#hardware isn't a personality

[mostlysignssomeportents]

This is how you know it's a cult

This is how you know it's a cult. "If you want to read the Bible in the vulgate, why don't you become a Satanist? My faith requires that everyone who calls themself a Christian must worship as I do. Your choice to worship otherwise is an injury to me, even if I don't know you."

[timeskip]

My mom showed me the audio mixer and microphone we have and it's like. 20 years old and also cannot connect to a computer (at least it's not meant to) and I have no idea what to do with this information. I would mess around with it but... It... Doesn't connect to a computer... I can't even record anything... We don't even have the audio hardware it DOES connect to............

[junkdyke]

imagine being able to buy something you need irl in person the same day you need it!!

[vole-mon-amour]

I think my PC is having hardware issues and that scares the hell out of me tbh. I won't be able to afford another one like my current one, especially so close after I built it.

Let's hope it's software or not that expensive hardware.

[ms-demeanor]

I would like to address something that has come up several times since I relaunched my computer recommendation blog two weeks ago. Part of the reason that I started @okay-computer and that I continue to host my computer-buying-guide is that it is part of my job to buy computers every day.

I am extremely conversant with pricing trends and specification norms for computers, because literally I quoted seven different laptops with different specs at different price-points *today* and I will do more of the same on Monday.

Now, I am holding your face in my hands. I am breathing in sync with you. We are communicating. We are on the same page. Listen.

Computer manufacturers don't expect users to store things locally so it is no longer standard to get a terabyte of storage in a regular desktop or laptop. You're lucky if you can find one with a 512gb ssd that doesn't have an obnoxious markup because of it.

If you think that the norm is for computers to come with 1tb of storage as a matter of course, you are seeing things from a narrow perspective that is out of step with most of the hardware out there.

I went from a standard expectation of a 1tb hdd five years ago to expecting to get a computer with a 1tb hdd that we would pull and replace with a 1tb ssd to expecting to get a computer that came with a 256gb ssd that we would pull and replace with a 1tb ssd, to just having the 256gb ssd come standard and and only seeking out more storage if the customer specifically requested it because otherwise they don't want to pay for more storage.

Computer manufacturers consider any storage above 256gb to be a premium feature these days.

Look, here's a search for Lenovo Laptops with 16GB RAM (what I would consider the minimum in today's market) and a Win11 home license (not because I prefer that, but to exclude chromebooks and business machines). Here are the storage options that come up for those specs:

You will see that the majority of the options come with less than a terabyte of storage. You CAN get plenty of options with 1tb, but the point of Okay-Computer is to get computers with reasonable specs in an affordable price range. These days, that mostly means half a terabyte of storage (because I can't bring myself to *recommend* less than that but since most people carry stuff in their personal cloud these days, it's overkill for a lot of people)

All things being equal, 500gb more increases the price of this laptop by $150:

It brings this one up by $130:

This one costs $80 more to go from 256 to 512 and there isn't an option for 1TB.

For the last three decades storage has been getting cheaper and cheaper and cheaper, to the point that storage was basically a negligible cost when HDDs were still the standard. With the change to SSDs that cost increased significantly and, while it has come down, we have not reached the cheap, large storage as-a-standard on laptops stage; this is partially because storage is now SO cheap that people want to entice you into paying a few dollars a month to use huge amounts of THEIR storage instead of carrying everything you own in your laptop.

You will note that 1tb ssds cost you a lot less than the markup to pay for a 1tb ssd instead of a 500gb ssd

In fact it can be LESS EXPENSIVE to get a 1tb ssd than a 500gb ssd.

This is because computer manufacturers are, generally speaking, kind of shitty and do not care about you.

I stridently recommend getting as much storage as you can on your computer. If you can't get the storage you want up front, I recommend upgrading your storage.

But also: in the current market (December 2024), you should not expect to find desktops or laptops in the low-mid range pricing tier with more than 512gb of storage. Sometimes you'll get lucky, but you shouldn't be expecting it - if you need more storage and you need an inexpensive computer, you need to expect to upgrade that component yourself.

So, if you're looking at a computer I linked and saying "32GB of RAM and an i7 processor but only 500GB of storage? What kind of nonsense is that?" Then I would like to present you with one of the computers I had to quote today:

A three thousand dollar macbook with the most recent apple silicon (the m4 released like three weeks ago) and 48 FUCKING GIGABYTES OF RAM with a 512gb ssd.

You can't even upgrade that SSD! That's an apple that drive isn't going fucking anywhere! (don't buy apple, apple is shit)

The norms have shifted! It sucks, but you have to be aware of these kinds of things if you want to pay a decent price for a computer and know what you're getting into.

[dorywhynot]

"XVI (The Tower)" 8x16", Watercolor. 2025

On view now at Vakarie Gallery, for "Arcana: Painting the Fates," a Tarot themed group show

Original Artwork available for purchase

Prints

The Tower is a notoriously negative card, but the more I learn about tarot the less I believe in starkly positive or negative meanings. The Tower symbolizes challenges, difficult ones, like....the kind of challenges that leave you back at square one. But challenges in my mind mean change. Getting knocked down means you have to do something different when you try again, whether that is putting more care and effort into the techniques used before, or trying something new entirely.

Some of you know by now that I've been having an issue with my spine/sacrum for a few years now - while I'm able to carry out my days normally-ish now it has left me with chronic pain that I'm still hoping will heal. It's affected the way I work, the way I relax, the type of exercise that I can do...Pretty much everything part of a routine that I worked hard to build has had to be altered in some way. It's a journey I'm still on and frustrated by. I'm not fully convinced that the diagnosis I received is the entirety of the issue. I also think a part of it isn't a diagnosis thing at all, I'm just getting older.

The spine is the center. It connects the brain to the body, and serves as the conduit for every message between them. It's the foundation for our anatomical hardware and software.

So, is this a personal piece?....Who's to say.

Full painting process documentation of this piece is included in this month's Artist's Notebook PDF, over on patreon.

[fanaticalthings]

Most children, once they've grown up and moved out, sometimes come back to visit their parents to use their house as a sort of personal grocery store

And with Bruce being a literal billionaire whose house is always stocked with food and supplies, the batkids (that aren't living in the manor) definitely visit just for the purpose of taking shit for themselves.

---

For Dick, it's just small things, food and maybe some utensils. Bruce is barely in the kitchen so he never notices dishes go missing, and there are like 10 other children in his house so literally any one of the younger kids could've stolen food in the middle of the night, so he doesn't bat an eye at all.

Babs probably steals Bruce's hardware or his tools from the batcave. Sometimes, if she's nice, she'll leave a note.

Steph probably takes shit that no one will notice at the time but will absolutely be annoyed about when they need said thing. Stapler, soap bars, the microwave plate, etc...(Taking after Jason, she steals the hub caps off the batmobile's tires)

However, for Jason, once his relationship with Bruce is somewhat decent, of course he's gonna be petty and start stealing the more expensive shit in the manor for his apartment. Jason's microwave is broken? The next day, the cave's self-made and enhanced microwave made by Bruce for convenience is just gone.

Jason's feeling a coffee maker for his place? The one in Bruce's study disappears, too.

---

At first, Bruce thinks he's just sleep deprived, but then much bigger things start to go missing, like the whole TV and couch set in the living room. He assumes the younger kids are just playing pranks on him (sounds like something Stephanie would do) but then Bruce notices that the thief deliberately avoids stealing things from the kitchen, which is where Alfred is most of the time, and suddenly Bruce has an irritated clue on who the culprit is.

At first, he doesn't say anything, until one day he comes back, tired from a patrol, and is about to log in all the info on the computer only to realize his batchair is gone. That's when he texts Jason a blunt "If you really need things for your place, you can just ask me. I'll buy them for you." (As if Jason himself isn't loaded from his totally legal activities)

---

So now Jason's pettiness levels increase tenfold, and oh, wouldn't you look at it, his bike needs some new tires, and he knows a great place to get some more.

One night, Bruce is just blearily getting up for a late night snack, only to see Damian scamper away with a...lamp? So Bruce immediately follows him into the foyer only to see ALL of his kids (sans the ones not living in the manor), trying to haul two arm chairs out the window, and they just stop dead silent to stare at him until someone whispers a nervous "Crap"

Bruce doesn't even have any energy to fight, he just pinches his nose and is all "What is the meaning of this" in his tired dad voice. And Duke meekly responds with "we wanted more chairs at Jason's place"

And suddenly it all makes sense. Not once did Bruce wonder how the HELL Jason managed to lug a whole 60in TV and a full couch set on his own in one night. Of course, he had accomplices. Bruce just turns right around and goes right the hell back to his room to sleep. He'll deal with this in the morning.

[erinaeris]

Laios Touden and the Responsibility of Power

First off, let me gush just a bit about how fucking STRONK this man is. Olympic weightlifters are dying of sheer envy and lust over this man. He is a FUCKING POWERHOUSE.

My favorite panels ever, and judging by the cropping of the second photo, Tumblr agrees.

AHEM, where was I?

Ah yes. He's not just strong and incredibly hot, my man is literally an invasive species in this dungeon. He knows every single weak spot of every monster Thistle tried to throw at him and when he finds it he just fucking RAMS HIMSELF AT THEM AND TAKES THEM DOWN.

And when he's a dwarf HE LITERALLY BENDS STEEL.

"Beat Namari at arm wrestling"? My boy, she wouldn't let you anywhere near because you'd FUCKING BREAK HER HER HAND ALONG WITH THE TABLE. (It's such a fucking shame we didn't see Senshi at least raising an (perfectly plucked except it just grows that way naturally) eyebrow in the background when he sees this. Alas, he was too distracted by his hair.)

But I mentioned responsibility, didn't I? Strength is power in the dungeon, and we all knows what comes with great power. And Laios is, in fact, very responsible with that power!

(Futther examples under the cut, wee bit spoilers for anime watchers)

This scene lives rent-free in my head forever, because of two things: Thistle suddenly realizing just what the hell he's up against,

And Laios breaking Thistle's arm.

Now, I think Laios didn't mean to actually break his arm here, he's just half-blind and dizzy and knows he has to restrain Thistle or it will all go to shit. So that's what he does. The move you see above is a restraining hold. The point is that the person pinned down can't struggle much because the position of the arm presses the suprascapular nerve, so it hurts a lot, but unless they're held that way for too long they'll be fine.

But Thistle is TINY and elves are generally fine-boned. I think Laios really did just underestimate his strength.

And the moment the dragons aren't an IMMEDIATE THREAT anymore?

Laios heals him. Thistle's a better mage than him by miles, he could have done it himself. But no. Laios does it. He was too rough, too careless with his strength, and he immediately backtracked, fixed what he broke, and continued with more mindfullness.

And these are just the examples that stuck in my mind the most. And it happens often enough that the team isn't even fucking surprised! Laios' strength would 100% scare people who only saw him in a barfight and didn't know anything else about him. Hell, the other adventurers they meet fucking quiver before this guy who just took down a monster they had nightmares about in one blow, up until he opens his mouth and they relax. You put more malevolent software in that sort of hardware and he'd be the next Shadow Governor.

But Laios is Laios. He's a gentle soul at heart (a Great Pyrenese, specifically, the gentlest souls ever unless you're out for their flock) and he is VERY CAREFUL with his strength, ESPECIALLY around his team. Chilchuck, who is literally half his size and underfed to boot, can smack Laios as much as he wants with ZERO fear because Laios is aware he can hurt Chilchuck by literally tripping over him, so he just stays still and lets Chilchuck smack at him. I'd be surprised if he ever managed to leave a bruise. Chilchuck has to aim at Laios' weak spot (back of the knee here) just to get Laios to notice him!

But because I have some experience with marital arts and close combat, I think the fight with Shuro exemplifies my point so fucking well! Laios is HURT here, he's living every autistic person's worst nightmare.

And he HOLDS BACK. His restraint is fucking IMMACULATE.

Shuro is fucking lucky Laios still liked him when he started talking shit, because he would have broken his spine otherwise. Laios doesn't even take the fight seriously! He starts with a fucking SLAP.

Shuro retaliates with an actual punch (that does nothing but piss him off)

Laios wobbles. Shuro HITS THE DIRT.

And this is the part where he realizes just how outside his weight category he is. Shuro definitely has technique on his side, but that means jackshit when you need ten blows to to even bruise your opponent, but one hit from them will leave you drinking through a straw for a week. For a second there, Shuro thought he was in ACTUAL DANGER.

But instead of finishing the job, Laios tries to talk him down, which just sets him off again. Man was at his fucking LIMIT, and it snapped. Self-preservation who?

And the best part is? Shuro is throwing all his strength behind his punches and Laios just takes them, but Laios? He mostly pushed Shuro around!

They're mostly grappling here, precisely because Laios is very conscious his friend is pretty fragile right now.

And when he does have enough?

Shuro is flat on the ground again, and Laios has a black eye and a bloody nose. He sits down and five minutes later he's ready to go! Like yes, Shuro was at a low point here, but he's been mowing through monsters at only a bit slower pace than Laios' party. He's no weakling regardless. And Laios had to HOLD BACK SO HE WOULDN'T HURT HIM. And it's so obvious that Maizuru takes one look at the two of them and leaves them to their toussling.

When I saw her reaction I had to scroll back and take another look, because I was sure she would intervene! But she doesn't! She is aware of Laios' strength, she has to be, and she doesn't lift a finger to help her precious charge. She knows the big dog he's wrestling with knows to watch his strength.

And that's my whole point: my boi is STRONK AF! And he is very aware of his strength, and how he could hurt the people around him is he wasn't careful, so he is ALWAYS CAREFUL. He has deeply internalized the fact that to have strength is to be careful with it, to use it in service of people rather than to hurt them (possibly from his dad). He is going to SUCH a good king! He's not going to like the job but by GOD he will do it really well.

And I will give my right arm to see a fic about the first corrupt lord/governor/courtier who attempts to misuse their authority for their own gain. Kabru's gonna have to talk Laios out of an execution.

[faggotisaacfloofs]

Okay I have been trying to sleep for an hour but can't so I think i have to name this and since tumblr is my public journal I'm doing it here.

Went to hardware store with caregiver today.

Got paint for living room. To get paint need to have person mix the color. Person was clearly queer and noticed me and caregiver as queer as well, had the "i see I'm among family" type interaction, was lovely

But

During the like. 10 minutes. They did not pay attention to a single thing i said (using AAC obviously). They talked a lot to my caregiver. But. They sure weren't talking to me or acknowledging or responding to a single thing I said even when I thanked them at the end.

And. It sucks that queer moments are ruined by ableism. I still am happy to see someone out and about being queer and having that lovely interaction

But I'd honestly rather interact with a cis-straight person who is communicating with me, than an lgbtqia+/queer person who isn't acknowledging my communication. Like. That's not even a question.

So.

I'm sad, I guess. That's what I have to say. I wish the interaction could have just been good, and not have such a sour center.

I am going to try to allow for the possibility that they just did not hear my AAC. It's possible I guess. It wasn't loud enough that I needed earplugs tho and that is usually the measure of if someone within 3 feet can hear my device at loudest volume! But some people are hard of hearing. So. Trying to give benefit of doubt since it had multiple sounds happening.

(But honestly like. If a person can hear what my caregiver is saying they should be able to hear what my device is saying at same range. They were not speaking loudly! We were so close! The store was was quieter than normal! I wasn't wearing earplugs in a public building that's how quiet!!! (I needed them in parking lot and every store ever more of the time!))

And also this kinda thing happens all the time which is why I am more jumping to sad.

It sucks being ignored.

It sucks not being able to speak.

It sucks not being able to partake in normal conversation when I want to!!!!

Everyone learn your local sign language and stop being a dick to people who you view as developmentally or otherwise mentally disabled!! We are still people and have thoughts!! Stop being a dick to people who can't speak. Be patient when someone is using AAC of any sort (speech device, letterboard, communication cards, gestures, etc). Make the effort to communicate with us.

[vienssunshine]

Raising the Stakes

pairing: Sylus x fem!reader nsfw: highly suggestive, ostensible dry humping wc: 3.2k author's note: this is based on the midnight stealth mission, but there are definitely artistic liberties taken. maybe i will write a part two, though would need to do more research as i haven't actually played this game haha description: you're willing to do whatever it takes to win sylus' bet. read part two here

He’s home.

If not the sudden tightness in your chest, the gentle close of the front door confirms it.

You’re on your feet and with one last look around his gloomy bedroom, shit, you left the bedside drawer open. You slam it shut, louder than you would’ve liked. Then, you’re out of there, taking care to close the bedroom door much more quietly.

Fuck. The brooch isn’t anywhere in his room.

Stupid bet. Stupid Sylus. Stupid you.

If you don’t find it—you look down to your watch—within the hour, you’ll lose your lead on the Aether Core. That can’t happen, you won’t let it. You have to find that goddamn brooch.

There’s only one place left to check.

You find Sylus in the hallway, pulling a manila folder out of his briefcase and setting it on the entryway table. A wet umbrella leans against the wall, and though it’s too dark to see out of the window, you can hear the gentle rainfall outside.

You saunter up to him, hands clasped behind your back. You’re hoping the smile you have on your face looks warm rather than contrived.

“Hello, Sylus,” you greet him as nicely as you can. Things might be a little tense after yesterday, so you hope he isn't the type to hold a grudge.

He spares you a glance before closing his briefcase and setting it on the table next to the folder.

“Someone’s cheerful,” Sylus says, “Did you find what you’re looking for?”

Of course you didn’t. The asshole knows that.

You smooth those thoughts out to return a seemingly content, “Oh, not yet.”

His hands go to the collar of his coat, but you intercept him, and though you’d meant to only touch the fabric, your haste causes your fingers to end up on his knuckles. You swallow and continue anyway. “Here, let me."

"You want to help with my coat?" he asks.

You nod, your smile tight-lipped.

His puzzled expression is replaced by a incredulous smirk and he returns his hands to his sides, allowing you to be the one that pulls the heavy, black coat from his broad back.

You fold the it over your forearm and smooth the fabric down in a subtle attempt to feel for any hardware hidden within the coat or its pockets.

Sylus turns around and leans back on the entryway table. “Something else must have you in a good mood then,” he observes, "What is it?”

“Just…happy to see you,” you say. You’re laying it on a little thick, so you supplement with, “It’s nice to have someone else to talk to, the twins have been driving me crazy all day.”

There’s nothing in the coat, so you hang it up. Damn it.

“Have they?” Sylus says, “I’ll be sure to speak to them.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, they’re harmless,” you say, eyes falling to the burgundy vest sitting atop his black button-down. “And now that you’re here, it’s better.” You step towards him and your hands go to the top button, “I’ll help with this too.”

Sylus doesn’t stop you, simply watching with a lazy smile as your fingers undress him in his entryway. Even if he is suspicious of your actions—he hasn’t forgotten about the bet—you're certain that he will indulge in his own amusement every time. This personality quirk is evident from his thrilling lifestyle—better dangerous than boring—and one you’ll push to its limits if it helps you win this bet.

You pop the final button open, revealing his button-down in full. You push the vest over his shoulders, leaning a little too close to his chest to get it off his back. When the fabric is recollected in your hands, you look up at him, and he holds your gaze, waiting for whatever excuse you’ll make next. It's clear to both of you that it's too obvious if you search the vest in front of him.

“I’ll go take care of this,” you end up with. You’re not sure what ‘take care of this’ even means since you don’t know if his labyrinthine mansion even has a laundry room. In fact, you still haven’t discovered how your dirty clothes have been disappearing from your room only to magically show up cleaned and folded on your bed the next day.

“All right,” he responds, “I’ll be in the study if you need me.”

“Okay,” you say, pivoting with the vest tight to your chest and walking down the hallway. When you turn the corner, and take a few more steps—just to be certain you're out of Sylus’ sight—your stroll turns into a sprint until you get back to your room.

Breathing rapid, you throw the vest down onto your bed and rifle through it, checking every pocket and fold once and then twice. You scowl. Nothing. The brooch is still on him.

Your fingers twist into the soft threads of the vest, crumpling the jewel-toned fabric. Time is running out. You need a new plan, but your head’s empty. You’ll just have to find him and hope something comes to you.

On your way out, you go to toss the vest onto your desk until, in a strange lapse of judgement, you instead bring the fabric to your nose. Its scent is dark and multi-layered, complicated but grounded by the standout note of an earthy musk. You pause. You've enjoyed this scent before, when wandering around the halls, but that was because you thought it was from the mansion's foreign plants, not Sylus.

You shake your head. He smells nice, so what? You throw the vest onto the back of the chair by the desk. Soon you’ll be out of this place, and then all this strangeness will end.

You make your way to the study, resigned to your fate. You need to check his button-up and the pockets in his pants, they’re the last places the brooch could be.

Arriving at his study, you rap gently on the door.

His gravelly voice answers, “Come in.”

You push the door open and Sylus looks up from the papers strewn about in front of him. The dim glow of the lamp on the desk casts his form in a soft, warm light, allowing you to notice two small changes since you talked in the hallway; there are thinly-framed gold glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose and his black shirt has a few more buttons undone, showcasing his strong collarbone.

He looks…good.

“How can I help you?” he asks and it snaps you back to your mission.

You enter his study, strolling by the chair you’re meant to sit in and then past the desk, fingertips grazing the spines of a stack of books piled up next to the lamp.

“Weren’t you just at work?” you say, leaning on the corner of his desk, “And now that you’re home, you’re working again?”

He puts his pen down and sits back in his chair, eyes roaming your figure against his desk. “Work is work. It never ends.”

“It’s too much,” you say, standing up and placing your hand on the back of his armchair. “Want me to help you relax?”

You can’t believe you’re doing this.

Sylus chuckles, “What did you have in mind?”

“You look so tense all the time.” You run your hand from his shoulder up to his trap. He’s warm, and that familiar musky scent wafts up to your nose. “A massage might make you feel better.”

“Really?” he says, his brows furrowing, “You want to give me a massage?”

Yes, it’s true that with narrowed eyes and a snarled mouth you tried to shoot a bullet through his chest yesterday. And yes, that same you is now offering relief for his poor, sore muscles today. He must not understand that debasing yourself for a mission is not beneath you.

“Mhmm,” you confirm, “I’ll give you a massage…if you want one.”

“All right then,” he says, “I’m all yours.”

“Great,” you say, eager to step behind him. The way he was looking at you was twisting your stomach up. And he says such strange things.

You turn your focus to kneading your fingers into his thick traps, pushing down and into the hard muscle. Damn, he’s really tight. Is being the leader of Onychinus that stressful of a job? Well, it must be, it’s a crime ring after all. Spying, stealing, killing, it must wear someone down. And really fuck them up—makes them the type to strike a wager where you have to hunt down a little brooch in a huge mansion.

Sylus lets out a soft groan and the noise fills your face with heat. Your fingers stall for a moment, but you swiftly recover, instinctively repeating the action that got you such a nice sound. You wonder if he’s ever gotten a massage before.

“You’re good at this,” Sylus says. His fingers are gripping the sides of the armchair, veins coursing out from underneath his sleeve to thread through the tops of his hands. They look tired too. You’ll move to them once you check the collar of his shirt.

“Thank you,” you respond, “I’m happy you like it.”

You pause, and lean to the side so you can look at him when you ask, “Is it okay if I massage your neck too?”

His blood-red eyes watch yours intently and you don’t miss how his mouth hangs slightly ajar, his breath heavy. “You may,” he permits.

You right yourself quickly so he can’t see the smile on your face. It has to be pinned on the inside of his collar.

“Tilt your head forward for me?” you ask, and he complies, revealing the thick column of his pale neck. You press your two thumbs to the top of his neck, right where his silver hairline starts, and drag them down, following the natural guidelines of his spine.

He sighs again, but you don’t indulge, focusing on drawing your thumbs further down his neck to his collar, pushing it down and away with the palms of your hands. The fabric folds over easily; there’s no brooch hidden underneath.

Fuck.

You repeat the action a few more times to keep up the facade, sparing a glance to your watch. 15 minutes left. You need to speed this up. There’s a few more places to check—his sleeves, his neckline, and…his pants.

One last drag of your thumbs down the column of his neck and you walk around the chair again. You move his papers and folders out of the way and sit on his desk, bringing his right hand into your lap.

“I’ll do your hands now, since you’ve been writing so much. They look tired to me.”

“They do?” he says, amused. “Then I’m glad you’re taking such good care of them.”

You work your thumbs into the palm of his open hand. His skin is softer than you expected a criminal’s would be. Guess he doesn’t actually do any of the dirty work.

You turn his hand over in your lap and unbutton the cuff of his black sleeve. Sylus raises an eyebrow.

“So I can massage your forearms, too.”

“Of course,” he says, letting you to roll up the sleeve to his elbow. Your hands linger there for a bit longer than you would’ve liked, but you had to confirm it—there’s no brooch pinned to the inside of his cuff.

Returning to your ploy, you begin to drag your hands down his forearm, only to notice how large it is, it’s hard to wrap your hand around.

“Do you work out?” you ask, thoughtlessly.

He chuckles. “Yes, I do.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone with forearms like these.” Your eyes trail back down to the sizeable hand resting between your legs. “Hands, either.”

“Do you like them?”

“Hm?”

“My arms…my hands?”

Why would he care what you think of him? He certainly didn’t weigh your opinion when trying to force you to resonate.

“I-I don’t know,” you say, clumsily escaping the question. “Here, let me do the other hand.”

He pulls his hand back into his own lap and offers his other out to you. You take it and start to massage.

Sylus leans his head back against the plush velvet of his armchair, allowing his eyelids to flutter closed. He seems to really like what you're doing, and it's making you grapple with the indecipherable, tingly feeling skating underneath your skin. This is pretend, you’re playing a role to get what you want, but it feels like your ploy has actual stakes, more than just getting the brooch. You push it down, you shouldn’t get distracted from your goal.

Checking his left cuff reveals nothing.

You bite back a frown, tilting your head down to hide your displeased expression.

It’s here, you know it. Just where exactly?

While you work at his palm, your eyes roam around, looking for any unusual shapes or pulls on the fabric of his shirt. You do the same to his pants, but his pockets seem empty, though you can’t be sure from just looking. Then a weight settles over your body.

His eyes are open now, and he’s staring.

You drop your gaze back down to his hand, hoping to look focused and dedicated to your work.

“I think that’s enough,” he says, bringing his hand back into his lap.

No, damn it, you need more time. But before you can come up with another dumb excuse, Sylus says, “I feel compelled to return the favor,” as he rubs his wrist, “Especially since my hands are feeling so much better now.”

His shirt and his pants. You’ve gotta look.

“Do you really want to?” you ask.

“I do,” he says, reaching for your hand. You let him hold it, but then push off the desk and into his lap, straddling him.

You. Cannot. Believe. You’re. Doing. This.

“Oh?” he says, “Getting comfortable now, are we?”

“Is it okay?” you say. But it's not like his feelings should matter; he’s the one who’s hidden the brooch so close to heart.

“More than,” he responds, returning his eyes to your hand, beginning to knead your palm. It feels good.

You let your uncaptured hand settle on his chest, right by the line of buttons traveling down his shirt. As slowly as you can, you move it to one side of his chest, then the other, searching for the pin.

“Feeling around?” he asks, like he doesn’t already know the answer.

“Uh, no, just…steadying myself.” You look down. “Your massage feels nice.”

“Does it?” Sylus chuckles. “I’m glad.”

You steal a glance at your watch, which thankfully encircles the wrist of your free hand. 5 minutes left. You both know it. The question is, how far are you willing to go to win?

Previously hovering, you sit your weight down into his lap, committing. Sylus continues the massage, tracing the lines of your palms with an enjoyable pressure.

You can’t feel anything underneath you outright, so, through clenched teeth, you begin shifting your weight around in his lap.

That’s enough to get his attention.

“What are you up to now?” he says.

“Do my forearm,” you say, pushing it into his grasp. “It’s sore.”

4 minutes.

He complies, pressing his fingers into your flesh in skillful, slightly distracting ways, soothing the muscles tight around your forearm. Damn, he moves like he knows what he's doing.

“What has gotten into you?” Sylus says with a smirk.

Your response doesn’t need to be believable, you just need him to let you continue. So you say, “Keep going. You feel…good.”

You can’t pay much mind to the breathy noise from his throat because your focus is on the opening of his shirt, hand skimming the left side of his neckline, fingers brushing against his bare chest. It's a highly intimate action, but even worse is the way you’re pressing down on his pants. You’re practically grinding on him, and your body is reacting accordingly, that giddy sensation warm and alive in the depths of your stomach.

You push it all away, prioritizing the search, moving your fingers to right side of his open neckline. You’re a Hunter. You can do this.

And then you feel it. Two things. At the same time.

Your fingers wrap around the cool metal of the brooch while the underside of your pelvis settles down on something hard pushing through his pants.

“Looks like you found it,” Sylus says.

Your breath hitches. Though your fingers are on the brooch, you look to Sylus’ face. His glowing red eyes are lidded and his pale face painted with a gentle pink blush. His lips are curled in an all-too-familiar condescending smirk. And you want to kiss them.

This has become too real too fast. Yes, it was pretend, a way for you to get the brooch, but now it’s his hard cock pushed up against your clothed cunt.

Your face burns. No, your skin is on fire. This is all too much.

“I-I’m sorry.” you say, before pushing yourself up off of his lap. “I can’t. I can’t…do this.”

Sylus releases your forearm. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s fine, really. It’s my fault,” you say. The backs of your thighs crash into the desk and you stumble.

He reaches for you, calling your name gently, and the sweetness of his tone only makes you feel worse.

You don't take his hand, stumbling around the corner of the desk and heading towards the door. You worked so hard to get the brooch, but you just can't do this. So you take one last look at him and his outstretched hand, and flee from the room.

The flickering lights of the candles mounted on the walls fly by as you sprint through the hallway. You turn a corner and nearly run into the twins, a quick step to the side saving you all a collision.

“Jeez, what’s gotten into her?” one of them says after you give a quick apology and continue your escape. You get back to your bedroom, and slam the door behind you. You lean up against it, panting hard, the saliva thick in your mouth.

That was too much.

You stagger over to your bed, collapsing down onto it. Though it’s been the best bed you’ve ever slept in for the past few nights, tonight, it’s hard and uncomfortable. You pull your knees to your chest, curling up in the fetal position.

You shouldn’t have let it get that far, let your mind and body get so confused with what was actually going on. Goddammit you tried to kill him yesterday, and now you’re bouncing around on his lap like you're on your honeymoon. Even if it was for a mission, what were you thinking?

You could ask the same of him. He might have been playing along, but you felt him against you, big, hot, hard. No, he must’ve liked it, for real.

And you? Did you actually like it? It felt nice. Him touching you. Him liking you. At the same time, it was so scary. These new feelings. You thought you hated him. And now you're all mixed-up on what's real and what's not.

You groan. Your thoughts are going a million miles a minute, and your heart rate hasn’t slowed down. You need some time to think this over, to process. Maybe you can avoid him for the next few days.

Only, the auction is still tomorrow…and you don’t know if you won the bet or not. Yes, you found the brooch on time, but did you have to take it from him to win? God, it’s all so confusing.

The moonlight shines on the ruby fabric draped over the desk chair and the scent reaches your nose once more.

You on his lap. His hands holding yours. Blood red eyes studying you.

You get under the covers and turn away from your desk. Hopefully you’ll feel better tomorrow.

[moonshynecybin]

hi, i hope this isn't weird but you're like a motogp scholar to me and i have a question bc i can't really find an answer; do you know of the medical specifics of marc's arm injury? like ik what happened but i haven't been able to find an article beyond oh he broke it. like is there a reason it's so bad and why he had to get multiple surgeries for it? like was it crushing nerve ends, grinding cartilidge, etc? tysm if u decide to answer

the best and most direct source for this is gonna be marc marquez all in. they’ll show you the bone scans and walk you through the rotation of how it healed and some info about the other surgeries etc but theres also a lot it leaves out about BEFORE that surgery so i'll try and help out. HUGE caveat that i’m not a doctor but the GENERAL info goes like this:

jerez, july 2020: marc fractures his right humerus after the tire of his bike hits it during a highside near the end of the race. he flies to barcelona, gets one million nails and a plate put in himself by perennial motogp bone saw doctor xavier mir, and hopes to show up the next week to race four days after surgery (also in jerez #covid)… at the time its all kinda standard if like. a lil crazy but he is honestly really flippant about the whole thing you get the sense that (like others before him) he kinda thinks what he’s doing is badass. i mean he’s postin this shit on instagram like LOOK AT MEEE

anyways so he is declared fit to ride (NO RADIAL NERVE DAMAGE YAYYY), the test for which seems to be doing decline porno pushups with his cock out. and it’s all kinda like. well this is a short, 13 round championship year, so every race counts and marc has just won four championships in a row (6 out of the last 7 years!!!) and has something fundamentally wrong in his brain. marc voice well yeah jorge lorenzo came back after collarbone surgery in 2013 and it depleted him for years but im different. im better. PLUS it’s alex’s first year in the premier class (also at factory honda which is a can of worms we shant get into) so he’s not as involved in monitoring his insane older brother as he is post-arm saga bc he has shit to do and marc hasn’t missed a GP due to injury at this point since his first bout of diplopia in 2011. hes broken his leg a few weeks before the season before and been fine. marc is marc. so he’s gonna try and race.

anyways! that doesn’t happen lol. marc DOES go out for all the practices (the death nell.) but it’s p clear that the arm is fucking busted. he stresses the injury the fuckkkk out (probably where the bone gets rotated? unsure) and then goes out for one lap of quali and can’t do it anymore, pulls out then and there and is like okay. i’ll rest on it

august 2020: now here’s where i’m like hm. because according to MARC, he is a perfect angel doing PT until he randomly opens a glass sliding door one day and the arm rebreaks (SHOULD be kinda impossible with all the hardware in him lol). i frankly suspect that he was also doing motorcross training to put more stress on it bc he mentions that his people have had to remove the wheels from his personal bikes to stop him from training before (to be fair i think this was during the shoulder rehab he was doing during the 2019/20 winter) and like. you don’t get that kinda policing from the guys who love you without some previous behaviors lmao. also literally he was posting himself doing weight training on that arm on tiktok the day before as evidenced below. i digress but the bone is broken!!! and he gets more surgery from dr. xavier mir. and oh boy does it heal wrong

so there’s not a lot of updates in this time bc marc is like. in his cave in cervera rehabbing like wow what a setback gee i sure can’t wait to be back on my bike… like i don’t think it had really set in that this was a lifelong injury yet. and unforch in december it’s revealed that the fracture is not healing, and he needs further surgery. this time he nixed dr mir and went to a specialist clinic in madrid (that’s partly why he moved there !!)

the clinic also discovered there was a previous infection in his bone, which probably halted the healing process further. it should be noted marc does not go to dr. mir for surgery anymore, which genuinely could mean absolutely nothing. he stayed in the hospital on iv antibiotics for ten days

after this and a LOT of time in the sling (12 weeks is best practice who knows what marc practice is lmao) he comes back to motogp in april of 2021 for the portuguese grand prix, with the stated goal of building up strength in his arm and evaluating where he’s at, which tells you how hard that last surgery was on him. in 2021 i think it starts to set in that this isn’t going to go away, and during this whole year and the next he’s in clear pain every time he’s on the bike AND the bike is kinda bad so its just awful hell lol. like yes he does win a few races but he cries every time and you can tell its really getting to him. this is the period that alex talks about where the pain is the worst, and marc is being mean to everyone around him, and he’s taking a lot of painkillers and complaining about having pimples/losing weight on instagram and generally having a miserable time. he calls this period "a nightmare" all the time

okay now we fast forward until 2022. marc has moved to madrid to get a girlfriend to see his bone doctor more. and the pain is NOT stopping. and the bike honestly sucks so hes not winning AND he just had a diplopia relapse so whats the POINT. and he's suffering and can feel the time in his career ticking downward like sand slipping through an hourglass and he goes to the all or nothing nuclear option and reaches out to the mayo clinic in the USA to see a specialist and see if he can do anything for him, disregarding the rest of the 2022 motogp season. and the specialist says yeah. we took a 3D scan of that bone you just spent a year of your life healing and it looks BUSTED AS HELL. truly from the stress he put on that thing while it was still healing it rotated 34 degrees and THATS part of why it hurts so much. its why he has no strength in his elbow, why he can’t brace anything with it, why his range of motion is so limited, why he can’t open a bottle of water by himself. it’s really degrading his quality of life, and most important to marc: its fucking with his riding lol.

and this doctor says well we break the bone again, rotate it back normally, and see how it goes. it could give you less pain and more ability to brake into corners. it could ALSO end your career. and marc sees the bone scans and agrees to surgery p much immediately. and he gets mayo clinic surgery in minnesota and takes hot girl instagram pics outside because of course he does. the craziest part of this article is when the surgeon says marc has "a great capacity for sacrifice"

and he gets another badass scar and thats where we are today! as to where the arm is now. well he says its isnt a normal arm but its more "uncomfy" in day to day life. i dont believe him but thats fine. like he DOES do a lot of maintenance on the arm i think thats fair to say. he has a limited range of motion. mat oxley says he'll wait until he thinks no one is watching and look like hes in pain when hes in the paddock. his gq interview w "essential things" included a massage gun and PT rubber bands. he stretches it out before races p extensively. he has a PT gurney in his living room. idk, he contradicts himself on this fairly regularly in order to suit his rhetorical needs at a given time, but im inclined to believe that hes in a LOT more pain than he lets on, he just also has more mobility to do sports things (his base level on his hierarchy of needs) and is in a lot less pain than he was in 2022. i think theres also a point that marc brings up in the documentary here that should be noted-- he emphasizes that he didnt do this to improve his quality of life (alex is the only one who mentions this actually, and HE makes a deliberate point to) but instead that he did it so he could win. i'd invite you to do with that information what you will !!!

sources: x, x, x, x, x, x

[kyoukorpse]

can you tell a little about your design for kris? the chain, the pins, the bandaids? why did you give them these details? just vibes or something else?

MMMMM yes. vibes, reasons, aesthetics... but it's all intentional :]

chained heart & lock over throat: kinda self explanatory, but also for aesthetics. in general I wanted kris to have a "cluttered" look since they're all over the place as a person with needs, desires, obligations and such. it sticks out, looks like a nice piece of jewelry for someone older, maybe it isn't even theirs.

the bandaids: shows their clumsiness using sharp objects like the knife they carry around. im a grown ass adult who still cuts my fingers when cooking sometimes i know damn well a teenager fumbling around with a kitchen knife is nicking themself constantly. also the varied colors in bandaids bc i notice how Toriel tends to baby them at times so I figured anything they'd have around is really colorful.

belt loop chain: like it says, its symbolism, but also bc I see kris taking oppurtunities where they can to express themself. punk/grunge/goths back in the day would get random chain links from hardware stores to modify for jewelry, i could see kris messing around with random stuff they find/come across too. little doses of self expression where they can. im very fond of that look when teens wear clothes that were clearly bought for them by older relatives, with accessories that clearly clash but were chosen/made by them. i like the implication of transitioning into their own identity, and while kris struggles with autonomy they clearly fight for it so i'd assume the same for expressing themself in different ways.

shirt pins: they're there to keep the big hole in their shirt closed, from constantly tearing their soul out all the time. stitches would show something that's been mended to stay that way. since there's no end in sight for their situation rn, the pins feel appropriate. a temporary fix. something that won't stay whole. i wanted to show that.

um thats my sentance hope u liked it lul

[b1rds3ye]

AAAA i loved that 141 + masked reader one!! omg you're filling my head with mask ideas now...

what if reader had one of those LED masks that showed different facial expressions? just walking around going ":D" ":]" "^-^" "?" ">:(" as a substitute of their real expressions. omfg imagine them coming back from a mission and price is praising them on their work or smth and they just hit him with the "uwu"

I'm glad so many people are liking the prompt, I had a lot of fun with it too!! This is very much giving me Watch Dogs 2 Wrench but also Rina Tennoji omg there are so many legendary masked characters-

The rest of the 141 were confused at first. While the mask provided anonymity, there was also the benefit of hiding facial information to an enemy. But now with these LEDs your emotions could be read like an open book, but ultimately they found it endearing.

Soap in particular loves your mask. Johnny loves surprising you to generate "!"s over the eyes and finds himself smiling every time your mask switches to a new emotion. As demolition expert, he prides himself over the one time he got you so riled up that an error message flashed across your mask. He's also genuinely curious about the mask and will gladly try to help if there are any technical difficulties or if you want a hardware upgrade. He's also the most unnerved out of the 141 if you ever turn the LEDs off, immediately by your side to comfort you as he can no longer read your mood.

Gaz doesn't often provoke you but he does find himself snickering whenever your expressions change from others. It's also an easy way for Kyle to keep track of how you're feeling, even when no one's around your mask automatically goes ";-;" when you're feeling down and he'll check up on you. Whenever he does make a joke though, he's immediately looking to your mask to see if someone will appreciate his humour. He also wishes you turned off your mask more during missions, the little angry face your mask makes isn't intimidating in the slightest and he can't risk getting distracted cooing over you during an op.

Ghost is very curious. Your own mask has him wondering if his own needs a bit of an upgrade - perhaps an LED skull mask with a moving lower jaw. Simon's heart warms up a bit at how you've picked a mask that's still so comically expressive, he enjoys interacting with someone that's so upfront with their emotions. He won't admit it but he finds it cute how your mask goes "-_-" whenever he says one of his horrendous "military humour" jokes. He's considerate of your mask and ensures that there is no water or liquids nearby.

Price's first concern was practicality (how the hell were you going to use night-vision?) but once the mask seems to work without a hitch, he now checks on your mask to not only gauge your mood but as a visual indicator of the overall atmosphere among the rest of the task force. You're now his favourite person to praise. He doesn't give it freely of course, but most of his subordinates will try to hide their smiles as they glow under his praise as they keep up their tough soldier persona. You though? The sudden "! o !" and then consequential "^_^" as you walk away with a hop in your step is probably the sweetest thing he's seen in his entire military career.

It's all fun and games until you turn off the LEDs - usually done in dark/covert missions or when you're interrogating the enemy. That's when you're truly unreadable, a masked terror. As you eliminate enemies in close combat the last thing they will see is their own face contorted into absolute terror as it is faintly reflected like a memory against the bottomless darkness of your visor.

Masked Reader Masterlist Call of Duty Masterlist

[queerpunk-kitten]

Imagine finding a drone.

A beaten, tired, discarded thing. Something so beautiful yet so broken. Imagine picking it up, bringing it home.

The poor thing tried so hard to reach perfection but constantly feel short. Because even the best drone can't be perfect. Because even the best drones have needs. Imagine your new owner taking you into its workshop. It used to be loved too. It remembers what it was like to be discarded as an older model.

It can't make you sleek and sharp and clean and polished like the expensive name brand hex drones. But it doesn't want you to be cold and perfect and polished. It wants you to be you. This owner remembers what it's like to be expected to be perfect. To be expected to erase the quirks and personality of its own programming.

It puts you back together. Scavenges parts from various places. You don't look like the other drones. Your connection to the hive is distant and hardly there. But the more time it takes to put you back together, the closer your connection to it becomes. It starts simply. Using the baseline hardware and working with basic commands and programming. "It's ok if you don't do it right the first time" it tells you. "I'll make sure I'm more clear in my command inputs" it tells you. Never once does it hurt or punish you. Never once does it scold or degrade you. Your old programming tells you to be sorrowful. It tells you to be afraid. Your new owner reminds you that it isn't like that anymore.

You get your parts. It's a bit of a modular system. It's not as clean or as sharp or as sleek as the other drones. But it was done with such love and care and time. Your owner broke the mold for you. It couldve made you look like the others. Reintegrated you into the hive.

Instead it was gentle. Careful. Intentional. You love being a drone. Your new owner loves building it's ideal drone. You let your new programming take hold. It feels safe, comfortable, secure. You aren't afraid anymore. You love being a drone. You love your new owner. It loves you just as much.

[vadedoesart]

OTP rough sketches, idk if I'll ever finish. I'm a multi-shipper. I'd just like to state that for the record. I love me some good Sonamy, Sonadow, Sonshadamy, Silvonic blah blah blah etc. Honestly, as long as it's not anything illegal or creepy, then I either like it or am indifferent towards it. But of course, I have my OTPs and my personal headcanons. I am aware that some people won't SHARE my headcanons, and that's FINE! Anyways besides Shadamy being my OTP, here are my two other favorite ships, and the dynamics I like for them. There's more for Metilver bc they're a rarepair... I crave to RP them or write a story for them or something someday... </3

Metilver:

My headcannon for Silver (He/Him) is that he's constantly being told to chill out or calm down, and he's one crash out from leveling an entire city with an uncontrolled telekinetic surge. Overall, he's outwardly optimistic and gentle, inwardly, however, he's repressing a LOT of emotions, which is rather unhealthy, and he has memory issues because of it sometimes. He's also like- 1/4th Komodo dragon, and his spit is venomous. He has a mouth and he wants to kiss, but cannot kiss... Metal is the exception to this because he isn't organic. He's Demisexual.

My Metal Sonic (He/They) is selectively mute. He doesn't speak to anyone but Ivo (father), Sage (sister), Orbot (cousin), Cubot (cousin), Amy, and Silver. He 100% believes that he is the REAL Sonic, but also feels as though he is completely different from the blue blur as well. He was obedient at first, but during one of his inactive stages when Tails was repairing him, Tails installed a virus in his hardware that gave him more free will before setting him free. He listens to Ivo out of his own volition, and is morally neutral evil at best. Metal is very much Demiaroace.

Relationship-wise, Silver believes he can fix Metal and make him better, while Metal thinks he can corrupt Silver and turn him evil. Together, they even each other out, and Metal in return never tells Silver to "chill out" or "calm down". Silver is a yapper, and Metal is a listener. Although Metal is a robot and therefore cannot "love" he's incredibly fond of Silver, and eventually becomes loyal to only him after Ivo inevitably passes. Using his Neo form, he eventually uses his bio scan to make himself a bit more... "Organic" and learns that he does in fact, love Silver.

Knuxouge:

Rouge (PROUD She/Her) is an ordinary vampire bat, and discreetly drinks blood. She's an ordinary Morphian by... my AU standards, but she doesn't believe in all the purist interpecies ableist bullshit. She's Shadow's best wingman and has a sort of older sister bond with the edgie hedgie. She's Bi.

Knuckles (He/Him) is considered an Evomut in my AU because of his odd coat color, but isn't harassed too much because he's a massive dude who would willingly punch a bigot. He's very much a feminist and has a big brother bond with Amy. He loves her to death (platonically) and is very much an advocate for her. He's the straightest motherfucker in the group, but he's 100% an ally.

Rouge "wears the pants" in the relationship. She's a huge flirt to Knuckles, and at first both of them are dancing round each other like a lovesick war. Eventually, when they do get together, Knuckles absolutely adores Rouge, and Rouge absolutely loves Knuckles. They take care of the master emerald together.

[ms-demeanor]

fucking client emailed in requesting a license last night at 10, called today before nine asking for the license and if I could hurry this along because it was urgent; being the person that I am I went to go find some more information and discovered that the customer wants to do an in-place upgrade on a nine-year-old free license to a recent server license which is.

A) not possible with the service pack they have installed B) probably not compatible with the two kinds of software they have talking to the database C) probably not compatible with their actual server, which blew up spectacularly in January.

(all of which is to say nothing about the wide variety of possible ways to purchase and install the license, but probably standard is what they want even if they're technically too big for it)

I talk to my team, most of whom do not have much experience with upgrades/migrations for this software and we all agree that more research into their environment is needed, including possibly calls with their other software vendors and also possibly maybe replacing their twelve year old server.

Call the client at 2pm and let him know that this project is going to be more rigorous than just ordering a license, let them know that this isn't being dropped or ignored, but we need more information and will be in contact when more of the team knows what's going on.

5:14 PM, my coworker messages me "hey, do we have a tenant for this client?"

I message my coworker: "fucking lol, this is about their license, isn't it?"

It is about their license. They have sent in an emergency after hours ticket describing the issue as urgent: they have purchased the license on their own from a consumer vendor unaware of the fact that they need admin access to a tenant to download the software.

I create a tenant for the client and document the information, then provide the tenant ID.

And then since it's urgent, it's an emergency, I begin gathering data and composing an email.

The license won't populate to the tenant for hours at least and probably not for a full day.

They didn't actually tell us what license they've got, but if they plan to use it with one flavor of software they've got they probably need a secondary license they were totally unaware of.

I have found no evidence whatsoever that this license is compatible with their other software.

I hop into an after hours meeting with one of our tier three consultants to get the exact version number of the software and confirm that there is not a straightforward upgrade path between the license they have and the license they want.

I send an email advising that if their developer wants to make an upgrade they MUST back up the database because we have emergency backups, not database backups, let them know in writing "per our conversation this afternoon, this is why we don't think this will work" and thank them cheerfully, letting them know to reach out if they have questions about licensing.

hit send at half past eight.

Combined after hours work on this "emergency" "critical" "urgent" ticket is now probably about half the hardware cost of a better server.

I get that emergencies happen, but buddy if I tell you "hey, I know you are in a rush with this but we have to take our time to do this correctly" and you ignore me and make me stay late to handle your "critical" ticket, you and I both are not going to have a good time.