#hyperbolic tiling

[daily-public-domain]

Day 367: Penrose Tiling

link

–This image is part of the public domain, meaning you can do anything you want with it! (you could even sell it as a shirt, poster or whatever, no need to credit it!)–

[bakingmoomins]

I've been sick since Friday but i just figured out how to crochet hyperbolic granny squares and different polygons

[zemascreams]

Obviously, this isn't a square.

But many of the definitions of "square" in the notes only apply to Euclidean geometry (including the one in the OP). If you want to define a square in a way that applies to more than just Euclidean geometry (e.g. spherical or hyperbolic geometry), I'd probably do it like this:

A square is a convex 2-dimensional shape with four straight sides that are equal in length, and four angles which are equal in size.

The shape in the OP is not convex, nor are its sides straight, nor are the angles equal in size.

But it is worth pointing out that a square doesn't necessarily need four right angles, unless it is in Euclidean geometry (all quadrilaterals have an internal angle sum of 360°, divide that by 4 you get 90° or a right angle).

In hyperbolic geometry, for example, the angle sum of a quadrilateral is strictly less than 360°, so a square can't have four right angles in that geometry. In fact, in hyperbolic geometry, you could actually make a square where all its angles are actually 0°! The side lengths of such a square would be infinitely long :)

On the other end of the spectrum, in spherical geometry, it's possible to draw a square with four 180° angles. I'm not sure whether this is more or less absurd than the 0° angled square in hyperbolic geometry.

Math.

I love seeing a meme and being like oh, tumblrs going to love this one

[rhoselacksthorns]

girl help I spent all day trying to figure out a way of mapping coordinates to a hyperbolic space in a way that a computer would like and all I got for it is an iterative fractal 2d array design to simulate a {5,4} tiling, the inability to stop thinking of and seeing things as being in hyperbolic space despite me definitely still being in normal happy not meaningfully curved space I'm pretty sure, and a really bad fucking headache

[pseudowho]

The Watchmaker

Newly employed as the assistant to a renowned watchmaker, you soon discover how deeply his obsessions run.

Warnings: 18+, boss/assistant relationship, mutual longing, loss of virginity, fingering (f!receiving), nipple play, hand job (m!receiving), creampie, gentle manhandling (consensual), breeding hints, gentle period-drama Nanami snippety-snaps and becomes unhinged, two desperate people getting far too sexy over timepieces and pots of tea

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It was unusual for a lone young woman to be lodged and apprenticed by a single man; and, yet, it came to be, when you alone passed the Watchmaker's interview.

You approached on dry cobblestones, to a handsome, deep shop, with glossy black and gold railings and doors. Your corset felt heavy with the city's summer humidity; the river held the heat like a simmering pan, and its heady stench threatened to consume you. You were used to being without a chaperone, but your modest dress and poor accompaniment drew more wayward glances in this part of the city.

You hurried into the shop, a brass bell above the door tinkling your arrival. Nobody came to greet you. You followed the voices to the back, the eyes of many timepieces following you, their ticking as whispers and gossip in your wake. You came, in time, down tiled steps to a workshop, warm and bright and full of men...naturally.

A single, cursive note graced a sign before the only remaining workbench.

Repair the clock.

Such meagre instructions for a sought-after job. In golden lamplight, a pile of cogs and a loose-handed clock face glimmered like dragon hoard. You cast your eyes, stroking your corset and heavy skirts. You nodded once, and reassured yourself, only once.

"You can do this."

The Watchmaker, a tall man whose broad shoulders and thick hands did not suggest one with a delicate touch, neither agreed nor disagreed; he simply watched, silently observing you like the many faces of his timepieces. You set to work before your audience. The Watchmaker came and went, seeking to observe the half-dozen men competing alongside you.

And, in time, half a dozen sweating young men failed one, by one, by one. The Watchmaker's disgust was apparent, and his sneers soured one, by one, by one, until the last young hopeful curdled like milk before him.

When the Watchmaker came to you, you and your box of gold were not at your station. He frowned, kept company only by muted ticks and tocks. He followed your trail, out to his walled garden.

The test would have been considered a 'trick' only by those who were angry that their lack of respect for precision and accuracy had been identified. You, who could not fathom such sloppiness, found an honest solution.

"A sundial?" The Watchmaker rumbled. You felt a rush of heat from fingertips to toes, untouched by such a voice before. Smoothing your skirts again, and finishing your adjustments to hide the heat in your cheeks, you nodded.

You had fashioned your clock face and myriad small clock pieces to form a glimmering sundial. You had positioned it just so, and confirmed its position with the time shown on your own, battered pocket watch.

The Watchmaker circled you, with narrow eyes that may contain humour were they not so scrutinising. He was impeccably tailored, you noted; a high, crisp collar and rolled back white sleeves revealed enough throat and forearm to make you sweat. An exquisite navy waistcoat nipped his waist only marginally more than his tied apron, and he hummed at your sundial.

"Not what I'd call accurate."

"I disagree. While it may not be very precise, it is accurate. The cogs for the clock couldn't be set in such a way as to make the seconds correct. They were always just out. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

He almost smiled; his eyes certainly did. Nodding, and not one for hyperbolic praise, he bowed, instead.

"Nanami Kento. I would be privileged to offer you the role as my apprentice."

The earth formed a springboard, launching you to heaven, and it wrenched the breath from your lungs on the way. Checking yourself before you babbled over with incredulous tears, you choked out an answer on a sloppy curtsey.

"Even though-- even though I'm a woman?"

A scoff. "I don't see how that's relevant."

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Mr.Nanami sought your constant presence.

A natural timekeeper, himself, he sought the company of those like him, who would not expect him to partake in social niceties and small-talk. It was no wonder, then, that he became a Watchmaker, whose many-natured friends had the same face but twice a day.

While Nanami Kento was normally at peace in ticking solitude, the many hands and ceaseless seconds had eventually, as the years went by, begun to grind into an aching loneliness.

You felt it, as summer crisped to autumn, and frosted to winter-- his desire for your company. The way his obsession bloomed to include you alongside his timepieces. The way he lingered in doorways while you handled the customers' repairs. The way he seemed breathless when your smile sent another happy patron on their way. The way he would flinch if you brushed past him.

And god, how it burned you. Eyes downcast in reverence could not remain so for long, so magnetised were they to him. His silences were rarely cold, but rather, simply those of one who held his tongue until he had something to say; a far cry from the men you knew, who sought to usurp the monarchial peace through vocal domination.

Learning such craft at Mr.Nanami's thick, calloused hands, required intimate proximity; he would have to lean around you, at points, with his chest to your back. He moved your hands within his, teaching you the dexterity needed to repair a tiny watch with surgical precision. He leaned like this around you now. You could barely breathe.

"You were not wrong. Though not strictly right, either," he murmured in your ear, his breath grazing over your cheek. His hands held the tools in yours, using your body to perform miracles. You felt faint, flushed, hot against his body, and breathed a shaking breath, quiet in your frustration so as not to disturb the sleeping cogs.

"I want to be perfect, I-- I need it--"

An amused hum, used to your angry tiny mechanics. "You are perfect, thank you. Now let us make the pocket watch match."

As your hands worked in tandem, and another impossibly tiny cog found its home, you gasped in delight, relieved, and not thinking.

"Ah, yes, Kento, we--"

Mr.Nanami stiffened behind you. You backpedaled.

"Ah-- I mean, Mr.Nanami-- I'm so sorry--"

He did not seem upset, though his ears reddened as he stepped away from you. He murmured again, unused to being perceived.

"No, no-- it's quite alright-- I use your given name, after all."

With his face flat but his eyes alight, when you looked up at him in wary apology, he sought to reassure you with a smile.

"Really, please-- please do call me Kento."

"It feels...wrong."

"I...would not seek to make you uncomfortable. It is entirely of your preference."

Your heart drowned out the whispering whirrs of the room. You heard the tap of Mr.Nanami's feet as he ascended the workshop stairs, and blurted out.

"--Kento, I'll...I'll call you Kento. Please."

A pause. Another silence. Kento's voice tightened with something altogether more intimate.

"I fear I shall get used to it far too quickly."

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Too long were you lingering in your respective doorways, before bed. Too sweet, were the shared evenings in a firecrackle sitting room. Too electrifying, were the hands that met to pour just one more cup. Too intentional were the slim-eyed stares that burned down to the very bones of you.

If you died, and committed your body to science, the ghost of you would be unsurprised if a surgeon found Nanami Kento's name scored across your ribs; for nobody else could access that cage to your heart and soul.

Nobody else could warm you, during Winter fairs on the frozen river.

Nobody else could take your hand, to help you down the stairs at the Timepiece Exhibition.

Nobody else could still you with a look, or teach you with such few words, and this was so wrong, so wrong, he's your teacher your mentor your--

Your peak hit you in a burst of static. You clasped your hand over your own mouth, as if it would sell you out for your filthy crimes. Still, you arched in your bed, your toes curling against the sheets, bucking up into nothing in waves. Clarity did not hit you after, for it had already hit you during, and had done nothing to still your fingers.

Rolling over, and pressing your face into your pillow after the ecstasy had passed, you held your breath. It was too quiet.

Your eyes sprung open. The muffled bustling you had heard from the bedroom next door, had stopped. You weren't sure when. The silence was deafening...until movement started again, more clipped than it had been before. You could feel him, moving with irritation, a prowling beast in a cage.

It was over an hour before Kento's own hand travelled down his belly, to grasp himself with whispered curses and pleas of your name. Long enough, he hoped, for you to be asleep. Long enough, he hoped, that he could hide this rampant obsession that was so wrong, so wrong, he's your teacher your mentor your--

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"I should think I'll be home for tea. Inspector Aberline's grandfather clock again. It has stage fright, I fear, for how often the Inspector stares at it."

Kento's words, from hours before, rolled through your mind again and again. The smile you had sent your final patron of the day on his way with, slipped away, for you saw the lamplighter beginning his rounds on the cobbles outside. The sun had already set; he was late, tonight. You'd have offered him a lantern, but without Kento beside you, you felt you would need its warmth and light more.

Your eyes flickered to a package on the desk. It was imperative, Kento had said, that this was delivered to the customer today. 'Today', as a concept, was growing increasingly more abstract as it threatened to expire.

You saw the deep, dark circles under Kento's eyes, in your mind's eye. He had not been sleeping well. He needed the rest. You could not bear to see him overburdened.

Taking a deep breath, and undoing your apron to replace it for your heavy coat and gloves, you tucked the package under your arm, locked up to the tune of the tinkling bell, and stole away through the night like a thief in the dark.

Clacking across cobblestones, and trying to diminish the noise of your boots upon them, you walked for what felt like miles. Though you were sure you were safe, in this part of the city, the darkness turned shadows into beasts of great renown.

Spring-Heeled Jack stalked you from the shadows. You clutched the package closer, walking faster, breathing harder--

"What the hell are you doing out here, at this time of night?"

You squealed, and flattened against a red brick wall. Kento, imperious and huge in a heavy brown overcoat, glowered down at you with unbridled rage.

"The package," you squeaked, brandishing it as a shield, "you said-- said it needed to be delivered--"

"And it is not your place to take it upon yourself to do so. Returning to find you gone, out delivering a bloody package, while there's a killer on the loose? Extraordinary." The coldness that Kento reserved only for others, now directed at you, was a bitter sting.

Still; Kento held out his arm, stiff. His lip curled when you did not immediately take it. He grew frosty as he waited, and you slipped your arm into his, to a mollified grumble.

"Come," Kento rumbled, arresting you in a hold so intimate against his side, "let us not waste a journey. The customer isn't far from here. It shall give you time to think about your foolish choices."

You felt furious tears prickle behind your eyes. Like a dog with a bone, Kento struggled to let his anger go, and you snapped up at him, "Give it a rest. You're not my husband--"

"--yet, if it would allow me any sort of say over your safety, perhaps I should be your husband." Kento had frozen, looming over you. Your belly twisted, your face hot. You turned aside, chastised like a child.

"I'm no girl," you whispered, venomous, "I can take care of myself--"

"In a world that places no value on women, why should you ever feel safe? Out here, instead of in my--"

It was Kento's turn to redden. His jaw clenched. His fingers tapped upon the package. You felt righteous anger bubbling over, and rolled the dice, in a stabbing final gambit.

"In your what, sir? In your workshop? In your arms? Or in your bed?"

Kento's stony impassivity was tested, but remained steadfast even against your snapping. But you knew him, now; you saw how his chest hitched, heard his knuckles crack, and caught the faintest flare of his nostrils. Ducking his head for a moment, and dramatised by lamplit shadow, he stepped in just once to whisper above your ear.

"You forget yourself. I am your mentor, and you are my assistant, and--"

"--and I've had enough of you pretending that's all we are--"

"--and it's hard enough not bursting into your room at night when I hear your fingers drag my name from your mouth, so if you will be so kind as to cease and desist, I will not have to press you against this damn wall to hold your tongue with my own."

His hissing reproach doused the argument with ice water. Numb-footed and stunned, you walked through treacle, as Kento dragged you to deliver the package. Your chest was still thickened by mortification by the time you approached the Watchmakers' familiar iron railings.

You found yourself pressed inside, hearing the door bolted with force. Kento's hands softened as they removed your coat from your shoulders.

"Bed," he snapped. Kento turned his back to you to light a waxdrip candle. White shirtsleeves billowed from the shoulders of his waistcoat, and he checked his pocket watch as if it would give him the answer. You reached one hand out, to bunch in the back of his waistcoat, as if a child, and he snapped again.

"Alone."

You flinched. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. You swallowed hard, rolling the dice again.

"I hear you, too. In your room at night. The walls are thin."

"So is my patience, young lady, I will not tolerate--"

"You treat me like a girl to distance yourself from me, but pleasure yourself to my name? Please. You can make a fool of yourself but don't make a fool out of me--"

Kento spun with a growl, lifting you by the waist to drop you upon the counter. You squeaked, gripping his shoulders to steady yourself when he closed the gap between you.

"Do not act as if you know," Kento whispered, low and slow, "what it's like to feel like an animal in fine tailoring. Do not act as if you know what it means to be reduced so, that I must spill myself onto my belly every night, to preserve your virtue.

I do not blame you, naturally-- it's my burden entirely-- but if you add one more ounce to my shoulders with that incorrigible little mouth of yours, I'm afraid your virtue shall be...under threat."

You couldn't deny the heat pooling between your thighs, now, trapped as it was by Kento's taut body. You couldn't deny your craving for such fabled bliss.

"How does it feel," you whispered, your hand creeping up the buttons of his waistcoat to stroke the silk of his cravat, "Kento? How does it feel? Do you use your hand, or--"

An agonal little choke broke past Kento's high collar. His eyes begged you to stop him. You felt his long fingers twitch on your waist.

"Do not ask me--"

"Please," you whispered again, just as desperate as him, "please, I need to know, I can't keep living life in the dark--"

"My hand," Kento choked out, his chest barrelling with the weight of his breaths, "I use my hand. But even in the dark, I can't seem to convince myself that it-- that it's--"

You felt him falter, and you begged him, your tugging loosening his cravat enough to see his throat bob behind it. Kento whined, begging in kind. His face twisted, as if the thuds of pleasure lengthening his cock were hurting him. The torture was sweet; you felt it, too.

"Don't make me say it," Kento pleaded, nose to nose and nuzzling from side to side, "I can't take it--"

"You can-- you can take me--"

"--you don't know what you're saying--"

"--I do, Kento, please--"

"--don't know what you're sacrificing--"

"--you wouldn't," you pressed, feeling his hands moving against his wishes to unbutton the back of your dress, "you wouldn't sacrifice me, I know, so just--"

Kento groaned, a sound so sinful, just to feel your dress release and slip down over your shoulders. Pinching the ends of your sleeves, with his fingertips grazing your palms and inner wrists until you shivered, he pulled. A gossamer shift of white ghosted over your skin.

"So many layers, upon a lady," Kento murmured against your lips, "like unwrapping a gift."

He sounded drunk, and the honeyrich pools of his eyes had darkened. You couldn't pinpoint the moment his resolve had crumbled, but crumble it did, with the tick-tocking eyes of many upon you. Kento grazed his fingers against your lips, ordering in a whisper.

"Open." You didn't have to, your jaw already slack as promise burned you at the edges. Kento swiped his thumb and forefinger across your tongue with a groan, and reached out, snuffing the candle between them.

What dim light there had been, died. None that breathed would hold court or witness to what Kento was about to do to your virtue.

"This will not happen only once," Kento murmured against your neck, his tongue darting out to taste you until you mewled. He cursed to hear it, becoming more unhinged by the minute. "I will take your maidenhood as a lover, but take your hand as my wife. You cannot refuse."

You could refuse-- you knew you could, in absolute safety, but such refusal would take his mouth from you with immediate effect. His hands would cease their insistent glide up, and up, beneath your skirts. He would stop rutting forwards against nothing, with each whimper that left your lips. He would no longer drag your bodice down with his teeth, to suckle at the plump swell of your breasts.

You nodded, breathless, your hands shaking against the buttons of Kento's waistcoat. He grunted as it fell open, and your hands settled upon his waist. His graze against your neck was more insistent, now, and sloppier; hungry, open mouthed kisses that suckled the salt from your skin. Occasionally, you heard him murmur, begging to you, or to his god, or to himself, for any sort of release.

Overtaken by need, you finished unbuttoning his trousers, and tangled your fingers in his hair, instead.

"Don't know what you're doing," Kento mumbled, drunker by the minute, "going to ruin you, I-- I'll ruin you-- I'm no sensible size for a virgin--"

"So you suggest I find some other man?" You panted, "You suggest I find someone smaller--"

"They don't fucking deserve you," Kento spat, forcing the last of your skirts up to grind himself at your core until you whined. With your corset untied, Kento tossed it to the floor behind him with disdain, and yanked the final layer down to free your breasts.

Shuddering, he gripped his cock to restrain himself.

"Divine," Kento whispered, ducking to nuzzle against the tips of your breasts, "I have to-- please allow me to--"

Without waiting for an answer, Kento lapped your nipple into his mouth with a groan. Suckling until you pleaded his name, with hot bursts of pleasure to your core, Kento's hands reached the crest of your thighs, and groaned to find more layers in the way.

"Buy you some more," he grunted against your breasts, gripping the fabric between strong fingers to shred it apart, "my apologies-- now, just-- oh, fuck, I--"

His fingers had slipped between your folds to glide through them. Needing to see you arch against the sudden intrusion, Kento pressed you back until you were lying on the counter, and loomed over you. You caught sight of him for the first time in minutes.

Kento was utterly dishevelled, unabashed, and too far gone. With his cravat and waistcoat hanging loose, and a long, thick swell beneath what remained of his unbuttoned trousers, he looked more debauched than your wildest fantasies. He twitched with the spurt of pre-cum that left his cock, to see you spread out before him.

Sniffing, and dragging one hand back through his parted hair, Kento scoffed at your look of glassy-eyed wonderment. His fingers curled through your lips until that sought-after arch graced his eyes, and you mewled again, your thighs clamping around his hips

"More than one of us can be reduced to a beast," he growled, circling your clit with calloused fingertips, "as you have insisted. I've taught you with these fingers before. Let us teach you something new; how it feels to peak upon the hands of a man."

"--o-oh god, oh god oh god--"

A bark of laughter, "--he won't help you now--"

"--oh, sir--"

"Try again."

"K-Kento!" You chastised through blinding pleasure. Kento chuckled again, intoxicated and made ruthless by it, and holding you flat by the belly as his hands worked miracles on your core.

"That's it-- good girl--"

The way he praised you had always brought you to a blush, but how he growled his praises while he fingered you to completion was another entity entirely.

Your hips rolled up, trying to fill the emptiness that his fingers alone couldn't. Your body was rendered base with pleasure, and nature's insistence that such passiveness should be used to leave your belly full of seed.

You could see that, too, in his eyes; an urge; a hunger that belied his gentle nature. In sudden clarity, you understood his cry of agony, from mere minutes before: 'Do not act as if you know what it's like to feel like an animal in fine tailoring.'

"--K-Kento, I-- I don't know if I'll-- it's too much, aches-- augh--"

Your approaching peak threatened to overwhelm you, and you squirmed and begged, though you knew not what for. Kento pinned you, with one splayed hand on your belly, and whispered you on.

"That's it-- don't be afraid...shhh, now. Good girl-- that's it-- beautiful--"

You came with thigh-clamping bursts of ecstasy, so sharp and static by the hands of another, that your belly ached and cramped with the force of the spasms. Kento's fingers slowed, massaging the pleasure out of you at length, though you could feel his body growing heavy with the weight of self-restraint.

You felt yourself twitching, crunching forwards involuntarily, with little more than broken whimpers and cries as he talked you down. Though, as clarity dawned in supple bliss, you felt he may be trying to talk himself down.

"...good...that's good, that's enough, I...I am satisfied, I..."

Kento lied to himself so exquisitely, as if he didn't palm his cock with one trembling hand. As if he hadn't pulled his shirt off to relieve the prickling heat of his skin. As if he couldn't kiss you because that, oddly, would be the intimacy that broke the dam.

You broke it for him, sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck so he couldn't rear away from you. He tried, at first, with a grunt of surprise, gripping you by the waist. Feeling your lips against his rendered him dumb again, feral and nuzzling his nose to yours, like an addict in a field of poppies.

"Please-- I'm afraid I won't-- won't be gentle--"

"Bed," you whispered against his lips, "not alone."

Kento groaned again, cupping his hands beneath your thighs to lift you, and carry you up the narrow wooden staircase. He knew every shoeworn step in the dark; knew where the corridor dipped; knew the amount of steps between his bedroom door and yours, so many times had he paced between the two.

With his curtains un-drawn, only the cold winter moonlight lit the room. Meticulous, uniform possessions left meticulous, uniform shadows. The whole room smelled of Kento; of soft wax, leather and musk. In his room, in his arms as one leg flicked the door deftly closed behind him, felt like being brought home.

"If I show you how," Kento whispered, laying you on his bed, just to stalk you slowly up to his pillows, "will you...can I..."

You'd have said yes to anything. Without knowing exactly what Kento asked for, you nodded. He saw the absolute trust in your eyes, and stiffened, his eyes darkening with something more profound than need.

"Do you know what physical love entails?" He rumbled, nosing against your neck again, and depriving you of the first kiss you so desperately craved. "Do you know what it is, to be taken?"

You swallowed hard, feeling lead weights in your still twitching belly. You cursed the society that had sought your submission through ignorance.

"We...are supposed to fit together," you whispered, to Kento's satisfied rumble. Stil, it was not enough; you knew he would not continue past his insistent suckling of your throat, if you showed true ignorance, so you mumbled past your blushes.

"You...press yourself inside me, until...until you..."

"...go on."

"Until...you finish, like--like--"

"...like you did, on my fingers. Except, your completion simply fills my soul...metaphorically speaking. My completion fills you literally."

Your hand had trailed down his bare chest, reverent at his form, so different to your own and witnessed before only in fine art and statues. He didn't stop you as your hand trailed lower. He simply fixed you with a stare, that was half hope and half despair.

With rising breaths, you looked down between your bodies as you freed him. Animalistic relief twitched across Kento's shoulders, for the release from his confines. He groaned into your throat, husky in a way that made you throb. You longed to see his pleasure as he had seen yours.

Tentative, you grazed his length with the barest fingertips. Rigid, woody, hot, velvety, wet at the tip and so long and--

"Oh," you breathed, gripping him and feeling his heartbeat through his sex, and utterly unsure what you had expected, "feels...good--"

Kento breathed harshly, and had dropped onto his elbows above you, his face twisted in agony. He panted, fractious.

"Don't-- do not--"

Your hand flinched away, horrified for having hurt him, and he cursed, rolling off you to sit, strewn and messy and barely dressed, against the head of the bed. Your eyes fixed again on his manhood, heavy and twitching against his belly.

"I won't touch-- I'm sorry--"

"Don't stop," Kento emphasised, breathless, "don't...dont stop."

With a flush of heat in your cheeks, you understood the nature of Kento's agony, and it only made you hungrier. Crawling over him in the barest white undergown, to straddle his thighs and sit upon them, you reached out to grip him with one trembling hand again. Kento arched, moaning that rusty, desperate moan again.

"Show me? Like you do in...in the workshop."

"God, your hand is so sweet--" With his own hand, big enough to engulf yours, he wrapped around your grip to his length. Slowly, deliberately, and watching where your hands clasped around him with sweat on his brow, Kento used your hand to pump himself.

Feeling the glide of silk on iron made your core wetten and clench. Watching how Kento moaned, bucking into your joined fists and reaching up behind him to grip the pillows, was hypnotic. Within seconds, your hand had begun to move independently of his, stroking him with raw determination to witnessq his unravelling.

Kento groaned in time with your rhythmic strokes. His newly freed fist bunched, instead, at your hip, having rucked your slip aside to dimple shaking fingertips in the plush of your curves. You began to squeeze a little tighter at the tip, twisting a little, and making Kento see stars.

"Hah--haaaaah-- don't-- don'tstop-- better than any dream-- good girl, please, please--"

Your thumb swiped without warning across a bead of wetness that had seeped from the slit in his tip, and Kento swore, bucking hard enough to make you chirp and grip his thighs for purchase.

"--wait--wait-- I'll spill in your hand, wait--"

This didn't deter you; if anything, it spurred you on to faster and faster strokes. Kento writhed, sweating and gripping, and you watched the heavy balls beneath his length tighten up, and--

"--ungh--coming--don'tstop...unh--"

Kento's whole body tensed. His face fixed in divine ecstasy. You watched his length jerk in your fist with thick, warm glugs of sticky white seed. You stared, your new obsession making you want to stroke Kento's release between your folds, but you held him instead, feeling him rut into your fist to chase his high.

After what felt like a lifetime, Kento came back to earth, with a heavy chest. While lax, for now, something in the way he looked at you, kneeling above him and examining the way his release dripped down your forearm, told you he was barely sated.

"Always were a...a fast learner."

"Well, you always wrote me off as a child--"

"I did not," Kento huffed, a mortified, angry flush colouring his cheekbones, "I knew exactly the woman you were. I do not lust after girls. If I didn't separate you, I knew I would...I knew we would..."

You nodded. You had both fought to convince yourself against such inevitability. Pondering, and curiously disappointed in the aftermath of Kento's pleasure, you stroked his slippery length in your hand again.

"You're...still hard."

Kento's eyes flicked down, that animalistic hunger taking seed in his eyes again. When he spoke, it was low, and barely measured.

"It would not usually, but-- but feeling you above me, so close that I could flip you over and trap you beneath me, I--"

You felt your breath leaves your lungs at once. Kento winced, disgusted with himself, but you snatched it away before it could take root.

"Please-- I want that, please--"

"With all this seed, and more to come after I bury myself inside you, you will be with child within days," Kento spat, gripping your cum-slick wrists to stop you stroking another orgasm out of him. Kento froze; having been about to throw you off, he saw the look in your eyes. The look of willingness. That sheer determination that had taken you as his apprentice in the first place.

"You like that," he mused aloud, enraptured as you lifted your undergown away to reveal yourself in your entirety. With your wrists gripped in one broad hand, the other stroked down between your breasts, to settle, stroking, on the soft plush of belly just above your mound.

"You...like that? The thought of a part of me, growing inside you? The thought of me spilling myself so deep, it has nowhere to go but your belly?"

The thought made you lightheaded. Why? Why was the thought of the same sticky release that coated your hands, inside you instead, so alluring? Beast in fine tailoring a beast in fine tailoring a beast--

Kento rolled you over. The strength you always knew he had, carefully restrained by waistcoat and pocket chains, bore down upon you now. He kicked away his trousers, desperate to be as bare as you, and brought his sheets over his hips to bury you both in a warm little den. You shivered to feel his length rest on your belly and mound, so close to where you wanted him.

Kento shook his head, trying to see logic, "If I finish inside you-- you really will be in danger of bearing my child, you..."

His voice had faded, gobsmacked as you stroked your seed covered fingers between your folds, mulish and clipped.

"There," you snipped, "I've already covered myself in you, so that's that--"

"You are utterly feral, this is what I get for bringing a guttersnipe into my workshop--"

"--so you might as well just finish the deed, sir, because--"

Kento laughed, overjoyed by your fearless audacity. His lip curled, and he reached down again to stroke his sticky seed between your folds.

"You think that's what I meant by inside?" He pressed, so close to the entrance you had never sought to penetrate, "You think I meant here? No, my love...I meant here."

You squeaked to feel Kento press one thick finger at your entrance. You felt the briefest sting of resistance, felt yourself clench and buck. Kento stopped, and pressed a first kiss to your lips, so sweet that you rushed through a wildflower meadow in summer.

He stroked circles just inside your entrance, loosening you with the slick of his seed, and kissing you with an intimacy that felt so much more than all the sordid deeds you had stolen from each other so far.

"And when I say 'here'," Kento continued, his breathing getting heavier, "I meant deeper. Much deeper than my fingers could reach. In truth, I would rather break your maidenhood with my cock, than my fingers. Some...filthy little part of me, I think. I loathe it. But, since we are well past being dishonest with each other..."

"Want that, please--" you babbled, squeaking with the promise of being filled with the rod you felt dragging on your belly, "--please, do it, I need to know, need you--"

"You beg like you mean to corrupt," Kento grumbled, pressing a little harder against your entrance and shivering as you squeaked, "I was a good man before this...I think. Shhhh, shh shh...that's it...soften you up...good girl."

"Not a girl," you gasped, your voice breaking and your nails digging into Kento's shoulders. He laughed, a full, rich, deep laugh of genuine delight. He pressed a kiss to your forehead as his fingers were replaced by his cockhead.

"You are right," he rumbled, nuzzling his nose to yours again, "you're certainly not. At least...you won't be, in a moment." Nose to nose with you, and whispering into your mouth, Kento pressed insistently forwards, "Hold onto me."

You did, feeling a brief sting, and stretched and stretched and stretched and--...full. You whimpered, bringing your legs around Kento to embrace all of him to you. He grunted, and gasped, pulled to bottom out within you, when he had meant to take you slowly. You clung him inside you as he moved to pull out, and begged, afraid it was already over.

"Nonono-- don't come out-- stay--"

Kento bucked into you involuntarily, and groaned a godless sound, arching up and gripping the headboard, white-knuckled.

"Got to-- got to move, to-- to finish...but at this rate--Christ, you'll kill me-- god, can't-- can't finish straight away like a boy--"

If the pleasure of being locked into the warm, wet drag of your pussy hadn't almost taken Kento to the edge, the way you looked up at him with glassy adoration would. He moaned again, another certain stepping stone to damnation.

One more glance at you had Kento planting one forearm above your head, and plaiting his fingers with yours upon the pillow. He gasped, trying not to take you too roughly, and finally, whispered again.

"Hold onto me."

Smooth, and fluid, and with the barest scraps of self control, you saw stars to feel Kento drag his cock back to your entrance, only to fill you again. You felt the thickfriction drag, and its bursts of belly-deep pleasure than rendered you oddly submissive. You revelled in it; drugged, and sighing, your eyes slipping closed.

The drunken animal in Kento had returned in force.

"...feels...weird...good--- don't stop, Ken--"

"--sh-shit, won't last-- I'm sorry--"

Kento watched you in wonderment. Whatever pleasure your ripe core gave him, could not compare to that given to him by your face; your mewls, and sighs, and whispers.

You couldn't seem to whisper his name, though; it tasted so sweet upon your tongue, that you could not bear to let it go.

You could feel Kento losing his ragged self-control. Watching your face, the plush bounce of your breasts, and the way your thighs spread against your belly every time he fucked into you, was an otherworldly delight. You took it; gladly. Your pleasure built strangely-- deeper, and more powerful, and yet not quite enough.

Your fingers sauntered down your belly. In your addled, fucked-into state, you barely noticed what you were doing. Kento noticed, though, and growled, a droplet of sweat dropping from his forehead between your breasts. His thrusts deepened, harder and faster and desperate for orgasm.

"F-fuck...just like that...just like you do at night-- my name--"

"Ke...Ken--"

"My name."

"Kento," you half-sobbed, lost in his promise to fill you with the sticky cum that had dropped down your hand, "please--pleasepleaseplease--"

"--the begging, fuck, I'm-- I'm done, I'm-- ungh, fuck--"

You knew Kento must be finishing. You felt him twitching, and jerking, within the snug gripping heat of your cunt, ruined by him as per his promise. You felt the curious warm spill somewhere deep inside you.

You knew the look of bliss upon his face. Your fingers, still rolling the remnants of his seed around your clit, moved faster and faster and faster--

You arched, seconds after Kento's own peak had begun, into your own. You heard the headboard crack under Kento's grip, heard the rhythmic, fractured moans that may have been his and may have been yours, too lost were you both in oblivion.

The world may have completed one full turn. Struggling to hold himself up, Kento shook, dopey and half-asleep after filling you as he had threatened. You locked him within you, and held him like a lead blanket, nuzzling into his throat.

"Just...stay there. Stay. I like it."

"That feels...indecent," Kento mumbled into your neck. His uncharacteristic colloquialism was winding back again, and you felt the clipped man in the waistcoat and pocket chain returning to earth. You whispered, to his devilish laugh.

"How are we supposed to make watches together after that?"

"Carefully. Very, very carefully. As husband and wife."

"...oh."

[tactile-vedic-math]

[httpsserene]

Hiiii

I just got done reading your masterpiece with the Austrian bread and got an idea.

What about the making of Aussie kids? Reader would have a baby fever and Toto would immediately be like ‘let’s make one’ and reader would cry out ‘ but I’m on birth control’

Pure chaos and smut

Sending positive vibes

a bun in the oven — 𝐭. 𝐰𝐨𝐥𝐟𝐟 toto wolff x fem!black!reader 1.8k words. requested! beta read by @biancathecool explicit sexual content. kitchen sex. pregnancy kink. baby fever. unprotected sex. vaginal sex. creampie. implied masturbation. implied age gap. reader and toto are married. breeding kink? birth control. pregnancy.

synopsis: don’t bake a man’s favorite bread unless you want to have his kids. it’s a good thing you’re desperate to do exactly that.

༊࿐ ⊹ ˚. here’s the part two to toasty, i hope it satisfies the requests i got for this! i personally don’t understand the thirst some of you have for toto but i do respect it lol xxx

⌕ prev | join taglist | feedback & requests | upcoming chapters | table of contents ↻

A switch has been flipped in your brain—you’ve become more than insatiable for your husband. After he railed you on the counter for making his favorite bread, baking has become your entire personality. The way Toto looked at you after he tried your first attempt at an authentic pumpernickel bread changed how your brain fires. The mix of love and lust that filled his gaze had awoken an innate instinct within you: you need to have this man’s babies.

You’ve always claimed to be an independent woman, your dream was never to become a man’s accessory, or housewife, or tradwife. But, for Toto? For the way he looked at you as he had his first taste of your pastry? You’d set feminism back for a hundred years to keep getting fucked like that for the rest of your life. You spent an ungodly amount of money (Toto’s money) on baking utensils and you’ve pretty much been running a bakery out of your kitchen. Every few hours you’re shoving a pastry down your husband’s throat, eagerly awaiting his praise for each creation you seem to bake perfectly. 

Off-handedly around a mouthful of cinnamon sugar knots you baked, Toto moaned at the dessert melting on his tongue, seemingly in a daze when he murmured, “I’m going to get you pregnant if you keep baking like this.”

You laughed at his unexpected outburst, brushing it off as Toto hyperbolizing how great the dessert was. However, it was like the words infected your brain–every waking hour, you constantly thought about having his kids. And it didn’t help that once Toto heard you set a timer for the oven, he’d be tearing your clothes off and fucking you on the nearest surface. The kitchen island is a favorite, but there was an instance where he took you on the floor. Afterward, he claimed to be too old for sex on tiled floors, but you were too busy imagining growing a baby in your belly to care.

The severity of your baby fever is only realized when you reach into your nightstand to take your birth control and...you hesitate. You’re on the last week of pills, you should message your clinic to get a refill. Imagine a child, a mixture of you and Toto. And, you’re aware that pregnancy can be rough but you’d finally be able to decorate that spare room into a nursery instead of letting it collect dust. A baby; a combination of your best halves. Would they have your deeper skin tone, or Toto’s height, or your curls, or his nose, or your eyes? You could have your baby cradled to your chest as you bake for your husband, their father—

“Schatz?” Toto calls in question from his side of the bed, eyes concerned through the lens of his glasses, “You froze, are you okay?”

You shake the thoughts from your head, the smile you give him is slightly strained. You complete the monotonous motion of swallowing tonight’s allocated contraception with a sip of water. Tossing the packet back in the drawer, you speak, “Yes, I’m fine. I just realized that I need to order more birth control.”

His eyes examine your expression for a moment before he nods and offers a simple, “Hm.” in response. Toto fixed his eyes back on the book in front of him, and you ignore the disappointment that burns in your chest. Sighing mutely, you grab your phone and request a refill in your clinic’s online portal.

The next morning you’re awoken by Toto sweetly petting you awake, his thumb tracing lightly along your cheekbone. He murmurs an apology as he reveals that he’s going to be trapped in the home office today with back-to-back meetings concerning the looming Formula One season. You pouted even while you nodded your understanding, pleading for a kiss before you lost his attention for the day, which Toto happily divulged.

You busy yourself, prepping Toto’s favorite pastry and setting it to bake in the oven as early as possible. As a caring wife, you prepare meals for him and slip into his room to deliver them knowing he would forget to eat if you didn't remind him. You make sure his coffee never runs low, even if you switched to decaf after the second mug—he shouldn’t have too much caffeine at his age, you’d like to grow old with him eventually. To your dismay, Toto did not lie about being locked in the office. He was sequestered within those four walls well past sunset and as a result, you’ve produced enough baked goods in your free time to power the entire Mercedes factory for a week.

“I think we are going to have to discuss a limit for how many things you can bake in a day, schatz,” your husband sounds from the kitchen entryway, an awe-filled look on his face as he sees the bakery you’ve created. 

“The pumpernickel bread is still baking—would you like a cinnamon roll instead? Or a chocolate chip cookie? Or could I interest you in a slice of apple pie?”

You’re well aware that your curls are a mess in the loosely fastened bun dangling low on your head, you probably have streaks of flour and other various baking ingredients on your face mirroring the dirty surface of your apron. The unhinged baker aesthetic you’ve suddenly adopted is pulled together by the wide grin splayed across your lips. 

“I could eat all three,” Toto hums, his eyes darkening as he approaches you in the kitchen, fingers rushing to untie your apron, “—If you can help me work up an appetite.”

Various baked goods are shoved out of the way to make space for you to be bent over the island. Your flushed brown skin is cooled by the marble surface, nipples hardening quickly at the temperature but, it doesn’t stop you from spreading your legs and helping Toto tug your panties to the side underneath your skirt. He’s quick to press a finger within your entrance and pauses when the slide is too easy.

You squirm desperately, whining when Toto halts your hips from rocking backward on his hand.

“Schatz,” Toto murmurs, his free hand palming at your ass, “Did you—”

“Yes!” You cut him off, stomping at the delay, “I got bored waiting for things to bake—I’m ready, just fuck me.”

Thankfully, Toto is quick to listen to you and substitute his finger for his cock, his slacks unzipped enough to pull himself out. At the stretch, your eyes roll back and you lose the strength to hold your head up, letting it fall to press against the cool marble. You feel your husband still his hips but you reach your hand backward to grasp at his pressed dress shirt, using your grip to tug him forward, a non-verbal cue for him to keep sinking into you. He curses lowly and leans downward to rest his head on the back of your neck, pressing the remaining few inches inside.

Twin moans of pleasure are exhaled into the kitchen, Toto’s hands move to hold your waist, his clasp on your skin tight, reflecting the force he’s mustering to refrain from fucking into you without your approval. The burn from his girth fades quickly replaced by the feeling of fullness you’ve become addicted to. You roll your hips softly, moaning shakily at the drag of his length within you and Toto meets your rhythm smoothly. 

He fucks into you deeply, grunting on every other thrust in, you feel the breath of his chuckle ghost across your back when you fall limp in his hands; he’s well aware that you enjoy sitting pretty and taking what he gives you. Your cunt clings to his cock, the plush heat trying its hardest to disallow Toto from exiting, urging him to stay buried inside of you as he scrapes directly over your most sensitive points. 

Your husband straightens himself upright, pressing you firmly down on the counter with a hand in the middle of your back, his other hand slipping around to rest on your navel while keeping your hips angled upward for a better angle.

His thrusts become rougher and you can only scramble to hold on to the island, hands slipping from the sweat accumulated on your palms and skin. Your mouth is parted, drooling from the corner of your lip, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe through his thrusts, moans and gasps punched out of your chest, his cock hardened and pulsing within you, and your curls bouncing out of your bun and sticking to your back and forehead from the heat.

Toto’s hand presses into your belly, and he pants lowly, “You feel me right in here—I’m going to put a baby in you, schatz.”

You shudder in his arms, eyelids fluttering as you struggle to reply, and you swear you feel yourself become wetter at the image your husband planted in your mind.

“You can’t,” you whine out roughly, whimpering as the force of his thrusts rocks you up across the island, the ledge digging into your hips, “ah—’m on birth control!”

He grunts dismissively, patting his hand on your belly as his rough thrusts are exchanged for deep grinds, hitting places that send tantalizing rushes of pain along with pleasure up your spine, “Okay,” Toto huffs, “Stop taking it.”

You mean to ask clarifying questions, but he doesn’t let you get a word in as he continues to ramble about getting you pregnant.

“Fuck, I’m going to give you a baby, yes?” “—Going to be so pretty carrying our child.” “You’ll be such a good mum.”

The last one pushes you over the edge harshly, your nerves burning at the white-hot flash of pleasure, the sounds of Toto following you muffled to your ears as your orgasm floods your senses. You feel a dampness on your cheeks and it takes Toto wiping it away to realize you’re crying. His hips continue to slowly grind deeply within you, his cum painting your walls, and he pulls you upwards to press your lips together.

“You were serious,” your voice cracks embarrassingly as you moan the words into Toto’s lips, “About the birth control?”

“Yes,” your husband answers confidently, his words supported by a firm thrust of his cock that makes your eyes roll and body shiver, “If that’s what you want, of course.”

You hum, pleased at his response, “You need to remind me to call the clinic tomorrow to cancel my refill order.”

Toto grumbles incoherently, more concerned with toying with your nipples and kissing along your collarbone, “Yes, schatz—can you go again? I want to put a baby in you as quickly as possible. You would look so beautiful with a bump, no?”

5 weeks later you run out of the bathroom and leap into your husband's arms, brandishing a positive pregnancy test wildly. 

You laugh gleefully, tears of joy forming in your waterline, “I guess both of us are bakers now!”

“What?” Toto offers confused, trying to still your arm to grab the test.

“Both of us are bakers now! You put a bun in my oven!”

© httpsserene - do not reupload. photos in header image are from pinterest. divider by @cafekitsune.

[patricia-taxxon]

being a solids/tilings fan as a pup and then being exposed to hyperbolic geometry is so wild. like u can prove the finitude of euclidian vertex transitive tilings but in hyperbolic geometry there are simply infinitely many, cus you're just allowed to bend the space to fit arbitrarily many arbitrarily large regular polygons around a corner

[babydollmarauders]

CANDY CANE KISSES — TREVOR ZEGRAS

trevor zegras x fem!reader

12 DAYS OF KINKMAS

summary: in which Trevor has a unique use for all the candy canes y/n buys

warnings: NSFW CONTENT, nipple play, food play, p in v (unprotected), i think that’s all? (3.2k words)

notes: welcome to day 2 of the 12 days of kinkmas! this was my first time writing smut for trevor and i won’t lie; it was hard!

“this is getting out of hand.”

my eyes fly up to the kitchen entrance, Trevor’s tall frame looming in the doorway. his golden brown hair is tousled as though he’s just woken up, yet i know he’s been awake for hours.

“i didn’t think you were home yet.” i murmur, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights, and my fiancé chuckles as he steps fully into the kitchen.

“i’ve been home for an hour, i was about to call and ask where you were-” his eyes flicker to the shopping bag that rests on the counter before he looks back at me with a raised brow. “but i guess now i know.”

i externally cringe, my mind racing as i try and come up with an excuse.

“i- okay- hear me out!” my hand floats in the air in front of my chest, in attempt to keep him from chastising me.

“oh, i’d love to hear this excuse.” Trevor smirks, sidling over to lean back against the counter. his hands grip the countertop behind him and for a moment my eyes linger there, tracing the veins that lead up to his tattooed arm, until i regain consciousness and remember what i was doing.

“they were buy one get one free! and there’s so many different flavors!”

Trevor’s head tips back, chin towards the ceiling as he lets out a groan.

“baby, you have ten boxes of candy canes in our cupboards!” he states, hand flying up as though to dramatically display our kitchen cupboards.

“twelve.” i mumble, my voice low as i stare at the ground.

“twelve?!” he steps forward, arms winding around my waist as he blocks my view of our tile floor. “look at me, please.”

his soft tone draws my head up, looking into his blue eyes as i exaggerate a pout.

“no more candy canes.” he emphasizes each word, “please!”

i nod solemnly before resting my chin on his chest, giving him the best puppy dog eyes i can muster.

“how many boxes did you buy today?” Trevor questions, bowing his head down to drop his forehead to mine.

“four.” i whisper, the lower half of my face rising to chase his lips. my nose accidentally brushes against his and he repeats the action with intent.

“that’s too many, babe.” he urges, “no more.”

my lips part but i get no word out before he reads my mind, answering my question.

“not even after christmas when they’re discounted.”

i huff in exaggerated disappointment, stepping away from my fiancé to pull the boxes of hard candy from the grocery bag on the granite countertop.

i’m mostly silent as i do so, except for the hyperbolic sigh that passes my lips, my sight flickering to Trevor every few seconds. he bites back a grin, hopping up to sit on the counter across from me before he speaks.

“alright,” he drags out, clicking his tongue against his teeth before he adds- “what flavors did ya get?”

i perk up, the corners of my lips quirking up.

“i got warhead, jolly rancher, sour patch kid, and mint chocolate!” i sing out, holding up each one as i tell him.

“they sound delicious, babe.”

i internally cheer at his approval as i open the candy cupboard, stuffing the four boxes anywhere i can fit them. i take a mental note of the few missing candy canes from a box of original peppermint flavor, taking pride in knowing Trevor has at least indulged in a couple of my holiday obsession.

“can we watch a movie?” i ask, pushing the cupboard closed while i spin around to face my fiancé.

“is it a christmas movie?”

“yes…”

“is it a hallmark movie?” he inquires cautiously, eyes narrowed towards me.

“it doesn’t have to be.” i shrug, shoving the plastic grocery bag under the sink with the others.

“then yes.”

***

Trevor’s t-shirt hangs around my body, the hem tickling my upper thigh, and fuzzy socks adorn my feet.

we ate dinner and watched two more movies before calling it a night, and now i stand at our bathroom counter washing my face and waiting for my fiancé to come upstairs.

i can hear his footsteps entering on the tile floor of our bathroom as i cup my hands under the faucet, filling them with water and washing the cleanser from my face.

i’m drying my face when his arms encircle my waist, his chin coming down to rest on my shoulder.

“hi, beautiful.” his voice is gruff and i can sense a hint of lust that makes me chuckle.

“hi, baby.” i set the towel back down on the counter, opening my eyes to our reflections staring back at me.

meeting his eyes in the mirror, my hands come down to rub soothingly along his arms. his grip relaxes, loosening around me for a moment before spinning me in his arms.

the small of my back hits against the counter, his hands smacking onto it on either side of me, caging me in.

“whatcha doing?” i giggle. my own hands find his chest, smoothing up to lock around the back of his neck.

“looking at my gorgeous future wife.” his response makes me hum, his face lowering towards mine before he speaks again, this time lower, “thinking about how much i wanna fuck her right here in front of this mirror. how sexy she would look; watching as i make her come on my cock.”

his words ignite a pulse between my legs, my breathing picking up just slightly.

“oh yeah?” i bite my lip, angling my hips to press against his.

“mhm.” he hums, bending down just a bit more so his lips brush against mine, and my heart skips a beat in excitement. “but, that’ll have to happen another time.”

my mood deflates as he steps away, backing away towards the doorway to our bedroom.

“oh.” my shoulders sag, my lips flattening into a straight line, and i watch him stop at the doorway.

“well, c’mon.” he urges, crooking his finger at me. “i have plans for you.”

the corner of his mouth quirks up in a smirk and i bite back a giddy smile as i follow him into our bedroom. his hands reach out to pull at my hips, his fingers digging into my skin through the thin fabric of his shirt, and he doesn’t stop until i’m flush against him.

“i had an idea-”

“oh that’s never good.” he rolls his eyes at my interruption, but a smile still tugs at his lips.

“shh, i think you’ll like it.”

his lips meet mine, our noses bumping in the movement, and my lips instinctively part, making way for his tongue to dart into my mouth and tangle with my own.

one hand sliding up to curl around and rest at the base of my neck, he groans when mine give a light tug to his locks. his hips jerk against mine, coaxing a hushed moan from deep within my throat and into his mouth.

he pulls away, looking into my eyes, his own darkened with lust, before he turns and walks away, leaving me breathless and needy.

“what-” i’m cut off with a hurried shush, my lips almost unconsciously falling shut.

“naked and on the bed.” his broken sentence echoes through my mind once, twice, three times before i register his command. making quick work as he walks out of the bedroom.

my fuzzy socks are easily slipped off my feet, panties dragged down my thighs, before finally, i pull the oversized t-shirt over my head, letting the various fabrics mingle together in a pile on the floor.

my movements are clumsy and hastened as i clamber onto the bed, sitting pretty on my knees atop the mattress.

Trevor returns with a cup in his hands, piquing my interest, but when i begin to rise in order to see over the top of the cup, i’m shut down by a single lifted eyebrow.

i heave out a sigh, falling back down to the mattress with a dejected pout.

“thought of a way to put your new fixation to use.” he hums, setting the cup on the nightstand, and it’s then that i spot what’s inside.

the cup is filled with ice, and nestled just inside, buried within the ice, is a single unwrapped peppermint candy cane.

“i’m confused.” i voice, brows furrowed.

“just sit down and close your eyes.”

i do as he says, shifting so my legs hang off the edge of the mattress, my ass now sitting on the blanket. closing my eyes, i lean back on my hands, full trust in the man that i’ll be vowing forever to in just a few short months.

time ticks idly by with nothing happening, and i’m almost beginning to wonder if Trevor has left me alone when i finally feel his hot breath hovering over my nipple.

shivers erupt through my body, goosebumps littering my flesh in their wake, and my head falls back as his lips close around the stiffened bud. his tongue swirls around it, eliciting a choked sound from my lips, and i can feel him smirk against my breast.

he pulls back, sucking my nipple with him between his lips before letting it go with a pop, and my hips involuntarily jerk on the bed at his retreat, a whimper echoing in the silence.

i’m rewarded with a gentle shush, simultaneously combined with an icy cold substance being dragged around my nipple. my back arches, breasts pushed forward as i gasp.

my eyes fly open, darting down to find the source of the chill and discovering my fiancé on his knees, the previously ice-bound candy cane in his grasp, leaving a cold sticky trail along my nipple.

“T-Trevor.” i stutter out. his eyes flick up to mine, a smirk resting on his lips as he pulls the candy cane away, replacing it with his open mouth.

i curse, my arms shaking behind me as my eyes roll back. his tongue explores every detail of the hard peak in his mouth, suckling as his free hand finds my other breast, roughly pinching the nipple, before trailing the cold candy cane around that one.

my hips grind against mattress with every flick of his tongue, and when he switches his heated mouth to the other breast, he moans against it, the vibrations against my nipple causing a full body jerk.

“Trevor, please.” i plead. for what? i’m unsure, but he seems to know; he pulls back, rolling my nipple between his lips before letting it go.

his hand comes to rest on my sternum, slowly pushing me until my back lays against the soft bedding. he swirls the candy around my breasts, stickiness coating my skin, before i can hear the clink of the candy cane being shoved back into the ice.

he rises, hovering over my body before dipping down, sucking at the sticky candy trails of his own doing.

my hips buck up against his, urging him to hold them against the mattress as he continues sucking across my chest. his lips drag along the sticky residue, his tongue darting out to lick across my nipple.

my breath catches in my throat as i can feel the early signs of my orgasm building in my stomach, but i’m left gasping for air as it fades away, Trevor’s mouth parting from my heated skin in order for him to pull the candy cane back from the ice cup.

my abdomen clenches as the candy cane makes contact, being dragged down down my stomach from my sternum. Trevor hovers above me with a mischievous smirk, taking pride in the way my body writhes underneath him.

when he finally puts the frozen candy away, his tongue drags down my body, his eyes locked into mine, glaring up at me with heated fervor.

as my body tenses under his tongue, a whimper draws from my slackened jaw, my fingers tangling into his hair and giving a harsh tug.

he groans against me, vibrations carrying over my tight muscles and sending chills down my spine, but his movement doesn’t falter; instead, he trails down even further, pressing short kisses to my hip bones and along my waistline.

“Trev-” my voice shakes, coming out in breathy quivers as he dips lower, his hot breath hitting against my dripping core.

“what do you want, baby?” his gentle pet name is an extreme contrast to the harsh tone of his voice.

“you,” i grapple with his shirt, tugging him up until his face is above mine, his nose drags up my jawline, my eyes fluttering closed, “god- i need you.”

“you’ve got me, baby.” i can practically hear his smile, the mocking lilt in his tone.

“inside me,” i clarify, my head falling back to dig deeper into the soft bedding as his soft lips attach to my neck. “i need you inside me.”

he pulls away, my eyes flying open at the sudden departure, “oh, you need my cock.”

his hands grip my hips, pulling me forward as he grinds against my core, a sharp inward gasp falling from my lips.

“you want this cock buried so deep inside that pretty pussy, don’t you?” Trevor hums, a mocking smirk resting on his lips when i whine out an agreement. “yeah, you want it so bad that you’re fucking dripping. so wet for me.”

“yes, yes,” i pant out, hips bucking up in search of his hardened bulge, “all for you.”

he snickers as he steps back, my lower body falling back against the mattress and a long complaining whine leaving me. i watch in ernest as his hands drop to the button of his jeans, undoing them and pushing them down his legs along with his boxers, putting his muscular thighs on full display. his erection springs free, nearly slapping against his clothed abdomen, and my thighs press together at the sight of his reddened tip, glistening with precum.

he grins at my reaction, his eyes zeroing in on my clenched thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head.

“open those thighs for me, pretty girl.” his hands smooth up my legs, prying them apart until they’re wide open, my cunt on display for his viewing.

“look at that pretty pussy,” my body jolts as his fingers do a quick swipe through my soaked folds, a broken moan pouring through my lips.

“please,” i mewl, “i need you you to fuck me.”

his hands wander my body, sliding up to cup my breasts as he stands between my open thighs.

“yeah?” he cocks his head, wrapping a hand around the base of his length. he drags it slowly through my folds, applying added pressure when he reaches my clit.

my back arches, my chest heaving as he slides his dick back down to my entrance.

“yes! please!” my cries bounce off the walls as he slides in, each inch slowly being swallowed by my walls.

he groans, head tipping back as he bottoms out inside of me. he stills, allowing me a moment to adjust, before pulling completely out and thrusting back in.

the position provides the perfect angle, the tip of his cock hitting against my g-spot with every thrust. my body wriggles underneath him, his hands making a home on my hips, gripping tightly enough that i’m sure bruises will form overnight.

“Trevor.” i breathe out, my hands coming up to lock around the back of his neck. i pull him down, lips connecting in a passionate exchange, and when he pulls away, i line kisses up his jaw.

each kiss is jilted by a sensual moan; finally reaching the shell of his ear, he thrusts in particularly hard, a high pitched gasp erupting from my lips that ghost his ear, and i can feel his cheek lift against mine in a cocky grin.

“you wanna come, don’t you, baby?” he speaks through strained vocal chords, his thrusts gaining momentum and his hips slapping against mine harshly.

“mhm.” i nod against him, my agreement hummed against his skin.

“yeah, i know you do.” he pulls his face away in order to stand up taller, pulling my hips off the mattress to provide a deeper angle. “dirty little slut wants to make a mess on my cock.”

my eyes roll back in my head, my hands gripping the sheets as he his cock slams against the soft spongey spot that makes my legs shake.

i can feel my orgasm building up once more, my abdomen tightening. his hand slides down to smack against my ass, the resounding sound enough to make him moan, before sliding around to press his thumb to my clit.

one hand flies up to grip his forearm shakily, my hips jerking to meet his, and the squelch of his cock sliding in and out of my cunt throws me deeper into the throes of my impending climax.

my head is fuzzy, tears pooling in my eyes, and my body aching with need for release. broken sobs begin to shake my body, his thumb rubbing deep circles against my swollen bud.

“so close,” i cry, “please don’t stop! please!”

“not gonna stop, baby.” he whispers, “you’ve been such a good girl. wish you could see yourself, all pretty and fucked out for me.”

my walls tighten around him, sweat beading at my hairline as i get closer and closer to release.

“cum for me, baby.” he demands. his cock twitches inside of me, thrusts growing sloppy with each passing second.

with one more circle of my puffy clit, my breath hitches, my body stiffening but my legs shaking as my toes curl.

he fucks into me, riding me through my orgasm until i begin to breathe heavy pants, my hips squirming in his touch.

his hips stutter, his movements growing desperate until he falters, stilling between my legs as his cum spurts out in ropes, coating my walls, “shit, fuck.”

he stays buried inside of me, standing in silence as we each catch up on forgotten breaths.

“i’m sticky.” i sigh, causing his eyes to open in order to look at the glistening candy cane residue on my upper body.

“would ya look at that,” he slides out of me, chuckling while bending down to scoop his arms under my back. he lifts me with an ease that i couldn’t imagine myself having after the activity we just partook in.

my breasts stick to his chest as he walks me to the bathroom lazily. grinning, he sets me down on the edge of the bathtub, my skin peeling away from his with a satisfying sound.

“how does a bath sound?”

“sounds like a lot of extra work after i already washed my face, you asshole.” i joke, kicking a foot at his bare thigh.

he let’s out a wheezy laugh as he turns on the hot bath water before turning back to me, his hands pushing sweaty locks of hair out of my face before gently cupping my cheeks.

“you’re so beautiful,” his words cause a rush of blood towards my cheeks, my hands coming up to rest on his forearms.

“shhh bath first. and then tell me how pretty i am,” he laughs once more, shaking his head.

“have i ever told you how conceited you are?” he hums, crinkling his nose as he lowers to press a kiss to my forehead.

“you love it.” i shrug, puckering my lips for a real kiss.

he squats lower, nose nudging against mine, “yeah, i do.”

[ninibeingdelulu]

Overworking ✧

Plot : Your husband come home late again, and he’s too tired to argue.

The luminescent glow of the wall clock cast stark shadows flickering across the empty living room signaling midnight had long since passed.

Yet the apartment remained engulfed in stifling silence absent your husband Kento's reassuring presence filling the vacant spaces.

Your fingers drummed with steadily mounting agitation as each excruciating minute trickled away unanswered while you waited up alone on the worn couch.

It wasn't like Kento remaining entrenched at Jujutsu High working ungodly overtime hours was anything new lately, but tonight the resentment coursing your veins felt particularly acidic.

Gnawing into your composure with each pulse thundering that he'd once again prioritized his job over coming home to you like some insensible workaholic slowly squandering the precious remaining moments of your lives together.

So when the solitary echoes of his key scraping into the lock finally jarred the stillness, you shot upright immediately.

Chin raised in taut defiance while mustering the courage to confront him directly instead of meekly accepting Kento's feeble apologies and hollow justifications justifying this madness again.

The second your husband's hulking silhouette emerged in the threshold, you pounced without preamble.

"You're late. Again..."

Uttering the terse observation in clipped tones from between gritted teeth while actively assessing Kento's condition for the first time.

Disheveled tie dangling askew with his usually impeccable shirt and slacks wrinkled in haggard disarray. The sallow olive complexion only accentuating the bruised insomnia shadowing the heavy-lidded sag framing those rich bourbon irises clearly drained from sheer exhaustion.

Still, you braced awaiting the standard reflexive dismissal waving away your protective concerns as irrational hyperbole yet again.

Sure enough the indomitably stern furrow pinched across Kento's brow deepened in that telltale scowl preceding the well-worn rebuttal.

"Not now...I'm too tired to get into this tonight."

Immediately you recoiled from the uncharacteristically curt growl dripping in ill-concealed exasperation as he brushed past you towards the kitchen.

Clearly reaching the limits of his endurance and primed to counterattack like a wounded grizzly any impudent challengers foolish enough to pester further.

But the spark of indignation glowed red-hot behind your breastbone entirely eliminating any instinct for retreat tonight.

Not when Kento seemed hellbent on self-destructing through pursuing this flagrantly unsustainable pace.You swiftly followed at his heels hurling the accusations rapid-fire without filter.

"Why are you running yourself into the ground like this?! Working around the clock until you completely burn out or end up hospitalized?!"

Already his broad shoulders visibly tensed beneath the withering barrage while you mercilessly drove each rhetorical javelin home without allowing quarter.

No longer willing to stay passive as the man you cherished most wasted away before your eyes.

"And what about me? Do I not even factor any considerations about how I barely see you anymore besides like this - just discarded afterthoughts at the end of every grueling day?!"

Your throat constricted choking back the scorching bitterness now spilling unchecked across your blurred vision while Kento whirled to face your naked desperation head-on once more.

Every haggard line etched across those beloved Nordic features now seemed to deepen into craggy ravines utterly foreign and unrecognizable from the stalwart protector who'd stubbornly staked his entire existence upon safeguarding your shared sanctuaries.

"You think I revel in being away from my home drained like this? That I enjoy even a single second not by your side every night?!"

His roar simultaneously blasted both palms down upon the kitchen island's laminate surface with a percussive crack shuddering the tiles beneath your sock feet.

Unleashing the full tempest of Kento's frustrations that had evidently been steadily amassing into their own maelstrom these endless evenings alone.

"Every second sacrificed I'm away is to ensure you want for nothing! That our home remains secure from any potential threats! So you can live in peace while I handle these burdens!"

The wounded snarl flayed your viscera more savagely than any blade ever could. Shattering your ribcage wide open and laying your vulnerability bare before the man you'd always relied upon to shelter your most tender places from harm.

Before he instantly softened registering the mute horror stricken openly across your ashen features.

"Kento...that's not on you. If that's how you see it then...then I'm the one who failed."

But it was already too late to capture the venomous barb lancing out beyond your control.

The gaping void abruptly swallowing every lingering scrap of light still flickering behind your husband's visage surgically excised the very last remnants of air from your lungs.

You stood there paralyzed in that vacuum watching Kento physically recoil as if struck directly across that chiseled jawline.

Entire body tensing while the pitiless overhead fluorescents seemed to bleed away what little remaining color tinged those hauntingly cavernous pits now boring directly into your soul with singular uncompromising focus.

"Is that what you really believe...?"

The softly uttered words sliced you more lethally than any razor-edged steel forged by mortal hands ever could.

Rendered more agonizing by the bone-deep undercurrent of absolute loss now permanently severing whatever fraying lifelines still tenuously tethered you both to this point.

"Then you need no longer waste your evenings awaiting my return."

Even bereft of any inflections or venom lacing each syllable, the impassive delivery could do nothing to blunt the lacerations shredding your essence with every concise proclamation.

Feet already rooting to the very earth beneath while he turned without another glance disappearing beyond the hallway's shadows.

Leaving you adrift in a desolate, lightless world now devoid of anything to cling to beyond the scalding moisture already streaking down your hollowed cheeks.

You wasted away countless lifetimes in that void before somehow resurfacing in your shared bedroom consumed in numbness.

Numbly pulling drawers open on autopilot to shovel what meager belongings you could feasibly remove in a single bag while the man you loved lay entombed just beyond that dividing wall.

Unable to so much as utter a farewell...

The muffled sobs rattling your chest gradually gave way to an eerie calm overtaking your senses while automatically gathering those final essentials together.

Your motions felt disembodied and almost dreamlike - existing outside yourself surveying these mechanical preparations from some detached astral plane.

Until the bag's feeble weight balanced over one shoulder snapped you back into a razor-sharp presentience abruptly ricocheting off those cavernous bedroom walls now closing in all around with smothering permanence.

With nothing left delaying that precipice you couldn't avoid crossing no matter how desperately your psyche recoiled and retreated to those warm familiar shadows where he eternally waited.

You didn't look back or allow even the faintest broken whisper to escape while swiftly departing through the living room's archway into the vacant corridor beyond.

Each purposeful stride carrying you farther away from Kento and whatever fragile tapestry still barely clinging between your existences rapidly began unraveling behind.

At least until those first frigid droplets pelted the nape of your exposed neck signaling the night's deluge opened completely from the heavens above.

But still you pressed onwards, feet mechanically propelling you through the lobby then bodily out into the torrent with skull bowed in vacant resignation.

Allowing the punishing currents to immediately drench and plaster every stitch of fabric clinging to your skin in icy shackles now without a single conscious thought towards seeking meager shelter from nature's fury.

That was until the deafening roar erupting from behind shattered the hypnotic trance entirely.

"Y/N!!"

You staggered dumbly whipping about to find Kento's towering silhouette materializing from the building awash in halos of harsh illumination cutting through the downpour's veil like blazing searchlights.

His expression contorted into something primal and harrowing beyond lucid recognition while frantically scanning every inch of your drenched form now paralyzed before him.

Disbelief and heart-rending desperation etched behind the searing intensity now searing directly into your very marrow from those rich ember irises that had always been your touchstones in life's tempests.

Igniting reflective sparks to life where your soul's pilot light had nearly extinguished entirely under those scouring torrents unleashing in merciless retribution.

Suddenly Kento surged across the tarmac in two strides with his sodden blazer already stripped away to immediately drape the swathe of fabric around your trembling shoulders.

Immense oak-trunk arms effortlessly enveloping you against the indomitable wall of his chest while frantically trying to shield you from the punishing onslaught still pounding relentlessly all around in biblical wrath.

Yet not even those granite bastions offered sanctuary as chilling pinpricks numbed your entire body beyond feeling or substance now.

Leaving you a hollowed-out husk vaguely conscious of Kento's remorseless whiskey rasp shredding past your ear canal over the din of the downpour lashing against every exposed surface in scourging waves.

"Y/N...I’m sorry. I was just tired, please I never meant it. It’s just… work have been more exhausting lately, and I’m on the edge sometimes. I lied, I want you to wait for me above all else."

Each gut-punching admission brutally lacerated past all your remaining defenses as he clutched you so fiercely against his pounding sternum those shuddering heaves transmitted into your own rhythms.

Until his soaked bangs completely plastered across those raw features allowing you to drink in every agonized fissure.

"But please, don’t go. I’m begging you"

The desolate cries finally shattered every carefully regimented barrier you'd armored around that hollowed-out vacancy eating away at your soul's foundation.

Each raw and utterly shattered syllable pouring from Kento's very essence jolted those tiny embers still flickering no matter how decimated or waterlogged beyond hope of revival.

So when he finally wilted into that hushed horrific reverie while cradling your face in his battle-calloused palms like spun glass, you instinctively leaned into those colossal furnaces emanating from his gaze consuming you whole once more.

Offering the only meager benediction left within you to bestow while reaching up to reverently brush away those crystalline rivulets streaking his granite features that held more significance beyond nature's downpour.

The frantic thrum of both your racing pulses immediately surrendered into perfect intuitive synchronicity once more.

Gently guiding Kento back through the torrent from that lightless brink he'd pulled you away from towards sacred sanctuaries still smoldering eternally where your twin beacons would never be extinguished again...

[c-u-c-koo-4-40k]

Do I Know You? - Part 3

Warnings: Minor Violence, Blood, Identity Theft

Summary: The other shoe falls and Lullaby has to try and escape from the imposter in their nest. Their abilities allow them a slight edge, but will it be enough until their family and Khopesh can arrive to save them?

Previous Chapter: Here!

Next Chapter: Doesn't Exist Yet Here NOW

First in the series: Here!

Tag List! Tag List: @kit-williams @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan (all of whom have amazing characters that make cameos here!) @sleepyfan-blog @egrets-not-regrets @legionsofthehungry

@passionofthesith @bispecsual @bleedingichorhearts @beckyninja

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck FUCK! You fight your trembling hands as you try to undo the lock to the bathroom window. Every click of the latch feels like it echoes, and with how sharp Astarte hearing is, it Just might be more accurate than hyperbole.

“My Dar-ling?” That fucking voice calls to you from the living room, and knowing what you do now, it makes you want to vomit. 

But you push that down, or rather…you Use that to your advantage. 

“BLEHgH Ugh…don't come in…” You fake through the locked door, actually decently convincing. “I don't know what's wrong, but I think something bad is hitting my stomach. Just give me a few minutes to sort this out.” You turn on the sink full blast and even add flushing the toilet.

The imitation of your Sweetness talks Gently to you through the door. “I could help you Dearest. Let me make sure you're well.”

Revulsion curdles in your gut like sour milk filled with maggots. “No! No no…” Think THINK! “The Last time you tried to help, the smell hit your nose so badly you ended up vomiting in the tub! And your acid spit ruined the shower tiles!” You lie, and turn on the shower as well. “Just let me handle this! I think a shower and a good soak will help. I'll just keep bouncing back and forth till this passes.”

“Alright…just ask me if you need anything, Dearest…” The interloper concedes, and you hear the steps move away from the door. 

“No worries~ Ulp ugh…Love you~” You add in a saccharine voice, and with more feigning sick for good measure, then you turn back to the window.

Thankfully it's big enough for you to squeeze through, though it is a bit of a climb and scramble to get through. A tiny part of your mind winces at leaving water running but this Isn't a normal situation. 

You're about half way into the dark morning outside when there's a sudden jiggling at the door knob. Alongside a call of, “Darling? What are you doing dear?”

You nearly panic. “I told you! I'm fine, I don't want you messing up the tiles!”

“But that's not true…is it darling?” The door rattles even harder. “Let me in and we can discuss this like Sensible People.”

Your anger gets the better of you. “Sensible people don't go around stealing other people's faces!” You snarl.

The other side of the door, your nest, what is meant to be your safe haven, goes Quiet.Your veins go cold, and you scramble the rest of the way up to the window. 

CRASH! 

Against your better judgement, you glance back. The face of the man you love stares back through the partially broken door, but you Know it isn't him. To his credit, the imposter does try to stay calm, acting more as if You're the one having a mental breakdown and acting irrational. “Dearest Please, there's no need for hysterics…we can Talk this out.”

You don't have any witty comebacks or scalding remarks, instead you scramble harder, practically vaulting yourself out of the window. It's a bit of a drop but you barely notice the pain from hitting the ground, as you roll and bounce back to your feet, even using some of your power to push you back up. 

Run!Run!Run!RuNRUN! Your lungs burn, your legs ache as you plow towards Gary and Nancy's house. 

You run up to the door and pull, but it doesn't budge. The dogs inside bark, but otherwise there's no response. And it's then you notice the lack of cars. 

Gary and Nancy aren't here. 

“A two day trip.” The voice from behind you says and you whip around. There's only a porch light, and you find yourself cornered. The stranger with Khopesh's face has you boxed in. 

Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. 

But he doesn't attack you, instead he just smiles. And now you fully pick up on the Wrongness of it.  “I know I told you about that Dear one.” He assures the gaslighting Prick. “I scraped together the funds so they could have a romantic weekend of their own. And We could have Our privacy, come now…” He places a hand to your cheek with extreme gentleness. “Come back to bed. I Promise you this is all just the result of a bad nightmare.”

For one moment, you doubt yourself. The face in front of you looks so…so Heartbreakingly honest. 

But then you pull back, mentally not physically, and you steel your resolve. 

You smile shakily, making sure it touches your eyes. “I…I'm so sorry…I don't know what I was thinking.” You sigh, rubbing your temples as if conceding. “Yeah let's…let's go back to bed…”

You hold out your hand, and the imposter takes it. 

BZZZT-ZAPT! 

“AUAAGH!”

You send a shockwave of power through your mycelium, through the armored hand you've enveloped with it, and through your feet, the ground and the armor of the lying face stealing BASTARD in front of you. The surging energy breaks his focus and the facade melts away. 

CLANK!

A teal armored knee hits the ground, and it's the last movement the marine in front of you is able to make as his armor locks up. Even kneeling his height is fairly equal to yours, but he rasps out. “Hoooow?”

“Hands-on experience.” You reply. “And this is also hands-on Experience!” You snarl slamming an empowered hook punch right across the hydra's face. 

“Shit! So the rumors are true…you are warp touched…” He says, your punch isn't deadly but it Does actually hurt. 

SLAM! Another punch makes contact as the Hydra is helpless in his locked armor. “Where are my In-Laws you fucking Teal Shithead!?” You snarl, grabbing his throat with your other hand, and steadily increasing your grip strength. 

“I- crkl- wasn't lying!” He pleads, surprised and realizing the mortal before him Could do more damage than some bruises and a bloody nose. “They're safe! Urkl- out- Out of town! I SwEar!”

“A liar's word isn't worth much.” You sneer, forcing your grip to be tighter and tighter. And maybe Khopesh has really rubbed off on you, but you decide to let a little more sadism come out. “But…I'm sure My Darling, you know…the one who's face You STOLE!” You squeeze for emphasis before continuing. “Could get you to talk.”

“And indeed, I will.” 

The voice makes your heart jump, and you glance up from your would-be kidnapper to see a familiar face off in the distance. 

“Khopesh?” You say with relief and hope. 

The Night Lord opens his arms. “In the Flesh! I've called the others, they will be here soon. For now, allow Me to deal with this…interloper.” He says approaching closer. 

The relief you feel nearly brings tears to your eyes. “God…I'm so happy to See You! I can't believe you got here so so-”

You stop suddenly, and your face falls. “How did you get here so soon?” 

‘Khopesh’ tries to reassure you. “I ran as fast as I could! Please, you Must let me take care of yo- I Mean of This. Well And you…you've been through a terrible thing so just let me Help-”

“STAY BACK!” You snap, flexing the hand on the Hydra that is still at your mercy. A warning, and the ‘Khopesh’ in front of you stops his advance. 

You take a deep breath, and you visualize your mycelium tendrils winding, and integrating with the veins and nerves of your eyes. As you'd hoped, it brings back the vision you'd seen when facing the silver dragon. The ability to see your own power and the life signatures of others.

And Just as you'd feared. 

Teal…Teal…Not Midnight Blue. 

You feel and Hear a crackling sound as your rage and your power flows through your spreading mycelium. 

The Hydra in your hand is sweating, Good. 

The newcomer licks his lips nervously “Lullaby-”

“Get my fucking name, Out of your FUCKING MOUTH!” 

BBZTZTZT! Crackling energy lances through your circle, racing toward the faker. “AND GET MY LOVER'S FACE OFF OF YOURS!”

But he's not being caught off guard like his friend so he swerves with a blur of speed. Your warp sight allows you to track his movement but it's too late as he overcomes your position. The fake Khopesh grabs and pins you against the wall of the house. 

“Let Go! LET ME GO!” You scream and thrash and try to dump another charge of your power into the marine pinning you.

But your previous burst had been so large, you didn't have enough to lock up this one's armor. The false face snarls at your defiance. 

“Enough! Will you Just calm dow-”

SHINK! 

A small warmth splashes across your face. And you suddenly drop to the porch. 

“TALOS!” The kneeling marine shouts as a dark shape illuminated by crackling claws rips your attacker away from you. 

Another dark shape manifests from the shadows, an arm clad in black metal snatches the Hydra still in front of you and drags him into a headlock. 

“Are you okay Lullaby?” Claude asks, before hissing a line of very Karlsor like profanities to the Hydra who's windpipe can't seem to catch a break. 

And now you feel your heart soar with relief. “Claude! Khopesh!” You'd jump into your love's arms if you could move at all, and if he wasn't actively fighting. Instead you hobble to your feet and nod to the Raven Guard. “I- I'm alive! Fuck I'm so glad you're both here!”

The..the Talos, Talos groans as he's splayed out on the ground after Khopesh stabbed through his shoulder and yanked him away from you. “Please…wait…

“SILENCE!” Khopesh snarls, which almost makes you recoil, but it's not directed at you. “You come here to raid my nest….Steal what is Mine to Love…AND YOU HAVE THE GALL TO ASK FOR MERCY!?” He stomps down on the Hydra's damaged shoulder, causing the marine to howl in agony.

“P-plEase! My laov… Lana-!”

Your rage and fear lessens a bit, replaced by confusion. Wait…what? My Love Lana?

Khopesh's rage is still in full control as he leers over his pinned prey. “ENOUGH! Your life was FORFIET the moment you came here!”

“No! No-urk! Was me! It was me!” The other Marine pleads while still held by Claude. 

Khopesh twists his gaze to him, and his full livid smile peels his lips back. Fear, he isn't even focused on you but you can Tell what he's thinking. 

He's going to rip these marines limb from limb. 

Which they'd tricked you, might have been planning to do something Awful to you! So why are you hesitating?

BANG! 

“STOP!”

A bolter round? And that voice! All three of you turn to the familiar sound. 

“Anrir?” You can't believe what you're seeing, but regardless of your confusion the elder Night Lord stomps through the early sunrise with…

“Zariel?” Now you are Doubly confused, as the Ultramarine Apothecary runs up. Ironically he looks more angry than Anrir and Anrir looks fucking terrifying at the moment. He stalks up to the injured Alpha Legion marines. 

The hydras for their part look as if they've been caught with hands in the cookie jar. They're also relieved to not be actively getting shredded by Khopesh at the moment, but maybe that would be a less painful fate. 

The Ultramarine is red in the face and begins snarling at the hydras. “When Anrir told me I had Wanted to believe this wasn't true! But then I see you two have gone and done something WELL AND TRULY ASININE!”

Khopesh growls and flexes his claws. “You Know these nest raiders?”

“REGRETTABLY!” Zariel spits. 

“Hey! You're one to fuckin Talk ‘Ultramarine’!” Claude's hydra snarls, now that he's only being restrained, not choked.

“And we're NOT FUCKIN NEST RAIDERS!” Talos bites back. 

That makes you laugh at the audacity. “You entered My Nest under False Pretenses! You slept in my-” And a realization dawns. You slept beside a stranger, and you barely even suspected something was wrong. “Oh god…” 

You feel the need to scrub your skin off. You want to cry and vomit. A small voice in your head Was actually glad the imposter had given an excuse as to why you both couldn't be more intimate but still!

Khopesh reaches out to you, and you almost push him away. You start babbling. “I-I need to wash off. I need to wash before….before we do anything I didn't know! I didn't Know!” 

“Lullaby…” Khopesh soothes, pulling you close so you can feel his purring and heartbeat. 

“-oh…Fuck!” The sobs break through and you bury your face into his neck and shoulder when he picks you up. 

You don't just want a bath, or a shower where you'd scrub yourself raw, you need Khopesh, you need his scent, his body, his breath, his Love to make you feel clean again. 

To make you feel safe again. You wrap your arms around his neck and you force those bad thoughts down for a moment. 

“I love you.” You say, it sounds more sad than you mean it to. Khopesh strokes your back. “Thank you…for coming to save me. I missed you.” You pull back to look at your love in his dark eyes. 

He smiles, nuzzling nose to nose with you. “Always…”

The onlookers watch the tender scene with varying emotions. Zariel is still angry, and gestures to you and Khopesh. 

“And Now look at what you've done! This poor child is traumatized by your indiscretion, Keed!” 

“It wasn't supposed to be this way!” Keed replies. 

“We were only trying to get help for our Lana!” Talos pleads. 

Your ears perk up at the mention of that name. Or rather the confirmation that it Is a name. “Lana?”

The Hydras turn their attention to you. “Our Lana is to us, what you are to your Khopesh.” Talos explains. 

“And we would do Anything to ensure her wellness.” Keed adds. 

A low growl festers in Khopesh's throat. “I Fail to see how using my face to gain entry to my nest is aiding your mortal.” 

“You'd be correct to be skeptical, If this was any other baseline.” Keed answers, before addressing you directly. “We came here in the hopes of securing you so you could be brought to treat our Lana.”

Zariel hisses. “Keed!”

“Oh, stop with the theatrics Zariel the cat is well and truly Out of the bag so you might as well be honest.” Keed snipes.

Zariel takes a moment, before sighing, and rubbing his face in exhaustion and defeat. And all at once the guise of an Ultramarine melts away, leaving a very tired, very fed up Alpha Legion marine. “Just…please let my little brothers go…or stand or…whatever-”

Claude's face takes on a grimace, he glances at Anrir, who nods. He releases the Hydra, but swiftly moves to stand between so you and Khopesh are behind him. 

Talos shakily gets to his feet, now that Khopesh is no longer standing on him. To his credit he seems more ashamed than Keed, especially about causing Zariel so much headache. “We really didn't mean to scare them-”

“DON'T!” Zariel? Hisses at his younger brother's attempts. “Just don't! I need a moment to cool off.” And he stomps off in one direction around the corner of the house. 

Anrir approaches you now and begins checking you over. 

“I'm feeling a sense of deja vu.” You mumble, as he checks your vitals. “Sorry for the trouble.”

The side of Anrir's mouth quirks up. “You aren't the trouble in this case my dear. And rest assured you are worth almost any you might actually bring.”

The Hydras stand awkwardly off to the side, Claude is still standing between your positions and theirs, it seems they'll be made to wait for their medical care. 

You chew on your cheek before asking. “So…Zariel is…someone else?”

Anrir answers. “He's still Zariel, always has been. Think of it like…a difference in work attire vs home attire if that helps. Most Hydras prefer to have two faces, one for the world, and one for the home.” 

“And why…does he- I mean they…Why do they…do that?” 

Anrir smiles wryly. “Why do Night Lords prefer the dark?”

You tilt your head. “It's in their nature?”

“It's in their nature. Like a mimic octopus pretending to be other things. Most aren't even malicious, they're just…”

“Dramatic?” 

“Hey!” Talos protests. 

“Quiet!” Claude barks, clearly and thoroughly unamused by what's transpired.

“Oh shove the barking down your blowhole Hatchling!” Keed snipes back which causes Claude to bristle. 

“I am Not your Hatchling!” Claude hisses, his eyes lighting up. 

“Those Teal eyes say otherwise, Hatch-ling.” Keed jabs back. But before Claude can stride over and start another fight Zariel comes back from around the house. 

And promptly walks up to Keed and knocks him in the head with a disciplinary WhACK! 

“OW!” 

“Ah ah AHP! You have brought this upon Yourselves No More Belly Aching!” Zariel grouses, and begins to treat his brother's wounds. 

So while you all stand there with varying degrees of awkwardness, you decide to break the silence.

“So…Who is Lana?” You ask, still being held protectively by Khopesh. 

Talos perks up. “She is our sun and stars! Our love and beauty! The center of our-”

“Okay okay I Get It!” You huff, before taking a breath. “Sorry that is Very sweet of you but let me rephrase; Why do you need Me to help Lana?”

The mood takes a downturn, but after a moment Keed answers. “She’s…sick.”

“O-kay? So why not take her to an Apothecary.” You glance at Zariel. “The one you got at home not workin or something?”

Zariel huffs and rolls his eyes. “It is not a sickness of the body. Or even one of the mind.”

“It's some kind of warp sickness. Keed Saw it! Tell em! Tell em!” Talos urges. 

You turn your attention to Keed, and he nods. “Over the last few weeks, our Lana had…been getting weaker. We originally thought it was merely a cold, or exhaustion, but then I sensed, It.” He shudders for a moment. “On her soul, there were traces…traces of a Terrible and Powerful psychery. It was small, fragmented, but it was latching onto her life force.”

“Both Psychers in our squad tried to remove it! But…they couldn't even dampen it.” Talos adds with disappointment. “But then Zariel had the idea that You might be able to help!”

Anrir's expression morphed subtly. “You Told your fellows about my In-Law's status as a psyker?” There's a barely noticeable growl in his throat and you feel Khopesh's muscles tense. 

Zariel barks back. “I Told my brothers to be Patient! And wait for me to approach you and Ask for your aid, Directly, Without any deception besides maintaining my Ultramarine shape in front of you.” 

Keed protests. “Lana’s getting weaker everyday! We couldn't afford to wait any longer!”

Zariel sighs. “But now…I am forced to approach you…like this.” To your surprise the Apothecary takes a knee and bows. “Please, I understand that you may never trust me again. And I will take any punishment you deem fit for us if you must, but I Beg You.” His sea green eyes meet yours with intensity that can only bely honesty. “Help our Lana, not for Our sake, but for Hers.”

You…have to take a moment to take everything in. “You…really love her, Don't You?”

“More than words can say!” “She's our everything!” The younger Hydras proclaim. 

Zariel nods solemnly. “She is our Life.”

You let out a sigh, and glance up at your Khopesh. His dark eyes meet yours for just a moment. 

If you were in their position, and Khopesh in Lana's…would you even hesitate?

Not even more a moment. 

You turn back to the Hydras. “I promise only to Try.” You vow, and gesture for Khopesh to let you down, which he does. But he keeps a hand on your shoulder. 

The Hydra's faces morph with relief. “Oh Thank You!”

You hold up your hand. “Don't thank me yet. Remember, I've never used my power on a baseline directly…I don't even know if my abilities can help your Lana. But…I Will Try.”

The Hydras nod gratefully. 

You do add one more caveat. “You'll also be paying for the nest repairs And the water…bill- FUCK!” You start to rush back over to your nest so you can turn the water off. 

“Uh…I actually did take a moment to turn off the sink, and shower while you were ah…running up here.” Keed assures awkwardly.

You…don't know how to respond to that. “Ah…okay well…that's…I honestly don't know of I should be thanking you in this case but you know what it's been a Weird day so…Thanks.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “I need some breakfast…and caffeine…” You turn to Khopesh. “And lots of hugs and kisses.”

Khopesh purrs and leans down to fulfill your request, you nuzzle gratefully into your love's affection. 

You know what? Fuck it. 

“Breakfast is On Me! Let's All go get pancakes!” You declare. 

Khopesh smiles at you with confusion. “Ah Lullaby? Are you alright?"

“NOPE! But I'm taking us All to Breakfast because if I'm going to face some new mind fuck every day I Might as well be able to roll with the punches.” You reply. “And pancakes are Your favorite and I want to treat you.” You say sweetly. 

Khopesh's expression melts. “Oooh Lullaby~” He cooes sweeping you up into a passionate kiss. 

The Hydras seem…very unsure with this. “Are you Sure?"

You break to look back and meet their eyes with intensity. “If I'm going to treat your Lana, I'm gonna need fuel. Plus we can discuss more of the particulars over a meal and get a better idea of what she needs. I imagine you want this done as soon as possible, right?”

The stunned Alpha Legion look at you, not sure how to respond. 

Anrir…actually starts…Laughing? It starts off as a small snicker before growing into full disbelieving laughter.

“Woah…” Well…rolling with the punches. Eventually Anrir composes himself, and takes a few breaths. 

“Ah…Ah…Ahhhh…” He shakes his head in a non-serious way, he mutters something under breath that sounds like. “only on Terra…” And he starts walking. 

Claude follows, confused. “Father? Where are you going?” 

Anrir huffs with amusement. “I don't know about you Claude, but I quite like the idea of a free breakfast.”

Claude seems unsure. “Are you certain we can trust them?” He asks, this could all be one big ruse. 

You chime in, approaching Claude. “I have no idea. But I know you'll have my back and that's good enough for me. Besides…” You turn back to face the Hydras. “We're not friends…but we're not enemies either. And if your Lana really is in need of help, I wouldn't feel right turning my back.”

The Hydras seem to mull over your words, eventually Zariel approaches. Khopesh moves closer to you, and Zariel keeps a respectful distance. “Thank You. Truly. You have no idea what this means to us.”

You smile. “I think we've got more in common than you might realize.” You look into your darling's eyes, gesture for him to raise his hand, and press a kiss to his ceramite gauntlet. “Now let's go get those Pancakes!”

“Hell Yeah!” Khopesh growls gleefully, sweeping you up into his arms. 

[dailypolyhedra]

Polyhedron of the Day #138: Rhombitriheptagonal tiling

The rhombitriheptagonal tiling is a semiregular tiling of the hyperbolic plane. It is also sometimes referred to as the small rhombitriheptagonal tiling. Its Bowers-style acronym is srothet. Its Schläfli symbol is rr{7,3}. Each vertex consists of 1 heptagon, 1 triangle, and 2 squares meeting. It can be constructed through cantellation of the heptagonal tiling or its dual (the order-7 triangular tiling) or rectification of the triheptagonal tiling. Its dual is the deltoidal triheptagonal tiling.

[mathhombre]

Line Bundles on Complex Tori

That's the hexagonal tiling honeycomb by Roice Nelson. John Carlos Baez is working through a series on these beautiful infinite spaces.

Order 5 cubic honeycomb.

Coxeter showed there are 15 regular hyperbolic honeycombs.

Fun article in a good series. Highly recommend if it's at all of interest.

[ineffable-xenanigans]

How many angels (and demons) can dance on the hyperbolic plane?

Part 2 here

Hmmmm I now have many juicy ideas for a Good Omens x M.C. Escher crossover…

Circle Limit IV (Heaven and Hell)

Woodcut by M.C. Escher (1960)

Images acquired from this article…

…which also supplied this wonderful Escher quote:

Coxeter’s hocus-pocus text does nothing for me, but the picture will probably help me to create a tessellation, which promises to be a completely new variant of my series of tilings of the plane. A circular, regular tiling, which is logically bounded on all sides by the infinitely small, is something wondrous. Almost as beautiful as the regular tiling of the sphere. At the same time I have the feeling I am getting increasingly further removed from what I can achieve “success” with the “public” with. But what can I do about it, if a problem like this fascinates me so much that I cannot shake it off?

Basically, our boy M.C. was out there making fanart of a math paper lmao

Relevant to @snognes’s interests

[cartoonedin]

layla and rory learn why padlocks exist: a fanfiction

can't believe my first uca fanfic is about layla fletcher and totally imagined interactions. who would've thunk it. this was written entirely in discord and came with such insightful commentary from my friend as:

in my mind this takes place when they're older and (not that much) wiser but sophia still being alive might un-suspend your disbelief in that aspect. enjoy!

moonlight sidles into the room. layla’s heart skips a beat at the call of near-curfew. she’s been doing her very best to keep out of trouble this year, which has resulted in complete abstinence from her greatest vices: late-night visits to the library, taking up years worth of teachers’ consultation time, and stashing away her humble coffee making kit/fbi-tracked portable laboratory.

it’s of note, then, that layla is now in possession of a living, breathing boyfriend whose heart beats for her and her alone (and mister mendoza as a quote-unquote bit that often lasts one too many texts to be a smidge, never mind a bit) due to drink smuggling. it’s a dangerous trade, somewhere in the suffocating space between opposing sophia and descending to the depths of the underworld. yet as she found herself sucked into a vortical economy of energy drinks and plots to topple the humble skyberry’s monopolization, she reaped a whirlwind romance for the ages. this fact is very unfortunate for her desire to never get detention again. most dormmate-related facts are.

“i’m just saying, it’s fine by me if you never leave.” rory drapes himself over her lap as he pitches a stolen guitar pick to the ceiling. it’s hardly the best position for the aerodynamics of the act, but she can’t find it in herself to protest.

“never?” layla tucks a nonexistent hair behind her ear. this is one of his invitations, she’s hoping, to enter his world of hyperbole and hypocrisy in a non-miss-furi-provoking situation. “would that make your dormitory your evil lair, and me the fair maiden you’ve stolen away from her gilded cage?”

he yawns. or perhaps he burps. or perhaps he does both at the same time. layla has long given up on boxing rory’s actions within the neat lines of basic biological processes, and rory has long given up any inhibitions about being anything but his usual gross self around girls. even the ones that have painstakingly dragged his grades up to the first half of the alphabet. “hey, i dunno about fair maidens, but most girls would consider me not letting them win at pop pong pretty evil.”

“most girls didn’t get assigned to a dorm with the sorest winner in the world and her throngs of sweaty socks.” she giggles, her tone lowering into a conspiratory teasing. “and everyone knows frost glacier freeze is the superior flavour.”

he’s about to refute her argument when something interrupts him. no, it is not something. it is the thing. it is the sound of combat boots battling each and every tile leading up to rory’s room. it is the overture to a symphony of crackling hellfire. it is valentina furi. 

“rory carmichael, if i catch you drawing deathly omens on my grandmama’s teacups again, i swear–” the door swings open. the pair of amber eyes presumably about to laser rory to death now jump up and down and all around. the assumption of rory being burnt to a crisp only gains more ground. “just what are you two doing?”

they look at each other. they look at the pile of books on the floor. “studying!”

“at least isa–someone and i workshopped our excuses.” her perfectly drawn brows are drawn at a different angle of disapproval than usual. does she look… sad? “honestly, layla, i expected better from you.”

eventually, valentina grows tired of seeing the anthromorphic puddles they are, and the door is slammed with extreme prejudice. the noise is piercing, causing layla to descend into the hissing whisper supposedly reserved for 3am study sessions, not 8pm perfectly platonic looking casual hangouts. “studying? you expected her to believe that?”

“um, yeah, that’s why i said it.” 

it would be the discovery of a lifetime to some, more staggering than mass-energy equivalence or miss primrose’s background in equestrian acrobatics, that rory has reasons for saying things. not to layla. learning that rory has reasons for saying things is to layla as the wright flyer’s first liftoff must’ve been to the wright brothers; all evidence points to a solid truth, but the solid seems to be made of gum to the point where one can’t be faulted for thinking something’s going to go up in flames. she sighs.

“what do you think she meant by having expected better of me?”

“beats me. who cares what carrot top thinks?” rory clears his throat. “i mean, your pupils are a beautiful shade of frost glacier freeze.”

“my irises, rory.” she bats her eyelashes with a practiced innocence. practice makes perfect, indeed. “clearly, you need more one-on-one tutoring.”

a monumental crash of crystal and crockery commences. “HAH! FIFTY BUCKS, FURI!”

layla surmises, by virtue of the sound’s estimated frequency and amplitude and also the sight of isabel’s heels clip-clopping down the hall with as much grace as a horse high on grim magic and gathering book magic and anabolic steroids, that she and rory are going to have a long, long night.

(it turns into a long, long morning when sophia realises she’s been using one of valentina’s acrylic nails to play her guitar for the past week.)

[sephirthoughts]

4, 17 and 25 for the writer’s ask game 🙌

thank you for the ask i love doing these! 🖤

4. an excerpt of my writing with dialogue i'm proud of

this isn't really anything all that profound, but i love the dynamic between them so much (it's from a genshin impact fic i wrote over a year ago and haven't finished)

On this particular day, by some miracle of the Archons, Kaveh had finally managed to drag Alhaitham away from his stupid boring studies, to attend one of these campus parties. Wondrous! What a delightful time they shall have! But wait! No! It was Alhaitham, after all, and what did that insufferable chunk of granite do, rather than socializing, like a human being? He sat down in a corner and opened a book! A BOOK! Kaveh was so mortified, he nearly melted into the crevices between the floor tiles. “What in the Abyss are you doing!” he hissed, hurrying over to Alhaitham (after looking around to check that no one attractive saw him talking to the tower of muscle and jawline that was his roommate). Alhaitham turned a page without looking up. “I’m water-skiing.” “Ha ha, so funny. What are you doing reading at a party!” “As you gave me to understand the matter, the purpose of these functions is enjoyment. I enjoy reading. Hooray party.” “Ugh, you are so fucking embarrassing,” Kaveh groaned. “Fine. If you want to cement your position as a social pariah, you go right ahead. I’m going to go mingle, before anyone sees me talking to you and my chances of getting any action are obliterated.” “Why should you talking to me have any impact on your chances of engaging in sexual activity with others.” “Because of all…this!” Kaveh returned, gesturing to encompass Alhaitham’s entire person. “You’re offensively handsome, six-foot-four, and built like a male fitness model! No one wants to compete with that!” “Absurd,” Alhaitham snorted. “How can my looks be offensive? You’re talking a lot of nonsense, today.” “Fuck’s sake—it was a hyperbole! The point is that while you’re sitting here all stone-cold scholar, making every other guy at the party look like a before-picture, I’m actually trying to meet people! If they see me hanging around with you, they’ll think I’m taken, by the big, scary, hot guy and get frightened off!” Alhaitham looked up at him. “Well?” “Well what?” “Go away, then.” Kaveh made incoherent noises of exasperation and stalked off, in search of a much-needed drink. 

17. excerpt from an unpublished WIP

this one is tentatively called Corporate Espionage and it's Reeve/Vincent

He fired off his email to the zoning committee, explaining once again that currently inhabited dwellings were not to be considered ‘abandoned’ or ‘derelict’ simply because they thought a shopping center would look better there, and dropped his forehead onto the desk with a dull thunk. Was thirty-five too young for a heart attack? Probably. Too bad. No hope that way, then. He had a sneaking suspicion that even if he died, they’d find a way to yank him back out of the lifestream and make him review Land Use and Development reports. He very nearly had his fanciful heart attack, when suddenly something hard and cold clamped down on the back of his neck. His first thought was ‘Oh, good. They finally sent the Turks to kill me.’ After he gave his first jolt of surprise, he didn’t struggle or try to lift his head. He just stayed that way, with a metal something holding him by his neck. “Tense,” said a low, deep voice, barely loudly enough to be heard, over Reeve’s white noise machine and Zen relaxation fountain. “Uh—hngh!” he groaned, involuntarily, as the cold metal thing (which he now understood was a hand in a gauntlet) squeezed, exerting precise pressure on the neck muscles, right at the base of his skull. “Agent…Valentine. What are you—” “No talking.”  Reeve shut his mouth. The utter absurdity of the situation made him strongly suspect that he’d fallen asleep with his head on his desk, and was now dreaming. Having his neck rubbed by a nearly sixty-year-old former Turk maybe-vampire, who could swat him like a gnat (and that was when he wasn’t a monster), was definitely something his stress and fatigue-addled subconscious might invent.  Well, fuck it. He may as well enjoy it, before one of his phones rang and woke him up.

25. an excerpt from something i consider to be a favorite

this is the opening couple paragraphs from my Ryu Ga Gotoku fic. it's one of my favorite things i've written so of course it was not very popular 😂 (asexual kiryu x bisexual majima OTP of ever)

Hand-to-hand combat, like any religion, requires devotion. One must practice it every day, or wisely avoid its temple and its acolytes, as it can only be a source of pain and frustration. For those who observe it devoutly, however, the violent collision of muscle and bone is both prayer and worship. Communion and confession. A ritual to clear the mind and purge the soul. A pure, sensory meditation. Iron-hard fists raining blows like cannon shots. The teeth-cracking, bone-jarring thunderclap of impact. The intoxicating heat. The acrid tang of sweat and blood. The aromatic scent of petrichor from a freshly rained-upon city street. A hint of cigarette smoke and a man’s cologne. When he comes back to himself, he is standing over his opponent, battered but victorious. Stars dance in the corners of his vision. His knuckles are throbbing and he tastes blood. Then he sees blood. On his fists and his opponent’s face. For a split second, he’s sure he’s gone too far, this time. But the man lifts his head and looks up at him. Takes the outstretched hand to be helped back to his feet. Though he springs up with suspicious buoyancy, considering the beating he just took. “What’s with the face, Kiryu-chan?” he pants, smearing the crimson droplets across his chin with the back of his black-gloved hand. “Mad at me for jumpin’ you?” “I’m not mad at you, Majima-aniki. This is just how I look,” Kiryu answers flatly, which is one of the three tones of voice he has. “Right, right. I was meanin’ to ask, do kids run off cryin’ when they see ya in the street?” “Not…all of them.” This elicits a half-hysterical laugh from Majima’s still-bleeding mouth. “You look like you’re on your way from a funeral to another funeral. Why don’t you try smilin’ once in a while.” The furrows in Kiryu’s brow deepen. “I do smile. I just don’t do it for no reason.” “Must be why you’re so popular with the ladies. Come on, Kiryu-chan, lemme see ya smile.” “No.” “I’m not lettin’ you go till you do it.” “God damn it. Ok, fine.” Kiryu complies stiffly with the demand, stretching his mouth and turning up the corners, as if smiling is something with which he is theoretically familiar, but has never seen actually done. “Fuck, I take it back!” Majima exclaims, throwing up a black-gloved hand as if to shield his eyes. “I can’t believe you’d do that out in public. Some innocent bystander might see and be scarred for life.”