#a little abstract a little bit of an expression

[macaronichewtoyz]

Kid Pix 4d Angie

[spindash]

this day was um. yeah. i did NOT CRY!!!!!! im not crying in front of everyone.. but yeah. it was nice being around a lot of people who all were a part of my uncles life and loved him very much. burying his urn made it feel real like he is actually gone now. which fucking sucks. but maybe now i can start to get a little more closure it has seriously felt like a huge open wound for the last seven months. but its um. yeah. i dont know it feels weird to talk about it i guess like its so personal but it also feels weird to not talk about it. anyway

[lipstickontheglass1985]

wow it is truly striking how relevant ds9 remains to be after all these years. plot points such as "quark tries to secretly make deepfake ai porn of kira" seem to be even more material today than 30 years ago !

[mosspapi]

"Create a realistic/accurate self portrait, and focus on representing ur psyche" ok maybe that's possible for a normal person but if you want an artistic representation of me it will look Nothing like the physical form you see in front of you. So which would u prefer.

[unboundprompts]

Hello! Can you help me and/or give me examples of how to write a pre-teen? Specifically a slightly mature for their age but still socially-awkward, selfless, empathetic, extroverted 10-year-old

How to Write a Pre-Teen

Voice and Language

Simple but specific vocabulary: Pre-teens might not use very complex words, but they often know and throw in some “big words” they’ve recently learned or mimic words they hear adults use. Don’t overdo it, though—they’ll often misapply or half-understand these terms, which can create natural, humorous moments.

“It’s totally, like, a catastrophe that I forgot my project.”

Expressive dialogue: Pre-teens are enthusiastic and often exaggerate. They can also shift quickly between emotions, from excitement to frustration.

“That was the best movie ever!” might turn into “Actually, I mean, it was kinda boring in some parts, but, you know, overall…”

Thoughtful yet blunt: Kids this age often haven’t fully learned the “filters” adults use. They can be direct and say things that are surprisingly insightful or unexpectedly honest.

Thoughts and Perspective

Developing identity and opinions: They’re beginning to form their own beliefs but still echo the views of family, teachers, or friends.

“Mom says people should never lie, but I wonder if little lies are okay if they help people feel better…”

Questioning and introspective moments: Pre-teens are curious about life, relationships, and “big ideas.” They may ask questions, but sometimes keep their deep thoughts to themselves, exploring them internally.

“If friends are supposed to be there for each other, why do I feel alone even when they’re around?”

Struggle with abstract concepts: At this age, they’re just beginning to understand abstract ideas like justice or friendship but often approach them in straightforward, literal ways.

Behavior and Actions

Impulsivity and energy: They might shift quickly between activities and emotions, getting distracted or excited without much control over it. They may also blurt out ideas or act before thinking, especially if they’re extroverted.

For instance, a character might immediately jump up to help someone even if they aren’t sure what to do, or they might “borrow” something without fully considering the consequences.

Physical awkwardness: Pre-teens can be a bit clumsy as they’re still growing into their bodies. This can lead to endearing, awkward moments.

They might knock something over, trip over their own feet, or feel self-conscious in ways that show they’re still figuring themselves out physically as well as socially.

Friendships and Social Dynamics

Navigating social rules: Pre-teens are very aware of social “rules” but may not fully understand them. This is an age when they care a lot about what their friends think, but they’re also just beginning to question these dynamics.

A pre-teen might want to befriend the “cool” kids but feel conflicted when they realize their values don’t align. Or they may try too hard to impress friends and feel self-conscious afterward.

Conflicted loyalties: Friendships are often intense at this age, and they might struggle with conflicting feelings if friends argue or if they feel left out.

“I really like hanging out with Sarah, but I know Emma doesn’t. Maybe if I can make them both laugh, we could all just… get along?”

Small gestures: Pre-teens often show they care in understated ways, like sharing snacks, giving a small gift, or cheering someone up when they’re down. For a socially-awkward pre-teen, these gestures may come out clumsy but sweet.

Insecurity and Self-Awareness

Self-consciousness mixed with bravery: Pre-teens often fluctuate between trying to fit in and wanting to stand out. They might do something brave but then doubt themselves or quickly retreat if things don’t go as planned.

For instance, a character might volunteer to speak in front of the class only to feel panicked once they’re in the spotlight.

Hyper-awareness of themselves and others: They’re beginning to notice how others perceive them and may get flustered easily or worry about little things, like if their clothes look okay or if they sounded silly.

“I shouldn’t have laughed like that… I bet everyone thought I sounded so weird.”

Joking as a defense: Pre-teens often use humor to cope, covering up their awkwardness or discomfort by making jokes.

Reactions to Conflict and Emotion

Quick emotional shifts: They might go from laughing to frustrated to embarrassed in just a few minutes. They feel emotions intensely and may have outbursts or react strongly to things adults might dismiss as minor.

Heroic ideals vs. real-world disappointments: Many pre-teens have an idealized view of right and wrong, fairness, and heroism, and they may be disappointed when things don’t align with these ideals. They’re just starting to understand that people aren’t all good or all bad.

“I don’t get it… why would she lie about something like that? Friends are supposed to be honest!”

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Yall know I'm gonna have to collect my fine caa pieces and my fine caa meme art bc I'm jumbling them together

[strayingawayy]

doodle princess (dad! hyunjin)

it was a lazy afternoon, and the sound of soft brushes against paper filled the cozy room. the sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the room. hyunjin sat on the floor, his legs crossed beneath him, a canvas of vibrant colors spread out in front of him. his tiny daughter, only a little over a year old, sat in front of him, a small paintbrush in her hand. the little girl giggled as she dabbed the brush into a cup of water, the bristles swaying playfully as she mimicked her father's every move.

hyunjin was in his element. he had always enjoyed painting, but since becoming a parent, he found himself getting lost in more than just his art. his thoughts often wandered to his family, and now, as he painted, they became the subject of his work. he had always doodled, usually sketches of his love for you—lines that captured your smile, your essence, your very being. but now, his art had evolved. no longer were his doodles just of you; they included the tiny miracle he and you had created together.

as hyunjin worked on his newest piece, he couldn’t help but glance at his daughter sitting beside him. her chubby little hands clutched her brush as she carefully made tiny strokes on her own little paper. the sight made his heart swell, a sense of pride that no canvas could quite capture. his daughter was a masterpiece in her own right, and every day he spent with her was like painting his own personal heaven.

"look, sweetheart," he said, his voice tender, "you’re making art just like daddy."

you stood by the door, arms crossed, watching the scene before you. you had always admired hyunjin’s dedication to his art, but seeing him like this, in such a domestic, tender moment, filled your heart with something more. your little girl was a perfect mix of the two of you, with her father’s expressive eyes and your smile.

she babbled to herself, her eyes locked on the colors in front of her, her tiny face scrunched in concentration. her gaze shifted between the painting and hyunjin’s hands, as if trying to decode the magic behind each stroke.

a giggle broke your thoughts. your daughter’s tiny finger pointed excitedly at one of the doodles hyunjin had painted—a rough but endearing image of her. the likeness was undeniable, though a bit abstract, with big eyes and an exaggerated grin.

“na-ri!” she babbled suddenly, pointing directly at the doodle of herself.

hyunjin’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly looked at you, barely able to contain his laughter. “did she… did she just say her name? as her first word at that?”

you blinked, a small chuckle escaping your lips as you approached them. “i think she did. but wait—why is she saying her own name instead of ma or da?"

hyunjin’s expression shifted from surprise to a proud, mischievous grin. “she must be taking after her old man, huh?” he said, giving his daughter a teasing look. "so humble, so self-aware. you definitely take after your daddy, little one. you already know how to recognize your own greatness.”

you snorted, unable to hold back the laughter. "oh, so you’re teaching her narcissism already, huh? at least wait until she's older for that."

“she’s a genius," hyunjin said, his voice dripping with pride. "it’s not narcissism if it’s true.”

your daughter giggled, clearly enjoying the attention. she looked at her father with the same gleam in her eyes that you had seen countless times before. it was the gleam of someone who knew they were loved, who knew they were everything.

“you’re so spoiled,” you said, teasing hyunjin now. “i can't believe you’re making our daughter narcissistic already."

hyunjin chuckled, placing his paintbrush down and scooping her into his lap. “she’s just confident. that’s all. but i guess you’re right. i’ll take it easy on her. let’s see if she says da next time.”

but as he held her close, the little girl turned her attention back to the paper, where her name was written in swirling letters beneath her doodled face. she babbled again, sounding almost like she was repeating the syllables. it was clear that she was as in love with her own name as her father was with his art.

you sat down next to them, leaning against hyunjin. “well, at least she has good taste.”

hyunjin rested his head against yours, a playful smile on his face. “she’s my masterpiece. of course, she’d be a little self-absorbed.”

you couldn't stop laughing as you watched them together- father and daughter, both lost in the magic of art and family. you had always known hyunjin was talented, but there was something even more beautiful about his creations now. they weren’t just art; they were a reflection of the love he had for you, for your little girl, and for the life you had built together.

with a loving sigh, you wrapped your arm around him, your daughter still babbling happily in in his lap. as the laughter echoed through the room, you couldn't help but feel that this was the masterpiece you'd always been waiting for- perfect, in every little way.

___

everybody say thank you @hwajin @astraystayyh for indulging with me 🙂‍↕️

[clockwayswrites]

Danny in Metropolis Ch2/P2

masterpost this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3

(much love to @fadinggalaxysalad for the idea of Kon considering his own logo)

Picking out a lunch box was surprisingly hard. It said so much about a person.

Jon's was a Robin lunch box, because of course it was. Though Kon very much doubted that Damian's was a Superboy one (especially since it wouldn't be a Superboy the Second one). Kon’s own was a simple black one that he has been doodling on all year with a silver sharpie.

Maybe predictively, school was full of lunch boxes of superheroes, pop stars, geometric colors, and semi-abstract artsy patterns. Anything deemed not too “kiddy”. Eliminating the kiddy things on the shelf didn't get Kon very far. His own logo caught his eye, sitting innocently on the shelf among the Justice League heroes.

It was a little tempting. The thought of Danny carrying around his symbol through school every day brought a flush to Kon’s cheeks.

But there was no was he was going deal with the teasing from his family for that choice.

He moved away from that area of the shelves, because he wasn't going to get Danny any other superhero's symbol either, and continued on down to the abstract section. It was small and Kon was ready to rule it out until he saw it: a mostly black bag with a stylized set of stars on it. It was a little like Kon's own bag without actually matching in a way he could be teased about. It also felt very Danny somehow.

Kon grabbed the bag before he could over think it and went to finish up the rest of the list he'd been given since he was going out anyways.

-

Danny was already at the table, head buried into his crossed arms. The rest of their table was still empty. It made it easier to walk over and set the new lunch box down in front of Danny, close enough to bump his arms.

After a beat, Danny turned enough to peer at the bag with one shadowed eye. “What's that?"

“Your lunch,” Kon said with every bit of calmness he could muster. He sat down across from Danny and put his own bag on the table.

He'd drawn a new monster in the bottom right corner during math.

“My… lunch…,” Danny repeated slowly. “I… don't have a lunch?”

“Yes you do, it's right there.”

“What.”

“Lunch, you, there, eat.”

“You Kronk,” Danny replied instantly, as if on instinct. He blinked like he was rebooting. “I'm sorry, how do I have a lunch?”

“Because my dad packed you one.”

Danny slowly reached out to poke at the bag. “…right. Why did your dad pack me a lunch?”

Kon opened his own lunch and pulled out the PB&J sandwich and took a large bite. Unabashedly, he answered with his mouth full, “Because I asked him to.”

“Con…”

“Danny, it's fine. Just eat it, okay? Not, like, don't eat anything you don't like, but there won't be anything on your no list in it.”

“Oh.” Danny reached and pulled the lunch box closer. “I… thank you? And tell your dad thank you?”

“Sure, will do,” Kon said as if it was nothing and he wasn't hiding a smile by taking another bite.

Both of them were saved from having to say anything more by the rest of their friends (a loose word, sometimes) arriving at the table. There was some shock expressed at Danny actually having lunch, but mostly good natured teasing and some expressions of how glad they were to see it.

Kon shot Danny a little look during it, and got a blush and little eye roll back for it. It was reward enough for Kon. He was just glad to see Danny eating.

[aceyalonso]

daddy's home - JENSON BUTTON

pairing : sugar daddy!jenson button x sugar baby!reader

summary : art and money have always been the two constants in y/n's life, what happens when those two constants result in a sugar daddy who happens to own an art gallery?

warnings/notes : swearing, smut, protected sex (please use a condom!), daddy kink, oral (both!receiving), face-fucking, multiple orgasms, photography and filming (in an nsfw context), nipple play, hair pulling, fingering, public-ish sex, praise kink, use of "baby" and "daddy"

word count : 2.5k

a/n : I KEEP THINKING OF GOJO CUZ OF THE TITLE LMFAOOOO (probs gonna change the title)

main masterlist | kinktober masterlist

Jenson stood in the center of his gallery, the soft glow of the lights illuminating the various paintings and sculptures that adorned the walls. He smiled as he heard the click of heels approaching, turning to see Y/n walking towards him, her hips swaying seductively with each step.

"There you are, my dear," Jenson purred, his eyes roaming over Y/n's curvaceous figure appreciatively. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up."

Y/n giggled, pressing herself against Jenson's firm chest. "And miss out on seeing the new collection? Never." She leaned in, her lips brushing against Jenson's ear as she whispered, "Besides, I had a feeling you might have something special planned for us tonight."

Jenson chuckled, his hand sliding down to rest on Y/n's lower back. "Oh, I always have something special in mind when it comes to you, my sweet." He led her further into the gallery, pointing out various pieces as they walked.

As they made their way through the gallery, Jenson couldn't take his eyes off Y/n's alluring figure. Her tight dress hugged her curves in all the right places, and he found himself growing harder with each step.

"This piece here is particularly striking," Jenson said, gesturing to a large abstract painting. "The way the colors blend together, it's almost... sensual."

Y/n tilted her head, studying the painting. "Mmm, I can see that. It's quite... stimulating." She turned to face Jenson, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Almost as stimulating as the way you're looking at me right now."

Jenson's breath hitched as Y/n pressed her body against his, her hands roaming over his chest. "You're playing with fire, little one," he growled, his voice low and husky.

"Maybe I like the heat," Y/n purred, her lips hovering just inches from his.

Jenson couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed Y/n's waist and spun her around, pinning her against the wall with his body. His lips crashed against hers in a hungry kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth to taste her sweetness.

Y/n moaned into the kiss, her fingers tangling in Jenson's hair as she arched her back, pressing her ample breasts against his chest. She could feel his hardness pressing insistently against her thigh, and it only fueled her desire.

Jenson's hands roamed over Y/n's body, caressing her curves and leaving trails of fire in their wake. He gripped her ass, squeezing the supple flesh as he ground his hips against hers.

"You drive me crazy," Jenson groaned, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down Y/n's neck. "I can't get enough of you."

Jenson continued to place kisses along Y/n's neck, relishing in the taste of her skin. However, he felt her push him away gently, and he looked up to see a nervous expression on her face.

"What if someone sees us?" Y/n asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Jenson smirked, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Don't worry, my dear. This part of the gallery is closed to the public for the moment. But even if someone did see us, who cares? Let them watch."

Y/n's eyes widened at Jenson's words, a mix of excitement and apprehension coursing through her veins. She bit her lower lip, considering the thrill of being caught in such a compromising position.

"You're right," she whispered, her voice filled with a newfound confidence. "Let them watch."

Y/n's hands moved swiftly, tugging at Jenson's blazer and unbuttoning his dress shirt with a sense of urgency. She wanted to feel his skin against hers, to lose herself in the heat of the moment.

Jenson watched her with a hungry gaze, his own hands working to remove her dress. The fabric pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a lacy bra and panties. He drank in the sight of her, his eyes roaming over her exposed flesh appreciatively.

"You're absolutely breathtaking," Jenson murmured, his voice thick with desire. He reached out, his fingers tracing the curve of her breast, teasing her hardened nipple through the thin material of her bra.

Y/n gasped, arching into his touch. She reached behind her back, unclasping her bra and letting it fall to the floor. Her breasts bounced free, and Jenson couldn't resist leaning down to capture one of her nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on the sensitive bud.

Y/n's breath hitched as Jenson's mouth worked on her nipple, her fingers threading through his hair. The sensation was too much, and she found herself arching into him, her body begging for more.

"Daddy, please..." she moaned, the word slipping out without her realizing.

Jenson's eyes flashed with lust, the endearment sending a shiver down his spine. He released her nipple with a pop, his gaze locking onto hers. "What do you want, my sweet little girl?"

Y/n's cheeks flushed, her eyes dark with desire. "I want you to take me, right here, against this wall."

Jenson grinned, his cock throbbing in anticipation. "Consider it done." With that, he slid his hand between Y/n's legs, finding her already wet and ready for him. He slipped a finger inside her, feeling her clench around him.

"Oh, fuck," Y/n breathed, her head falling back as she felt the exquisite pleasure building within her.

Y/n's moans echoed through the gallery as Jenson's fingers worked their magic inside her. She couldn't help but cry out, "Daddy, oh god, daddy!" as he expertly stroked her most sensitive spots.

"That's it, baby," Jenson growled, his voice low and husky. "Let everyone hear how much you love daddy's fingers inside you."

Y/n's body trembled with each thrust of Jenson's fingers, her juices coating his hand. She could feel her climax approaching, her muscles tensing as she neared the edge.

"Fuck, daddy, I'm gonna cum," she panted, her nails digging into Jenson's shoulders. "Please, don't stop!"

Jenson increased his pace, his thumb rubbing circles around her clit as he continued to plunge his fingers deep inside her. "Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you love daddy."

As Y/n's orgasm crashed over her, she buried her face in the crook of Jenson's neck, muffling her screams of ecstasy. Her body shook with the force of her climax, her inner walls clenching around Jenson's fingers as she rode out the waves of pleasure.

Jenson held her close, his own arousal straining against his pants. He could feel her heart racing, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps as she slowly came down from her high.

"That was incredible," Jenson murmured, his lips brushing against Y/n's ear. "But we're not done yet, are we?"

Y/n pulled back, her eyes hazy with lust. "No, we're not," she agreed, her voice barely above a whisper. She reached for Jenson's belt, quickly undoing it and tugging his pants and boxers down in one swift motion.

Y/n's eyes widened as Jenson's impressive member sprang free, standing at attention and begging for her touch. She licked her lips, her gaze locked onto his throbbing cock.

"Can I suck you off, daddy?" she asked, her voice dripping with desire.

Jenson groaned, his hips bucking forward involuntarily. "Fuck yes, baby. I want to feel those pretty lips wrapped around my cock."

Y/n wasted no time, dropping to her knees and taking Jenson's shaft into her mouth. She swirled her tongue around the tip, savoring the taste of his pre-cum before taking him deeper.

Jenson's head fell back, his eyes closing in bliss as Y/n worked her magic. Her mouth was hot and wet, and the sensation of her tongue sliding along his length was driving him wild.

Y/n's mouth felt incredible, and Jenson couldn't hold back any longer. He grabbed her head, his fingers tangling in her hair as he began to thrust into her mouth.

"Oh, fuck, baby," Jenson groaned, his hips moving faster and harder with each passing second. "Your mouth feels so damn good."

Y/n moaned around his cock, the vibrations sending shivers of pleasure through Jenson's body. She relaxed her throat, taking him deeper as he fucked her face with abandon.

Jenson could feel his climax approaching, his balls tightening as he neared the edge. He looked down at Y/n, her eyes watering and her lips stretched around his shaft, and the sight only spurred him on.

"I'm gonna cum, baby," Jenson warned, his voice strained with the effort to hold back. "Swallow every last drop for daddy."

Y/n nodded eagerly, her hand moving to cup his balls, gently massaging them as he continued to thrust into her mouth.

With a final, powerful thrust, Jenson buried himself deep in Y/n's throat, his cock pulsing as he released his load. Y/n swallowed greedily, her throat working to take every last drop of his essence.

Jenson's body shuddered with the intensity of his orgasm, his grip on Y/n's hair tightening as he rode out the waves of pleasure. As he finally pulled out, he saw strands of his cum dripping down Y/n's chin, and the sight made his spent cock twitch.

"You look so beautiful like this," Jenson murmured, his thumb wiping away the remnants of his release from Y/n's lips. "My perfect little cum slut."

Y/n smiled up at him, her eyes shining with adoration and satisfaction. "Thank you, daddy," she purred, her voice husky from the rough treatment her throat had just received.

Jenson helped her to her feet, his hands roaming over her body appreciatively. "You're welcome, baby. You did such a good job, I think you deserve a reward."

He led her further into the gallery, to a secluded alcove where a plush chaise lounge awaited. Jenson guided Y/n onto the lounge, positioning her on her hands and knees. He knelt behind her, his fingers trailing up her thighs, teasing the sensitive skin.

"Spread your legs for daddy," Jenson commanded, his voice low and authoritative. "I wanna see you."

Y/n complied, her legs parting to reveal her glistening folds. Jenson groaned, his cock already hardening again at the sight. He leaned in, his tongue darting out to taste her, his fingers spreading her open for better access.

Jenson's tongue delved into Y/n's wetness, flicking and circling her clit as his fingers continued to spread her wide. Y/n moaned, her head falling forward onto the chaise lounge as she arched her back, her body begging for more.

"Please, daddy, I need you inside me," she pleaded, her voice shaking with need.

Jenson smiled against her folds, his fingers slipping inside her as he continued to torment her clit with his tongue. "Not yet, baby. I want to make you scream first."

Y/n's hips bucked, her body trembling as Jenson's expert ministrations brought her closer and closer to the edge. She could feel her climax building once more, the tension coiling within her.

"Daddy, I'm gonna cum," she cried out, her body tensing as she approached the peak. "Please, let me..."

Jenson removed his fingers and tongue, leaving Y/n panting and desperate for release. "Not yet," he repeated, his voice firm. "You'll cum when I'm inside you."

Y/n whimpered, her body aching for release as Jenson teased her mercilessly. She could feel the heat pooling in her core, her juices dripping down her thighs as she begged for him to take her.

"Please, daddy, I need you so badly," she pleaded, her voice raw with desperation. "I can't take it anymore."

Jenson chuckled, his hand reaching into his wallet to retrieve a condom. He tore open the packet, rolling the latex down his length with practiced ease. "I know, baby. I'm going to give you exactly what you need."

He positioned himself behind Y/n, the head of his cock teasing her entrance. With a swift thrust, he buried himself inside her, filling her completely.

"Oh, fuck, yes!" Y/n cried out, her body stretching to accommodate his size. "You feel so good, daddy."

Jenson groaned, his hips beginning to move in a steady rhythm. "You're so tight, baby. Your pussy feels amazing."

Jenson pulled out of Y/n, causing her to whine in protest. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone. "Hold on, baby," he said, his voice tinged with excitement. "I want to capture this moment."

Y/n's eyes widened as Jenson set his phone up, positioning it to catch their every movement. "Daddy, are you going to..." she trailed off, her cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and arousal.

Jenson grinned, his eyes filled with lust as he repositioned himself behind Y/n. "Yes, baby. I want to see that pretty face of yours on video. Besides, it's a turn-on knowing someone might walk in and see us."

Y/n bit her lip, her heart racing as Jenson resumed his thrusts. The thought of being caught only added to the excitement.

"Fuck, daddy, you're so big," Y/n moaned, her voice thick with pleasure. "I never knew sex could be this good."

Jenson's phone captured every movement, every sound, and every expression of pleasure on Y/n's face. The camera lens zoomed in on her bouncing breasts, her face contorted in ecstasy, and the way her body writhed beneath him.

"Look at you, baby," Jenson growled, his hips snapping forward with increased force. "You're so fucking sexy. I can't get enough of you."

Y/n's moans grew louder, her body trembling as she neared her climax once again. "Daddy, I'm so close," she panted, her nails digging into the fabric of the chaise lounge. "Please, don't stop."

Jenson could feel his own release approaching, his balls tightening as he pounded into Y/n's willing body. He reached around, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in tight circles, pushing her over the edge.

Y/n's moans grew louder and more intense as Jenson's fingers worked her clit, her body convulsing with the force of her orgasm. Her cries of pleasure echoed through the gallery, and it was clear that anyone on that floor could hear her.

"Oh, god, daddy, yes!" Y/n screamed, her body shaking uncontrollably as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over her. "I'm cumming!"

Jenson groaned, his own climax triggered by the sound of Y/n's ecstasy. He thrust into her one last time, his cock pulsing as he released inside her. The condom muffled the sensation, but the feeling of his hot seed filling the latex was still incredibly satisfying.

As they both came down from their highs, Jenson reached for his phone, turning it off and pocketing it. He pulled out of Y/n, discarding the used condom before turning his attention back to her.

Jenson pulled Y/n into his arms, his lips finding hers in a passionate kiss. He poured all of his desire and affection into the kiss, his tongue dancing with hers as he savored her taste.

When they finally broke apart, Jenson cupped Y/n's face in his hands, his eyes shining with admiration. "You were incredible, baby," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine praise. "The way you submitted to me, the sounds you made... it was perfect."

Y/n blushed, her heart swelling with pride at Jenson's words. "Thank you, daddy," she whispered, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "You made me feel so good."

Jenson smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'm glad, baby. You deserve to feel that way"

Y/n giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "As much as I'd love to stay in your arms forever, I should probably go get my dress from the other room before someone comes looking for us."

taglist

for all posts; @nepobbylver @wobblymug @xoscar03 @irishmanwhore

kinktober taglist; @cloud-55 @emryb @sie17136 @jaimeleannavanlloman @wosof1 @wholetmewritethat @glitterbitch1 @under-seasoned-pasta @sinners-98-world

[hitwiththetmnt]

Spitfire AU info dump!

So I finally got around to drawing my rottmnt au idea more, so here’s some details behind the dragons♡

The dragons are manifestations of “living ninpo” and act as an extension of the turtles.

For example the dragons are in tune with each of the guys emotions/ thoughts/ instincts/ and powers but can act independently as well

They can technically choose what size they want to be, but each has a natural size that feels comfortable to them (ex: Mikey’s dragon likes to be smaller while Raph’s prefer to be bulkier)

If the guys aren’t in tune with their ninpo or are still developing it, the connection to the dragon can be a little unsteady like dealing with a big cat.

Sometimes a dragon knows better about something or makes their own decisions/ has its own opinion/ takes its own actions.

Even though the dragons can be independent, they prefer to stick close to their turtle and remain near by.

The dragons are technically first connected to the boys through their mystic weapons, but as they all bond the dragons don’t need the weapons to be in use to stick around.

The dragons can make noise♪ little chirp and squeaks. But there isn’t really “spoken communication” between dragon and turtle. Conversations are made through sharing emotions/abstract colors+shapes/ images/ and expressions to mimic talking. So to a turtle it feels like a regular conversation but observers would understand nothing

The dragons can technically eat regular food even though they don’t need to. It would only really fizzle and dissolve once it is swallowed and quickly disappear.

Dragons can interact with physical objects (including people) when they wish to. It takes a little bit of concentration if a turtle is willing it, but with practice each of them can work on it

Opposite of holing stuff, the dragons can phase through things (and people) at will! They are naturally transparent and give off a little bit of a spirit vibe so it’s sort of natural they possess this ghostly ability. They naturally phase through objects so there might be a little bit of a learning curve for the concept of doors and privacy (^^;)

That’s all I have for my info dump! Thank you @paintedkinzy-88 for kicking me back into the dragon frenzy so I could actually get some work done for my au!

[alchemistc]

i like your voice in person

Evan's staring at the bed like he's trying to navigate a minefield.

Six months ago that would have sent Tommy on another journey of self-deprecation, a reminder that he'd known Evan wasn't ready for this, known this was a possibility, but Evan, for all his own insecurities, knows what the hell he wants and if he'd felt even an ounce of pressure or remorse up to this point he'd have said something long before now.

Sometimes Evan likes to work it out himself, and sometimes he needs a little nudge, and Tommy watches the head tilt and the angle of his pursed lips for cues as he settles under the sheets.

"Something on your mind?" he prompts, and Evan blinks, like he hadn't realized he'd gotten lost in his thoughts.

"Uh...nothing, maybe."

"Sounds like something, probably."

Evan's smile tilts up at one corner, and he settles on the bed a little stiffly. "It's nothing major. Just. Something I've been thinking about?"

He can feel his brows jumping, can see the way Evan takes in the look with a fond expression. Evan steels himself for something -- they're still muddling through past experiences and learning how to be a bit more intentional in some of their conversations, because they both have a bad habit of reverting to flirting and deflection.

"You remember what we talked about last weekend?"

Tommy can genuinely remember about 93 percent of what he and Evan talk about at any given time, which is an astronomically high number and not at all an exaggeration. He'd be embarrassed about it if he didn't have clear evidence that Evan was as deep into this as he was.

They talk a lot, is the thing, about inconsequential shit just as much (definitely more) than the important stuff. They talk far more than Tommy can remember talking in any other relationship he's been in. But Tommy can pinpoint the exact one he means.

"You mean the roles thing."

Evan hadn't been a stranger to a little daddy talk in bed when they started to explore it, and he'd brought it up right at the start for a reason, but Tommy had taken a while to come around to the realization that Evan had sort of internalized the 'I don't have daddy issues' of it all in a way that Tommy hadn't actually meant it. There'd been little things, here and there; like Evan reaching a door before him and then bashfully waiting with it half open like he'd made a misstep; like twisting his mouth a little funny when he snatched the bill from the table before Tommy could get it. Little things.

Things that, in the abstract, yeah, Tommy liked to do for his partners, but in reality weren't actually that big a deal to him.

He'd needed to clear the air.

Evan nods. Curls a hand around his knee before he shifts his body so that he's facing Tommy. "So, I like taking care of people."

(A conversation, a month ago, Evan grimacing around "My therapist says I have to stop calling myself a people pleaser in a derogatory way.")

Tommy hums, something to remind Evan he's listening.

"And I guess I sort of built up this idea in my head that that was like, a hard stop with you."

("Everyone likes being taken care of sometimes, Evan.")

"And I'm not -- I'm not upset at you, or like, feeling guilty, I just -- I've been thinking about it, and I feel like I forgot to ask you how you wanted to be taken care of."

The thing with Evan is that no matter how often he'll deflect with a joke, when he wants to say something serious he's blunt as hell about it. There might be some hemming and hawing to get there but sometimes he says things that just make Tommy wonder if he'd ever actually learned how to say things before Evan.

"I don't really have a list, babe," he says, and then sort of hates himself for it. Deflect, distract, hey baby how about I blow you about all these big feelings inside my chest I can't articulate.

Evan, though, Evan squinches his eyes and runs a heavy hand through his hair. "I...sort of do?"

"Lay it on me."

Evan grins. "That's actually one of the things on my list."

Tommy blinks. Tries to figure out that trail of thought, but he's coming up with nothing. "Okay, can you expand on that?"

"Like --listen, you know I'm a huge fan of being the little spoon. I'd let someone put screws back in my leg just for continued little spoon privileges. But sometimes I miss being the big spoon, and in my head the idea sounded so stupid to bring up but now I'm wondering if, like, maybe I've just been denying you the joy of being the little spoon?"

Tommy thinks of Evan's hands spread big and warm across his belly, of knees tucked up behind his, warm breath on the back of his neck like when Evan stumbles up behind him in the mornings whining about coffee, and maybe he blue screens a bit because he's never actually dated someone so close to his own size, because there's always been an assumption at the outset that he wouldn't want that.

Alex had been a little too into the same dynamic he'd seen Evan stumbling through, and Colin had hated sleeping with someone's flesh touching his own. Beyond that he hadn't really dated anyone long enough to really form a preference.

Maybe Kara might have been willing, back when he'd been closeted enough to pretend it wasn't an effort to get it up when she had his dick in her mouth, but they'd been young enough that staying the night wasn't really a consideration.

"And like -- listen, I don't necessarily prescribe to gender roles as a thing in general, but a few weekends ago I spent like twenty minutes staring at a bouquet of flowers in Trader Joe's and convinced myself you wouldn't like the gesture so I didn't buy them but you have a few vases in your moms old china cabinet and the moment I remembered them I felt stupid for not buying the flowers."

There's something curling tenderly underneath Tommy's ribcage that he's not sure he's ever felt quite like this before. It's not new, exactly, but it seems to be thrumming particularly hard tonight.

Three months in, Tommy had gotten the man-flu from hell, temperatures so high he'd been grounded and sent packing to rest it off, and he'd texted Evan a jumbled mess of barely discernible things when they'd tucked him into the Uber.

Evan and Bobby had made chicken noodle soup at the station and Hen had sent Evan off with a laundry list of things he could do to help drop the fever, and Tommy had spent the duration sulking and glowering and dragging himself out of bed every time Evan had wanted to change the sheets, to keep Tommy as comfortable as he could, but when Evan had caught it four days later he hadn't hesitated to do all the same shit with gusto. Evan hadn't been particularly grateful either, because neither one of them liked being laid up when the world was out there waiting for them, but he'd at least had the grace to not be an asshole about it.

He had, though. Been grateful. A little awestruck, too, at the mere idea of someone so unafraid of just being there through all the moaning and groaning and hacking and coughing, keeping the tissues from piling up on the bedside table and switching out cold packs to the freezer so he always had one ready in case he wanted it. In the clarity of a full day without fever making his brain feel like cotton candy he'd stared down at a sleepily wheezing Evan and known he could absolutely lose his heart to this man.

"Also I don't want to toot my own horn here but I give excellent foot rubs, and I feel like there's about a million other things I've just been -- holding back from doing?"

"Because of the role thing, or because all your stupid exes told you you were needy?"

It's not a night to pull punches. Also Tommy wants to send thank you cards to every single one of them and attach them to boxes with a bark scorpion inside.

"Both," Evan says without a second of hesitation. His smile crinkles at the corners of his mouth, and Tommy is suddenly annoyed with the space between them. When he holds out his hand to tug Evan into him, Evan melts into it for the space of a moment before he pulls back. "I actually kind of desperately want to be the big spoon right now, if that's something you'd be into." Evan had definitely clocked the look on his face when he'd mentioned it, but he's keyed into the way Tommy checks in and reciprocated in kind since the start of this, so.

Tommy peels his glasses off, snags his bookmark to keep his spot in the monstrosity of the Wrangler maintenance manual he'd stopped being cagey about the fifth time Evan caught him flipping through it, and watches Evan settle comfortably into bed next to him. The problem is, Tommy actually isn't sure where to go from there, which is a ridiculous thought to have because Evan hadn't either and he'd figured it out just fine.

"How do you want me, Buckley?"

The roll of his eyes is so bitchy that Tommy has to remind himself that for all his people pleasing attributes, Evan Buckley is, at heart, a huge fucking brat. Evan tugs and twists and maneuvers his arms and Tommy sort of sinks into it, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, draping his leg over one of Evan's when he shifts his knee pointedly, a massive, unruly breath escaping Tommy once they're all done shifting.

"You should absolutely try out the rest of your list," he murmurs into the space where Evan's shoulder meets his neck. "Although you don't need to woo me anymore, I'm actually fully wooed."

Lips against his crown, pressed tightly enough that he can feel the smile against his scalp, Evan chuckles. "You don't know how good my wooing is."

The fingers shifting up and down his arm feel somehow different, from this position, even though Evan has done it a hundred times before from the spot he likes to claim with his head right over Tommy's bleeding, three-sizes-too-big-for-him heart. It's ridiculous, and it shouldn't feel any different, but it does. He wants to be greedy with it, soak it in and then never let Evan do this again because he finally understands the appeal and he doesn't want to deprive Evan that.

"This is nicer than I expected."

Evan's soft laugh ruffles his hair, and Tommy wonders if he's dumb enough to ask Eddie how long he should wait before he can reasonably beg Evan to spend the rest of his life with him.

"Save the reviews for when I actually spoon you. It's gonna rock your world." His hand drifts up, fingers digging into the dimple of Tommy's skull.

The hum in his throat has a mind of it's own, going thin and reedy and --

Evan pauses, and Tommy can practically see the gears whirring in his mind, because this is new information.

To both of them, actually, but Tommy doesn't have time to process it because the fingers on the back of his skull spread and sink deeper, just enough pressure to be more than a glancing ruffle, and Tommy can't quite help the way he tilts his head back into it, or the way he hitches his leg to press his groin a little more firmly to the outside of Evan's thigh.

They're both too tired for it to really mean anything -- both off 48's and a fumbled round in the shower while they were already bone weary -- but Tommy wants the reminder for them both when they wake up in the morning.

He can feel his eyes drooping the longer Evan scrubs his fingers against him, and the thought pops into his head as he's drifting off. He doesn't want it to disappear into the fog, though, so he murmurs it into the soft, warm skin of Evan's neck. "I like camellia's. White ones."

Evan hums, and Tommy just knows that the moment he drops off, Evan will be reaching for his phone to google the language of flowers.

[scoutofmymind]

hey loved your fics you are incredibly talented. i have a scene picture some angst reader is kinda like jo march if u watched little women and luigi is laurie in that one hill scene. basically reader prioritizes acads because of her upbringing - high achiever, academic validations, the whole package and luigi somehow is the same but he compels the reader in a magnetic way because luigi gets to be so carefree and awesome about it and turns out luigi and reader have a common thread and it's turning out rlly good but then reader is slightly scared of commitment in a relationship dare i say? because it was all acads for reader even though there were dreams of having a relationship, it all seemed abstract and unreal!! and the angst comes when luigi confesses to reader and reader reacts very defensive i suppose spitting out word vomit enumerating reasons why luigi shouldnt like her and how he's too good for her and luigi just shuts reader up by pinching their cheeks and holding them steady saying i want you all of you all that sweet stuff...this is just a thought i want to say i admire you heavily your writing is pivotal

Without Me — { Luigi x Reader}

Content: SFW, angst, yearning, pining, best friends, purest love, summer, unrequited, lowkey gut-wrenching (sorry)

Wc: 6,843 (I could not stop writing)

Notes; Before we begin, I have to say, anon, I very much enjoyed writing this!! And thank you so much for sending me this request! ✨ there are only a couple bits of dialogue that match the hill scene, but I wanted to throw them in there!

This is lowkey a mini-fic, so enjoy!

Side note: If anything is badly edited, I will likely come back to do some cleaning up. But maybe not. Also I’ve started picking songs to include in requests wherever they may fit in. I want to mention too that backstory is something I just simply can’t leave out when it comes to angsty or emotional scenes, so I’m sorry I literally can’t shut up.

The cicadas weave their summer hymn through the gentle lap of water against stone, your body stretched across whisper-soft grass beside the reservoir.

This spot holds years of you both — echoes of skinned knees and bruised elbows soothed by cool spring water, of childhood dares and teenage secrets.

"You never swim with me anymore." Luigi's voice carries no accusation, just a quiet observation that somehow makes it worse. You can picture his expression without looking —that gentle, knowing thing that always sees too much. "All you do now is torch yourself in the sun."

Your back peels away from the grass, elbows bent to prop you up. Through his borrowed sunglasses — because of course you forgot yours back at the house, and of course he had a spare —you study him.

He's summer personified: water-darkened hair curling at his temples, shoulders golden in the early evening light, wearing a smile easy as breathing.

"I just don't want to get my hair wet, Lu." You say it with the comfortable certainty of someone who's had this exact argument a hundred times before.

"Well, don't then." His retort is quick, familiar. He moves through the water with an easy grace that somehow makes the old reservoir look more inviting than it ever has, though you'd never admit it.

Your shoulders are painted with freckles from all these summer days — chasing chickens in the fields, racing bikes into the city with him riding at your back, his presence as constant as the seasons.

"But then when I get out, I'll be cold." The words float between you like lazy dragonflies, and Luigi just shakes his head, spattering droplets that catch the light.

He pouts, but not like you do.

Where your pouts are theatrical productions, his is a quiet thing — eyebrows drawn together in thought, bottom lip pulled inward instead of jutted out dramatically. His gaze fixes downward at his feet beneath the crystal-clear water, methodically toeing one stone over, then another, like the placement of each pebble might solve some grand puzzle.

You watch him wage his silent war of reorganization, using nothing but his ten toes as construction equipment. It's such a Luigi thing to do — finding the smallest tasks to occupy himself instead of splashing around like he usually does, trying to tempt you in.

"Bet the water feels incredible," he murmurs, more to the stones than to you. His toes have created a perfect semicircle now, a tiny amphitheater beneath the surface. "Like that lemonade your mom makes — you know, the one with mint?"

You do know.

The kind she only makes when the temperature crawls past ninety, when the air feels thick enough to chew. Like today. You can almost taste it — tart and cool and perfect — which is exactly what Luigi intended with that particular comparison, the sneak.

"You're not as subtle as you think you are," you inform him, but you're already sitting up straighter, your legs beginning to tingle from staying still too long in the sun.

The grass has left impressions on your skin, tiny crosshatched patterns that Luigi always says look like secret maps, his fingers drawing lines upon them.

He doesn't look up from his underwater construction project, but one corner of his mouth quirks upward. "Never claimed to be subtle. That's your department, avoiding the water like it's personally offended you."

"The water hasn't offended me," you say, though you draw your knees up to your chest, putting another inch between you and the shoreline. "We have a mutual understanding. It stays there, and I stay here."

"Mhm." Luigi abandons his stone circle, wading a few steps deeper until the water laps at his knees, stood there in his trunks, the cobalt blue ones that hit just above his mid-thigh. "And how's that working out for you? Enjoying your dusty patch of grass while I'm out here living like a king?"

The problem is, he does look a bit regal out there, all long limbs and easy grace, like he was born for summer days and spring water.

You've known Lu since you were both gap-toothed and gangly, but sometimes — like now — he seems to have grown into himself while you weren't looking.

Yet, your own limbs still feel too long, too awkward, like you're wearing a costume that doesn't quite fit.

Meanwhile, Luigi wears summer like a second skin, all easy movements and natural grace, as if the universe decided to polish him up while leaving you in your perpetual state of stumbling through doorways.

"A king of minnows, maybe," you counter, but you're already uncurling, letting your feet stretch toward the water's edge. Not to join him, obviously. Just to... test the temperature.

"Ah," he says softly, watching your toes creep closer, his voice taking on a funny narrators tone, an accent thrown in that sounded similar to his fathers. "The snail emerges from her shell."

"Shell-less snails are just slugs," you inform him primly, but dip one toe in anyway. The water isn't as cold as you expected — it never is, but that doesn't stop you from putting on this show every single time. "And I'm neither."

"No," Luigi agrees, dropping the accent but keeping that amused lilt in his voice. "You're more like- like one of those hermit crabs. The ones that think really hard about switching shells but then just stick with the same one anyway."

You splash water at him with your foot, and he doesn't even try to dodge. "Fuck, Lu —That's the worst analogy I've ever heard."

"Is it?" He takes a few steps backward, deeper into the water, like he's laying out a trail for you to follow. "Because you're still sitting there, thinking about coming in, just like you do every time.“

Luigi could easily remember all the days spent here, in this very body of water together — the secret collection of precious gems that were really just polished river rocks, the fossil that turned out to be an old bottle cap, and that infamous river snake from an overturned stone that had you shrieking and refusing to dive under for weeks.

"Can't be thinking about doing it if I'm already doing it, Lu." You roll your eyes, your shins now lapping gently with clean, cool water. The trees droop overhead like nature's own parasol, their leaves casting dappled shadows that dance across your shoulders.

He's quiet for a moment, watching you with an expression you can't quite read. And then. “Remember when we thought we found actual dinosaur bones here?"

"You mean the plastic fork?"

"A very convincing plastic fork."

The water feels like silk against your skin now, and you find yourself wading deeper without really meaning to. It's muscle memory, maybe — your body remembering what your mind keeps second-guessing.

"At least I wasn't the one who tried to sell it to the museum.” you remind him, the water now swirling around your waist. Each step stirs up tiny clouds of silt that disappear into the clear water.

He splashes in your direction, grinning. "We were tweleve! And Mrs. Henderson at the museum was very nice about it."

"She gave you a cookie and a lecture about scientific integrity."

"Exactly. A win-win."

You're deep enough now that you have to lift your arms to keep them dry, though you're not sure why you're bothering. Your bikini is already clinging to you, and that familiar weightless feeling is starting to take over — the one that always made you feel brave before.

"You know what your real problem is?" Luigi quips, but this time his voice is gentler. "You forgot how to play."

The words hit harder than you expect, maybe because there's no teasing in them now.

Just truth, floating there on the surface like a leaf.

"I didn't forget," you say quietly. "I just- I put it away somewhere."

The look in his eyes tells you exactly what's coming, but muscle memory kicks in before you can retreat, your arms already up in defense position as he sends a massive splash your way, the arc of water catching sunlight like scattered diamonds before it hits you full in the face.

"Luigi!" you shriek, but you're already laughing, already moving. Your soul remembers this dance even if your mind's been trying to forget it, and the water parts easily as you lunge toward him, years of practice making your movements swift and sure.

He tries to dodge, but you know all his tricks — the way he always feints left before going right, how he can't resist staying just within splashing range.

The water battle that ensues is immediate and fierce, both of you laughing and gasping, sending waves in every direction, limbs smacking into each other at times, your body trailing away from his while he charged closer.

"See?" he manages between splashes. "The Queen of minnows!”

You're about to respond when your foot slips on a smooth stone, and suddenly you're going under.

For a split second, panic flares — but then the tranquility and silence envelops you, and it feels like greeting an old friend, your eyes open underwater, seeing the filtered sunlight create shifting patterns all around you, and suddenly you remember why you used to love this so much.

When you surface, pushing wet hair from your face, Luigi is watching you with a grin, his sunglasses pushed away from his face and atop his head instead, nestled in his damp black curls. “You got your hair wet.” He gives you one last gentle splash, his grin so carved into his features it may as well be everlasting.

Luigi, the son of Marco Mangione, whose genius lay in transforming his grandfather's modest Milan carpentry shop into Mangione Artisan Living — now a name whispered in the same breath as Fendi Casa and Bottega Veneta's home collection.

When Marco married Sofia Bernardi in the 80’s, a celebrated interior designer, they moved to America, the local papers painting it as another wealthy foreigner's passing fancy — this modernist villa rising among cornfields and weathered barns.

But Marco had seen something in these hills that reminded him of Tuscany, in the calloused hands of local woodworkers that echoed his grandfather's.

The Mangione Mansion stands like a slice of northern Italy transplanted to American soil, with its stark geometries softened by groves of imported olive trees and terraced gardens.

It's a world away from your family's farmhouse, where the paint peels in honest patches and the screen door creaks a familiar welcome, yet Marco moves between these worlds with effortless grace, discussing the merits of different wood grains with your father across the fence line, or clearing out your mother's farmer's market stall of preserves, declaring each jar Perfetto, just like my Nonna's! with the same genuine warmth he uses to greet European royalty.

Luigi, who could have been pressed into private academies and dinner jackets, groomed for Ivy League legacies and country club memberships, had instead grown up alongside you in public school — though his future was cushioned by both financial security and natural brilliance.

You can't remember a time when academic excellence wasn't your north star — every assignment a stepping stone, every grade a battle in the war for your future.

Being a veterinarian wasn't just a dream, it was your escape route from the endless cycle of farm life that had worn your father's hands to calluses and bent your mother's back.

Perfect attendance since kindergarten, straight A's through AP Biology, even showing up on Senior Skip Day — just you and Lacey Williams, the would-be neurosurgeon, bent over your textbooks in an empty classroom.

Now here you both are in the water — you with your scholarship letters and student loan applications waiting at home, him with acceptance letters from Harvard and Yale gathering dust on his desk.

Two lives that should never have intersected, meeting in the middle of sun-warmed water, your shared freckles catching golden light, limbs tangling as Luigi feints another playful attack.

•

Summer buzzes by your eyeshot like a cicada in a hurry, the season winding down with cooler, longer nights and shorter, blazing hot days.

August comes barreling through like it always does, hot and sticky air clinging to your skin as you sit with Luigi upon the sloped side of the barn, a Birds Eye view of the farm, this very spot the first place the two of you had tried smoking weed, the very first time you ogled at a traumatizing porn everyone at school was talking about — this spot, worn from years of shared moments together is the very place you create some distance.

For the first time.

“I think I want my own party this year.”

The words land like a stone in still water, ripples of hurt crossing Luigi's face before he can master his expression.

For a moment, he looks eight years old again, standing in the tall grass with his first American birthday cake — the one your mom made because his parents were still learning that birthdays here meant homemade frosting, not elegant catered affairs and grand garden parties.

"Oh," he says, and it's the smallest you've ever heard his voice. "Yeah, of course. That makes sense. We’re turning twenty-two. Not eight anymore.” His smile doesn't reach his eyes, hands fidgeting with the bracelet you’d made him years and years ago — the same nervous tell he's had since childhood. "Actually, Ma’s been saying I should do something more — you know, formal this year anyway."

The lie sits between you like a third person.

Luigi, who once convinced his parents to move his elaborate garden party to your barn because you had the flu has never cared for formal anything.

You can see him rebuilding his walls, brick by careful brick, protecting himself the way he never had to with you before.

"Send me pictures though?" he adds lightly, but there's at least fifteen years of shared candles and off-key, bi-lingual singing wrapped in that request, fifteen years of your mom's chocolate cake and his ma’s tiramisu side by side on the same table.

"Luigi, it's not-" you start, then pause, because it is exactly what he thinks it is. A separation. A gentle fracture. "I just need to figure out who I am without- without being part of a matched set. Does that make sense?"

The words feel clumsy in your mouth, inadequate to explain this need that's been growing since your acceptance letter arrived.

You watch him nod too quickly, the way he does when he's processing something that hurts.

The same way he looked when Benny, one of the milking cows had passed three summers ago, or the way he looked when you told him you couldn’t go on the Mangione trip to Italy, desperately needing the vet clinic hours.

"My party's probably just going to be pizza with my study group anyway," you continue, trying to make it sound smaller than it is, even though you've already planned every detail — your first real birthday party that isn't shaped around accommodating both your worlds. "And you should do something spectacular. Twenty-two is a weird number, but you could make it your thing.“

He laughs, but it's his polite laugh, the one he uses at his father's business dinners. "Maybe I'll rent out that new rooftop place in the city," he says, playing along with this sudden pretense that the two of you haven't spent months quietly planning your joint party like every year before. "Very grown-up."

The space between you fills with unspoken memories — dual parties with increasingly ridiculous themes, the year you both got chicken pox and celebrated in quarantine together, or the year his mother hired a magician who pulled you both on stage as assistants.

Fifteen years of wishes and synchronized candle-blowing, and you’ve put an abrupt end to it, with not so much as a warning.

"You're not mad?" you ask, even though you can see he is — not angry-mad, but hurt-mad, the kind that makes his shoulders tight and his smile too careful.

He stands abruptly, brushing invisible dirt from his shorts. "Mad? Nah, come on. We're not kids anymore." The words come out just a touch too fast, too light. "Actually, I should head back. Papa wanted to discuss something about the company tonight."

It's barely seven, and Marco's in New York City until Thursday — you both know this. But Luigi's already stepping back, that practiced social smile firmly in place, the one he uses when he needs to retreat but is too polite to say so.

"Night," he calls over his shoulder once he scales the side of the barn down to the grass again, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

You watch him walk away, his usual easy stride now stiff and measured, leaving you alone with just the sound of the bullfrogs near the pond, and the chickens settling in their coops for the night.

The sunset feels colder somehow, and you wrap your arms around your knees, trying to convince yourself this is what growing up looks like as you sit there until the mosquitoes start biting, watching the space where Luigi disappeared and wondering if this is what independence is supposed to feel like — this hollow victory that tastes nothing like freedom and everything like loss.

•

The late August evening slowly begins to melt into night, the air carrying whispers of autumn though summer still reigns.

You breathe in deep — catching hints of hay being baled in distant fields, leaves just beginning their subtle shift from green to gold, and lake water evaporating off sun-warmed skin. The pontoon boat hums steadily beneath you, loaded with friends sprawled across every available surface, their laughter echoing across the darkening water.

You'd done your best to prepare them all, carefully explaining the separate celebrations to avoid awkward questions.

But Luigi's absence feels like a shadow you can't shake — in the pause after every joke, in the empty space at the boat's stern where he always sat, in the way conversations drift and fade without his easy charm to bridge them.

You're learning that some people leave gaps too precisely shaped to fill, and you catch yourself waiting for sounds that aren't coming —the full-bodied laughter that usually ricochets across the lake, the constant stream of Luigi's commentary that made even silence feel alive.

No one's standing at the boat's edge, goading others into increasingly ridiculous diving contests. The absence of these things sits heavy in your chest, like missing the last step on a familiar staircase.

"Good for you for doing your own thing this year," Mia offers, wine sloshing in her solo cup as she gestures vaguely. "Must be nice not having to compromise on everything for once."

Not really, you think.

The evening settles into dinner in the back garden, strings of lights casting warm halos over familiar faces — relatives, neighbors, friends who'd trickled in as the day aged and as if on cue, the peaceful scene splinters at the sound of tires on gravel and a booming voice that makes your stomach drop.

"Where's Luigi?!"

Cousin Tony's borrowed truck sits askew on the path, driver's door still swinging open like an afterthought.

He bounds toward you, one arm clutching what's clearly a wine bottle wrapped in what looks like yesterday's newspaper, his face bright with the anticipation of seeing his favorite duo.

The sight makes something in your chest twist.

He’s always treated you both as his own blood, never drawing lines between family and chosen family.

You're crushed into a bear hug before you can dodge it, his familiar cologne mixing with engine grease as you try to breathe through compressed lungs, but he’s still calling for Luigi over your head, each shout making the other guests shift uncomfortably in their seats.

"He's somewhere in the city, Tone," you manage to wheeze out.

Your phone burns in your pocket, where Luigi's latest Instagram story sits unopened — some rooftop view you're deliberately not thinking about.

"What'da ya mean?" His grip loosens just enough for you to see his face fall, confusion creeping into his features like a slowly spreading stain.

"We're... trying something different this year," you say, words feeling clumsy as you glance over your shoulder at the laden table — a spread that still unconsciously includes all of Luigi's favorites alongside your own. The sight of his mother's recipe for stuffed shells sitting next to your grandmother's pierogies makes your throat tight.

"Well, is he at least comin' later?"

"No." The word falls between you like a stone. "He couldn't cancel his reservation without losing the booking fee, so I just told him it was fi-"

"No, no, mia cara," Tony drags his hands through his hair, face crumpling like you've just told him the world is ending. "Potrebbe essere l'ultimo!" The words tumble out in his rushed native tongue, his distress making him forget himself.

"You just said that in Italian." Your voice sounds far away, even to your own ears, like it's coming from the bottom of a well.

"Shit — It could be your last time, cuginetta." Tony's sigh seems to come from his bones as he pulls out his phone, cursing when he sees the no-service icon.

"My last time?"

Tony lifts his head slowly from his phone screen, eyes finding yours with a weight that makes your stomach drop. "What — oh, Dio — do you mean to say he has not told you?"

"Told me...?” You brace yourself, chest aching with a sudden, sharp regret for all those breakfast lessons with Luigi's nonna, her patient voice guiding you through pronunciations you'd carelessly let slip away between coffee and lunch.

"He got big'a job in the big city," Tony's hands sweep upward, as if trying to encompass the vastness of a metropolis that stretches far beyond any gesture could capture. "Saying bye-bye forever to smelly farm." His hands fall, and his expression softens into something dangerously close to pity. "Sorry.”

"Leaving? Like — he's moving there?" The words feel strange in your mouth.

You're standing in the same garden where you and Luigi once buried treasure maps at age eight, where you learned to cartwheel together at twelve, where you shared your first illegal beer at sixteen — and suddenly it all feels like archaeological evidence of something that's already gone.

"That's where zio Marco is now, making sure Princess Luigi has all the things he need there for — uh—" Tony lapses into rapid Italian, but you've already stopped listening, the rest of his words fading into white noise.

You're hung up on the present tense of it all — Luigi’s father is there now, apartment hunting, setting up a brand new life while you stand here in your shared history, surrounded by people who apparently knew more about Luigi's future than you did.

The realization hits very suddenly.

Luigi was moving away, and he spoke not a word of it to you.

Tony manages a plate of food before borrowing your landline, desperate to track down Luigi in the sprawling city and when his truck finally crunches back down the gravel path, you feel it like a physical wound — as if he's taking a piece of you with him, torn straight from your core, yet, you maintain your composure with award-winning precision, a smile fixed firmly in place as guests filter away into the darkness.

You go through the motions, accepting kisses on cheeks, graciously receiving gifts labeled with just your name - no more Dynamic Duo or Thing 1 and 2 scrawled in familiar handwriting.

You help clear the garden, stack chairs, wash dishes that held food Luigi would have fought you for the leftovers of. You kiss your father's cheek goodnight, and tell your still-bustling mother you're heading out for some stargazing.

It's not entirely a lie.

You do end up beneath the stars, though you hadn't exactly planned to collapse here by the waterfront, where the distant dock creaks its lonely song, the splash of jumping fish and the bold croaking of nearby bullfrogs barely register — sounds that would normally make you jump now feel as distant as satellite signals.

You're lost in the undertow of your thoughts, barely noticing the warm tears tracking down your neck until your t-shirt is damp with evidence of a grief you didn't know you needed to prepare for — the silence holds you, envelopes you, and you’re almost convinced you can disappear here until-

"Hey, stranger."

His voice cuts through the cricket symphony like a knife, and you freeze, tears still wet on your face.

You don't turn around — can't turn around — because you know exactly what he'll look like: silhouetted against the moons full and distant glow, wearing that stupid designer jacket he bought last month that suddenly makes too much sense.

Big City boy.

The grass whispers beneath his feet as he approaches, each step measured like he's greeting a spooked animal.

It's funny — he used to just crash down beside you, all elbows and laughter.

When did you become something he had to be careful with?

"Tone called me," he says softly, still standing. "Said he found you but couldn't find me." There's a pause, heavy with unspoken words. "Told me other things, too."

The lake laps at the shore, a steady rhythm that used to calm you both on countless nights like this.

Now it just sounds like a countdown.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Your voice sounds small against the vastness of the lake, broken and confused, betrayed and disbelieving.

"Would it have changed anything?" His words come sharp, defensive. "Would you have suddenly decided to stay?"

"That's not fair."

"Fair?" The laugh that escapes him is bitter and unfamiliar. "You want to talk about fair? I watched you apply to every college more than fifty miles away. Watched you light up talking about leaving, about getting out. Never once asking—" He cuts himself off, his gaze turning up instead at the trees that sway and rustle in the midnight air, a chill taking your spine.

"Asking what, Lu?”

"If I wanted to come with you." The words hang in the darkness between you. "If maybe I had dreams too, ones that didn't involve watching you disappear."

"I never said you couldn't-“

"What do you think I was going to do, wait around forever?" His voice cracks at the end, brittle and broken. "God, I've spent my whole life orbiting you like a personal Pluto. I don't even remember my life before you." He paces now like an agitated zoo animal behind a sheath of thin glass, just out of reach. “And yet, you expect me to stay here without you? While you go to college, make your own dreams come true?"

The moonlight catches his face as he turns, and you see something break in his expression. "I would have waited. I would have always waited, but fuck—" His hands tremble as they rake through his hair. "You've pushed and pushed and pushed me away. Every college application, every excited story about your future somewhere else, the party -“ he watches as you stand, your posture ridged and nervous, but attentive.

"Lu, please -“

"So what do I do?" His voice drops lower, trembling. "I have to think of myself too. I have to accept that we won't always be this way." He watches as you scrub your hands over your face, your unsteady legs carrying you off the dock.

The cool, damp grass beneath your feet becomes an anchor, something real in a moment that feels anything but.

He follows, his body angled toward yours like a compass finding north. "But it didn't have to be like this." His voice softens to barely above a whisper, his dress shoes crushing the grass with each step.

"Well, what exactly did you expect?" You whirl around, wiping furiously beneath your eyes, moonlight catching the tears on your cheeks that refuse to be unseen. "We were going to play in the river forever? Did you think we'd just find our way without ever trying?" The words come out harder than you mean them, sharp with the kind of anger that's really just fear in disguise.

"I- you-" Luigi's voice breaks.

His eyes are bloodshot, the bridge of his nose red from earlier tears hastily wiped away in the party bathroom. In the half-light, he looks both younger and older than your shared twenty-two years — a boy trying to hold onto something slipping through his fingers, a man facing his first real loss.

"You know, maybe it might have been that easy for you, Lu." Your eyes drift to the Mangione Mansion, its windows gleaming like jewels against the dark hills, an anomaly among the endless cornfields. "You never had to lift a finger — it always just..." You gesture vaguely, bitterly. "Fell into place."

The words taste like copper in your mouth, sharper for how unfair they feel.

Because he's always shared everything.

Those lavish family dinners where his mother insisted you sit next to her, those delicate necklaces from Rome that he'd drape around your neck with careful fingers, those shopping trips where his nonna would press dresses into your arms with a conspirator's wink.

He's never once made you feel like charity.

But there are some things that can't be shared, some advantages that run deeper than generosity.

While you pieced together credits between evening classes and online courses, fighting for every inch of progress, he'd come home rolling his eyes at another Harvard letter, another Yale recruiter calling.

You take a deep breath, feeling the summer air fill your lungs, and air that smells like it always has, like corn silk and cut grass and the all-consuming night. "Did you think we'd just stay here in our bubble, Lu?" Your voice softens despite yourself. "The only place we've ever known?"

All he can do is stand there, helpless, caught between a nod and denial.

His expression crumples into something raw and pleading — such a far cry from the boy who, just last week, had painted patterns across your skin with river mud, both of you laughing until your sides hurt.

The same boy whom you could communicate with without even speaking to, who knew exactly how you took your coffee, who was born the day before you, and who could read your silences like a book he'd memorized; yet now he's looking at you like you're written in a language he never learned to speak.

"No." The word propels you forward, feet moving before your brain catches up.

His face softens into something unbearable — like watching a star collapse in slow motion, finally understanding that this isn't just another one of your theoretical late-night talks about the future.

His carefully constructed composure crumbles, leaving behind something young and scared and achingly real.

"I love you." The words fall from his lips like muscle memory, like breathing, like the thousands of times before — whispered against your hair during movies, shouted across parking lots, mumbled sleepily during long car rides. But now they land heavy between you, a weight pressing against your chest until it hurts to breathe. "I always have, and I always will—"

"No. No, Lu." Your voice cracks on his name, and your pace quickens, bare feet crushing grass beneath desperate steps.

But he matches you stride for stride.

“My life has been so intertwined with yours, when you began to pull away - I- I panicked,” He was rambling now, quick and out of breath but keeping up with you nonetheless, the two of you navigating the vast property, moon and starlight the only thing guiding your path. “I settled on what I knew would be easiest,”

“That’s the problem.” You stop again to look at him, your chest heaving. “You don’t need to settle, Lu — you’re brilliant, you’re so fucking brilliant-“ he grabs your wrists gently, taking several steps to close the gap between you.

"I have never settled on you." Luigi's voice goes rigid, cracking in the middle like ice breaking over deep water. Each word carries the weight of years — shared secrets, dreams whispered under blanket forts, and promises made in tree houses. "You have always been my first option."

You catch your breath, the familiar warmth of his hands on your wrists suddenly feeling like shackles.

Your head shakes, slow and deliberate, as you try to pull back — but his grip steadfast remains. "How would you know of the other options?" The question comes out softer than you mean it to, weighted with everything you've both been too scared to say. "Do you know yourself without me?”

"I don't want to know myself without you."

"Luigi. Please stop-“ You wrench your wrists from his loosened grip, your feet carrying you forward through the night but he follows, like an echo you can't shake, like a shadow that refuses to fade with distance.

His words tumble out faster now, chasing the shrinking space between you and home, visible through the wavering corn stalks like a lighthouse warning of rough water ahead. "I know I'm not — I know I'm not Matthew Williams, or that guy that works the stables near the Bradshaws. And I know I’m not a perfect man, but—"

You stop once again, so abruptly this time he nearly collides with you, turning to face this strange new version of Luigi — one you've never seen before, one who wears his insecurities like an ill-fitting suit.

He's brave, you'll give him that, but he's also terrified in a way that makes your chest ache.

This boy who's never had to compete for anything in his life, suddenly listing off names like entries in a contest he thinks he's losing.

"You stop that." Your finger jabs at his chest, connecting with the expensive fabric of his jacket. "You are the most-the most magnificent person I have ever met, Luigi. And you're not perfect, no-“ You swallow against the rising bile, against the irony of having to defend him to himself when you're the one walking away. "But you're honest, and you're good — a goddamn great deal too good for me."

The last part comes out like a confession, like something you've carried so long it's carved itself into your bones — the real reason you're running, the fear that someday he'll wake up and realize it too.

The night holds its breath around you, your ragged exhales mixing with his in the space between heartbeats, and the trees shiver their leaves like witnesses to your undoing, crickets falling silent as if they too understand the gravity of this moment — this closing act.

"But-“ You step into his warmth, drawn forward like a moth to flame, even now, knowing it would burn. You’re close enough to catch the familiar scent of his cologne mixing with fresh-cut grass and summer sweat. Close enough to see the moonlight catching in his eyelashes. Close enough to break both your hearts properly. "I can't love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The words tear themselves from your throat like barbed wire, each syllable drawing blood.

Your stomach twists inside out, acid creeping up your throat again, "I can't love you like that. I’m - I’m so, so sorry, Luigi — I just - I can’t,

His hands find your face with the reverence of a prayer, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones like he's trying to memorize the geography of your skin. "Listen to me," he whispers, his voice thick with desperation. "Listen."

The tenderness in his touch nearly breaks you — the way his fingers tremble against your jaw, the gentle circles he traces beneath your ears, the familiar callous on his right thumb from his tree-climbing habit.

His forehead drops to rest against yours, and you can feel his breath hitching, unsteady and warm against your lips.

"You've already loved me better than anyone else ever could," Luigi's voice cracks, splintering like ice in early spring. "You love me exactly as I am — not the heir, not the prodigy, not the Mangione name." His hands slide into your hair, “You have loved me even though I can’t remember to help feed the hens, but I can recite every constellation. And you’ve loved me even though I name every cull cow — even though you think it’s cruel.”

He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the raw hope in his gaze is almost unbearable. "Please," he breathes, the word more air than sound. "Please don't decide for both of us what kind of love I deserve." His thumbs catch the tears you didn't realize were falling, smearing them across your cheeks like war paint. "Let me choose.”

“Then choose someone else!” You shake your hands at him, helpless and wishing to disappear. “I - I’m so unsure of myself - every goddamn thing I do, Luigi. I break everything, I’m useless at being a homemaker. I’m awkward, I’m a black sheep, even all the way out here.”

You aren’t made for the big city like he is.

The moonlight catches in his dark eyes, turning them to liquid as they search yours. "I don't need perfect love. I don't need textbook romance or fairy tale." His voice breaks, raw with honesty. "I just need you. But - but I can’t live like this forever" He’s speaking faster than you’ve ever heard the smooth-talking, easy going Luigi say anything.

You try to turn away, to escape the weight of his words, but his touch holds you steady — gentle but unwavering. "Luigi — let me the fuck-“

"No," he breathes, the word ghosting across your lips. "No, don't push me away because you think you're protecting me. Don't make decisions about what I can handle." His fingers thread through your hair, cradling the back of your head. "I choose this. I choose the messy parts, the broken parts, the parts you think are unlovable. I choose all of it."

I am stopping this here. Love you 💕

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

I’ve been dissecting Ragatha’s character with surgical tools because I am not the least bit normal about this damn doll, and something that I’ve gathered upon rewatch is how much responsibility Ragatha has been taking for Pomni’s first day. Prepare for another character analysis about everyone’s favorite confirmed girl failure

Useless Lesbian jokes aside, it’s so interesting to me how much Ragatha cares about Pomni liking her. To the point where she believes Pomni’s terrible awful no good very bad first day has some relevance to how she thinks Pomni thinks of her.

At first I thought this was just the result of her people pleasing tendencies that needs everyone to like her for her to have any degree of self worth (no I’m not projecting, shut up), but she doesn’t seem to be this pushy about getting along with anyone else.

Another possible reason for this behavior was that she just wants to make the newcomer feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible to lessen the blow of being trapped, and she’s doing such a bad job of it that it’s making her think less of herself for failing. But here she’s specifically talking about the “horrible experience” of having to deal with Kaufmo’s abstraction.

Here Ragatha is literally writhing in pain from glitching after getting her ass handed to her by Kaufmo and she briefly stops Pomni from leaving to get the help she needs to apologize to her about having a bad first day.

Honestly, Pomni’s awkward response to this was hella fitting.

Like, Jesus Christ, Ragatha. Priorities girl.

When I first watched this, I thought her little apology fell under the same category as someone apologizing for hearing bad news, (y’know like a “I’m sorry your dog died” kinda thing) said in a way to express sympathy over a bad situation. But in episode 2, it really feels like she actually blames herself for what happened.

and I think I know why.

It was Ragatha’s idea to go see Kaufmo in the first place and introduce Pomni to him. We know that she honestly believes that participating in the adventures are essential to persevering a person’s sanity. And yet she didn’t suggest to play along with the game Caine left for them. Instead, she thought it would be nice to check up on a friend who was suspiciously absent. And was, according to what Kinger told them before they left, slipping off the deep end.

I know hindsight is 20/20, but these should have been major red flags for her that Kaufmo may not have been alright and they should’ve all probably stayed away. And I think she realized that too late, which is what might’ve led to that awkward apology to Pomni in the hallway.

Kinger is right to reassure Ragatha that Pomni doesn’t blame her for what happened (which is why she thought Ragatha was being weird for apologizing in the first place), but I imagine Ragatha is the type of person who can’t help but dwell on the “should’ve, would’ve, could’ve”s of life. So it makes sense that she would continue to take things personally. And I bet it got even worse after

…yeah. That.

Of course, I don’t think Ragatha could’ve known that was gonna be the outcome. But she was very wary when Pomni suggested it, loudly wondering if that was even “allowed”. But she went along with it cuz it made Pomni happy.

Whelp.

Yeah this woman’s self esteem so about to go into the negatives. Which is why I’m really hoping for a good heart-to-heart between these two. Cuz they both really need it. Ragatha especially.

I think it would really help her to know Pomni wouldn’t want her to feel like less than nothing.

[kouzih]

You're fucked.

Nam-gyu ( Player 124 ) x gn!reader .ᐟ

warnings : smut is all i'm gonna say . . ( cockwarming, unprotected sex, semi-public sex )

tags,, @gongyoosgf @cybrasigilism @paulilvsremus

requested by anon! idk what the word count is..

( sighs..why did this take so long to finish..no proofread tho.. )

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The images on the big screen and some people pleading to release them said it all. You were wondering how people could be so stupid and still manage to get this far. As if seeing their pathetic and whiny ass wasn't enough, the person you were trying so hard not to see was here too. Even from his repulsive voice, you knew he was here. Technically he didn’t speak, it was just that his presence here made you uncomfortable the moment you heard him chuckling at the others.

You could tell by the way he looked around with his hair tucked behind his ear and how he enjoyed watching people embarrass themselves. Because that's how it was when you first started dating. He hadn't changed at all. The way he looks at people..how he puts his hands over his mouth..and that expression on his face when he sees someone familiar. You weren't sure if he saw you or not, your view was already limited and the number of people in front of you must have prevented you from being seen as well. After looking in your direction for a good minute, he crossed his arms and brought his eyes back to the big screen.

Oh, how you hated those looks of his. Realizing with your own eyes that he was here made your blood boil even more. You sighed, your situation here was about to become even more unbearable.

Some people had already split into groups before the games started, and you went to mingle with the crowd while praying you wouldn't see him. As you stare at people with your arms crossed, your eyes go to the sound of someone clicking their mouth. Your eyebrows furrow as you look indifferently at the person the voice is coming from. Nam-gyu, who was looking down at you with his head raised, had his hands lazily stuffed into his pockets and tilted his head slightly to the left, causing some of his hair to fall from his face. The tips of his lips curve upwards and lean slightly to the side. "Are you desperate enough to end up here?" "It's funny to think that you have the right to speak out because you're in the same situation." You throw the words back in his face without even letting him finish. He raises an eyebrow at you, giving you a judgmental look. But none of that applies to you; you already know what the fuck he is.

"Our little abstract's ego has never diminished, I see."

"This is coming from someone whose ego is bigger than his dick? Hah. Don't make me laugh."

"Shut the fuck up." You realized he was clenching his hand in anger, but you honestly didn't care. Talking to the being in front of you not only got on your nerves but also gave you a headache. You didn’t miss his voice one bit. As you search your eyes for people who seems at least better than others, you realize he's taking a stubborn breath. "What? Didn't you asked me nicely to shut up?" You could have sworn he rolled his eyes on impulse. That thing he always did when he was so done.

The tension in the atmosphere was starting to bother you, so you took a step forward, passing Nam-gyu and the other people. You were so unlucky because everyone you tried to talk to was either a complete moron or a snob. As the games started, they were pulling everyone to a different area. An area where there was a giant doll and everything else was completely..empty, the top was open and a scorching heat was hitting your face. A man who you hadn't noticed before stepped forward and shouted something about the danger of the game and how you would be eliminated. Even though you couldn't hear what he was saying very well, you chose to stay in the middle rows. The front and back could be dangerous.

When the giant doll standing at the end of the platform turned her head and started talking, you understood what the game was at that moment. The man who spoke earlier, player 456, is trying to guide the others in the front and that catches your attention, and you listen to him even though you would do your own thing. You knew that when the it was red light, you had to stay still. You stood a little to the side, making sure there was no one in front of you or behind you. Suddenly you heard a screaming coming from the front and the sound of a body hitting the ground. You witnessed people around you screaming and trying to run towards the back, even though it made you flinch, you didn't move an inch. You see everyone lining up as the man shoutsz, deciding that it's something you can't handle on your own, you join them.

You freeze when a familiar touch caresses your back.

"We met again, huh.."

"Are you thirsty for death?"

"I could eliminate you right here, right now, if I wanted to."

Your voice stopped when Nam-gyu said that. He chuckled as if he heard you swallow. As soon as you reached the end of the line, he pushed you away. He ran after you, causing the sand splashing on you. He nearly made you fall to the ground but you managed to keep your balance. You snapped at him loudly. "Hey! What was this for??" "Dunno, being a spoiled brat?" What did he imply by saying this? You guys already broke up and he was still deciding what you could and could not do..You noticed his fingertips tracing the corner of his lip, he didn't say anything else as he looked at you sideways. You'd like to talk about it, but not until you see the time is up.

As they lead everyone back into the room you were in before, your eyes searched his body. You weren’t going to forget what he did right away, he should have realized that what he did was childish but it was also something that put your life at risk. You took a step towards him when you noticed where he was,but it seemed like he had already found someone to hang out with before he went inside. You chose to let it go so as not to be stubborn any longer. "Ugh..man."

Ohh, great. As if it wasn't enough to make a lot of people suffer, now they make you to vote too.. To stay or leave here. If possible, you would prefer to stay here. It seemed more logical to you to leave with a larger sum of money. Until your ex appeared in front of you. The person you assumed was his friend behind him left to talk to others, while Nam-gyu clears his throat. You bite your cheek and glance at him, not really understanding why he came. He started talking to you, His voice was monotonous yet threatening. "You're gonna vote 'O', alright?" "Excuse me?" He approached you while sucking his teeth, supporting his waist with one hand. "You're gonna press 'O', otherwise.." He waited for you to confront him as his eyes took on a darker look. But you chose not to answer him, you knew he would only get angrier that way. "You're fucked." His voice was quieter, but you knew exactly why he spoke like that. He was trying to make you feel small underneath him.

When it was time to vote, you were actually both nervous and excited. Even if he hadn't come and threatened you, you would have still chosen to stay, but you had a strange feeling inside you. When you see that the path in front of you is empty and everyone is waiting for you to walk, you gulp unnoticed and walk towards the buttons. As your hand moves towards the tip of the buttons, your head slowly turns towards where your ex is.

You notice him making a circular motion with his hand as he smiles at you with his eyes. As Nam-gyu signals for you to press the button, your head turns back to the lights in front of you and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

No. It doesn't feel right to press 'O'.

Especially after he came.

Your hand suddenly presses the button with the red light, and after waiting for the pink soldiers, you move to your side. Your eyes involuntarily turn to him. The moment your eyes met, it made you flinch. You frowned and shook your head slightly, trying to get your hair out of your face. You knew this wouldn't end well, but you weren't about to just do what he said. You were sure that they would be the side that won the vote. Why would people who are so greedy for money choose to go? And just as you thought, they were the winners. You followed your own path as you watched everyone take their places, but the sound of footsteps getting faster and louder stopped you in the middle of the room. With a curse under his breath, you were pushed roughly against the nearest bed rail, Nam-gyu practically hissing at you as he narrowed his eyes at you. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" His hands around your neck made it hard to breathe, and when you try to move your head, he causes you to hit the metal behind you again. He looks down on you, dragging you under him. "You better talk before I fuck your brains out."

You had nothing to say to him, it was your decision anyway. When he sees a few people gathering around you, he takes his grip off you. "Fucking brat.." His voice was a whisper loud enough for you to hear it. You started to caress your neck, brushing your hair back with one hand as you cleared your throat. Before you can stand up and start walking, you hear a few people asking you if you're okay. "Yeah, I'm fine." You walked slowly to your bed as you followed his path to his own bed. You have to wait until everyone is asleep or when people are too busy to care about what you're doing.

And finally you get an environment where everyone is quiet. You slowly get up from your bed and tiptoe towards Nam-gyu's bed. The lights in the middle of the room were gently hitting your face, making your presence known, but when you looked from afar, he didn't look awake. You slowly got up onto his bed and covered your mouth with one hand, pressing one knee to the edge of the bed and started to climb onto him without making a sound.

Nam-gyu threw his head to the side, mouth slightly open and he let his hair fall onto the pillow. You weren't quite sure what to do exactly, but your eyes wandered to his bare neck. You swallowed, slowly bringing your hand closer to his face. You held on tightly to avoid making a sound when his lips suddenly curled upwards and grabbed your wrist, covering your mouth. 'Cause of his grip, your face fell towards his chest, your knees touching his waist. When you try to lift your head you feel his hands holding the back of your hair, pulling your head tightly he forces you to look at him. His voice was a heavy whisper. "And what were you exactly planning to do, huh?" All you could see in the darkness was his toothy grin and his eyes that looked like they were going to eat you alive. You tried to say something with your muffled voice, but his grip almost covered your nose too. You placed your hand on the sheets to balance yourself, your neck was in a very uncomfortable position and Nam-gyu wasn’t about to release you.

Seeing your helpless state, Nam-gyu's smile widens, a small giggle is heard from him. He lets go of your wrist until he's in a sitting position on the bed, not taking his eyes off you as he sucks on his teeth. "What? Did you suddenly become so shy?" You forget that his hand is still over your mouth as you shake your head to the side, and he grunts as if he’s thinking as he silently watches the sounds you make against his hand. He uses his free hand to pat his lap, your eyes darting to the side to make sure no one is watching but he suddenly pulls you into his lap. "You were always this stubborn..You don't know how to obey when someone tells you to do something." He throws his head to the side and speaks hoarsely, watching your hands fall to your sides as he adjusts your position.

You could pretty much guess how this was going to end.

You remained silent for a while, waiting for him to pull his hand away. He slowly pulls his hand away, smirking with his eyes. You let out a warm breath as Nam-gyu pulls his hand away, he watches you swallow as he wipes his went hand over your clothes. "..I knew I shouldn't have come." "Is that so?" His hands slid down to your hips, his grip tightening with each second. "Yeah." It was clear from your voice how you felt about him. He pulled you closer to him as your hands followed his fingers. "You are so damn annoying." "So are you?" "At least I'm not a spoiled brat." He could tell by your face that you were nervous, but sitting on his lap was making your body warmer.

"I fucking hate you." You hissed at him, letting out a shaky breath. Moving might not be a good idea, you were making enough contact with the tent beneath you. "Our feelings are mutual." He presses you tighter against him, making a moan escape your lips. "But your body seems to love me." His eyes met yours for a second. His ego was way too high right now. "Still." His thumbs lift your cardigan up, revealing your bare skin. He stops at the hem of your sweatpants, dragging his nails over your skin. You feel yourself squirm under his touch, his hands stopping you as you find yourself lifting yourself up. "You always care about your own pleasure, bitch." He pushes you towards his legs, making his own position more comfortable. He opens his legs slightly, revealing the wet spot created by his tent. He taps his leg against you while gesturing with his eyes for you to take off your sweatpants. Before you could open your mouth to refuse, his hands grab your sides and lower them. You squeal at the sudden hit of cold air on your skin, he grabs your back and pulls you closer to him. "I'll be the only one enjoying this night, not you." You could see the precum on the tip of his cock as he used his leg to lift you up a little and lower his down.

Before you can prepare yourself, his hands are on your waist and he lifts you up, placing you on the tip of his cock. "Wait-" "Shush." "But-" "Fucking hell." His voice was loud enough to shut you up. You had already taken him in without even realizing it. As your hands reach out to grab him, he stops you by grabbing your wrists with one hand, keeping you in place with the other hand by holding your wrists in the air. You begin to feel your body shaking, his hand moving from your waist down to your belly as you resist moving yourself. You bite your lip as his thumb presses against your belly. You shouldn't make a sound. As you digs his nail more into your skin, you tilt your head down, causing your hair to fall out. A few purring moans escape your mouth as your hands tremble in the air. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, and it was obvious he was enjoying it. His eyes don't leave your body as a few breathless moans leaves his lips.

All he did was hold you in place as you cursed at him under your breath so you could move. "What, you didn't like your punishment?" When you heard the word punishment, your body involuntarily began to squeeze him even tighter. He whistled lowly and brought his face closer, feeling his breath next to your ear causing you to lift your head slightly.

"Your voice is so fucking annoying..god, wish I could make you lose your voice."

His voice was muffled and sounded like he was holding himself back. When he doesn’t get an answer from you, he throws your wrists aside and forces you to look at his face with his grip. "Cat got your tongue? Or are you embarrassed that the person you hate is fucking you?" "S-shut..up.." You want to speak to him through your teeth, but his grip prevents you from doing so. When you feel his hips start to move, you quickly bring both of your hands towards your mouth. You wouldn't want anyone to see this, do you? He releases his grip on you and moves one hand to the sheets next to him, so as not to lose his position. When he starts to move, tears start to flow from your eyes, and because you weren't prepared, the pain overwhelms the pleasure. You feel your body shaking as your face falls slightly towards his shoulder. You realize that your body is trying to follow his rhythm, even if it's unintentional. As his rhythm quickens, the sound of your skin hitting each other starts to get louder, and even though the feeling of embarrassment didn’t make your body any hotter, doing it with him made you angry at yourself.

Tears were now starting to flow down your cheeks, Nam-gyu noticing that his shoulder was starting to get wet, placed his hand behind your head again to pull your head up. "I'm not your boyfriend whose shoulder you can cry on anymore." You find yourself suffocating as you swallow, your eyes refusing to stay open and you’d have already lost your balance if it wasn't for his grip.

As the press continued to roll, his insults at you continued, about what a whore you were and how you didn’t even deserve his dick. "No one deserves your body, you fucking know that?" You couldn't decide if what he said was jealousy or anger, your only concern was not passing out. He didn't slow down at all, even though your face was covered in sweat and you couldn't fix your breath. You could feel him finishing inside you but he didn't seem to stop. His grip was moving down to your neck as you were trying to pull yourself together. "If I had lost my temper so easily, you wouldn't be here right now." Your eyes are tightly closed and your mouth is half open as you follow his rhythm while your legs try to support you. "T-that's enough..ah- didn't you finish already..?" "Not enough to satisfy myself." You swallowed hard after feeling another orgasm inside you, you tried to lift yourself up thinking he would stop, you opened your eyes slightly, trying to look at his face. He was biting the corner of his lip lightly while his hair was stuck to his face and cheeks. He paused for a moment and slightly opened the front of his cardigan. When he looked at you with that smirknon his face, you wanted to cry with anger.

"You're not going anywhere unless I'm fucking satisfied."

"..Fuck you."

"You'll have to save that for next time."

[max1461]

One thing that was hard for me to get used to when I started learning math was what I call "static thinking". Math doesn't have any time evolution; everything either is or it isn't.

When non-mathematicians think about operations like addition, they think of them as "processes" that "occur": you take 2 and 8 and "combine them" to get 10. The expression "2+8" is like a sort of command, telling you to perform this process of addition. People think of math this way because it's basically how math is presented in schools.

To a mathematician, the expression "2+8" is not a command and it does not signify a process. "2+8" is merely another way of writing "10". They are two expressions with identical meaning. That's what "2+8=10" means, it means "these two expressions signify the same thing". There is no "process of addition" which "happens" and "results in 10". "10" and "2+8" are just alternate spellings of the same number.

For a more advanced example, consider the formal definition of a finite state machine. Intuitively, we think of a finite state machine as a network with various nodes and directed edges and so on, into which we input some string in the machine's alphabet. After inputting the string, it travels around the machine according to the transition functions before finally arriving (or not) at a final node, and by this process a computation is performed. Of course, mathematically, this is nonsense. A finite state machine is a network with various nodes and directed edges and so on, but the notion that you can "input a string" and it will "travel around the network via the transition functions" is bullshit. A string is recognized by the machine if and only if there exists a valid path for that string via the transition functions from an initial node to a final node. The string never actually travels the path, because such a notion does not exist in mathematics.

A finite state machine is not a machine, it never actually does anything. It sits there in the realm of abstractions, unmoving and static. Every string which it "recognizes" it recognizes by dint not of things that it does but of facts that simply are; every string recognized by the machine is so and has been so since the dawn of time, without the machine ever in fact going about the process of recognizing it.

This is philosophically a little bit trippy, but it can also confuse early math students in practice, too. As I mentioned at the top, I was very confused by it. For instance, in the finite state machine example, a perfectly ordinary statement to encounter in a proof might run something like

[Block of reasoning establishing that some string w is recognized by the machine M] [Block of reasoning establishing that all transition functions into a final node F of M have label x] ...since w is recognized by the machine M, there must exist a transition function T whose target is a final node and which sends w to that final node on the last character of w. Thus, since T must have label x, the final character of w is x.

To a mathematician this seems perfectly trivial. To me as a young math student, this kind thing seemed almost miraculous. We don't even know what w is, and yet we can run it through the machine? And from the fact that the machine recognized it, we can conclude things about what w is? We can tell its final character? How is that possible? I felt like this kind of thing involved "reaching into the future", reasoning about processes from the end when we haven't even begun them yet.

But, of course, we can do this, because there is no past or future in mathematics. The machine is simple there, the string is simply recognized or not, its last character simply is x or it isn't x. Nothing has to "happen".

[matchakatt]

OH WOW, THAT EPISODE MIGHT BE MY NEW FAVORITE NOW!! STRAP IN GUYS, THIS MIGHT BE A BIT LONG AND ALL OVER THE PLACE

Before I mention any of the ship stuff, I just wanna say that this was INCREDIBLY SATISFYING for being the Gangle episode. She was completely unhinged the entire time with the new mask on and I was loving it. I liked the deranged expressions the new mask was able to make.

Gangle nearly abstracting and her little cracks whenever she was insulted did actually scare me a little bit, but I'm glad that Pomni managed to stop it before anything actually happened. Her being hit by a truck when she ran into the road was quite unexpected, though.

The casual lore drops are insane, Gangle with her previous job being shift manager and Ragatha being a horse girl :3

Gangle assigning Jax lots of work and suggesting the employee score to Caine was amazing and completely deserved (I still love him).

I love how Jax went from his normal cocky self to a depressed minimum wage worker in the span of a few minutes

The part where Jax was taken to the dark room with the VHS video of Gangle really reminded me of the scene with the Carehound in DHMIS episode 1. Like- I can't be the only one who didn't notice that, right??

Speaking of references, the No Girl's Toy reference literally almost made me squeal when I heard it.

This episode did A LOT for abstragedy, and as a shipper of it I really enjoyed their scenes together.

First of all, Gangle getting the mask from Zooble originally was great, I adore their dynamic and how caring Zooble is.

The scene at the end where they comforted Gangle and told her that they wanted to see her drawings was so cute!

I'm just really happy that Abstragedy ended up actually having some basis other than that one Christmas image that Glitch posted last year :3

Onto Ragapom/Buttonblossom/Jesterdoll/Harlequilt/Digital Yuri- okay you get the point.

Not Ragatha being jealous of Gummigoo and saying that she wished someone would flirt with her. We get it, you're gay /j

We also finally got the Pomni and Gummigoo angst, which didn't actually affect me as much as I thought it would because of Pomni crawling on the floor and Ragatha talking about her flirting with him.

Little side note, on the wacky watch website one of the items being an abstracted member of the circus was crazy.

Anyways, art should be on the way for this episode next week because of how much work I have to do over the weekend!