#take a chance roll the dice

[20sidedfitness]

Fate brings us together!

First live group since 2020.

[essektheylyss]

I realized my final group paper was due at 8pm, not midnight, when I opened canvas at 6pm and almost had a heart attack, but I did also quote the Your Turn to Roll lyrics as the last line of my conclusion and took the opportunity to link the Mighty Nein Animated Intro in a footnote, so my professor better fucking watch it because I almost had a heart attack over this paper and it is the least she can do.

[iniziare]

✵ Wrio for Yelan

Prompt: Send ✵ and my muse will answer // @delusionaid

Their first impression of your muse: You know, she was actually surprised, because he wasn't what she had anticipated. Or at least, not exactly. He was warmer than she had imagined the warden of the renowned Meropide to be. It's such an imposing structure, with such an irrefutable reputation that goes so well beyond even Fontaine's borders— and the Duke certainly comes across as just as imposing, but she expected someone not necessarily 'colder', but more stoic, or more consistently so. You don't just run something like a prison like the Meropide without a firm hand, which usually hardens a person over-time, and yet she was confronted, instead, with a man who is imposing, and has an obvious hard edge to him, yes, and yet he also has this endearing boyish cheek to him in such a way, that caught someone even as relatively seasoned in terms of 'having seen it all' when it comes to personalities as her, off-guard. It's actually a bit funny to me, because it's not like Yelan herself is perfectly stoic either, it's not like her life has entirely hardened her following her traumas, but I think that she didn't and doesn't see many who don't... succumb to some sort of stoicism, depression or even something akin to a 'darkness' down the line. She's seen too many fall victim to those things in her life and line of work, and so she doesn't expect to see many not just rise above it, but keep a certain... gaiety to themselves like he does. He's a man who's faced tribulations, shoulders (burdens) many responsibilities, and has brought about such change almost single-handedly, and yet he's young (read: not immature) in what he can smile about, and he's cocky in a way that's charming, and will have strangers remember him.

Current impression: He's a good man. And that might seem underwhelming, but it's not intended to be in any which way. In a world where everyone is so very grey in terms of their moral compass, Wriothesley is... good. He's seen atrocities, he's committed them, and possibly might again if the need calls for it, but not without reason. His moral compass is one that's unquestionably good, he will do what is right and just, he did and created what authorities failed to do for him and many others, he gives all who end up in the Meropide the chance to rise to ranks that are entirely deserving of their merit as long as they want to achieve it, and put in the work. She sees all this in her time down there, instead of just reading or hearing about it. She hears it from inmates she talks to, she hears it from Sigewinne, she sees it, she sees that it works, and so it's a point of great respect that she develops for him as a person. Outside of that, she kind of falls in love with him down the line, but that's just a trivial little detail that we don't need to talk about.

Are they attracted to your muse? There's no playing at pretend here, even if she tried, he could unravel the truth (the smile that'd give it all away) in an instant. And though he is and has been physically incredibly attractive to her as of one day one, it's more than just that which draws her eye. It's what I typed about above, it's that boyish charm of his that absolutely undoes her in just the right ways, and it literally never stops. It's how he really ultimately succeeds in getting her to postpone her plans, it's how he inevitably succeeds in starting all of it, it's hands-down how he gets her. The fact that she finds him incredibly, undeniably, and stupidly handsome, is just a ridiculous bonus in this equation.

Something they find frightening about your muse: That he'll do something stupid like sacrifice himself for the greater good. And it's maddening, all because she would do the exact same thing without a single moment of hesitation. But that, that is exactly why it frightens her so much, because in him, she sees the exact same dedication and loyalty that she holds for Liyue. And it's this thing where she understands it so well, and so she knows he'll never let go of it, because neither would she. It's like looking into a mirror and seeing your own resolve, one that isn't even threatened by the risk of death. And knowing that so intricately well, makes it absolutely terrifying to see it in the one you come to love.

Something they find adorable about your muse: The fact that he would allow himself to reach the point of becoming physically ill (and then possibly needing to see Sigewinne for fun medications), just to prove that he can keep up with her in all things, in this case, eating spicy food. Dear Wriothesley, you will never be a lesser man for letting her outdo you in this one field of... expertise, I promise, and even she promises it.

Would my muse sacrifice themselves for yours? Yes. And by extension, down the line, she would make a similar decision without hesitation for the Meropide. The structure is as much 'him' as, well, he is.

Would my muse go on a date with yours (platonic/romantic)? Admittedly, if he asked her on a 'platonic date', or mentioned it in any capacity in similar words or with any kind of descriptors that would be similar, she'd likely chuckle. A 'date' to her, is simply one thing and not anything else, which is why when he invites her that one time? He might not realize it, but regardless of whether it was to him or not, it wasn't platonic to or for her.

One word my muse would use to describe yours: Remarkable. Warm. Lover. Shh, she said all three. So all three is what you get, you can't defy this lady so easily.

Would my muse slap yours if they could? She'd punch him against the shoulder, softly, because what if she hurt him, you know? We won't talk about the arrow, yet.

Would my muse hug/kiss yours? Yes, and yes. She has a... preference for the latter, perhaps, but she finds enjoyment in the former (specifically from him). It all has to do with that specific kind of warmth, I suppose.

[wyrd-syster]

slice and serve my worries away (sugar, butter, flour)

The Rings of Power Fanfiction Pairing: Galadriel | Sauron Rating: M Word Count: 1k

READ ON AO3

Halbrand lived for Tevildough’s, had grown up surrounded by sugar and spice. He knew what it took to survive life in a bakery. And when he said that he’d never met anyone as ill-suited for it as Galadriel Noldor, he meant it. . . OR . .

Day 5 Drabble for Hellbrand & Ghouladriel Week!

Prompts: Spices / “A deal with the devil.”

[victoriousakadice]

Satisfaction - July 29 2023 bpm 95 97 By: Victorious Aka Dice Productions...

[zambehnation]

what would your hilson fix it look like where wilson dies?

AO3 writers when canon sucks:

[yavuzbavuz]

This one isn't a math one, but I like how it came out :3

https://www.redbubble.com/shop/ap/169164527?asc=u

[mcuntainbcrn]

@stratagemstone cont. from here: [x]

“Somehow, I feel the tedium would be the more welcome outcome.”

She’s been trying to avoid running into this one all night - trust her bad luck that he would pin her location down with relative ease and insert himself into it.

“Is there something you need?”

[tsarnvoinyn]

tag dump part 1 !

[booloocrew-blog]

Your honor I love them and their song

no way look who at pride

indiv pics under cut

[pseudowho]

Nanami Kento was not getting old. He wasn't. He was not. Forty-five wasn't old.

"Oi! Nanamin! I'll take the left!"

A grown man's voice that still somehow didn't suit Yuuji. A ghost of an image flickered across Kento's mind; a memory; a boy, superimposed over a man.

"Alright. Don't take any unnecessary risks. Meet me in the middle of the lower corridor. We've cut off its exit routes, now."

Kento watched Yuuji leap down a set of stairs that were no longer stairs; their crumbled wreckage structureless, as though the Curse that had befallen the building was akin to a landslide.

The raggedy old block had needed demolishing for years, anyway, such an eyesore, what was city planning doing with his taxes...but perhaps a nice restaurant? No, something else, but not a club, so noisy and there's enough racket from the kids around this city anyw--

Kento stood. He definitely didn't suppress a groan. He definitely didn't grumble at the blood-clot dust on his knees, and trousers that he only ironed that morning and the crease that was perfect and I haven't even had a chance to read my newspaper, ridiculous, senior management these days, should write a letter of complai--

Kento reached the lower corridor. His blood was acid in his lungs. He coughed, dry. He looked left, and right, and left again. He looked down. His shoelace was untied. He tutted. He knelt down. That was his first mistake.

ROAR! THUNDER THUNDER THUNDER

"Nanamin! Move!"

Kento stood on a dice roll; and broke. The pain was excruciating. He must have been stabbed by a thousand knives, Christ, can't move I can't move like an old man like--

"Oh my-- my god, my back--"

"NANAMIN!"

"My back, Yuuji-- my back--"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

All of the curtains in the house were drawn. Nanami Kento couldn't be seen like this. You crept closer to him, where he stewed on his back on the sofa like a wounded lion. His head turned away, sour and sulking; though, not for you, you knew.

"Hey. Brought you some tea. A little snack. I went to the store. They didn't have the pastries you liked, they said some guy got there just before I did, but I got--"

A scoff. "Why have they always run out? I go in there every day, half the time they haven't got them, and half the time they're stale, and the other half--"

"--that's three halves, my love--"

"--and another thing--"

"--oh my god, Kento, you're like an old man--"

"Don't say it." Silence, stewing again. You opened your mouth to bicker back, and Kento turned to you, so petulant that you had to bite back a laugh. "Don't."

Kento cleared his throat. He straightened his tie. You could not possibly laugh at his indignity, still dressed as if he would still be going back to work in his sorry state.

There was a knock at the door. As you shot Kento one more look of exasperated affection, and headed to the door, he called out in thinly-veiled panic.

"No visitors today, thank you!"

"What, you gonna get up and stop me? Or throw them out? Please."

Critical hit. Silence. Then: "That was uncalled for."

You laughed. You opened the door. Yuuji stood there, grinning.

"How's the old man holding up?"

A grumble from the sofa ("I'm not old!"). You bit your lip in mirth.

"He's as expected. They ran out of his pastries."

Yuuji held up a paper bag, and gave it a shake. "Yeah, they did. Wonder who bought them?"

A yell from the living room.

"Is it Yuuji? Tell him to come back another time."

"When?"

"Never."

"But he's brought you a hot water bottle. And a new newspaper. And some of your pastries."

"Oh. Oh, well then...send him in."

[yeyinde]

The 141 finding out you've never had sex.

Just casually drinking, playing cards. A joke causes it to slip out.

body electric: the virgin edition

Gaz, the instigator, mutters something about not having been fucked in ages. this springs up a sudden surge of comradery, because, yeah. neither have they.

Soap's devote Catholicism (i like to imagine) leaves little room for flippant intimacy. he tries to be a good boy. key word, of course, being: tries. but the last serious relationship was years ago. back when he was grunt. he's pent up. abstinence, yeah? he holds it tight in his hand. but the thing about fists is that they're often mistaken for anger. Soap's a realist masquerading as an optimist. he knows whoever falls into his jowls next will be a MacTavish by the time he's through with them. and commitment. well. his comes at a price. a hefty one.

Ghost prefers casual flings where he doesn't have to take any clothes off. unzips his trousers, frees his cock, and then tries to pretend he's a real, flesh and blood, human. to feel something, anything, except a vacuum between hollow bones. but his tastes are peculiar. on the side of unhinged. he hasn't found the perfect body yet satiate himself with.

Price. well. with his bloody hands, he thinks he'd rather not dirty the same people he swears to protect. and divorcing at the age of 30 does that to a man, maybe. his role as a captain (an excuse in retrospect) also keeps him from unleashing his wants. the very same ones that are probably best under lock and key, anyway. it's just for the best, really. something he ought to do because the moment he has another chance to sink his teeth into someone's neck, he'll tear them apart. break them into pieces.

despite bringing it up, Gaz knows the real reason he's single is because he's pushy. he wants. so he takes. and then takes some more. more. more. until his gullet is full of the person he's obsessed with. carrying them around in his breast pocket everywhere he goes. the perfect mate. the one he can shower with unfettered affection. a deluge, in all honesty. one with the ideation to drown. biblical floods. trapped beneath him. he likes it more than he should, but. singedom, then, he supposes.

and then you roll the dice. admit, sheepishly, that, technically, you have them all beat. zero is always lesser than five, ten, twenty. but it's this misstep—zero, never—that catches their attention.

suddenly, you're not surrounded by kin but a pack of wolves. all hungry in their own ways, all starving. it just makes sense to quench their hunger with you, doesn't it? friend, ally. pretty little thing. so sweet for them. and perfectly mouldable. putty they shape to their hearts desire. the perfect mate.

Soap grips his rosary. the sign of the cross, heavenly Father and Holy Spirit, digging into his palm like the burn of a baptism. what's devotion if not pain? he cuts himself on the gold. offers blood of the sacrament to whoever might be listening, and leans in, sniffing.

Price's knuckles are white. he leans back, hidden in shadows. all you can see is spark of burning orange from his cigar as he takes mouthful after mouthful of smoke, contemplating. assessing.

"that so?" he doesn't even need to look at his Lieutenant to know that the man has gone still. too bad for you, it's not from shock.

Ghost barely holds himself back. keeps tight in his seat. fists clenching. unclenching. he has a good enough read on the people around him to see the unfiltered desire ripping across their face. scorching. but to bite, with his mouthful of jagged, seraded teeth; ones meant to rip, break, tear, would ruin you. permanently. unequivocally. and—

"wanna give it a go?" all eyes turn to Gaz, electric in his seat. eyes smouldering umbre. "i mean, you trust us the most, don't you?" us. it's stunning, he thinks, the way Gaz can weave tapestry in the air like this with just his words. one tangled like shibari binds. "and we care for you a lot. we'll be gentle. it's up to you, of course, but—"

Soap's bloody hand disappears under the table. you gasp. "yer askin' fer it, ain't ye? beggin' so pretty fer it."

"n-no, i—"

"mind your manners." Price. his voice is chiselled into char, authoritative; low. a lulling command spoken in a breath of smoke. "and don't lie, love. or i'll have to take you over my knee."

the tension is thick. Soap's arm moves, slow. deliberate. Ghost has clench his jaw to avoid bearing his teeth. snarling.

Gaz cuts it with a knife. hews compliance into your skin with a fine needle point. "it's okay. we'll take such good care'a you. make you feel so good."

your submission is a heavy thing. oppressive. the shallow dip of your chin, the blistering heat simmering under your flesh, burning right, is the prettiest fuckin' thing he's ever seen. he does clench his jaw this time. tight, tight. tight

until something pops.

"okay." you yield. head bowed. beautifully submissive.

when he looks around, catches the predatory crackle in the air. his hackles raise. immediate. instinctual. and ah, right.

it's easy to forget he's surrounded by a wild pack of stray dogs. starving ones, too.

[wyrd-syster]

After the Storm

The Rings of Power Fanfiction Pairing: Galadriel | Sauron Rating: G Word Count: 100

ALSO ON AO3

Day 7 Drabble for Hellbrand & Ghouladriel Week!

Prompt: Fun Sized Day! Drabble of 100 words of less.

[victoriousakadice]

Brand New FL Studio unique beat 1 for the books Type Beat

[psychhound]

i love games that play with impossibilities in the mechanics to create mood or storytelling through empty space. roll tables that have numbers too high or too low, dice that don't physically exist. i imagine there's a lot more you could do with it. tarot cards not in any real deck, 42 of spades, dice towers 100 dice tall

i've always been such a fan of blank space in narratives but sometimes the best use of your time really is just to spell it out. here's something you can't have. this is exactly what i want you to think about and know that you won't get, not in this game at least

in my lyric game about werewolves, your 'beast' stat goes up a die size for all the animals watching you, and if you get past a d100 you have to roll using the moon. in my most recent little bookmark game, you take a baby girl (your daughter? someone else's?) and leave her to be raised by humans instead of the fey, like you. it's a simple game. roll a d6 to find out what happens to her when you come back 10 years later. lower numbers are worse outcomes, higher good. pretty simple. the outcome for 6 is pretty good, she knows shes a fey and has some friends who know too, she's even happy to see you, and i couldve left it at that. but it was for the 36 word jam and i had some words left. so i made a 7 where her new parents also know and they still love her. and that just really changes the whole game for me. sometimes its sad and sometimes its less so. but even with your best chance at a good life for her shes never actually going to be loved for who she really is, and you did that to her. it might not be on her mind but its going to be on yours and you know you know you know its out of reach. thats what the whole game is about now, to me. the 7 you can't ever roll

i think the impossible mechanic is definitely something that fits well in a certain genre of game (lyric games or really absurd ones especially) but i wanna see it used more in general. what should the players be aware of the absence of? whats your mechanical haunting of the narrative? if yall have examples or self-promos feel free to drop em

[demilypyro]

Doctor, give me a new prescription

A new chemical expedition

Endless, numbing repetition

I need it, 'phoria's my mission

I take the pill, I roll the dice

It's worth the chance and worth the price

My body's shifting, changing size

Hope mind and form will harmonize