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myownjadedpieceofmind · 1 year

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I cannot tell you how happy I am with how this beauty turned out. fit for a fairy princess.

She's perfect, and she's looking for a neck to protect, a chest to bless, a soul to soothe.

2 Moonstone, 2 Amethyst, Blue Topaz, and a flashy labradorite center focal. Wrapped by hand in recycled and reclaimed copper wire, no heat welds. Made to hang at the collar bones, accented with a matching satellite ball chain.

I also take custom orders. If you can dream it, I can probably weave it. Contact me for details.

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internationalemeteorologie · 3 months

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Expanded Eye - Jade Tomlinson and Kevin James

#expanded eye #jade tomlinson #kevin james #tattoos #inked #organic design #conceptual art #colorworks #british artists

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lovelaceace · 8 months

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(Read right to left)

A small manga strip I made to celebrate the steady path of "Guide To Carcosa"'s release.

You can go and support the project by checking out 'Heinrich Moore Presents' over on youtube and learnt more about it.

Characters: Queen Cassilda, Jade Alexander

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netherfeildren · 3 months

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Honey, Stomach, Mine ; 1. Genus: Tragedy

Series Masterlist ; Part 2.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Existence is a needful thing. Choice is fickle, nature inescapable. Run to the end of the world, Joel, all those things will still find you.

She'll still come for you.

-OR-

the A/B/O outbreak AU

Rating: Explicit 18+

Content Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics; Dystopian Society; Outbreak not Cordyceps AU; Light Angst; Slow Burn; Shocking Considering the Implications of Me and This Trope but Alas; Biologically Assigned Soulmates; Power Dynamics; Topping From the Bottom; Government Controlled Reproduction; Segregation of the Designations; Institutionalized Sexism; Vaguely Handmaidien Undertones; Incredibly Soft Despite the Tags; Be Not Afraid, Dear Reader!; Yearning; Emotional Hurt/Comfort; Competence Kink; Alpha Joel; Omega MC; Very Soft Joel; Older and Jaded Alpha; Young and Needy Omega; Age Gap; Size Difference; Size Kink

A/N: I've found there is an absolutely shocking lack of A/B/O in this fandom, and this is my contribution to begin rectifying that. I swear that despite the way the tags read, this is entirely and sickeningly sweet soft, comfort, caretaking fic.

Share thoughts, please. It's sort of a different one.

Word Count: 6.3K

Read on AO3

Tip Jar

Genus : Tragedy

To a one Mr. Joel Miller,

500 Sheahan Road

Clallam Bay, WA 98326

United States

We are writing to inform you that as of January 8th, 2015 there remain two weeks until your designated omega’s twenty second birthday, and a year since she has come of age. We have made several attempts to contact you with no response. As mandated by the federal government, you must collect her by January 22nd, 2015 or she will be distributed to another individual of the designation alpha who would be willing to accommodate her.

The omega’s evaluations are all up to date, and she has displayed pristine results in both health and behavioral tests. It is estimated that her first heat will occur soon, and we strongly encourage you to collect before the fever starts and our facility is forced to place her with another willing alpha that may see the process through. As she is part of the Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program, and is biologically paired to an alpha already, that being you, if not collected she would be placed in the bidding pool and distributed to the highest offer.

Again, we strongly encourage you to contact our facility with a response on your decision as soon as possible so that we may prepare the omega. We would like to remind you that these creatures are delicate, and unexpected changes to their habitats and surroundings cause high levels of distress. It is of the utmost importance that we proceed in accordance with the omega’s nature.

Enclosed is a brief note from your omega that she has requested to attach:

Dear sir,

I hope that you are well. I have been told that you have not decided if you will come for me, but I ask that you please do. I have been waiting, but they have told me I cannot wait anymore, and I do not know what will happen to me if you don’t come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And at the bottom, in a pristine and swirly pen, and kindly, her signature, there for him to see. The name of the woman, or girl, who seems to have taken all of Joel’s choices from him. He follows the letters with the nail of his thumb, scratching at the ink as if he could make it disappear, make the reality of this poor thing out there in the world waiting for him, disappear.

At the outbreak of the designations, twelve years ago, there had been mass hysteria, mass chaos, a terrible uncertainty of how the world could continue on, segregated into biological designations as it had suddenly become. Thought to be a product of the dwindling population rates, some whispered a government experiment gone awry, a freak genetic mutation had begun to appear within the biological markers of certain people.

Designations: Alpha, Beta, Omega.

It was not that society had unfolded, lost sight of itself, it was more so that from one day to the next, a new and unknown sort of hierarchy had been established, those that were, those that were not. Those that could live their lives as they’d always done, unruled by their biological urges, and those now marked as something new and different and set by a different sort of mandates.

Joel had been one of these people.

The designations had become controlled, weaponized, systemized, almost immediately. Almost. Before the government had mobilized and taken stock and hold of the situation, there had been a momentary lapse of order. Chaos wearing the names and faces of the people he’d once known, people that should have been safe or protected, protective. The true nature of the dynamics were quickly revealed. Obvious: an unmated alpha in need of an omega was a volatile thing, quick to aggression, hungry for violence. Less so: an omega, once thought self sufficient, independent, autonomous, was found to be at times fragile, vulnerable, full of necessity. Both connected by that string of desperation that could only be soothed in a pairing of the two. The desperate drama of being no longer only yourself.

It should have been an obvious thing, the mutation, a byproduct of the dwindling population levels, reproduction rates, was in service of something that would correct this misdirection of nature. Alphas and omegas were, are, idealized pairings for one another in terms of reproduction, in terms of biological pairings. It should have been obvious that this would be wielded as a means of control. It should have been obvious that this was an untenable situation that would cast people into roles that left no choice for autonomy, for freedom.

It should have been obvious to Joel, who almost immediately, and even though he had been well into adulthood, a father to a young daughter, presented as an alpha, growing pains once again this late into his life. It should have been obvious that this was a situation that should have necessitated greater care, vigilance, protection. After all, this was the role of an alpha. He should have listened to this new nature of his that was suddenly, demandingly, presenting itself, acted quicker, stronger, with more wisdom. But he’d failed, he’d continued to fail for years to come after that terrible night when the world had turned back to its base nature in a hedonistic attempt for the preservation of humanity.

Alphas were immediately feared, ostracized, and above all else, obvious. A designation was not a thing a person could hide, especially not an alpha, the truth of their nature. Many were gunned down in the streets at the start, imprisoned, experimented on and sold, debased and tortured. They’d been caught, him and Sarah, separated from Tommy trying to escape the madness. She had, in her innocence and without designation, still only herself, still only his little girl, been caught in the crossfire of a world's desire to tame or trap something it could not understand.

Joel had, in many and the worst of ways, been caught in the crossfire too.

With time, years and the sort of suffering that can only be forced upon anything that is different or out of the norm, a system had been created. Government mandated programs, laws, registries that kept track of the designations. A hierarchy in which those that were essentially and biologically considered stronger than what a normal human should be, were ostracized, exiled, denigrated, muzzled, and those that would be considered weakest, left without any voice at all, without freedom either.

The Federal Alpha/Omega Pairing Program had been established for the continued preservation and furthering of reproductive rates. A registry was created in which all those with the designation either alpha or omega had to present themselves on, biological markers determined, all choices stripped. The program served as a match making machine, when two biological markers presented themselves as compatible, as mates of one another, an omega was assigned to an alpha for keeping. To do with as they’d see fit.

He had gotten word of her only last year. Twelve years of solitude, of nothing, of running from a girl with green eyes he’d not been able to protect and the reality of himself he detested, the what and why of who he was. He’d left Austin, wandered and hidden and groveled in the dirt like a worm until he’d finally found a quiet place to settle. A place alone, undisturbed. And for so long, he’d not been happy, surely, but he had been. Joel had been.

He looks down at the letter in his hand, dragging his thumbnail over the swoop and slope of her signature once again. This was a person who, as mandated by law or biology or fucking whatever, had been deemed as his. His other half, mate, ball and chain. The terrible reminder of what he really was and could not escape, in the form and shape of his perfect opposite.

Last year, when he’d gotten word of her existence, that she’d reached the age of twenty one and was now ready and available for his retrieving, he’d balled up the letter and thrown it with such weightless force into the fireplace in his living room that the air filled wad of paper had fallen limp and nothingful just shy of the flames, rolling in the ashes and dust, coating the reality of this imposed, undesired fate in dark soot. He’d been so angry he’d gone out and howled at the moon like the beast the world would have themselves believe he truly was.

He did not want to be an alpha. He did not want an omega. He did not want to live off the coast of Clallam Bay alone in this house he’d built with his bare hands because he had no other use of them now, no other function or purpose or meaning. He did not want it to be now, he wanted it to be twelve years ago. He wanted to still be a father.

He did not want to be an alpha.

He did not want an omega.

He crumples the letter in his fist, looking out at the bay over the edge of the cliffs from where the cabin is perched. From his spot on the deck he can see as far out as the sea allows, sight stopping suddenly as if the edge of the world had dropped off a ledge. Sometimes he longed, so, so badly, to go find that edge, to drop off it as well. He had only tried once. Never again. The grizzle of scar tissue at his temple, a testament to yet another one of his failures.

The first summons had come two weeks before her twenty-first birthday, and he’d laughed, after the anger, he’d laughed. A girl-woman of only twenty one years, deemed of age, for the role the government or God had deemed her ready for, served up on a platter to him for his own ravaging. For the correction of what nature told was an anomaly that only their coming together could solve. It was sick, disgusting. He wanted no part of it. And so, despite the knowledge that this poor thing was out there, in some government facility, places they took omegas, many orphans, but also, oftentimes separating them from their families for so called safe keeping, just another word for kidnapping. Rearing and breeding and no choices, no choices for any of them ever.

He’d ignored it, turned a blind eye and a revolted heart away from it all, and shirked the supposed responsibilities he owed this omega who he knew nothing about, who knew nothing about him. But nature is, after all, a terrible and inescapable thing. And not even so much the nature of his designation, although that did, unfailingly, play a part in his demise, surely, but the nature of his character, of Joel’s heart, that was the true heavy player. He was not the sort of man who could turn away from someone who’d rely on him, who’d need him. A responsibility. That was, he convinced himself, all he should or could see her as. And for a year there’d been a sort of tugging of a string from behind his navel, an umbilical cord connecting him to his ignored fate. He hated it all. He wanted nothing to do with any of it. He wanted to rot in his aloneness and misery and bitterness, fester in the fear that lived around him from the world. It’s why he’d come here, it’s why he’d exiled himself. Balanced on the tightrope border between the Salish Sea and the Makah Reservation on this high and pristine cliffside cut from the crust of the earth; he was left entirely alone, at peace with only his own chaotic demons to torment him. He wanted it this way, he wanted this; please, please, he’d already given away so much, lost so much of himself. Should he also be forced into this too? To sacrifice the terrible peace of his solitude to save this poor creature that was being forced on him. He wanted to say no, that he didn’t give a fuck, that what would happen to her could, it was no business of his. But those words… another willing alpha, bidding pool, highest offer… they made him see, not even red, black, black and devastating anger or rage or something horrible and base, and what could only be a product of mother nature railing against him for ignoring what he truly was. Something that whispered terrible words of mine, mine, fucking mine. A hiss he did not recognize, did not want to admit he recognized.

He was old, weathered and beaten and past his prime. Unmated. At the end of his line and unmated and purposeless, and his bones were tired, but itching and clamoring within the confines of his skin that this was wrong, that he was wrong, and that he needed to right this immediately.

That she’s waiting, and dear sir, I do not know what will become of me if you do not come. I promise that I’ll be good if you do.

And so Joel goes to her because he knows she is waiting, because fate or purpose or nature is not a thing to be ignored forever.

“It’s her birthday today,” the caretaker says, voice ascetic and cold and direct. Not a voice, Joel thinks, for soft things; cadence that has his teeth on edge, hackles raised. “You’ve arrived just in time. She’s been asking for you, and we’d just set her name in the pool, ready to release for auction tomorrow.” That black rage muddies the corners of his vision, and he focuses on the cold shock of the blank white hallway they’re making their way down. Hospital-like, barren and hard, this place, facility, prison, they keep them in, the omegas in the program. He feels slightly sick, uninhibitedly angry as if his teeth would fall out of his skull, as if he could throw himself to the ground as a child throws a fit, spew his anger for the world to see how much he does not want this, how vehemently he’s opposed to it all.

“She may seem young and small, but she’s twenty two now. She’s ready, and she’ll take it as you wish. It’s what she was made for.”

Joel seriously considers, just for a moment, killing the cretinous little man beside him. Take it, he says as if he has any right to speak of you taking anything that Joel would give you, as if it’s any of his business, anything he could ever understand if the beta stench oozing off of him is any indication. He hums nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement. If he parts his teeth he’ll take out a chunk of flesh. He should behave, there are easily frightened things nearby.

White doors with a small circular window at the center line the hall on either side, endlessly down the length of the seemingly endless corridor. The caretaker, white scrubs, pristine like the rest of everything here, and Joel feels suddenly huge and bestial and brutish, marring and dirtying this place that is supposed to be of peace and quiet for the fragile things locked inside.

A terrible place that makes him desolately depressed. You’ve been here so long, and he had not come, and it’s all just one more tally of failure on his rap sheet.

When they finally stop before a singular door, the number fourteen emblazoned in large black, bold print just beneath the small viewing window, Joel suddenly feels– he can’t say for certain, he doesn’t know, or doesn't want to acknowledge the truth of the voices and sounds ringing in his ears, but he knows, recognizes it for the sound of the moment Sarah died all those years ago. His past and present suddenly clashing to meet here in this antiseptic white void, before the door to this fate that’s clamored in quiet waiting for exactly a year today. The sound of her voice, calling his name, saying it hurts, Tommy, his shouts ringing loud and then ebbing soft and as lifeless as she was while the reality of what they were living came to pass before Joel too, could realize. He’d left too, his brother, ran from the truth of Joel at the first easy opportunity. And she’s just there, her voice and her eyes and the feel of her is just there in his mind, on the tip of the tongue of his memory, and then the man opens the door and then there you are.

He feels worse now, hulking, deformed, malformed like he was born wrong. “I’ll give you a moment,” the man says low, that cold voice monotone and almost too quiet to bear now. Joel feels he needs something loud and shocking. He fears he won’t fit through the door. “It’s better if you meet for the first time without distractions. She knows you’re coming.”

He thinks he asks if you’re sleeping, he can’t be sure, but he feels the vibrations of his throat work, his jaw move as if it’d come unhinged, his tongue swollen in his mouth, gums fat and painful, full of bile and terrible memories, and he is a badly made thing in need of some goodness in this moment. And then a shift of the small lump beneath the blankets, the reality of the moment snaps into focus, he steps inside the white box cage you’re kept in. The door shuts behind him, and then it is only him, the thing he would not be, and you, the thing he would not want.

He doesn’t decide it until he finally peers into your eyes, that he can’t, will not, keep you.

Wide, luminous and wet, but not afraid, wholly curious, peering up at him from above the edge of a thick wool blanket. Something drab and gray and stiff looking that immediately sets him on edge, brings that anger back, just the simple sight of the blanket. The two of you stare at each other in silence, the weight of that thing that tells of what you are, sitting heavy between the two of you as he looks down at you from his great height, presence that should be intimidating and cowing, looming over your prone and small form on the bed. But despite his stance, something swelling within him causing him to puff up like an angry dog and want to bear his teeth at you, despite the curtain of tears in your eyes, there’s nothing of the stench of fear.

He shuts his eyes to the sight of you, huffing long and bullish through his nose, mistake, the scent of you, God, help me, and he listens to the rustle and shift of the blankets, opens his eyes to see a little nose peeking out from beneath the gray, drab thing to sniff primly at the air he’s now filling with his presence.

Soft and warm and woman, the smell of a cunt that belongs to him. That’s what it is at its basest. More complexly: vanilla, bergamot, juniper berries, sweat and fever and salt. Taking a plunge off the cliffside, bypassing the sharp teeth of rocks that would kill you, waiting for the dark ice shock of sea and finding nothing but molten life. This is what you smell like.

Worst of all, there is something in you that smells of him. His, yes, but not what he means, not his, him. Something that smells of recognition, like the two of you are the same.

Something chained inside of him rattles at the bars of its cage, desperate to be let out and quenched.

He steps back, frightened at your movement, at the reality of what the two of you are, so obvious here in this cage, at your perking up, your recognition of who and what he is, what he’s come for. You don’t speak, but you tell him. You wriggle beneath the covers, shimmying to turn and face him more fully, still clutching the blanket up high over your mouth, still covering half of your face, and he wants to bark at you to let him see, that he needs to see, but he grinds his teeth together. Molars going to dust down his throat, muscle wrapped around his mandible strung so tight he fears the fibers of it might burst and pop.

You settle on your side facing him now, and then something to beguile him, to bring him to his knees muzzled and obedient and calm, the sweetest, sultry little crooning cry. Something provoking, alluring, something to beckon him to you in surrender and acceptance and welcome, come from your chest up your throat to his ears. He jerks back at the sound, your big eyes still expectant and wet but demanding now. I am here waiting for you. I have been here waiting for you. Come now. He steps back to your bedside, a too small, too stiff metal railed cot he’s going to wrap around that fucking guard, caretaker, idiot, whatever he is when he comes back, falls to his knees, and your little fingers peek out and up and over the edge of the blanket now. And you surprise him doubly, tenfold, more than he can comprehend – but he already decided he will not keep you, he already made up his mind – when you say: “You came. You remembered me.”

He could never have forgotten.

A low hum, a sound to make your eyelids flutter and your legs shift beneath the heavily draped blankets. “Today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? Would you like to come home with me as your gift?”

He could never have forgotten.

The house that the large man who you’d waited your whole life and then a year for, brings you to – and you can’t be entirely sure, for you’ve so little experience or knowledge – but from what you can think you’re feeling now, from what you can decide, is lovely.

He had taken you in a car, a truck, you like the sound of the word, —ck, —ck, —ck, and driven a long while, through the big city which you’d seen little of, between forest and beside sea, and then finally up a long and winding road and more forest, more trees and green than you’d ever seen in your entire life, until you’d come to a cliffside, the backyard a drop off of air and rock and endless dark water, and a small house perched just there at the edge. Wooden slats, weather beaten and salt lashed, a copper sloped roof, and two pert chimneys, despite the not large area of the house, cabin. It looks, very much, as if it had grown straight from the cliff rock, sprouted by the forest, strong bones that spoke resolutely of remaining where they were no matter how hard the wind howled.

“How did it get here?” You ask the man, alpha, who’s name is Joel who has finally come for you after a life and a year of waiting.

“I made it,” and his voice is rough and demanding of attention, demanding of you, even if you don’t know, although, you do understand, what it is he’s demanding.

And you think, yes, of course. It looks a little, a lot, like him. Obvious, that it came from him.

It would be easy to think that you’re nothing but young and stupid and untried. Just a little omega kept in a cage. But you feel, after this life, not life, of being you and the thing you are, that you’re none of those things despite it all. You had lived, you had been out in the world at one time, even if briefly, even if only as a child, green and inexperienced and innocent, and although you still remain all those things, you had been out there at one point. You had never had a mother or a father, dead when you were an infant, killed in the outbreak, but you had lived with your aunt, your mother’s, many years older, sister, until you’d been ten years old. So you see, and he should see too, this man now before you, this alpha, that you were untried and inexperienced and young compared to him, but you’d had a decade of real life, even if it was the life of a child, even if afterwards it was a not life, but the before, that counted very, very much to you and so deserved respect and acknowledgement. And he should see that, although you do not know, you do understand.

After your aunt had died, and they’d taken you, first to the orphanage, and then to the place for omegas, after you’d started to mature and develop, perhaps that real life had ended. Or been put on hold, waiting for him, this alpha who seems, for all intents and purposes and from what you can gather from his sullen silence and dark looks, nothing like pleased at your presence here now. But then there was the: today’s your birthday, sweetheart, is it? And yes, yes it is your birthday.

It’s your birthday, and you’re free. And yes, you’d lived the not life in the white box for so long, and yes, you are, in fractions, so afraid and knowing so little of the world, but you do know that you want to live and to see the sky.

You want to see the sky every single day.

His big clunking truck rolls to a slow stop before the house, a wide deck wrapping around the entire boxed thing of it, and he starts to move, unclipping his belt, grabbing the bag he’d brought with him stuffed with his clothes he’d promptly tucked and folded you into when he’d shuffled you into the cabin of his truck, and you’d been all thank you, sir, to which he’d given a shake of his head, only Joel. Only Joel. No other words, no other directions, only his hands pulling your strings like a puppet. You had accepted it for the chance to feel his touch, to familiarize yourself with the closeness of him.

You want to know things. You want to know him.

He’d barely said a word the entire drive here, but you could be patient, and they’d prepared you for this, after all. They’d prepared you long and well and told you all they thought you’d need to know. So you find yourself, and not at all shockingly, as you’d waited so long for this, for him, for freedom and the sky, and look, now there’s even sea too, not even a little bit afraid, only anticipatory in bated breath, stuttering heart, excitement.

You had never seen the sea before, and you want to know things. You want to know him.

He jumps heavy and thudding form the truck, and you start to shift, something suddenly frantic and clawing rolling in your chest when you realize he’s leaving the confines of the small space the two of you had found yourselves encased in together, the warm heat from the vents blowing his smell, his smell, all around you. You’d never encountered anything like it before. Salted vetiver and warm cardamom, something sweet and musked and heavy like what your fingers taste like after you’ve pet long and needy at that soft wet place between your legs when the hurt was so tight you felt nothing would sate it. It’s a scent that you think would devastate to have taken away now that you’ve tasted it. And it’s everywhere as the two of you’d sat in his staunchly imposed silence on the truck ride to this place he was bringing you to, his home at what seems like the end of the world. It’s in your nose and down your throat, heavy and cloying and sweet on your tongue, wrapping around your waist and covering your skin and your hands so that you’d even pressed your palms entirely over your face and rubbed yourself like a cat, coating yourself in him.

The door slams, bringing you out of his scent induced reverie and back to the present, and you scramble to undo your buckle too, even though when he’d clipped it for you he’d very sternly said to not take it off, desperate to follow him wherever he’d go. But you realize quickly he’s coming around the front of the truck to your door, and then he’s there pulling it open and letting in a biting gust of wind come off the sea and up the cliffside to slash you across the face with its icy rancor. You shiver, teeth clattering and chattering in your mouth, trying to gather the blankets he’d cocooned you in, his too big, so soft clothes, more tightly around yourself, and find your feet.

He gives a rough but soothing noise, and easy as anything, plucks you up and out of the seat and into his arms, kicking the door closed behind him as he goes. Into his arms. You hold yourself stiff and wide eyed, chewing on the tips of your frozen cold fingers, and staring at him this closely, it’s shocking. Large, had been the first thing. Tall and broad and thick the way they’d said alphas are. This you had expected. The rest, you had not. The eyes, you think, more than anything. His eyes, a strange mix of hazel and brown, but dark. Eyes, that even in your greenness, you can recognize as sad and angry. And the creases at the corners, between his brows, the gray threaded through the lush, dark curls and at the corners of the hair along his jaw. He looks like he would be someone’s father. The patch of bare skin, heart shaped, amongst the whiskers. He’s beautiful, and unthinkingly, or perhaps entirely intentional, you stick out one of your saliva soaked fingers and poke him gently there, only a small prod, to feel what the heart feels like. His gait stops instantly, that permanent frown he’d worn since you’d first laid eyes on him, deepening. “Don’t do that,” he gruffs, continuing his steps up the porch now, the dark, heavy boots you’d noted as he’d taken you from the facility falling thunk, thunk on the wooden boards beneath. He’d not given you shoes of your own. And at his tone, the grumpy look, you have the inexplicable urge to laugh. To laugh at him. Surly, you want to tease, but swallow it, itchy fingertips back into the warmth of your mouth to stop yourself from touching again.

Another gust blows against the two of you as he somehow transfers you, cradled into only one arm, to pull the jingle of keys from his pocket, and you’re jarred with painful shivers, huddling closer into the unbelievably broad expanse of his chest, the unbelievably steaming warm slab. At the touch of your cheek against his collarbone you realize all he’s wearing is a simple, green flannel, no coat, nothing warm. “Aren’t you cold?” It seems suddenly, supremely important you ask, head shooting back up. He peers down his nose at you, finally getting the door open, and his eyes are a very peculiar sort of dark, you cock your head at him, a very strange sort of creature this man is, who’s come to collect you, who you’d waited all your life and a year for.

“I’m fine,” he says.

You don’t believe him.

He sets you down on a large, dark leather sofa, chocolate, the hide smooth and worn and lived in. The rest of the house, not only a house, also a home, for it’s obvious in the way of his things, the way they’re arranged and fixed and the way they too live here, not only exist here. I’ll be like that too, you think. It’s all comfortable, it’s all warm, like a den and a place to relax and be protected, juxtaposed by the sight beyond the large windows, nothing but dark, violent sea as you’ve never before seen.

He really had found a perch at the edge of the world, brought you here to perch as well.

There’s a large fireplace, inlaid with large slabs of dark stone and thick beams of wood, and yes, this too is also obvious in a peculiar and particular way. The house very much looks like it was made by the hands of a single man in some way that you cannot specifically say, but can obviously see the truth of. He made this house, and then he came for you and now he’s brought you here, and you feel, suddenly, so pleased and warm and right. Everything feels so, so right. You sigh dreamily, suffused at once with a tight, deep heat at the pit of your belly, the scent of him everywhere, bubbles floating up from the bottom of you and seeming to pop out your ears. You lean back into the deep couch, wiggling this way and that, rubbing your bottom into the soft cushions to snuggle up, bringing the neck of his sweater he’d put you in up to your nose to breathe deep and long.

He’s moving around, arranging things this way and that, a thick log in the slumbering coals, a pillow here, another blanket atop you, not looking at you, setting a wide berth once he’s settled the throw, not talking to you. It’s fine, let him do as he pleases and needs, you’ll sit here and watch. You can tell he doesn’t like to talk, that words cost him something, and you know so little, but you understand this. Words do cost something, truths, the truth of your before life and your not life. The truth of those realities cost. So, yes, you understand, and he doesn’t have to talk if he doesn’t want to yet. And looking at him, you realize that everything inside of you feels soft and bruised and little. And yet, despite all that, ready, in want and need of him. Ready to be big.

Joel.

You must say the word out loud, his name, for he stops and finally turns to face you. There is something vibrational within him. Different. You’ve never seen a creature as such. You’d never seen an alpha before, not since you’d presented, you’ve never been around one. The caretakers were all always betas, people who would not be affected by the omega’s presence and fluctuations.

He swallows once, twice, twitches and jerks and heaves a big sigh. He’s so full of energy as you, suddenly, in opposition, feel so sleepy and drowsy and ready to close your eyes and only feel warm and relaxed. You like his house, you might love it, even.

Your eyelids droop low, slow blinks, and you watch his face fold into a frown. You want to laugh, he does that so much. They’d said that alphas could have big tempers, that they could be brash and aggressive and loud, but that the omega would naturally temper that. You think it may be true because as you watch him through the weave of your lashes, his frown deepening the longer he stares at you slowly drowsing on his couch which you hope he’ll never make you move from, the jitters and the shakes and the trembling that he’d seemed, just a moment ago, to be so full of, begin to quietly abate.

He takes a step toward you, another and another until his shins meet the edge of the sofa, and you snuggle deeper into the cushions, making yourself into as little a ball as possible, so full of sleepiness.

“How do you feel?”

“I like your house so much,” you slur, head drooping, lashes drooping.

He clicks his tongue, makes that rumbly noise you think is an alpha thing because it has your eyes suddenly clicking open, sleep haze clearing momentarily so that you can look up at him again, and he’s looking at you so peculiarly. You scrunch your nose up at him, there’s no need to look at you so, you’re only an omega, only a little tired, nothing to stare at so strangely.

“I’m–” he clears his throat, makes that rumble, growl, huff sound again, “I’m glad you like it. I wanted you to be comfortable while you’re here.”

And oh, he’s so nice, you tell him, and, “I am. I’m so comfortable.” You melt further into the couch, and he crouches down to peer at you more directly, pulling a soft pillow from the opposite end and tucking it under your head, the large, rough cup of his paw cradling your skull, big fingers weaving through your hair. He arranges you so gently, like he’d take care of you. Like you’re here, finally, finally, you’re here to be taken care of.

It’s what they’d said would happen, and you’d waited so long. You’d waited too long to be let out of the white box, for him to come, to see the sky. And now there was so much; of him, of the house, of the sky, of your whole life and the sea.

You nuzzle your head into his big hand, the heat of it searing your scalp, your ear tucked into his palm. “Brave girl,” he hums. He has such a deep voice, a good voice for an alpha, you think, a very good voice. You feel it vibrating in your toes and in your eyelashes and in your belly. “You’ve been through a great deal, haven’t you?” You want to say yes, you want to remind him that you’d waited for him for so very long, and that when you woke up, if you remembered, you’d be very cross with him for taking so long to come for you.

“You rest now,” he says. “It’s all alright now.” Yes, a very good voice.

2. More Intelligent Than a Face

Netherfeildren's Masterlist

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#HSM fic #vic fic #joel miller smut #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #the last of us AU #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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mochinomnoms · 3 months

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This is a very specific thing I said to my friends so if they follow your blog then they would know who I am but the whole thing of buy one get two free deal came from something that is common in my country where in local bazaars they sell these showering kits that came with shampoo, conditioner and a bottle of liquid soap my mind clearly infected with twst could only think about the octotrio being one of these packages Azul is the soap, and the twins are the shampoo and conditioner and the three of the products are wrapped with tape so you are forced to get the three which is oddly cute to me but onto the main thing!

Came up with another octotrio polycule idea since yuu represents a shrimp in Floyd's weird lenses of seeing the world sometimes if done intentionally or not you tend to clean up the twins or patch them up even fixing up their (poorly put on) uniform Jade got dirt in his face when he was in a mountain trip? Come here you careless eel and wipe out the dirt then you can talk about your new findings BUT WASH YOUR HANDS FIRST

Floyd decided to do parkour or maybe he just dumped a whole smoothie on himself because he was hot and used the drink to cool off and there you go, disinfect the wounds or scratches and putting silly cute band-aids (one time he got mad that his favorite design was out and you placed a mushroom design band aid since he still needed one, remind yourself to go stack up with the band-aids before Jade goes and sniffles about his dear brother using his favorite band-aids)

I am thinking that since the twins are a bit much more affectionate or aren't as busy as Azul is, you are doing one of your "Nurse/cleaner shirmp" (Floyd gave them the name) on one of the tweels and you guys were in Azul's office so he sighs trying to get attention he wishes that he also got his own nurse/cleaner shirmp affections if he doesn't say it out loud he can and will break his pen/ink flask and oh no! His gloves are completely ruined!! Clearly coaxing you into helping him with the mess or when he does voice his wishes about it when you two/three are present the tweels are quick to tease him about it "I thought that octopuses didn't go to cleaner shrimp stations?" or "Would you be able to provide protection in exchange? I thought that octopuses weren't predators" Okay that was rude, it is on. Of course that he can protect the shrimpy and if octopuses didn't go to cleaner shirmp stations then he would change that! Overall silliness and sweetness (They are having a discussion about planning to surprise you with a visit to the coral sea and going to visit their parents!!) they might turn almost anything into a friendly/loving competition and you are trapped in them but they are still so sweet and caring for you and each other 10/10 definitely a unique dynamic but awesome either way

(the same anon forcing their brain to fabricate more octotrio polycule ideas)

I think Floyd takes the most delight in seeing you care for them like an actual shrimp. He thinks it's endearing and will definitely make efforts to get dirty or mildly hurt so that you'll attend to him.

The other two have their own nicknames for you: Jade calls you and Azul My Pearl/Darling while Azul calls you Angelfish and the twins Dear(s).

It's Azul's way of showing affection, as he is quite reserved with his affections, at least until you're all in private. He does envy the liberal affections that the twins have with you, Floyd in particular doesn't care much about what others think, and Jade generally is more reserved than his brother, but will still give you chaste kisses when saying hello/goodbye. Azul, at most, will hold hands and maybe tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ears, something he often does during quiet moments.

It may be silly, but he gets a little jealous at seeing y'all share PDA when he's still getting used to the new dynamic. So he's coaxing you to come help him clean up! Look at his hands, they're absolutely stained with ink! Won't you please help him clean up Angelfish? 🥺

It backfires as the twins also take the opportunity to “care” for Azul. Instead of letting you fuss over him quickly, they decide that this is a sign that he's much too tired to continue working, look at the mess he made! It's time to close his office early and cuddle pile in his bedroom!! Jade's making the extra effort to run a bath in the absurdly large tub in Azul's private bathroom, while Floyd is running around collecting pillows and blankets to make a nest/fort. You do your do diligence and help Jade tend to him, causing him to get more and more flustered.

The night ends with the twins teasing the silly little octopus for wanting some tending from the shrimp. They're complaining that he never asks for affection like that from them!!! Eels can be gentle too, we promise Azul~

#mochi asks #twst #twisted wonderland #jade leech #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #jade leech x reader #floyd leech x reader #azul ashengrotto x reader #poly octotrio

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yulin-pop · 1 year

Text

⤷ ✧ Nail polish

Gender neutral

- order 62 | Headcanon | Second years

Note: I don’t know much about nails and my only source is my mom.

Riddle Rosehearts

He wants red and white. It works well with his dorm uniform and it reminds him of the Queen of Hearts! He just wants the classic round shaped nails since long nails could make it hard to do his daily activities. But he actually kinda wants long nails.

As you do his nails, he’s staring at you. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. He doesn’t wanna distract you so he just stares at you.

“Oh wow, they’re cuter than I remember…”

He gets a random craving for sweets so immediately when you’re done he wants to have a tea party. He’s really impressed actually. It’s really pretty.

He randomly starts staring at his nails and smiles at the thought of you. But people think it’s a little weird that he began smiling for no reason.

“Is Riddle okay??”

“Why is he smiling?”

Ruggie Bucchi

Why would he get his nails painted? He’s always doing something with his hands, it’s gonna get ruined immediately.

But alas, you don’t care and sit him down. He picks out a dark brown and a cream color. He doesn’t really care what design or shape so you get some creative freedom.

He keeps moving while wailing “it feels weird!” He gets used to it after a while and only does it to annoy you. You have a death grip on his wrist so you can actually get the job done.

He always asking “are you done yet??” just to annoy you.

After you’re done, he’s actually kinda satisfied.

But the next week his nails are already ruined! He probably bites his nails and he most likely accidentally ate the nail polish.

He tried to save it though, but Leona wasn’t having any of that.

“Damn, please? Look I got my nails down I don’t wanna get them ruined.”

“I don’t care get me my food.”

Now you sit him down again and have to redo it.

Floyd Leech

He’s very happy to get his nails painted. He wants a different color on every finger and it’s doable but just kinda funny. He also asks for stiletto nails He’s smiling the whole entire time which is very unnerving.

He randomly laughs as you paint it in.

“What’s wrong?”

“Heh sorry it felt funny!”

He tells you the story of when Azul sprayed ink when the twins played a prank on him as little children. Apparently it felt similar as getting your nails painted, according to him at least.

Hes really happy with the end result. It probably ended up looking a little wack because he kept moving.

He’s glad nail polish to waterproof. It lasts a long time since his nails don’t seem to grow very fast (him being an eel and stuff).

Okay but he would accidentally chip it and he would cry. He would forget his long nails and chip it while putting on his gloves.

Jade Leech

He doesn’t see why not? He’s puts his hand out expectantly. You can pick out the color but he wants squoval nails since long nails seem hard to function in.

He keeps a good conversation with you. It’s easier to have a conversation with him when he’s not staring at you with a scary grin.

He enjoyed it more than expected. He compliments your work and gives you a very charming smile.

He takes very good care of his nails and it lasts for a while, like Floyd’s. He wouldn’t chip it unlike Floyd. It feels oddly nice to have painted nails.

Azul Ashengrotto

It’s a bit scary. He thinks that nails make it hard to do paper work so he wants short nails. The tweels would pick the colors and it ends up being a nice blue, the color of their earrings.

Azul tries to not move but it feels weird. He distracts himself by doing paper work until you start working on his right hand, his dominant hand. So he talks to you.

He’s impressed but still sorta embarrassed about it. He wears his gloves more often but then would panic if he saw it was messed up in any way.

Jamil Viper

He doesn’t really want to but it wouldn’t be the worst thing. He agrees and he likes how happy you seem. Color doesn’t matter much to him unless it’s tacky and he wants to keep his nails short. Long nails would make his life much more difficult.

Kalim picks the color and it’s the color of the Scarabia gem. He’s very quiet which makes it a bit awkward. It’s oddly relaxing for him. Enough he could fall asleep but he doesn’t.

When it’s finished, Kalim is staring really hard. Kalim runs out and gets out some jewelry and tells him to put it on. Jamil refuses but eventually you grab it and put it on for him.

Just as expected, it looks even better. Jamil keeps it on because he knows he’ll get pestered to put it back on by both you and Kalim.

He might accidentally chip the nail polish while doing dishes and just peel it off.

Kalim Al Asim

Yay! He’s so excited. He already knows what he wants. Almond nails with blue and red, like the feather on his dorm uniform!

He apologizes for moving around too much but it tickets. He kinda sits between your legs facing away from you. Apparently that’s not how he’s supposed to sit but it doesn’t matter since you still get the job done.

He’s so happy he’s jumping with joy. He probably would try to pay you for your work.

He takes extra good care of his nails. I don’t think it would last that long because he’s clumsy. He gets really sad and guilty when it gets ruined.

Silver

Sure? Lilia and Malleus have black nails, anyway. He’s not sure what color he should choose so he asks you. Ultimately, he gets a color similar to his eyes. You figure that you could just use his natural nail shape.

He was expecting to do it sitting up but you tell him to lay down on your lap under a tree. He complies and eventually he falls asleep just as expected.

You get a bit distracted because you see animals approaching but as soon as you raise your head they started scurrying away.

You wake him up when you’re done and he feels bad for falling asleep. Well the job was already done.

Lilia takes notice of his nails. He’s a bit surprised but it’s adorable. Now he wants a nail appointment.

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moonsidesong · 2 months

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quick design note draft thingys for miss mari because I Am Never Satisfied With My Own Designs but she is very nice and i like her and i need to draw her more

just a fun headcanon obv, since the games always have set colors on the player characters, but i like to think of a lot of the way inkfish naturally present their colors as a genetic thing, especially in how tentacle colors work! mari's secondary/gradient color is always a warmer tone, but ruby and jade's are always a cooler tone, and some people (like squid sisters/OTH/etc) have totally unrelated colors for the main body of the tentacles and the actual ink color is in the gradient part at the end. i also like to think those traits are something you could get temporarily changed though, kind of like hair dye irl.

i also feel like there'd be a lot of little genetic mutations that end up in family lineages (like mari's eye color, in this example) but if it looks cool the squid fashion world ends up finding a way to artifically copy it so it's not actually very special to have those mutations naturally lol

#i think how likely a lot of these traits would appear would also be really dependent on the species of squid/octopus they are but yknow #i dont know enough about squids to make a big list of dominant/recessive traits headcanons in every species of inkfish #its just an idea i like to play with #moonsidedoodles #ocs #marigold #2024

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acoraxia · 1 year

Text

[ TALK WITH YOUR BROTHER ]

The lower area of the heavenly grounds is surprisingly cold, a light mist covering the area despite the bright glow of gold and white seeping through.

There’s already rumors spreading through the Guard of undisciplined trainees running amok through the stables and freeloading in the gardens — though, it’s certain that the sole protagonist of said rumors is the one guffawing wickedly at the bottom of the stairs, orange fur and golden eyes easily standing out even in the dark uniform the yaoguai wears. A hard sniff is heard as the final step is done and the two men stare at each other, unblinking.

[Doc version]

SWK: Yang Jian, you would not believe what the horses just told me about Laozi SWK: It’s wickedly cool SWK: Like, “oh my god i never would’ve guessed”, kind of cool ELS: Hm. SWK: Seriously! SWK: You should definitely not go and check the stables, by the way, I think someone left one of the stalls open and one of the horses got out in the middle of the epic quest of: “Where’s the Bimawen?” ELS: You don’t say. SWK: I do say! Overly saying it, actually, I’m saying it right now SWK: Point is, the dude’s crafting some sort of “immortality pill” and keeping it all to himself in his lab and I’m thinking of making him extra sweet tarts tomorrow to try and get him to share some SWK: Okay, well, Imma try to get Jiejie to teach me to bake tarts and then I can sweeten him up SWK: All that skilled planning will get me closer to expanding my immortal lifespan by ten so I can gloat to those guards about who’s actually the strongest in training SWK: Hah! Even my old master knew that I was the strongest— ELS: Yes, who was that again? SWK: Hm? ELS: Your master. Who was he? SWK: What master? ELS: The master you just spoke of. SWK: I’ve only had one master and that’s you, bro

There’s a pause in the very-important-must-read-dialogue to remind the reader than if you’re unaware of the motions, Erlang Shen, the Jade Emperor’s nephew and renown God of Justice, is regretting his decision in coming down to try and negotiate with his brother about leaving behind trickery for the sake of his migraine-induced rage bursts. The Ivory Lady says it’s bad for his age.

SWK: Can I be honest? ELS: I don’t think you were born or designed to be honest. But by all means, go right ahead. SWK: I’m thinking about the clouds that form around here ELS: … ELS: Clouds? SWK: ‘Cause you have all the nice neat lil’ shapes back on the mortal realm that are fun to crash into! They fill up with water vapor and turn into shapes and you can try and guess what kind of shape they turn into like a very normal kind of game a fifty-year-old demon like me would play ELS: Clearly. SWK: But the clouds here never change! Not once! They don’t even disappear — is it like a time thing? That’s the exact same cloud I saw yesterday when I was chasing down Xiaotian ELS: Why were you chasing my dog? SWK: And that is the same cloud I saw when I broke into the Emperor’s closet and put on one of his fancy gowns to play ‘Emperor For the Day’ until someone noticed and ended up getting kicked out for ‘ruining the Jade Emperor’s regalia’ ELS: That was you? SWK: Not the point ELS: Stop chasing Xiaotian. SWK: I don’t think you’re focusing enough on the clouds and their freaky patterns and stupid ideas of never changing once when I turn way to ask for it ELS: Did you also dye his fur? SWK: Actually he just ran straight into my study desk and got ink all over himself ELS: Where did you get the colored ink? SWK: You can make it by mixing flower petals or leaves together to change its color ELS: Oh. SWK: Smart huh? ELS: I have found the one daily thing you’ve done to impress me. Congratulations. ELS: You’re grounded. SWK: No, I’m not ELS: You are. SWK: You always say I’m grounded but then you turn around and let me stay with the horses before training SWK: Come on Yang Jian it’s nothin’! Besides it’s just you and me, now, you can drop the ‘almighty justice god’ routine ELS: It’s not a routine!

ELS: Come on, Shi Hou. You’re the smartest trainee I have— SWK: Ever had ELS: You trained with me for like, what? A couple of weeks? It’s incredible how quickly you picked up on everything. You should be using that brain of yours for something other than cheap pranks, brother. ELS: You won’t be taken seriously if you don’t act serious. SWK: Says the gege who helped me prank your sworn brothers SWK: Didn’t know chickens could be so violent ELS: Of course they’re violent. The smaller they are the more violence is stored inside them. ELS: You’d know that if you learned about the— SWK: Yeah, I got it SWK: But can you blame me? Fifteen days of being here after finding out Heaven was lying to me? I could’ve gone back to Azure and told them about how stupid the whole ‘Taking Back Heaven’ plan is to try something else ELS: And you believe Azure would listen? SWK: Of course he would! SWK: You listen to me ELS: Because we’re brothers. SWK: He said he was my brother. How’s that any different? ELS: I, personally, don’t have any delusions of grandeur when it comes to wanting to overthrow the most powerful royal line out there. ELS: But I am willing to teach you how to control that magic of yours and learn to— SWK: Blast things! ELS: Heal, little brother. It will come in handy when you’re out in the battlefield all alone. You may be all powerful but your body’s still growing. Changing. You may even encounter stronger yaoguai on your adventures when you finally leave my temple. SWK: Really? You think someone is capable of hurting me? ELS: Apart from me? Yes. SWK: Psh, sure. You beat me, what? Three times? I still won the other fights. ELS: Yes, and I kept training to counter you. We’re tied. ELS: Now, go wash up. We’re traveling East tomorrow to meet with an old friend of mine. You’d do best to learn proper decorum before meeting him. SWK: If he’s anything like your right-hand then I’ll probably be able to manage ELS: Wukong… SWK: Yeah, yeah SWK: Bah, you worry too much Erlang. I’ll be right with you first thing in the morning ELS: I’ll believe you. ELS: Don’t be late!

There’s a bright flash of light, the same orange and yellows that seep from the sunset. It grows brighter and brighter and gray eyes stare up at the bird that circles around the god before diving towards the temple. There’s a few seconds before Erlang hears a loud cackle of laughter, amused and delighted, and he can’t help the small smile that spreads on his face.

He sighs and stares up at the sky, watching it change into night.

-----

MASTERPOST | REST OF THE AU

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myownjadedpieceofmind · 7 months

Text

Try this again.

Except, without all the fluff, since tumblr wants to eat my words as I post them.

My website: www.jadedinkdesigns.com

Go, please. Shop. Buy something, or get on my holiday commission list before it closes.

I'm in need of some groceries, and supplies for an upcoming vendor event, and in a week and a half, I'm having dental work done. The only way I know how to do it is by reminding people of the things I do.

I have afterpay on my site now, to make affording my work a little easier as well.

If you can share this, I would appreciate it. If you want to help a disabled artist with some living expenses, even just a little gas money or something-cashapp $6od3ss;venmo: jaded-ink or even Amazon gift card money- I'm not kidding when I tell you I would be grateful for any sort of support.

#artists on tumblr #jaded ink designs #disabled artist #handmade jewelry #one of a kind #wearable art #wire wrapped #kansas artist #copper wire #support artists #buy my art #need help #support please #share this #holiday commissions open #help my business #handcrafted jewelry

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gauloiseblue · 28 days

Text

You carved your love on mine / And left a wound / That refused to heal

(Younger!Simon Riley × Older!Reader)

[+18 | Adult Content MDNI]

TW: manipulative behavior (reader), toxic relationship

He met you when he's still young and reckless. You were enticing, dark, with your moral compass pointing to the south. With your words, you lured him into your world, where all the rules didn't matter except for yours.

He couldn't remember exactly when, or why you took interest in him, but you weren't afraid of showing it. Just like a fool, he took a bite of your poisoned apple.

The first time you marked him as yours was when you pricked his earlobes with earrings. It was a black and round pair, and the wounds slowly healed under your care. You smiled every time you saw your handiwork, and he got a sense that your love was gonna mold him into a puppet on strings.

The second time happened on impulse, because you tempted him with your work of art. You weren't a tattoo artist, but you drew intricate designs in your note. You told him you always wanted a tattoo, but upon an unfortunate circumstance, you were denied every chance of having one. So he offered himself to be your canvas instead. The next day, his forearm was wrapped with cling film, and you kissed him on his cheek as you both exited the tattoo parlor.

The third time you did it was when he wanted you, but you didn't reciprocate. Instead, you asked him to lay down, as you put his wrists on handcuffs. You tortured him for hours with your hands and toys, and never gave him what he needed. You pushed him to the point of frustration, and it made him cut himself from pulling too hard on the metal cuff. You kissed his tears away when you're finished, carefully tended his wound as he laid there, completely spent.

The fourth and the fifth time occurred at the height of your obsession, and he liked you enough to let you use him. You decorated his arm with blank ink, before you paid a tattooist to embed your work into his skin. It took a month to heal, but it was worth it, since you'd trace your finger on his arm when you both laid on the bed. Your touches lingered with him for a long time, and he'd caress the lines of his tattoo—absent-mindedly—as he thought of you sometimes. And he still does it, even to this day.

The sixth time you left a mark on him was the result of his confession. He told you about his plan to enter the military, and you sneered as you taunted him about his pain tolerance. He ended up on your bed, pinned down, as you worked on his nipples. He hissed in pain as you pierced his nib, before you slid the little rod into his skin and screwed it shut. Your eyes darkened as you watched him laid under you, panting, and helpless. Then again, you always liked him when he's powerless.

The seventh time was different, since he was the one who put the mark on himself. He told you that he loved you, that he wanted them to be something more. Yet you were silent, you didn't look at him in the eye. He took your hands into his, trying to get the words through you, but you pulled them away. "I'm sorry." You muttered to him, "I can't love you the way you want." He asked you, begged you for a chance, but once again he's met with your silence. So he swallowed his words, and lied that he's content with what they had.

The eighth time you ruined him, was the time when you took him on a holiday. It was a three-day trip, and you were the one who's driving. The two of you went to the countryside, slept on cheap motels, ate at old diners, and lazed around wherever you liked. You both stopped at a quiet lake, where he took a photo of you for the first time. You were smiling, with your eyes crinkled with amusement. That was the day when he realized he loved you more than he let on. At a Chinese shop near the hotel you both stayed in, he brought you a jade ring in lavender color. You kissed him senselessly once you received it, turning him drunk with the only kind of affection that he knew—on the bed, two bodies tangled, with heavy breaths filling into every corner of the room.

Perhaps the only time you've ever been honest to him, was the ninth time you marred him with false hope. He was lying on the bed with you in his arms, when you suddenly asked him of what they'd become. He furrowed his brows, as he lifted his head to look at you.

"We can be anything you want." He answered.

"What do you want us to become?" You asked him again.

"I want us to be married."

Your eyes widened, before a laughter erupted from your lips. "It's not possible, I'm the daughter of a politician."

"Run away with me, then." He replied, with a certainty in his tone, "We can live together, just you and I."

"My father would catch us in no time."

"We can leave the country, change our names, and live somewhere quiet."

You looked at him with an amused smile, and a strange sense of pity that he could only decipher once he lost his naivety.

"Do you think we'll be happy living like that?"

He shrugged, "Maybe. But I know I'll be happy with you."

You chuckled at him, before you gave him a kiss. "I hope you never change, Simon."

You didn't mean it, but he didn't know better. You made him believe that you were capable of love, and he gladly took it as a promise.

And he was happy, he was happy that you're happy with him, at least that's what it seemed. He thought they'd stay that way, until you maimed his heart for the last time.

He was in the kitchen when you told him that it's over, that you could no longer keep this going. He could only listen as you confessed to him about your engagement with a man of your father's choice. He felt his heart twist as you said that it's inevitable, and there's nothing he could change. You shouted at him when he grabbed you by your wrist and demanded you to think it over. We can run away together, we can leave the country, just stay with me. But you shoved him away, telling him things that you knew would hurt him. You forced him out of your apartment and slammed the door in his face. He convinced himself that everything would be fine by tomorrow morning, and you'd change your mind once you realized that you loved him. But when he came in the next day, he found your place had been emptied. He searched for you—even just a trace of you—in every room, only to find a single ring on the table.

And just like that, you disappeared from his life. Leaving him with a self he no longer recognized.

You left such an imprint on him, that you ruined him for another love. But you, no part of him stayed with you. You slipped his ring off your finger just as easy as you slipped away from him.

He never saw you again, and never once did he not think of you in a day.

Years would pass, and he'd keep on searching for your face in the crowd. It became a habit of him, as he'd look around, wishing to catch even just a glimpse of you. Until he found you everywhere, in the train station.

You were on the front page of every newspaper, with a man beside you. A promising man, with a promising career in politics. You were smiling, but it wasn't the grin you used to show. When he unfolded the newspaper, he noticed the little accessory on your fourth finger. It's no longer made of the lavender jade—rather, it's a silver one, with a diamond adorning the top.

A mark of someone else's possession.

And a proof that you're never his.

#call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost cod #guess who just finished watching The Reader?#can't believe im writing ghost fic again #he has so much potential ughhhhh #anyway sorry for ghost girlies who love the daddy version of him #i want him to SUFFER

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orangecatty-shiningnikki · 7 months

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【 Shining Nikki TW+CN 】

Exclusive Collection

【 Shining Nikki TW+CN 】

Exclusive Collection

Mid-Autumn Festival 2023

The dust shakes off traces of the past, and a few strokes outline a mother's short life.

My mother only wished that little Zilang would have a safe, happy and prosperous life, even if she could not be found in his future.

Suit Display ::

Original :: Rúyì Xiāng (如意香)

Recolor :: Wū Xuěníng (乌雪凝)

Collection :: Exclusive

10th Exclusive • Mid-Autumn Festival 2023

Yanxia Cave Sky • 煙霞洞天

Designer :: Yueniang (月娘)

Rarity :: SSR

Attribute :: Sweet

Date :: 27/09—09/10/2023

Type :: Recharge

🌿🌿 Design Concept 🌿🌿

Yueniang has a very precious jade Ruyi, which is soft and shining, warm and clear.

It was given to him by his mother when he returned home from the temple fair that year, which represented his mother's caring heart.

Following the guidance of jade Ruyi’s soft light,

Yueniang is in a dilapidated goddess temple near Cangyi,

Shaking off the dust of time,

Opening up a corner of cloud history,

It also pieced together my mother’s short life.

🌿🌿 Design Hilight 🌿🌿

The ink hair is like clouds, flying lightly, and the clothes are dusty, which is quite ancient.

Heavenly clothes are as light as nothing, often giving people an ethereal feeling.

Then decorate it with gold and jade beads, and hold it warm in your palms to pray for your wishes.

May God bless you and may all living beings be free from illness and disaster.

#Exclusive #Recharge #Yueniang #SSR #Sweet #闪耀暖暖 #閃耀暖暖 #Shining Nikki #Nikki 3D #Nikki Up2U 4 #Nikki 4 #Orangecatty #3D Dress-Up Game #Nikki Diary Thailand #2023

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sasa-fistulosum · 10 months

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↑This is a postcard I made as a bonus for my unofficial Outer Wilds fanbook published this May…

It glows in a dimly lit place because of the glow-in-the-dark ink! If I do say so myself, the way the postcard glows in jade green matches the design very well. It was a first-come, first-served bonus at first, but there were some requests for it even if it was paid for, so I made additional pieces along with the reprint of the fanbook.

Now the fanbook, the postcard and a new bonus are available again as a set here.

#outer wilds spoilers #The Prisoner

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rhizomehaunt · 10 months

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fundraiser comics zine for diyhrt(.)cafe!

Above is a preview of the comic I made for a fundraiser zine some pals and I spent the spring putting together for diyhrt.cafe (an amazing resource helping trans people without prescriptions safely obtain diy hrt!) :･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧ The zine is now live and you can get a copy for $3 -- for $5 you're also automatically entered into a raffle for an original ink drawing by Jade Zhang (@yellghoul)

-> clx3 comics 4 diyhrt.cafe

Artists: Lainey Williams (@endless-swords) // Em (@corniart) // Michi (@chrysanthemumskies) // Celeste (@caelstyx) // Han Olliver (@rhizomehaunt) // Book Design & Co-Organizer: Natalie (@floodkiss)

#my art #zine #fundraiser #queer zine #trans zine #queer art #trans art #comics

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