing.

“ ‘S right there. Don’t worry dove, I’ll order for you.” her shoulders relaxed some as she gave him an appreciative smile. As he sent the waiter off, a silence fell over them. It wasn’t necessarily awkward, but it was clear something needed to be said and for once, it wasn’t on Neville’s end. Did she really wanna ask him now? ‘I should at least wait for dessert, that way it won’t be awkward if he says something I don’t wanna hear.’ she thought to herself.

The silence was encroaching, slowly becoming unbearable. It was suffocating, she felt like she was on a rope, dangling above all the words she wanted to say but couldn’t.

“So I-”

“Do you-”

They both looked at each other as they began to laugh. “You can go. I insist.” he encouraged, taking another sip of his wine before she could protest.

“I was just going to ask if you picked the bouquet yourself? It’s far too beautiful to be store bought, the flowers look happy.” she said, smiling down at the bouquet fondly. When the waiter first came, Neville heavily urged them for a vase to put them in. The waiter originally had been hesitant but when Neville’s jaw began to clench he quickly went to look for a vase in the back room. He smiled at her eye to detail, nodding as he cleared his throat placing his glass back on the table.

“Yeah I did.” he secretly snuck his hand across the table, the edges of their fingers brushing against each other. “Do you remember flower code?” she moved her fingers under his, smiling when he tightened his grip on her hand.

“Of course I do. We learned it together during the spring in the astronomy tower together. Best spring of my life.” she sighed fondly at the memory. “Forget-Me-Nots for true and everlasting love, violets for faith and affection, however, the tulips are leaving my mind. I can’t remember what they mean for the life of me.” she huffed, looking off as she tried to recall their meaning. He chuckled, placing a kiss on her knuckles. He trailed his kisses as far up her arm as he could reach from his position at the table.

“Tulips, well, tulips represent perfection and royalty because that’s what you are to me.” their eyes locked in a passionate gaze, (e/c) meeting his own dazzling ones. “My tulip, so perfect. I have every intention to treat you like royalty.” she was left wordless. Was this all real? She had read many fairy tales growing up and now here she sat, experiencing one of her own. Sure, those fairytales never had dangerous tattooed men with hearts of gold, but the way he looked at her, holding her with such delicacy let her know she had found her prince charming.

---------------------------------

(Y/n) was thankful she had worn a dress because if she had worn jeans? The button would have flown straight off her pants. Her alfredo was delicious, every herb and seasoning used done so perfectly. Not another bite could fit in her. However, when the dessert menu (that featured pictures of each and every dessert) was brought out, she didn’t see why it wasn’t a good idea to get dessert!

“It all looks so good! Like I made it, but better.” she breathed out, eyes scanning the dessert menu eagerly. But when she saw the triple chocolate cake, it was like she was falling in love all over again. “This. We need this Nev or else I might die.” he laughed at her serious expression, rolling his eyes some.

“Alright, love. Un ordine della torta al cioccolato, per favore.” the waiter nodded, writing it down before walking off again. The same silence from before fell over them but this time, she was going to do it. She sighed, grabbing both his hands in one.

“Listen, Nev. There’s been something, or someone, I’ve been meaning to ask you abou-” her eye began to twitch as a familiar figure stood next to their table. She gave her a bone chilling smile before turning to Neville who was much to her surprise, even more upset than she was.

“Ah, Neville! What a pleasure it is to see you here!” she said, holding out her hand for him to kiss. However he glared at it, leaning back in his seat.

“Can I help you Gisele? Actually even if I can, I don’t want to. Get lost.” he said, waving his hand for her to go away. But as expected, she didn’t budge. She leaned forward onto the table, gripping the edge with her red manicured hands. Her cleavage was on display as a fake pout graced her face. “I’m on a date and I’d rather not see you.”

She gasped, placing a hand on her chest in surprise. “A date? Oh my, is that what this is? Gosh I am so sorry! When I met, er what was it? Ah, (Y/n), over here the other day she said you weren’t together!” he raised a brow at this, looking between the two. 

“You two met? Why didn’t you tell me, love?” he asked, turning his attention to the girl. She gave Gisele a disgusted one over before looking back at him.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the most pleasant meeting.” she pushed out, looking at him. He rubbed at his chin a bit as he hummed.

“Really? Do you recall what she said to you?” he asked, knowing it couldn’t have been good. Gisele’s expression gave it all away. Although she feigned being unbothered, her expression was slowly cracking.

“You know as a matter of fact, I do! She said I was a knock off version of her and that you were using me as a replacement for the original!” she said, giving Gisele a wide tooth grinned. Gisele’s lips were parted as she searched for the words to say, mind blanking.

Neville looked between the two girls as he took a sip of his wine. “Now that you mention it, you two do look alike. I never really noticed though, I didn't spend much of any time looking at her face. But now that I am…” he trailed off, eyes tracing Gisele’s features, “You’re definitely not a knock off of her. I think it’d be an insult to you to even insinuate that she’s a knock off of you!” Now it was her turn to be surprised. Had he really not noticed their semblance to one another? It was clear now that not only was it a coincidence, but Gisele’s whole story was a lie.

“You- I- you ruined everything!” she shrilled, stomping her foot angrily. “That should be me in your seat, me on this..” she tuned her out as she looked at her own glass of wine. It would be a shame if the wine was to somehow end up on her ugly little polka dot dress. She squinted her (e/c) eyes, watching as the wine splashed all over the girl’s dress. Gisele paused mid sentence, gawking at her dress. Neville began to cackle, eyeing his date suspiciously. His thoughts were confirmed when she sent him a wink.

“My dress! Look what you did to me!” she wailed, motioning to the giant red stain on her dress. A few people turned to look at them all, whispering as they pointed at the girl.

“Me? I didn’t lift a finger.” she said, shrugging as she gave her an innocent look. “I suppose that’s what happens when you meddle in people’s business.”

“Is there a problem ma’am? Sir?” the voice sounded familiar, but an octave deeper. Turning her head her eyes widened at the sight of both Twyla and Seamus. Both of them were in costumes, fake beards and mustaches on their face along with wigs. She went to say something but when the blonde put a finger to her lip, she quickly decided against it.

“Yeah we got a complaint from the head chef. You’re to be escorted out of here immediately. Come along now.” Twyla said, dragging Gisele along with her. Seamus went to follow but was stopped by Neville. He pulled him close, leaning near his ear.

“Next time if you’re gonna spy on your boss, make it a bit less obvious.” he pat his shoulder, tightening his grip. “Although I’m glad you were able to handle this, I’m gonna ask that you leave. It’s not a suggestion but an order from your boss. I’m a big man, I can handle my date on my own.”

Seamus nodded, tipping his hat to them both. “Boss, mini boss.” and with that, he was gone. Neville turned to her, thanking the waiter once the cake was sat down in front of them, two golden forks on the plate.

“Let’s have dessert, shall we?”

PREVIOUS||NEXT

TAGSLIST: @vayeya11 @pink-hufflepuff @clancyscookies @elemental-of-magic @beewitchedlou @simpforremuslupin​ @mottergirl99  @nevillelongbottomsgirlfriend @redpanda-poetry @vibingaesthetically @de4d-s0up

[yeojaa]

home sweet home.

[ read devil in a new suit ]

i just really, really wanted to explore a bit about kook’s family because i think it shines a big light on who this adorable baby is.  i hope you enjoy!  xo

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  explicit.  tags.  you’ll get cavities from reading this, honestly.  but also, very light smut in the form of:  inappropriate bullet egg use and tit groping (again, kook is a boob guy).  wc.  1.7k.

You meet his parents on a Sunday afternoon, invited to their palatial home for family brunch. It’s the first one you’ve been invited to, despite the fact you and Jungkook have been dating for what feels like forever (but in reality is only six months).  

Mama Jeon is an intimidating woman with a deceptively sweet face, aging gracefully around her eyes, the barely there lines upon her hands doing little to detract from her beauty.  She holds herself with immeasurable grace, practically dances into her son’s embrace when the two of you step into the modernist’s dream, chicly decorated and swathed in neutral tones.  It reminds you vaguely of Jungkook’s apartment - but decidedly more refined.  Same colour palette, though. 

“Jungkook-ah,”  she hums, patting adoringly at his cheek when he passes a kiss against hers, looking every inch the mama’s boy he is. 

“Eomma,”  he returns, so giddy it makes your heart soar in your chest.  He’s so easy to love - and so easily loving, offering the world to the woman who’d raised and loved him.  Two hands - the picture of respect - pass over the box of pastries you’d picked up on your way, the bag of too-expensive fruit topping the container.  (Apparently, his mother loves grapes, but only green ones.)  “These are for you— from us.”

Now is when he gestures to you - standing just to the side, beyond his shoulder - with a flourish comparable to that of a game show host.  It’s adorable how eager he is, beaming proudly at his eomma as he reaches for your hand, squeezes it tight between his own tattooed one.

When she turns to you, her expression is inscrutable. 

This woman isn’t someone who wears her heart on her sleeve, offers pleasantries for the sake of it.  She’s confident and critical (but soft, somehow, for the people she loves most), forged from steel and refined by experience.  You’re simultaneously awed and afraid, a mixture of emotion you’re not quite used to.

She levels you with a look.  A moment passes, then another.  You wonder if your smile falters, eclipsed by the grey of her stare.  (You feel like that one girl from that one movie about those crazy rich… what was it?)  

Finally, she speaks, drags her eyes from your shoes - red Ferragamo pumps, with the signature bow detailing on the toe - up to your face.  It feels more like a stringent assessment than a casual perusal, stirring heat beneath the colour of your blouse.  You’re not nervous, per se, but you want her to like you.  Right now, you can’t tell if she does - probably have a higher chance of winning the lottery than getting an answer.  “Lovely to meet you, ____.”  Her tone is warm enough, polite and paired with a tiny nod of her sophisticat head.

The patriarch of the family is the opposite of his mother, endlessly genial and full of booming laughter.  It reminds you a little of Jungkook’s own giggle, but somehow more - rounded by years and years of full-belly laughing and further ingrained by the wrinkles around his eyes.  

Just like his mother, Mr. Jeon is slim, good-looking in a way that comes from proper self-care and living an easy life.  (Not that it’d always been this way, you remind yourself.  Jungkook had told you how hard his parents had worked - all the long hours his father had put into getting where he was, able to support his wife and two children.)  He encourages his son’s stories and looks fondly at his daughter - the spitting image of her mother, with the same round stare as Jungkook.  

When your bowl runs empty, he makes sure it’s refilled, nodding in approval when his son is the one to make it happen.  When his wife makes an off-hand comment in response to a story, he’s the one to chide her, however gently.  He’s not nearly as sharp as she is, softly rounded edges like the toe of his slippers, the natural sag of his jaw with time.  

(You get it now. Meeting his parents for the first time, juxtaposed so hilariously against each other, it all makes sense.  Who Jungkook is, how he is equal parts soft and yielding and hesitant and distant.  Why he smiles so freely - with wrinkles you see aged nearly three decades in his father’s face - but loves so tenderly, offering it with whispers of affection that you might miss, should you look away.)

His father asks you questions like he really cares, nodding thoughtfully each time he learns a little bit more about you.

“How did you two meet?”  He’s bright-eyed, curious over the coffee mug he sandwiches in his grip.  You imagine he’s heard the story - must have heard some form of it in passing from Jungkook - but you appreciate his interest nonetheless.  He just wants to see the perspective from someone other than his lovestruck son.

You can’t help but laugh, sucking in your cheeks like you always do when you’re contemplative.  Jungkook shifts at your side, drops his inked palm over your covered knee and squeezes.  You’re not sure whether he’s reassuring you or himself with the gesture.

“He actually kept coming into my store.”  It’s not a lie.  Certainly not as scandalous as the full truth, but a truth nonetheless.  That is how you’d met.  

“Your store?”  It’s Jisoo, curious and pretty from her seat where she’s still picking at the desserts you’d brought over.  (She’s a fan of tart and tangy flavours, unlike her brother.)  “Do you own a shop or something?”

You wonder how much she knows.  You know she’s younger than either you or your partner, a student at Korea National University.  Part of their dance program, if you’re not mistaken.  You’d heard all about it a few weeks ago, when she’d sent a video to Jungkook and he’d raved about it nonstop, so proud of his little sister you couldn’t even make fun of him.

“I work at CELINE.”  

That earns a noise of delight from Jisoo (together with an “oh my god, that’s so cool”) and a polite albeit disinterested nod from Mr. Jeon (if his nondescript but stylish clothes are any indication, luxury fashion isn’t his top priority).  

What you don’t expect - what you just barely not from the corner of your eye - is the surprise written across Mrs. Jeon’s expression.  As if she’s just learned something groundbreaking.  

“You have a job?”  Maybe she doesn’t mean it how it comes out, disbelieving and abrupt.  You don’t let it rub you the wrong way, nodding.  (You know where she’s coming from - you feel the same way about his exes as she does, it seems.)  She’s hardly looking at you now, though, gaze trained on her beloved son.  There’s a silent conversation happening between them - something you’re not privy to, an exchange held only with those matching eyes of theirs.  

He’s upon you the moment he climbs into his car, clumsily knocking against the centre console as he drags your body closer, forces your knees apart with his hand unceremoniously shoved all the way into your silk crepe trousers. 

“She likes you.”  The words are muffled against your lips - already spit slick and swollen by how savagely he attacks them, tugs your bottom between his teeth and nibbles.  

You know he means his mother.  She’d hugged you on your way out, patted gently at your upper arm when she’d sent you both off with some leftovers in pretty ceramic containers.  It’d been a surprising farewell from the woman who had otherwise kept you at arm’s length through most of brunch, offering small smiles and exchanging only the basest of pleasantries.  

You have to admit - it feels a bit like taming a lion.  You’re high on the feeling and it seems Jungkook is too, utterly delighted as he drags his finger through the arousal that’s all but ruined your thong, thin material shoved aside by his deft movements.

“Your sister?”  You laugh - sound bitten off by the edge of your teeth when he teases at your folds, presses the tip of his fingers over your clit and circles back enough times to make you shudder.

He’s sucking into the sensitive spot beneath your ear, catching your earlobe with the wet point of his canines.  “My mom,”  he mumbles, burying himself into your skin as if he’d happily live there, make a home between your bones if you’d let him.  (You would.)  “She hugged you.”  Hilariously enough, he sounds just as surprised as you.

“She did,”  you hum - sigh when the pressure in your abdomen increases, mirroring the same one between your legs.  He’s pulling gently at the cord peeking past your lips, tugging at the smooth pink egg snug within your pussy.  It’s not on now - not like it had been all through brunch - but it still feels absurdly good, perfectly shaped just the right amount of stimulation against your fluttering walls.

Jungkook makes the softest noise, one that sounds like his heart falling into place, his soul settling where it feels most comfortable.  It’s at odds with the way he gropes your chest over the smocked bodice of your blouse, seeking out the hardened bud of your nipple beneath layers of chiffon and macrame.

The tiny vibrator continues fucking into you, muscle walls clenching around it each time he yanks on the cord and then lets it fall back into place.  You wish it were his fingers (wish it were his cock, more than that) but your pants fit too-well, tailored slim around your waist and flaring over your ankles. 

Your 70’s pants, as your silly boyfriend liked to call them.

“I can’t wait to get you home.”  It’s so dreamy, hazy with affection that overwhelms you.  He’s looking at you so sweetly now, forehead resting against yours, entire palm pressed to your cunt.  “K-knew you were always perfect but—”  You lose sight of his lovely doe eyes, your own sliding closed when he stamps a kiss to your mouth, so terribly sweet it’s reminiscent of the cheesecake you’d just had.  

You understand what he means without him having to finish the thought, smile of your own acting as the ending punctuation to your conversation. 

Family means everything to him.  Now, you were one step closer to being part of it.

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​ @snackhobi​​ @codeinebelle​​

[writingindulgence]

Painting Nails with Gojo Satoru (x reader)

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x (unspecified-gender) reader

Genre: Good friends with some mutual pining, a bit of fluff and a bit of uncertainty, reader has their mind in the gutter for a split second 

Lmao, how long can someone write about painting nails T.T 2800+ words

When you recently mentioned that you had no free time to refresh your nails due to the influx of odd jobs here and there, you didn’t think that it would lead to your long time friend, Gojo Satoru, sneaking into your room at the Tech with a bag full of nail polish.

He was in the middle of laying them out haphazardly onto the coffee table. Colours ranging from neon bright to the darkest of shades stood before your very own eyes on full display. Their shapes were as varied as the palette. Standard round, rectangle shapes, funky stars and fragile butterflies just to name a few. 

The shock of what was transpiring had yet to register in your mind, a dumbfounded look creeping onto your face.

It wasn’t even the first time that this has occurred. Once in a while you would come back from a mission in another city, ready to fall down onto your bed in the one place that you could call home, only to have this excuse for a friend barge in on your time of relaxation. Sometimes, you didn’t inform anyone when you would be back in the hopes of being left alone but he always seemed to find out the best time to annoy you. When you were tired. 

“What the actual fuck are you doing in my room Gojo-san?”, you drop your tattered bag onto the ground before closing the door. 

The feeling of his incoming whines and guaranteed pout had become something of a sixth sense to you now. You thought that maybe he would grow out of it after his teenage years but the gods weren’t as merciful as you once believed them to be. 

“(Y/n)-channnn, why are you so mean to me? I haven’t done anything for you to call me that”, he dramatically groaned out before flopping onto your bed. 

Glancing at the table, you notice that his sudden movement knocked over some of the bottles.  

You also know what he meant by that. You only ever call him ‘Gojo-san’ when he screws up or when you are both in the presence of his students. 

As much as he likes to tease you in front of important people, you aren’t that unprofessional as to disrespect him as an educator in front of the students that he teaches. The kids already make fun of him and if you were to join in at the same time then you would begin pitying the man. 

You walk over to the sprawled lamp post of a human and indicate with your hand to scoot over before proceeding to throw yourself down beside him. 

“What is this about, Toru-kun?”, your eyes lazily scan over the nail polish. Of course you know what is going on but Gojo Satoru is a man that enjoys being humoured. 

Poor Ijichi-kun ends up as the victim of a lot of his whims when you’re away. Scratch that, even when you are around the unfortunate fellow gets bullied like a kindergartner at a playground.

“So~ I’ve noticed that your nails-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“.. have been looking rather-,”

“I mentioned it.”

“..duller than usual so-”,

“I-”, 

His body flew up from the lying position and a hand suddenly came into your view. Before you could do anything, Gojo clamped it over your mouth, an unseen eye-roll definitely going off under his blindfold. 

He wasn’t really irritated but you took it as a win for all the times he irked you in the past month.

“I NOTICED YOUR NAILS LOOKING DULLER THAN USUAL SO I WENT OUT OF MY HUMBLE WAY TO BUY THESE,” he finally lets you go after finishing what he wanted to say.

The sheets under you have become disheveled, your thrashing around to get away and shut his loud mouth in case Principal Yaga hears brought about no results. There was no rule against being in the same room, you weren’t some silly teenagers and even if you were, the Tech wasn’t that strict anyway, but the thought of his disappointing gaze burning into your soul…

Your thoughts are disrupted when Gojo throws two pillows onto the floor. Knowing that there is no escaping this, you dust down your clothes and gracefully sit down. 

Who knows? This may actually turn out to be relaxing. Even if you’re wrong then spending time with friends is precious, no matter the activity. Especially in this line of work. There is no telling when one might hear the news of their comrades’ death. 

Gojo sits on the other free pillow and smiles. “Any colour pulling you in? If not then I would love to recommend, you know, I’m sort of an expert at this.”

You laugh slightly at his confidence before agreeing to his proposal. As long as it’s not too ugly then you really don’t mind what he ends up picking. 

In fact, you trust his judgement when it comes to fashion. His casual outfits always end up taking your breath away. You’re forever glad when he forces you to go along with him to the shopping district. You know your style and what you’re comfortable with but Gojo presents you with something unique every time.

“Hmmmm...then, what about this one?”, the hand that was under his chin as he was contemplating leaves its position and he quickly picks up a (f/c) nail polish. 

The container is cute too, a glass cat face. Though how did he figure out what colour this was with that blindfold? Only Gojo knows. 

You reach out for the item but he leans back and pulls it to his chest. Your eyebrows scrunch in confusion. 

“(Y/n), (Y/n), (Y/n)...,” he creates an X with his arms before continuing, “Bzzzt! Did you really think I would be so rude as to leave you alone with that tedious job? Who do you take me for?”. 

He grasps the fabric where his heart is located and fakely sniffles. Oh, so he wants to paint them for you. Figuring out that you may as well indulge in a little care, you extend your hand for him to hold. 

Gojo twists the nail brush open and dips it into the bottle a few times. His tongue is poking out as he tests how much of the liquid is on the brush. You don’t even question how he will paint your nails without seeing properly. Understanding his infinite capabilities has become second nature to you. 

Instead, you focus on the feeling of his hand when it grasps yours. 

It’s bigger and somewhat rougher, though not uncomfortable. Really, it feels secure to have around your own.

Jerking back at your line of thinking, you can feel the heat growing on your face by the second. Calm down there, no need to get ahead of yourself. You’ve held hands many times in the city before so that you don’t get ‘lost’, how is this any different?

“Hey now!,” Gojo grips your hand more firmly than before. 

“Sorry, sorry. I had an itch,” you come up with an excuse and double down when you scratch your shoulder with a free hand. 

He doesn’t say anything in return, there are none of his usual comebacks. That’s suspicious, he always needs to have the last word in no matter what. 

Instead he applies the first stroke of nail polish on one of your nails. 

His movements are steady, no shaking, and he doesn’t miss any spots. The process is...pleasant, being attended to by another. 

He moves on to your second finger, repeating the action from the previous one, applying just as much attention. 

Now that you are sitting still, barely breathing as you look on, his hold has become almost airy. Unless you focused purely on the skin to skin contact, it was as if your hand was levitating. 

Ah, technically he could be using ‘Infinity’ and keeping your hand away but...it made you feel weirdly unhappy. Your mouth tugged down in dissatisfaction unconsciously.

At the same moment, Gojo grasped the next finger on the list, the sudden feeling coming as a surprise. You barely held in the shocked gasp, tingles travelling up your arm. 

He didn’t say anything and continued the procedure. 

You peeked at his face to see if you could read him but there was nothing at all to go off on. No smile, smirk, pout or frown. 

Sheer concentration. 

It wasn’t unwelcome, in fact it was peaceful without the usual banter. And it wasn’t unbearably serious either. If you had to put a word on it then it felt...intimate.‘Wow, what the hell? Chill, he’s only a friend and this is simple nail painting’.

The clock in your room ticked continuously until eventually your fingernails were all finished. It took extra long because Gojo insisted that the proper way to do it was to paint two layers. So in the end you had to sit through another few minutes that honestly felt like an eternity. 

You hoped that you hadn't sweated with how warm it had gotten on your end.

“Alright! It’s your turn (Y/n)-chan,” he made finger guns and pointed them at your bewildered expression. 

“It isn’t fair if only you get this spa worthy treatment, no?”.

“Satoru, I think you overestimate my ability to paint nails. Of course, I do a fantastic job on myself but I am hopeless when it comes to others,” you explain. 

You may have over exaggerated a bit but if this goes on then your thoughts will enter dangerous territory, not that they haven’t already.

Distractions aren’t helpful when you are a jujutsu sorcerer, particularly in the romantic scene. 

Have you daydreamed about such scenarios? Yes. 

Would you like to experience them? Definitely. 

However, what you want and what you can have are at odds with each other.

“Don’t be a bore, come on, come on,” he sticks out his own hand before thinking up something and reaching towards his blindfold. “Let’s make it a challenge. I had such a difficult time so you have to suffer too”. 

He frees his eyesight and stands up. You’re about to follow but he shakes his head and kneels behind you. 

The smooth fabric covers your eyes and the pressure as he tightens the blindfold rubs against the back of your head. This feels like the beginning of a dirty situation-

A resounding smack travels in the enclosed room as you slap your cheeks simultaneously. This isn’t the time nor place.

“I’m accepting my resolve,” you throw out before Gojo can ask you why you hit yourself in the face. 

You hear him shuffle back to the pillow as well as glass tapping against glass. A nail polish bottle is shoved into your unprepared self. “I’m in your hands now,” he laughs stupidly to himself at his own pun. You can’t help cracking a small smile too.

Blindly, you fiddle around in front of you, wanting to start this. Clicking your tongue, you’re about to give out but Gojo finally decides to stop being a prick and gives you his hand. His shakes from laughter make themselves known but you ignore him. 

Unscrewing the bottle cap, you get to work. 

Only, you have to feel around for his fingernail. It’s impossible to hit the target without searching around first. 

You become overwhelmingly aware of the close proximity yet again and your heart skips a beat. The fact that you can’t see anything makes it far worse as your sense of touch becomes more sensitive. Your shaking hand dabs the point where you think the nail polish goes and you begin painting. 

Gojo’s amusement must have stopped too since you don’t hear him chuckling anymore. Is he looking at you? Or is he looking at his poor skin whenever you miss the fingernail? He doesn’t have his blindfold on so his eyes have to be focused on something. 

But what?

The silence becomes unmanageable and the constant skin against skin friction twists your insides. Is it just you? Or does he also think the same way?

“You know, you have pretty eyes. If you start an Instagram page with photos of them then you’ll get a following in no time,” you offhandedly mention to start a conversation. Knowing Gojo he’ll take the compliment, tease you a bit and move on. You shift around in the pillow before progressing onto the other hand, having speedrun the first, before he starts talking.

“That’s not a bad idea. You can do the eyeshadow and we can make some money,” he hums in agreement. The sound of extra cash nearly makes you drool but then a realisation hits you, like a truck an isekai protagonist. If you were to do the eyeshadow then you will no doubt have to be very close to his face. No way.

“On second thought, I don’t think we have the time,” you laugh it off. 

His disagreement comes soon after. 

“Haaaaaaah?! Then why did you mention it?”. His muscles tense, about to pull back to cross his arms but he remembers that you’re in the middle of painting his nails. 

After that, you both fall silent again. 

In the end, you get through the last finger and close the nail polish bottle. You tried your best, having taken your time despite it making you feel a certain way whenever you had to touch him longer than is necessary. 

You get up and reach out to unhook the blindfold but larger hands stop you in your tracks from behind. They pull yours away and drop them at your sides. 

“Allow the amazing gentleman, Gojo Satoru,” he gently takes it off as you stand unmoving. 

When light from the window hits your face, you scrunch your eyelids shut, waiting to adjust to the bright atmosphere. A hand patting down your hair makes them shoot open and you turn around to complain. 

Whatever you were going to say gets caught in your throat as you look up into his light blue eyes. His expression is serene, free of any worries but his eyes seem to be trying to speak a thousand words. 

They too look composed but you get the feeling that he’s trying to communicate something to you.

Swallowing, you clench your hand (conscious of the recently dry nail polish), and place it over your chest. “Satoru..um,” you pause, not fully comprehending what you want to say, or rather, how you want to say it.

Your eyes widen when you notice his hand traveling towards yours. 

Clumsily spinning around, you head for the pillows and shake off the dust that accumulated on them. 

“Thanks for today. I’ll have a nap, since I’m still tired from the flight.” 

You show your gratitude but hide the words your heart wanted to really express. 

You don’t turn around to see his expression. The sound of his blindfold going over his eyes is what you hear first. Then, 

“Don’t worry your sleepy head over it! Sweet dreams, (Y/n)”.

The door opens and closes gently behind you. 

Once you’re sure that he is far down the hallway, you throw yourself onto your bed, put the pillow over your face and scream. Feeling a little foolish, you stop and look over your nails. 

He really did a great job.

-Next Day-

The sun is shining brightly therefore there is no better time to take a walk. Which is why you aren’t surprised when you stumble upon Sukuna’s vessel, Itadori Yuuji. 

The teenager has a tub of ice cream with him. Maybe you should get some too? Gojo is bound to have some in his mini freezer.

“Ah! Hello, (L/n)-san,” the boy waves his hand in greeting and jogs over. 

“Itadori-kun, is it alright for you to be outside like this?,” you ask with concern. 

There are only a few people that know about his current state of being alive. When you heard that he died, you came as fast as possible to comfort Gojo. 

“It’s fine! Everyone is gone and Ijichi-san is on the lookout at the front gate. He’s meant to give me a ring you see”. He looks down.

“Oh! You’ve got some nice nails there,” he points out as he takes a bite out of the dessert. “You match with Gojo-sensei,” he adds after a second.

You pause your appreciative smile at his compliment. Excuse me? 

“Excuse me? Match?,” you prod him to elaborate.

The teenager scratches his cheek. 

“Ehh, but he said the plan was to match all along. Though they don't exactly look the same”.

Your eyes tear up in embarrassment at the turn of events. You’re matching nails? You thought for definite that he would wash them off when he gets back to his room. Not only that but putting the blindfold over your eyes must have been his sly way of making sure that you don't notice they're the same colour. 

Itadori shakes his hands in front of him before bowing. “I-I’m sorry (L/n)-san! I did not mean to insult the way you painted Gojo-sensei’s nails. They are a bit tactless compared to yours but that’s okay,” he apologises profusely, mistaking the root of your shame.

‘That dumbass Gojo Satoru’

[eirist]

Little Bits and Pieces of Heaven

THE EGG HUNT SHENANIGANS

One-shot #: 25

Disclaimer: One Piece (and its characters) belongs to Eiichiro Oda-sensei.

Reminder: I have no beta-reader. Any grammatical and spelling errors are solely mine.

Warning: OOC possible. One shot scribble.

Rating: T (Just light flirting stuff)

Note: Light teasing. PWP. And pure insanity I tell you. Just ending my quarantine with another one-shot. Because who knows when I can write and upload one again.

Summary: "Found the bunny."      

With a cheerful and dazzling smile, Luffy—the captain of the infamous Straw Hat Pirates—held out his hands to show off the beautifully decorated basket to his crew members.

Sanji cocked an eyebrow at him. "Seriously?"

"Yes!” Luffy exclaimed. “We're gonna go hunt for eggs!" His already bright smile widened some more at the idea of an adventure.

This time it was Zoro’s turn to raise an eyebrow. "Wearing… that?" His lone eye scrutinized the rabbit costume the rubber man had on.

The younger boy nodded again, head bobbing up and down enthusiastically. “Usopp and Chopper are wearing the same!”

"Yes we are!" Usopp and Chopper yelled proudly, pumping their fists up in the air.

“…”

“What the hell is wrong with this island?" The cook muttered under his breath with a slight shake of his head.

“More like what the hell is wrong with them?” Zoro grunted, folding his arms across his chest as he nudged his head towards the three.

It was one of those rare days when he and the idiot swordsman weren’t snarling insults at each other because there is a more pressing and absurd matter to attend to...

…like Luffy, Usopp and Chopper in bunny suits, holding colorful baskets to join the island’s ‘egg hunt’.

“Fufufu…” Robin laughed softly from her deck chair where she was relaxing. “It’s the island’s tradition. They are celebrating what they call Easter.” She explained as she flipped a page of the book in her hand.  

“By looking for eggs?” Zoro inquired with a frown as the three bunnies started singing a song about egg hunting.

“Yes,” Robin nodded. “We just so happen to arrive here right in time for that celebration.”

“Weird.”

“No it’s not!” Usopp retorted looking aggravated at Zoro’s comment. “I recalled visiting an island once where hunting for eggs is considered a manly man’s sport! The one who finds the most wins the title of the most manliest man alive.”

“Suge Usopp!” Chopper gasped.

“That is right,” the sniper crossed his arms over his chest haughtily. “And guess who won the title five years in a row?”

“You, of course.” Both Zoro and Sanji drawled, with the same expression on their faces that clearly says… they’re not buying Usopp’s obviously untrue and exaggerated story.

Robin stifled her giggles behind her hand as Usopp yelled his retorts at the two. Both Luffy and Chopper were looking at him with their eyes sparkling from amazement.

“Whoa you’re awesome Usopp!” Luffy commented.

“You really are strong!” The reindeer gushed.

“I know right!” Usopp answered with an approving grin and a thumbs up.

“But I will defeat you today!” The captain declared. “I will be the one to win the title of the most manliest man alive.”

“And you’d do that…” Sanji said in an almost bored tone. “By finding… a lot of eggs?”

“Yes!”

Sanji sighed as he pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pants.

“And you really need to wear… those costumes to hunt for them?” Zoro asked, still doubtful why they need to be in that.

“Yes!”

“It’s tradition Zoro,” Usopp stated matter-of-factly. “You can’t find the eggs if you’re not in a bunny costume! You’re so ignorant.”

“Temee…”

“Hey! Why don’t you join us too Zoro?” Luffy invited and Zoro almost blanched at that.

Almost.

"Yeah!” Chopper chirped in. “Join us! The more the merrier!"

“Nope. I’m good.” Zoro answered almost instantly. Like hell he would don that stupid costume and then hunt for stupid eggs.

Best to just leave them to their crazy shit.

“Have fun.” He waved them off.

Sanji let out a ‘tch’ before taking a drag from his cigarette. Things seemed to get weirder and weirder these past few days. But somehow the idea that he'll be free of the usual food stock raiders for the day feels too good to pass. "Alright then, run along rabbits. Go scour the island for eggs.”

“We will!” The trio chorused.

Sanji nodded at them. “And don't you dare create any messes for us to clean you hear?"

“Eeeh…” a voice from behind them suddenly said. “Don’t worry about it Sanji-kun."

And just like that the cook immediately swiveled around to face the newcomer.

"Nami-swaaan! Don't you look dazzling in that ensemble, my sweet!" He crooned as his eyes automatically turned to hearts, kneeling down on one knee in front of the navigator.

“Thank you!” Nami beamed at him and winked. The chef instantly fell down the lawn deck in a swoon, blabbering about her beauty. She was wearing an outfit just like the one she had on when they went after him in Whole Cake Island. Only this time the corset skirt is frillier and more colorful as the layers sported different shades of pastel spring palette.

The puffed sleeves of her blouse are pulled down her shoulders, revealing them and she had put on a rabbit ears headband on top of her head.

Zoro glared at the prone figure of the blond before shifting his attention to Nami. “You going with them?”

Nami nodded with a scheming grin. “Heard something about money prizes.”

“Of course you wouldn’t let that pass,” the green-haired man smirked. His lone eye trailed up and down her form as he studied her. “And you're supposed to be what? A rabbit as well?"

"Yes."

He jerked a thumb towards the three doofuses in their onesie costumes. "Why not wear the same as them?"

Nami narrowed her eyes at him as Sanji barked threats from where he was still lying down. Something about shutting his trap if he can’t say something nice to his precious Nami-san.

Zoro ignored him. Even as he started shouting insults that he is being the usual, unfashionable stupid marimo that he is.

"Because that is not cute." The map maker huffed, placing her hands on her hips.

"Looks ok on them." The grin that Zoro send her way was nasty.

She flipped her hair over her shoulder snootily. "Say one more word about what I'm wearing Zoro and I'll make sure your next sentence is, “Please don't charge me”."

"Right. Don't charge me… greedy witch," he said monotonously, deliberately omitting the word please and adding an insult as well.

She gave him the evil eye.

“Now go and run along with your rabbit friends."

"You can kiss your next island allowance goodbye Zoro," Nami said in an overly sweet tone as she smiled evilly. "I'll be splurging them for expensive lingerie later."

"OI!"

"Byeeee!" Nami immediately pranced away from him to escape; pushing Usopp, Luffy and Chopper towards the ship’s ladder so that they could embark. Sanji was automatically back on his feet and on her side to assist her while nose bleeding about lingerie and the orange-haired woman.

"Damn it Nami! You come back here!" Zoro was yelling as he stomped to follow her.

“Have fun!” Robin called out to them, eyes never leaving her book and creating duplicates of her hand at the railing to wave at them.

-------------------------

It was around lunch time when Nami entered the crow’s nest. The first thing her eyes landed upon was the figure of a sprawled Zoro, unsurprisingly asleep on the floor.

She approached the thunderously snoring swordsman and nudged his side with her foot.

“Hey,” she prodded him awake. “Hey Zoro, wake up!”

The snoring stopped. And there was a grunt. Then a tiger-like yawn, followed by another grunt.

Nami rolled her eyes at his response. “Zoro!”

“WHAT?!” Zoro answered irritably. He opened his eye and blinked up at her. “Hunt’s done?” He asked groggily before turning to his side so his back was now facing her, not even waiting for her answer.

A frown appeared on her lips. What a rude and lazy ass. She poked him on the back with her feet. He merely grunted again and ignored her.

“They’re still hunting,” she explained, looking down on his prone figure disapprovingly. She doubt if he was listening. Sometimes, you might as well talk to a rock than Roronoa Zoro.

“The game is happening on the whole island,” she continued. “I went back to get reinforcements. So wake up and come with me!”

“Will not. I’d rather sleep.”

Nami settled down on the nest’s floor just behind him. This time she was prodding him with her finger, making sure her nail was digging into his skin.

“Stop that.”

“I will not.”

“Why aren’t you looking as well?” He grumbled petulantly as she continued poking his back.

“That’s what my three rabbits are for! I’m just there to oversee and secure the money prize!”

“You can’t make me join you.”

And Nami leaned forward so her lips were almost touching his ear. “Really?”

“Whatever you’re planning. It won’t work.” He declared smugly, even as he kept his eye closed.

She laughed softly, letting her breath tickle his ear. “You’re no fun.” She shifted closer, bending over so she could drape her body on top of him.

“You know… I’m not planning anything.” She whispered, letting her lips lightly touch his ear. “I’m just here to offer a ten percent deduction to your current… debt amount.” She let her hand slide inside his t-shirt, past his haramaki to caress the well-defined muscles there.

“I already told you that’s not gonna work.” Zoro’s eye was now open and looking at her. A smirk was on his lips. “And I don’t recall borrowing money from you onna.”

“You don’t?” Nami gasped exaggeratedly. “What about that time in Vert Island? You owe me belis for the cottage rent.”

Zoro’s brow furrowed. “Thought that was your treat?”

She mock-pouted. “Oh Zoro. When are you gonna learn that there are no such things as free or treat when it comes to me?”

“You really are a wicked witch.” The green-haired man groused. “And after I made sure you thoroughly enjoyed your stay there.”

Nami snickered. Zoro noticed that the bunny ears on her head actually made her look more mischievous. “Nothing’s free nowadays Zoro,” she pointed out. “Favor for a favor. I pay; you work your ass off.”

He snorted. “Next time, I’m just lying down and letting you do all the work. Whether you pay or not.”

She threw back her head and laughed again. “Do the hunt and maybe I’ll humor you.” She bent over and placed teasing kisses along his jaw and neck.

“In your dreams.” He sneered and she felt his arm snaked around her, his hand squeezed the back of her thigh before it slid up to do the same on one plump cheek of her behind.

That made her bite her lip even as she complained. “Tch! You’re a hard man to bargain with.”

A shark-like grin appeared on Zoro’s face. “Yeah.” He playfully slapped her ass before giving it another squeeze. “Offer a better deal Nami.” He said teasingly against her ear this time before nipping at the skin below it as his hand continued caressing her backside.

“Mmm… well what do you—”

“WHAT THE HELL?”

They simultaneously turned their heads towards the voice.

Sanji was gaping at them from the nest’s entrance… his eyes wide as saucers. His face was so red. As red as the blood dripping down his nose as he took in the image of Nami's perfectly shaped-derriere and her lacy thong as her ridiculously short skirt and position put them on display….

… along with the shitty swordsman’s hand on it.

Silence reigned for a moment. Then…

“TAKE YOU GODDAMNED HANDS OFF HER AHO KENSHIN!”

“TAKE YOUR GODDAMNED EYES OFF HER ASS ERO COOK!”

“Temee…”

Both men growled the word at the same time as Nami disentangled herself from Zoro. She wasn’t even embarrassed at being caught. They weren’t actually keeping it from the crew after all.

But of course it would be better if Sanji was the last one to know.

Nami sighed heavily as she watched the two throwing death glares at each other.  

It's the beginning of chaos.

The two attacked each other almost immediately. Sanji had leapt inside the crow’s nest, flaming legs and all as Zoro avoided him and made a grab for his swords.

And manage to hit the cook straight in the face with the sheathed end of his red katana.

Her mouth fell open as the Sanji collapsed down the steel floor. But she knew of course this was far from over.

In one swift move a grinning Zoro carted her towards the nest’s entrance. He enjoyed that, she knew. In a matter of seconds they were down the metal ladder while Sanji recovered, fumed and yelled expletives at his rival.

Using one arm to hold on to the ladder’s rung as his other was wrapped around her waist, Zoro swung slightly for leverage.

Nami’s eyes widened when she realized what he’s about to do.

“Zoro! NOOOOO!!!”

She screamed bloody murder when he let go and made the high jump down onto the Sunny’s deck.

Nami’s heart leaped to her throat. That was probably the reason why her scream stopped coming out of her mouth. Halfway down the long drop she could swear she felt her soul left her as her mind went blank.

She's going to kill Zoro! Mark her words!

Somewhere above Sanji was still yelling threats and curses.

The swordsman landed on the deck as if it was just a natural thing to do.

Oh dear heavens. Roronoa Zoro will be paying for this stupid stunt of his for the rest of his life until his next and next and next!

“Zorooo!” Luffy greeted when he spotted the former pirate hunter on the deck. “Heey!” He bounded towards him, showing his now-filled with eggs basket. Chopper and Usopp were nowhere to be seen as the three most likely got separated. “Look, look I found a lot! Shishishi! I can’t wait to show it to Usopp. Whatcha got there?” He peered at the figure tucked under Zoro’s arm.

"Found the bunny." Zoro answered nonchalantly.

"Oh that’s great! Shishishi!" Luffy chortled. He peered down again at the navigator who is still hanging motionlessly on Zoro's arm.

"Ne, Zoro?"

"Huh?”

"Uhm... the bunny looks mad.”

"..."

“THUNDERBOLT TEMPO!”

[twh-news]

Loki' composer on how her MCU score reflects the main character's flair for the dramatic

By Josh Weiss

Natalie Holt's timeline was turned upside down last fall when she landed the highly-coveted composer gig for Marvel Studios' Loki series on Disney+.

"My agent got a general call-out looking for a composer on a Marvel project," she tells SYFY WIRE during a conversation over Zoom. "So, I didn’t know what it was. It was [described as] spacey and quite epic ... I sent in my show reel and then got an interview and got sent the script and then I realized what it was for. I was like, ‘Oh my god!’ It was amazing ... Loki was already one of my favorite characters, so I was really stoked to get to give him a theme and flesh him out in this way."

***WARNING! The following contains certain plot spoilers for the first four episodes of Loki!***

Imbued with glorious purpose, Holt knew the score had to match the show's gonzo premise about the Time Variance Authority, an organization that secretly watches over and manages every single timeline across the Marvel multiverse. The proposition of such an out-there sci-fi concept inspired the composer to bring in uniquely strange sounds, courtesy of synthesizers and a theremin.

"I got my friend, Charlie Draper, to play the theremin on my pitch that I had to do," she recalls. "They gave me a scene to score, which I’m sure they gave to loads of other composers. It was the Time Theater sequence in Episode 1. The bit from where he goes up the elevator and then into the Time Theater ... I just went to town on it and I wanted to impress them and win the job and put as many unusual sounds in there and make it as unique as possible."

The end result was a weird, borderline unnatural sound that wouldn't have felt out of place in a 1950s sci-fi B-movie about big-headed alien invaders. Rather than being turned off by Holt's avant garde ideas, Marvel Studios head honcho Kevin Feige embraced them, only giving the composer a single piece of feedback: "Push it further."

Holt admits that she was slightly influenced by Thor: Ragnarok ("I loved the score for it and everything"), which wasn't afraid to lean into the wild, Jack Kirby-created ideas floating around Marvel's cosmic locales. Director Taika Waititi's colorful and bombastic set pieces were perfectly complimented by an '80s-inspired score concocted by Devo co-founder, Mark Mothersbaugh.

"To be honest, I tried not to listen to it on its own," Holt says of the Ragnarok soundtrack. "I didn’t want to be too influenced by it. I watched the film a couple of times a few years ago, so yeah, I don’t think I was heavily referencing it. But I definitely had a memory of it in my mind."

After boarding Loki last September, Holt spent the next six months (mostly in lockdown) crafting a soundtrack that would perfectly reflect the titular god of mischief played by Tom Hiddleston. One of the first things she came up with was the project's main theme — a slightly foreboding cue that pays homage to the temporal nature of the TVA, as well as the main character's flair for the dramatic. "He always does things with a lot of panache and flair, and he’s very classical in his delivery."

She describes it as an "over-the-top grand theme with these ornate flourishes" that plays nicely with Loki's Shakespearean aura. "I wanted those ornaments and grand gestures in what I was doing. Then I also wanted to reflect that slightly analog world of the TVA where everything has lots of knobs and buttons ... [I wanted to] give it that slightly grainy, faded [and] vintage-y sci-fi sound as well."

"I just wanted it to feel like it had this might and weight — like there was something almost like a requiem about it," Holt continues. "These chords that are really powerful and strident and then they’ve got this blinking [sound] over the top. I just came up with that when I was walking down the street and I hummed it into my phone. There’s a video where you can just see up my nose and I’m humming [the theme]. I came home and I played it."

As a classically-trained musician, Holt drew on her love of Mahler, Dvořák, Beethoven, Mozart, and most importantly, Wagner. A rather fitting decision, given that an actual Valkyrie (played by Tessa Thompson) exists within the confines of the MCU.

"I would say those flourishes over the top of the Loki theme are very much Wagner," Holt says. "They’re like 'Ride of the Valkyries.’ I wanted people to kind of recall those big, classical, bombastic pieces and I wanted to give that weight to Loki’s character. That was very much a conscious decision to root it in classical harmony and classical writing ... There’s a touch of the divine to the TVA. It’s in charge of everything, so that’s why those big powerful chords [are there]. I wanted people almost to be knocked off their socks when they heard it."

With the main theme in place, Holt could then play around with it in different styles, depending on the show's different narrative needs. Two prime examples are on display in the very first episode during Miss Minutes' introductory video and the flashback that reveals Loki to be the elusive D.B. Cooper.

"What was really fun was [with] each episode, I got to pull it away and do a samba version of the theme or do a kind of ‘50s sci-fi version of the theme," she explains. "I can’t say other versions of the theme because they’re in Episode 5 and 6…or like when Mobius is pruned, I did this really heartfelt and very emotional [take on the theme] when you see Loki tearing up as he’s going down in slow motion down that corridor. It was cool to have the opportunity to try out so many different styles and genres. And it was big enough to take it all. It was a big enough story."

The other side of the story speaks to the old world grandeur of Loki's royal upbringing on Asgard, a city amongst the stars that eventually found its way into Norse mythology.

"I went to a concert in London three years ago and I heard these Norwegian musicians playing in this group called the Lodestar Trio," Holt recalls. "They do a take on Bach, where they’re kind of giving it a folk-y twist … [They use] a nyckelharpa and a Hardanger fiddle — they’re two historic Norwegian folk instruments. I just remembered that sound and I was like, ‘Oh, I have to use those guys in our score.’ It seemed like the perfect thing. I was like, ‘Yes, the North/Norwegian folk instruments.’ It just felt like it was the perfect thing for his mother and Asgard and his origins."

That folk-inspired sound also helped shape the music for Sylvie (played by Sophia Di Martino), a female variant of Loki with a rather tragic past. "Obviously, we’ve seen in Episode 4 what happened to her as a child," Holt says. "I just feel like she’s so dark. She’s basically grown up living in apocalypses, so she has that Norwegian folk violin sound, but her theme is incredibly dark and menacing and also, you don’t see her. She’s just this dark figure who’s murdering people for a while."

And then there were all the core members of the TVA to contend with. As Holt mentioned above, fans recently lost Agent Mobius (Owen Wilson), may he rest in prune. We mean peace. What? Too soon? During a recent interview with SYFY WIRE, Loki head writer Michael Waldron said that he based Mobius off of Tom Hanks's dogged FBI agent Carl Hanratty in 2002's Catch Me If You Can.

"There’s this thing that he loves jet ski magazines," Holt says. "I had this character in my head and then when I saw Owen Wilson’s performance, I was like, ‘Oh, he’s actually a lot lighter and he plays it in a different way from how I’d imagined.’ But I was listening to Bon Jovi and those slightly rock-y anthemic things. ‘90s rock music for some reason was my Mobius sound palette."

Mobius is pruned on the orders of his longtime friend, Ravonna Renslayer (Gugu Mbatha-Raw), after learning that everyone who works for the TVA is a variant who was unceremoniously plucked out of their original timelines. A high-ranking member of the quantum-based agency, Renslayer has a theme that "is quite tied in with Mobius and it’s like a high organ," Holt adds. "It doesn’t quite know where it’s going yet. But yeah, we’ll have to see what happens with that one."

Wilson's character isn't the only person fed up with the TVA's lies. Hunter B-15 (Wunmi Mosaku) also became disillusioned with the place and allowed Sylvie to escape in the most recent episode

"Hunter B-15 has this moment in Episode 4 where Sylvie shows her her past, her memories. I thought that was a really powerful moment for her," Holt says. I feel like she’s such a fighter and when she comes into the Time-Keepers and she makes that decision, like, ‘I’m switching sides,’ so her theme is more like a drum rhythm. I actually kind of sampled my voice and you can hear that with the drums. I did loads of layers of it, just like this horrible sliding sound with this driving rhythm underneath it. So, that was B-15 and then her softer side when she has her memory given back to her."

Speaking of the Time-Keepers, we finally got to meet the creators of the Sacred Timeline...or at least we thought we did. Loki and Sylvie are shocked to learn that the red-eyed guardians of reality are nothing but a trio of high-end animatronics (ones that could probably be taken out by a raging Nicolas Cage). Even before Sylvie manages to behead one of them, something definitely feels off with the Time-Keepers, which meant Holt could underscore the uncanny valley feeling in the score.

"When they walked in for their audience with the Time-Keepers, it was like this huge gravitas," she says. "But you look up and there’s something a bit wrong about them. I don’t know if you felt that or if you just totally believed. You were like, ‘Oh, this is so strange.’ I just felt like there was something a little bit off and musically, it was fun to play around with that."

Holt is only the second solo female composer to work on an MCU project, following in the footsteps of Captain Marvel's Pinar Toprak. Her involvement with Loki represents the studio's growing commitment to diversity, both in front of and behind the camera. This Friday will see the wide release of Black Widow, the first Marvel film to be helmed solely by a woman (Cate Shortland). Four months after that, Chloé Zhao's Eternals will introduce the MCU's first openly gay character into the MCU.

"I just feel like it’s an honor and a privilege to have had that chance to be the second woman to score a thing in the MCU and to be in the same league as those incredible composers like Mothersbaugh and Alan Silvestri. They're just legends," Holt says. "Another distinctive thing about [the show] is that all the heads of department are pretty much women. Marvel are showing themselves to be really progressive and supportive and encouraging. I applaud [them]. Whatever they’re doing seems to be working and people seem to be liking it as well, so that’s awesome."

Holt's score for Vol. 1 of Loki (aka Episodes 1-3) are now streaming on every music-based platform you could think of. Episodes 1-4 are available to watch on Disney+ for subscribers. Episode 5 (the show's penultimate installment) debuts on the platform this coming Wednesday, July 7.

Natalie isn't able to give up any plot spoilers for the next two episodes (no surprise there), but does tease "the use of a big choir" in one of them. "Episode 6, I’m excited for people to hear it," she concludes. "That’s all I can say."