#this is becoming more and more of an issue

[heybrine]

Curv Dreams Pack

Here's my new pack for January! I saw THIS in pinterest and I just HAD TO make it in Sims. A kids/infants bedroom. I really wanted this to feel like a kids playroom almost, but as cozy and comfy possible as for kids to feel like a daydream bedroom!

This color pallete is my base colors that I always use with more colorful options, but as always there are wood tones available too! All pieces from the wardrobe are modulars and you can play around with the design!

I was having some issues with the playmat and it was crashing the game, so I decided to make it just decorative (so no issues anymore!) but I will try to make it functional, if I succeed I'll update it.

I was so in love with this inspo and seeing come to life was trully awesome! I love how it's super cutesy and fun! I hope you love it as much as I do! ❤️

You can always see more info on my patreon here!

If you wish, you can become a member and get early acess 😊 --- Public release on the 17th of February 2025

[hcneymooners]

⋆ you pull my hair, you call me.

jinx x mermaid!f!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you are a mermaid living in a hidden grotto of the undercity. one day, jinx wanders into your territory. or more accurately, the ruins of her old haunt.

cw: mermaid!reader, canon divergence!au, discussions of trauma, discussion of child loss, mental health issues, non-sexual intimacy, sfw, however, there are suggestive themes, age gap, girl you are literally thousands of years old.

notes: in these coming days, i hold on tightly to fantasies. they become stronger, more intricate. i feel it is my only way to survive. this is dedicated to @s-4pphics, the only person who makes me feel like a real life mermaid.

The water remembers everything. It's why you were born into it. Your mind is a steel trap, a lattice of love and loss.

Water does not coddle the memory, but it soothes. When your mother crawled into the reservoir to birth you, it did not coddle her naked body as it twisted and expelled you. It did nothing to lessen the sore peaks of her nipples as her breasts swelled and hardened with milk. But it soothed.

Your birth was similar to the experience of having birds flutter out of one’s chest. You came into the world with the rush of wind and at the peak of death, eyes big and your silence even larger. You were a beautiful baby with a delicately scaled face, and from the beginning your mother knew you were different.

She holds you, tells you her name—a name that means one thousand flowers. It fits her; you understand this even one minute fresh into your life. Your mother was one thousand flowers both blooming and decaying at once.

You were born in the winter, snow touching the tender skin of your forehead. It is also winter when your mother, a woman of a thousand flowers, dies.

Her body seems to flutter and pulse until it shudders into foam. The water soothes you as you sink. You stay on the ocean floor for what is close to forever. The years pass, but water remembers.

It remembers the screaming, the fire, the way the undercity shattered like a dropped mirror. The shards spun out and out. You never braved the world, then. You would come close to the surface, float backward and bent as you watched the sky smear into green gas and heat. The water—and therefore you—remember the taste of ash and gunpowder, the iron-rich flavor of blood and revenge.

But mostly, you remember her—that odd girl with chaos pumping inside of her like a second, third heart who came stumbling through the wreckage of her old workshop, trailing ghosts and grief like a burial shroud.

You've been watching her for days. Your kind has always been drawn to broken things, to the places where pain bleeds into water until you can't tell where one ends and the other begins. She fascinates you with her paleness, with her long body that is painted and bared by the shoddy work of her pants and the cut of her top. You hide behind large chunks of driftwood, eye the swivel of her hips as she paces and turns. Her eyes are strange, too pale ghosts colored silvery blue. She closes them, opens, closes.

She is like a small bird, this woman. She carries destruction in her hands but cradles it like a wounded animal at times, afraid to hold too tight, afraid to let go. The first time she breaks, it's like watching a star collapse.

She falls to her knees at the water's edge, her wail echoing off the mineral-crusted walls of what was once her sanctuary. Her hands tear and tug at her braids as if she could rip the memories right out of her skull, like plucking loose the weave of a tapestry. The water around you shivers with her anguish, and your body preens; it tells you that you cannot stay hidden any longer.

You rise from the depths like a dream, your hair carrying traces of phosphorescent algae that provide a lazy glow as it swirls around your face. Her eyes fix on you, fever-bright and wild, but she doesn't run. Maybe she thinks you're a hallucination. Maybe she's just too tired to be afraid. 

You understand this.

The silence lasts for a while. The two of you exist across from one another, your face settling on your hands as you inch forward. She has yet to notice the flutter of your tail, but it's only a matter of time. You can see the light refracting off of it into a million sparks of light, dancing across the ceiling as you near her.Her mouth parts and you feel your own hinge open. You are trying to remember, trying to make yourself just like her if only to assuage her fear. Your tongue unfurls, neat and a deep blue. She blinks in surprise, which allows you to speak first.

"I am [Name]," you say, and your voice is a gentle purr like someone has stumbled over the strings of a harp. You are learning, thinking of how humans relate to one another. You don't tell her your real name, your name birthed by ocean and the melt of your mother's scale in the middle of your tongue. You are a woman of a thousand white waves, because every woman in your family has a thousand of something. "This, here, is my home."

You reach out now, because you have seen this before. Her people hug and grasp at one another in welcoming. The woman jerks, falls with a sick crunch on one of those pale hips in an effort to get away from you. You are hurt, and alarmed, and retreat further into the water. Your hand is still clawed as if to hold hers.

"Get back," she warns, voice raw and hoarse. Her eyes repeat their pattern. Close, open. Open and close. You close yours to see what she sees. Your eyelids are thin, translucent. The world can still be seen. She is right in front of you. "I'll hurt you. I'm a curse; I hurt everything.”

You open your eyes now, reach for her anyway. Your scaled hands catch hers, gentling them away from her hair. You smooth the strands, like your sister would do to you when the poachers came.

"My kind cannot be cursed," you tell her. This close she can feel the vibration, the way that your voice carries echoes of tidal pools and deep-sea trenches. "We are older than magic, older than pain. A different kind of creature."

She laughs, and it sounds like breaking glass. "Yeah? Well I bet you've never met anything like me before."

But you have. You've seen the way trauma can twist a soul, how it can make someone forget the shape of their own heart. You've watched your own kind waste away from grief and pollution, watched your bloodline dwindle to almost nothing. You recognize the look in her eyes—it's the same one you saw in your sister's before the toxic waste claimed her, before disease took your mother.

"Do not tell me what you think I know," you answer and she fidgets within your hold.

You are unsure of how to calm her, so you rummage deep inside of your long memory. You think of your mother. Now, you know. You pull her into the water with you, and she thrashes at first—all spinning limbs and desperate gasping. She is much like a fish at the end of a hook, you think. But you hold her, humming an ancient lullaby that vibrates through the water around you both.

Your singing voice, your Melody was always more unsightly than the others. So much higher and almost dissonant, like the cry of a whale during its migration. You mostly Sang alone, while others Sang together. But it winds around Jinx; maybe she is dissonant too. Slowly, so slowly, she stills.

"This is my body," you murmur, pressing close, your scales catching the ethereal light. "And this is yours." Your hands trace her tattoos like star maps, feeling the stories written in ink and scar tissue. You pause at her stomach, feeling an old grief there. You cast your Melody again, and it falls like a net over the skin underneath your fingers.

"You had a child," you say softly, and she goes rigid in your arms.

"Yes.” She admits this truth as if it hurts her. “She was not—not mine.”

“What was her name?”

“Isha,” she chokes out. “She was... I was supposed to protect her." 

“Mmm,” you say. “She was yours. I can feel it. She was yours, and you lost her.” 

You adjust your embrace, thumb at her bottom lip to reveal her blunt teeth. You have no understanding that this is not normal, that this touching and holding and avid tenderness is not of their culture. This woman, this bloodless weeping woman gazes at you. 

“Your motherhood,” you murmur, “sits inside you like a stone. It is closed, like an oyster. You must name it to begin to release the pain.” 

You press down on her lip. 

“What is your name?”

“Jinx,” she whispers.

“Good,” you tell her. “So, you are Jinx. Jinx, mother of Isha.”

The words seem to break something loose in her, and suddenly she's crying—great, heaving sobs that shake her whole body. You hold her through it, letting her tears mix with the mineral-rich water of your grotto. Strange woman, you think. She is a strange, sweet thing.

Her stomach tenses and releases, over and over. You never once stop your Song.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

Days blur together after that. Time moves strangely here. The two of you are a jigsaw puzzle of connection, platonic or maybe familial. You do not ask, preferring to preserve what you have. 

Jinx is shy in the first few moments, a trait you suspect is unfamiliar to her. She builds herself a nest above the waterline: a chaos of stolen furniture and salvaged tech that somehow fits the space perfectly. You watch her work, fascinated by how her hands can create as easily as they dismantle. Sometimes she catches you staring and explains things to you—human concepts that make little sense but delight you anyway.

You measure progress not in days but in small victories: the first time Jinx falls asleep with her head in your lap, fingers curled trustingly around your scales. The morning she lets you rebraid her hair, your webbed fingers gentle against her scalp as you weave strands of luminescent crystal through the blue. The day she shows you how to make paper boats and sets them afloat with tiny lights inside, until the cavern ceiling reflects a mirror image of the stars she remembers from her brief childhood.

You offer up knowledge in return. You speak the thick language of old, born of trench sand and sulfur cracks. She loves when you sing, when your mouth unhinges to show your blue tongue and slightly jagged teeth. She wades into the grotto, standing in the shallow water that barely reaches her ankles, and closes her eyes. She sways as your Melody flows over her, shivering as if touched by cold.

You usually finish the performance by swimming to her, carefully holding her ankles between your extended claws and calling directly to her. This is your favorite—a secret you keep close. You adore how she gazes down at you, how her eyes trace the curve of your slick breasts and torso as you rise to meet her.

You climb until your noses brush, and then you laugh, a sound like the gentle puff of a flute. When you laugh, your gills seize and flex, and Jinx places a hand against them, tracing them until you crook your neck and trill. (That's her favorite.)

"[Name], you can't just walk around topless all the time," she tells you one day, trying not to laugh as you examine a shirt with obvious confusion. The fabric flutters strangely in her hands. "Humans are weird about bodies."

"But they're just bodies," you say, running a webbed hand over your scales. Again, her eyes follow. She closes her eyes, thinking of how your breasts are round and soft like the moon in her hand. You reach out, drawing her closer until she's touching you. "See? This is just flesh. The body is only a  house for our soul."

She grows quiet then, thoughtful in a way that makes her look younger. "Maybe that's why I'm so messed up. My house is... kind of a disaster zone."

You pull her close, letting your tail manifest and wrap around her legs. "Then we'll build you a new one. Piece by piece."

The trust comes in fragments, in stolen quiet moments. Some days she can't bear to be touched, and you give her space, watching from the depths as she paces and talks to ghosts you can't see. Other days she's almost peaceful, letting you massage her scalp or teaching you human games with cards that always seem to explode at exactly the wrong moment.

One night, the voices in her head were particularly loud. You hear it from beneath the water—you sleep closer to the surface since meeting her—and rise to find her jolting in her sleep. You don't think, only move, remembering to rid yourself of your tail only when it scrapes against a sheet of metal jutting from the sand.

You hum agitatedly, distressed by her furrowed brow and trembling body, then take her deeper into the grotto than she's ever been before. Here, crystal formations pulse with bioluminescence, casting rainbow shadows on walls that have never known sunlight. Schools of blind fish dart around you both, their scales glowing like fallen stars.

It takes her a while to wake, but you stay suspended and curled around her. You keep watch, eyeing the murky kelp forests that tease at your fins. There are other, older ways into this grotto that never bothered you before. But now, you're too aware of all the ways someone could reach the jinx resting in your arms.

You see bubbles snort from her nose as she begins to stir, and you move quickly to pluck a shell from the rainbow-dusted walls. The inside is sticky and suctions to her mouth, threading a tendril inside to loop around her lungs and better facilitate her breathing underwater. You don't understand why it works, but you've seen the surface swimmers use it before.

Jinx makes a horrible rasping noise before the shell's work settles in, and then breathing comes easier. The shell is now translucent and attenuated. She cups your side as she shifts in your hold, her unbraided hair thick around her face.

"This is beautiful," she whispers, and for once there's no edge to her voice, no great waiting catastrophe. You know she means you.

"Thank you," you respond, smiling with all your teeth. She smiles crookedly back.

"This was my mother's sanctuary," you tell her, leading her to a cave where ancient glyphs cover the walls. You see her back bend with the water's pressure, and you slow your pace. "There used to be many of me, my bloodline. But the surface world's poisons reached even here." You trace one of the symbols—a spiky, spherical rune that you think means 'confession'. This glyph is older than you, part of a complex language no surface dweller nor merfolk of this time has spoken in millennia. "Now there are only three of us left."

She's quiet for a long moment, her hand finding yours in the glowing water. "Does it ever get easier? Being the only one who survived?"

You think of your sister's last days, of your mother's fading voice. "No," you answer honestly. "But it becomes... different. The pain changes shape, becomes something you can carry without breaking."

She leans into you at that, and you feel the tremors that always precede one of her episodes. But this time, she doesn't fight it. She lets you hold her as the chaos revisits her, trusts you to keep her head above water—in a manner of speaking—as she shakes apart and slowly, slowly comes back together.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

It doesn’t simply disappear. Jinx is one of the spirits’ favorite souls to torture and possess.

Most nights, the past continues to crawl up through the cracked floors of the grotto like a cadaver, its saccharine breath seeping into Jinx's dreams until she wakes screaming. And on most of these nights, you find her in her nest of blankets and broken things, her skin fever-hot and her eyes seeing horrors you cannot share.

But after you take her down, beneath the surface, it is different. Now, most nights, she comes to you.

The pattern is the same: you hear her bare feet on the stone before you see her, padding toward the water's edge like a sleepwalker. Her hair is almost always loose, falling around her face in a cascade that reminds you of the sharp stretch of evening sky across the Arctic Ocean. Then she reaches the pool's edge, but she doesn’t stop.

The water accepts her like a lover, closing over her head in a gentle baptism. You rise to meet her, your form shifting in the dipping waves. You cup the nape of her neck and insert the shell. Your skin takes on its natural sheen, scattered with scales that catch the light like opals. Your hair moves as if still underwater even when you break the surface, glistening tendrils floating around your face. Your eyes are all pupil and hold the depths of the ocean, ancient and knowing, utterly without fear. You reach for her, and, like in the beginning, she still tries to pull away; you simply shake your head.

"Your curse cannot touch me," you remind her, your voice like water over stones. "I am not of your world." Your hands move to cup her face, thumbs brushing away tears that roll from the puffy cliff’s edge of her pale eyes. "I am of the deep places, the dark waters. We recognize our own, remember?"

Remember? You always ask her this. It’s all she ever does.

You rise fully from the water then, your form shifting like light through waves until you stand on human legs, naked and gleaming. You pull Jinx to her feet and begin to undress her with the innocent purpose of a child, unbound by human conventions of modesty or shame. She allows it, trembling—not from cold or fear, but from the overwhelming sensation of being touched without consequence, of being seen. She has yet to confess how much she needs this.

"This is my body," you murmur, pressing close, your scaled hands tracing the bridge of her spine. You are reminding her. "And this is yours. We are both such difficult creatures."

"I don't understand you," she whispers, but her hands come up to trace the patterns of your scales, mapping the places where your skin shifts from human to something else entirely.

You catch her hand and press it flat against your chest, letting her feel the strange rhythm of your heart—beating in time with the tides.

"Fear is for those who have something to lose. My kind has already lost almost everything. What's left is..." You pause, searching for words in a language not made for shadowy creatures like you. "What's left is precious because it survived. I am surviving. You are surviving with me.”

Something shifts in her expression then, understanding blooming like oil across the top of a gulf. Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer until your foreheads touch.

"Show me again," she breathes, begging. Her breath smells sweet, like candy under the tongue and behind the teeth. "Please."

You take her deeper into the grotto than before, past the engraved walls and into the true heart of your domain. Here, the water is almost desperately alive, swirling with colors that have no names in any human tongue. Your tail manifests fully, lashing out. You seem to be made of living jewels. You are a terrible, beautiful monster; your body twists like a snake as you duck and dive. Jinx watches, transfixed, as you dance through the water, showing her your true way of living.

You do what your kind does when in love. You Sing. You Pull her.

"I've been trying to fix my machines," she says when your last note fades. You are shaking. You have never Sung that hard before. Your Melody has undone you, and you swim weakly back to her. She touches your face, dusts your cheeks with her pruned fingertips. "To make lights that look like this." She gestures at the bioluminescent display around you. "But I keep fucking it up. Everything I touch turns to..."

"A mess," you finish for her. These thoughts are not new. "But a mess is not always born of destruction." You guide her hand through the water, watching the way the disturbed bioluminescence creates new patterns, new constellations. "Sometimes it's just change. It is new, without guidance. You are trying again, relearning. This is only necessary disorder."

She laughs, but it's softer than usual. "Is that what I am? Disordered?"

You pull her closer, letting your tail wrap around her legs as you float together in the heart of the sea. "You are what you choose to be. Here, in these waters, you don't have to be anything but yourself." You pull back so that you can see your hands as you sign to her, curl your fingers into the symbols she’s seen on the walls.

You have changed me. You mouth the words so that she truly understands. You sign it again, across her naked chest so that she can feel the drag of your claws and the pump of her blood in response.

"I don’t feel changed, and I don’t want to ruin you. What if I am still broken?" Her voice cracks on the last word.

"Then be broken here with me," you tell her, pressing your lips to her temple. "The water remembers everything, but it also cleanses. It changes. It heals."

She turns in your arms, and for once, her eyes are clear. No fever, no muddle—just Jinx, looking at you like she’s seeing you for the first time. Her hands find your face, thumbs tracing the almost invisible scales at your temples. You raise your hands, fingers contorting as you sign once more.

We have changed each other. It is a symptom of love.

Jinx says nothing, then she moves. You forget how agile she can be at times. With a few spritely movements, she is holding your waist and treading water. One hand comes up, cradling your face. There is a pause, and you glance at her, eyes wide with confusion and anticipation. This is new. She studies you, and you belatedly realize she is waiting for something. Permission, you think.

“Yes?” you ask. She smiles; it’s the right answer.

She slips out the shell, and you startle. This is dangerous, but she doesn’t care. She stops you.

Her hand nestles thoroughly in your hair, tilting your head until your flesh is exposed to her lips. Again and again, she presses her mouth to your neck. She suckles, nips, until your tail flicks. She is kissing you. You’ve never been kissed before—not like this.

Her teeth dig in, needling at the meat of your throat until it’s mottled and bruised. Then her lips come up to yours. At first, you breathe into her mouth to give her oxygen. Jinx pulls back, grips your jaw, and shakes you slightly. Then her lips return to yours, applying pressure until you open your mouth and allow her tongue in. She licks at your teeth, tracing the points as she holds you to her.

You feel lightheaded, disoriented. You feel good; you want more of her. After a long while, she breaks the contact. Her thumb settles at the base of your throat, slipping to the side to play with your gills. You trill sharply, and she laughs. You don’t want to say it, but you know—you want it to stay this way forever.

Jinx takes her shell from where she had placed it on her stomach. She allows it back into her throat, breathing in deeply. Then she lifts her hands and signs to you—clumsy but earnest.

Yes. You have changed me. It is a symptom of love.

𓇼 ⋆｡˚ 𓆝⋆｡˚ 𓇼

"I used to think I had to be loud," she tells you one night, floating on her back in the shallow parts of the grotto. Her hair fans out around her head like spilled ink, and you can't help but run your fingers through it, watching the way it parts around your hands. "Had to be crazy, had to be Jinx, because if I wasn't, then I'd have to be... her. The girl I was before. And she was weak. She got left behind."

You hum softly, the crystals below resonating in harmony. "Perhaps she wasn't weak," you suggest, tracing the constellation of freckles on her shoulder. "Perhaps she was just unfinished, like a pearl before the ocean completes its formation."

She turns to look at you then, the emotion in her eyes making your heart beat in that strange double rhythm that only happens when she's near.

"Is that what you're doing?" she asks. "Finishing me?"

You shake your head, pulling her closer until she's cradled against your chest, her back to your front, both of you suspended in the gentle current. "No one can complete you but yourself. I'm just... holding the space for you to do it.”

She's quiet for so long you think she might have fallen asleep. Then: "I’m in love with you." Her voice is barely a whisper, as if the words might shatter the peace.

Instead of answering, you press your lips to her shoulder, right where a new tattoo is healing—a pattern of waves and crystals mirroring your own scales. You helped her design it, watching in fascination as she used her clever hands to create the automaton.

"For us," you tell her, "it is different. We don't fall in love the way humans do. There's less emphasis on choices. It’s more like... finding a current that matches your own, something that pulls you in the same direction for the rest of your life. I've been swimming in your current since the day you arrived. There’s a vibration you release, deep inside me. You set it off, again and again."

Your mouth works oddly around the word "belly." She smiles at your struggle, turning in your embrace to press her forehead to yours in the way she knows you love. Her hands find your face, and you press a kiss to her fingers, grazing your teeth over her thumb. She shivers, captures your mouth briefly, then tucks herself back against you. Drowsy, she begins to dream and you let her, drifting your body lazily along the stretch of water to rock her.

It is then that you hear them—footsteps on stone, careful and measured. You recognize them instantly: the heavy tread of the enforcer, the lighter step of her companion. They've been searching for months, following rumors of blue hair seen in the Undercity's depths.

Jinx doesn't hear them, not yet. She’s drifting in that peaceful place between wakefulness and sleep, her body trustingly pliant in your embrace. She’d had an episode before this—memories of fire leaving her shaking for hours. But now she's quiet, her breathing synced with the gentle lap of water against stone.

You sense her presence before you see her, a disturbance in the air that makes the algae pulse brighter. The Sister. Her presence feels much like Jinx’s but more weathered, carrying the weight of blood. It catches in your throat unpleasantly, making you want to cough. Her footsteps falter at the grotto's entrance. The other one—Caitlyn, you recall—steadies her with a touch, but neither makes a sound.

They stand frozen at the sight before them: Jinx floating in the ethereal water, her hair unbound and threaded with living light, her face peaceful in a way they've never seen. Your tail curls protectively around her legs beneath the surface, scales catching and reflecting the cavern's natural light until it seems like you're both in some unreachable heaven. You bare your teeth to shatter the fantasy.

The Sister’s sharp intake of breath echoes off the stone. Jinx stirs slightly, but you soothe her with a soft hum, reworking her lullaby until the water itself vibrates in harmony. Her fingers tighten briefly on your arms before relaxing again.

When you meet the Sister’s eyes over Jinx's shoulder, you see tears tracking silently down her face. There's recognition there, and grief, and something like hope. You see the moment she understands what you are—not just a creature of the deep but a guardian. Her sister’s keeper; her sister’s mate.

Caitlyn moves forward as if to speak, but Violet—yes, Violet—stops her with a gentle touch. They watch as you shift slightly, letting them see how Jinx's newest tattoos mirror your own patterns—not random splashes of pain and memory but flowing lines that speak of partnership, of flesh and form meant to slot into one another.

A soft noise escapes Violet’s throat, something between a sob and a laugh. Jinx stirs again, and this time you let your gaze drop deliberately to her face, your webbed hands smoothing over her shoulders in a gesture that couldn't be more clear: She is safe here. She is loved here.

You raise a hand, your eyes slipping into their true state to make your threat clear. You know the Piltover girl will understand; her home is the home of poachers. Safe, you sign. Then, Go.

The Sister nods once, tears still falling. Her hand finds Caitlyn's and squeezes hard. You watch understanding pass between them—the recognition that sometimes healing happens in strange places, that sometimes love wears unfamiliar, frightening faces.

They turn to leave, but at the last moment, Violet looks back. Her lips form words you can read even across the distance: Thank you. Only when their footsteps fade completely do you press a kiss to Jinx's temple, tasting the salt of tears that aren’t your own.

"Are they gone?" Jinx's voice is quiet, still heavy with sleep.

"Yes," you answer honestly, because you've never lied to her and won’t start now.

She turns in your embrace, pressing her face into your neck where your scales fade into skin. "I'm not ready," she whispers. "Not yet."

"You can stay here," you promise, letting your tail wrap more securely around her. "For as long as you need. But you will not lose me. I will not lose you.”

She lifts her head to look at you, and her eyes are like silver dollars. You mimic her blinking for what must be the millionth time. Open, close. Close and open. She smiles at this. You smile, hollowing your throat to coo, mimicking the call of a bird of paradise. She laughs now; you are pleased.

 "Tell me again," she murmurs. "About your promise."

Your tail flicks as you nod.

“I will never leave; I will only follow,” you begin. The words are heavy, sacred mating rites belonging solely to your tribe. “The water flows across the earth; it is immovable. It is the human that will fade, not the earth, not myself. We will both replenish. Where you go, I will be there—past death and beyond.

Jinx rises, cupping your face firmly, her touch restricting your movement.

“Promise?” she asks, her voice dipping low, laced with danger.

“I promise.”

She presses her lips to your neck, her teeth sinking in as always. You let out a high, trembling sound, your control slipping. Suddenly, you’re human, treading water. Jinx hooks an arm beneath you, lifting you effortlessly as the water renders you weightless.

“I promise.”

You repeat it, over and over.

IpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseIpromiseI promiseI promise—

Jinx drags you from the grotto, positioning herself over you. Your words are still spilling out like a mantra.

“I know,” she murmurs.

Her warm, sugary lips cover yours, silencing you. She swallows you down.

© hcneymooners.

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[demilypyro]

Ok so as someone who knows very little about sonic characters that aren't the main cast. Can you explain to me who Surge is? (I am asking you to infodump. I understand I could just check the wiki but then you wouldn't get to talk about a character you like)

Alright you asked for it. Long post attack.

So Eggman had this protege named Doctor Starline, who had a falling out with his mentor and hatched a plan to kill Sonic and replace him with a new hero, one who would take Sonic's place in the eyes of the people but be under his control.

So he kidnapped a random girl off the street (no name or history known at this point), filled her with a bunch of cybernetics to give her superpowers, and slowly brainwashed and trained her into becoming essentially Sonic's equivalent of Wario.

This was Surge the Tenrec.

As Sonic's so-called "imposter," Surge is like an exaggerated version of Sonic. She has his heroic heart, but also his temper, his pride, his irresponsibility, his rudeness, all turned up to 11. She's got the standard super speed, as well as electrokinesis - lightning powers. She's accompanied by Kitsunami, or just Kit, a blue fennec with water powers and a similar background, but who was based on Tails instead.

As part of their brainwashing, Surge was conditioned to hate Sonic. As Surge's backup, Kit was conditioned to want to support Surge in any way he can.

Surge and Kit eventually found out what had happened to them, how Starline had kidnapped and brainwashed them, and were planning to betray him. Before they could, however, Starline was killed, after being thoroughly trounced by Eggman, leaving Surge and Kit free to do whatever they want.

When Surge finally encountered Sonic, she blamed him for what had happened to her. She holds him responsible for always letting Eggman survive to come back another day, leading to ever-escalating conflict. While before she had no real reason to hate him beyond her brainwashing, all that baseless animosity now had a foundation, and she's wanted to take him down since. Surge and Kit have had several fights with Sonic and Tails already, and while they were defeated each time, it's clear they pose a real threat.

Left with only each other, and having no real goals beyond taking down Sonic and Tails, and no hints to their past, Surge and Kit became a neutral force of chaos, not affiliated with either Sonic or Eggman. While Surge has the desire to be a hero, she can't let go of her grudge toward Sonic, and Kit's obsession with helping Surge regularly shows itself to be unhealthy, which may lead to a falling out between them in the future.

Since their first appearance in the Impostor Syndrome mini-series, they've made regular appearances in the main comic starting with issue #50. They've been making waves, establishing new rivalries and inciting new conflicts. Sonic wants to believe there's good in Surge, but she's a tough nut for him to crack.

Surge is one of the series' best original characters. Surge is cool, has an interesting origin, and she contrasts Sonic in a way that gives ample opportunities for new stories. She's got a good heart, but she's carrying around a ton of trauma and animosity she doesn't know what to do with. She's scrappy, resourceful, and more introspective than you might expect. And by often being positioned as the underdog, she's very easy to root for.

I was always a bit uninterested in the Sonic series at large, but Surge really got me on board. She really made me a fan.

She's my favorite Sonic character.

If you're interested, look into the Imposter Syndrome mini-series, which leads right into Sonic IDW issue #50, or you can just read Sonic IDW from the start.

Okay bye

[nika6q]

In the spirit of fact checking. The Facebook post can be found here

It's been amended :

Amended Post (especially related to #1 below):

Some Wise Advice Circulating:

1. Use his name sparingly so as not to detract from the issues. I believe that everyone, regardless of their beliefs, deserves the dignity of being called by their name. However, this is a strategic tactic. While we are so focused on him we are prone to neglect the questionable policies that threaten freedom, justice and fairness advanced by the administration.

2. Remember this is a regime and he's not acting alone;

3. Do not argue with those who support him and his policies--it doesn't work;

4. Focus on his policies, not his appearance and mental state;

5. Keep your message positive; those who oppose peace and justice want the country to be angry and fearful because this is the soil from which their darkest policies will grow;

6. No more helpless/hopeless talk;

7. Support artists and the arts;

8. Be careful not to spread fake news. Check it;

9. Take care of yourselves; and

10. Resist!

Keep demonstrations peaceful. In the words of John Lennon, "When it gets down to having to use violence, then you are playing the system’s game. The establishment will irritate you - pull your beard, flick your face - to make you fight! Because once they’ve got you violent, then they know how to handle you. The only thing they don’t know how to handle is non-violence and humor."

When you post or talk about him, don't assign his actions to him, assign them to "The Republican Administration," or "The Republicans." This will have several effects: the Republican legislators will either have to take responsibility for their association with him or stand up for what some of them don't like; he will not get the focus of attention he craves; Republican representatives will become very concerned about their re-elections.

[ceepi]

One of the first things that people ask when it comes to the rise of the Nazis to power is "why did the Germans vote for Hitler?". The response is always discussing the difficult economic situation of Germany at the time, the tension between people following the First World War, and Hitler's manipulation. Looking back on Hitler's campaign we can discern that he did in fact play on people's emotions, but other than that his speeches weren't particularly good. We can see the clear hints of the more harmful ideologies, until that's all that they become. We can sit here and judge the people of 1936 Germany and wonder why they would choose Hitler to solve their problems. Americans today are faced with the same issue as post-WWI Germans. The promises made by politicians are so appealing that people choose to ignore what it really means. The mass deportation of immigrants promised by Trump can be clearly linked back to Hitler's attempts to get rid of Jews. Both passionately blamed minorities for the problems of the common people. Hitler sowed hate amongst individuals, gave the masses someone to blame, blew things massively out of proportion so that he could then justify the horrible acts that he planned to enact on these minorities. Trump is clearly going down the same path. Elon Musk, chosen by Trump himself, given a position in government made just for him, did a Nazi salute in front of a crowd of people and faced only increased support from his followers. The MAGA agenda makes excuses for billionaires who actively harm them. They are seeing how much they can get away with before they lose these people, because despite working against the people that same group gave them the power to do so.

Your enemy isn't the woman trying to get an abortion. Your enemy isn't the gay couple you saw on the street. Your enemy isn't the immigrant, the black person, the trans person, isn't anyone that the right-wing is telling you is.

Your enemies are the politicians, the billionaires, the people who will come for you once they're done with everyone else.

Revolt, protest, take matters into your own hands because the people who tried saving you have had their rights taken away already and can no longer risk it.

[qinluna]

sylus mentally preparing himself to meet your family only to be completely stumped when you finally find the courage to confess to him that your relationship to your family is rather… complicated. it’s not that they’re not around but rather they are the reason you’ve struggled with so many issues growing up—and why you in turn have become a complicated person, still working through the lasting grief of this wound that became bigger and bigger.

(he knows this. he’s been a witness firsthand to the way you handle situations. through mephisto’s eyes, he’s seen the occasions where you’ve sat on an empty bench in the city looking dejected and devoid of life. he’s seen you go out into the hall to answer a call from your parent—coming back into the room with a sour expression.)

it only ends up making sense to him why you two were naturally drawn together. you both have gotten accustomed to a rather lonesome nature, and while it was no easy feat for sylus in the beginning, he can tell that you yearn for something more in spite of it all.

you want someone to care.

you want someone to see you.

and sylus does.

even as he tucks dampened hair behind your ear, sitting with you in silence as you weep over these unfair circumstances that are difficult to overcome—he sees you for everything as you are. his heart, his soul, his partner.

someone that dances with him in the kitchen shamelessy and off-beat. someone that he doesn’t mind decorating his face in cute little stickers. someone that laughs at black comedies and bad jokes (including his own).

sylus just wants to see you smile, and continue to live shamelessly. and what he doesn’t even know, or perhaps has only the slightest clue of, he means everything to you. he is everything you thought once was only a fantasy, far from your grasp.

you’re not too complicated for him at all, and being with him has been a reminder that while a relationship takes trust and work… being loved is something that isn’t hard at all. love is not a tumultuous, hostile environment, especially in a home.

sylus has been with you through this—and he’ll be with you when you finally gather that courage to cut ties for good.

perhaps him, the twins, and his little crow is the family you need.

[itstheghostofmypast]

🔥Overwhelmed🔥

Corporate AU Wooyoung x (F)Reader

Summary: No one could stop swiper when his queen was overwhelmed.

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1.1 K

Est. Read Time: 5 min

Warnings: None

Rating: SFW

Networks: @cromernet @k-labels @illusionnet

Banner: @cafekitsune

A/N: I'd like to thank @edenesth for this picture- and dedicate this to her - my corporate queen.

Overwhelmed

That was one way to describe how you were feeling right now, from the way your admin had dumped everything on your department to the way clients were ringing your phone like you owed them money- incorrect, you had nothing to do with anything that had happened. The missing records, unfilled forms, lack of digitisation of pre existing documents, somehow ended up being given to you- sure, you knew with great power came an even greater responsibility, but being team leader did not mean you were willing to become a punching bag of your superiors.

To top it all off during your break an idiotic colleague from the IT department had decided to come at you for something, yelling at you, ruining your gaming session- the 30-40 minutes of peace you'd have during work- and in the end it turned out to be not your desktop that had an issue, the virus was in the lady in the cubicle next to yours. During that drama, you had been reported and banned from the game for 24 hours. It was wonderful, it was just wonderful. What were you going to do on your drive back home now?

The worst thing of all was that you were unable to see the only person who'd make your day bearable, the only person who'd wake you up gently every morning, with a soft damp tissue gently pressing against your closed lids, then his warm lips against your own before he'd whisper sweetly in your ear, “Time to dominate the day, my queen.” The same person who'd have your breakfast waiting for you as soon as you'd rush out of the room all dressed, forcing you to sit down and eat with him, sometimes feeding you if you'd try to say you were in a rush. The only person who would spend the night with you, choosing your clothes, shoes and accessories, ensuring to match his tie and socks with your clothes, “Pink shirt huh…welp, pinks socks it is.”- yes, he had worn pink socks and a pink tie, which most men at work found funny, but most women at work found it adorable.

Hence, now, you were sitting in your cubicle, staring at the spreadsheet, wondering what you had done to deserve this. Maybe you were too nice? Maybe you wronged someone? Maybe you - the irritating ringing of your phone had you heave out a sigh and pick it up, letting out a tired, “Hello?”

“Excuse me, miss, this is the police. You're under arrest for being so damn hot that your boyfriend is willing to commit murder for you.”

A chuckle broke past your lips as you sighed, leaning against the seat and humming, “Ah…really? Well, Mr.Police, I'm a bit busy right now, so I'll have to get back to you soon.”

“Nonsense.”

You heard from the phone and from behind you, causing you to turn around, phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, facing the man holding his phone to his ear with one hand and in his other hand he held a white box.

Hanging up, he placed it on the desk before pushing your keyboard aside, causing you to gasp in disapproval, “Silence my queen.” He demanded before flipping open the box and showing you the sweet treat that you had been eying for a while. You'd glance at it everytime you'd buy your morning coffee, knowing very well it was the bakery's best selling treat, but you'd postpone it often, for various nonsense reasons, as Jung Wooyoung would claim.

“Woo…” you glanced up at him with a pout, “Work…I have work-”

“It's 6 p.m. No more work, only cake!” He declared dragging a stool next to your chair and handing you a spoon, “I was away for one meeting, and I came back to my queen in shambles? The nerve of people - just you wait, I'll punch San in the face for leaving you like this.”

“Woo…his wife was giving birth.” You shook your head in defeat and amusement, suddenly remembering another reason to your glum mood, you had missed your boss and his wife- your friend's birth of their first child.

“I know. Where'd you think I got the cake from.”

Your eyes widened at the statement before flickering to the cake, squinting at the small card that had, “Congratulations, it's a girl!” written on it.

“YOU STOLE HIS CAKE!?”

Your screech echoed in the empty office followed by his shameless cackle, and a “REVENGE SHOULD BE SWEET, MY QUEEN!”

“JUNG WOOYOUNG!?”

He rolled his eyes at your yelling and scooped up a good amount of cake and pressed it against your lips, “Say ahhh…I got coffee too.”

Taking in a deep breath you reminded yourself that the intention behind this was sweet, and that later, perhaps tomorrow you'd be apologising to the new parents with another cake and a gift for their new born baby. Parting your lips you let him feed you, closing your eyes in pure bliss, instantly forgetting about everyone and everything, wanting nothing more to smooch the man infront of you for blessing you with this wonderful, sweet, delicious treat.

The moment you opened your eyes, you realised that his lips were on yours, and you gently pushed him away, swallowing and mumbling, “Y-you idiot we’re at work.”

“Don't worry, ain't nobody here but us and this cake.”

You shook your head in amazement. This day had been shit, but at least you had your personal little clown, your companion, your lover, and your little thief swiping around and getting you treats. As the thoughts processed you had somehow started crying, tears rolling down your cheeks that you realised when you felt him wipe them with his thumb, giving you a small smile, “It's okay… its okay to feel overwhelmed, love…the world won't hate you if you take a little break.”

Nodding at his statement you let him pull you in a hug, your head resting against his shoulder as he gently stroked you back, mumbling, “Their daughter is beautiful…I'm glad she takes after the mom…imagine if her head was as big as his…pushing it out would've been hell.”

His smile widened at the sniffled laughter, hugging you closer as he eyed the cake that San’s wife had insisted he take back to you, knowing how you had to handle her husband’s load today and how the lack of a Jung in your life today may have overwhelmed you. She was right. Perhaps she was a good friend- welp. He was gonna swipe the cake anyway, Mrs.Choi only caught him and laughed it off.

“Woo…”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you…” you mumbled, moving back before you started eating again, taking a sip of your coffee, realising how hungry you were, how grateful you were, how loved you were. It really was a blessing to have someone like Jung Wooyoung in your life - no matter what kind of chaos he brought with him.

“Anything for you…my queen.” He whispered, watching you eat in peace, chin in palm as he admired you, taking in your tired posture and eyes, naturally you were tired and exhausted, drained and overwhelmed- no matter, he'd make sure to fix all that. It was his job to keep his queen, the love of his life, safe and happy.

[m1ssed-m3ssages]

This. And to add;

If you are GOING to write a transmasc character, do NOT shy away from the idea that they could go through trauma and misogyny/misandry. As one of the transmasc people, every day we have to deal with comments like "but you were such a pretty girl", "such a shame, those tits were rockin'", "you just want respect."

Why does it take us having to speak about our issues and our experiences for people to believe that trans men aren't exempt from transphobia? Why do people insist that trans men have it "so much better" just because we aren't as directly dogged on by the media as trans women are? Why is it that when I say I am a trans man, people don't believe me and ignore me, but if my trans sister told people she was a trans woman, they would have a solid opinion?

When did it become about who suffered more (and by consequence who deserves to have their voice listened to) than it did helping a minority of people that get oppressed and mistreated daily?

My answer is this; I believe the only reason trans women get heard more and have the rights to do so in the eyes of society is because they were born and bred to be cis men, and society still views being trans as an 'oopsy'. That's if society views trans people as human at all, by the way.

Instead of seeing a trans man and saying "that's a man", most people would- even unconsciously- instead think "that's a girl who's only now a boy". But when it comes to trans women, instead of "that's a woman", people think- again, even if it's unconsciously- "that's a man with the social idea of a woman".

We are not mistakes, and our birth gender should not define what being trans is for us- being a woman is not the opposite of being a man and vice versa, being non binary doesn't (always) mean being in between/neither, and gender is a social construct made to segregate who can be around who, in an attempt to herd us like sheep.

Tldr; I agree, and I think it stems from the fact that people still think of trans people as their birth gender instead of the gender they identify as.

Sorry to go on a rant (I'm not even really going to edit this), I'm very passionate on this subject as a transmasc person myself 😅

The drastic separation between social positions of transfems and transmascs is a theoretical invention of writers who spoke to very few transmascs and tried to fill the gap by assumptions that stem from the "opposite gender" crap.

"Transmasculine transition is respected in the society because cis people see becoming a man as stepping up" is one of the most hilarious and sad examples of that, but there's also "coming out as a trans man leads to less sexual objectification" and "trans men are simultaneously respected more because they're men and protected more because they're afab".

None of it is real. This is just a calculated inverse of what transfems go through. We should abandon this framework for the sake of something that's actually rooted in reality.

[wizardarchetypes]

I just read an article (linked at the bottom of the post) and went looking for this old post I made sometime last year. I wish I’d gone through the tags last year, and I might have seen a tag like this and brought attention to the issue much sooner. I don’t think I’m by any means the best voice on issues of antisemitism, but I think it’s my responsibility to acknowledge my own susceptibility to antisemitic online trends, and likewise the susceptibility of many of my followers who read this:

While mainstream participation in the trend “Gnomes vs. Knights” was—for many—a fantasy LARP & cosplay meme, it extends from an earlier TikTok trend, “Gnome Hunting,” which either became, or even began as, an antisemitic dogwhistle, in some cases, and absolutely overt Nazi content in others (source) (more reading on it)

TikTok misinformation researcher, Abbie Richards (and contributing authors, credited in the article), writes in the article linked at the bottom of this post, “Although this content originally emphasised a desire to ‘find the gnomes’, portrayed as benevolent creatures and symbols of pre-modern Europe, the current gnome hunting trend shows that gnomes have since been reconfigured as adversarial actors – specifically Jewish people.”

Numerous sounds by Nazi creators were used in the ‘Gnome Hunting’ trend. The problem with TikTok is that videos are fed to users by an extremely focused algorithm, so people who aren’t seeking or knowingly engaging with extremist content (but who still are) often only see either ‘mainstream’ evolutions of these trends—such as the Knight/Gnome battle—and/or dogwhistles they don’t recognize.

When I used TikTok, I largely interacted with the cosplay, SCA, and LARP community, which is how I was personally ‘exposed’ to this trend. (more on the use of TikTok to spread extremist content from other platforms, “sanitised for the purpose of ban evasion and appealing to a more mainstream audience.”)

This is often a problem on TikTok, where trending audios are often posted by random users, unlinked to the original artist, so once they’re trending at-large, many people don’t know the sound’s artist/source. This is not even close to the first time a sound has been linked to bigoted creators and/or trends, only to become popular among unwitting, wide-scale audiences.

Worse, videos by creators explaining the issues with trending sounds and the memes which accompany them are often buried, receive little views, or—even with many views—don’t appear on nearly as many users’ feeds as the videos promoting these audios & accompanying memes.

I’m not saying any of this to excuse my own participation—by liking and sharing the videos—but to highlight how & why these dogwhistles are so pervasive. I liked to consider myself knowledgeable on such dogwhistles, like double lightning bolts, the number ‘14,’ and portrayals of goblins in fantasy media, but here I failed to recognize one anyway, along with hundreds of thousands of other users.

The responsibility is also on TikTok itself, to identify and moderate extremist messaging on its platform, as highlighted in the conclusion of the aforementioned article:

I’m going to turn off reblogs for the original post to prevent further sharing of the meme, and also this one, because I’ve been reading on this across social media, and it continually descends into people getting angry about “over-thinking” the meme/trend, insisting it’s not at all antisemitic, and devolving into antisemitic rants. I want to share this information with the original post, but I don’t want to create a forum here for ugly comments and antisemitism-denial.

[allthewhumpygoodness]

Other Stuff that can happen in "stagnant" whump fics

So I've been thinking about something and wanted to share it as an open conversation. A lot of the time my writing block when writing whump or sickfic comes from like...what can actually happen in the course of the story. Especially since my stuff tends towards the longer side (I'm a chronic overwriter), it's hard to keep things...interesting I guess? And I find my writing suffers when my Tales Of Woe don't have much structure to them.

(I say this as someone who writes primarily sickfic, or recovery-based stories that are caretaker/whumpee focused, with little or no whumper involvement, so that's what I'll be focused on here. Certainly if you're writing something like a character being held in captivity and tortured/attempting escape/encountering other prisoners/being searched for, you've already got plenty going on and probably don't have this issue at all.)

So I've made a list of Stuff That Can Happen during your whump/sick fic. If you would like. Of course, there will always be a market for stories that are mostly the same level of suffering and nothing else is really the focus, but if you do find you struggle with this like I do, this list might be for you.

Character arcs/Internal/social shifts:

1 caretaker, their relationship to the whumpee strengthens

1 caretaker, they find themselves growing apart from the whumpee

2 or more caretakers, there are complicated dynamics between all of them + the whumpee that shift around

Eg; there's a whumpee and 3 others, Caretaker A forms a closer relationship with Whumpee throughout the story, Caretaker B *was* close with them before but finds their place now "usurped" by A, Caretaker C tries to keep the peace between them while also helping out Whumpee

A caretaker realizes they're better at Caretaking than they'd thought

A caretaker realizes they're not as good at Caretaking as they'd thought

Whumpee realizes they have romantic feelings for Caretaker (or vice versa)

Whumpee discovers they only like Caretaker as a friend (or vice versa)

Whumpee learns to trust Caretaker (s)

Caretaker (s) learn to trust Whumpee

There was a previous misunderstanding (about their feelings for one another, their loyalties, an action taken from one of them etc.) between Whumpee and Caretaker (or between more than one caretaker) that gradually gets resolved

A misunderstanding occurs within the story that builds and is then resolved

One caretaker has to convince another to be honest with Whumpee about this misunderstanding (or has to convince Whumpee to be honest with Caretaker)

Someone unexpected arrives at the scene; whether that be a rival, a friend or family member of the whumpee, a potential other caretaker, or Whumper

Perhaps this is a relief for the caretaker, who needs a break

Or it's a stranger who causes tension in the situation

Maybe the caretaker knows this person is coming and is stressed out waiting for them

Physical/symptomatic shifts:

Whumpee is found injured and unconscious, and wakes up being cared for - their wounds later become infected, leading to a much longer recovery

Whumpee's condition quickly worsens

Whumpee steadily becomes delirious

Whumpee is feverish and goes from feeling freezing cold to boiling

Whumpee feverishly tries to stumble out of bed and into a different room (searching for Caretaker? trying to find a warmer spot?), and are found before, as, or after they collapse

Adding illness to injury: Whumpee is dealing with an injury, only to get sick, or sick only to also become hypothermic, they have heatstroke and then get hurt etc. Compounding whump.

Environmental shifts:

A caretaker could leave temporarily out of necessity, leaving whumpee and/or other caretaker(s) worried about them until they return

The weather changes (worsens? gets better? worsens and then gets better? gets better and then worsens?)

The characters have to shift locations for some reason

An important resource is run out of

Something necessary is destroyed or partially destroyed

A doctor/medic needs to be called

Somebody else becomes sick, injured, or lands in some other danger

Whumpee's newest symptom requires a different type of medicine than what they've been taking up until now, possibly one the caretaker doesn't have

The characters are in an intense situation (in hiding, in a warzone, on the run, trying to escape a natural disaster etc.) and the stakes suddenly become much higher due to something related to this

Maybe there's a flood and the waters have reached their safe spot

Maybe whumpee is some enemy they're sheltering in secret and members of their team/army/etc. come searching for them

There's lots more I could add and I'm not sure if this is explained in the best way, but there you have it.

[volixia669]

Also! Fat from oils and dairy is actually good for you! The issues tend to stem from a lack of balance with other nutrients, but its not like oils and dairy have any morality to them.

Especially as groceries are expensive as fuck, so trying to find the most calories for your buck is becoming more and more important.

So make your veggies taste good with some oils! Fuck it, use some ranch dressing! It doesn't negate the health benefits!

Taste is the most important factor in nutrition.

Because you get the most nutrients from the foods you'll actually eat.

So add cheese, oil, spices, vinegar, sauces, etc. Try them roasted or sauteed or pureed, etc.

The actual secret to eating lots of fruits and veggies and other nutrient dense foods is:

Make them taste good. That's literally it.

[eeboyysworld]

“Broken down and hungry for your love, with no way to feed it.”

—⋆. ᯓ★ ⋆.

Genre: Angst

In-ho X Male!Reader

Cautions/Warnings: Reader is lowkey evil ..beware , angst but things get a lil heated , attachment issues , guilt tripping, hurt no comfort, blood and death , Unrequited love, love bombing.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The bunk bed that he sat on was rather uncomfortable, feeling the metal bottom beneath him, bright white sheet crumping under his shoes.

The tacky tracksuit clinging his frame , his body filling it up.

Metal tray in one hand, stuffed with dull over cooked rice, milk in another. The white liquid swashing around the container.

He was the one who conducted the games to be like this, who was he to complain about his own doing.

Maybe he rather focus on the imperfections he missed than watching you across the room, you , who was currently messing around with some purple haired freak.

You, whose sole purpose was to ruin him, taking him apart piece by piece. Leaving him once he had absolutely nothing, only to beg you not to leave.

It was pathetic. The way he managed to become a love-sick fool under your embrace, just a touch and he’ll melt into you.

He would say that his and your souls interlinked, merging into one.But, your soul was tainted, officially marking his own demise.

You, who had let him in with open arms, wide smile and home-cooked meals.But, even after all that love, he would find himself getting pushed away from you, warm hands no longer holding him, no words of comfort.

Comfort replaced with disdain , the tone you held was harsh on him.

Ever since he won these games, he found no purpose in life.The will to hang on slowly slipping out of reach.

Until, one summer day , you appeared before him, laced with swimming trunks , open button - up shirt loosely wrapped around you. Water droplets falling down your soaked locks of hair , sunglasses sat on-top your nose.

Kindly asking him to join a round of volleyball, since you and whoever else was there were short one member.

It was random, he came to the beach on a typical afternoon. Hoping to jump in the lake and catch a cool breeze. But yet, he found you. Or, more like you found him.

Someone who could calm him down without a breeze.

He wasn’t the sports type, but after seeing you, the urge to please you had fallen into place.

Convincing himself that all he was doing was being kind, not that he just agreed because he wanted to see more of you.

After some time passed, one thing was sure of , he had fallen in love with a stranger.

He had told himself he was gonna join this game just to keep a keen eye on the man who desperately wanted to shut this place down.

Sabotaging any plan that took place.

But he looked too long across the room, his eye catching you, the small tattoo on your finger , the one you got during the teenage years, inked your skin, the one he traced each day in bed.

How could he have not seen your picture.. had he forgotten the past he shared with you. Perhaps, after-all it had been 5 years since he last saw you.

He had quite the busy life after taking over as the front-man.

Now that he caught you, looking content with yourself. Looking like you had it all under control, while he still yearned after you.

You were doing fine despite the debt you had, while he lost his mind over you.

———-

It wasn’t long before you had him under your finger.

After scanning the whole room of people out of curiosity , you had immediately noticed the man. Sitting next to another middle aged man, a young guy who claimed to be a marine along with another, a rather young women snacking on some extra bread.

The smile you held was the opposite of what you felt, jealousy flowed through you. ‘ Did he get over you that fast ‘ .

You waited all day , ignoring him, ignoring the constant glances he threw.

Waited till night-time appeared, watched as the other man politely asked to use the restroom.

Sneakily getting up, nudging the purple haired male off of you, grumbling in his sleep.

Stalking your way over to the door, giving the nicest look you had to the square headed guard, flirting your way to the back.

By the time you reached the bathroom, the man you searched for was leaned against one of the many sinks, water falling down the drain.

Taking it upon yourself to speak up, scaring the lonely man as you spoke.

“I missed you.” The other flinched , quickly looking up, eyes landing onto yours. The shock evident over his features. As you prowled your way over to him.

Still as a statue, your own body cornering his, hovering over the poor man.

He couldn’t move even if he wanted to so desperately lean towards you.Heart pounding endlessly, butterflies in his stomach like he was 16 again.

You still looked so beautiful, even as blood smeared across your face, the dried parts prickling off , every imperfection was perfect for him.

Part of you missed him, truth be told.. you only broke things off because you got bored.

Age graced the man with more beauty, soft skin glowing in the dim light.

His eyes trailed down to your lips, cracked from the being over - bitten, but still smooth.

The lips he once used to kiss, whispering ‘i love you’ into each other. Oh , how he missed it.

“ You left me all alone.” That wasn’t true, he knew that. But the way you spoke with such authority, he could only believe any little word you said.

His lips quivered, tears slowly filling up his sight, your face becoming blurry, vision blacking out as he shut his eyes closed.

Pain emitted inside his chest , every memory engraving itself into him, every little talk you guys had, big and small.

Searching for the answer on why you left.

Cooing softly, lifting his chin upwards, kissing the tears away, the saltiness reaching your taste buds. Being as gentle as you can muster.

Guiding the broken man’s head into your embrace, soothing the brown locks of fluff, slowly rocking you both back and forth.

The shirt you wore became damp, the wetness making you cringe slightly, but it didn’t matter , as long as you held him in your arms.

He kept apologizing..again , and again. The words becoming a prayer. The heaviness ached inside him no matter how much you tell him he was forgiven.

Your lips finding his cheek again, the tears still flowing out. Sluggishly moving downwards, closer and closer to his mouth.

You both stood there, the water still dripping down the drain.

All you heard was his breathing mixed with the heavy silence. All that he heard was static ringing inside his ears.

Searching his eyes for any kind of decline, yet you found none, just pools of regret swimming inside the black orbs.

No movement was made, he didn’t try to move away from you. All he did was stare at you, afraid that this was just a sick twisted dream his head would muster up.

But no, you were very much real.. here with him. Even as his sight was blurry , he knew you were still here, as the feeling of plush lips pressed against his own.

“Don’t you miss me?” His lips stuttered but no sound came out. Continuing on with your stunt, pressing yourself flush against the other.

He didn’t move for a bit, slight doubt entering you , before lips started to work with yours, enticing slow movements.

His own lips trembled, hands gripping for life onto your flesh, nails biting down.

Adjusting yourself to dig deeper into the shaky man, stroking his jaw, the skin plushy as you played with it.

It was only a few minutes before a loud knock echoed the room. The guard you had long forgotten stood there, stiff as a broad.

If you didn’t know any better you would think he was nervous.. why would he care if you were making out with a random dude. Wasn’t like they somehow knew each other.

‘Ridiculous’ removing your body away from contact, clearing your throat, solemnly walking away.

Walking away like he was nothing to you but a play thing.

Nudging the guards shoulder as you hurriedly left, successfully leaving the masked man and the man you once loved.

Said man stood there, wobbly as awkward silence followed suit after the door shut.

He wanted to reach out to you.

You had just left him here after sucking on his face. Left like you had the night you admitted you didn’t love him anymore.

Delusions kept him going, foolishly thinking you could and would one day come running back to him.

Expect you weren’t the one running , he was the one running a whole mile just for you.

———

The night went on, people snoring away like their life wasn’t on the line. Most slept carelessly, others took caution. Gi-hun’s group being one of them.

In-ho found himself touching his lips , the feeling of yours molding against him, the burn still there, waiting to be ignited.

He took the second chance to stay on guard, he knew nobody was gonna try anything. He made sure of it, he didn’t want anything bad to happen to you.

Sleep was catching up to him, eyes hazy as his weight fell onto the pole next to him.

Thoughts of you turned into dreams.

———

The next day was brutal. He should know of all people.. but the blood brought back unwanted memories, ones he forgot as time went on.

Mingle. The game were you don’t know what’s gonna happen next.

He stood next to the man who seemed to befriend him, having no clue who he truly was, as the determined man gripped his hand, waiting for the next number announced.

The number 5 flashed on the screen, the group he had rushing into an empty room. While running , he searched for you in the crowd.

There you were, running with the same young guy, the punk. You should be with someone your age ..but it didn’t still the want in his stomach.

The smile on your face was wide , the purple haired boy must of gave you some sort of drug. That only added on to his list of worries.

The last round came around. Everyone around him anxiously awaited, waiting for the number to be announced.

The number ‘2’ flashed across the big screen as the robotic voice filled the room. It was uneven, just like he planned.

He immediately got pulled away , gi-hun gripped onto his blood dried tracksuit. His legs carrying his weight across the room , worried for you.

Looking from person to person, only to find you getting ditched, that’s what it looked like to him at least.

You stood there frozen, adrenaline rushing through your whole body. The flashing lights hitting your face.

He could only watch as you got swept among the crowed of desperate people.

The room he was in coloured a bright orange, blood stained the walls and floor.

Rushing to the little peep hole, not caring for the other man’s glance of confusion.

Rapidly searching for you, looking for the number you wore.

His heart could break in half from the pressure.

The guard showed no mercy towards you despite the constant reminder he said to not kill you.

Dreed filled him. Watched as you got thrown to the ground, the masked men playing around with you. Were they targeting you on purpose.

Had the square headed guard told the others about what happened last night.

He loved you so much it hurt. Sickness could be felt pooling inside him.

He could only watch the scene in-front of him , blood dripped down the side of your head , the wide gash evident.

One of the men was searching through the room, before suddenly locking onto his door number.

Gripping your broken body, waltzing towards him.

His eyes scanned the blood adorning your face, you still looked perfect to him. Your eyes barely opened, the glint in them no longer there.

He couldn’t speak. He would be revealed if he said anything at all. All this work would be for nothing.

The man proceeded to lean towards the open hole, whispering so only he could hear.

“Just doing my job sir..He was left outside.”

He found himself slamming his head against the door , he already went crazy during the last game, who cares anymore.

He couldn’t watch this, all he heard was your voice speaking out in a gruff manner.

“I’ll.. love you- in the next life.”

Before the unmistakable gun shot rang throughout the empty room. Silence followed, before the sound of leather boots walked away.

It was quiet, he forgotten about the other presence in the room.

Your last moments were decided for you.

A hand rested on his shoulder, rubbing him repeatedly. It felt like a sin to have anyone touch him beside you.

All he could do now ,while stuck with the other man , was to hide his head towards the door. Hiding the tears silently falling down , digging his teeth into his lips to stop the sobs.

You said you’ll love him in the next life. But , why couldn’t it be this one?

ᯓ★

My bad for angst ..do you still think im sexy aha🤗❕

Thank you guys for the support!!🩷

[pretty-little-mind33]

I just wanted to ask if you could make headcanons about being in a relationship with Pietro (I don't remember if I already asked for that, and I'm sorry if I did, I'm not rushing you 😭😭), and another one with Sergai? It doesn't matter if it takes a while, I totally understand, and thank you for all your fics, I love them 💖💖💖

~ i hope you like this, darling 🫶 been on a tiny bit of a writers block so this headcanon list was a good thing to write! ~

• with Pietro, friends to lovers is the only way!

• he has trouble with his feelings. he has trouble understanding them because he becomes overwhelmed and so in the beginning, it's difficult.

• plus, he has trauma so loving someone else is hard for him— he doesn't like the possibility of loosing you like he lost his parents.

• so being your friend, becoming your best friend, is the first step!

• his love language is physical touch and quality time! He always has to be touching you in some way (his hand in yours, playing with your hair…) and he loves planning days out around the city with you!

• Pietro is very loving and he's also funny. he adores making you laugh and he'd do anything in his power to make you laugh when you're sad or crying or hurt (to distract you from the pain).

• once he's your boyfriend, the quality time becomes more domestic. he tries less—and not in a bad way. he's comfortable just laying around, reading or watching a show, and it's as good as planning a whole day like he used to (he would get himself worked up, the poor boy).

• when he does take you on dates, he goes all out now! He knows all your favorite things because he is observant so he'll take you to your favorite restaurant unprompted!

• Pietro's favorite way to spoil you is by doing things for you! He's very in tune with your emotions once he'd finally dating you!

• he never forgets an anniversary or a birthday, although you're worried he does because he's always spacey and all over the place 🥺 but he keeps a calendar specifically for your events, nothing else lmao.

• you and Wanda being friends is VERY important.

• he adores you and teaches you how to say things in Sokovian! he always teaches you about his culture and his traditions. it would take a while for him to open up, but once he does he doesn't hold back.

• he trusts you easily and he isn't jealous. he hates when other men flirt with you, but he is never jealous because he knows you are his and his alone!

• he is very protective over you though! like no one hurts his girl. ever.

* * *

warnings: mentions of sex

• i think the courting before the relationship would be involuntary stalker-ish 😭

• like he's obsessed with you. he can smell you everywhere! maybe he met you when he was visiting his brother in London and he hasn't stopped thinking about you and only you.

• for the first few months you don't even meet him and yet he's just there—watching. making sure you're safe.

• he never does anything weird or breach your privacy in ways that would make you hate him, he's just like your guardian angel 😏

• when he does talk to you, you're instantly intrigued. he's rugged and handsome and unlike any man you've ever met. you like him.

• your relationship starts with sex. you bring him to your apartment and have intense, weirdly passionate for someone you just met, sex.

• when you wake up, he's gone. but eventually he comes back with a pastry from a nearby shop and your relationship starts.

• Sergei is good at reading you and knowing what you're feeling without you needing to speak or ask him. he just knows.

• he visits London more than necessary to spend time with you, letting you be the second person on his phone 🥺

• he waits to tell you what he does for work. he doesn't want to scare you or make you feel unsafe.

• you are safe. you always are with him.

• once you know and you accept him for who he is, Sergei is wrapped around your pinky until you let him go. he would do anything for you.

• he has trust issues so whenever he starts an argument, it's because he was feeling a little insecure and didn't know how to bring up his feelings. his father never let him.

• he's never violent with you but he does yell in the beginning. which scares you, so he quickly learns to leave for a walk to calm down instead.

• you promise him that you aren't leaving him. he loves words of affirmation. he needs them because he hasn't heard many of them from his father.

• he's very gentle with you normally, touching you as if you are something to be worshiped. which he does. he worships you.

• his love language is gift giving. whenever he is away, he will always brings you back a present from his home in the woods. and it's always thoughtful.

• he will teach you some words in Russian and call you pet names in Russian.

• eventually, he asks you to move in with him. you're unsure because living in the woods is scary and you are afraid you'll miss your friends and family.

• Sergei doesn't force you. he tells you you don't have to decide immediately but he really wishes you will. but he's not forceful. he gives you time and he waits.

• when you decide you want to live with him eventually. and you don't regret it. Sergei is very devoted to you (he is very protective over you, duh). he also brings you back to London wherever you want, no hesitation.

[sublimepizzastarfish]

They're drawing a net negative for water in a region, making droughts worse.

In its latest environmental report, Microsoft disclosed that its global water consumption spiked 34% from 2021 to 2022 (to nearly 1.7 billion gallons, or more than 2,500 Olympic-sized swimming pools), a sharp increase compared to previous years that outside researchers tie to its AI research.

And it's seemingly ever-growing:

Google reported a 20% growth in water use in the same period, which Ren also largely attributes to its AI work. Google's spike wasn't uniform -- it was steady in Oregon where its water use has attracted public attention, while doubling outside Las Vegas. It was also thirsty in Iowa, drawing more potable water to its Council Bluffs data centers than anywhere else.

From the second link in the above quote:

The U.S. hosts 30% of the world's data centers, more than any other country. Some data centers are trying to become more efficient in water consumption, for example by recycling the same water several times through a center before discharging it.

They're explaining that "recycling the same water several times" as if it's a new tactic, instead of being a closed loop like a PC water cooler.

Also from that link:

Umatilla City Manager Dave Stockdale appreciates that farms and ranches are getting that water, since the main issue the city had as Amazon's facilities grew was that the city water treatment plant couldn't have handled the data centers’ discharge.

So we don't even have the infrastructure to *handle* water discharge from datacenters at some points.

If we wanted to stretch the water-cooled PC metaphor (which is already shaky, since we're comparing an individual PC to an entire datacenter's worth of machines), you still need to discharge the water once in a while as part of maintenance (water gets gunky, corrosion happens, etc.). It just so happens that datacenters are collecting and discharging water on a scale that creates more problems on both ends.

So, yes, these datacenters are not using water in a closed loop, and even if they were, the water is being hoarded in one place with no chance to use it for farming, drinking, and everything else we use water for in a civilization.

AI computers need a lot of water for cooling towers housed in data centers.

Each time an AI tool is prompted, it uses roughly 16 ounces of water. For example, using ChatGPT five to fifty times is equivalent to consuming half a liter of water.

Additionally, data centers consume large amounts of energy and produce carbon emissions.

[dunmeshistash]

ive always wondered if milsiril's overprotectiveness of kabru was less because of infantilisation (although she def like all elves has that problem) and more so out of guilt. she was a captain of the canaries during the Utaya incident I believe and she witnessed what happened and she couldn't stop it. and she left the canaries because of it and took in the kid who was the Only survivor, raised him in extreme comfort so he'd never see the horrors again and didn't want him anywhere near the dungeons! like i think learning self defense for defenses sake would have made her hesitant but she would have obliged but because it was specifically for the dungeons she was so against it. also like he must have had a rough few years dealing with that trauma as well which doubled her protectiveness

I believe it's a mixture of both, I don't think you can really take away the guilt (actually unsure if that's the best word to describe it) nor the race relations from how Milsiril sees Kabru.

I am the Milsiril apologist ™ but the fact she see's Kabru as a child even now is a big part of their relationship, she's a mother that can't grow up (both for being an elf and for her own issues) and that has to cope with her children outgrowing her fast

Putting a read more cause as usual when it's about Milsiril I talk too much

We can see in every way Milsiril acts that she sees Kabru at most as a toddler during his time with her, she's hand feeding him, has him in a room full of toys and talks about him like he's a cute baby.

I think people are too mean about this side of Milsiril tbh. I think it makes her interesting and it's clear (to me at least) that she does her best to provide for her children even if she doesn't truly understands them. Even in that first interaction with Kabru where she's trying to hand feed him they were *already* training with swords beforehand.

Milsiril also talks to Kabru in a way that kinda seems to expect him to understand more than what a small child would like we can see in the AB extra

So her infantilization doesn't extend to underestimating him at least, rather I think that's how she shows affection (which is still bad 😭)

Anyway, about her trauma with the dungeon and guilt (or maybe shame? Fear?), I do think that was one of the motivations for her to take Kabru in as I said in this post (beware I am a Milsiril apologist and I am VERY biased in seeing her in a more positive light, doesn't mean it's true) but I think that side of her manifests in her sudden switches from crybaby mom to ruthless master

Milsiril is very emotionally unstable from what we can see, she's really trying to convince Kabru not to go into dungeons and when tears don't work she switches into training him so hard he'll give up on his own. I've seen people call this her "true colors" or say she was using "crocodile tears" but in my opnion both the tears and the threat are genuine, I don't think it's a planned switch but rather the fact she's unstable to begin with, both the crybaby mom and the scary swords master are her true self.

Anyway! I think both guilt and infantilization are intertwined in her love towards Kabru, I've said this before but she's a flawed caretaker in a world where she does not have the resources to become a better one. She's traumatized she's depressed and she's an elf, but she's the only one (that we know) willing to at least *try* to treat the people she cares for the correct way. If it wasn't for Milsiril Kabru would have been raised by elves like Rin was (and we know that went very bad, they traumatized her), and Mithrun might not have received the proper rehab he needed to go back into the canaries (He might have managed but we see Milsiril put in the effort to help him cope besides being the one to tell him about Utaya)

That is all to say: Milsiril is still flawed!! It's part of what I love about her, and it's the reason so many people dislike her too. I'm saying this cause sometimes when I go on my Milsiril rants I get asks putting down Kabru to raise her up and that's like, very uncomfortable lmao. Even if she did her best he still was the one that to deal with all of her shortfallings while being raised and he's still the one responsible for getting to where he is, she just made is easier than it could have been.

Disclaimer as is usual for my Milsiril posts: I'm a Milsiril fan, my interpretations of her are very charitable because I often see people being way too uncharitable about her. Please read the original material and make up your own interpretation, this posts only contain what I think it's relevant for my point not an objective view of the whole. I've also already made several posts about her and I don't want to keep repeating myself so if you think I glossed over something important that's probably why.

Edit: thinking more about it, maybe rather than feeling guilty herself she might blame "elves" as a whole for the failure in Utaya, it does say she left it "in disgust". It's not that clear how she feels about it.

I still think it's shared trauma though, I don't think it's possible for Milsiril to not have been affected by what happened there and I think it's part of why she doesn't want Kabru to go to dungeons again. But her way to cope is to turn away from it (and blaming "elves" might be part of how she copes) while Kabru's is to face it so it doesn't happen again

[notevengrayson]

people always tell me that 'love will come unexpectedly' but they dont understand that i am always expecting it. every time i talk to someone new, i get so excited that this friendship could become more and i then ruin it because ive built my expectations so high