#(screams in mathematician)

[unnonexistence]

i am just going to have to get used to ambiguously-defined variables and bad documentation, aren't i

[achillesuwu]

I keep writing snippets about this fic at some point I think I will accidentally write the whole thing snjsbzbsbs

[aidenwaites]

That one Lee pace foundation scene that has me bewitched body and soul

[inkskinned]

they want to talk about mental illness and acceptance and how everyone is a little ocd it's cute and quirky and their "intrusive thoughts" are about cutting their hair off and you say yours are about taking a razorblade to your eye and they say ew can you not and everyone is a little adhd sometimes! except if you're late it's a personality flaw and it's because you are careless and cruel (and someone else with adhd mentions they can be on time, so why can't you?) and it's not an eating disorder if it's girl dinner! it's not mania if it's girl math! what do you mean you blew all of your savings on nonrefundable plane tickets for a plane you didn't even end up taking. what do you mean that you are afraid of eating. get over it. they roll their little lips up into a sneer. can you not, like, trauma dump?

they love it on them they like to wear pieces of your suffering like jewels so that it hangs off their tongue in rapiers. they are allowed to arm-chair diagnose and cherrypick their poisons but you can't ever miss too many showers because that's, like, "fuckken gross?" so anyone mean is a narcissist. so anyone with visual tics is clearly faking it and is so cringe. but they get to scream and hit customer service employees because well, i got overwhelmed.

you keep seeing these posts about how people pleasers are "inherently manipulative" and how it's totally unfair behavior. but you are a people pleaser, you have an ingrained fawn response. in the comments, you have typed and deleted the words just because it is technically true does not make it an empathetic or kind reading of the reaction about one million times. it is technically accurate, after all. you think of catholic guilt, how sometimes you feel bad when doing a good deed because the sense of pride you get from acting kind - that pride is a sin. the word "manipulation" is not without bias or stigma attached to it. many people with the fawn response are direct victims of someone who was malignantly manipulative. calling the victims manipulative too is an unfair and unkind reading of the situation. it would be better and more empathetic to say it is safety-seeking or connection-seeking behavior. yes, it can be toxic. no, in general it is not intended to be toxic. there is no reason to make mentally ill people feel worse for what we undergo.

you type why is everyone so quick to turn on someone showing clear signs of trauma but you already know the fucking answer, so what's the point of bothering. you kind of hate those this is what anxiety looks like! infographics because at this point you're so good at white-knuckling through a severe panic attack that people just think you're stoic. even people who know the situation sometimes comment you just don't seem depressed. and you're not a 9 year old white kid so there's no way you're on the spectrum, you're not obsessed with trains and you were never a good mathematician. okay then.

mental illness is trending. in 2012 tumblr said don't romanticize our symptoms but to be fair tiktok didn't exist yet. there's these series of videos where someone pretends to be "the most boring person on earth" and is just being a normal fucking person, which makes your skin crawl, because that probably means you are boring. your friend reads aloud a profile from tinder - no depressed bitches i fucking hate that mental illness crap. your father says that medication never actually works.

you still haven't told your grandmother that you're in therapy. despite everything (and the fact it's helping): you just don't want her to see you differently.

[fratboychriswife]

The study session

Warnings: Cocky, insufferably charming quarterback with an ego the size of Texas. Reluctant !nerd reader who can’t decide if they want to roll their eyes or swoon. Heavy banter, sprinkled with sarcasm and a little tension. Academic struggles (because math is the real villain here). Flirty remarks that might make you scream into your pillow.

!popular chris × !nerd reader

Chris Sturniolo was the guy everyone wanted to be or be with. The star quarterback, class clown, and effortlessly charming, he strutted through the halls like he owned the place. His ego was as big as the trophy case his team filled every year.

You, on the other hand, were the complete opposite. The quiet nerd who excelled in academics but avoided the spotlight like the plague. You never thought your world would collide with Chris’s—until it did.

“Y/N.”

You looked up from your desk in the library to see Chris leaning against the table, his signature smirk plastered on his face. He was dressed in his football jersey, and the scent of his cologne hit you before his words did.

“Yes?” you asked cautiously, unsure why he was talking to you.

“I need you to tutor me,” he said bluntly, dropping into the seat across from you. “Mrs. Carter said you’re the best in calculus, and if I don’t pass this test, I’m benched.”

You blinked at him. “And why should I help you?”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with an infuriating grin. “Because I’m Chris Sturniolo. Who wouldn’t want to help me?”

You let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. “Your ego’s even bigger in person than it is on the field.”

“Confidence, nerd,” he corrected. “It’s what makes me a winner. So, what do you say? Help me out, and maybe I’ll sign an autograph or something.”

You rolled your eyes but agreed. Not for him—just because Mrs. Carter would probably find a way to blame you if he flunked.

-

The first study session was a disaster.

Chris showed up late, of course, sauntering into the library with his usual swagger. “Relax, I’m here,” he announced, earning a glare from the librarian.

“You’re 20 minutes late,” you said flatly.

“Yeah, but I’m worth the wait,” he said, dropping into the chair and grinning.

You sighed, pushing a worksheet toward him. “Let’s just get started.”

As it turned out, Chris wasn’t dumb—he just didn’t pay attention in class. He struggled through the first few problems, groaning dramatically every time he made a mistake.

“This is pointless,” he complained, leaning back in his chair. “I’m a quarterback, not a mathematician.”

“You’re also failing,” you shot back, shoving the paper closer to him. “So stop whining and focus.”

He gave you a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

-

By the second session, Chris had started to improve—though his ego hadn’t shrunk a bit.

“See? I’m a natural,” he said, holding up a worksheet where he’d gotten most of the answers right.

“You’re a natural because I’m teaching you,” you corrected, but he just grinned.

“Same thing,” he said, leaning back and tossing his pencil onto the table. “You know, you’re not as boring as I thought you’d be.”

“Gee, thanks,” you said dryly.

“I’m serious!” he said, smirking. “You’ve got this whole ‘no-nonsense’ thing going on. It’s kind of cute.”

Your cheeks burned, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. “Focus, Sturniolo.”

He chuckled but turned his attention back to the worksheet.

-

By the time the test rolled around, Chris was ready. Afterward, he found you in the library, waving his graded paper in the air.

“Eighty-five percent!” he exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m a genius!”

“You’re barely passing,” you said, but you couldn’t help smiling.

“Thanks to you,” he said, plopping into the seat across from you. For once, his usual cocky demeanor was replaced with something almost genuine. “Seriously, Y/N. I owe you one.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you teased.

His smirk returned. “Too late. Same time next week?”

“For what?”

“Who knows?” he said with a wink. “Maybe I’ll flunk science just to see you again.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart betrayed you with a small flutter. Chris Sturniolo might have been insufferable, but you had to admit—he made life a little more interesting.

Taggies!: @chasekeithh @mackenziezeieglerr @sophiabirlemm @jakewebberr9 @mattscoquette @mattserenity @mattsbrowser @matthewsturnioloo @christophersturnn @chrissturniolodailysluts @chrisfavoritewhore..

Inspos!: @bernardsbendystraws ♡ @muwapsturniolo ☆

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~♡~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[english-mace]

And part of that is - finding a crit group who grow with you. Though I've learned a lot from classes or critiques from experts, I have learned so much more with and from peers who're still learning alongside me.

From being in the US, I think I know a few more folks than Freya who've come through the MFA life, and - some of them can do a very great deal of damage. Particularly if there is a mismatch between what you want to write (in my case: speculative fiction) and the, hmm, particular slant of that program's aesthetic (in general? literary. most MFAs are very heavily biased towards poeticism, realism, and the litfic prestige game, sometimes to the point of forbidding 'genre' outright.).

With regards 'next steps' - presuming your career goal is Author - well. Here is a thread on bluesky right now (apologies, yes, without a login that's impossible to see - OP, I have a few invites spare if you want one) of Kameron Hurley, in reply to Martha Wells, saying: none of us make a living this way. I'll say for myself, I've had an agent since 2017, four Hugo Award nominations for the podcast, two books out on submission with two more we hope to take on sub in 2024, and no bites. Which is how it goes. For myself, having a separate job has given me a place in my life where I can do well, be rewarded, and feel some pride when the rollercoaster of Art is doing its best to send my stomach out the bottom of my feet.

If you are in a place where an MFA is a financial and logistical commitment you can make for its own sake, and you have in mind a program whose slant matches your desires, then it could well be a healthy next step. I just know a lot of people with a lot of debt and a lot of disillusion, having been sold a world where getting one causes one to be published (and to keep being published, and to earn enough to live).

Hello! Sorry to bother, but if you don’t mind talking about it— I was wondering if you attended an MFA programme? I looked on your website but didn’t see anything about it. I’ve recently completed undergrad with a BA in Literature (creative writing concentration) and I’m looking into my next move; I really admire your work and I’d love to hear your perspective on getting a master’s— or on not getting a master’s. I hope you are having a lovely day!

I did not! I have two degrees and neither of them has the slightest thing to do with literature or writing.

I won't pretend to know much about how MFAs work and what they're useful for, as I think they're much less of a thing in australia; I understand some programs are considered prestigious and good for networking, and that many of them involve getting group feedback on your work?

I will say that nobody I know personally who is published in the worlds of SFF or romance has done an MFA. I can't speak for more mainstream literature or other genres, but honestly: I can't imagine such a program would be worth the money unless you were very sure that you'd benefit from the specific structure of tutelage and feedback that they're offering. (and having to get things done to deadlines, which I can understand being useful if you struggle with finishing things otherwise!)

if it's mostly about wanting to improve your craft, I think you could do much better with a small critique group of writing friends who you trust and who you know enjoy the genre you write in. I found mine in fandom about twenty years ago!

the main thing that will improve your writing is to write. and write more. and write more.

and the main things that will help you get published, if that's your goal, are: having written a good book, a thorough understanding of the basic steps of querying an agent OR how to start out in self publishing (both of which you can find a lot of information on for free, online) and -- sadly, but inevitably -- sheer timing and luck.

you can't do anything about the last one. but you can do a great deal about the first two without spending money on them.

[cardinalcanis]

Compliance

*Comes out of a dark alley* "Hey kid, want some Titus smut to scramble that brain chemistry real good? I got your fix."

This is @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond 's fault.

Summary: Titus was struggling with some unexpected side effects from the Rubicon Surgery, luckily he finds relief in unexpected hands.

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x NB!OC

Tw: smut, Adeptus Mechanicus, prostate massage, edging, genitals are a social construct, technically tentacles, Astartes have more holes than you think (trust me), MATH.

Word count: 7316

Tag squad (let me know if you wish to be tagged on stuff): @druidwolf21 @wolf-feathers12 @artemisareia @adhd-fandom-hyperfocus

@gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan @kit-williams @egrets-not-regrets @jaghatai-khock @horuslupercal

@moodymisty @lemon-russ @thisuserislilsilly

@sinistermojo @beckyninja @justallll @ms--lobotomy @pluvio-tea

Mechanicus speech cheat sheet:

When the hyperfocus gets in my mind goes so hard into ideas it gets them pregnant. So as this has a lot of Math Symbols as I went hamm on writing the Tech Priest’s way of speaking. I’m not a mathematician, I played loosely with stuff and their meanings, do not scream at me. Here is a quick list: 

>    -> More than. 

=    -> equals. 

!    -> negation of, no 

+++    -> increase. 

<=    -> less or equal to

&    -> and 

- - -    -> decrease 

T(statement)    -> that statement or thing is always true. 

=>    -> therefore, implies, if… then

!=    -> not equals to

∈    -> belongs to

⇔    -> if and only if, only.  

\/    -> or

P(statement)    -> probability of statement

Statement1 | statement2    -> statement1 happened because statement2 happened. 

E(statement)    -> the statement is an expected result. 

∅    -> null

F(statement)    -> that statement or thing is always false. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lieutenant Demetrian Titus of the Ultramarines, Liberator of Graia, slayer of Grimskull, veteran of the Deathwatch, bane of xenos, executioner of Thousand Sons… reduced to this pathetic drooling mess.

It had started around a month ago, the last bloody bug had been ripped to shreds but still he felt this hunger to keep going. He checked the state of his armor’s system, to his surprise the reserves of adrenaline shots hadn’t been used during the battle. Why did he still feel so restless? When did his bodyglove become so overstimulating? Had the material always been that noticeable on the skin when it was supposed to be seamless? Every single one of his nerve endings was screaming for touch, begging to be rubbed against something, ANYTHING. The worst was his aching groin, he had been close to believing that his codpiece was about to slingshot off him and get someone killed any second now. 

“Testosterone > expected Astartes levels. Positive note. Risk factor = low. !(Possibility) of death.” had stated Magos Biologis Mu-Oragon, brown eyes scanning the dataslate. 

“Low risk factor? I can’t barely focus on anything else Magos. What’s causing this?” 

The mechanicus lifted their gaze from the datapad, pale skin bathed in its faint greenish glow. Titus couldn’t decipher if the person had been male or female before embracing the Omnissiah, but there was a graceful beauty on the mech priest that had been lacking on others of their kind… shit this is bad he’s now sexualizing one of those tin cans.

“This unit understands, patient’s +++frustration = expected. Rubicon <= a year.” 

“Yes.” He had started to rock slightly on his seat, trying to focus on anything else rather than the heat coming from his core. At least his armor helped with masking the worst parts of his current condition, unlike the joke that tried to call itself a robe which he had to wear for examination. 

“[(Rubicon <= a year)&(Testosterone > expected Astartes level)] = normal occurrence.” One of Mu’s mechadendrites reached for the shelf, pulling a heavy binder. They then held it open with the help of their four mechanical arms. “---Symptoms expected. T(Normal progression).” 

“And what do you want me to do in the meantime! I thought the apothecary had referred me here for a solution.” he exclaimed out of frustration standing off the examination table. “Don’t you have any meds you can give me?”

His whole body shivered at the unexpected cold grasp from three mechadendrites pinning him back into a seating position. Blood flowed to his cheeks due to the surprising arousal that came from being manhandled by the seemingly meek Mu. 

“Hormonal cycle must !(be) disturbed => not compliance.  Compliance => possible late implant rejection. I !(compromise) unit Titus’ safety.” Mu-Oragon said in what was a wholeheartedly caring tone, even through the respirator’s distortion.

Titus had been told they had been the one in charge of his rubicon surgery, the one who saved his life. An incredibly dangerous procedure in normal conditions, but with the scale of his wounds it almost meant impossible success. Even with all that he didn’t imagine the Magos would feel protective of him, he was just another number in his surgery record anyways.

“Mu I can’t fight like this…” The same shiver again but now caused by the Magos’ grasp leaving him. Only the phantom feeling of the touch floating over his skin, another painful release he couldn’t attain, adding to the breaking down of his sanity. 

“That statement is true. Hopeful contrast. !(medication) != !(relief).” 

It took him a moment to wrap his head around the meaning of Mu’s words. He had become better at understanding the Magos after the repeated checkups on his condition following the rubicon surgery, yet there wasn’t a chance he could call himself fluent in mechanicus speech, less with someone’s accent as strong as the one in front of him. 

“You can help then, is that what you mean?” 

“Titus attempted stimulation for release = True?” they asked, pulling what seemed to be an informative pamphlet from the binder. 

“You mean if I had tried jacking off?” 

“That statement is true.”

A soft flush washed over Titus’ cheeks, glad the Magos’ examination room was empty today, Emperor only knows how hard this conversation would be in front of others. How could a room feel both so hot and cold at the same time? One of Mu’s mechadendrites tilted his head to drive his attention back towards the mechanicus, the touch has such softness uncharacteristic of what a machine would have. Yet the exception existed on Mu-Oragon, every single one of their four arms and many mechadendrites was designed for careful surgery where an eighth of a millimeter could prove life or death. He couldn’t recall all the instances during previous examinations when he had been touched by them and only noticed it once the contact became absent. 

“Yes I have.” He answered, unfamiliar with the open disclosure of his intimate activities. “It hasn’t been working.”

“Elaboration on process required. Accurate solution given ⇔ accurate description of event.” 

Mu-Oragon seemed to be deciding between a collection of pamphlets and booklets, skimming through them with the many prosthetic ocular lenses around his forehead while keeping their human eyes on Titus, which added to the multiple limbs, gave them quite an arachnid appearance.  

“What do you want me to say? There is not much science to it…” Even though the theoretical was quite clear, for the first time since his neophyte years his mind found itself struggling to find a proper practical for it

Titus held Mu’s gaze, curiously the Magos Biologis had retained both of his human eyes, only attaching more ocular addons around. A thing the astartes found quite curious if compared to others of his kind, who preferred replacing the lesser biological counterparts first. Theoretical: Mu-Oragon retained their human eyes, practical: it was a conscious decision due to the more patient oriented side of their occupation, it helped to establish trust.

He found the practical fitting. Wide almond shaped eyes with a reassuring stare, a window to the candid individual living inside machine parts and shrouded in logic based statements. 

Mu-Oragon’s mechadendrite surprised him again by resting part of its weight on Titus’ shoulder, comprehending the man’s struggle for words. He pondered on how much was Mu’s intent and how much was the limb’s machine spirit acting, he would have been lying if admitting that the relationship between mechadendrites and users wasn’t something he found interesting. One of his brothers, a tech-marine, had explained how they were beings of their own possessing an individual machine spirit; yet perfectly synchronized with his mind. Many times acting upon his thoughts without realizing. 

“Following procedure occurs on common stimulation practice. True \/ false?” asked the Magos, extending a thin booklet towards him that read ‘Comprehensive guide to prostatic stimulation’.   

“No” he answered as stoically as he could, looking at the object being handed to him. 

“Inference: this unit’s previous statement = false.” chirped Mu, computer-like clicks emitted as they spoke, possibly running calculations. “Response to Titus’ current statement: compiled. Deeper stimulation > external. [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | deep stimulation)] > [+++P(relief) = P.relief (Release | external stimulation)]. E[(---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)]” 

“You mean I can fix this by showing things up my ass?” 

“Statement’s truthfulness cannot be validated. P[ ((---surplus testosterone) \/ (∅surplus testosterone)) | (Simple anal insertion) ] = not conclusive. Remark: Relief of ailment ⇔ proper technique = true.”   

Titus swallowed a knot in this throat, followed by a long sigh. He didn’t expect the prescription for his ailment to be a masturbation technique. 

“Doubts prostatic stimulation = E(relief)?” Asked Mu tilting their head to the side. “Inexperienced = true?” 

Titus nodded, noticing how he had been holding Oragon’s gaze the whole time. 

“I can provide asistance ⇔ (consent = True). (Perform on Titus & explain) ⇔ (consent = True)” 

The booklet crunched a bit as he held it tighter, Mu had pulled him apart and back together before, likely there is no piece of him they haven’t touched… in the medical sense. Throne that simple though made him almost produce a low gasp. A different occurrence may have ended up in the rejection of such a proposal, but his situation was all but common. He could barely stay still without rubbing his aching crotch against something. Theoretical: this is just a medical procedure; practical: nothing else will come out of it. 

“Alright Mu-Oragon.” He agreed in almost a whisper. “Just… please be careful.” 

“T(Titus’ wellbeing is my priority.)” Even through the respirator their tone came out gleeful and reassuring. 

A couple days after, back at his chambers, Titus gasped and struggled to achieve the previous results he had experienced with the Magos. He was following the same movements and booklet’s instructions to the letter, his fingers were bigger and thicker than Mu’s; still the efforts left him wanting. He had made himself cum, and it had felt good, yes. But his relief was a cup with a hole at the bottom, never filling. 

Titus pressed his face against the drool covered pillow, recalling the memory from the examination room. Every time Mu had pressed their fingers inside him an asphyxiating wave of pleasure had drowned him over and over, his hairs stood with the remembrance of the Magos’ muffled exhalations due to the effort of manhandling such a heavier man. Another finger, he went deeper, a reminiscent thought of firm steel hands that had held his legs still; spread. 

Mu had played him like the director of an astropathic choir does his organ. Has Titus been the only astartes with a similar issue they’ve had to help? He bit the pillow hard enough to cause a rip, there was anger. The thought of Mu-Oragon giving similar care to someone else brewed an overflowing pot of jealousy and rage in him. But why? It was the Magos Biologis’ job to aid the Astartes, it was obvious there was no emotional attachment to the action. Despite the evidence he couldn’t stop the reassuring and borderline loving statements they had directed at him during the procedure to eat at his mind. How comfortable they had made him feel in his vulnerability, how in the time of their exchange he had silently craved for Mu to touch more of his body, to touch theirs. 

Titus sat in silence, frustrated tears sliding off his cheeks, a lone company in the otherwise relatively bare room. It was quite late at what the battle barge’s internal schedule had designated as ‘night time’, how much of a ‘night owl’ was the mechanicus? Was it proper to visit them? Were they busy? Were they saving another Astartes’ life? Were they soothing other Astartes’ post rubicon testosterone spike? Next thing Titus knew he was already dressed, one thought in mind. He should go to see them, by the primarch’s honor he had to see Mu. 

He moved with haste, weaving through the crowd of servitors engrossed in periodic station maintenance under the watchful vigilance of Mu’s brethren. No, they couldn’t compare to the Magos, none of them. Shit, why did he cram the stupid booklet and lube he was provided into his pocket? It was too late to return, his body would have not allowed him. 

Throne, those clothes were clean out of the dryer though they encountered themselves drenched with sweat. Titus’ walk to the desired wing was a blur, the fight between will and arousal occupied his focus in its entirety. Demetrian’s awareness returned to the front stage with his arrival at Mu’s laboratory, empty except for servitors. He pressed on past examination tables and towering shelves full of implements Titus had no idea of purpose, he didn’t need to anyways, he already had one. 

“Mu…” he mouthed at a sound belonging to what could be Mu’s binharic speech. 

The series of rhythmic computation sounds came out of a nearby room, the door almost fully closed. From the narrow opening left, aside from the overpowering smell proper of incense and machine oil, he could make sense that it was a private chamber.

There they were, sitting crosslegged on the floor, bathed in candle glow making their augments look like consecrated gold. Mu was perpendicular from the door, immersed in sacred meditation. In front of them a towering representation of the machine god crowned the extensive cogitator it was embedded on. The Magos’ hood was down, exposing their side shaved head, what was left of their brown hair in the middle presented tightly tied in a low ponytail. Cables came out of ports and cogitators on the sides of their head, neck and under their robes, connecting them to the one they were praying to. Two of their hands were in a prayer position, the other two resting on their knees. The many mechadendrites seemed deactivated, filling a circle around Mu as they laid over the carpet, like the resting wings of an angel. 

He had opened the door a bit more, taking one step inside yet regretting it instantly. It felt wrong, he was a trespasser, disturbing a sacred intimate rite he didn’t belong at. Titus tried to turn back but a mechadendrite stood to life, clasping hand pointed at the marine as if it could see him. Mu’s eyes opened accompanied by a quick inhalation, reminding him of someone waking up from deep sleep. 

“Unit Demetrian Titus…” surprise took over the Magos whose mechadendrites waved around them covering them until they could pull their hood back up. “Urgent assistance = true?” 

The door rattled slightly as Titus’ hand trembled. Was he feeling fear? The feeling he was made immune of? Mu tilted their head, emitting a series of concerned clicks. They patted a space on the rug beside them, limbs pulling aside to make space for Titus. 

“Permissions granted; accompany this unit. ⇔ desired so.” 

He entered further, making sure that the door was closed behind him. The intensity of the incense only increased with his approach. Titus gave the machine god’s image a look, its aura swallowed him, he was allowed into the room but that didn’t mean he was welcomed, that it welcomed him. 

“Detecting elevated blood pressure, presence of hyperhidrosis. Inference: condition disturbed.” They pointed out when he sat, the rest of their limbs focused on respectfully disconnecting the cables that joined Mu to the room’s cogitator. “Request: details needed.”

“Magos I… I have been doing everything as told.” The words were hard to come up with, this was a bad idea, he wanted to run. “Please, believe me.” 

“Complicance.” they said in what could have been a sigh. “Hormoral reading required. !(time) for a blood scan, +++urgency.” With their words they took the disconnected end of one of the cables still attached to them. “Expedited read | (direct connection = true)” 

A mechanendrite exposed the port at his nape. Even taking into account that the Magos’ intentions were clear and the connection into the ports around his body was a day to day affair; he couldn’t but instinctively want to lean away from the attempt. At least while conscious he had only been connected to external machines and his armor, making Titus and it become one. He was unsure of what linking to another conscious creature would be like. 

“Mu wait… ah…” 

He gasped at the connector’s insertion, a cold wave washed over him. Then, pressure. An extra force needed to be applied for the linkage’s proper attachment. Titus flinched when the plug was inserted to full length and secured. It has never felt this way, the imperceptive clicking shouldn’t be that all consuming, the effortless pressure shouldn’t send a shivering echo across his whole nervous system. The next breath came from lungs outside of his chest cavity. Parallel thoughts stood by his own. Connection state: stable. +++(blood oxygenation). Execute t01101000… wait what? 

“Requests: stand still for reading.” Mu pleaded, their voice sounding closer than the separation between them suggested. “Current testosterone levels = previous reading. Insulin levels within Astartes range = true. Leptin levels within Astartes range =  true. HGH levels within Astartes range = true…” they paused, Titus couldn’t see Mu’s throat but felt it on his own as it moved in a swallow. “+++(Oxytoxin levels)” 

A mechadendrite slid its rigged tentacle down his back coming into a wrap around the waist. The Magos glared at it with burning disapproval hasting the limb to release him. Unbecoming = true.

“What is that? Is it wrong?” Titus asked, a pressing heat that wasn’t the one already overwhelming him joined the room. 

“Oxytoxin = {social bonding hormone, love hormone, reproduction…}” 

The command for Mu’s arm to disconnect from him was clear, Titus’ enhanced reflexes were faster, applying pressure on the Magos’ hand before it could pull the connector out. A heart that wasn’t his drummed frantically. P(mutual) = 80%. Could it be that they have also been feeling something similar? P(mutual) = 88%. For how long? P(mutual) = 90%...

Titus leaned forwards pressing his lips on Mu’s cheek right when it met with the respirator, the skin was so soft, their smell like the rest of the room = {iron, candle wax, incense, sweat}. Mu’s arms resisted the approach but the many mechadendrites welcomed him, they acted upon their master’s subconscious wishes. 

“+++(levels) = {oxytocin, adrenaline, dopamine, vasopressin}.” They reported faintly. “Warning: Unit Titus breaching patient-magos protocol.”

“Are those hormonal readings yours or mine?” He asked with a tinge of humor, yet letting the wanting show. 

“Irrelevant.” The Magos chirped with higher pitch than normal before more mechadendrites started rubbing themselves around Titus like purring cats, then stopping when Mu directed a stern echoing mental order. 

“How long?” he asked, pressing his body against those appendages, begging for their touch. 

“Comprehension | (Unit Titus’ attention = true)” Oragon’s voice barely rose over the rushed clicking of their cogitators. “P(rubicon primaris success | healthy Astartes) = 61.6%. E(rubicon primaris success | medically dead Astartes) = ∅.” Was it a memory that flashed before him? Anger, defiance, approval, tension, relief. “Demetrian Titus: Omnissiah’s miracle. T(Demetrian Titus is my biggest pride).” Mu pressed their forehead against his. “T(Demetrian Titus is this unit’s most beautiful creation). Possessive desire = true.” 

He tried to get even closer, mind screaming to the magos’ to take him theirs as their right was. A slight passing migraine struck him, pushback. 

“I want ∈ Titus. I want Titus ∈ me.” 

They paused, a constant stream of data rushed from them to Titus. Failure = true. Unfaithful = true. Weak = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101. 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101 01001000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01110100 01100101 01101011 00100000 00111101 00100000 01110100 01110010 01110101 01100101.

“I’m here Mu, make me yours.” Titus purred, pressing his face on the Magos’ neck, their scent ordering his body into a surrender. +++(serotonin levels). 

“I want to execute statement compliance. Intervention. This unit !(execute) statement compliance. Mu !∈ Titus. Titus !∈ Mu. Mu ∈ The Omnissiah. Titus ∈ The Emperor.” With the great effort of several limbs they were capable of pushing Titus away, his whimper had a twin companion. “ F[P(I ∈ (Omnissiah & Titus) & Titus ∈ (Me & Emperor)) > 0]. Titus’ understanding = true?” 

“Mu, being with you will not make me stop fighting for the Emperor nor will distance you from the Machine God.” Unit Titus’ statement = True. “It will only make me fight harder, to fight for the Emperor is to fight for humanity, you are part of humanity, you are part of what I fight for; what I will die for.” 

Two of the Magos’ hands cradled his face, thumbs rubbing his cheeks, their eyes gifted him a loving painting colored in sorrow ahead of closing them tightly. Mu’s bodily cogitators’ clicking became louder, similar to a tired engine pushing itself up a difficult hill. Every single one of the mechanicus’ limbs trembled and rattled. Titus felt a piercing pain forming behind a skull that wasn’t his own. 

“Magos stop that! You are hurting yourse…” 

“I would hurt myself everyday if it means I do not hurt you Titus.” The lack of machine logic in Mu-Oragon’s statement caught him by surprise, that’s what they were doing, they were ending any process that would distort the message. To the extent of their modification, it hurt. “Attention  =... Listen to me closely please. What’s in your mind, what’s in my mind; it is a chimera Titus. Fantasy. !(logical).” continued as their registry jumped between two conflicting voice modulations. “I will never be able to fulfill your requirements for intimacy. Demand: compliance with silence = true… I am inside your head right now. You have expectations and desires that I cannot match.” Mu opened their eyes, they looked watery and puffy. The clicking sound became more urgent, the cogitators were screaming for it to end. “Body parts you crave that Mu… I…  do not possess. Blessed Cogitators Titus, look how hard it is for me to express myself in your language, do you think a relationship will work? T(I have no place in your world).” 

The hastened clicking relaxed, lungs that weren’t his struggled for air. Mu gave in and placed their forehead on Titus’ chest. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They purred in the comfort they shouldn’t allow themselves to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. They were surrounded by strong arms whose warmth they had no business craving. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Their face, implants included, being covered in kisses that had a better use on someone else. Yet they didn’t want someone else to have. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true. Heretek = true.  Heretek = true. Heretek = true.

“You are no heretek” Titus spoke clearly, his voice making a body that wasn’t his own yet felt like it; to tremble. “I never asked you to change for me. I will not allow you to change for me. Whatever you bring to me will make me happy, because it’s yours.” 

“Counterargument. Titus feeling this way | (+++testosterone & +++oxytocin). (Hormonal stabilization = true) => Titus !(love) Mu. E(Desire = {∅}).” 

“Theorerical: the result of your reasoning is false. Practical: you are in my head, you must only look.” 

“Compliance.” 

There was an invasive tingle poking at his brain, searching, inquiring. They shared a long moment of silence, lullabied by cogitators and Mu’s binharic musings. It felt strangely intimate, not the idea he had in mind when he came out of his room desperate to have the Priest inside him. Yet he still ached for it. 

Mu looked up to him. Pulling their hood down then guiding Titus hands on how to properly hold their face without disturbing the cablework. Throne, they were so strangely beautiful. 

“This unit’s compliance: approval pending.” They said, “This unit’s compliance ⇔ (Titus’ trust = true & Titus’ consent = true).” 

“You pulled my body apart and back Magos, do you really need more trust?” 

“Mu-Oragon !(had) Titus’ consent for rubicon. Patient previous state = unconscious. Unconsciousness !(match) consent protocol. Repeating inquiry: Titus’ Trust = True?” 

“Yes Mu I trust you.” 

“Titus’ statement = true?” The Magos pressed. 

“With my life, Mu please just… ah…”

Another cable made its insertion into Titus, now at a port on his lower back. His vision blurred for a second after the push that made the connection click, he felt himself holding Mu’s face and Mu’s face being held by his hands. A series of satisfied binharic purrs came out of him… the Magos. A touch, a gentle hand caressing behind his earlobe and going down the jawline made him moan quite loud. Titus tightened his lips afterwards full of confusion and shame. Mu chuckled behind the respirator. 

“Proud remark: Any mortal knowledge of Titus’ body < this unit’s knowledge of Titus’ body.” Both him and them gasped in unison with the many limbs holding him in place. “Proceeding with statement validation.” 

Fingers brushed his hair back in a soothing motion, just like they did that day at the examination room to calm his nerves. 

“Retrieving previously used data; Titus = {good, strong, capable, beautiful}.” 

With every word a new limb joined the embrace. Hands, ribbed tentacles, mechadendrite claspers; they all rubbed and massaged Titus’ body over his clothes. Pleasurable yet with the Magos’ teasing, no contact was made with any greater erogenous zone. The Marine played against the scheme, moving himself in a way Mu would at least grace the most vocal centers about their hunger, the mechanicus fought back trying to anticipate Titus’ moves and not let him have a win. They both were absorbed by childish chuckle and sporadic gasps. Mu’s binharic clicks were cheerful, jovial notes, light and dark compared with the ones from earlier. 

He placed his lips on Mu’s neck, also feeling them on his. And ran kisses over both flesh and blessed metal parts. They tensed a bit when he attempted to touch their chest, Titus sensed a third heart rate increasing followed by a mental note reassuring him it was fine. Without leaving carefulness behind he went down the Magos’ neck, wrapping, what the jealous tentacle allowed, of an arm behind Mu’s thighs lifting their body enough for him not bend on a weird angle to keep kissing down, his lips making out of fleshy and non biological parts under the robe.

That was when the mechadendrites started to infiltrate the openings on his clothes and slide under. The metal was no longer cold as it had been warmed up by Titus’ own body heat. Had that been the Magos’ plan? 

They both moaned at the sensation of ribbed well oiled tentacles rubbing themselves against Titus’ nipples, lower abdomen and inner thighs. The Marine was sitting on his knees, holding Mu with one arm and kissing their upper robed body, the other hand kept making sense of the shapes hidden by red cloth. 

Anchoring themselves firmly on Titus’ shoulders with two of their arms, Mu used the leftover free hands to undo the ribbons, clasps and buttons keeping the robe on. They stopped, only them letting go would uncover their body. He eyed them expectantly, noticing how shades of pink bloomed on what could be seen on their cheeks. 

“Witness the miracle of machine and flesh ⇔ (Units > initiates). Exception logged: Demetrian Titus.” Their voice sounded even more distorted than usual, nervous binharic chirps made interference with their words. 

“You don’t need to undress more if you are not comfortable, Mu.” Titus indicated lovingly as he massaged one of their shoulders. 

The grill covering Mu’s mouth didn't impede him from noticing they were smiling, the expression brightening their whole face. Adoring notes in binharic were said yet nothing in a manner Titus could understand, but he thought how it reminded him about how their prayers sounded like. With ritual reverence they let the cloth go, causing the scarlet to part and barely hang off their shoulders. He felt Mu shiver as that skin didn’t seem used to being uncovered, it was paler than their face and very thin, so much he felt afraid of his calloused palms breaking it open. Said skin was bitten into by metal, flexible pipes and transparent wiring transporting blood. Just as they did with their head Mu guided Titus’ hands across their upper body, reaching the pant's edge, a scar continuing down into the pubis was seducing him to follow it underneath. He would have if he hadn’t  noticed how in certain places clusters of purple broke paleness’ ruling, matching where he may have innocently grabbed or kissed too excitedly.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you were that sensible.” 

Titus got his mouth close enough to a bruise yet stopped leaving the lips hovering over it, only his breath making contact. He looked up to meet Mu’s gaze, a request for permission written on his. They tightened any grip on Titus leading to a shift of their weight forwards, pressing themselves against his lips. This time he could appreciate how the binharic purrs and notes actually started somewhere between their ribs and echoed towards the grilled respirator in their face to finish being properly enunciated. The pale layer vibrated and contracted with every joint moan, gasp, huff. 

Mu took hold of another cable connected to them that had an orphan end with no port to call home. Instead of going for it right away they let the cord slide over Titus’ chest, going behind him by the left side of his neck and coming out from the right. The cables had a different texture from the appendages holding the mechadendrites, he enjoyed the contrast between stiff ribbedness and flexible softness. The port on the right side of his neck, by the joining with the shoulder, seemed to be the desired spot. The very moment the plug’s tip was to get inserted into it; Titus moved minimally away with a mischievous grin. Playfulness was older than machines, Mu wasn’t the only one with teasing rights.   

Both continued the jolly game for a couple minutes; shifting, giggling. By the end, it seemed Titus would finally accept the insertion only for the marine to get Mu’s hand holding the cable with a light-hearted bite, not exerting a tinge of actual pressure. The Magos hummed then all together, their mechadendrites compressed his body right over spots he would feel their sting the most, the appendages close to his thighs pulled them firmly; forcing him to a more open and exposed sitting position. At the same time, Mu’s free hand seized as much as Titus’ hair it could and yanked his head back with surprising command; displaying the working area. All of it teared out a pained moan out his core. 

“Delivering request for stillness.” They said, the teasing switched its tone from light-hearted into a lascivious one. “Patient Demetrian Titus !(compliance) => Execute: unit’s protocol for unruly patient subjugation. Titus != {bad patient}. (Titus = {Good patient}) = True?” 

“Apologies Magos, I do want to be a good patient, please show me how.” 

“Compliance.” 

His heightened sensitivity perceived the contact between port and connector in ways words could barely describe. When the tip of the connector touched the outer ring, for half a second he could swear that the candles and lumens seemed to brighten then dull back to their normal luminosity. The friction of smooth metal against smooth metal from the middle of the insertion sparked ripples in his brain that reminded Titus just like a vox signal trying to connect. A final push brought the connection to properly click inside, if before it rippled across the nervous system; now there was no system left unassaulted by a powerful spasm.

Demetrian Titus went blank, only remembering short snippets drunk in this unadulterated euphoria, perception shifting quickly between bodies. Once his faculties adapted to the input stream he discovered himself in the same position but things had changed a little. Titus’ top was gone and his pants were down to the knees. Coagulated crimson lines decorated him all over, evidence from scratches his healing factor closed immediately. The marine was rocking his hips at the rhythm of one of the mechadendrites crossing between his legs, rubbing its oiled shaft over the crotch and between the buttocks. He was still holding onto Mu, quite closely. The Magos’ thighs were at both sides of his neck, Demetrian finding his teeth pulling at their pants’ waist band. Two of their hands were finding support from Titus' biceps, the other two grasping at the marine’s hair for dear life; robe barely hanging by their elbows. He saw no reason to stop it there. 

Firmly holding Mu’s waist with one hand he lifted them up a bit, then using the other to grip the waistband at the back Titus slid their pants down, pulling them fully away. His lips' curiosity could finally scout the track indicated by that scar on their lower stomach. His kisses, the wetness of his tongue, the texture of his shaved cheeks; all sensations were mirrored back onto his skin. Then he made an interesting discovery, when he began charting what was left or lacked on Mu’s crotch it also reflected on his cock with curious representations. A  lick on the front was actually felt at the base of his shaft, yet going and kissing a bit to the right from there was experience at the top of his glans. Mu’s moans were his moans, deep, hungry. Their connection was a cyclical loop of pleasure, what was felt on them echoed onto Titus then back into them. He wondered if the mechanicus was capable of feeling arousal from stimulation on that area without a two way connection. Maybe he could try to investigate in the future, as the now had Titus quite busy. 

Mu moved the anchor points from Titus’ biceps to his hands, a metallic finger pried his mouth wide open making sure the tongue was fully out, then lifting themselves up they started to fully ride the Astartes’ mouth at the same rhythm the mechadendrite grinded its length between Titus’ legs. Their speech reduced to huffs and frantic binharic notes weaving the tunes of their shared pleasure. Titus almost dropped Mu when both of them were run over on climax’s path. Trembling prosthetic legs’ embrace became stronger, pressing him firmly on his face, a mortal with not as good breathing capacity would have likely perished out of air. 

They shifted their weight around Titus to climb off his shoulders, sitting on one arm holding them, they pressed their face onto Titus’. That was when he perceived the respirator being slid down, thin soft lips and skin like the one on their other covered areas nuzzled him. Lungs that weren’t his momentarily ached as they readapted to unfiltered air. Mu’s kiss was shy, sloppy, and inexperienced. Their knowledge of other people’s bodies didn’t transfer well to the skill of kissing, it was fine, not like Titus had much either. They could learn together. 

He pulled back from the kiss, not for lack of wanting but the realization he could finally admire Mu’s full face. It was round with big cheeks that were artificially parted with a depression between the cheekbone and cheek caused by the long respirator use. 

“Isn’t it dangerous to take it off?” He asked quite concerned. 

“!(Every unit).” their unaltered voice was more melodious than when muffled behind the respirator. “Mu-Oragon = {sacred binharic, chemical filtration}. Lung condition: stable. !(Risk)” They kissed him again then moved down his neck, he had forgotten, now they were connected Titus’ unquenching lust was also theirs. “Request: taste Titus.” 

“You know the answer.” he smiled back. 

Hums kept emanating from the respirator but without Mu’s mouth to guide them there was no binharic aria, just airy vibrations. He was fine without the tunes, that mouth looked beautiful with their fleshy lips crowning his nipple, disappearing into the bountiful hairy mass of his chest. Cold, a hand stroked up and down his shaft being unable to fully wrap its fingers around it. And Mu’s mouth, it was already small, yet his cock made it look even smaller by comparison, it made the whole Magos smaller by comparison. 

They licked the leftover cum around the tip and down the shaft, maybe now discovering the taste he’ll have an enlightening comeback when Chairon jokingly tells him to go eat his own dick again. 

Titus buckled and moaned not by stimulation itself but a memory, one of Mu’s hands was running its fingers in circles around the entrance to Titus’ backside. They were slippery, quite well lubricated in fact. 

“Titus = {so good patient, follows prescription well}.” Mu teased him. 

A grasping mechadendrite lifted up, holding the opened lube bottle he had stuffed inside his pocket before. Mu’s fingers barely peeked at the entrance, stretching the aroused fleshy ring. 

“Titus’ memories: seen. This Unit's touch: requested. Compliance.”

They slipped inside with the same effortless precision as before, the joy of getting filled as he had been craving was unmeasurable. Titus grabbed Mu’s head and trusted his cock inside the Magos’ mouth, barely getting a third in. In vengeance they got another finger into him, he wailed at the stretch and pressure curling inside him. If before Mu played him like an instrument, the current Titus was the whole orchestra, from groans to wines they composed a melody out of the Astartes’ desire. 

The rhythm became even faster, building a time bomb of pleasure inside his crotch. Drool and precum dripped down Mu’s chin, Emperor, Omnissiah, whoever was responsible: what a beautiful creature they were. Lustful indulgence was ramping up into a crescendo, Titus was getting close to relief he wanted to cry; and he did once Oragon stopped right at the plunge’s edge, denying him. 

Titus was about to ask why when they held his buttcheeks open for the lubed thin rounded head of a grasping mechadendrite pressed into him.

“Wait!” He howled. 

“Titus trust = true.” They whispered hugging the Astartes between their arms, and his cock between their thighs. 

Bastard, they had made it so aiding his throwing member would mean thrusting back and sodomizing himself into them. He had no choice and soon realized how Mu didn’t oversell themselves when they said they knew Titus’ body best, his hole was so well prepared it took the claw and following tentacle quite well. The stretch was so much yet it didn’t feel painful, Golden Throne, it felt like something he didn’t know he wanted but now will never be able to live without. 

Now the mouths of both of them were free he could appreciate how much of a mirror they had become, Titus was the baritone to Mu’s tenor-soprano, singing the same song in parallel harmonies. It was so much, he began bending over until he had the Magos pinned on the floor under him as he thrusted between their thighs, and the Magos had him entangled in many arms and cables as they stretched his insides. 

Titus had been shivering when he approached the same edge of the cliff as before, it being at a higher distance from the ground compared to the last. The Astartes felt as if the fall was going to make him blackout again, Mu had given him so many gifts, brought back to life and now another way to perceive life through the skin of the one he cherished, their skin. 

The timer on the time bomb in his crotch reached zero, a wave of pleasure after the other washed over him, he suddenly became aware of every pore in their skins, every hair on their heads. But it kept on, every single one of Mu’s appendages grabbed onto Titus as if letting go would cost them their life. He squirmed as his asshole didn’t see mercy nor rest, words were not able to be had with a throat so busy on pained moans. 

Wait, did he have so many cables inserted? Titus finally became aware that more than three ports on his body were in use, when did it happen? When he went blank? Realization dawned on him: he was trapped. All this time he had been a careless fly dancing around the spider’s net, every step entangling him more and more until he was fully helpless, ready to be consumed. The moans transformed into howls, those became wails, wails into whimpers, whimpering devolved into sobbing, culminating in the drained gasps of a fuck hole that knows its place. His mind gave up to the pleasure finally breaking and going  blank. 

He woke to the smell of incense and the realization of being so literally empty, laying on his side with Mu facing him. Mechadendrites and cables were still holding him, not with hunger but care. 

“I guess I ruined your rug.” He joked. 

“!(underestimate) martian chemical cleaner.” The Magos smiled sleepily at him, they hadn’t put the respirator back on yet, purplish red bite marks and bruising dressed their lips and lower jaw, Titus rubbed a finger over those. 

“My doing again I suppose, guess even my bare minimum of gentleness is still too rough. I’m sorry Mu, I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

“Reasurance. Preemptive awareness = True. Exchange | risk assessed. Titus design = {Strong, powerful, deadly}. (System’s status: fully operational) => no need to disable recurrence of interactions.” they said, soothing his worries. 

Mu’s voice returned to the metallic distortion as they put the respirator back on, gentle binharic hum seemed to communicate the Magos’ bliss on that moment more than any words they nor Titus could spare. 

Then the song changed to a familiar prayer, Mu started to go over the cables connecting them to Titus in reverse, from the last to be connected to the first. Before each of the disconnections the prayers sang a layered stanza Titus attributed meaning due to the tune; gratitude, mourning, hope. One by one he saw himself dividing from Mu’s senses, his mind grasping at any pieces left of that consciousness which melted into his, a cry of loneliness as what as one was became two separate beings again. He didn’t feel gloom though, as the prayer implied, separation only meant a new opportunity to meet again. 

“Wait a moment.” Titus interrupted when Mu-Oragon got to the final plug that was the first, the one at his nape. 

“Attention = True. Unit Titus wellbeing: stable?” They asked with the leftover sleepiness of someone coming out of a deep trance. 

“Titus ∈ to Mu, and = true - and that will always be true.” He spoke slowly, doing his best to speak on their lingo, knowing they may be doing a horrible job with laughable pronunciation. “Do Mu ∈ to Titus - this is a question.” 

At least his hope of not saying anything offensive by accident was reassured. The mechanicus’ face became as red as the clean parts of the rug they were laying over, nervous binharic notes escaped them like an open faucet. 

“Theoretical” they started, earning an instant chuckle from Titus. “Mu ∈ Titus. Practical: T(Mu ∈ Titus).” 

Just as it all started Titus kissed them on the cheek, right over where the skin met the respirator. Weird, Mu was rubbing the back of his neck, plug gone yet he didn’t feel a disconnection. Maybe the Omnissiah had finally made up their mind about him.

[max1461]

I like Brian David Gilbert but I hate that in his "give up on your dreams of becoming a baker" song the thing he says you should be instead is... a mathematician. Like being a baker is this wild pipedream but being a professional mathematician is totally practical. Sorry BDG, every academic I talk to screams "my god don't go into academia the job market is the worst it's literally ever been", and of all the STEM disciplines math is by far most romantically pipedreamatory with the fewest job options outside of being an academic. This is like the worst thing you could have chosen.

[nicromancytarot]

DRAWING YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE’S APPEARANCE

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I don’t charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings.

PICK A PILE READING

I asked my spirit guides what your future spouse looks like, I’ve drawn a VERY rough sketch for a man and a woman, pick a pile and find out which one is for you!

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

MALE

- Blonde hair

- Glasses

- Strong muscles (both body and face)

- Prominent Adam’s apple

- Blue eyes (first thing you notice, they could even sparkle a bit)

- Wavy hair

- Fair skin

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Teacher / Professor

- Mathematician

- Secure in themself

- Into politics / debating

- Doctor / Nurse

- Scientist

- Public speaker

- Wealthy

- Uranus

- Aquarius

- Calves

- Vegetarian / Strict diet

INITIALS: N, H, S, E, M

FEMALE

- Blonde hair

- Blue (fish) eyes

- Glasses

- Nose piercing (hoop)

- Prominent cheekbones

- Fair skin

- Large bust (posible surgery)

- Small waist

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Social media (influencer?)

- Hairdresser

- Slow talker

- Scientist

- Dancer

- Therapist

- Humanitarian worker / Advocate

- Artist

- Something wrong with one of their arms

- Folklore

- Cosplayer

INITIALS: B, A, P, F, E

PILE 2

MALE

- Dark skin

- Dark eyes

- Dark, short hair

- Wears a lot of caps (specifically blue)

- Skinny body

- Sad resting face

- Stubble

- Pretty smile

- Tall (6’ - 6’3)

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Rich

- Large house

- British

- Small waist

- Enemies to lovers

- Hugger

- Into styling and fashion

- Chef

- Lawyer / Judge

- Chess

- Army

- CEO

- Producer

INITIALS: S, H, I, D, Z

FEMALE

- Dark skin

- Dark eyes

- Dark hair (wears a straight wig from time to time)

- Long face

- Pretty smile

- Prominent eyelashes

- Neat eyebrows

- Prominent collarbones

- Large bust

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Rough past

- Farmer

- Humanitarian worker

- Estate agent

- Emotionally mature

- Carer

- breadwinner

- Protester

- Train conductor

- Likes to go on walks

- In charge

- Police / firefighter

INITIALS: G, R, S, N, T

PILE 3

MALE

- Fair - tan skin

- Light - dark brown hair (possibly ginger)

- Hazel or brown eyes

- Small lips

- Skinny body

- Wears a bandana

- Possible piercings

- Small eyebrows

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- School

- Part of the LGBTQ+ community

- Many jobs

- A texter

- Understanding

- Into science, possible scientist

- Mechanic

- Author

- Protester

- Football (soccer)

- May have cheated in the past (could do it again)

- Peanut allergy

- Office job

INTIALS: N, P E, R, S

FEMALE

- Fair - tan skin

- Brown or green eyes

- Light brown hair

- European

- Large eyes (Tim Burton)

- Large, dark eyebrows

- Tall (around 6’)

- Small lips

- Hooked nose

- Wears a bandana

꒰꒰・┄┄┄┄・♡・┄┄┄┄・꒱꒱

- Pain

- Possibly born prematurely, or could give birth to a premature baby

- Good with money

- Shy

- Rebellious

- Works in a place where she has to restore things

- Nut allergy (I screamed when I got this for both lmao)

- Possible black sheep of the family

- Contemporary

- Past life soul that owes their life to you in this one

- Strong

- Model

- Coach

- Gets sick a lot

INITIALS: W, A, M, K, T

[randomgurl2326]

Slytherin Boys + Wifey Pansy + Y/N 4

Harry Potter Masterlist

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Draco: if you put 'violently' in front of anything to describe your action, it becomes funnier Draco: violently practices Theo: violently studies Blaise: violently sleeps Pansy: violently shoots pictures Enzo: violently boxes Y/N: violently murders people Blaise: violently worries about the previous statement --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Mattheo: we're about to the taser challenge. you want in? Draco: what's the taser challenge? Y/N: we tase each other, then drink Draco: how do you win? Mattheo: what are you, an auror? you want in or not? -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Y/n: I'm not a morning person. i'm barely even a person. -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Pansy: remember, if you get captured, no matter what they do, don't talk! Blaise: what if they torture us? Pansy: just don't talk! Blaise: can we scream a little? -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Theo: you know, i used to play back In my gory days Enzo: don't you mean glory days? Theo: ah, that too -------------------------------------------------------------------------- Theo: Y/N, i rebuke thee! i rebuke thee! Y/N: rebuke? is that even a word? Theo: you have all invoked my fury! you will all pay recompense for your transgressions! Y/N: what, you got a word-of-the-day calendar or something? ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Blaise: what do you want for breakfast, Mattheo? Mattheo: gay cheerios Blaise: I TOLD YOU TO STOP CALLING FRUIT LOOPS THAT!!! ------------------------------------------------------------------------- Enzo: damn, Theo, are you secretly cool? well, poker is just math, so i guess it depends on if you consider the mathematician, Carl Friedrich Gauss, cool. Enzo: i do not

[cafejulii]

Currently thinking of how hxh 1999 had that additional phase in the hunter exam in which Kurapika almost gets himself and the 24 other applicants killed for Leorio's sake, albeit, indirectly.

All the applicants had to work together to restart an abandoned battleship so they could evacuate the island they were stationed at, as it was about to be about to be hit by a massive hurricane. The storm was to leave everything, including the entirety of the island, underwater.

Everyone was assigned specific tasks by Hanzo and Kurapika who acted as co-captains. The problem was, that not only did the ship need to be powered, but it was stuck in three specific places. The hull of the ship especially, so much so, that they had to use the ship's ammunition instead of regular explosives to free it; the majority of which were underwater. Leorio was assigned to retrieve them using the only diving suit available on board, and though he managed to get them all up to the surface; he gets knocked unconscious while coming up by debris that fell due to the minor explosives used to free the other two portions of the ship.

As the storm grew closer, Kurapika ended up becoming mostly in charge of giving out commands to everyone as he was the mathematician of the group, calculating the impact and angle of the explosions from the captain’s pit and also taking note of when the storm was to hit.

It is also around this time that Hanzo tells him that Leorio never came back, meaning he was almost dead. At the very mention of this, Kurapika begins to severely panic despite the fact they are almost free; the last thing they needed was Kurapika's command and ignition from the captain's pit to free the hull so they can all escape.

In reality, all Kurapika needed to do was push a single button. Gave out a single command. But yet, he just stood there, in complete despair, as Hanzo was screaming at him through the intercom to stop waiting because they had just a single minute left.

It was only until Killua realized what was going on, and told Kurapika that Gon successfully brought Leorio back and instantly; he snaps out of the daze he was in and confidently gives the final instructions to everyone so the ship could leave just in time.

The plot twist, though, was that Killua was not 100% sure if Gon ever actually returned with Leorio. He just saw Gon proclaim he was going to dive in to save Leorio (and had faith that it would happen because he has faith in Gon) but it was ultimately a lie to get Kurapika out of his head for the benefit of everyone on board.

(I mean, yes, Killua was right but still?!)

This fact alone makes me really wonder: if Killua hadn’t said that, would Kurapika have given the final orders in time? Or would he have waited one more minute just for the slightest chance? A minute in which they absolutely did not have.

This entire episode creates such a brutal moral situation, and honestly, it really sounds like the version of the trolley problem in which that single person on the tracks is someone you care about. I know this arc isn't canon, as a lot of scenes in the 1999 version aren't, but if I EVER hear y’all say that Kurapika doesn’t care about his friends, especially Leorio…..lord.

[ochipi]

So I might’ve actually lectured my lecturer. He’s an archivist, but not a historian (in the broadest version of the word).

Previously mentioned: Roman archives, didn’t really survive because of wax tablets and papyri decaying but we know they wrote and archived. Sure.

After the disappearance of the Western Roman Empire (he was very safe with his word choices here), archiving or writing large amounts of texts wasn’t really a thing, until the Arabs came by the 12th century and Europe was archiving again.

HOLD THE FFING PHONE RIGHT THERE! And I did ask why he was reasoning this way. He didn’t really got me immediately so I provided him with examples.

Roman law didn’t disappear, it was held up and added upon. (Fine = income!) we know this because A) we have catholic additions on it making pagan elements in society illegal, B) we have written versions of the Lex Salica as old as the 8th century, C) Carolingian Minuskel is a thing, learned how to read it at previous Uni.

They just continued copying/translating Greek to Latin to f.e. Diets.

Laws are only useful when you have an institute that has them, can check on them and execute them. All those laws are stored somewhere (= archived).

Handy for cloisters to know how many properties they have and what they provide in income and how much they cost.

Roman law became regional, the Goths, Salic Franks, Anglians all had written law. The Catholic Church even invited Irish monks over to baptize Europeans and they introduced the space in written language in the process to make it easier for them. Writing… archiving…

The Catholic Church was very keen on making martyrs immediate saints. Their stories were recorded (!) into hagiographies. We still have those. They were kept (archived!) in churches and cloisters.

They like their heroes. Tales like Beowulf are 8th century. The church wrote their hymns down so they could hand it out to their singers. The church provided education. The male elite could write…

Gregorius of Tours wrote his Historia Francorum. He wrote the history of the Francs, while they were still around! That’s archiving!

Yeah sure, they wrote how the Vikings were invaders and so on and on. But they wrote it down in the cloister archives!

I mean I can continue. But these were the things I mentioned in class.

To clarify, the Arabs did not re-introduce the production of archiving material and archives themself. They were just never gone. What the Arabs did do was re-introduced science! (Scream it out loud for the people in the back!). While Charlemagne was busy killing Slavs, the Arabs had libraries (Baghdad House of Wisdom) and research institutes and were good mathematicians and astronomers (many stars in our night sky have Arab names to this day). Europe owes a ton of stuff thanks to the Islamic Golden Age. But not really recording and archiving.

On the other hand, I was later informed that the lecturer started panicking because i apparently cornered him good. I just took the one time I get to prove that the last five years of me working around the Early Middle Ages wasn’t for nothing. I don’t want to apologise

[blueberrypancakesworld]

Michael Gavey - In a relationship - SFW/NSFW

warning : fluff, Michael being well Michael, drinking wine, degradation, oral (f reciving), lingerie, teasing

Info : Yeah what can I say besided Michael is the cute, clingy slightly obsessive sweet Nerd and I love it. Have fun reading ;)

—————————

SFW

°Affectionate, emotional and arrogant

°Michael loves you no question he loves you from the moment you brought him an extra sugar free candy bar when you bumped into each other alone one night. ,,Here, you never know when you're hungry...not like you can calculate it with a formula" you told him - a simple joke, no more, no less. But for him, for the involuntary genius, it was the beginning of something he thought he would never experience.

°The relationship with a woman

°But it was exactly that evening that he saw your kindness, friendliness and outstanding taste in men. It was bound to happen at some point that a girl like you recognized him after his "friend" Oliver left him and betrayed him. He had to have everything you wanted in a man, at least someone like him.

°Even in the first few days, even if he tries not to make it look like it, he clings to you, won't leave you and couldn't hide that big grin at lunch and during the break when his arm was around your side. He may have been the loser but with you he was above everyone.

°Every day he brought you a Crunchy and you brought him all of yours. He loved it when you gave him a math problem, he knew he was helping you with your homework when you took out your pencil and your smile made him giggle. ,,I deserve a kiss, don't I darling?" he loved to ask knowing she couldn't refuse her cute kahki pants and shirt wearing boyfriend.

°Who needs student parties, lonely beer times or anything else when they have you? You lead him into a well, slightly different world. Gone are the alone times in front of the computer, books and early bedtimes. He had you. You, on the other hand, took him to the drive-in movie theater where his hand kept running over yours while he had a crunchy bar in another one. He can't help but tell you fun facts about the movie and you roll your eyes in amusement as his mood suddenly changes when some of the moviegoers criticize the film. You can hear his screaming and he only calms down again with a surprised expression when your lips touch his. ,,My emotional mathematician tiger," you told him and saw his lips curl into a grin and a blush rise on his cheeks.

°You went out together in the evening and he insisted on going to a restaurant with you. He, the classic romantic, is of course always with a Crunchy bar with him. The two of you after the dinner date on which he had perhaps drunk a little too much wine he was nervous it was always a little true around you and it led to a relaxed sweet side of the blond. ,,You-you...youuuuu are soooo beautiful...soo prettyyyy," he slurred as he nestled his head lightly on your chest and began to count your heartbeat. It at least calmed him down and helped him come down from the alcohol.

°You maneuvered you too onto the bed, you couldn't get him off you but he loved it and you liked the way he mumbled praise the more tired he got. ,,You're so pretty...your heart beats in a symmetrical beat my darling" he murmured and his hand stroked through your hair as you smiled and took off his glasses and kissed him goodnight.

°However, he cannot separate himself from his darling even at night. No matter how much you twist and turn he stays snuggled up to you and you find out that he talks about math formulas in his sleep. Too cute. But he's a real blanket stealer and holds onto them with a strength you didn't expect from the math nerd.

°The morning starts with a hug, tea and pancakes. Pancakes he made himself while listening to a science lecture and telling you the latest gossip. The gossip he thinks is important and has picked up that he knows you'd like to have a laugh about in the morning.

°,,Does my lady have a math problem for me? A fact or...a crunchy bar?" he asked as he sat down next to you with a smile, sipping his tea and hugging his turquoise shirt to his body while his nightcap was still on his head. ,,I even have a kiss for you, my lord," she smiled and gave the already calculating man another kiss. From now on, every morning would be like this for the two of them.

———————————

NSFW

°Something you didn't know he had in him like his attachment would be his devotion to degradation. ,,My good girl will get full marks next time… isn't that right?" he asked his favorite as his long, shapely fingers snuck under his school skirt.

°He seemed to be a changed man when it came to revealing his inner self for every tease, look or misbehavior he takes out on you in one way or another. Not like the jocks who hit their girlfriends or the rich guys who played with everyone. No he was more sophisticated he played with her like a genius he enjoyed it.

°Which always starts with a simple hand on the thigh a hint. ,,You know what you have to do," he reminded her, leaning over as he saw that she was doing her homework all wrong. It was just homework and something like a game of cat and mouse developed between the two of them. For every wrong homework assignment, he pushed his fingers on her body, pulled her in his room and made her read the Math books while he fucked her into the mattress.

°For every math tiger attack from a boyfriend who was always watching her behind his sweet innocent gaze, the hug that lasted too long, him sucking in her scent, his lips whispering lewd words to her and leaving her with hot cheeks. she hit him back in her own way.

°She knew he adored her in every possible way, he was a pathetic desparet nerd after all.

°He was always watching her, his eyes were always on her. But above all, she always saw him licking his lips, adjusting his glasses and dropping his pencil when he saw her lingerie. Whether it was black, white, pink or purple, he loved to see his imagination run wild and before you got together he jerked off to every picture of you in that pretty lingerie. Tried to secretly take pictures to keep and not ruin them completely with his lust.

°But now it seemed like a callback to the time before you knew exactly how needy he was getting, forgetting to study and eating right out of your hand. An off-the-shoulder sweater with the straps of your bra showing, a short skirt that practically begged you to bend over and look underneath? There were scenarios for him to take advantage of all of them until it came to "studying" in the library. ,,Michael sweetie, tell me, what do you think of these?" he heard her quiet but sweet voice and looked up from his notebook in amazement.

°He saw how she had pulled up her skirt slightly and he had a perfect view of the dark red pantei, the tip of which nestled against her skin and she saw how he swallowed and looked around. But no one was there but them. ,,You want Mommy to do well on her exam, don't you?" she murmured, her hand sneaking onto his cheek, slowly taking his glasses off his nose, seeing him blink, but the pink on his cheeks let her know that the cute butterfly had been caught by the spider. ,,Yeah-anything for you, of course," he mumbled, his fantasy of having her for himself and giving her everything she wanted from him coming true thanks to his girlfriend.

°No sooner had he spoken than a pen suddenly fell to the floor and Michael disappeared under the large table and obediently, excitedly and aroused, went between her legs, kissing every inch of her. His fingers stroked the warm soft skin, kissing the birthmarks on the way to her center. He almost made a whimpering sound as her one hand placed itself on his head, playing a little with the strands of his hair while her shoe went down on his center. He was desperate just to please her, to give her everything so that she would continue to treat him like this, he didn't want to lose her, so he almost like a starving man didn't let go of her and took everything he got while his darling leaned back in the chair and praised him while he slowly began grinding against her leg like a lapdog. ,,Such a good boy-fuck for mommy".

°It didn't stop at just one time for each back and forth between the two of them, the other one made a point of making it stronger. Michael to fuck her harder, to moan the right answers straight to him. While she in return can just practically force him on his knees and use him like a toy and he would do anything for her just to get her sweet attention.

[shreddedleopard]

I genuinely think William’s real name is actually still William, just with a different surname.

Hear me out.

#1 — irony.

Remember the omake where Bonde asks him and he’s got his ☺️ face ‘that’s a secret, heh heh heh.’

Lol William is the biggest mischievous jokester going. This would be his exact reaction if people were asking like 👀 omg what is it?? And all along he’s like, lol will.i.am guys, chill. No-one cares about your first name, it’s your surname which means anything around here. You’ve all been barking up the wrong tree. Which brings me on to my second point ~

#2 — symbolism.

I cannot scream enough about how bloody genius it would be for William’s name to be, in fact, just William, but with a more common surname like ‘Smith.’ For the purposes of this discussion, let’s call him William Smith. As an orphan, he gets adopted into the family Moriarty, where there is in fact another William: Master William James Moriarty. Immediately, you have two boys of similar ages with the exact same first names, highlighting how, in fact, they should be equal if we’re looking at their basic information and identifiers. But what is it which sets them apart, and is the very message and theme running through the heart of Yuumori? Class inequality. And what dictated your social class at the time, so very unfairly? Your family lineage.

The name of Moriarty is what gives Albert’s little brother his superior, privileged position in life, over William ‘Smith.’ And yet, they are both young boys, both Williams, both should have the same sort of start in life in the equal world our William wishes to create. But they do not; the moment they are given their surnames — the moment those are penned on the paper of their birth records following ‘William’, the chasm that divides these boys is immense and unfair.

#3 — interesting coincidences, hints and clues in the text.

• William loves Shakespeare — that’s part of his identity in the same way being a mathematician is. He quotes Shakespeare all the time, he grew up in a library and has all of the plays memorised. Shakespeare’s first name was also William. Additionally, Shakespeare’s birthday is believed to be April 23rd. William’s birthday is listed as April 1st — April Fool’s Day, and it has been confirmed that this is a fake birthday, so we don’t know his real one currently. (But my guess is it’s still in April).

• The Moriarty’s never call William by his name, pre-fire, but the children at his orphanage do, and they call him Will.

At the Moriarty house, he is on the receiving end of more hate than Louis; they seem to despise him to the nth degree. I wonder if this might be because he shares a name with their precious William, and this irks them. They refuse to call him by his name because that doesn’t belong to him, filth from the streets, it belongs to their beloved son who can do no wrong.

I can see a mother like Lady Moriarty refusing to call another boy by the name she gifted her son, especially when William reminds her that there is something she had in common with his own mother — someone who she would view as completely beneath her: they chose the same name. What a disgrace, to be associated or viewed as having a similar mind to a woman of such low standing!?

We also see William only ever call William Moriarty with the title ‘master’ in front, as though he also feels the need to make the distinction. This could just be because he’s trying to be polite, though. I could honestly dissect the entire first chapter panel by panel and highlight how William being William is such a simple but perfect concept which highlights this noble family’s insecurities, discrimination and narrow mindedness. William Moriarty feels the need to constantly reaffirm his own identity in the presence of our William.

Because … if they share full names now, with the adoption … the lines are blurring. What makes one William Moriarty superior to the other? A worrying thought indeed for this boy. (Answer: there is no difference, they’re both equally deserving of opportunities in life.)

It all makes such perfect sense and explains away the awkwardness of the writer having to avoid use of William’s name simply because ‘it needs to stay hidden to create the mystery.’ This gives the characters themselves reason within the text to avoid using it, which makes everything so much more authentic and real. It makes sense because it does, not because it has to for the plot.

• William promised not to steal anything. Twice, we see him reassuring and then reaffirming that he wouldn’t steal anything, and both times are in the presence of William Moriarty.

If we want to take this statement in light of names, and toy with that lovely device foreshadowing, William having always shared the same first name would in fact mean that statement holds true — he did not steal William’s name; it was always his own to begin with, and Moriarty was a name given to him as part of his adoption, the same as it was given to Louis. He really didn’t steal anything, despite the fact that he was probably made to feel guilty or worthless every day because of the name he shared with William Moriarty.

This also means that William probably never actively deceived any of the townspeople, either; it really was just a case of mistaken identity which he manipulated for his own cause.

The townspeople made the mistake, rather than William outright lying. William is, by trade, more of a master manipulator who turns situations to his advantage with his quick thinking, rather than straight up lying or deceiving people (see: The Merchant of London.)

• Sherlock saw his birth name but never mentions it. And still chooses to call him Liam. Yes, we might’ve had a conversation happen off screen. Yes, Sherlock might choose to do that because that name is sentimental and William has asked not to be called his true name for reasons unknown. But it would fit so beautifully if William really is his name, and Sherlock’s realisation that day when he read the birth records was that oh, so this — William ‘Smith’ — is Liam’s real name. Naturally, he would continue to call him Liam with no discussion needed, because it’s a shortened version of William.

• We have lots of characters who share the name William, but with different variations on the shortened version; another symbol of how people can be equal in some senses but also their identity can be individual to them also. William H Bonney is Billy the Kid, the mathematics genius William and Sherlock stumble upon in Durham is called Bill Hunt.

#4 — practicality and marketing.

People become attached to characters and their names, and there comes a certain point in a work where it’s very difficult to alter a character’s first name and still retain a fan base’s sense of identity for that character. Calling William say, Robert, from now on, or revealing that as his true name while we continue to see him referred to as William is all sorts of confusing, emotionally. Perhaps it’s just me. But the idea that I’ve been calling William the wrong name all along feels off and sad, whereas the knowledge that he’s at least been able to keep that part of himself consistent, when everything else has had to be an act, is actually really comforting and empowering.

I’d love to write another thought dump on why William being William all along is also, so very emotionally delicious when you explore the implications in the story; it’s heartbreaking and makes him an even more sympathetic character who I just wanna hug, so perhaps I’ll come back to this! Because re-reading those earlier chapters with this in mind really hurts so good.

He stole nothing; he was always the true William, that at least is one thing that always belonged to him — it was only society and us that dictated there was one William worth knowing more — was more interesting and held more narrative power — than the other.

This is still William’s story.

[aeferkssr]

FORCE OF ATTRACTION

every magnet has a north pole and a south pole. placing two unlike poles together causes them to attract. when you try to place two like poles together (north to north or south to south), they will repel each other.

established relationship (xiao, childe), pining (kazuha), public opinion. obvious xiao favourtism. mentions of assassins/murder. mentions of still births. slight yandere!childe (not really,, kinda?). author started college and thinks they know everything /j

masterlist.

COMPUTER ENGINEERING / ELECTRICAL ENGINEERING

you two were polar opposites.

personality wise, xiao was quiet, aloof, and kept to himself most of the time. you, on the other hand, were the friendliest person on campus, always eager and ready to help if anyone had a problem.

he wore dark shades of black, grey, and the occasional teal to match the accents in his hair, while you were always delightfully decorated with an abundance of colours and patterns. even your majors were black and white.

so why is it that all of a sudden you two are inseparable?

the canteen was filled with idle chatter as usual, but one topic seemed to stick among the students of your college, the topic was discussed in hushed whispers and occasional coos as you broke off half of your cinnamon roll to give to him.

students will gawk at the gentle way you hold his hand to lead him to the location of your biweekly date, will laugh among themselves at the rips of his ears as it glows pink from realising that despite your major, how nice they are to hold, and will reminisce on the small kiss you have gave him prior.

(now that they think on it a little more, his flushing ears may be the result of that)

hardware and software rarely come together. but when they do, you know that good things are bound to happen

ASSASSIN / OBSTETRICIAN

your dynamic was chaotic. one who did all they could to bring life into this world, and the other who never hesitated to take it away. you did everything in your power to ensure safe deliveries while he would massacre in the flick of a wrist.

you sob as you mourn the loss of your patients offspring, while tartaglia laughs at the screams of victims praying for their lives.

two completely different world views.

yet, you cradle his head into your chest as a mother would to her newborn. yet, his blades soil with deep crimson as soon as he finds any person that may have given you a hard time.

yet, despite the stark difference in occupations, you two make it work.

after all, you two are human.

LINGUIST / MATHEMATICIAN

the both of you bonded on your love for your respective fields… while unintentionally hating on the others.

kazuha loved poetry. words were so powerful to the point where they can alter your very emotions, they were colourful, so full of life and meaning. he loved the way how the right words could change the very course of a conversation, and the allure of alliterations that allow ample amusement. numbers just seemed too… stuck up, too boring.

you, on the other hand, has a passion for numbers. numbers were factual, straightforward, to the point. if you counted ten apples, there is without a doubt ten apples. numbers never lied, numbers never had double meanings, numbers never mislead you the way that words and letters did.

kazuha visibly relaxes as he sees your animated expressions explaining your passion, his mind being swarmed with thousands of words and phrases to attempt at describing this feeling, describing you

but alas, nothing seemed good enough for someone as breath-taking as you.

© aeferkssr

[bugeater101]

Mask On

Synopsis: Chan in a mask. That's it.

Content: dom!Chan x fem!reader, mask kink, mentions of anonymous sex, spanking, daddy kink, unprotected sex (I STG WEAR CONDOMS), reverse cowgirl, pwp.

Word Count: 1.0 k

Author's Notes: Okay so I have a huge mask kink that I will never admit to (except rn Ig?) and SEEING CHAN IN A MASK IN THE TEASER 🗣🗣🗣 I finally got to write around to writing this short fic since I finished that Jeongin fics tee hee. also that angsty fic i'm writing is going to come out after i calm down from losing a lot of my work that i did on it 💀. enjoy !! <3

Taglist: @scribblemetae @mygsis, @9900z @taekbokki,@imtoooyoungforthisshit, @jihanlovic

Chris panted for breath beneath the black fabric. Condensation had built against his face and it had become a battle trying to gulp down air. The soaked cloth clung to his skin and, though he was otherwise completely naked, the mask made him feel like he was suffocating. Nevertheless, it remained on. He didn't dare take it off; not when he knew how it made you think, not when he knew how much you liked it.

"Fucking ride it, y/n," he groaned out in a low voice, holding your hips as he watched your ass bounce on his cock. "You t-take it so well, baby."

"Only for Daddy," you whimpered, "only take Daddy's cock like this." You were pained that you couldn't see his face right now with your back to him. However, even if you turned around, you knew that you couldn't see anything but his dark eyes as the rest was obstructed by his black mask. But that was what you wanted to see: the obstructed face of a masked man attached to the chiselled body of your boyfriend, slicked in sweat.

You didn't know exactly why you liked men in masks. Maybe all that shit on Tik Tok about fucking boys in Ghostface masks from Scream, Mandalorian helmets from Star Wars, or in the mask Ghost wire in COD had permeated your subconscious and brainwashed you. Maybe it was because masks gave Chan a sense of anonymity, like you were just fucking a stranger for fun who couldn't care less about you. Or, possibly, it created a separation in intimacy and granted Chris greater authority over you, like he was a faceless God who you could not read and, in turn, had no power over. Or, most likely, you just liked to fuck the faceless body of your boyfriend and use him as your own personal dildo. Either way, the mask always managed to change Chris just as much as it aroused you. It made him cool and collected and, consequently, made you seem even more desperate and needy.

There was just something about masks that did it for you and you couldn't ever figure it out. To be fair, you didn't really need to know why that mask made you want to be fucked until you passed out. You just know that you like Chris and that you like masks, so it didn't take a mathematician to figure out that you liked to fuck Chris in a mask. Plus, the situation became even more intoxicating when he let you call him Daddy when wearing a mask while he sinks his fat cock into you and makes you cum multiple times.

What could you say? You had the best boyfriend.

"Take Daddy's cock, baby," he whispered cooly, voice muffled from the moist material and heavy breathing. "Work for it. Make me cum into the perfect pussy of my pretty girl." His sweet words were quickly contrasted by a particularly harsh smack to your ass, leaving a red handprint on the squishy flesh. To please the man below you, you bounced harder on his length, your thighs burning from the act. Chan—even in this state of utter bliss and dominance—noticed and tightened his grip on your hips, guiding you up and down his heavy cock and forcing you to the hilt with every stroke.

"D-don't slow down," he growled, "Don't you dare fucking stop." His words made you whimper, dying to slow down despite the impertinent need to continue until you came at least thrice more and were filled with his cum.

"Chris, it's too much, I—fuck!"

Noticing your slowing pace, Chris began upwardly thrusting into you, fucking his cock up into your cunt and making you hum with each bounce. His hands dug into the flesh of your hips to ground himself, occasionally separating from you just so he could lay another slap on your ass before resuming his harsh hold on you with added gusto. With each thrust, he was practically lifting you up and pulling you down onto his cock, not daring to let up the pace. As his tip began to kiss your cervix and leak precum, you arched your back and fell forward, leveraging your hips to bounce eagerly and meet his thrusts halfway.

Despite your exhaustion, you dared not stop; you felt too good to allow your exertion to consume you. With your next orgasm fast approaching, your cunt tightened around Chan's cock and hugged it, urging him to finish inside and fill you up. Chris, however, gave no indication that he was approaching his climax. This is what the mask did to him: it stripped him of all weakness and made him edgier, with no mercy as his domineering side consumed him. He became a dom in a way you had never experienced when he was completely naked. It was as if the mask allowed him a separation from you, as if it made him more primal and allowed him to hide his (usually humiliating) level of neediness for you. While it allowed him to conceal his carnality, it only exacerbated your embarrassing desperation for him.

Since the mask was only for special occasions, you knew that you needed to get your fill of this Chan. You were determined to finish in this position just so you could turn around and continue face-to-face with him, allowing his cold gaze to lock eyes with you as you feebly rode his dick. Yet, while you would fall apart on him, Chris would just study you riding him, as if his eyes were saying all that needed to be told.

Maybe that was why you liked masks so much: just as much as the mask itself turned you on, what really made it complete was what it did to Chan.

"Ride it harder, y/n," he growled through the sweat and slobber-soaked fabric. "Maybe, if you fuck me right, I might just let you see my face when I fuck my cum into you when you're too exhausted to keep going."