#don't ask me what this is because I don't know

[sayangrafayel]

LADS react to you asking them to be meaner, to scold you.

Guess who just rewatched Horimiya? Me. When I first watched it I thought.. damn.. Hori is freaky. But then I understand, there's really something about seeing your beloved who is usually so gentle towards you snap at some random people. Starting to wonder what it feels like if they're mean to you.

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus

"You want me to.. what?" "Be meaner! Like how you are to others, you know, you when you're being the Onychinus leader.." "Sweetie that's-" "NO!! Be mean!"

He's so taken aback by this. There's not one mean thing he can think of when it comes to you, how could he scold the most precious person in his life? The person he treasures the most?

Would try just to indulge you for like 10 minutes but admit defeat because he really doesn't want to treat you like he does others.

Xavier

"But I never scold others or even be mean." "I know.. but.." you paused, searching for the right buttons to push. Suddenly, a thought came to your mind. "Fine. Lumiere would do it if I asked."

Xavier is visibly bothered by that statement and you can tell you hit the jackpot.

"Really? Would he now?" Got him. For the rest of the day, he has to channel his jealousy towards Lumiere to keep up the whole "mean" persona. (It was not as easy as it seems)

Rafayel

"I want you to be mean like how you are towards other humans or that one time during the black market auction!" "Cutie that's- why would you find that attractive!?" "WHY WOULDN'T I?"

Tries to be mean, came across as sassy.

Would prefer if you were the one scolding him. You get Thomas to do it. He felt betrayed. He did not consent to that!

Zayne

"You really want that? You wouldn't hold it against me later?" "..Yes!!!"

Is the one who actually indulges you and actually scold you. But then you realized he just used his doctor voice and just voicing out his thoughts about how concerned he is about your health and diet-

"NO. NOT SCOLD ME LIKE THAT..!" "You have to be specific, dear. What? You expect me to read your mind?" Is unintentionally mean.

Caleb

"My colonel voice..?" Doesn't realize he has different tones while talking to the fleet vs to you, he just does it out of habit and doesn't really pay any mind to it.

Asks if you're sure, would happily indulge you, but is also too scared to make you cry. You try your best to give that look. That one look you know he can never say no to.

Sighs as he clears his throat, "If that's truly what you want, fine. But don't write this up on your grudge list later."

[metalheadsagainstfascism]

YouTube will use AI to monitor your viewing habits to determine if you're under 18 and require an ID for you to view certain content, yes even if you're in the US.

Now. I have some questions. Like if I watch kids shows from the 90s is that a mark for me being over 30 because it's an old TV show? Or under 30 because it's a kid's show?

Okay question aside.

There's legitimate reasons to have "odd" viewing habits. I for one have chronic fatigue. I've fallen asleep with Youtube's autoplay on and will wake up 3 hours later with the weirdest shit playing (sometimes it's kids stuff).

I'm learning 2 languages. I will watch kids shows in those languages to help me practice and pick up the language. (Muzzy in Gondoland is SO CUTE). But it's really helpful to watch shows that are like "Red orange yellow green! One two three!" To learn the basics like your colors, numbers, days of the week.

Also. Bronies... adults like kids shows. Sometimes they got a really good message like MLP. Sometimes for Nostalgia, I mean Pokémon is still going, and I watch that for nostalgia.

"No, but AI would be smarter than that!"

Is it? Is it really? Bitch if kids want to watch YouTube, that's what YouTube Kids is for. We don't need your 1984 bullshit monitoring our fucking watching habits.

"I don't understand why you're so upset. Just give them your ID." Because I'm a developer. I watch programmers increasingly use AI to fucking program their goddamn software every fucking day. And the thing is AI is really fucking bad at it. It leads to issues like the Tea app leak.

The Tea app was an app where women warned other women in the dating scene about red flag men in the area and they could ask other women if the guy that were dating was a red flag. That app had women upload their Drivers Licenses, and they recently had a leak due to shitty security protocols caused by AI coding causing a legacy database to literally be open to the public, with so security features to keep any old random person from accessing it. All of the data in that database what just... dumped to the open internet. Location data. IDs. All of it.

So, no... I'm not gonna me uploading my ID anywhere BECAUSE I'VE SEEN HOW POORLY SOME OF YOUR ASSHOLES CODE. And by "how poorly you code" I mean you don't fucking code. You just give it to AI and the fucking dumbass system wouldn't know a security feature if it punched it in the face.

Suck my dick. You're not "keeping the kids safe" you're exposing everyone to identity threats.

-fae

[zeka-maki]

Hello! May I request a Phainon, Aventurine and Mydei with a reader who YEARNS for them? Like when they are in public, and look to the readers eyes, there's always a look of affection behind it. The reader may not be so loud about it but they knows what the reader gives behind those eyes. The reader does anything for them to be with them. Perhaps learning how to cook and make simple gifts, sleep with them, take care of them. But behind those yearning eyes is a wanting to receive affection and love as well. Perhaps the reader can be compared to a dog but who knows. The reader doesn't want anyone else but THEM even perhaps marrying them someday but the reader won't say it yet.

Honestly, this feels relatable to me especially watching the new trailer.I hope this isn't a hassle to write and I hope you have a great day!💕

ʚɞ More than just a dream ʚɞ

Pairings: Phainon x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Mydei x Reader

Summary: You don't say how much you long for his eyes on you, you express it through the little gestures that can easily blend in with mundane tasks. But he notices them, every single time. And he knows, he's just as a fool for you as you are for him. The love you give him through the well-crafted gestures will never go in vain.

Tags: Fluff, established relationship, you can make it pre-established relationship too, yearning, yearner x yearner (esp on Phainon's part)

A/N: TYSM FOR THE REQ! AUGH YEARNER X YEARNER MY FAV TROPE, theyre so loser but Mydei n aventurine hides it better, anyways, hope you enjoy!

⚘ Phainon:

Phainon sees it — every time.

That quiet flicker in your eyes when your gaze lingers on him, the way your hands tighten around a basket you brought for him, filled with things he once mentioned in passing. The way you always wait for him to return from training, your breath hitching just slightly when he’s within arm’s reach. You never say it aloud. But gods, he hears it in everything you do.

And he mirrors it.

Every chance he gets, Phainon finds his fingers brushing yours, not by accident. He lets you patch his wounds even when he could do it himself. He offers to walk you home even if it means doubling back across the city with his greatsword and Aglaea's orders on his back. When you sleep too close to him during quiet resting hours, his heart skips but he never moves away. He wants that closeness — all of it. Wants you to know he yearns just as hard.

“You always look at me like that,” Phainon murmurs once, fingers curled around yours like they were meant to be there. “Like I’m all you’ve ever wanted. Do you know how hard it is not to kiss you when you do?”

Your breath catches. But he doesn't tease you — no, Phainon leans closer and rests his forehead against yours. His voice is soft, almost shy. “I want you too. Just as much. Maybe even more.”

⚘ Aventurine:

Aventurine doesn’t understand.

Not why you’re still here. Not why you cook for him without being asked. Why your hands brush over his shoulder like it’s normal — like he’s not made of sharp pieces and past regrets.

You laugh with him. You bring him gifts. You look at him like he’s everything. And for a man who’s lost everything before, it hurts to be loved like this.

He tries to play it cool. Makes sly remarks when you offer to fix his collar, pretends to be annoyed when you light a candle in his quarters just because he said the room was “too dim.”

But one night, you fall asleep beside him — not touching, not expecting. Just… there. Aventurine stares at you for a long time. And something in him breaks.

“You can’t keep doing this to me,” he whispers to the quiet, hands trembling as he reaches out and brushes your hair away from your face. “You’re going to ruin me.”

And maybe that’s the truth. Because when you look at him with that open, gentle heart — he forgets that he ever lived a life without love.

⚘ Mydei:

Mydeimos is a warrior. A prince. Built from the stones of Castrum Kremnos, raised to command with the weight of mountains on his back.

So when you tuck a warm wrap around his shoulders on a windy night and mutter something about “chilly days,” Mydei pretends not to notice the way his heart flinches.

You never ask for anything. You never demand. You just… show up. With bandages, with food, with a song, with a laugh. And your eyes — gods, your eyes — they look at him like he’s not just some hardened soldier who’s seen too much.

He plays it cool. He shrugs when you catch him watching you. He smirks when you leave notes on his training blade.

But every gesture you make chips away at the walls around him.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to do,” he tells you one Parting-Hour, voice low, arms crossed as you fuss over a cut on his cheek. “But you’re dangerous like this. You make me forget I’m not supposed to need someone.”

You glance up, startled, but Mydei doesn’t pull away. He just sighs and lets his forehead rest against yours — rough, tired, but unshakably yours.

“...Stay a little longer,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible. “You’ve already ruined me anyway.”

[innorality]

tying alien dick!clark kent up and giving him a tit fuck

very not proofread

"honey, you know this doesn't actually restraint me, right?" clark chuckled, looking back at you tying his hands behind his back with a shoelace, leaning comfortably against the chair he sat in. "stop being a mood killer and play along, clark!" he snickered again when you smack his hand.

"you sure this isn't gonna like.. hurt you or anything?" he asked, his gaze following you as you walked back in front of him. you shook your head while kneeling, tracing the shape of his hardening shaft. he shudders.

"if it doesn't hurt when it's inside, then it won't hurt when it's outside!" you reasoned and his eyebrows raised momentarily before he decided to just, trust your judgment.

you pulled his cock out, digits running up and down against his buds. his hips shift slightly, making you smirk immediately.

"you sensitive there, supes?" you smile up at him, indulging in his desperate gaze. "d-don't tease... please," he clenches his jaw when your tongue runs along his slit, tasting his pre.

"they're so soft, right now..." you pinched one of his buds, rolling it between your fingers and his hips fully jerked up now, his body responding to the pleasure more than it is responding to his mind.

"ah-ah, hold it, kent." you ordered as he threw his head back, his groan turning into a chuckle. "d-don't call me that, it reminds me of my parents.." he heaved out. you snorted at the information before resuming.

your lips latched onto his buds, sucking softly which had him holding back a number of embarrassing sounds. you pulled away, tapping his thighs. "here it comes, farm boy."

he picked his head back up to look at you as you took off your superman merch shirt, exposing your blue lace bra. you decided to give him a show, hooking your thumbs under the straps and pulling on them to make your chest bounce. "ya like it?" you smirked when he bit his lip, swiping his tongue accross it. "yeah, baby, you're beautiful... so goddamn beautiful.." clark compliments you while being lost in what you assumed were the filthiest thoughts known to man.

you blushed at his honesty, leaning down to grab the lube that you had set next to his chair. "I'm guessing I just gotta..." you trailed off while squirting some of it down the valley of your breast, and then some on his dick made him clench his thighs at the cold liquid.

you ignored the lube that was dripping down your cleavage and focused on his dick, earning a small profanity from him when you twisted down his length to spread the lubricant. "f-feels so warm..." he muttered, eyes still following your every move. "yeah?" "yyeahh..."

you leaned over, giving his tip a small kiss before running your lips down the side of his cock, bumping into the slightly hardened buds.

finally, you scooted closer to him, firmly grabbing both of your breasts through your bra. you rubbed them together to even out the lube that had melted on your chest, before sinking them down on his dick.

he was already close—the warm sensation of your tits around him, the squelching sound of the lube, the sight of your presenting yourself to him like that whike still being in total control... each and every one of his senses were sent into overdrive, intoxicated by you, you, and only you.

"how is it, clarkie? speak to me..." god, he could almost taste the honey your voice dripped with, and god, did he want more.

"s-s'good... feels good." he managed to breath out, forcing his eyes to stay focused because he refused to miss any of this. he couldn't afford to do so—to miss the show you were putting on for him.

when you pressed your breasts flush against his shaft and started bouncing them, he clenched his fist. matter of fact, he clenched almost every muscle in his body because he just couldn't make sense of it.

it seemed like such a weird idea at first that he can't even understand why he likes it sk much. maybe it's the blue lace bra that he groans about when watching your tits go up and down and up and down, or maybe it's your sultry voice, calling him a good, perfect boy.

"b-blue's... s-shit.." he squeezed his eyes shut before peeling them back open again. "what was that, baby?" you teased, "b-b– blue's my... my, ah, my favorite–-" you heard him struggle and cut him off with a smile, "color? I thought you didn't have a favorite color." he groaned before chuckling, "w-well I freakin' do now, that's for sure... hmm.."

he thought he was doing pretty good, lasting fairly long without breaking his restraints of fucking up into your tits.

that was until you started talking. really talking.

"hmm... you know what I want, clark?" his eyes flickered from your cleavage to eyes repeatedly, "I want you to cum all over me. paint my chest, and my face, and let me taste it—lemme taste you." you sped up, squeezing harder when you felt his buds harden more. his groans turned into moans quickly, finally throwing his head back.

"wanna have a small taste of your love, yeah? be a good boy f'me and cum," you stole a quick lick up his slit and his hips jolted, his fat length bumping into your lips. you struggled to keep the pace up, his buds truly slowly you down.

but you knew what that meant.

"gimme a pretty pearl necklace, why don't ya?" was the last thing you could say before he broke, literally and figuratively.

he broke the weak restraints, shoelaces dropping to the ground as his hands flew to grab your arms, keeping you steady before he started fucking up onto your cleavage, whimpering out a soft "s-so good! so pretty, so– hnnnngg.... fuck, i- holy– ah!" and shaking at the feeling of his overly sensitive and hardened buds rubbing up against your lubricated skin.

on the final thrust, he pushed it all the way in instinctively, the bottom buds hardening completely to onto the curve of your breasts and shoot cum all you.

he was shaky and whiny and messy, so the aiming was all over the place—on your lips, your tongue, your cheek, your chest, your neck... he was squirting out rope after rope of semen desperately, his tight grip on your arms leaving marks.

"fffuck– i- oh my... oh shiiitt- !" he cried out, his voice now a few octaves higher. it was only in moments like these he allowed himself to swear, or rather his brain would become mushy enough to let such words slip past his lips.

when everything came to an end, his buds softened, allowing him to slip out of between your boobs and your bra.

the man of steel winces at the slight overstimulation and slumps against the chair, watching you lick up his cum with a woozy smile.

"hahh... h-how's my love taste, beautiful?" he reached out to pat you on the head, "as good as always, baby. but," you began and he raised an eyebrow, "you broke the rules."

his eyebrows furrow, so you keep going. "I told you to play along, but you broke the restraints." you swallowed the last remnants of his seed, running your hand up and down his thigh. "oh? and what's my punishment for disobeying?"

"hm... I've got a few ideas."

[satan-offical]

Once in geography, I was sat next to a boy. He was pulling at his hair and naturally, it came out. He turned to me, panicked asking “Why is my hair falling out?” I respond with “You have cancer”

I laugh to myself, I know hair loss is caused by the chemotherapy, why would I make that joke? It's stupid, he won't believe it.

He did.

He raised his hand, slowly. The teacher called on him, and he said “I need to go to the nurses office, I have cancer because my hair is falling out!” the class laughs. The teacher, laughs. He tells him that he doesn't have cancer, but the boy is insisting he does.

What have I done?

Later on in the lesson, the boy goes “Are you sure I don't have cancer? *loud truck goes by* said I do”

The teacher stares at me. I stare back.

I don't get in trouble. I'm so proud

[darkbluekies]

One by one

Yandere!mafia oc x reader

Summary: it was too easy to run away ... maybe because Silas has a plan to get you to come back by yourself ....

Warnings: yandere, feelings of isolation, mention of murder, anesthesia, everything in the oneshot is a bit more on the darker side, so prepare for that

Word count: 4.3k

It had been too easy, you realise in retrospect. It had been harder before. If none of Silas’s men or security alarm had caught you, Otto would have—the 90 pound male Doberman—but this time, you almost walked out the front door with ease.

You lean your chin in your hand. Something's wrong. Terribly wrong.

You glance down at your hands, trembling as you remove the wedding ring from your finger and putting it in your pocket. The moon above you seems to stare right at you. The playground is empty, which probably is for the best. You haven't been able to breathe inside, but going outside is dangerous.

“Here, I got you a soda”, your friend says as she returns from the corner shop.

You take it in your hands, mumbling a “thank you”. Your friend sits down beside you on the bench, glancing at you from time to time.

“Are you thinking about him?” 

You nod.

“It'll be okay”, your friend says. “Somehow.”

“He'll be furious”, you mumble. “He always gets mad. But … something is different. I shouldn't have been able to leave that easy.”

“Don't think too much about it. It'll only make things worse.”

You've been home for a few days and with every day that passes, you're scared it'll be your last with your family. It always feels like someone's watching … because there is.

“Boss”, SIC says into his phone. “They removed their wedding ring.”

He's hidden by shadows, standing too far away for you to see. But he sees. Oh, how he sees you.

“What?” Silas asks, anger growing in his throat. 

“Should I go over there?” SIC asks.

“No. Don't. Come back.”

 “Uh, are you sure? They might not be here long.”

“Then hurry. I have another idea.”

SIC gives you one last glance before stepping onto his motorcycle. Silas waits for him outside his house, Otto by his side.

“Shouldn't someone watch them?” SIC asks. 

“I’m going to send them a message”, Silas says.

“A message? Won't that hurt them?”

Silas rolls his eyes and holds up a note. “Not one of the messages. I'll put this in Otto's collar and you'll take him with you and go back. Send Otto forward, stay hidden. Y/N will recognise him and then understand that I am watching. If they follow what's on the note, go get them. If they decide not to, simply walk over and get Otto, but don’t say a word to them.”

“What? Why?”

“I'm not going to chase them this time. I'm going to bring them to me by removing what they left me for … and I'll start with that friend of theirs sitting beside them. One by one, until Y/N comes crawling begging for forgiveness.”

SIC smirks. “Gotcha.”

You’ve barely touched your soda when you hear the sound of panting. 

“Oh, where did that come from?” your friend asks. 

You turn your eyes up and feel how every nerve in your body snaps, like cords being cut. You could recognise that dog among hundreds. 

“What the fuck”, you breathe out and on instinct crawl higher on the bench. “No, no, no no—”

“What is it?” your friend asks. 

Otto wags his tail, more than happy to see you after a few days of being apart. He barks happily. Your eyes scan the horizon with blurry vision, panicky searching for him. He has found you. He’s here to take you back. 

“You know this dog?” your friend asks with furrowed brows. “He seems to know you…”

“It’s … uh, it’s his dog.” 

Your voice trembles more than it should. Your breath hitches as you sit down normally again, hands shakingly reaching out to pet Otto. He’s ecstatic, licking your hands and barking as if you’ve been apart for months. You can’t see Silas anywhere and decide to turn your eyes onto Otto. 

“If you’re here … someone else is too”, you whisper shakingly. 

“Should we leave?” your friend asks. 

“No use … Otto runs faster than we do.”

“Does he bite?”

“If he’s instructed to.”

You notice a paper locked onto his collar and pull it out, almost drop it when you try to open it. The handwriting is intensely familiar. To your surprise, there’s only one sentence.

“Put your wedding ring back on your finger.”

You hesitate. That son of a bitch. He basically releases you, psyches you for days ,making you absolutely paranoid, and then sends forward the only thing in that damn household you like with a demand? Who does he think he is?

You crumpled the paper and throw it. If he wants to get you, he’ll have to come get you himself. You’re not a doll for him to play around with. Not the butt of his joke. He must stand somewhere in the shadows and watch you with that grin on his face. It’s all a joke to him, isn’t it? That’s why he let you leave. He’s toying with you. But you won’t entertain him. 

Someone comes walking out of the shadows of the other side of the playground. Your entire body tenses, eyes widening. You expect it to be him, but it’s SIC. You’re not sure if that’s better. 

“Here, boy”, SIC says and pats his thigh. 

Your heart stops. Eyes never leaving him. Otto turns and runs to SIC, getting into work mode. Your friend seems less scared than you. She doesn’t know who this is. Or what he does. Doesn’t know how close to death she is right now. You wonder what she’d say if she knew that she was face to face with the right hand man of the country’s most dangerous man. 

You meet SIC’s dark eyes for a second, before they flicker to your friend, then back. 

“If that’s how you want it”, he says calmly. “You had a choice and you declined it.”

Wait what?

He turns and walks, Otto following him. 

You’re not sure why, but you fly up from the bench, hurrying after. 

“What are you talking about?” Your words come out way too quick. “What is he going to do?”

SIC doesn’t seem to notice you. Or he doesn’t care. Otto doesn’t look at you either. 

“SIC!” you say, louder than intended. Your voice trembles. “Stop doing this! I’m fucking scared, don’t do that! I don’t want to play your game, I just want to be left alone!”

SIC looks at you, still walking. 

“How hard can it be to put on a little ring?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. “Hm? You’re selfish and you’re childish. You think Silas will come running after you again? You don’t think he has better things to do than to chase after you like a goddamn toddler every fifteen minutes?”

“Fine, I’ll put on the ring! I’ll wear it.”

“Cute, but I don’t ask twice. You’ve made your choice.” He stops and turns to you. “We both know it wasn’t actually about the ring, right? And if that’s the case … why didn’t you put it on? Why be so selfish and let other people take your punishment?”

“SIC … please …”

“It's not me you have to beg.”

With that said, he leaves. You watch him disappear into the shadows, hear his car's engine tone out.

You realise you haven’t breathed in over a minute. On heavy legs you drag yourself back to the bench. The soda is since long forgotten. Your breathing comes out hectic, rushed. Frantic. 

“Y/N, breathe”, your friend reminds you, holding one of her hands over your chest. “Let’s go to the cops, let’s—”

“That won’t work … oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

“Get up. We’re moving.”

The note lays scrambled on the ground. It was a test? “You had a choice and you declined it?” What the fuck did that mean? What have you declined? And what have you, in response, opened yourself up for?

Your head is spinning. SIC has seen tour friend. Actively turned his gaze to her. That split of a second was all he needed to memorise her. 

“You have to leave.”

“Let’s go home, Y/N, you look unwell. It’s going to be okay.”

“No, I’m actually serious. You have to leave.”

Or is it better for her to stay where you can see her? 

“Should I call someone?” your friend asks.

Who can you call? The cops? You want to laugh out loud. The second you call the cops, Silas men will know, because of course he has people working for him in the police force. Besides, your phone is back at Silas’s house and your friend's could easily be tracked.

“Let's go inside, at least”, your friend says. “It's getting chilly.”

“We're not going home.”

You're sure Silas already knows where you live, but it's the principle. Your friend takes you to the corner shop she got the sodas from. The bright fluorescent light hits your eyes. But the warmth from the heaters makes you relax slightly.

“I feel so selfish”, you say as you walk around the aisles with your hands in your pockets. “You have nothing to do with this, but he'll drag you into it …just because you're connected to me. Guilty by fucking association.”

“I'm not scared”, she answers softly.

You should be.

If only your friend knew who she had been standing eye to eye with. SIC is a machine, no remorse, no conscience. He could have killed her right then and there and not have cared that you were sitting half a meter away. He's not like Silas. Compared to him, Silas is almost humble. Almost.

“Silas has two dogs”, you mutter and pretend to look at a bag of chips. “Just that one of them happens to be a thirty-six year old narcissist. You met both tonight.”

“He gave me the creeps.”

“Silas insists that he's my brother-in-law, but I only see a dog following it’s owner.”

“Should we get rid of it? The ring?”

Your eyes dart to your friend, horrified at the mere suggestion.

“Are you insane?” you breathe out. “He already knows I've taken it off and that has put me in trouble. If I get rid of it, he'll kill me.”

“Would he?”

“Well, maybe not kill, but I don't want to figure out what he figures out. I tried to put it on, I begged SIC, but … he said it’s too late.” You bite your lip. “I think I've done something really bad. Every time I try to push back he finds a way to cage me in. Wouldn't surprise me if I become the third dog.”

“I think you need to rest, Y/N. Let's buy some snacks and go to my house and watch a movie, okay?”

You think of your parents back home. You should go to them, in case Silas shows up, but maybe he won't go there if you're not there. 

You grab the bag of chips you pretended to look at and go to the counter. The woman behind smiles at you and scans the bag. 

“That'll be three dollars”, she says.

You pick out your wallet and give her three one dollar cash. All taken from Silas's wallet. Your own bank card has been cut in two and if you get a new one he can track that too. Cash is the only safe way.

“Thank you”, the woman says. 

“Have a good evening”, you mumble and grab the bag of chips.

“You too, Y/N.”

You freeze in place. Eyes widening. Suddenly the cashier's smile doesn't seem the least sweet anymore, even though it hasn't changed. You stumble backwards.

Run.

Your nails dig into your friend's arm and hurry out of the corner shop, heart hammering against your ribs.

“How did she know your name?” your friend asks.

“Fucking hell”, you hiss, running your free hand through your hand. “He's stationed them out! That woman works for him. He's put her there to keep track if I walk in! That asshole. She heard what I said about SIC!”

You hit your palm against your forehead, groaning.

“Jennifer messaged”, SIC says and walks into the office, phone in hand. “The one we put in the corner shop, you know? She messaged that Y/N and their friend walked in.”

“Well?” Silas asks and leans back. “What did they buy?”

“Chips.”

“Chips? Seriously?”

“She wrote that. Said that they're going home to the friend to watch a movie. Sour cream and onion, if you want to know the flavor. Kind of basic if you ask me but who am I to judge?”

Silas leans back in his chair. “So … Y/N both ignored my warning, crumpled the note, talked back and is now buying snacks to watch a movie? Seems to me like they're not the slightest worried. What a joke.”

“What do you want to do?”

Silas thinks for a moment, jaw burn. “They're going to their friend's house?” 

“Yes, it seems like it.”

“So their own home is free?”

“I'd guess their parents are home.”

Silas stands up, pushing the chair back. “Let's pay them a visit. Grab Otto.”

You couldn't focus on the movie and ate chips on autopilot. Couldn’t even tell what the movie was about, but now that you’re lying on the mattress in your friend’s room, turned to the side, you feel how you wish you had watched the movie, forced yourself to enjoy it, just so that you could have kept your mind occupied, because now that everything is silent and dark … the thoughts come back. You sit up slowly, glancing towards your friend before picking out the ring from your pocket, admiring it in the moonlight. The engravement on the inside makes your stomach twist. In some way, you do like Silas. A part of you can’t deny that, but you know that staying with him means giving up all of your dreams and the life you’ve studied to get. If you stay with him, all your decisions becomes his. Your life, becomes his. You’re his accessory, his. When he’s not the mafia man that comes home bloody, he’s almost normal … and you’re terrified to let that part of him take you under. 

I shouldn’t have been so naive to mess with Silas about the ring. Why was I so selfish to just … throw the note away? In front of SIC?

You know it was because of just needing to put a little stick in the wheel, just something to annoy him, to show that he can’t scare you into being his obedient little dog. A little rebellion to have something for yourself.

But you know how stupid that is. 

You rest your head into your hands, groaning. 

“Get out of my head”, you whisper pleadingly. “Please, please, please get out of my head.”

 “We both know it wasn’t actually about the ring, right?” SIC had said when you had begged him to explain. “And if that’s the case … why didn’t you put it on? Why be so selfish and let other people take your punishment?”

You know how Silas functions by now. He’s like an explorer in a jungle, cutting down branches in the way to get to their target. He’s going to use people you love to get to you. But how? Is he going to search every house until he finds you and kill every time he won’t find you? Or kill when he finds you?

Suddenly the house doesn’t feel safe anymore. You’re just waiting for him to come and get you … and that’ll put your friend in danger. You sigh and get up from the mattress, grabbing your jacket. If he gets here and finds that you’re not here … maybe your friend will be safe? Or … maybe you’re not here to protect her …

He wants you, after all. If you’re not here, he might just move on to the next and leave them be.

You give your friend a small squeeze on her shoulder before slipping out of the dark house. Your mind contradicts itself again. How are you any more safe out there in the open darkness than in there behind locked doors? You stop in the middle of the road, the streetlights shining above you, lighting you up like spotlights at a trial. Should you go back?

You’ll risk her life. Her parents life. 

Every step you take can be wrong and result in death. Tears fall down your cheeks as you run home. Your feet barely touch the ground. Every step hurts. 

The house is quiet as you enter through the back door. You stop and frown, listen for sounds … or the lack of it.

“Mom?” you ask hesitantly. “Dad?”

Their lack of answering rips your heart out of your chest. He hadn’t started with your friend, of course not, he had started here … where your most cherished loved ones live. With your heart in your throat you run up the stairs to their bedroom. Two bodies are lying in bed, above the covers, without as much as a movement. You turn on the lights and see them lay there. Your eyes search for blood, for wounds, holes … but nothing. Instead, you see a note taped on the headboard. Before grabbing it, you feel for your mother’s pulse. Alive? With confusion mixed relief, you grab the paper. 

“This is the second note I’m writing to you this evening. Don’t let it reach a third one. Since I love you more than I probably should at this moment, I will give you ONE last chance. Your parents are not dead—not yet, at least. Just some anesthesia … but it scared you, didn’t it? Made you think they were dead? How did that feel, Y/N? Was it worth it? Would your little adventure be worth losing both of you parents? This time, it was just a scare. Next time I WILL go through with it. And don’t think that by staying by your parents side will do any different. Your friends, your extended family, are all in my reach. You can’t protect everyone at the same time, can you? If you want all of this to stop, you know what you need to do — S.”

New sobs escape you. You crumple the paper and throw it to the side before shaking your mom and dad, pleading with them to wake up. When they don’t, you continue to sit at the bedside, filled with nothing. Emptiness had never felt so large, so filling, before. 

“I knew something was up the second I left”, you say out into the room, almost as if you expect either mom or dad to answer. “I should have realised … but I’m pretty good at acting first and thinking later. I just wanted to get away, I never meant for anyone to get hurt … I just wanted to be free. We live one life … why should mine be wasted just because that man has decided that I should be his spouse? It’s not fair. It’s not fair that I have to be responsible for everyone around me. Their life shouldn’t have to be in danger because of me. I know I’m not technically responsible, that it’s Silas, but … somehow it feels like my fault. And I hate it …” Tears roll down your cheeks and you don’t try to stop them. “I hate that I have become dangerous and I hate that people can’t look at me without thinking of him. I just wanted to get away … go home … be the old me again … and I thought that if I remove his ring, I would be my old self again … stupid. It’s all so stupid!”

You rise from the bed, glaring towards the hallway, almost expecting to see someone standing there. 

“If I don’t want anyone I love to die, I need to crawl back to him”, you hiss. “Be a good little doggy. I need to sacrifice my entire soul for everyone. The trolley problem, right? But fine. I’ll come crawling on my knees. I’ll do what it takes because I can’t let him hurt any of you. If the only power I have is to keep you safe … then I guess I’ll do it. My only resistance that I can’t be punished for.”

You tuck a blanket over your parents and quietly leave the house. You wrap your arms around your body and walk on heavy legs through the night once again. This time, you don’t stop at the end of the city. You keep on walking and walking and walking. It never ends. 

Until you see his house. Black and modern, with lights in the windows. He’s still up. Waiting for you. 

You’re not sure if you should knock or walk right in. You’re way too tired. Way too painful. Your hand trembles as you open the front door and stumble in. Head turning directly to your left, to the door to his office. Closed. Light shines beneath it. You walk over and knock, heart sinking down to your stomach. 

“Yes?” Silas voice asks. 

“I’m … I’m back”, you whisper. 

You can hear his lips turn into a smile. 

“Come in, little thing.”

You open the door, heavy eyes setting on him where he sits on the couch by the window. Not by his desk. He hasn’t been working. Only waiting. Expecting. 

“Look at you”, he chuckles, leaning his head back against the wall, legs spread. “Quicker than I thought.”

You want to sit down. Your legs can’t hold you anymore. He can see the way your eyelids flutter in exhaustion and defeat and stands up, strolling over to you. His hand creeps up to your cheek, cupping it. 

“Such a good little thing you are, aren’t you?” he mumbles. “You gathered all those brain cells in your head and came back.”

“Stop fucking saying that …”, you breathe out, shaking your head in exhaustion, anger flaring back into your bones. “Stop making it into a joke … it’s anything but …”

He caresses your cheek, voice becoming gentler. “I know. I know.”

He catches your tear with his finger before it reaches your skin. 

“Now that we don't have to fight anymore, you should go to bed—”

“Fight?” you questioned. “Is that how you view this?”

“How else? You were mad at me and left and I got mad at you when you removed your ring. Show me your hand.”

You lift both hands. He touches the golden ring on your ring finger. 

“Good”, he said. “That was all I wanted. If you’d have put on that ring, I wouldn’t have had to let you see that side of me … but you’re stubborn, aren’t you?”

“So I should just let you dictate my life as you please then?” you hiss without looking at him. “As long as I do what you say, I don’t have to worry you’re going to murder my loved ones?”

Silas’s black eyes hardened slightly. 

“Do you even acknowledge how lucky you are being able to speak to me like that and still not get killed?” he asks. 

“If you hurt any of them you knew I'd never forgive you. That's why you didn't. Because you wouldn't want to admit you did wrong, so you'd rather have it look like a kind gesture. It wasn't. None of it."

“Really? How about you stop staring into the wall and at least look at me when you're accusing me so I might believe you're actually serious.”

You look at him. He scans your face for a few seconds before scoffing. He takes a step closer, until he can reach down and whisper in your ear. You stand perfectly still.

“You pretend to hate me”, he whispers, breath fanning your ear. “But we both know that's not true.”

“I hate this. Whatever you're doing now.”

“That's fine with me, because you're not supposed to see this side. As long as you behave … you don't have to.”

Behave. The words make you scoff. 

“Let’s get you to bed now”, Silas says. “We will talk more in the morning … and while you sleep, I’ll figure out appropriate consequences for this dumb act.”

Before you can protest, he bends down and lifts you over his shoulder. You don’t even bother fighting back. Why should you give him the delight of your struggle? You’ve already lost. You’re exhausted.

He might have won the battle, but you will win the war. Somehow.

Otto comes out of the dining room and barks happily at the sight of you. His tail wags and he hurries after you and Silas up the stairs to the second floor, jumps into the bed when you’re placed down. You lay still, staring to your side, refusing to acknowledge him. Silas removes your shoes, throwing them to the side and tucks you in, still in the same clothes you’ve been running around in.

“Rest”, he orders, his hand resting on your ankle for a moment. “You’re home now. Where you should be. No more running around or I will cuff you to the bed with Otto’s leash. You’re mine.”

The Doberman jumps up on the bed. Silas pets him once.

“Otto will make sure you’re still here when I come back. Now that I don’t have to wait for you anymore, I will get some actual work done. Sleep well, little thing, don’t ever do this shit again. I miss you too much, you know, and you’re not safe out there alone.”

He leans down and kisses your forehead before alkig over to the door.

"Oh, and next time you compare my best friend to a dog ...", Silas says, smirking slightly, "... maybe you want to make sure no one listens."

With that said, he chuckles and leaves the room. Otto lays down beside you and licks your face. You reach your hand to pet his fur. With a sigh, you rest your head back on the pillows, cursing quietly with your arms crossed over your chest. Next time you’ll succeed. Next time.

[akanemnon]

I don’t even have any questions related to the latest page, just two comments cause I know any questions I have will result in spoilers.

1. Damn.

Even their light world clothes are ruined. :/

2. Also thanks for the new reaction pic/adding Ralsei’s pretty eyes :)

…

…okay, and a completely unrelated question…

3. I’ve seen some people draw their personas/ocs in their art style and I kinda want to do that too. Is it okay to make small fanmade, not canon interactions between them and the TwinRunes characters?

If so, What’s this Kris’s opinion on the vessel? Do they even know it exists, or just know of the player’s existence?

(I’m asking this because the oc in question kinda looks like the vessel with a face…)

That is an idea I had for a VERY long time now. It predates Twin Runes actually! It originally came from how Berdly can retain an arm injury in the Light World from the Queen battle. So the idea of translating this into it affecting their clothes too just... stuck.

2. You know I like drawing me some funny faces

3. You are very free to draw your characters in the style and have them interacting with the cast if you like! Fan art is self-indulgent. So it's important to me that you have fun with it. Don't let me dictate how my rendition of Kris would react to them. Just go with your gut feeling.

[identitty-dickruption]

FAQ based on frequent responses to this post

"if you can't cite your sources is it really a special interest?"

yes. "special interest" does not mean the same thing as "expert" or even "knowledgeable". it refers to a certain type of emotional relationship an autistic person has to a subject area (e.g. can't stop thinking about the thing, is emotionally soothed by the thing, etc). many autistic people may struggle to remember facts and figures for any number of reasons, but may still experience a special interest. honestly, these kinds of misinformation about what a special interest even is feels like a reinforcement of the savant stereotype, and I really do not like that

"who is this post even aimed at?"

this post is about two related phenomena I have seen both in online and offline spaces:

someone is asked for a source for a piece of information -> "source? it's my special interest". this is unhelpful because it does not provide any additional information, and is also a really easy way for misinformation to spread

autistic people saying things like "I don't really have any special interests because I don't really know anything". this is sad to me, because it is a sign that people are denying themselves the joy of a special interest just because they'll never have encyclopaedic information about the topic. your special interest is still special even if it isn't expertise

"what if I use my special interest as motivation to become an expert (i.e. receive xyz qualification)?"

well now you are an expert! congratulations! this should also provide you with enough information to know that "it's my special interest" is not the same as a citation. however you should also be aware that not all autistic people will become experts in their special interests, and you should not hold them to that standard

okay thanks <3 have a good one

it's crucial that you untie "special interest" from "expertise". "it's true just trust me bro" doesn't have any extra weight when you add "I know because it's my special interest". you are not immune from falling for misinformation, and you are not immune from sharing misinformation. not to mention the fact that "amount of knowledge" isn't even a requirement for something being classified as a special interest lol!

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[krysmcscience]

I have some questions about karaoke night, Alex Hirsch. Very Important Questions. Which I will happily scream at a poor hapless baby triangle who can have no answers for me, and possibly also does not have object permanence yet.

Follow-up that is I guess suggestive, but let's be real here, Bill's a fucking triangle:

Dude slipped right into his birthday suit, lmao

this is so stupid :D

Anyway, I don't care what anyone says, this brilliant individual knows what's up - Bill is absolutely way more of a monsterfucker than Ford could or ever will be, full stop.

[egophiliac]

did this as a quick scribble at like 1 AM last night and...immediately lost all motivation to ever clean it up. ( ᐛ ) but I had to draw my son being the fanciest little flower boy who ever threw petals down an aisle. oh my god.

[zudz]

This is awful. And tragic. And somehow, it's so much worse than this.

About 20 years ago I was working at Best Buy, and we got new HP laptops that had face unlock. This was fairly new. It was either the first model to have it, or one of the first. We unboxed the demo display unit, and decided to play with it before we put it out in PCHO.

A couple of us set up user accounts, and we played with it a bit, and it was neat.

Then my supervisor came in. Chuck played with the unit for about 10 minutes, and his conclusion was "You can tell they didn't have any brothers on the team." Chuck was black, and the face recognition software didn't recognize him AT ALL. All us pasty white nerds? Worked great. Chuck? It couldn't even tell if he had a face. He declared it "Racist-ass software." we all laughed, and moved on. (We did warn people that the feature was finnicky, so that was good to know.)

That was 20-something years ago! LAST YEAR I had one of my coworkers ask me for help with her iPhone. It was an easy problem, but it when to sleep while I was working on it and I had to ask her to unlock it. Face ID took like 3 tries, and then she told me "Face ID is stupid. My sister and I can unlock each other's phones."

Fucking. What.

She wasn't black, like Chuck. I actually don't know what specific country she's from because I don't play "Where are you from? No, where are you REALLY from?", and we weren't that close. But she had a fairly moderately toned hispanic complexion, y'dig? And like, her sister. Okay, family resemblance. But Apple can't figure out how to make Face ID work on people of color? We've been doing this shit for AGES! You're APPLE! What the hell?!

Anyway, anything that uses facial recognition is probably made mostly of bullshit. It doesn't even seem good in non-edge cases.

This whole thing about scanning your face to prove tour age is making me remember, in 2018 while out in paris we got our wallet stolen during a particularly busy night at a lesbian bar. It was very late and with no money to buy metro tickets we were effectively stranded, but some people helped us and we ended up staying the night at a really sweet older man's place. His face was deeply scarred and he was missing an eye. We chatted on our way and he told me about his life, probably to help calm me down. He explained he had been stuck in a house fire 20 years ago and had had multiple rounds of facial reconstruction and a skin graft, but there's only so much surgery can do so he just learned to live with it. I remember he said he liked the queer bars because they're the only place people don't really stare at him.

At some point I took out my phone, and at the time I was using face unlock. This prompted him to tell me all the ways this technology doesn't work on him. How his phone selfie camera doesn't focus right because it's not detecting a face. How he had to update his ID the old fashioned way, because the website kept rejecting his photos. And how it was becoming more and more common, and how it was making his life way harder.

This was 7 years ago, and now whenever I see this sort of technology I think of how that guy can't use it. And how house fires are pretty common, and how anything from being born this way to a skin condition to heavy tattooing can probably cause the same issue. Can these people get age verified ? Will they just lose access to all social media, which are increasingly necessary in society, if this becomes the norm ? These are people who are already driven out of public spaces due to how they look, and they're getting pushed out online too all in the interest of companies wanting more money.

[johnnyshrine]

★ 093 // “POV: You Died :("

[technically-human]

So I heard Lee called Robotnik the love of Stone's life

Thank you for your service @lalalaurieart

The picture without lyrics in case someone wants to give this sad little man sad little songs

[son-of-avraham]

I love talking to rabbis as a recent conversion student because the interaction goes something like, "you're converting? Now?! At this time, at this moment in history?!". And they always talk about this influx of jewish convert students they've seen recently, and it's like...

There's this level of respect I get from rabbis for converting at this point in time, but... Has there ever been a good time to be a jew in the last thousand years or so plus? I'm imagining that rabbis and jews in general back in 1492, back in 1290, back in 1349 would have said the exact same thing. So, really, there is only a time to be a jew. Maybe it's not a "good" time, yes, but it is a time. And to me, that's good enough

[tabbyphobos]

I have a pretty good scheme with the husband: I do the dishes, he does the laundry. But this went up in flames now over a month ago when the dishwasher broke. (We have only today got it to where there is only a trickle of water coming out of it.)

But I hate washing dishes by hand. I don't do a good enough job (for me) and I get worried about sanitization. I had a meeting to go to at the beginning of July, and was worried about having to come home after and wash dishes by hand. Bryan kept saying don't worry about it. But I was worried about it and dreading the whole day. He said, "I was just going to do them for you while you were gone."

I asked him why, you know, because of our scheme. And he said, "I would take a bullet for you; doing the dishes is nothing."

And he's been doing them by hand every morning since. I've had to redo a couple dishes once or twice (outside of pot was still dirty, a tupperware still had grease in it), but it has been a load off. (Let's not talk about what it has done to my depression though.)

So yeah. If you would die for your wife, would you also do a menial chore? Or is this just toxic masculine bravado?