#bordered dice

[breezere]

people dont draw kokichi wearing silly lil capes/cloaks more often and i think thats so tragic

[pyonpyonpyon]

Also a ship tag drop uwu

[kiyosho-art]

Black Thunder art of King Daisuke as a puppy, with his old father King Frill.

[v3joker]

Rapid Fire and Punishment connect!!!

ION VS DR. X CONTENT!!!

[northern-passage]

over the last 24 hours Tom Homan has flip-flopped on what exactly is going to happen this upcoming week in the US, but we know he has threatened a “big raid across the country” and Chicago seems to be the first target with leaked plans for tuesday, January 21st, 2025. if you are here and live in a sanctuary city, brace for ICE raids to begin this week. if you're able, you can request or print your own red cards (available in multiple languages) from the Immigrant Legal Resource Center and offer them to people within your community.

if you see ICE, let people know. shout "ICE" and "LA MIGRA." do not open your door for ICE.

You have constitutional rights:

- DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR if an immigration agent is knocking on the door. / NO ABRA LA PUERTA si un agente de inmigración está tocando la puerta. - DO NOT ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS from an immigration agent if they try to talk to you. You have the right to remain silent. / NO CONTESTE NINGUNA PREGUNTA de un agente de inmigración si el trata de hablar con usted. Usted tiene el derecho de mantenerse callado. - DO NOT SIGN ANYTHING without first speaking to a lawyer. You have the right to speak with a lawyer. If you are outside of your home, ask the agent if you are free to leave and if they say yes, leave calmly. / NO FIRME NADA sin antes hablar con un abogado. Usted tiene el derecho de hablar con un abogado. Si usted está afuera de su casa, pregunte al agente si es libre para irse y si dice que sí, váyase con tranquilidad. - GIVE THIS CARD TO THE AGENT. If you are inside of your home, show the card through the window or slide it under the door. / ENTREGUE ESTA TARJETA AL AGENTE. Si usted está dentro de su casa, muestre la tarjeta por la ventana o pásela debajo de la puerta. I do not wish to speak with you, answer your questions, or sign or hand you any documents based on my 5th Amendment rights under the United States Constitution. I do not give you permission to enter my home based on my 4th Amendment rights under the United States Constitution unless you have a warrant to enter, signed by a judge or magistrate with my name on it that you slide under the door. I do not give you permission to search any of my belongings based on my 4th Amendment rights. I choose to exercise my constitutional rights.

What to do if you are detained - National Immigration Law Center

there's also the ICE Detainer FAQ and the ICE Raids Toolkit from Immigrant Defense Project. and you can also get information on DACA, various resources for preparedness, and flyers at united we dream:

this one is Chicago specific but another organization that is helping people prepare:

[re-imagine]

My parents were very young when they had me and when they moved to the U.S. They didn't own a house yet. We lived in an apartment with 3 other families. The line to go to the bathroom was always long. I remember being 3 or 4 and having too many accidents because of it... I remember taking the bus and walking to school because we didn't have a car for a while. My dad entered work at 5am and worked until midnight. He got paid $5 an hour. My parents argued over money sometimes. Life wasn't overly difficult for us but it was different than what it is right now. It's just weird that my siblings don't know that other life our family had. My siblings NEVER had to experience our old way of life. I wish they did, it builds character lmao.

Now I have to work hard to make my parents proud and give them experiences they never had. Oh and I am forever the family translator (but I am slowly forgetting my first language and it sucks).

[nightwingsgypsyrep]

So, in the UK at least, it’s a tradition amongst gypsies to hang your eldest child’s first pair of shoes around the rearview mirror of your car (in the same way some people hang those fluffy dice).

So now I’m imagining this somehow coming up in conversation between Dick and Damian, and when it comes time for Dick to leave, he gets into his car to find Damian’s (very much not baby-sized) first pair of Robin boots hung with an old grappling line around his rearview mirror.

I just love when Dick and Damian’s relationship borders on parental, ok❤️😭

[seacret-tarot]

☁️🌑 What are you not seeing clearly right now? What needs your attention? 🔮🔍

Pick a Pile - Tarot and Oracle Reading

1 2

3 4

Hello everyone~

Hope you got through the Eclipse(s) alright; I know I felt them 🙈 Today I got a timeless PAC for you about what you might not be seeing clearly or what could need more of your attention. I'll be using the Nameless One Tarot, the Oracle of Oddities and the Wild Unknown Archetypes Oracle. I'll also roll some dice for lucky or significant numbers/signs/houses/planets that can be taken as confirmation if you want (though they are not necessarily included in the interpretation of the reading). Please choose whatever picture you feel most drawn to.

Hope you enjoy your reading and thanks for stopping by!

[Disclaimer: Please use your own judgement when making any decisions based on a tarot reading. Magick and readings are meant to supplement, not replace professional advice. Since this is a general reading, only take what resonates with you – and at the end of the day, we all have free will and the power to shape our lives.]

Pile 1

cards: anxiety; the box (44); the jester of cups; 5 of cups; 9 of pentacles dice: number 8; 7th house/pisces/mercury

It looks like you might be ignoring - or downplaying - anxieties about the structures/constraints you find yourself in. We have a literal box here, with its borders multiplying and closing in on themselves more and more until there is almost no more room to move. But in the center something is still glowing, like a mini sun. What is it your keeping in? What is trying to shine but not being given enough room?

The number 44 - or 4 in itself - is also speaking of stability and rules and therefore alluding to the authority of the Emperor in Tarot, a figure that in a negative position can feel oppressing and overwhelming. You might feel like you can't live out your emotions in the way you want. Whether imposed on you by circumstances and upbringing (which it looks more like to me, with the bats attacking the flowers from outside in the anxiety card), or perpetuated by yourself now, any worries or negatively perceived emotions you might have are being shut down. Alternatively, if you're already aware of those limits, you might feel anxiety about how to deal with them, or how to deal with a balance between that restriction and what could be sensed as a threatening outpouring of emotion.

The Jester of Cups represents the water element and all water signs, and as a person stands for someone who is emotionally open, sensitive and playful. Perhaps there is a disappointment - or a sort of apathy, if you look at the cat's demeanor in the 5 of Cups - that you are quite literally looking away from, that you're maybe not allowing yourself to fully process. Some kind of hurt or loss could also contribute to the shutting off of emotions, if it feels like you could protect yourself through that. I think, though, that if you acknowledge your more emotional side in a healthy way again (or learn do that) and manage to nurture it and give it space - with the water and earth energies present here - you'll see that it will only lead to making your life richer in all regards.

Pile 2

cards: joy; the ring (57); ace of wands; 8 of cups; 9 of swords dice: number: 15; 8th house/capricorn/saturn

It might be time soon to wake up from your slumber and light a little fire in your life - joy is just around the corner! My personal association with the Ring card is the reminder that you have support from a friendly soul - whether in the material world or from somewhere else (or both!), depending on what you believe in. In the guidebook the ring speaks about interconnectedness and eternity, but also repetition. With the ring being so intertwined in itself and in connection with the Joy card, I think you're getting a notice here that positivity and a love for life will keep coming back to you again and again. You know the belief about how the love you pour out in the world will always come back to you (even multiplied)? That's what it's reminding me of.

Unfortunately that reminder might be very needed - you could recently have had a hard time dealing with fears and worries (9 of Swords), that left you feeling immobilized and isolated from that very world, and now you could be trying to find your way back in. If you're not out of your nightmare phase yet, there could also be a warning here to not keep falling into the same destructive cycles over again.

It's a hopeful sign to me, though, that the cat in the 8 of Cups card is sleeping so restfully, in comparison to the 9 of Swords. The traditional "walking away from disappointment" meaning of the 8 of Cups in Tarot is somewhat subvered here; whatever has happened throughout the cat's day, she's leaving it behind with a sound and guiltfree mind, resting as she deserves. So, it's time to walk away from what doesn't serve you and to find your peace - in order for you to gather the energy to kindle the flames of what you want to bring light to the world with, and find your spark of joy again.

Pile 3

cards: voice; the mother (1); 7 of wands; king of wands (aries); ace of pentacles dice: number: 5; 6th house/sagittarius/pluto

Whatever it is you're trying to do (whatever it is you're burning for even), there's a strong message here to keep going for it. The repeating 1s - in the Mother card, the Aries mention as the first sign in the Zodiac, the Ace of Pentacles - and fire - the 7 and the King of Wands - can often speak about manifesting energy or bringing something completely new into the world out of nothing. So, the reminder here might be to not fall into the temptation of putting your goals and passions on the backburner.

The Mother card represents the theme of manifestation quite literally - but I think she also warns to not get too cozy in her nest and rather become the manifestor yourself. The King of Wands is also a great representative of this kind of thinking and acting, as he's a master of transforming sparks of inspiration and ideas into tangible results and creations, of building something out of it. As a represent of Aries (the first sign, but also the first house) he is also all about action and being guided by your truest self. Getting into his mindset as well as embodying the 7 of Wands - protecting your creations - as a visualized goal should help a lot.

There is also quite literally visible growth; as you speak, as you find your authentic, genuine voice and live your truth from the heart, you will make something grow and speak it into the real world. Simultaneously, you are encouraged to plant the first seeds in the tangible matters of earthly successes to get the ball rolling.

Pile 4

cards: imagination; the mentor (6); 3 of cups; 8 of pentacles; 4 of wands dice: number: 9: 11th house/pisces/mercury

The cards here are actually making me wonder if you're a student or have been thinking of getting back into studying something. There's definitely a more youthful energy in this pile with the childlike skull in the Imagination card and a Mentor figure mentioned. The party themes of the 3 of Cups and the 4 of Wands, which speak about getting together with others and celebrating something, also remind me of initiation/graduation or college parties - friendships (3) are being built or strengthened, whereas the stability (4) of an endeavor is honored, maybe even ceremoniously.

On the other hand there's the stack of books in the 8 of Pentacles. It looks like it belongs to someone who's studying hard and probably will be returning soon to continue doing so. I do think there might be something you're currently dedicating a lot of time on in order to be able to perfect it eventually.

Whether you are formally in education or feverishly working on something else, I feel like the reminder in this pile is to let loose a bit, to let that childlike wonder and imagination meander in a more playful manner (note the heart at the center of the child's daydreams) and to seize opportunities for celebration or give them more space in your life or even create them yourself and nourish your friendships and family relations. Whenever you go back to your desk and roam through your books, you will likely still have support from a Mentor figure (material or not) watching over you and helping you accomplish your goals.

[pyonpyonpyon]

How warm. How intimate. The trail Dice's hands travel alight on Gentaro's every nerves, even through all of his layers. Gentaro's not entirely sure whether he wants more or less of it.

More, he thinks. His heart is set aflutter when Dice laughs, and he knows that Dice understands what he's playing around at. Here and now, they're on the same page at last. It's far more than what he expected at the very beginning of it all.

How wonderful the turns of fate can be, when it allowed him to meet someone like Dice.

A shiver runs through him at Dice's words. It tickles against his skin, digging its claws deep into his yearning chest. Oh, what an opportunity. It would be so easy to take that little step forward, but Dice's current lack of sobriety holds him back. It wouldn't be fair, even if both of them are nearly open with the topic.

In the morning, he thinks. And he'll be brave enough to stop dancing.

"Do you see me as someone who'd turn down a challenge?" The words escape Gentaro as a breathless chuckle, skin burning where Dice touches him. "Perhaps I'll take you up on your challenge... but you fancy wagers, do you not? Or..."

In the morning, he had planned. But here and now, he indeed feels bold enough to grant a little appetizer.

He cups Dice's cheek with one hand, leaning in to brush his lips against the corner of Dice's. A little step forward for the both of them.

"... Will this suffice as payment?" Gentaro finds his voice again, soft as he lifts his head to watch Dice. He is certain he's interpreted this correctly, but... now that he's committed to the action, a little seed of doubt worms its way back into him.

Dice hadn't exactly planned on getting drunk tonight. But, hell, with the constant thrum of his heart every time the brunette was near, and the fact that he had to confront all these feelings for Gentaro—feelings that had been building for far too long, a battle of suppressing and pretending not to feel—it was inevitable. Sure, he'd always tried to keep his emotions locked down, buried under layers of indifference. But tonight? Tonight, the alcohol was quick and the stomach was empty. Things got slippery. And now, here he was, tipsy, flushed, on the edge of doing things he'd never do sober.

His hands, all clumsy warmth and longing, hovered near Gentaro's waist. They squeezed, just lightly, but the pressure was a little too much, a little too needy. Dice couldn't stop himself from tracing the curve of Gentaro's back, sliding his hands up, then down again, the touch rougher now, only slightly. He wanted Gentaro to feel it. Wanted Gentaro to know. But these damn clothes—so many layers. So much between them. It was maddening. He wanted to feel more, but there were just too many barriers.

He let out a soft, frustrated huff, resting his hands again on Gentaro's waist, defeated. God, he could feel the heat from Gentaro's body, could feel his own pulse throbbing beneath his skin, but something wasn't clicking. Or maybe it was just him. Drunk, emotional, too aware of every little detail.

Then Gentaro spoke, and Dice—God—he was a fool, wasn't he? The warmth of Gentaro's touch made his chest rumble with a laugh, soft and teasing, something between a chuckle and a growl, but light, like they were both dancing around something. He wasn't stupid, not really. He knew exactly what Gentaro meant. But still, the alcohol gave him this strange freedom to flirt, to lean in just a little too close.

"Strange ideas, huh?" Dice mused, the smirk pulling at his lips like a reflex, though his voice wobbled just a bit. "If strange ideas are on the table..." He pressed closer, almost too close, purring the words "I'm~ all~ in~," out against Gentaro's neck collar. The laugh didn't help, probably made it sound like a joke, but in that moment? Dice didn't care.

The warmth in his eyes, that usual mischief, had something else too—something softer. Gentaro couldn't see it though, not with his face buried so close, resting against Gentaro's neck like he was trying to stay grounded in the moment. The touch of his thumbs, tracing circles on Gentaro's waist, was slow. Deliberate, but also just... there, like he didn't want this moment to slip away. Not just yet. Not until something clicked. Until he clicked.

When Gentaro asked about sobriety, that grin deepened, but there was something unfamiliar there—some flicker of hesitation in his gaze. Dice wasn't used to that. Not when he was in control, when he was the one throwing out the challenges. He let the silence stretch, then just as the brunette did, leaned in slightly, letting his breath warm Gentaro's ear.

"Hmm... when I'm sober?" His voice dropped, thick and teasing. "Well, I guess I could ask you a lot of things, but I've always been more of a show kind of guy, Gentaro." His lips barely brushed Gentaro's ear as he added, "But maybe we could roll for it. If you're bold enough."

The challenge was out there now, hanging between them. Dice raised his head, meeting Gentaro's gaze, but his fingers slid, almost by accident, over Gentaro's hand, brushing lightly against the accessory he was fiddling with. He didn't mean it to be purposeful—well, maybe he did. Maybe he wanted it to be. But it wasn't yet. Not fully.

There was a tension in the air. A hum of something unspoken. And Dice, for all his bravado, wasn't making a move just yet. Not until he understood what it was that Gentaro was thinking, what they were both feeling. Until they were both ready. So for now, he stayed there, leaning in close enough that the space between them seemed to pulse with all the questions they hadn't asked yet.

[vuesitalo]

Se-Mi’s Rescue.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Se-Mi x Fem!reader

Synopsis: In which you’re on the border of death during the red light, green light game until Se-Mi shows up to rescue you.

a/n: I will write my other requests tomorrow or next week! I’ve been sort of busy. :( I’ll try my best to finish them though!

Its eerie robotic voice echoed in the bloody battlefield.

“Green light.”

We shuffled forward, the terror of the previous rounds still weighing heavy on us. Each step felt like a gamble with death, and my legs trembled beneath me.

“Red light.”

I froze mid-step, holding my breath. Beside me, people stood motionless and their gaze nervously flitted between the giant doll at the other end of the field. Its inert nodding head moved from side to side grasping for what to do.

I’d already seen what happened to those who made even the smallest mistake. The first shots had sent chaos through the crowd, and I had almost turned to run until the reality of the situation struck. Running meant certain death.

The doll’s head stopped moving.

“Green light.”

I made myself walk on, painfully slow. My muscles felt stiff, my body unwilling to obey. Every second was a mental struggle battle between life and the terrible terror of life.

I was at least near the middle of the finish line when the accident happened. I fell subsequently to my foot impact on a dirt piece hitting my sartorius and knee. I can hear my body land on the floor all at once (and the doll too), in the stillness, and I can see the doll's head slowly turn to me.

Panic hit me like a wave. I clambered to my feet, hands getting stuck in the dirt. I felt fear begin, breathing became shallow as I desperately tried to hold myself up.

“Stay still.”

The voice was piercing, but deep, piercing like a knife in my fear. I turned my head just enough to see her—Se-Mi. She was crouched a short distance below, with her intensely focused stare fixed on me. Her very dark and long hair was unkempt, but her face was firm.

“Don’t move,” she repeated, her tone steady. “Stay down.”

“Red light.”

I froze, my body trembling with fear. My hands were on the ground and my knees were screaming in pain from the force of the landing. I did not have the courage to take a breath, much less even look at the doll.

A long, suffocating silence passed. My heart beat in my chest so hard that it felt It would expose me. But no shots came.

The doll’s voice rang out again.

“Green light.”

“Crawl toward me,” Se-Mi whispered. Her gaze momentarily went to the doll and then back to me. “Slowly. Don’t rush.”

When I started wriggling in the dirt on my hands and knees with my arms trembling. Each step felt like a chance, a roll of the dice, even the smallest movement and the risk of killing myself.

“Red light.”

I froze, my face still pressed against the ground. I wasn't even able to raise my head to see where Se-Mi was gone. Simply, I hoped I was close enough to her in the hope of it working.

“Green light.”

Her hand reached out toward me, her fingers steady. I extended my hand, and my hand shook when I grasped hers. She got me to move quickly in one fluid motion, bringing me to my knees.

“You’re okay,” she murmured, her voice low but reassuring. “Just stay with me.”

From then on, I followed her lead. Se-Mi moved accurately, every move perfectly in time to the beat of the game. She was tranquil, undeterred, and yet in her composure something about her reassurance calmed me.

We progressed incrementally, the goal line getting closer with each utterance of “Green light. The moment the voice of the doll changed 'Red light, we all stood still, as if tethered together by an unseen thread.

The field behind us was chaos. A man did so as he fell, and shots rang out. A woman fell to the ground, her body lifeless. I did not have the courage to look back, but I could tell that it all just weighed down on me.

Se-Mi didn’t falter. Her focus was unyielding, her gaze locked ahead.

“Green light.”

We moved again, our steps slow but deliberate. When the finish line was constricted, almost, I could almost taste it.

“Red light.”

We stopped, the air heavy with tension.

“Green light.”

With one final step, we crossed the line. My legs gave way from under me, and I hit the floor, catching my breath as I struggled to get air.

For a short time I could not reason, could not make sense of what had just occurred. The only thing I felt was relief—pure, overwhelming relief.

“You’re safe now,” Se-Mi said, crouching beside me. Her hand rested on my shoulder, firm but comforting.

I looked up at her, tears stinging my eyes. “I-I thought I was going to die.”

Almost," she said, flatly. She was just stating the truth. “But you didn’t. And now you know what it takes to survive.”

I nodded, though her words didn’t feel reassuring.

She straightened, her gaze drifting back to the field. People still lived in those places and threw to make it across the goal line. All other participants took decisions too fast, to the extent that fear would make them to take wrong decisions. Others hesitated too much, their indecision becoming their downfall.

Se-Mi observed it all in a blasé way, her arms crossed, on her chest.

Why did you do that for me?," I whispered even more audibly.

She gazed down at me, but not so cold any longer. “Because you needed it,” she said simply. “And because I need allies in here.”

Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication.

“If you want to make it through this, she continued, “you’ll need to stay calm. Think before you move. And trust me.”

I nodded again, this time with more conviction.

Se-Mi, gave me her hand and I grasped it, I let her draw me up to my feet.

“Come on,” she said, her tone more matter-of-fact now. “This is just the beginning.”

As I stood beside her, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of gratitude and fear. Gratitude for her saving me when she didn’t have to. Fear for what would come next.

But one thing was certain: I wasn’t going to make it through this alone. Now, Se-Mi was the only one I could confide in.

[pyonpyonpyon]

Dice knelt on the floor, his fingers deftly working the tassel-belt around Gentaro's waist, the knotted fabric sliding through his hands with ease. His movements were slow, almost deliberate, as if savoring every second. "Ramuda helped attach the red die," Dice said casually, his voice light but with a faint undercurrent of pride. "How do you feel about it? It's like... having a little piece of me by your side, no matter where you go. Ahem.." His voice trailed off for a moment as he glanced up at Gentaro, meeting his eyes for just a split second, before his gaze quickly dropped back to the task at hand. His cheeks, ever so slightly, flushed with a hint of warmth—an effect he tried to brush off but couldn't quite hide. As his fingers tightened the belt, his hands lingered just a little longer than necessary, a soft, lingering touch that spoke volumes more than words could.

Finally, after securing the belt, Dice attached the inro case and netsuke, his hands gently smoothing out the fabric beneath as he took in the finished product. The moment was quiet, but the tension in the air shifted as Dice leaned back slightly, his eyes scanning Gentaro with a mixture of admiration and something deeper. He sighed, almost dreamily, mumbling, "Why do you have to be so ridiculously gorgeous? It's almost cruel." His words were quiet, but there was no hiding the affection in them. He leaned into Gentaro, arms wrapping around him as he nuzzled into his midriff, his eyes fluttering closed in contentment. The warmth of Gentaro's body was enough to make Dice want to stay like this forever. But he didn't want to waste the day—today was too special. "Ready to kick off the celebration, birthday boy?" Dice asked, his voice softer now, laced with a mix of excitement and fondness. ( happy birthday to my beloved gentaro!!! ...if it really is his birthday, who knows, haha! but either way, here's a cute gendice moment just for you, yuki uwu <3 )

"Our dear leader helped, hmm?" Gentaro's words are almost a murmur, hesitant to disturb the intimacy of this gift-giving with brash loudness. His gaze is fixed upon Dice as he ties the belt together with skill... had Dice practiced, he wonders? "Should I take this as a gift from both of you?"

"I jest, of course. Ramuda had already given me his present earlier." Along with questions about whether Dice has, accompanied by mischievous giggles and secretive winks when Gentaro had confirmed in the negative. No wonder Ramuda had been so eager to know, when Dice's present is as personal as the one being tied around Gentaro's waist.

Even through the fabric of his clothes, Gentaro can feel the warmth of Dice's hands. It almost makes him shiver, even moreso as Dice speaks and gives his affection so openly. His fingers brush against the red dice, sparking so warmly against his skin that he might actually believe Dice's past claims of spirits dwelling within them. Such a gift is worth more than anything Gentaro can imagine. How could Dice give him such a wondrous piece of himself?

His heart swells so much that he thinks it might burst, splattering Dice all over with the weight of his adoration.

Running his hands through Dice's hair--back and down, gentle--Gentaro pauses as he cups Dice's cheeks. Like this, it is so easy to lean down and kiss him.

And so Gentaro does, bestowing his dearest knight with a princess's good luck charm. Pulling away, he smiles.

"Now I'm ready, yes. Come along, we have quite a bucket list of activities for you to treat me with."

[calolily]

I don’t expect everyone to like me, that’s unrealistic. However the aggressive venomous hate I’ve gotten in the past 6 months is kind of bizarre. It’s bordering on insane obsession.

It’s from people that have actively bullied me or my friends. Which I have never retaliated against in any way. I’ve shared that I’ve been bullied by anons and I’ve shared it with moderators on one Discord to get guidance when I blocked someone but shared the server. Never asked for them to be removed. That’s stupid. Why would it matter if they are on the same project if they aren’t working directly with me?

I’ve left public discords because they can’t leave me alone. I’ve done mediation through a mutual friend in an attempt to just be left alone. No dice. I’ve begged to be left alone. I’m the villain.

At this point I don’t care what anyone thinks of me. I have my friends that I enjoy talking to and creating with. I’ve never done anything to these people other than refuse to join in on their witch hunts and dare to express hurt when they create anonymous hate blogs about me and my friends.

I’m not pulling strings in the background. I’ve not told anyone not to be friends with you or work with you. I blocked you months ago and was done but you keep coming at me and lobbing around insane theories and hassling me because of who I’m friends with. To date they have driven two of my friends out of this fandom with wild unsupported accusations and harassment.

I have two alternate tumblrs-

@bwelysium and @ungabungadarling for my private Discord and for the caveman event.

Everything else is what you see is what you get. I have no reason to have alternate accounts. If I have something to say I’ll say it with my face showing. I’m not a coward. I just don’t see a reason to call you out with all the evidence and cause a scene. I can coexist if you leave me alone.

It doesn’t matter what I say. People believe sensational stories and lies above the truth. I’ll be the villain in someone’s story no matter how much good I do and how kind I am.

The majority of people interact with are sweet and so so creative and it’s been a joy to be in this fandom, despite the fleas.

[heartinhyacinth]

Listen, I love the idea of Hua Cheng finally getting to propose to his beloved special someone after 800 long-awaited years (and correct his previous blunder haha), but hear me out…

After Hua Cheng’s year of absence, hualian reunite, spend some blissful days soaking up each other’s company at the small cottage Xie Lian built on mount taicang, then decide to take a trip to ghost city. They could use the dice, of course, but it’s such a nice autumn day and days as such have become dear to them.

They’re snugged up close in the step-litter when Xie Lian casually asks, “San Lang, wanna get married?” He wears his usual gentle smile—the one he would use as if he were asking if Hua Cheng was feeling hungry or if he’d like to take a stroll through the maple trees.

But there is also the unmissable twinkle of amusement that is present, which Hua Cheng uses to convince himself that Xie Lian is in a silly mood and surely this is just payback—Xie Lian will confirm it any second now. But it doesn’t come. Five seconds, ten, fifteen, and the confirmation does not come.

So Hua Cheng simply sits there, expression bordering between pure terror and pure ecstasy as he tries to dissect the situation for any sign of its true reality. With breathy giggles, Xie Lian finally has mercy on the poor ghost, “You don’t have to say yes, San Lang—I can take it.” Despite his words, it’s exceedingly obvious by the humor in his tone that they’re both aware heaven and earth would sooner turn to dust, and with that, Hua Cheng finally regains control of his brain. “It would…” he takes a deep breath, nearly a millennia of longing crowding his throat all at once, “It would be my greatest honor, your highness”. Xie Lian’s smile brightens and he takes Hua Cheng’s hands in his own, “good—because no more dying, okay?”

The idea of Hua Cheng’s heart and soul asking him to spend their existence together—of Xie Lian affirming that he chooses Hua Cheng and wants him as his beloved forever and always, wants to walk by his side till the end—it’s just…too much to handle. (Him saying yes to Hua Cheng’s proposal would also achieve this but you get the idea).

Bonus: Hua Cheng fully planned to ask him during that same trip but Xie Lian beat him to it

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Antique Bookstore

a list of descriptors

Borders on the inner edge of a book with a lacy pattern, most often gilt (called dentelle)

Brown-yellowish spots on book papers (when this aging process happens to the paper in a book it is referred to as "foxed")

Cracked book hinges

Crushed or torn beveled edges

Customers scanning shelves

Customers wandering the aisles

Decorative diamonds or squares cut or scored into the leather binding (called diced calf)

Dust jacket with minor chips

Dog-eared, loose, stained, and/or torn pages

Fading and fraying of cloth book cover

Giant, oversized books (called elephant folio)

Hair products, cologne, perfume in the air

Hand-stamped gilt/color titles on front boards and spines

Heavy dampstain

Odor of cleaning products

People asking employees questions

Running a finger down a book spine

Scuffed and rubbed leather binding

Shelf wear (i.e., damage caused over time to a book by placing and removing a book from a shelf. This damage is caused by the book rubbing against the shelf, causing the edges and cover to become worn down or even torn. The book can also receive damage from neighboring books rubbing against the front and back covers causing warping and other damage. The spine and head of the book can also receive damage from being pulled from the shelf without caution.)

Signature on title page

Silverfish and cockroaches eating paper

Smooth desk surfaces

Squatting to read titles on a low shelf

Stack of books on the floor

Stained and detached book cover or pages

The crisp turning of a single page

The woodsy/dry scent of paper and cardboard

Typing on keyboards

Underlining in the text

Warped or melted dust jacket (damage done to a book cover or dust jacket caused by exposure to direct sunlight called sunning)

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 ⚜ More: Writing Prompts ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[sweetreasures]

the hitman’s quandary

rival hitman!jongho x reader

smut, non-idol au, fingering, choking, mention but no use of weapons (guns), degradation, restraints (belt), hate sex adjacent, slight taming, ruined orgasm, dubcon—proceed with caution

minors dni, ageless blogs will be blocked

masterlist

you and jongho had been dating for one year, previously unaware of the other’s affiliation with your respective organizations.

to him, you were nothing but a lowly, hardworking office employee. and he, a delivery driver. as long as you continued coming home in those sexy black kitten heels, he would never question you.

even when you were strangely secretive over the “work” documents you brought home every night. proprietary information, can’t have it falling into the wrong hands.

even when jongho came home one night and you spotted the droplets of blood embedded in his white sneakers. a work accident, some waiter dropped a glass and got blood everywhere while cleaning it up.

even when you and jongho found yourselves passing each other on the street during a night where you told each other you would be too busy with work. and you both pretended not to notice.

then an email reached your inbox. the target was wanted for taking out a high ranking official within your organization. he was a handsome man in his mid 20s, done up beautifully in the photos, an expensive bespoke suit resting on his muscular body. you knew it was him, but it was a far cry from the disheveled, exhausted individual who returned home to you every night.

surprised wasn’t the word for it. though in the eye of your hurricane of emotions lied a tinge of….admiration? you were impressed—he held out for this long, and you may have never known had you two been spared by the dice of fate. you wondered what photos they sent him, whether your boyfriend thought you looked just as enticing.

and you didn’t have to wonder for much longer—not when jongho came barreling into your shared apartment, a look on his face that bordered on determination and lust. he flashed his weapon and tossed it aside, landing perfectly on the entryway table. tonight, in some twisted way, he’s willing to show you mercy.

“on the floor. now.”

you smirk, pushing your chair back from the kitchen table before lowering yourself to the ground. your arms were up in a mocking surrender pose, your eyes daring him to step closer.

and fuck, did he look amazing in that very moment. even face near certain death, you had to admit your boyfriend was incredibly sexy when he was bossy.

jongho pushed your legs apart with his foot, your knees sliding across the linoleum with the help of your black lace stockings.

“you should probably just kill me, jongho.”

he stared down at you, unwavering. his head cocked to one side, his hand removing the belt wrapped around his waist. jongho looked ravenous, and as the night progressed, it became more apparent that his next meal was you.

“i could,” he pushes his foot against your clothed cunt, pressing down on your clit with just enough pressure for you to make out every ridge on the sole of his shoe. “but that wouldn’t be as fun.”

he quickly grasped both of your wrists in his hand, tying them together with his belt before wrapping it once more around a slat on the kitchen chair. you knew as well as he did that this wasn’t enough to restrain you completely, but you weren’t going to resist.

and he just wanted to watch you squirm.

with you secured, jongho joined you on the floor. he hurried to remove your panties—drenched with excitement at your boyfriend’s change in demeanor. he wrapped one hand around your neck before positioning the other between your eager thighs. the heat was practically radiating off of you as he hovered right before your folds. you fought the urge to move your hips closer to him, in search of any kind of friction to relieve you.

“here’s the deal.”

“mhm…”

“you have intel i need. intel you know will also get you killed if i find out.”

you nod. duh. touch me already!

now that he knew you were a hitman like himself, it was immediately obvious what drove you into this line of work. murder was only secondary to the thrill of acting out and not getting caught. you were an adrenaline fiend. if jongho had to guess, the nights where your stamina was at its highest—where the two of you had the freakiest, mustiest sex for what felt like hours—were likely when you were coming home from a successful job.

so naturally, you could only think about getting your juices all over jongho’s well-manicured hand, loaded gun a few hundred feet away be damned.

jongho rolled his eyes; this probably wasn’t a good idea.

“you talk, i leave. you squirt, i shoot. we have fifteen minutes.”

��what happens after fifteen minutes?” your chest movements betrayed your voice—though calm—as it rose and fell rapidly with your quickening heart rate.

jongho pursed his lips. “i shoot.”

wordlessly, you widen your legs for him, hooded eyes never leaving his own. if the moment weren’t so dire, jongho could have laughed.

he hoped you didn’t sense the way he hesitated before slipping one of his fingers inside your heat, his thumb working your already sensitive clit using the slick of your arousal. your eyes fluttered shut and you instantly released a high pitched whine. he applied a bit more pressure to your neck, taking in the way your body temperature rose and your heart beat inside your veins.

jongho knew you understood the serious nature of your current predicament; you both had your lives on the line. you both had people to protect. jongho had committed an egregious offense by taking out one of yours. and worst of all, someone who paid your bills. you should be enraged, or possibly frightened, but jongho couldn’t exactly parse what you were feeling at all. he was getting extremely hard watching you fuck yourself stupid on the fingers of a man sent to kill you.

“mingi knows your guys planted the car bomb. it had that dumbfuck wooyoung written all over it. what else is he planning?”

your legs quivered as you struggled not to lose yourself completely in ecstasy. jongho was up to three fingers, the timer down to seven minutes. he angled his hands to apply more pressure to the more sensitive, spongy areas on your walls. another wave of arousal dripped onto the linoleum.

“answer my fucking question.”

“fuck you.” you spat, cackling as your saliva made impact with his face.

he tightened the hand around your neck, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head as you tensed up.

“god. what a whore. last day on earth and you wanna spend it soaking up my hand, like the dumb slut you are.”

he released you just as the muscles in your began to weaken. you took a deep breath, the elastic around your core wound up with impossible force.

you had something against jongho that he would have never accounted for, at least not consciously. put simply: your body. jongho praised you constantly, saying you were the best fuck of his life. he’d never tasted a pussy as delicious as yours, never fucked a cunt that took him so well and left him wanting more. and more. and more. until you could no longer feel your legs and every subsequent orgasm sent you closer to a coma.

it was no secret that you were quite known for it, using your…assets…to gain intelligence and trust from your targets. jongho could play all he wanted, but you were willing to bet on your award winning pussy. this man would rather abandon his work completely and accompany you on the run for the rest of his life if it meant getting to feel your thighs wrapped around his head as he drowned tongue-first under your sweetness.

fuck it. he isn’t going to kill you. he couldn’t if he tried.

three minutes.

jongho licked his lips instinctively. his movements became robotic, as if following a ritual from muscle memory. he was slipping. his dick fought at his zipper, and he couldn’t ignore it. he watched as your perfect tits bounced with every pump and wanted nothing more than to release them from your shirt and latch his mouth onto your engorged nipple. as much as he didn’t want to take you out, he desperately needed to see you come undone in his grip. he needed to milk himself in your sloppy wet cunt like a fucktoy, listening as you squelched around his girth and took him like the filthy slut you were.

that was how he played, you thought, smiling to yourself. that was your man. he made no further attempt to gain any more attention. instead, he watched as drool slid the length of your tongue and tricked down your chin. he wiped it off, sticking his thumb inside his mouth and sucked it clean.

three minutes would be over any second now, you reasoned. still, you had not cum and grew more frantic by the second. your words were incoherent. a tiny puddle had already formed beneath your curvy ass. jongho’s hand threatened to fall asleep, his hands coming slightly pruned and covered in your tasty secretions.

the phone goes off. jonghp ripped his hand from you cunt. your body burned for orgasm and then…nothing. he ruined it.

“that’s the time.”

“shit. joykill!” you panted, frustrated with your body for not coming fast enough. jongho ignores you completely, untying you from the chair in one moment before flipping you over in the next.

he tightened the belt once more and held on like a leash. you knew the drill—pressing your head to the floor, though that didnt stop jongho from shifting his weight to keep you down.

he worked his furiously red cock from the prison that was his boxers. there was a blatant dark spot in the jeans where the precum wet him up.

“dumb fucking slut. you’re not willing to die for wooyoung, you just wanted to squirt. make a mess of a kitchen we rent.”

your hole quivered tremendously—you could practically feel jongho sliding his majestic member so deep inside your walls you could feel it on your throat. you were about to milk him for all he was worth. jongho stares down your sex, exposed to him from the back.

he knew it then: he couldn’t go through with it. not with you right here, falling apart into avas he slid perfectly into your cunt, ginormous midshaft rubbing against your insides, you leaned to throw one arm around jongho’s shoulder while resting your back against his chest. he began to move, wasting no time before setting off at an unimaginable pace to orgasm.

you gave jongho a soft kiss on the lips. he seizes the opportunity to snake his hands under your shirt and flick at your nipples. a chorus of shushed affirmations joined the symphony of skin on skin that played out on the kitchen floor.

so much for a successful hit job.

(end)

[A/N: if you made it this far, thank you for reading! this was a surprise addition to this weeks lineup bc im a pervert and a liar. please excuse our dust as i renovate my writing space some more. and please apply for my taglist here if you are interested! ill start using at by the end of the week 👍 ]

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

Girl imagine Chef Mydei putting aphrodisiac in our food.

'The food is goddamn delicious, but why do you feel getting wet with each bite? And why is the handsome, super attractive chef looking at you like that?'

Girl please—Chef Mydei would be the most dangerous man alive in that kitchen.

You're sitting there thinking you're just having dinner, maybe a little wine, maybe a flirty smile or two. But then—

“Why does this lamb melt in your mouth and make your thighs clench?”

“Why does each spoonful of that creamy sauce feel like foreplay?”

“Why does Chef Mydei keep licking his fingers while watching you eat like he knows exactly what he's doing to you?”

And the worst part?

You don’t even care. You’re just there moaning over risotto like, “It’s just...really good, okay?!”

Meanwhile your panties are doing backflips and Mydei’s over there smirking, sleeves rolled up, chest peeking through that apron, arms flexing as he dices herbs like he's cutting through your resistance.

Tell me why dessert is served and suddenly you’re breathless like “Is it hot in here?”

And he leans in, voice low, “Careful now, sweetheart. The soufflé isn’t the only thing that’s rising tonight.”

EXCUSE ME.

♡︎

The lights are dim in the private dining suite, golden glow spilling across the table like warm honey. The room smells of rosemary, seared meat, garlic butter, and something sweeter—something intoxicating, impossible to name. You’re halfway through the main course, and your body’s already betraying you.

You shift in your seat, thighs pressing together under the table. Each bite sends a ripple through your core. The food is divine—but wrongly divine, the kind of pleasure that borders on wicked. Heat coils low in your belly with every slow chew.

Across the table, Chef Mydei leans against the doorway with his arms crossed, watching you.

Dark eyes. Slight smirk. Apron snug around his waist. He doesn’t say anything—just watches your mouth wrap around a forkful of buttery potatoes and his smirk deepens.

"You like it," he says finally, voice like smoked whiskey.

You nod, swallowing thickly. "It's... incredible."

He pushes off the wall and walks toward you slowly, rolling up the sleeves of his black chef’s jacket, forearms flexing with deliberate grace.

“Funny,” he murmurs, standing behind your chair now, his hands settling on your shoulders. “I was watching your face... and you looked like you were about to come undone from a single bite.”

You go still—heart thudding, breath catching. The air shifts.

His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“I may’ve added something extra to the sauce. Just a little. A tease.”

You gasp softly, turning your head just slightly, but he’s already moving—around the table, standing before you now, gaze smoldering.

“What’s wrong?” he teases. “Feeling warm?”

Your skin burns. Every nerve is awake, alert. The air feels too heavy. His presence? Too close.

Mydei reaches forward and slides your plate away. “I think you’re full enough.” His fingers graze yours. “But dessert isn’t served on a plate.”

Before you can respond, his hand cups your chin, tilting your gaze up to meet his.

“You’ve been such a good girl,” he says. “Savoring every flavor. Obeying every bite. Now…” His thumb strokes your bottom lip. “Let me taste you.”

He pulls you to your feet. The chair scrapes back with a gasp as he presses you against the edge of the table, mouth crashing into yours—hungry, commanding. His tongue teases yours with the same slow, deliberate rhythm he cooked with, and suddenly you realize—

You’re not the only one who’s been heating up.

His hips grind against you, hands tugging at your dress like he owns the fabric, owns you. And when his voice growls against your throat—

“Let’s see if you moan louder for my tongue… or my food.”